FOIL – Week 9
When multiplying binomials, I use FOIL in my head to help me find the simplied answer more efficiently than if I were to write out new equations and brackets.
Yet Do I Marvel – Countee Cullen
I think “Yet Do I Marvel” By Countee Cullen best explains the African American struggle because of his frequently used comparisons throughout the poem. His use of an extended paradox within a sonnet demonstrated the pain he feels with his disadvanteges as a black man. His allusions were more in depth; creating many unanswered questions that really make you think. Hyperbole was strategically used when describing his torture as a man with many talents but disadvantages. His sophisticated vocabulary showed his high education, adding to the effect of how his people were treated poorly. You can feel the frustration that Cullen was implying, especially in the last line, “To make a poet black, and bid him to sing!” I interpreted this poem as if Cullen were Tantalus, where he had the fruit but could never eat it. Cullen is not disrespecting God, but confused as to why he would do such a thing.
How do human relationships help us develop?
How do human relationships help us develop?
Having a bestfriend can greatly impact anyone’s life. In the novella Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, George and Lennie were the best of friends. When they arrived at the ranch to work with the rest of the migrant workers, they found that it was pretty unheard of to travel with another man. In a time of such desperation and isolation, there were only a few other relationships on the ranch for example Candy and his dog, and Curley and his wife. ‘”Slim looked through George and beyond him. “Ain’t many guys travel around together,” he mused. “I don’t know why. Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other,”‘ (Steinbeck, pg. 35). In this quote, Slim sheds some light on how companonship can actually bring happiess and a sense of home. In a world so lonely in this period of time, having a best friend with no strings attatched was rare. “I seen the guys that go around on the ranches alone. That ain’t no good. They don’t have no fun. After a long time they get mean. They get wantin’ to fight all the time,” (pg. 45). Steinbeck highlights how without companionship the feeling of lonliness can sink in, and turn a golden heart to stone. “‘A guy needs somebody-to be near him.’ He whined, ‘A guy goes nuts if he ain’t got nobody,'” (pg. 72). Crooks said this because he had two brothers growing up, but now he his facing his own reality of isolation. Being the odd one out on the ranch, Crooks had been very lonely for so long. George and Lennie defy the sheet of lonliness draped over the time period. This novella proves that when one is surrounded and influenced by healthy relationships, companionship becomes a necessity to life.
Narrative Essay
Cooked at the Cookout
The field I sat on smelled of barbecue smoke and spilled sticky orange soda. I looked around at my family sitting on lounge chairs. I could see all of my friends with their families just beyond mine. The annual lake barbecue was the only place where all of the lake residents came together like one big community. Everyone knew everyone.
My 10 year old heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s as I nervously awaited my performance. As my little toes curled up in the grass, my cousins and brothers poked me.
“What are you gonna sing?”
“I hope you forget all of the words and lose your voice as you go up there!”
I just love my fans.
I couldn’t focus on anything. I sat staring into abyss, repeatedly reciting the lyrics to ‘The Climb’ by Miley Cyrus. I was just an ammeter. My arrogant brain thought that my idols, Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus were going to come to watch me. Could you really blame my 10 year old brain for thinking that Miley and Hannah were two different people?
My dad reached into the pocket of his faded blue jeans and whipped out his video camera. The red flash mesmerized me as he interrogated me.
“Are you ready?! Want to do some vocal warm ups for the camera?”
“No dad, let me get in the zone,” I said. I hate when my fans interrupt my wholesome moments of preparation. I knew how proud he was going to be in just a matter of minutes.
That’s when I heard my name echo over the speakers. The voice shot past the barbecues, over the tennis courts, past the golf course, until it bounced off the surrounding mountains and rang back in my ear. Everyone was staring at me. This was my pinnacle. I weaved my way through the many lawn chairs and families sprawled out across the extensive mass of grass. I heard the audience clap, erupting the brief silence into a roaring explosion.
It was warm outside, but when I wrapped my sweaty palm around the cool metal of the microphone, I still had the chills. My toes squished into the damp grass. I heard the volume of my background music rise from somewhere behind me. I would look back to observe who was controlling my music, but I was too busy focusing on how the crowd full of people was beginning to look like a graveyard. The music was my eulogy. This performance would be the death of me.
Microphone to my mouth, I began to sing. “I can almost see it, that dream I’m dreaming,” I managed to squeak out. I hated feeling this vulnerable. Before I knew it, the rush of fear that once numbed my senses had turned into an indescribable excitement. I belted my heart out for another minute with absolute success. In the middle of the second chorus, the microphone heated up and zapped my right palm. I quickly passed the mic to my left hand, continuing on as if nothing had happened. About ten seconds later the same sensation happened in my left hand so I passed it back to my right. The show must go on. Even as the mic zapped each hand as I passed it back and forth, I acted as if I wasn’t mortified on the inside. I successfully made it to the bridge of the song with reasonable amounts of trauma.
That’s when I felt a spark in my right palm. Not just a little zap, but a really big spark. This spark illuminated my hand, and shot through my entire body like a virus. It electrified me too much to finish the song. I tossed the mic on the floor. A field full of people had never been so silent. My heart had stopped, yet it was beating a million miles a minute.
What happened after that was kind of a blur. I remember seeing my mom weave her way through the crowd to see if I was breathing, and exploding into a puddle of tears. Someone carried me and laid me down on a patch of grass. I remember a lineup of residents claiming they were doctors and offering their services. I was absolutely shocked.
I woke up in bed the next day. I cracked open the door and peered at my family. My youngest cousin turned towards me with wide eyes. “She’s alive,” is all he managed to say. My family stared at me with concern and curiosity. A fireman had determined that the electrocution was due to my damp bare feet, standing on the stage, racing electrons around me like a firework. I don’t remember much but I know this: I will eternally be etched in everyone’s mind as the girl that got electrocuted.
The buildings represent me building up all my courage and rising to the occasion, and the lightning represents the enemy, and the force working against me
What to improve:
Cut unessacary words and deadwood
Read over final draft for spelling errors
What I did well:
Provided good imagery with discripticve writing
Kept it casual by adding a humour aspect
Measurement Overview – Week 6
Measurement has definitley been the hardest unit for me so far. Once provided with a formula sheet, you can figure out lots of different solutions like a recipe. Something I found interesting was how 2 cones fit exactly into a sphere with the same dimensions. This means that a hemisphere is equal to 1 cone. We also found out that 3 cones fit exactly into a cylinder, and 3 pyramids fit exactly into a box of the same dimensions. As shown below.
Volume Of Cones – Week 5
The measurement unit is especially hard for me. Something I found fascinating is how a cone is always exactly 1/3 of a box it could be in. Shown below, I demonstrate how to find the volume of a cone.