Snowdays Seresnky Style

With each tick of the clock, the snow piles higher and higher. Great, typical Cleveland. I let out a heavy sigh and resume focus on my pre-writing practice after a scolding look from Ms. Serensky. I finish analyzing another poem (most likely incorrectly) and hear the sharp beep which preceeds an anouncement from Mr. Ast. Oh no, here it comes. He is definitely about to call the seniors down for a berating about the fire alarm. Instead, he actually delievers good news. "School will close early tody due to inclement weather," the room erupts and cheers, featuring a "skeerrrt" from Adam. However, one face does not mimmic our joy. Ms. Serensky's portrays a look of sheer rage as well as intense concentrtion. 'Alright, here's the plan: we will stay here until the weather clears. Please contact your parents and confirm that you may stay. I cannot risk not seeing you guys tomorrow this close to the AP test," she declares. No way. I haave to say something, "But the AP test is not for four months!" I recieve a look of scathing hostility, "Exactly." I cannot believe this.
After a few hours of the class rotating in front of the heater, that I still remain convined actually blows col air, and Osgood and Rachel conoodling for "warmth" in the corner, Ms. Sersnky's sister arrives with her daughter in order to deliver some supplies. I breifly wonder how they managed to drive in this terrible storm, but I then remmeber this is a fiction story so whatever. "This is my niece, Pammy Buchanan," our wonderful teacher proclaims. Wait, what?! I glance around at my classmates and none of them seem thown off. Huh, maybe I misheard. However, after a few minutes, the similarities prove far too close, and I have to say something. I approach the young girl and she explained in a hushed whisper that she had, in fact, time-traveled from Fitzgerald's Jazz Age. I could convy only pure shock and quickly inquire about the logistics of such an endeavor The small child appears reluctant to share but seems to lighten up when I ask if she would like to accompany us to the Gatsby movie later on. Just as she starts to tell me details, the familiar sound of the class bell fills my ears, and I regain conciousness. Whoops, guess I fell asleep. Sorry about that nonexistant pre-writing.

ANTMS

                So you think you have what it takes to become America’s Next Top Model Student? Well, to begin, you need to form a solid base of English skills and make sure your portfolio has stunning images of English perfection. You need to at least make it past the audition process. Next, prepare for a makeover. No matter how talented of a student you are, you need to be open to improvements and perhaps even a dramatic pixie cut. Study habits, work ethic etc. will all need to improve tenfold.  Now that you made it this far, make sure to pack for every environment. You could end up in sweltering Australia, but, more than likely, you will feel colder than you would doing as swimsuit photoshoot in Antarctica while sitting in the English room. Bring a Snuggie. As well, accept that you will lose friends along the way. After all, few can continue on each quarter in hopes of becoming America’s Next Top Model Student.  Do not, under any circumstances, give up. You do not want to have to immediately return to your locker, pack up your belongings and go home. Work hard, it is worth it. For every time you feel on the verge of stress-induced breakdown, know the good always outweighs the bad.  Finally, do not let yourself get too intimidated by Ms. Serensky’s prestigious reputation and focused attitude, because she proves one of the rare teachers that truly cares about you as a person and a student. Plus, Tyra is a lot worse: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6Shpn5WCFs

An Average Day in the Style of Hinman

           I roll out of bed at exactly 6:15 a.m. and head into my bathroom, ready to conquer one of my last few mornings as a CFHS senior. While performing my morning routine, I come up with a fantastic idea: teeth brushing Vine! After filming the sick video that is sure to get tons of likes, I throw on a crisp waffle tee and snag some breakfast from Lori. I head outside and step into my sleek Saab where I start blasting the ultimate classic: “Who Let the Dogs Out?” as I pull out of my driveway. I finally pull into the perfect spot in the Senior lot after yelling "WHO? WHO? WHO?" in synch with the Baha Men the entire ride. First period flies by, and I head to my absolute favorite class of the day: Newspaper. You know you're a tough guy when you refuse to do work 4/5 days a week. Then, I walk down to the calculus room with dread; Mr. Maas always has to dog me with these practice AP tests. Luckily, the problem involved only a few simple integrals, and I destroy it. 9/9, at least. I continue through the rest of the day with ease after another productive class period and even throw the girl a wink in the hallway. She’s lucky. I finally remember to save my water bottle after lunch (just so I can refill it, do not get any ideas) so today is going pretty great. As the final bell rings, I sprint out of my seat in order to make it out to the baseball field with a bag of sunflower seeds in hand. I have a great practice and knock it out of the park (literally and figuratively); plus, Sweeney and I confirm our bro status. Score. I drive home with a smile on my face and some classic rock blaring in the background, perfection. To polish off my perfect day, Paul cooks a nice batch of hamburgers and the family, including our Labrador, Maggie, sits down to cheer the Indians onto victory. God bless America.

College.

As more and more students make their college decision, the search for a quality roommate remains in full-swing. The idea that a future living mate will often judge you solely on your Facebook profile, including those awkward selfies from freshman year, proves terrifying. But, soon, we will not only have to decide how to portray our online profiles, but also how to portray ourselves. For many, college offers a chance to reinvent oneself; however, I only seek to improve upon my current self. For instance, though I can call many of my current classmates friends, when I move onto a much larger atmosphere, I hope this still reigns true. I want to become a comrade to my future college counterparts, and hope that I will never have a walk to class in which I do not stop and chat with friendly face. Furthermore, I want students to see me remain confident in my current interests as I used to often conceal my tastes. Hey, maybe I will even let it slip to a few people that I like One Direction despite the possible judgments. As well, I hope my fellow students view me as a hardworking and dedicated individual since, though I sometimes hate to remember it, the real reason for attending college remains to learn. With this at the forefront of my mind, I aspire to become someone my future friends will admire for my intellect and dedication. Finally, I want my classmates to see me as someone they can always have fun with, regardless of the situation. At anywhere from a party to a study session, I hope I can make my prospective friends laugh and that they always enjoy the time they spend with me. Whether I become one in 27, 500 at Michigan or one in 1 in 15, 700 at the University of Virginia, I hope I can stand out to my fellow classmates as an outgoing and devoted student.

Dump Him Like Last Week's In-Classes

Dear Jejune Juliet,
Well, I believe you knew I would say this, but, to humor you, I will state it: break-up with your boyfriend. I realize this remains much easier said than done and that you will surely miss him, however, you need to. It will hurt. You will feel lonely. You may despise me for encouraging unavoidable pain. But, I promise you, it will prove worth it. Separate yourself form the situation and ask if you would approve of one of your friends continuing a completely one-sided relationship. You, hopefully, answered yes and, if not, go back to the fictional Jazz Age and hang out with Gatsby's clan because you have some seriously skewed views about relationships. And you really do not want to end up like them. I mean, Jay himself died mid-swim. So, unless you want to end up floating face down in a crimson stained pool, stop forcing a relationship that should not exist. Although you will definitely experience some post-breakup sadness, you will heal and can fill the void with other forms of love. You may believe you need this guy in your life, but I can guarantee you that you will turn out fine and, most likely, a hell of a lot happier in the end. You really need to just Zumba or dirty dance your way out of this relationship ASAP. Good luck.
Sincerely,
Ms. Seresnky
Advice Columnist
DiCaprio's Devoted Chairman
The New York Times

Marry Me, Bridesmaids

Let me start by stating that I generally do not enjoy movies, and I have a tendency to try to compensate for this by constantly quoting things but, trade secret, they all come from three movies. Despite a broad cinematic range, I still struggled to choose my favorite film for today’s topic and think we should have had the ability to choose multiple, I mean it’s civil rights, this is the ‘90s. However, after much deliberation, I decided on the modern classic Bridesmaids. I know my young self just winced in pain when I did not remain loyal to the incredible Mean Girls, but how could I not pick Bridesmaids when the first time I watched the comedy it looked into my g****** soul? I will forever stand on the side of humor, though, as we always stay the same, but grow, I guess, a little bit. What originally drew me to the film proved my friends’ constant praise of it, one of them even felt it proved more beautiful than Cinderella, and, after watching it 15+ times, I definitely agree. The film’s brilliant humor and exceptional quote-ability increased my love for the tale, in addition to its uncommon inclusion of a depressing storyline. It's the first time I've ever seen a comedy seem ugly and that makes me kind of happy. After my first viewing, I knew I would always remain hooked, and my parents eventually gave into the constant remarks of “Help me, I’m poor!” and bought me a copy. That is when the addiction really kicked it. Why would I not watch it every weekend after that? I mean, it’s for free! I also used the film as a source of renewable entertainment because, I know you look at me now and think, boy she must have breezed through high school, but that is not the case. They threw fire crackers at my head. Fire crackers. I mean literally. I’m not saying that figuratively. I got fire crackers thrown at my head. Do you think I let that break me? No. You know what I did? I watched Bridesmaids as much as possible. Thus, my ironic nostalgia for the time of constant Bridesmaids marathons and the movie’s incredible comedic appeal allow it to overcome any possible cinematic opponent. I cannot resist a quality comedy with mostly intelligent punch lines and Bridesmaids provides this, plus a moving central plot. So, to my favorite movie, khob kun Ka (It means "You are a part of me, a part that I could never live without. And I hope and I pray that I never have to.")

Thanks again to Derek Stovenson for the topic! (What kind of a name is 'Stovenson” anyway? Are you an appliance?)

The Talk

 “So, yeah, they do not just fall from the sky.

It actually takes a lot of effort to make one.

Basically, you have to undress everything first

And then, when no barriers remain,

Put your bare lot into the blessed place

Where the magic happens.

From there, just kind of mix it up, all together,

And you’re done!”

Ms. Serensky talked to us about how to make a smoothie today.

We all felt weird about it.

            Starting at the title, the above poem evokes extreme discomfort from readers. The ominous allusion to “The Talk” brings feels of awkwardness and embarrassment for people of all ages, but particularly for teenagers who may have had the misfortune of hearing a certain talk from their parents in recent years (title). As well, the vague diction used throughout, such as “they” and “everything,” allows room for the reader’s imagination to take over (1, 3).Though the poem remains about the art of smoothie making, the title combined with its purposeful vagueness causes some readers to recall memories from health class and those awkward parent-teen conversations. Moreover, the allusion to a superior, “Ms. Serensky,” combined with the idea of a non-English related topic generates pathos, students of Ms. Serensky feel intense distress at the idea of their teacher having an off-topic lesson (9).  The poem evokes an overall sense of unease, though the majority of this discomfort forms out of the reader’s own imagination.

To My Pre-Pubescent Self

Dear 11-year-old me,

                I am going to have to be blunt with you in this because, despite what I know you think, you are not the coolest person on earth.  Let’s start with attire: sorry, but wearing two different colored Crocs in order to perfectly correlate with your double-layered polos will never be cute. Shocking, I know. Also, try to avoid the “rebel” stage you will soon enter, mostly due to the fact that your definition of rebel focuses on wearing a different DELiA*s graphic tee everyday with your lime green Nike dunks. I realize you adore those shoes, but I also know the main reason you like them remains the fact the Chandler Pisczak complimented you on them. Speaking of Chandler, just because he decided to dress as Mario character for Halloween the same year you did does not mean he is in love with you. I am just preventing your future heartbreak here. The truth hurts. Also, the fact that Rory Gilbert gave you grape flavored Bubble Tape for your birthday does not mean he is the perfect boy who knows your favorite gum flavor, it means he forgot your birthday. I know all this seems pretty crazy, but I promise these are the things you will look back on and regret.  Honestly, I could go on for hours criticizing your current lifestyle, but I will spare you and move onto advice time. First off, involve yourself in the world. Pay attention to the events and people surrounding you.  Not things like how Nick Jonas’ hair looked on a particular day, things that truly excite you and will one day benefit you. Also, try to start veering back to Katherine or some variation of it. Although Roo will make for a clever Twitter name, you will eventually find yourself in the middle of an existential crisis as you try to decide what your name will be when you go to college in five months. But mostly, keep reading. Even if you just have time for a few pages each day, read them. You will thank me and J.K. Rowling one day. Oh, by the way, I hate to say it but your Hogwarts letter will not come during your 12th year on this planet, but you never give up hope. The owl just went on a seven year detour, I am positive. And finally, good luck. You will turn out alright in the end.

                        Best Wishes,

                                    18-year-old you

P.S. Do not get a MySpace.

Tick Tock

                As the clock’s thin hand glides over the 12, I realize that is the last simple rotation I will ever experience. Such a modest thing, a clock, but when you only have 60 more ticks left in your life, everything becomes so much more important. I never thought I would find myself counting down the seconds of my last minute, yet here I am. With each tick of the second hand, the realization sinks deeper and deeper: I am earnestly about to die. Gone. Forever. Perhaps I deserve this, no, I do deserve this, but, at the same time, it all feels so terribly inhumane. I guess I never attempted to empathize with anyone who has stood in my current position because no one like me should ever stand here, no one who always demonstrated impeccable citizenship should ever receive a death sentence. But I slipped. The hand glosses over the three: forty-five more ticks. With only three-fourths of a minute remaining in your life, you may think one would begin to really consider what happens after death, but, for me, I chose to ponder my funeral. What colors everything would be, what pictures my family would use etc. Would anyone even come besides her? At least I can join the small club of individuals who knew the date of their own funeral weeks before death. 30 more movements. Now, I begin to search for some small joys, those little things you overlook daily but make your life worth living. The list proves short and, soon enough, only 15 more. Despite my efforts, the only thought in my mind proves the consideration of her last seconds. The ones I ended. I have the clock to remind me of the impending destruction, but she had nothing to forewarn her. So, as the second hand reaches nears the top, I think only of her. The hand strikes 12 and, for a short moment, the hand and I are one, both beginning our falls down to 6. But mine comes faster as the floor beneath me disappears, and I sink into my death.

Life's a Puzzle

*Ding* I glance down at the piece of high-tech machinery I had always used for trivial, childish things before. But now I have seen the light. Now I know the real reason I was blessed with an extravagant phone. I discovered the truth and have realized my destiny: I am a Ruzzle prodigy. With each swift move, I intricately form labyrinthine words that aid me in not only annihilating my opponent but also in continuing my quest for future fame. As each round passes, I search for the power-ups and complex words that will increase my score in the game and in life. My body enters a hyperactive state and every conveniently placed Double Word or Triple Letter causes my heart to instinctively skip a beat. When the countdown starts, I transform into a jaguar, expeditiously barreling around the board, earning numerous awards for my polysyllabic and rare words. The game loves me almost as much as I love the game. Although, I should not use "game" because it is not just a silly game, it is a lifestyle. My whole life rides on my every victory: my parents' happiness, my college education, my future. Everything. I need to be the next Ruzzle Champion. So I win. I practice hourly, contesting, and destroying, every comrade I possibly can. But champions have to work harder than that, so I do finger stretches, repeat extensive drills to increase thumb/eye coordination, memorize dictionary pages, anything that will help me become the best Ruzzle player this world has ever seen and ever will see. I already feel close and have received the title "The Michael Jordan of Ruzzle" more than once, but I reject comments such as this. Why? Because I never had a moment of weakness like many of the players whose stories America soaks up. I never got cut from my school's Ruzzle team, encouraging me to work even harder to become the best champion this world has ever seen. No. I did that from the start. I founded and am captain off the Ruzzle team. I am a new breed of athlete, ready to take on the world. But, since I know exerts from these blogs will one day appear as the feature story on multiple magazines, I will share my coveted, soon-to-be-reached goal: I want to achieve the perfect game. One day, soon, after finishing a round I will see a glorious statement along the lines of "You found 271 out of 271 possible words." Some say it is impossible, I say "impossible" is too long of a word to play on a Ruzzle board and is thus not in my vocabulary. I know this may come as a shock to many of you who have not had the privileges of attempting to dethrone me, but I promise you that I only tell the truth. Start to mentally prepare yourselves for the inevitable influx of reporters at our school doors and the strangers meandering around town, wanting a glimpse at sport’s next best thing. And, finally, to answer the question on all of your minds, yes, you can have my autograph.

Loggin' My Bloggin'

            Well, we made it halfway. As the first semester comes to a close, I would like to thank Ms. Serensky for providing me with my only slightly bearable homework, the weekly blogs. Each entry aides me in articulating my thoughts in a humorous way, and I always look forward to reading my classmate’s fantastic entries. I hope I provided them with some enjoyment as well and that my efforts to impress succeeded. I remain particularly proud of one of my entries, “Pondering Purposes,” and believe it stands as my most well-written post. My successful integration of a humorous anecdote and analysis of the importance of instilled meaning made the post both enjoyable and thoughtful. Moreover, I utilized relevant quotes from “The Balloon” and literary terminology without it sounding like term-dropping. I believe the entry flows well and holds interesting thoughts, and I hope it proves an entertaining read. Another entry I enjoyed writing and trust readers would appreciate, “Materialistic Monkeys,” contains a variety of tales form my work experiences. I find this blog post particularly interesting as it contains multiple humorous anecdotes. By emphasizing one story in particular, I illustrated the initial judgments of materialism we all often express. However, I also wanted to portray that we all contain this greediness and share it with many of the characters in The Great Gatsby. In addition to the entertaining tales, I hope my blunt assertions increase the appeal of this entry. Although I thoroughly enjoy composing blog posts, my favorite blog-related activity remains reading comments on my writings and remarking on others’ works. I received many amusing comments throughout this semester but my favorite came from Victoria Sevich. After a week of speculation regarding Gabe’s mysterious absence, I decided to blog about the relation between the rumors we started about his location and the fallacies about Gatsby.  Victoria commented on this post stating that she knew all along that Gabe just went to Florida, and only made a single, feeble attempt to clarify it. I found her statement extremely humorous and began to imagine her as the Nick to Gabe’s Gatsby, the only one who Gatsby trusts with the truths in his life. I look forward to reading more comments like this in the second semester! Furthermore, I cannot wait to attempt to entertain and be entertained as our classes’ blogging skills continually improve.