Tonight we'll finish workshopping your first essays, then begin talking about Amy Krause Rosenthal's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life.
Since Amy is a master of compression, luminous detail and insight, we'll practice those techniques by writing a six-word memoir.
Then, for your writing assignment, you'll write three encyclopedia entries modeled after Amy's work. Post one of your entries -- a short one -- to the comments section below. Then bring hard copies of all three entries to class next week for workshop.
Remember to turn in your revision of Essay #1 for grading, too. Your revision is due the week after your piece has been workshopped. Last week's workshop-ees are due tonight. Tonight's workshop-ees are due next week.
Read Ahead: Our next book is Working by Studs Terkel.
Perfume
ReplyDeleteIs there a right way to apply perfume?
My sister squirts a little onto her right wrist and then puts down the bottle to rub her wrists together.
Girls in the locker room spritz a bit in front of them and then walk through the sweet smelling breeze.
Ladies in the movies dab the teeniest bit behind each ear and between their breasts.
This is something that no one teaches you. You’re handed a bottle of perfume for Christmas one year and you go from there. No one tells you how much is too much, when it should be applied, and how to do it.
I use what I call the Seven Method. I draw a seven with three squirts. One below my left shoulder, one below my right, and one toward my stomach will usually do.
Time, Wasting/Well-Spent: Being human, we are always inclined to waste time. By wasting time, I mean doing something that has no profound benefits. But a true definition of wasting time involves a person’s perception, placing value on a certain activity. If an activity has high value, then it’s time well spent, but if the activity has low value, then it’s considered time wasted.
ReplyDeleteMy value of time may grow even more complex as I think, I am feeling really sad, not motivated. I need to go to the gym to feel better; not only will it do just that, but it will make me healthier. Besides, I can’t get the desire to go to the gym out of my head. After I go to the gym, I can then do something important. But after the gym, I am ravenously hungry. I need to eat, I think, and I begin wasting time eating, but I know that I need to eat so that I will be able to focus on important things. But wait, I think, I need to shower. Then I debate in my head—for a good five minutes—if showering would be time wasted or time well spent. Then I realize, I am wasting time by debating if showering would be time wasted or time well spent. I need to choose now. I may feel too oily and gross, so I choose to shower. But other times I think, I feel fine, and I can go without showering for one day. I’ll shower tomorrow morning and gain profit for time. If I showered tonight and tomorrow morning, that would be a wasted 30 minutes (I take long showers). And when I do take long showers, I think, Aren’t I wasting time on taking this long shower? My body is washed and my hair shampooed, I can exit the shower now. But no, I am enjoying the warmth of the water running down my body. This shower is time well spent, I think, it makes me feel so good. Then when I go to sleep, I may lie awake, thinking about things, unable to sleep. I want to sleep, I am wasting time! But it’s not in my control. Then I unintentionally waste time, because I can’t sleep. Oh, how should we humans spend our limited time here on earth? It’s one of life’s greatest questions.
Skirt
ReplyDeleteLong enough to cover the topic, short enough to keep it interesting.
School bus
ReplyDeleteSchool bus: the bright yellow attention gratifying bulk of metal on wheels that carries kids to and from school. A lot of interesting things happen on a school bus, this is where I first witnessed an asthma attack, and encountered my first physical altercation. To the back of the bus wrestling on the small seats where the bus driver paid little to no attention, that was the meet up spot. No one sat in that seat unless they wanted to fight.
Trees
ReplyDeleteSince I was about 6 or 7 years old, all the way up until I was at least 17, I was an active tree climber. I would highly recommend avoiding trees with sap because it’s nearly impossible to wash off, and anyways, who has time to scrub off tree sap when there are trees to climb? Other than those and Pine trees, mostly any tree with sturdy limbs were game and I Winnie-the-Pooh’d them as much as possible. Sparse branches and crisp air at the top were freedom. Summers were great because the warmth allowed for shorts and tennis shoes, but the cold weather during winter took care of the greenery and bugs. Often times, my tree climbing escapades resulted in reprimands from my mom for climbing too high. I must admit, it was much more difficult getting down than climbing up.
-Tia D.
E
ReplyDeleteExtra
I was an extra in a movie once. I was so excited because The Perks of Being a Wallflower was my favorite book. I saw the movie opening night and was sad but not shocked that I can’t be seen. I still like to brag about it because I got to see Emma Watson in person. She left her phone on the table near me as she did an interview for MTV. I contemplated stealing it but decided to be weird instead of risky and kept touching it when she turned her back. She had some woman come over and get it when she noticed the crowd surrounding us.
Alexis writes:
ReplyDeleteAnchor.
~
“No,” My mother said firmly.
“I’m getting it anyway,” I said back as I scrolled through the endless pictures of anchors on Google.
My father, on the other handle, was all for the idea, “If that’s what you want then get it,” He told me, making my mother let out a frustrated noise at the two of us.
“Are you sure you want that on you for the rest of your life?” She asked a week later, finally giving in to my idea.
I was absolutely sure. But I wasn’t prepared for it to be the most painful tattoo done in a little over an hour. The tattoo on my thigh didn’t even hurt as much, and that one took almost three hours to complete.
The anchor permanently placed on my side has a special place in my heart though. My obsession with them is quite excessive. The whole purpose of an anchor is to hold a ship down. The meaning behind my anchor is simple: to stay grounded. To not get carried away. To remember my beliefs and stick with them. To not let people pull me away from who I truly am.
A very cliche but appropriate phrase normally pops into my head when I think of anchors: sink or swim. Though the anchor sinks, sometimes you have to keep your head above the water with the anchor still attached to your leg. I’m not good at metaphors, but it makes sense in my head.
Matt writes:
ReplyDeleteP
Pictures
Hate is a strong word, so strongly disapprove would be a better word. No, never mind I hate pictures. I hate taking pictures, looking at pictures, and just everything about them. I hate the fake smile that is wanted to remember the fake moment that is occurring in the picture. I would much rather remember the event the way the memory is in my mind, then the way it actually occurred. The picture reminds people of a good time but in reality there was probably a fight that occurred right before a family photo or there was something that occurred sometime in that day where you don’t want to remember. So, I hate taking pictures and putting that fake smile on my face when the photographer says, “Say cheese.”
EJZ1 writes:
ReplyDeleteOrganic Chemistry Hexagons, pentagons and bicyclohexagons. I thought O-chem was a science
with distinct methods for solving problems, not an art course prompted to make students draw ridiculous structures and name each masterpiece with a unique nomenclature an entire sheet of paper long.
MEV30 writes:
ReplyDeleteGuttural
They sound very guttural. The goats. They are always making weird noises that seem to emit from thier guts. I think the burps are funny. Long, like a human male and loud, like it included carbonated water.
Melissa writes:
ReplyDeleteCheese Puffs
I hate cheese puffs, cheese curls and Cheetos. They seem too artificial to me, probably because of how bright and powdery they are. I don’t like them, but when I start eating them, I can’t stop. I hate myself a little every time I do. If I have one, I have to have another. I’m about 90 percent sure that there’s crack in cheese puffs because that has to be the only explanation to why I would willingly eat them.
Jakob writes:
ReplyDeleteQ
Qi- The best word to use in Words with Friends.
Quit- I hate people quit. I never quit. Quitters never win.
Quote- So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard. We're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day. ~ The Notebook
B-Bartending
ReplyDeleteI've been bartending for four years. Mostly I love doing it, but sometimes it can be overwhelming. There our days where I work 14 hours and the entire time deal with drunk people. I often find myself taking my school work to the bar with me and it's not uncommon for my teachers to find splashes of vodka and cranberry juice on it. Throughout the portion of one night I can wear several different hats. I can be a therapist, a mediator, a creator, a listener, a philosopher, a friend, a mixologist and anything in between. I have met a lot of interesting people and have seen and heard some crazy things. I actually have a job that is fun, most people can't say that. I feel lucky.
D-dessert
ReplyDeleteMy favorite part of every meal. For most people when they say they are full and "Can't eat another bite" There's always room for dessert. On the other hand I am a firm believer that life is too short already and you never know when it's going to be cut even shorter? I remember being little and not being able to have dessert unless I finished dinner(what was put in front of me whether I liked it or not) So now that I'm older I always make a point to eat my dessert before my dinner. This way if I were to suddenly die before I finish - I'd remember life as being exactly how I wanted it to be, something sweet.
Cremation
ReplyDeleteI never knew anyone who was cremated. Every funeral I have ever attended was a burial, with a coffin, a procession, tossing roses into the grave, and headstones. Symbolic characteristics that make the death of a love one seem bearable. The headstone especially is a marker of immortality. The dead live on with their names, their titles, and their epitaphs reminding long lost family, curious folk, and dog walkers that he or she once existed. These people actually lived lives.
My pap was cremated on December 30, 2011. It seems like an eternity ago and just yesterday at the same time. His ashes sit on a shelf in my grandmother’s living room next to a beautiful oil portrait of himself. I still struggle with his absence in the most awkward and unexplainable moments in life, but one of the things I have difficulty fathoming is the idea that he is gone.
When I say gone, I mean physically gone. There is no headstone with a poetic reminder of how wonderful of a person he was, there is not coffin that holds keepsakes for memory, there is not a gravesite, or bones, or hair left at all. All of it was shoved into an oven and burned. It is so final and dark and a pile of dirty gray ashes is all that remains.
We were close because he was one of the only people in my life that understood me without me having to explain. I inherited his dry humor and we would be the only two people laughing at the most inappropriate of times. Now all I have left is pictures and my own memory that I fear will fail me in old age. I know death is final in itself, and a coffin, a headstone, or a keepsake cannot slow down or stop the process, but cremation just seems so violent. He wasn’t a violent man. He was tall and skinny. He was goofy and passive. He laughed all of the time. He adored his family. He had passions and feelings, and a lot of pain in the end. But I guess that is the important part, the pain is gone too.