Miranda Lambert's "The House That Built Me" is the perfect start to my Twitterive. I am going to create a video that collaborates a multitude of genre. It will include my childhood journal entries and drawings, original blueprints, and a comparison of how the house has changed from when my father was a kid, to when I was a kid, to what it has become now. It is the story behind my home and the lesson of letting it go but always holding it close to heart.
Once this video is complete, I'm going to add a quick 1-2 minute section of driving through the winding road to my house, walking up the stairs, capturing my new home and the pictures on the wall, and ending witht he collage of the pieces of my house, and words on the screen, will always be in my heart.

I thought THE FIGHT was AWESOME! It was creatively collaborated and came together nicely! I was impressed with how well it came together since we only had a select time to brainstorm ideas and prepare it. It was so funny, too! What a great way to see the benefits of a collaborative project. 

As far as technology goes, I used the internet to look up the rules of boxing. I don't know a thing about it other than it's just two people fighting to earn a championship title. So, the internet was helpful. 

The one thing that was difficult was the improvisation. I didn't know what to do, really.One way to improve the fight would be to do a practice round. But I did like the concept of not knowing where it was going. It still could have been revised though. 

Overall, great match and great lesson!  

WRESTLING REAL TOUGH 2: WRT2

Ref-
The rules are explained..
1. The instructions are given to both boxers:
            *No hitting below the belt, holding, tripping, pushing, biting, or spitting.
2. When a fighter is down, it will be deteremined whether or not the fight will proceed depending upon how badly the boxer down is.
3. Determines rough fouls- warnings, and wether or not points will be taken away.
4. When wound is over, a signal will be given
5. Determines when match will be over and when to stop the fight.

1. Deleted facebook. End of social life.
2. Christie for president! Forget my career!
3. Ben Francisco. Home run. Phillies win!
4. Michael Vick. What were we thinking?
5. Cleaned house. Man is home. Shit.  
6. St. Patty's Day. Check point. Detour.

The Day from Hell
Realizing there is no toilet paper after your in the stall, after the morning of  my car not starting, running to the bus, in the rain, in flip flops, only to miss the bus, then back home, where everyone has left for work, searching for a ride, finally, a ride to school, missed my mandatory honors meeting, but finally in class, totally forgot about the test today, realized I just sat in gum, I’m sweating, my shirt is soaked, my pants are soaked, I can’t get up, I’m embarrassed, humiliated, watching the clock tick, waiting for this day to end, class bell rings, I head for the hallway, grab my books from my locker, head up the stairs, I fall, yes, I fall up the stairs, then, at least make it to class on time, but wait, I grabbed the wrong books, in the class I am not allowed to leave, in the class I have a lab in, with a partner, and I forgot my notebook, the notebook we need to finish the lab that counts for three test grades, sitting here, empty handed, no toilet paper, nobody in the bathroom, I decide to get up and shimmy to the next stall to grab some toilet paper, just then, the girls walk in, in my despair, the girls I dread, the girls that took my only pen in history class, leaving me penless, the girls whose hair is perfect, nails are perfection, and the girls who always smell amazing, right there, before my eyes, gazing, laughing, watching as toilet paper is stuck to my foot from the previous stall, bare ass, I jolt back to the stall, with the toilet paper in hand, only to realize I drizzled on my pants, next class is theatre, when will this day end...

OCTOBER
Outside, the setting sun begins it’s furor. The continuous falling leaves drop throughout the night. The wind is crisp; bones are chilled. Water glistens with sun's fiery rays. With the sky near dark, stars begin to glisten. The wind speaks eloquently, yet brashly. This very moment, there is a feeling of solitude. A feeling of wholeness. A feeling of togetherness. A moment of understanding, love, gratitude, appreciation, pure beauty. Dancing in this moment of grace and hope, realizing everything that's had and everything to be. Swirling in the moment where nothing matters but the soul, the surrounding eloquence of beauty, and the glorious heavens above. Owning this primal moment. This is the light, the sanctuary of life, the lullaby dearest to my heart. Eyes shut. Summoned are the memories, painful and pleasurable, filled with grief and comfort. All together, love and passion. Stretched are the limitations. Again, the sting of the invisible wind. Eyes open. Mind twisted. Body still. Blood flooring. Nerves twitching. Sitting, anticipating life's next move. Wanting and craving more. Desire. Prevailing belief. Strong song singing. Pitch-dark sky. Noises of the dark. Screeching insects, howling owl, unknown footsteps, raging water, leaves crackling, branches swaying. Weakness. Fear. Wonder. Belief. Strength. Mind wanders. Body falls against the frigid, hard ground. Enwrapping silence and sound together. Half heard voices. Glossy, unclear, flashes of color. Flashes of black. Muted silence. 

line taken from Antonya Nelson's "Land's End"

By far, this was the most difficult assignment I have ever received. Funny thing is, I thought it would be easy. I learned that I use far too many uneccessary words that can be eliminated entirely. 

After working for three hours, this is what I came up with.
Awful, yes I know, but it's all I could create. 


Tweeted Poem:

It’s Fall
Today, I’m dancing and flipping.
Forever, I will be hydroplaning.
I thank God with glee.
It doesn’t get any better.

You’ll learn from childhood memories, in and out
swerving, back and forth.
So, just love already!

Forget hate, and
Return love.
Just Breathe. 

So shoes on,
left sometimes tripping.
Alive, 
Minute died,
Sold,

I saw the last stars.
People kid,
How about the need to ever live?

The lanes to home,
a month ago,
almost first, but than twice,
open, 
was the almost, greatest miss
between Fall’s place that is fun darkness.

Put tonight’s scary thing away,
A leaf was just to be loved.


Unused Words:
it
in
the
this
this
is

Tweets used:

Childhood home sold about a month ago-already it's so different. I miss that place but the memories will live forever.
Flipping back and forth from Dancing with the Stars and Glee-it doesn't get any better than this.
Forgot how fun it was to be a kid. Love this.
Just saw Fall's first leave fall!
Almost died today-twice! Between hydroplaning and people swerving lanes last minute. Thank God, I'm alive.
I hate tripping on shoes left out in the open! Put your shoes away!
"The greatest thing youll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."
Sometimes

Wow.
Where to begin? This piece was incredible. Just when you think you knew, you learn so much more and question what you thought you knew. To appreciate culture is to value to beauty of everything that is us. Language is, by far, a major part of our culture.

Anzaldua mentions something that captured my attention- that the future mother tongue of Chicanos and Latinos will be English. That statement alone sums up this entire article.

Not long after that, she argues “I am my language.” We are our language. The multiple variations of our language adds a significant dynamic to us as individuals, including our culture, tying in everything that makes us, well, us.
(our family, friends, music, etc.)

She also mentions, “Until I can take pride in my language, I cannot take pride in myself.” If we do not appreciate who we are or how we are made, then we do not have a sense of self.

Another point that really sparked my attention was how some Mexicans and Latinas will speak English as a neutral language because of the strong differences in Spanish. English is even spoken at conferences and parties! One time to really appreciate culture, they deny it to avoid the tension among the developed variation of their language.

Something that touched me emotionally was how she felt a “sense of belonging” when her family would go to the drive-in movies on Thursday night, with a $1 carload special.

“El sonavabitche.” Tell me a better way to intrigue your reader! 

At first, I have to admit, I was not thrilled to read this piece for the simple reason of being lazy; I just didn’t feel like translating the Spanish. But once I gave it a chance, I enjoyed it.

Surprisingly, I really liked the technique of using the Spanish because it added a different element to it, something I’m not use to reading. It gave the story a touch of emotion and helped better connect the reader. In a sense, I felt like I was there with the Mexicans as they were packed up tightly in a pickup. Anzaldua is creative in the way she writes. It’s sometimes hard to connect with a reader on that level.

At that moment of the story, I really started to feel bad for them. It actually reminded me of the Jews packed in the trains, unable to move or go to the bathroom. It made me think of how scrutinized and dehumanized they were. Right before this part of the story, there is a line that reads, “Fijoleros si lo son,” meaning “bean eaters they are.” Again I felt strongly for them, and sickened by this comment. It made me think of reality and the struggles some illegal immigrants really face in their fight for survival.

This story really inspired me to at least think differently about illegal immigrants and allowed me to think as if I was in their shoes. This is the first story to affect me in that way. After realizing that these immigrants are worked, turned in, and paid nothing, I was relieved to see one fight for their rights and receive the pay they worked for. Great story. I regret my bias from the start of the story.

Joyce's "An Encounter" is certainly not an encounter I would ever wish to have. I enjoyed reading the beginning of the story but towards the end, the old man was just too creepy for me! Right now, I work at an after school program at a catholic school. I'm learning just how different it is from the public school I was brought up in. A catholic school is strict, family oriented, and their way is the only way where a public school is more relaxed and subtle. The boys in the story are students at a prestigious school. Father Butler even makes it a point in saying they are not "National School Boys," implying that they are better than them. The boys enjoyed reading about adventures in the Wild West because it provided an escape to the tight world they knew. Father Butler made it clear that to be educated meant they were not to read "such stuff." This makes me think of the distinction of what is good reading and "crap" reading. Is there a such thing as bad reading? In Pagnucci's piece, a boy is put down for reading comic strips. But it is within reading the comic strips that him and his hospital mate find strength in life's struggles. So then, wouldn't this "garbage" in one person's eyes, simply mean gold in another person's heart?