Nothing Was The Same

You remember scheduling the appointment to have your wisdom teeth removed. You remember the mask being lowered over your nose and mouth. You remember the world slowly turning black.

You’ve just regained consciousness. You’re on a train. There’s a briefcase handcuffed to your wrist. Searching your pockets, you find a note.

I carefully opened the note, my thoughts rushing a million ways at once. In the note, I read “If you’re reading this, it’s too late”. What could that mean? What was going on? Suddenly, without any reason it seemed, my mind was filled with a thumping sound. I caught the eyes of a man passing by, and motioned erratically for him to come over. “I need some medicine, anything. I might have a migraine…I-I don’t know,” I stammered to him. Confused, the man reached into his pocket and rusted around until he came up with a bottle of pills. I swallowed them down and thanked the stranger for his kindness; the thumping was starting to lessen.

Turning my attention to the briefcase handcuffed to me, I peered at the heavy lock preventing me to open it. I didn’t understand what the note could mean, and how it correlated to the briefcase. Jolting to a stop, the train whistled a high, screeching note. A scrawny young boy stopped by my seat. “This is your stop, Miss. It’s time for you to get off,” he said in a nasally voice, not yet deepened by adulthood. I slid out from my seat and walked to the exit. When the doors opened, I had to shield my eyes from the sun. It seemed so much brighter than usual, almost as if it was a lamp pointed directly at me. I rubbed my eyes and stood dazed; people bumped into my sides and pushed my tired body around the sidewalk. My head still bumped and thumped, pulsing with every soft beat. When will the noise end? Where was I supposed to go from here?

Walking without much intention, my feet took control. I wound up in an empty street lined with shop windows. Their displays were varied and different; some harbored bright clothing with fancy bows, while others were adorned with muted grays and dusty books. My mind was filled with more noise; a voice entered it that was strangely familiar. I couldn’t understand the words, they were muffled like the thumps and sounds that surrounded it. Feeling strangely heavy, I pressed my weight against the glass of a shop. Looking across the lonely street, I almost overlooked him- a man hidden in the shadows, eyes glowing at me. I could feel his gaze locked on my wrist- the one holding the briefcase.

Curiosity took hold and drew me closer to his store. With ever step, the noise within my head grew. The voice grew louder and every muffled word seemed to  grow in intention, while beats grew more complex and varied. Thoughts were unable to process in my head, with the exception of one- “If you’re reading this, it’s too late”.

I pushed the door open and stumbled into the room. The air seemed to buzz and the shadows grew heavy. The man’s reached out to me, he grabbed my wrist. With ease, he turned the lock’s knob and it fell to the ground. The briefcase opened and I heard the sound of plastic hitting wooden floor. Bending over to pick the objects up, I suddenly realized how familiar they felt. Bringing them up to the light, I realized they were CD’s. The man turned me to look at him. “Drake, is that you?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied in an emotion filled voice. “I have blessed you.”

I woke up with a jolt. My ear buds fell out of my ears and I stared at them as the sounds I’d been hearing faded away. My cheeks were still puffy from the surgery, and my thoughts lagged from the drugs still. Pressing the home button on my phone, it lit up with an album cover- “If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late”.

Ralph Ellison

First off, let me say I think as just a person -not as an author- Ralph Ellison is extremely interesting. The way he talks is so different than now I suppose, and his manner is truly captivating. He’s extremely intelligent, and he knows it. The way he speaks (once he gets comfortable) reminds me of the way a woman walks when she knows she looks good: he works it.

At first however, he seems slightly uncomfortable. The way he talks makes it seem as if he’s a bit concerned how people will take what he is saying and if they will understand it or skip over what he means. What really jumped out to me is when he started talking about how him as a writer has the power to tell the unity of the nation and has to stick to what’s real, how if he fails to do so he has lost his purpose (4:35-5:30). I suppose that this stuck out to me because of the truth of it; he is telling the nation a story, and if the nation will read it they don’t need to be reading lies. I think that this is ironic today, because so many of the things that we read about In magazines or hear on the news are lies. If a writer fails to write the truth, they have failed.

Also, something that made me so incredibly sad was his lack of self esteem towards his writing. He wrote an amazing novel, my favorite this year! Yet he didn’t believe that the book would last long and the meaning would withstand the trials that time provides. However, what he didn’t know is how relatable his book is. It’s written so well that it’s captivating (I almost read it all in one sitting, I had to hold myself back) and you could even apply the idea of racism being unjust to other thing, such as the power structure being corrupt and the poor vs wealthy perhaps. All in all, I believe as a man Ralph Ellison is truly amazing, but as a writer he is so interesting. I wish he could have seen how powerful his novel still is.

Boooo OU.

As many have seen on the news, an OU frat was recently disbanded because of singing racial slurs. I definitely applaud the President of the University’s attempts to make right the wrongs, but I also have some issues with this. It seems as if the only reason the President had intervened was because of the fact that the video got very, very popular very, very quickly. This was thanks to a certain reporter from College Station as well as the rest of their newspaper staff. However, what did the president do about the football players that had also committed horrendous deeds?

As Clay Travis pointed out on his article (http://www.foxsports.com/college-football/outkick-the-coverage/oklahoma-stands-tall-against-racism-weak-against-violence-031015) there was a player that had punched a woman in the face, fracturing her face and breaking four bones. Why was he allowed to stay after physically hurting someone (with probably permanent repercussions) while other members of the school were kicked out for chanting something? Yes, it was demeaning and horrendous and definitely hurt people. However, they will long live down the consequences just from their peers. We don’t see that from the football players.

Also, when looking into the law we see some differences. I don’t feel for the frat members but they didn’t actually break a law; they do have the freedom of speech and they were exercising that right, even if it was in a sick, twisted way. A physical altercation or assault is against the law. However,he didn’t get in trouble with the law.

I applaud OU for taking action against the injustices, but shouldn’t they also do the same for others? C’mon OU. Let’s be fair…for the good of everyone.

Poor fellow

He was a mouse of the most peculiar sense, however he was physically sound; he possesed all traits a normal mouse- small beady eyes, little paws that gently picked up seeds, whiskers that dance with ever twitch of his nose- but he also contained the strangest of things a mouse could contain; he has a heart that is full of love, love that was reserved for the most beautiful being the mouse had ever set eyes on: a being that kept him warm, lit up his world, brightened his day, and was the most amazing thing the mouse could ever imagine, yet it was always out of reach- the sun would never be his.

A blog about a dog

Remember when I was three and couldn’t keep up with the sea of black puppies, but you strayed behind so I wanted to take you home? And how when we went camping my dad got scared and thought I was lost, but I was really under the table asleep with you? And how I helped my dad throw dummies for you to catch, and I got in trouble for calling you a dummy? And how you had the biggest dog run and I would get a million mosquito bites visiting you? And how when we moved to Georgia, you didn’t cry like I did?

You would push me down to eat my cookie, and then lick my tears off when I cried about it. You shared my first snow day with me when we lived in Kentucky and layed on my numb toes when my sister poured snow down my shirt and I pouted. When we moved back home, you didn’t mind the extra dogs. I bet you minded the attention you didn’t get. And when I got older and started thinking about other things and ignoring you, you still smiled when I came back to pet you and loved me like I still played with you every day. 

You were the dog that escaped every day, ate ant poison and cocoa powder, andran in front of cars. We joked that you would cheat death when he came around- I guess you couldn’t cheat time. 

I love you old Molly. Thanks for the 14 years of love.

Music Addiction

In my family, we never have a quiet house. Whether we are cooking, cleaning, and just lounging around there is always some source of music playing in the background. My father has always taught me that music is something to be loved, it’s a language that everyone understands. It doesn’t just speak to your mind, but it also plays with your heart and teaches you lessons and tells stories that you couldn’t get from a book or word of mouth. Because my family loves music, my father is sweet enough to finance anything that has to do with music. However, now that I have a regular source of income that job has recently been passed down to me.
So far, my first music purchase that I put my own money into was a ticket to a One Direction concert (I can feel the negative thoughts through the computer screen, oops). It was for my birthday, but it was incredibly expensive so my parents made me pay for half of it with the money from random babysitting jobs I had acquired. This was the summer before freshman year, I believe, so I couldn’t have a job. I had heard the boys on the radio and like many others I was swept up into the wave of fangirling. My two friends had also recieved tickets and had talked so highly of their show I was bound and determined to see them as well. My parents had asked me if this was a band I would love forever and if it was worth the money, and I of course hastily said yes. They believed the music was a fad and I wouldn’t listen to it 1-2 years later, and well…Mother’s always right, right?
Their music was cheesy and lyrically not too deep, but with a catchy beat you just couldn’t help but sing along. The concert was probably one of the best times of my life, though. It was so fun and incredible how an entire stadium could be singing the same thing and feeling just as good as the person beside them.
I don’t often listen to that music, unless I need something upbeat and fun to make me want to dance. I do ,however, still have the ticket, t-shirt, and multiple rubber bracelets from the concert…along with some confetti that fell on us at the end. I’m not too embarrassed that I went to this concert and spent my money -a lot of it- on a teenybopper fad, because it’s a memory I’ll keep forever. Music is a memory and a feeling and a way of life, and I will love every song I come across for that reason.

Blog Post Week of 2/9

Relating to Gatsby:
The way I see similarities between the video and Gatsby is the large difference between the rich (Gatsby) and the common folk (Nick). We see throughout the novel that Gatsby has indespensible wealth and we rarely see him working, while Nick has very little and works hard for what he has. In the video it speaks of the time versus pay of the rich, where a common worker would have to work a month in order to get the money a CEO recieves in an hour.

Relating to Grapes of Wrath:
This definitely back up the perception of the differences between the land owners and the farmers in Grapes of Wrath. The farmers are the poor, with barely any pocket change. The land owners, who are are rich despite the depression, have much more money than all the farmers have combined. It’s ridiculous that the farmers have so little and are barely (it even at all) surviving. You could relate the wealth to the land. The farmers have no land and no wealth, while the businessmen (often called the “shop keepers” due to the fact that they do not actually work the land, they only watch the finances) have too much wealth to use with weeds taking over some parts and more money than they deserve.

Ethos/Pathos/Logos:
The best use of logic within the video is the use of graphs. Graphs are hard evidence, with numbers that cannot lie.
The most effective use of pathos that I saw was the comparrisons between the three graphs: the ideal, what people thought, and the actual. The difference between the ideal and the actual is ridiculously large, and the large difference in money between the poor and the top 10% provokes feelings of bewilderment.
A good example of ethos would be when the commentator concedes to the amount of wealth within the rich multiple times. This is when he commments things like “I’m sure they’ve worked hard” or other things along those lines.

Other notes:
This is something that I find very interesting, and I do agree that there must be a way to make things be moe along the lines of “the ideal” without coming close to socialism.