Below is my brother's poem entitled "A Night at the Theater." It was an assignment given to him by the same English teacher who I had and loved in high school.
"A Night at the Theater"
By My Brother
Walking into the theater,
a dark atmosphere hits me.
Uncertain of what to come,
a sense of wonder follows.
The theater is a haven,
from everyday life,
and all its worries and troubles.
As the lights darken,
the crowd grows silent.
Then the movie starts,
opening a portal to another world,
away from reality,
at least for a couple of hours.
The sound pervades
the whole theater.
At times so loud,
it pierces my ears.
The screen is
mesmerizing.
A film can be so touching,
so memorable,
so special,
you never forget it.
The movie ends,
but the memory lives on.
Years go by,
but that moment never dies,
and you never forget
that night at the theater.
Below is my interpretation of my brother's poem. He was angry at me after I wrote this, because it only took me seven minutes.
"My Brother's Poem Revisited"
By Jenn
I’ve been thinking all day,
about the images that will play.
I’ve been dreaming all the while,
driving every single mile.
When I get there I will see,
The world the way it ought to be.
Colors, flashes and some sound,
Are where my fantasies are found.
I cannot wait til the time comes,
for the music and the drums.
Buy me popcorn and some Coke,
And wait until the first word’s spoke.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
My New Shoes
I have nothing left to write about. I have written an array of papers within the past two weeks which have, for all intents and purposes, fried my mind. I am out of ideas for blogs. I must forewarn that my creativity is strained and weakened. Therefore, I will be describing and discussing my new pair of shoes. How exciting for you.
My new shoes are boots. They are similar to the usual Ugg boots, except that they are not Uggs brand boots nor do they share the same kind of soles that Uggs have. The soles of these shoes are a bit firmer and less padded.
My boots are a dark brown chocolate color. They have a cushioned interior and exterior around the foot and leg. They reach up to my shins, but are folded down to prevent a ruffle in my jeans. They are warm and remind me of slippers.
Generally, I can wear any kind of socks that I want with them. Thin socks, thick socks, wool socks, cotton socks, synthetically blended socks, white socks, socks with colors, socks with designs and little red socks with snowmen on them have fared quite well with my boots thus far.
These boots are size seven and a half. Generally, I wear a size seven, but my feet are narrow and tend to vary in size. It really depends on the maker of the shoes.
I am glad that I bought these boots. They are a pre-Hanukkah gift from my mother that I purchased on Black Friday. Originally, I was not going to purchase my boots, because I was looking for black ones instead of brown. However, I made the right choice and will continue to enjoy my boots for the rest of the winter.
This is the first homage that I have written to my shoes. I am not sure if I have reached a new low.
My new shoes are boots. They are similar to the usual Ugg boots, except that they are not Uggs brand boots nor do they share the same kind of soles that Uggs have. The soles of these shoes are a bit firmer and less padded.
My boots are a dark brown chocolate color. They have a cushioned interior and exterior around the foot and leg. They reach up to my shins, but are folded down to prevent a ruffle in my jeans. They are warm and remind me of slippers.
Generally, I can wear any kind of socks that I want with them. Thin socks, thick socks, wool socks, cotton socks, synthetically blended socks, white socks, socks with colors, socks with designs and little red socks with snowmen on them have fared quite well with my boots thus far.
These boots are size seven and a half. Generally, I wear a size seven, but my feet are narrow and tend to vary in size. It really depends on the maker of the shoes.
I am glad that I bought these boots. They are a pre-Hanukkah gift from my mother that I purchased on Black Friday. Originally, I was not going to purchase my boots, because I was looking for black ones instead of brown. However, I made the right choice and will continue to enjoy my boots for the rest of the winter.
This is the first homage that I have written to my shoes. I am not sure if I have reached a new low.
Note: The picture for this blog is a pair of Ugg boots that look like my boots , even though my boots are not Ugg boots. For some reason, I could not find my boots' model online.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Black Friday 2007
Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving when people become frenzied due to media manipulation and feel as though they must get all of their holiday shopping done that day in order to save gargantuan amounts of money. Specifically, stores lure people into their doors as early as possible. My friends and I were no exceptions and woke up at 7 a.m. to start spending our money and satisfy our materialistic needs.
My best friend in the entire world since I was three years old, Daniela, drove up in front of my house at 7 a.m. This was not a far drive, since she is my next door neighbor. We left for Kohl's which is a department store that opened at 4 a.m. We ran into Kellie, who, like Daniela, is one of those people I simply can not live without.
Daniela, Kellie and I shopped from approximately 7:30 a.m. until 8:30 a.m. at Kohl's. Then we got on the check out line. It was one of those lines that would make an airport proud, since it managed to veer halfway around the store.
However, being the crafty sorts that we are, my friends and I naturally devised a plan to use the situation to our advantage. One person held our space on the line, while the other two ran frantically around the store as if everything was free. We stood on that line until 9:15 a.m.
After Kohl's, Daniela had to run to work, because the line managed to make her at least half an hour late. Kellie and I decided to buy new shoes. Unfortunately, the latter part of our Black Friday morning was ruined by a scrooge of a police officer who decided to give Kellie a ticket. It was this gentleman's job to stand in a mall parking lot and look into people's cars. If those people did not have a seat belt strapped on, they promptly received a ticket.
After Kellie received her ticket, we decided to still buy shoes and then left. It was 10 a.m., and we were exhausted. We both went home to take naps and save up our energy for that night when we spent more money that we did not really have.
Everything considered, it was a memorable first Black Friday shopping experience.
My best friend in the entire world since I was three years old, Daniela, drove up in front of my house at 7 a.m. This was not a far drive, since she is my next door neighbor. We left for Kohl's which is a department store that opened at 4 a.m. We ran into Kellie, who, like Daniela, is one of those people I simply can not live without.
Daniela, Kellie and I shopped from approximately 7:30 a.m. until 8:30 a.m. at Kohl's. Then we got on the check out line. It was one of those lines that would make an airport proud, since it managed to veer halfway around the store.
However, being the crafty sorts that we are, my friends and I naturally devised a plan to use the situation to our advantage. One person held our space on the line, while the other two ran frantically around the store as if everything was free. We stood on that line until 9:15 a.m.
After Kohl's, Daniela had to run to work, because the line managed to make her at least half an hour late. Kellie and I decided to buy new shoes. Unfortunately, the latter part of our Black Friday morning was ruined by a scrooge of a police officer who decided to give Kellie a ticket. It was this gentleman's job to stand in a mall parking lot and look into people's cars. If those people did not have a seat belt strapped on, they promptly received a ticket.
After Kellie received her ticket, we decided to still buy shoes and then left. It was 10 a.m., and we were exhausted. We both went home to take naps and save up our energy for that night when we spent more money that we did not really have.
Everything considered, it was a memorable first Black Friday shopping experience.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
The Lake
The lake that I frequented throughout my childhood is called Sylvan Lake. It is about an hour's drive away from my house. It is where I have felt most at peace with myself.
The lake itself is no different than any other. It is a natural, fresh water lake that hosts a summer camp along with public and private beaches. My family had a bungalow in a community on one of the private beaches.
Artificial, white sand was put down every year at the shore in order to give the lake a more "beachy" atmosphere. Lots of young children including myself and my brother built sand castles and dug holes in that soft, smooth sand. The adults would sit under huge weeping willows trees that grew beautifully by the water.
The swimming area was divided into two sections. There was a deep section and a shallow section separated by a steel dock with green, felt padding covering it. As I grew older, the deep side became my favorite section because of its floating dock.
The floating dock was about a lap away from the steel dock that separated the two swimming sections, allowing it to float in deep water. I loved swimming out to the wooden, floating dock to sunbathe. It was a private place that I could get to by myself, which became more and more important as I grew older.
Sometimes I think about the floating dock and the lake and wonder if they look the same as they do in my memories. I've considered driving up to my lake many times to look but have never done it. I am afraid it might be too much of a blow to my happy memories.
The lake itself is no different than any other. It is a natural, fresh water lake that hosts a summer camp along with public and private beaches. My family had a bungalow in a community on one of the private beaches.
Artificial, white sand was put down every year at the shore in order to give the lake a more "beachy" atmosphere. Lots of young children including myself and my brother built sand castles and dug holes in that soft, smooth sand. The adults would sit under huge weeping willows trees that grew beautifully by the water.
The swimming area was divided into two sections. There was a deep section and a shallow section separated by a steel dock with green, felt padding covering it. As I grew older, the deep side became my favorite section because of its floating dock.
The floating dock was about a lap away from the steel dock that separated the two swimming sections, allowing it to float in deep water. I loved swimming out to the wooden, floating dock to sunbathe. It was a private place that I could get to by myself, which became more and more important as I grew older.
Sometimes I think about the floating dock and the lake and wonder if they look the same as they do in my memories. I've considered driving up to my lake many times to look but have never done it. I am afraid it might be too much of a blow to my happy memories.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
The Bungalow
I am happiest and most content in life when I am in a lake. Throughout out my childhood, my maternal grandparents owned a bungalow in Dutchess County in a gated community centered around Sylvan Lake. The bungalow was sold and my grandparents have long passed, but my memories have remained vivid.
The bungalow was approximately the size of a standard one bedroom apartment. Its structure was connected with another bungalow next to it. To enter, one had to drive up the rocky road (it was only paved for a quarter of a mile before the hill escalated) and park in front of the white bungalow with number 44 painted in gold on the far side.
There were red wooden steps located on the side of the bungalow that led to a screened porch. Four screen windows that were half the length of the entire wall looked out onto a grassy hill that I always ran down to the lake. The porch had old wooden chests full of towels that smelled liked dried seaweed. In fact, the entire bungalow smelled like the lake all of the time, and it was wonderful.
The porch also held a wooden table that hosted many exhilarating Scrabble games. There was also a brown couch and a wooden rocking chair that had green cushions with little, colonial, English soldiers on them. My maternal grandfather was English and carved the wood for that chair himself.
All of the rooms in the bungalow followed a straight line design.
The porch led to the narrow kitchen. The kitchen was nothing more than a hallway with a heating plate, a sink and small refrigerator nestled in the corner. Adjoining to the kitchen was a single bathroom that held a standing shower and stain glass windows facing the porch. (They were not transparent.)
The kitchen led to the living room. The living room consisted of two beds placed in both corners of the room. They were green leopard print and matched the green carpet. However, somehow the room was impressive looking.
Finally, the bedroom was at the farthest end of the bungalow. It was orange. However, my grandmother made that room look good too. The beds had red and orange comforters with leaf prints on them. The closet consisted of a bar with six hangers and an orange curtain over it.
When I visited, no less than five people stayed at this bungalow at any given time. We always made my father sleep on the porch, while the rest of us took the beds in the latter rooms.
There were many wonderful memories that took place in that bungalow. This is probably one of the reasons why I associate lakes with such positive, happy feelings. I have never been happier than when I was in that bungalow. I’d give almost anything to experience those feelings and feel that alive again.
The bungalow was approximately the size of a standard one bedroom apartment. Its structure was connected with another bungalow next to it. To enter, one had to drive up the rocky road (it was only paved for a quarter of a mile before the hill escalated) and park in front of the white bungalow with number 44 painted in gold on the far side.
There were red wooden steps located on the side of the bungalow that led to a screened porch. Four screen windows that were half the length of the entire wall looked out onto a grassy hill that I always ran down to the lake. The porch had old wooden chests full of towels that smelled liked dried seaweed. In fact, the entire bungalow smelled like the lake all of the time, and it was wonderful.
The porch also held a wooden table that hosted many exhilarating Scrabble games. There was also a brown couch and a wooden rocking chair that had green cushions with little, colonial, English soldiers on them. My maternal grandfather was English and carved the wood for that chair himself.
All of the rooms in the bungalow followed a straight line design.
The porch led to the narrow kitchen. The kitchen was nothing more than a hallway with a heating plate, a sink and small refrigerator nestled in the corner. Adjoining to the kitchen was a single bathroom that held a standing shower and stain glass windows facing the porch. (They were not transparent.)
The kitchen led to the living room. The living room consisted of two beds placed in both corners of the room. They were green leopard print and matched the green carpet. However, somehow the room was impressive looking.
Finally, the bedroom was at the farthest end of the bungalow. It was orange. However, my grandmother made that room look good too. The beds had red and orange comforters with leaf prints on them. The closet consisted of a bar with six hangers and an orange curtain over it.
When I visited, no less than five people stayed at this bungalow at any given time. We always made my father sleep on the porch, while the rest of us took the beds in the latter rooms.
There were many wonderful memories that took place in that bungalow. This is probably one of the reasons why I associate lakes with such positive, happy feelings. I have never been happier than when I was in that bungalow. I’d give almost anything to experience those feelings and feel that alive again.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
My Biggest Regret
The idea of regret is bound to come up in one’s life at some point. It may pop up as we age, when one is faced with a medical condition or at a girl’s slumber party. I gave the notion some thought and have identified what I believe my biggest regret is. Like me, it’s complicated.
When in high school, there was a girl who sat by herself everyday at lunch. However, you shouldn’t think that I am that shallow. I recognize that this observation is not enough to lead me to any conclusions. I eat lunch by myself all of the time, either because all of my friends are in class or because I would just prefer to be alone that day.
What brings me to the conclusion that this girl did not have any friends was the fact that I had seen her several times around my high school’s neighborhood alone on Friday nights. No one was in class. It’s possible that her friends were at work. Yet whenever I saw her outside of school, she was inevitably alone.
I did not know this person at all. Physically, she was not the epitome of what a Westernized female should look like. She did not have nice clothes. In fact, her dress seemed to be modeled after an older female relative such as a mother or even a grandmother.
Thus far, my biggest regret is that whenever I saw this girl alone on a Friday or whenever else, I never sat with her. I always thought about it. Sometimes I concluded that she may appreciate anyone to talk to. She always looked lonely.
Furthermore, I began to ask myself why I never sat with her. Maybe I am more molded and effected by the media’s, society’s or the television’s ideas than I’d like to believe. I would like to say that her appearance meant nothing, that the fact that she had no other visible friends didn’t bother me, and that her loneliness would have been enough for me to go over there and try to find a good person. However, it seems that I can’t.
I never did anything about it. I never sat with her nor did I ever introduce myself. My actions did not correlate with what I thought was the right thing to do. It seems to be easier to think something than to actually do it.
When in high school, there was a girl who sat by herself everyday at lunch. However, you shouldn’t think that I am that shallow. I recognize that this observation is not enough to lead me to any conclusions. I eat lunch by myself all of the time, either because all of my friends are in class or because I would just prefer to be alone that day.
What brings me to the conclusion that this girl did not have any friends was the fact that I had seen her several times around my high school’s neighborhood alone on Friday nights. No one was in class. It’s possible that her friends were at work. Yet whenever I saw her outside of school, she was inevitably alone.
I did not know this person at all. Physically, she was not the epitome of what a Westernized female should look like. She did not have nice clothes. In fact, her dress seemed to be modeled after an older female relative such as a mother or even a grandmother.
Thus far, my biggest regret is that whenever I saw this girl alone on a Friday or whenever else, I never sat with her. I always thought about it. Sometimes I concluded that she may appreciate anyone to talk to. She always looked lonely.
Furthermore, I began to ask myself why I never sat with her. Maybe I am more molded and effected by the media’s, society’s or the television’s ideas than I’d like to believe. I would like to say that her appearance meant nothing, that the fact that she had no other visible friends didn’t bother me, and that her loneliness would have been enough for me to go over there and try to find a good person. However, it seems that I can’t.
I never did anything about it. I never sat with her nor did I ever introduce myself. My actions did not correlate with what I thought was the right thing to do. It seems to be easier to think something than to actually do it.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
What's Under My Bed?
When I was in elementary school, I was given an assignment to describe what was under my bed. Genius struck when I decided to plant plastic, rainbow colored bugs under my bed and write about them. However, I think I am finally ready to complete this assignment honestly and describe what is currently under my bed.
There are two water bottles in the upper right corner under my bed. They are used to water my plant, because it does not drink tap water. The plant is the only living thing that inhabits my bedroom beside myself and provides good company.
There are also tissues, quarters, socks, old fabric and wrapping paper under my bed. The box of tissues traveled to my room when I had the flu, while the quarters most likely fell out of my pockets and/or purse at some point in time. My socks have lived under my bed since I was two years old. I have no idea how the paper or the fabric found its way under my mattress.
Finally, there is a wooden plank under my bed. At seven I decided that if a fire or a burglar decided to terrorize my home, I would be ready with this piece of wood. In case of a fire, I would break the glass of my window and climb to the roof. If a burglar came in, I would knock him out.
After being honest, I can see why I decided to cheat on this assignment in second grade. For the most part, it is boring to write about the mundane, cliché items under one’s bed. It seems that I was a better writer in the second grade which does not surprise me.
There are two water bottles in the upper right corner under my bed. They are used to water my plant, because it does not drink tap water. The plant is the only living thing that inhabits my bedroom beside myself and provides good company.
There are also tissues, quarters, socks, old fabric and wrapping paper under my bed. The box of tissues traveled to my room when I had the flu, while the quarters most likely fell out of my pockets and/or purse at some point in time. My socks have lived under my bed since I was two years old. I have no idea how the paper or the fabric found its way under my mattress.
Finally, there is a wooden plank under my bed. At seven I decided that if a fire or a burglar decided to terrorize my home, I would be ready with this piece of wood. In case of a fire, I would break the glass of my window and climb to the roof. If a burglar came in, I would knock him out.
After being honest, I can see why I decided to cheat on this assignment in second grade. For the most part, it is boring to write about the mundane, cliché items under one’s bed. It seems that I was a better writer in the second grade which does not surprise me.
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