Dorenda

Note: I didn’t understand what i was doing

Combine each grouping of sentences into one sentence using all of the sentence combining tricks at your disposal.

1.         The sky is reddened by a typical Midwestern sunset.

2.         The sky begins clouding over just before dusk.

3.         But no threat of rain can stop something.

Just before dusk, the sky clouds over and is reddened by a typical Midwestern sunset, but no threat of rain can stop something.

4.         Twenty thousand rock fans flock to Cincinnati’s River-front Coliseum.

5.         They are coming to see and hear Pink Floyd.

Twenty thousand rock fans flock to Cincinnati’s River-front Coliseum and they are coming to see and hear Pink Floyd.

6.         The concert is still three hours off.

7.         The concert has already attracted early birds.

8.         There are several thousand of them.

9.         They are all decked out.

10.         They are wearing their best rock-concert, faded blue jeans.

11.         They are wearing their best rock-concert, tie-dyed T-shirts.

12.         They are all keyed up for the high-energy Pink Floyd show.

The concert has already attracted early birds and there are several thousand of them who are all decked out wearing their best rock-concert faded blue jeans and tie-dyed T-shirts, and they are all keyed up for the high-energy Pink Floyd show, but the concert is still three hours off.

There are conspicuous newcomers to the rock scene and their newness is obvious as they wander about and gawk at the others wearing neatly pressed checked slacks and expensive shirts.

The loner’s eyes are barely open and squinting so they can steady themselves while their arms dangle uselessly at their sides as they weave aimlessly around the circles.

There are couples near fountains or in remote corners and they cling to each other.

29.         They are not the rent-a-cop breed. there are real police and they stride confidently among the crowd in large groups, twirling their billyclubs as they sweep their eyes over the area, looking for trouble.

36.         Hawkers call out wherever there are crowds and they try to unload cheap T-shirts and pennants, they draw only laughter from most concert goers.

41.         As the numbers grow, the circles of roamers, the couples, and the cops swarmed confusedly over the acres of concrete that lead up to the auditorium.

47.         The management realizes that the hordes can no longer be contained peacefully.

49.         Then, the doors open.

50.         Waves of fans pour into the coliseum.

51.         They are already tired from waiting.

52.         They are already sweaty from waiting.

53.         They are just in time for something.

54.         They wait out the final hour before the show.

Teach me morals and I behave

Show me choice and I express

Give me a uniform and I conform

Give me a hand and I will lend a hand

Ask me who I am and I will tell you who I am

Clone me and I loose my identity

On To Bigger and Better Things

After moving from apartment to apartment for several years, my parents buying a two and a half story house was the happiest day of my life. With 6 bedrooms, 2 kitchens, 2 living rooms and a spacious backyard, my siblings and I could play with without limits. We could yell as loudly as we wanted, run around without bumping into corners of tables, and jump up and down without being reported to the landlord. I remember dreaming about bragging to my 4^th grade class about the little orange-carpeted spiral staircase. Although our house was old, it was very exotic to me.

Now it has been 8 years, but after the first couple of years, a look of revulsion automatically appeared on my face every time I approached the house; the kind of look you would get if someone was to throw up a heavy meal and then slurp, gargle, and swallow it up again. My friends’ homes and their decorated bedrooms made my house look dull. It just wasn’t fun anymore. As I got older, I wanted to trade the toddler swing sets, the trampoline, and the huge 800 gallon blow-up pool for a real implanted pool like my friends had. They had the mash potatoes with gravy, cornbread and chicken, and I just had the plain scoop of mashed potatoes. Why and how did the love and pride I had for this house turn into revulsion and embarrassment? This is only due to dissatisfaction!

            For this reason, I will not hesitate to state that people, especially North Americans, will NEVER be satisfied. Whether it’s our job position, our house, or material possessions, we will always strive for more, for the next highest level. After achieving our goal, it becomes bland. Psychologists call this the adaptation level phenomenon. Another theory is that by comparing ourselves to people around us, we will either develop a more positive outlook or our possessions or life, or we will create a negative outlook.

Although dissatisfaction is omnipresent among people of all nations, it is not necessarily negative, depending on which way it is looked at. During the years of slavery, from 1619 to 1789, the only thing that slaves thought, talked, and dreamt about was freedom; they wanted freedom from their chains and freedom from their masters. The day slavery was abolished not only changed their life, but ours. Although there was no more harsh labor and no more captivity, the slaves were not satisfied. They and their children fought the government for the same educational opportunities as whites, integration, and equal rights. Now we have a black president, and blacks have their own TV station, magazines, and companies. Because of dissatisfaction and the two theories, they fought for more advantages, which eventually became beneficial for all. This is what I call, the “pro” side of dissatisfaction. However, there is also a negative side.

            Millions of Americans have more than one television in their house. If this is so, than many of us have been exposed to the media. In the world of celebrities, the adaptation-level phenomenon surely hovers over their half plastic bodies. Celebrities like Pamala Anderson, Janice Dickenson, and of course, Michael Jackson have all gone under the knife. What could have influenced them to partake in such drastic measures? According to relative deprivation, it is most likely that they compared themselves (physical features) to that of their peers or other celebrities, therefore becoming dissatisfied with their own looks. At first, they wish to make only one change to their body, but after they have adapted to their plastic addition, or flesh subtraction, they desire to make more changes, resulting in an expenditure that could buy a new Beverly Hills mansion. Because of their infectious behavior, many viewers and fans become paranoid with their looks. Many fashion magazines promote thin women and muscular men and deny thick, voluptuous bodies. With such implications made, we then create a notion that we are not accepted by society. We become unsatisfied with what we have, and surely, this could lead to negative feelings such as anxiety and depress, which may even lead to suicide. Teens are more susceptible to peer and media influences that may convince them to make certain decisions about their lifestyle.

            Dissatisfaction is usually classified as a negative feeling by contemporary society. When we look at the history of slavery, they were dissatisfied with the abolition of slavery alone, and fought for equal rights and opportunities that many can benefit from today. However, in contemporary society, dissatisfaction has become a disease that eats away at the lives and bodies of young teenagers who compare themselves to celebrities and peers. Psychologists state that because of the adaptation level phenomenon, people tend to get bored with what they have, so they yearn for more. With relative deprivation, people’s initial views of their lives and possession will change if they compare it to the people around them. My suggestion is that we should humbly compare ourselves to the less fortunate. By doing this, we come to realize how lucky we are to have what we have.

The Longest 30 Seconds of My Life

 “In your name I pray, Amen.” As a young girl in Ghana, Africa, prayer was the first thing I did after waking up to the glorious blinding rays of the sun, and before crawling my rough shoeless feet into my hard spring-less twin-sized mattress. I remember praying for my dad to get the business that he wanted, praying for mom who was searching for a job, our whole family moving to America, and protection against harm. Out of all the serious illnesses that flooded through the streets, I was most scared of the high rates of burglary; having some stranger come into my home and threaten to take me and my family. I loved communicating with God, because I knew he would always answer my prayers because of my faithfulness. I put no man or boy before Him, because mom always said He is a jealous God. Although I will admit that I did have a crush on our neighbor’s son; his big ears and nearly toothless smile made me giggle every time I saw him. It was like he stuck two white trident mints up his gums. But besides that, I never gave him more attention than my Father. God answered my biggest prayer: to move to America! We finally became citizens after living here over a decade. The excitement calling myself an American made me oblivious to where I came from. I left my past behind, and set foot on a new road.

“Dorenda, don’t forget to pray and read your bible!” I saw it coming, the annoying screech of my holy mother insisting that I pray before going to bed. Praying at people’s houses for hours after a long sleepless shift was incredulous. I still don’t know how she did it, but I’d rather lay on my comfy queen-sized bed and flip through my stacks of Seventeen Magazines to determine my new style for my first year of high school. That summer, I had been doing my research on how to attract guys: the skirts, the tank tops, expensive heels and purses and the long hair. I knew that I had changed and that I had forgotten about God, but it didn’t really matter to me because life was great. Mom and Dad were making great money, their business in Africa was booming, I had a great doctor, and I slept like a baby. I noticed that throughout all the years that I didn’t pray, I was still ok. So was God really the miracle worker behind my untroubled life? I didn’t know but I just gave Him the credit cause mom told me to.

There are many Christians who backslide from God for so long, that the only sort of connection they have with Him is thinking about how strong their relationship used to be. I would sit on my bed, reminiscing about the many mornings that my knees fell to the floor and all I could do was cry to God about my problems and heart desires. As I sat in remembrance, with my long graceful arms wrapped around my well-nourished body, a tear cautiously descended down my big cheeks and dripped on to my smooth knees, just below my chin. I wanted to be like that little girl again, the one that had the special presence, the glory of God, the favor of God. “I need a wake up call. I need something that will make me run back to God.” Being a Christian is not easy at all. You know what your doing wrong, but you can’t or don’t have the urge to fix it. For this reason, I ignored the request of my mother and crawled my moisturized feet into my queen-sized Tempurpedic bed. Little did I know that after that night, my life would never be the same.

I don’t remember how it started or what I was dreaming about. All that matters is that I heard it. In utter darkness, my paralyzed body still lay asleep, but my mind raced as it attempted to interpret the creaking murmurs of the wooden floor. My sticky right eye slowly pried itself open, while my left eye was still buried in my pillow. The darkness was too thick for my right eye alone to see through. I secretly crept my invisible hands under my comforter to feel the edge of my bed. When my fingers were blocked by the cold and dense wall, I knew that I wasn’t facing my room.

I heard it again, a certain heaviness, a foreign presence in the middle of my bedroom floor. At this point, my heart frantically bounced against the inner walls of my chest, and my veins flooded with panic, but I remained calm. “Melody, is that you?”

My 10-year-old little sister was the queen of revenge. She was probably getting back at me for telling her best friend about her bed-wetting problem.

 I tried to sound fearless and unbothered, but everything I said at the moment sounded like a question. “I know it’s you?  This isn’t funny?” I listened for a reply. The black room was so quite that I thought I could hear the flutter of his, her, or its blinking eyelash.

“What the hell?” I thought. I still lay motionless in my bed, in a puddle of confusion. I was drowning in heated, over-pumped blood that collided against my internal organs. Sweat rushed out of my pores, especially in the areas where two parts of my body made contact. Like an egg cooking on steel under the hot African sun, I could feel the treacherous gaze of the unresponsive figure from deep under my lime green comforter. The moisture quickly evaporated from my throat and tongue. My eyes filled with tears as I began to realize that I could be in danger.

“Melody, you’re scaring me. I said I was sorry,” I begged. Dying of the curiosity, I decided that it was time for me to see the face of this person.

“I’m going to count to three and turn around. Try not to scare me because you’re freaking me out right now.” I took a deep breath, as tears rolled down my cheeks.

“1, 2,…………… 3!” Before I could roll around, something green covered my face and all four of my limbs went out of control as they fought against the body weight that attacked from the other side of the green material. “Is this a joke?” I thought as I fought. My question was answered when I felt a tight grip around my neck, and intense pressure over my nose and mouth. I tried my hardest to fight back, but my legs could now no longer move. I tried to scream loud enough for someone in the house to hear, but my muffled mouth produced the troubled screech only as a hum. I could feel the knees of this person just below my armpits, and a massive weight of a full grown adult centered under my belly button. At this point, I was paralyzed with fear and helplessness.

I lay there as I waited to run out of breath, wondering if he would ask me for any last words. I only heard the intensified and rapid heartbeat coming from my chest and ears. Still under my comforter, I melted from the uncomfortable humidity and hot sweat. I felt like a panicking chicken that had been wrapped in tightened rope and placed in a shoebox. He loosened his grip on my neck, although he still kept one hand covering my mouth with the comforter. His other hand seemed to be doing something else, almost like it was assembling something. Images of a bullet gushing through my head flashed, and immediately I felt my bladder beginning to loose the power to withhold its liquid. The end of my comforter at the end of the bed now lifted and rolled up past my knees. I could feel the cool breeze from my room blow between my toes. Still sitting on part of the comforter facing towards me, I felt his hand reach behind his back slowly making his way up my silk pajama pants. Now I knew what he was thinking. “Oh my God, oh my God, not me, not me,” I thought. Tears ran down my face after realizing the man’s intention, and I felt my willingness to fight die away. I burst into more tears out of frustration of being incapable of fighting. It was like standing on train tracks and simply watching as the gigantic machine slowly speeds its way towards you; growing larger and larger as you just stand there and capture the last couple seconds of your life. I was running out of time. I had to do something. “Get your right hand free and punch him in the balls! Wait, he could still fire his gun.” I planned in my head.

With his hand still covering my face and mouth, I felt his other hand getting closer to the hem of my pajamas.  “Poke him in the eyeballs so that you’ll have a chance to run. That way, he won’t know which way to shoot.” He reached his gloved fingers under the hem and made a tight grip. This is it. I had to retaliate. I lay under the covers with my face still under the pressure of his wide palms, waiting for the moment. “God, this can’t be happening to me. Please God,” I silently pleaded. I remember thinking God was probably sleeping at that time, so the battle was mine to fight. I had somehow gained all the energy I had ever had, every organ and blood cell in me was ready to fight.

The second I felt a light tug on my pajama bottoms, I jumped up and attacked like a vicious lion attacks the helpless zebra. I threw both fists in random order from under the covers, certain I had only hit his shoulder. Suddenly, he jumps upward and puts both of his hands around my neck and mouth. Like a thirsty vampire, I bit through the covers, hoping that my fangs would reach the other side and pierce his skin. From that moment, all the energy in my body transferred to my jaw, and I bit as hard as I could. After he removed his hand from the clench of, I screamed with all the strength I had left in me. Before I could escape from under the covers to see his face, he jumped out my window almost in a dash.

Too panicked to look out the window, I ran out my room and grabbed the phone because I knew I didn’t have time to notify my parents who were at work. I frantically attempted to dial 911, but seizures of terror charged through my fingers. “7, 9, 2, 3, No!” I took the deepest breath of my life and dialed the three life-saving numbers. My body smiled as I watched and listened to the awakening sirens and red and blue lights of several police cars. I was saved!

            The police arrived with 3 police cars, a fire truck, police dogs, and two helicopters. All for me! I felt so loved and secured. As soon the morning sunlight exploded through the window and the cracks of doors, I looked outside the window in which the trespasser escaped. Then I looked up at the sky and talked to God.

            I asked Him to forgive me for running away from Him, thinking I could do everything on my own. I asked for a wake up call, and I got one. He protected me through it all, and I know that it happened so that I would run back to Him. Although I thought He wouldn’t hear my cry for help, I was delivered out of the situation. I have seen many of these cases on the news, and the young victims barely survive. I was set apart from the rest, because I know He have great plans for me. Now I can use my story as a testimony and as encouragement for other Christians who are loosing faith in God. I will never forget the day he delivered me from the longest thirty seconds of my life.

1) The author said “The response was humorous, knowledgeable, a little angry, a little tongue-in-cheek, and sprinkled with expletives.” The baseball quote qualified because it had a lot of anger which was expressed in his long speech.

2) Ranting used to be an oral tradition perfected in street corners and smoke-filled comedy clubs.

3)This article exercises the many ways of presenting rants through definition, history, and examples.

4) “Seriously, when Derek Jeter retires, are you really going to write that, hey, Jetes was a pretty sweet shortstop, but he was no Joe Torre when it comes to winning baseball games? If you had a crazy combo draft of players and managers in 2001, are you really taking Torre over Derek F___ing Fitzgerald Jeter, God of Baseball and Winner of Life?” This is an example.

5) I have learned that rants are not bad. The article mentions “A good rant, like this one, expresses a real passion, and it is often a passion that has been enflamed by a feeling of powerlessness.” Rants give you a way to deal speak your mind. It can be a helpful way to get a point across to someone. But its not always best to rant because it is not very polite, and it depends on who you are speaking to. Some people will understand your case from ranting, and others may find you annoying.

To be happy is to show pleasure or contentment. Being happy is when you feel satisfied with yourself and your surroundings. When I am happy, i get a special joy. Many people say money will make them happy, but having a loving family, strong relationships, and self confidence in what you do will get you to a level of happiness. Doing what one loves to do.

In the beginning of the story, the reader gets an understanding that Grandmother Blanche tells 

many stories, but it did not act as a hook to me. I personally did not like the introduction because she was talking about the history of her grandmother before the reader can get to know her. So basically, she was talking about someone i didnt really care about, and from there, I lost interest in the story. 

I regained a bit of interest when she starts talking about how her grandmother had lost her house and money for her son’s college. I started developing sympathy for her. Discovering that her grandmother would rather talk about a silver dollar, made me curious. I wanted to find out the importance of this metal object. As my excitement was regenerated, i decided to read on in hopes of discovering learning more about the silver dollar. I like how she created a picture about the dinner table where she hears most of the stories, but i loose interest when she begins mentioning dates and naming different administrations. I couldn’t even finish the story because i nearly fell asleep. 

1) The hurricane was pretty cool

I watched with utter horror as the massive swirl of wind carelessly strolled up the my neighborhood street. I struggled to lift my flopping hood, which now felt like a block of cement on my back. The mighty dirty grey catastrophe violently scattered debre, which i saw piercing the wooden walls of my neighbor’s house. My house is next.

2) The whole class was bored

With the heavy weight of my head relaxed on my arms, I starred at the insides of my eyelids and envisioned myself at the beach. Unfortunately, my ears woke me up after sensing the monotone voice of the substitute teacher. The insides of my eyelids begin to fill with light, as i look at my blurry lab partner, who’s lips are pushing out a river of drool on his chemistry lab sheet.

3) She hated her big sister so much

Her bare feet pounded on the cold wooden floor of the steps, as she made her way upstairs, away from her sister. “It’s not my fault my ears are big! Stop crackin jokes!” She ran up the other half of the steps and slammed her yellow bedroom door. 

1) In the beginning of josh Rittenberg’s essay, he hooks the reader by starting with something that most teenagers can relate to. He was thinking about what to do over the weekend, and who to do it with. Other than that, he was also secretly listening to the negative preconceived notions of his father. 

2) To give an example of the types of horrible events that his grandparents experienced, he mention them witnessing two world wars, a killer flu, segregation, and a nuclear bomb.

3) To demonstrate his hopefulness, Rittenberg mentioned how his grandparents saw the end of two world wars, the polio vaccine, the passage of the civil rights laws, and the Red Sox winning the World Series twice. 

4) Rittenberg’s title is called “Tomorrow Will Be A Better Day,” because he has hope for the future just like his grandparents. Despite the negative events that they experienced, the people of their generation overcame their hardships. That is why Rittenberg so strongly agrees with the improvement of different situations.