My transformation as a writer

This is two days late; I didn't know we had a blog due.  I don't expect to get credit, but I felt like I should finish it anyway.
I had the same English teacher for two straight years in high school.  He completely redefined writing for me, from something that I dreaded to something that I didn't quite hate, but I understood.  He helped me understand that each word of a sentence, its definition, connotation, and placement has an effect that can totally alter how an audience reacts to a work as a whole.  I gained a great respect for writers and writing, but I couldn't manage to comfortably use the techniques and style that I saw in other people's work.
I came to the University, managing to get by on the knowledge I had and an occasional use of an allusion here and a metaphor there.  Cue sophomore year.  I, deciding to transfer into the Business school, had to take this class.  What could I possibly learn?  The good grades I got in my English classes Freshman year were proof that my skills were adequate.  I didn't need another review of techniques that I knew already.  My first paper and blog came and went, and I wasn't doing as well in the class as I had assumed that I would.  Criticism on my papers was on things that I hadn't thought about in huge detail.  I realized something: It's always possible to get better at writing, and the only real way to do that is through experience and experimentation.  The only way to become comfortable with using certain styles, structures, and rhetorical  strategies is by using them.  This class probably has done the most for me in my writing skills by forcing me to do things that I didn't want or feel comfortable doing with my writing. More than just improving my writing skills, the class gave me the courage try new things.  Without taking this class, in ten years, my writing might have been the exact same caliber as it was last year, but with what I learned this year, I'll be able to adopt so many new things into my writing and become comfortable using them.
My first blog described how it was difficult for me to actually sit down and write.  It is normally a chore for me to start a paper; once the words were down on the page, I had much less trouble editing and making changes.  I still believe I have that problem - it took me about two hours to write the first half-page of my last paper - but I think that I am much more comfortable in my writing now.  My eraser would be worn down after the first page of an essay.  Every sentence would be rewritten until I understood my own tone and direction with a topic.  Now, however, ideas come easier after looking at techniques in detail and discussing their use in readings.  I have been much happier with my rough drafts this year than in the past.
This class has taught me to continue writing and to test my boundaries.  There is no way that I can get better without experimentation.

My rewrite - Ed and I

As of now, I feel like I want to rewrite my first essay, "Ed and I".  This topic probably was the one that I was most excited to write about at the start, but it did not come out at all like I had hoped.  I had so many things bouncing around my head, so many great ideas and examples to use, that the entire paper ended up like a mesh of memories with no overall purpose.  I am not satisfied with my work on this paper.
Ed changed me in a few ways.  First, he opened me up to the idea that there are people that I can have a healthy, beneficial friendship with from all different walks of life.  Living so close to potentially dangerous parts of Detroit for all my life, I originally thought that it would be hard to find commonalities between people who lived there and people who lived in Grosse Pointe, which was a completely kind of place.  Even though we tended to discuss things that I would never bring up in conversation with a coworker - gun ranges, drugs, crime, sex - I eventually found myself really enjoying his presence and learning from him in a positive way.  Learning from him was never something that I would have expected to do at the beginning of the summer.  Another way he changed me was by showing me that even people who look like the worst role models can have something to teach.  Meeting Ed and spending a majority of my time with him at work actually gave the "don't judge a book by its cover" cliche a real world example.  This is the influence on me that I wanted to get across in my paper, but it didn't show through clearly enough.
The piece by David Sedaris that we read in class before the paper was due really inspired me to focus on exmamples and show rather than tell the readers about the influence a character has.  I think I might have overdone my attempts at "showing", however, and included far to little to help my audience understand.  In my attempts to write a paper about Ed, I ended up just giving example after example, expecting the readers to understand my thought process.  In this revision, I really hope to make it clear how meeting Ed changed me, not just through examples of his surprising behavior, but through how it made me feel.

Thanksgiving in the Menchl House

I wake up groggy; I shouldn't have stayed up so late the night before, but college has destroyed my sleep schedule.  I trudge downstairs, trying to avoid my heavily caffeinated parents for as long as possible, but as soon as my feet hit the kitchen floor I'm slapped with sarcastic comments about "college kids these days" and my terrible sleep habits.  They have a point, I didn't emerge from my hibernation until one.  PM.  I reach the coffee and the day begins.

We spend the hours before our relatives arrive making the house look as presentable as possible.  My mom gets this wonderful idea to make place cards for the table out of actual dead leaves, so my sister and I spend a good amount of time picking out 16 leaves that fit her rigid standards.  We're midway through the drawing and taping process when I hear the door slam and confused voices ring out.  I go downstairs and all of our relatives are wandering around the house calling out to see if anyone is actually home.  As my parents are both getting ready for dinner, I have to entertain all of our guests.  "Brad?  Could you make me some coffee?"  "Where do I put this casserole?"  My parents appear to save me from host responsibilities and I escape to the basement where all of my cousins have already made themselves at home.  I spend the rest of the time before dinner playing with the little ones, cooking, and making boring conversation with my aunts and uncles.

The food is ready.  We sit down and take turns saying what each of is thankful for.  My grandma, who had a stroke a few years ago, goes first and gives thanks for her good mind.  We do too.  After thanks giving, we set in and a happy silence fills the room.

It's late at night and I'm playing piano music with the little ones crawling over my body like little monkeys.  Their dad comes in to warn that they have to leave, and everyone, me include starts to whine. "Aw no!  You can't leave yet!  We rarely get to see all of you" I complain.  Nevertheless, it's time to go and slowly the house empties.  Another Thanksgiving is over, but the love that I got from my family, like the leftovers, will last forever.

Plans for my arguments on racial inequality in the movies

America has made great strides in racial equality in the past decades.  The gap between races socially and economically has quickly shrunk and essentially all opportunities are available to members of all races.  However, there are some areas of American society that have not improve as much as the others, namely the film market.Theatre itself has come under fire for being one of the only businesses that openly chooses employees based on what they look like and what race they are.  Actors are chosen based on what directors and producers believe will best match a character and bring in audiences.  Opportunities for black actors have grown over the years, but after examining the white audience reaction to black characters and the lack of successful black lead actors, it's obvious that the film world still holds some racial prejudice.

I'll be using several different kinds of evidence to support my argument:
IMDB might be my main source.  Although it is an open-edited source, it has accurate facts on big-name actors and the movies they were in.  I'll use the data from this to examine success of certain actors.
A study, "The Role of Actors' Race in White Audiences' Selective Exposure to Movies" is in the Journal of Communication, associated with the International Communication Association.  It describes black characters in movies and the way that white audiences react to them.  I will use results from the study to support my claim and provide potential reasoning behind why certain races don't have as much success in movies due to audience opinions.
My third source will be a newspaper article discussing the growth of the "urban" film market.  This article discusses the growing black family movie genre.  This might seem like an opposing view to my argument, as it shows that there are more opportunities for black actors, but it does support my claim.  While the "urban" film market - films catering to black audiences - is growing rapidly with stars such as Ice Cube, Chris Rock, and Tyler Perry, this separate genre is still segregated, with small percentages of white viewers.  Because of this, racial inequality is still present.

People like to think that the world is mostly good.  The virtues of mankind outweigh any problems.  However, the concept of altruism - doing good for no personal benefit - becomes unachievable due to ulterior motives that most would not consider.
Bill Gates has been lauded over his philanthropy and altruism.  After starting the multinational corporation Microsoft, Gates stepped down from his position of CEO in 2000 and devoted his life to philanthropic endeavors.  His Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation donates large sums of money every year to charities and scientific research programs.  Although his actions seem almost entirely based on the benefit of others, is Bill Gates really an altruist?  When Gates does good for others, he could have several motives.  If the situation arose that he could help someone else, he could be persuaded to act based on the good feelings that gets from helping others.  The pride that comes from this could be reason enough to continue helping people.  In this case, Gates would be, for the most part, acting purely for his own self-interest.  Also, in the case that he decided not to help, he could be haunted with regret for not acting.  The fear of guilt is also reason enough to continue helping others.  Bill Gate's philanthropy, therefore, cannot be described as altruistic, because it benefits him, helping him avoid guilt, and rewarding him with pride.
Another reason for seemingly altruistic behavior comes from an evolutionary standpoint.  If someone saves a child from an oncoming car, they could be acting altruistically, but evolutionarily, they are acting to preserve their species.  Saving a child will keep their genes in the gene pool.  In order for a species to be successful, every member should be protected.  In this case, saving the child would not be just a good deed, it would be done to better humankind.
Overall, in situations where one's actions could be described as "altruistic", there is always another beneficial product that comes with the act.  Because of this, no act can truly altruistic, because the word implies that no personal benefit comes to the individual.

A post based on a quote...

Hats, socks, shirts, pants, shoes, and coats.  What do all these items have in common?  They are all forms of clothing, which can turn a crazy nudist into a fully functioning member of society.  Nowadays, a strict unspoken dress code has been thrust upon the American public.  After outgrowing diapers, the only way anyone can have their ideas heard is by donning at least two articles of clothing.  However, throwing more complexity into the situation, certain staples must be worn.  Without the standard combo of shirts and pants - which absolutely must be on the bottom and shirts on top - or a dress, the individual in question might as well be wearing their birthday suit.  A vast majority of the notable figures in history wore clothes.  Even those who might have scorned the constraints that clothes place upon the body were forced to put on their cloth prisons daily.  Who knows if giants like Lyndon Johnson, John Quincy Adams, Theodore Roosevelt, Henry David Thoreau, and Alexander Graham Bell - all frequent skinny-dippers - would have chosen nudity if it was allowed of them?  Mark Twain once said, "Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society." This is a hard truth to handle.  A similar argument could be made in a land where beards designated one's social standing.  In such a world, bare-faced inhabitants would be excluded in any decision making processes.  How can something as frivolous as the hair on one's face change how society views them?   Someone who is destined for greatness may never get their chance due to their insufficient scruff.  Similarly, how can something as insignificant as the shirt on one's back determine whether they get a job, become famous, or can run for office?  For now, these clothing rules must be accepted, and a world where all states of undress are allowed is only a dream.

Risky Business

A car pulls up to the door of an abandoned warehouse and screeches to a stop.  The windshield is shattered, the engine smoking.  One man bursts from the car and limps up to the front door.  His chest is heaving and his clothes - a new black suit, tags intact - are soiled.  He pushes through into the massive whitewashed room, probably once a pristine factory, but now filled with nothing more than spiderwebs and dust.
-Hello?  Anyone?  It's Gunnar!  God dammit!
He sits down against a wall a tries to catch his breath.  He's the first one here.

Gunnar can't figure out how everything went wrong even after running it over and over in his head.  Sure he had failed before, but it shouldn't have turned out like this.  Finally the drumbeat of his heart began to slow down and he made a mental note to start working out again.  He hadn't stopped moving since earlier that day, when everything went to hell.  Maybe it was the adrenaline that kept him sprinting down the street, never pausing to catch his breath.  He had fired like a madman into the sky, a tactic that worked surprisingly well, and the crowds parted before him, this disheveled besuited man.  The case - the case!  He realizes that he should bring it inside, just to be safe - swung back and forth as he dashed over the sidewalk, threatening to throw off his balance.  He bolted across the street and directly into the hood of a car.  Getting back on his feet unfazed, Gunnar brandished his pistol, now probably out of bullets, and ran to the driver's side to pull the lady out of her seat.  Having secured a form of transportation, he could finally get to safety and meet up with the guys.
This was supposed to be a clean job: no one hurt, no police, just in and out.  Unfortunately, some punk decided to be Charles Bronson and set off the alarms.  Generally, once the alarm has been tripped, there's three minutes before the feds show.  Three minutes is a long time.  But that's why something else must have happened because not a minute and a half went by and suddenly the street outside the front door was lit up like the fourth of July.  The new guy - Eddie was his name? - just went nuts and started shooting at everything that moved, and Gunnar barely got out alive through the back door with the case. They were surrounded; the only thing left to do was run.

This post has been exaggerated a bit, but just a little bit

In my house, the TV goes relatively unused.  Other than showing the occasional family film, it's more decorative than functional.  However, in the past year and a half, I've taken on a new hobby.  Ever since my family bought Netflix, I've been absorbing TV shows like a sponge.  Fringe, Lost, White Collar, Arrested Development, Torchwood, V; if I enjoy the first episode, I'm hooked.

This brings about obvious problem.  Some days I spend hours watching episodes when I could be out frolicking in the sunlight.  I've missed outings with my friends, inside jokes, and sleep.  I've become a pale zombie.  This recession from active life isn't a complete waste, however.  My passion in life is acting; that is what I want to do for the rest of my days.  Not only do I watch these episodes, I study each character and the actor playing them.  You could say that I watch TV purely for educational benefit, but you would be lying.   I learn from the emotional scenes that I watch, but the real reason that I watch episode after episode is because of the creativity they show.  I compare watching my series with reading a bunch of books at the same time.  I can watch an episode and be completely engrossed, transported to this other world filled with intrigue and mystery, and then switch shows and look in on the crazy daily lives of the most dysfunctional family ever. 

TV provides a quick and easy escape from the real world, though it has its downsides.  The more you detach from life through TV...the more you detach from life - that should be implied.  Eventually, every new excursion into the real world becomes less and less comfortable and natural.  You find the darkness of your room, glowing with the light of the screen, more comforting than the warmth of the sun.

I should really cut down on my TV use, this is depressing.

Lost: Episode 1

The show starts with an eye.  It opens and the pupil dilates.  A man wakes up in the middle of a jungle, disoriented.  He examines his wound- a massive gash crossing his stomach like a crack in the earth- and begins to run, searching for a way out of the dense brush.  He bursts out onto a beach and into chaos.  Screams, shouts, and the sounds of machinery get louder as he stumbles forward.  The source of this noise comes into view.  People are scrambling around the beach, injured, crying.  Wreckage of a passenger plane is strewn everywhere, and the hulking mid-section of the craft is sitting at the center, one wing pointed to the sky.  The man immediately goes to work, enlisting other survivors to help him pull people from under debris.  He finds a young woman, 8 months pregnant, having contractions on the beach.  After finding someone to take her to a safe area, he moves on to a woman who is being resuscitated by a young man.  He takes over and manages to revive the woman, but immediately is interrupted by the sound of snapping cables.  Looking up, he sees that the plane's wing is poised to fall directly on the pregnant girl.  He sprints, screaming as he does, and pushes them out of the way before the wing crashes to the ground, exploding.  Finally, as everything calms down, his name is revealed to be Jack, and he is a neurosurgeon.  It seems that Jack has assumed the leader role without formal election.  The survivors are preparing shelters and settling down, when a terrible noise rips through the silence.  All look toward the jungle, where clumps of trees are falling like dominoes.  The sound is very mechanical, but impossible to define.  As the survivors gather on a hilltop overlooking the jungle, the screen goes black.  The answers to the island's mysteries will have to be left for another episode.

Sitting in the Library

Everything is so still that any noise, even one as quiet as a pencil scribbling on paper, seems to be amplified a hundred times.  Something about this reminds me a winter's day, with books rather than the snow sapping the sound from the air.  In such silent, still surroundings there is almost a comfy feeling, as if the air is a giant blanket.  The smell is subtle, but always present.  The scent of old, crackling paper emanates from the countless bookshelves.  Thumbing through my book, I feel the rough texture of the page, worn out by hundreds of hands.  There are dozens of others sprinkled throughout the library's massive space, but I feel completely alone.  I look at my book. The spine is brittle, barely holding its aged contents together.  The embossed title is juxtaposed against the white sticker below it, denoting the call number.  Inside the book's cover is a small pocket holding dozens of cards, recording the hundreds of past renters over the tome's life. Each signature is fainter than the one before it, as I scan the cards, like memories that fade over time.  I wonder if the previous owners were feeling what I feel.  I picture them alone in the library, searching for any information that will prove useful in the essay to come.  I leave the library and am struck with the contrast in environment.  The sun warms my face, and the absolutely stillness is broken by a slight breeze.  I hear people talking in the distance; it confuses me to suddenly hear so much.  Although I was perfectly at peace in my silent home, I realize how I can take for granted the pleasant breeze, the warm air, the bright colors, and the smell of growing grass outside the confines of the library.

How I write

Writing and I have a complicated relationship.  In high school, I dreaded each and every assignment, and I was constantly disappointed with my inability to get my thoughts down on the page as well as I hoped.  However, I found myself stuck with writing-centered classes my first year of college, most of which were populated primarily by upperclassmen.  Suddenly forced to produce a greater number of higher quality work, I knew I probably would have to change the way that I approached writing.  The fear of utter failure boosted my focus and I performed surprisingly well on my papers.  The method I found was to get my least favorite part of writing, starting out, out of the way.  I would hole up in a secluded corner of the library and work for hours on end, finishing a very rough draft of my paper a few days before the draft or final due date.  After this, I would feel completely confident in editing any part of the paper.  I would go into the library with a strict mindset to get work done, and I was successful at resisting any outside distractions.  I know my writing habits are not perfect yet, and hopefully I'll adapt and learn new ways to efficiently work, but so far, this "all at once" approach has worked for me.