richard...losing his dignity or not?

I feel like no matter what, Richard always had to degrade himself--just to feed himself and keep a job. When he worked for the evil store clerk and son, I felt like he degraded not only himself, but his race as well. He was disgusted and angry at what the two men did to black people, but at the same time, he couldn't do anything about it. He wanted to keep his job and at the very least, stay alive. Practically every moment of his life, Richard has to think before he speaks, he can't look any white man in the eye, he can't look towards a white man's direction, and he certainly can't insult a white man. Unfair you say? Well sonny, this was the South.

random essay blog

Okay so I'm gonna reflect on the essay by Mukherjee. Reading her essay, I felt like I actually kind of understood her feelings. In human geography class, we did a unit on religion and well for Hinduism, there is the caste system. Your whole destiny was pre-determined whether you liked it or not. It was nearly impossible to go up a level and very possible to go down a level. It's not wonder that she treasured the title 'American' all to herself. Here in America, there is no caste system or anyone to judge you based on what last name you have.

MLK still a king?

Dear Dr. MLK,

I personally think that you're a pretty cool person and I think that the issues and difficulties you faced are not as apparent as of now. Our president currently is the first black president in American history and I'm pretty sure you would have wanted to live up to the 20th of January of year 2009 to see him be inaugurated. Now, African Americans are respected and treated like everyone else--like Americans. Will Smith and Bill Cosby are one of the funniest comedians around, Alicia Keys and Chris Brown have made fortunes as talented singers, and Derrick Rose was named 'Rookie of the Year'. I personally admire the guy who operates 'Elmo' from Sesame Street. I wish you were here to see how far your people have come and I want you to know that you contributed to their success.

Sincerely,
A student who goes to a Whitney Young Highschool which has the best African American principal

This Sacred Soil

I think that the Native Americans were true Americans. They endured decades of torture and discrimination from the Europeans. They fought for the land they loved and lived on and did their best to keep the Europeans from harming their mother nature. I found it melancholy how Chief Seattle felt like his people were forsaken by the God of the "white man". It almost felt like the two gods were at war in which the God of the Europeans was winning.

Music Review on "No Good Deed"

This song is from 'Wicked'--which happens to be my favorite musical. I don't particularly like this song, but I think that they did it very well. This song is sung by Elphaba [main character] when her lover Fiyero is beaten and interrogated. They want to know where Elphaba is since they all believe that she's an evil witch when in reality, she's a loving person.

The song starts off with Elphaba chanting a spell so that Fiyero wouldn't die:
Eleka nahmen nahmen
Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen...

I love the way they performed this song. The orchestra made it very clear that this was supposed to be a dark and eerie scene. Listening to them play this song and seeing the smoke around her during the musical gave me goosebumps. It gives you that tingly feeling since Elphaba and Fiyero love each other, but the music and Elphaba's emotions during the song totally makes everything feel creepy. Overall, I give this song a 7 out of 10 since it plays with your emotions so much!

The House With Colorful Lights All Year Long

"Geo! Heads up!"
"I got it!!!"

Hi, my name is Geoffrey Prius. I just entered high school and well, I'm living the life. This may sound weird, but well, I love art. I love music, painting, and photography. I don't know why it sounds weird, but I feel weird when people ask me what I like to do and I say 'I like to paint'. Sure, I'm still a guy and I love football and all, but the arts are my specialty.

Every once in a while, I'll walk around the neighborhood with my camera and canvas looking for a nice house to paint. Here in my neighborhood, every house has a story of its own--in my opinion. By just looking at the exterior, it becomes obvious about what type of people live in the house. Alot of the times, I'll sit across the street for hours just painting the house. I paint a little thumbnail and then move onto to a full-page portrait. When I'm done, I place the bigger one in the house's mailbox with a little note and go home with a picture and thumbnail of the house. I put these two things into a scrapbook I have of all the things I've painted. This scrapbook is my life. If my house was on fire, I would save my scrapbook first, then my canvas, and thirdly, my camera [all in order].

I do this because well, I honestly think that one's house really defines that person--just like how someone dresses defines them. I don't do this for attention or pride or anything--I do this cuz I feel like that a person should have the right to know that their house isn't just a block on the street. They should feel proud of having a nice house. In most countries, there's not enough room for nice houses like we have here. Some people don't even live in houses.

Some day, I hope to be an architect or an interior designer. Now, back to real life...

"Oof!"
"Dude, you alright man? That was some fall Geoffrey."
"Yeah, I'm fine Hunter. Thanks."
"The sun's setting...wanna come over? I so wanna own you in Halo 3."
"Psh...like you could beat my high score!"
"Wanna bet? The loser has to ring Ms. D's doorbell and tell her she's beautiful through the intercom!"
"Ms...D? Who's that?"
"Oh man I forgot that you moved to this neighborhood only a couple months ago. Well, her name's not really Ms. D., well...it's cuz she's a bit...ditzy."
"So I'm guessing that's why everyone calls her that."
"Yep. At block parties, she drinks...a lot. And then she starts muttering and screaming weird stuff about war or something. Also, she decorates her house every holiday. It's like all her life savings go to decorations and crap. We all think she's kinda weird."
"Really? Where's her house?"

--The next day--

My mom always said, "never judge a book by its cover." Hunter made Ms. D. sound like..like she was some sort of maniac. I asked my mom if she knew anything about Ms...D. My mom told me that neighbors had warned her about the woman and that it was best to stay away. She shook her head saying that she felt sorry for Ms. D. being understood so much. IT seemed like no one actually knew or tried to get to know Ms. D. at all.

I arrived at the house. 666 W Dearborn Street. Hm. This was probably the reason that everyone avoided her house altogether. Knowing that she was not like...most neighbors, I rang her doorbell to ask if I could paint her house. While I waited for an answer, I stepped back and looked up at the house. It was only mid-November and her house already looked like a Christmas tree. My guess was that Ms. D. was maybe a middle-aged woman. How else could she get all those decorations so high up?

The clicking of the door startled me. I was proven wrong. An old lady emerged from the house wearing a checkered blue apron. She smelled of sweet cinnamon.

"May I help you?"
"Oh, yes. My name is Geoffrey Prius. I was wondering if I could maybe paint a picture of your house?"
"For what purpose?"
"You see, painting houses around the neighborhood is my hobby, ma'am. I see that you take pride in your house. Your house is decorating all year long. How and why do you do it?"
"That is none of your business young man."

At that, she slammed the door in my face.

"Ugh, Mom I'm home."
"How'd it go, hon? You're home awfully early. Usually, you take an hour or two to paint a house."
"She slammed the door in my face. I don't what I said."
"Hmm. I know you really wanted to paint that house. She seems like a difficult woman--keep on trying."
"I'll try again tomorrow. What's for dinner, Mom?"
"You favorite--green bean casserole. Dinner will be ready soon."
"Alright Mom. I'll go shower then."

Everyday for a week, I went to 666 W Dearborn St. and rung the doorbell. It's almost as if Ms. D. knew it was me. She never opened the door for me or anything. The following Monday, I set up my canvas across the street and started painting. I didn't care anymore if I had her permission. Every time I messed up just a little bit, I would start over. I don't know why I do this, but I have this gut feeling that Ms. D. isn't a bad or weird person at all. She's just...misunderstood.
The creaking of the door interrupted my thoughts and Ms. D. stepped out. She closed the door gently and crossed the street to where I was sitting. She slowly made her way to the canvas and observed the picture.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked with curiosity.
"I-i-i...don't know. I really think your house is beautiful. And well to me, I feel like every house has a reason for the way it looks...like there's a story behind it all. I don't want to be nosy or anything, but...why do you decorate your house so extravagantly...even for holidays aren't really decorating-worthy, Ms..."
"Dansky. It's Ms. Dansky."
"I'm sorry, Ms...Dansky."
"Are you done painting, Geoffrey?
"Yes, ma'am. But if you want me to leave, I'll start packing up my things."
"Nonsense. Would you like to come inside for some tea?"
"Uhh...that is if you don't mind, Ms. Dansky."
"Sonny, if you really wanna know why I do all this..." Ms. Dansky pointed at her house, "then you better come inside."

I sat on the vintage-looking couch in a room where the walls were a deep burgundy. I noticed an oriental-looking glass cabinet in the corner of the room. In it were war badges. That's when I took notice of a purple star medal.

"Those were earned by my great granddaddy, grandpa, father, and....my husband."
"This is quite a collection Ms. Dansky. Who earned the purple star?

Ms. Dansky trembled as she set down the tray of cookies and teacups.

She took a deep breath and replied, "My husband, Gerald."
"So, where is he now?"
"He-he-he passed away after World War II due to all the injuries he had."
"I'm so sorry Ms. Dansky. I shouldn't have asked that."
"It's alright, dear. His death is the main reason why I decorate the house like this."

I sat down once again on the couch and reached for a cookie filled with apple jelly.

Ms. Dansky sighed, "Before Gerald left for the war, he told me, "Baby, if I don't return home, it's cuz God decided to put me out of misery and invite me into His house. I'll be looking down from the heavens to gaze upon this beautiful house that I built for you..""

Ms. Dansky pushed the plate of cookies toward me beckoning me to eat them. I reached for another one to find that this one was filled with apricot jelly. I chewed as I waited for her to continue.

"I decorate the house in hopes that Gerald can see his house from heaven. All the lights and garnish is sure to make the house stand out. I wanna let him know that I'm doing well by having the decorations as a sign. Until we can meet again, I'm going to keep adorning this house."

With that said, tears started flowing from Ms. Dansky's eyes. I quickly handed her a tissue. I finally understood what Hunter said about her muttering things about war. She lost her spouse to World War II.

"Ms. Dansky, I don't know what to say. I've heard so many rumors about you being a psycho, but you're not that at all."
"Geoffrey, now that I've told you everything, I feel like a burden has been lifted. I always lived in the shadow of my husband's death."

Over the next couple months, Ms. Dansky and I got close. I told Hunter all about that special day when I really saw the real Ms. D. Hunter was surprised just like I was. He told all the neighborhood kids and the all the rumors cleared up. Every once in a while, I would take a walk with Ms. Dansky and she would talk about practically anything. I painted countless pictures of her, of her house, and of events that happened in her life. For her birthday, I put all the pictures together and created a graphic time line of her life. When she unwrapped it, tears started flowing. I couldn't help but smile.

Exactly one month from her birthday, Ms. Dansky passed away at the age of 92. In her will, she left me the keys to her house. She wanted me to decorate her house whenever I could so she could look down from the heavens and show Gerald what a great kid I was. Meeting Ms. Dansky really changed my life. I vowed to keep her tradition by hanging colorful lights on her house all year long. As my mom always said, "Never judge a book by its cover."

trick of writing......

I hate it when I can't put my thoughts into words. Writing is tricky when it comes to papers too. You have to organize all your thoughts and stuff and that gets annoying sometimes. Or when you wanna try to sound professional but you can't think of big enough words for that. Writing is a lot of fun, but like most things, you can't learn it overnight. You gotta practice it and be open to improvements.