it's a wonderful life...

...is possibly one of the best movies ever made. It is definitely the best movie I have ever seen. Each year I look forward to watching this movie more than I look forward to opening up christmas presents or eating the annual christmas pudding cake (which tastes better than it sounds, but I still wouldn't even eat it until i reached high school). Anyway, we make this movie a big deal in our house because it is so great.
      If you haven't seen this movie, I feel bad for you. Watch it this year, or else.
     The plot is about a man named George Bailey who has always wanted to leave the small town he was born and raised in, but due to his father's death and his devotion to his family and town, he ends up taking over the family business. One year events take a turn for the worst, and he is at his lowest point. All of a sudden, an Angel named Clarence comes to his rescue in a very unusual way. He takes George on a tour of a world where he was never born to show him just how much he is appreciated.
     There are so many lessons jammed into this film that just makes me want to cry.
    
favorite quotes:

"What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary."

"Well, you look about the kind of angel I'd get. Sort of a fallen angel, aren't you? What happened to your wings?" 
"I haven't won my wings, yet. That's why I'm called an Angel Second Class. I have to earn them. And you'll help me will you?"

"Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings."

hope (variations on a theme)

Narration:
     When my grandmother got sick, I didn't think much of it because i just assumed that though her health was jeopardized then, it would eventually get better. That's what happens in life- situations get sticky but then they clean themselves up. In the summer she got rushed to the hospital by an ambulance and the doctors told my dad they didn't think she would make it. I prayed, I pleaded, I bargained with God. And it comforted me, because God is always supposed to listen to those in crisis.  Maybe she will just be sick for a week, and then get better. It's always possible that the doctor is wrong, you see it all the time on TV shows. This isn't really happening. 
    
Description:
     It is when you're waiting for the sun to rise in the horizon after a long night filled with cold sweats and bad dreams. You've awoken late the past three nights by a harsh pounding originating from downstairs and your heart begins to beat faster and faster as the strange sound continues. Your clock tells you it's 3:45 in the morning and the simple thought of investigating the cause of the daunting creaks fills your stomach with butterflies, so you tell yourself to breath because the morning is only hours away. Tomorrow your worries will vanish, the thudding noises will disappear, your feverish chills will subside, and you will eat vanilla ice cream because it's your favorite flavor. After all, those noises are probably only the wind batting the door from side to side.
"Hope is the only bee that makes honey without flowers."  ~Robert Ingersoll

Example:
     Hope to America is a large, red, white, and blue flag, waving tall and proud in the sky. In the Civil War, it was when the Union won the battle of West Virginia, and suddenly African American's stopped ignoring the fact a war was being waged for their freedom and started fighting back. When Katniss Everdeen won the brutal Hunger Games in an unusual way, hope was the MockingJay pins they wore in her honor.
      "Hope is the poor man's bread."  ~Gary Herbert

Comparison/Contrast:
     The difference between hope and impossibilities is lies, and most often denial. When a doctor tells the parents of a child that is in a coma after a tragic car accident there is nothing they can do, the parents don't just accept the fact that their child will never come back to them. They use many what if's and there's still hope's. 

Process Analysis:
     Hope is very easy to come across, because not many want to accept dreadful news. It comes in the darkest hours of ones life, because those are the moments people need something to believe in the most.

Classification of analysis:
    Hope has many different stages and levels involved. There is the kind of hope a little boy has when he catches a pop fly in practice and believes his team has a chance to win the entire championship later that weekend. There is the kind of hope a girl has when the man of her dreams asks her out to a movie and she wishes him to be her next boyfriend. Then there is the kind of hope a soldier's family has, knowing their loved one is in battle and may not make it to the next day. Different extremities working in the same way.

Cause and Effect:
     Hope is created when humans come up with excuses to tell yourself over and over in times when you don't know what else to do. As humans, we neglect accepting the hard truth in emotional situations because they are dear to our hearts. We will do anything to prolong the hurt, or make us feel better. It may be the cause of disappointments and irritations that lead to victory. And that's what it does: focuses our attention on outcomes we like the most. It fills our hearts with joy and fills our stomachs with butterflies. It is one of the best yet uncertain feelings to ever be felt.

Definition:
    Hope is a noun and a verb. It works as a noun when someone is filled with hope, and they cherish a desire with an abundance of anticipation. They have an expectation of what a certain outcome should be and they stick to it faithfully, and put their trust and confidence in that result. Hope is that trust. Hope is also inputing that trust into their minds and thoughts, manipulating their beliefs and thinkings.

Argumentative/Persuasive:
     Hope as often as you can, even if it breaks your heart. There will be haters of hope out there, the people who neglect outcomes to look forward too because it's too painful when their dreams come crashing down. But hope gives you something to fight for. It gives you strength to handle the hard situations in your life.



p.s. my previous video gives more insight

hope

so, i have been sick a lot lately, and i took the time to experiment with iMovie, because i am interested in making videos. I  really liked marissa's visual argument, so i decided to make another one but a bit differently. Here you go, katrina! :)

ride

  I was in the winter of my life- and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell sleep with vision of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three year down the line of being on an endless world tour and memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not very popular one, who once has dreams of becoming a beautiful poet- but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again- sparkling and broken. But I really didn’t mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is.

When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living- they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lied you head.

I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing me due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiviness that was as wide as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying- because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one- who belonged to everyone, who had nothing- who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obssesion for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about- and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzlez and dizzied me.

Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people- and finally I did- on the open road. We have nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore- except to make our lives into a work of art.

LIVE FAST. DIE YOUNG. BE WILD. AND HAVE FUN.

I believe in the country America used to be. I belive in the person I want to become, I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever- *I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself- I Ride. I Just Ride.*

Who are you? Are you in touch with all your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you’re free to experience them?
I Have.
I Am Fucking Crazy. But I Am Free.

SHOOT! a failure of my past

    I was never an athletic child. Even when i played sports, i never put much effort into them. Hence, i was never very good. Hence, i hated playing sports.
     I think i tried every sport in the book: lacrosse, dance, ice skating, gymnastics, soccer, etc. In high school, my dad was a superstar basketball player. He was in several newspapers, won several trophies, and had many admirers who knew just how amazing he was at basketball. Therefore, being the oldest of his kids, he put my sister and I in basketball early to fulfill his legacy.
    So it turned out basketball wasn't my sport. Just like all of them had been. My father was never disappointed in me, because unlike some he never pressured me to be as great as he was. He wasn't one of those parents who tried to make their kids perfect, as long as we put effort into it he was happy. Anyway, when i say basketball wasn't my sport, i mean i physically could not play basketball. Dribbling without my eyes locked on the ball was nearly impossible. This caused for actual running and dribbling at the same time actually impossible. I have never been an aggressive person, therefore stealing the ball away from someone was out of the question. Hitting or shoving anyone of any kind was off limits for me as well.
    I played for a couple years, and not once had i made a basket. I hadn't even been close enough to the basket in order to make a goal. But i didn't mind- i didn't care about the competitive aspect of the game. I was just in it to spend time with my friends. I'm sure my dad cringed at my lack of athleticism, but hey, he got it later with my little brother.
     During my last year of playing basketball, my series of unfortunate scoring events suddenly had hope to redeem themselves one game when one of my team mates passed me the ball as i was standing right under the basket. The game had been played really intense by my team members, and it was during the last quarter of the game my coach had finally put me in the play, just so my mom could get a couple "action shots" of me on the court. It was probably an accident the ball was passed to me in the first place. But it was, and i didn't know what to do with it, so i froze.
    I literally watched the ball land in my hand, the other team closing in on me, and my coach screaming something incoherent at the sidelines. My teammates kept pointing up at the basket, the girl guarding me got closer and closer making my heart beat soar, the basket above kept getting farther and farther away, and my father was yelling at me to "SHOOT!".
    And I didn't. I did not shoot the ball. I sat there, paralyzed with fear. Rigid. Doing nothing. Nada.
    The ball ended up getting stolen out of my hands by that darn girl who was just doing her job in guarding me. My team ended up winning the game, no thanks to me. But I think back to that moment and wish i hadn't just stood there. Why didn't i just try to make the shot? Why didn't i try to make my dad proud? Why didn't i do anything except stand there? Would i have made the shot if i had tried? Could I have won the game for my teammates?
     I will never know, because i never tried.

I'm a Gustie!

     You know those moments where everything incredibly perfect, and all the pieces fall together? Yeah, me neither. But this Friday was the closest I got to having a moment just like that.
     My friend Jane went with me down to Gustavus Adolphus College because I had my interview for admissions that afternoon around five. We arrived a little early, so i pretended to be a tour guide and showed Jane the campus- i have been there several times and pretty much know where everything is by heart. I first toured Gustavus the summer before sophomore year, and ever since the first moment i walked through the doors i knew that was the place i was going to attend college. It felt like home.
    I was sitting down in the Admissions office ten minutes early. "Are you nervous?" Jane asked me.
    "No," i replied. For some reason i had this odd sense of security and calmness within me.
   The admissions counselor came out then, shaking my hand and saying it was nice to see me again (small town, private schools are way friendlier than the big ten). Then he gave me a big smile, saying he forgot something in his office and asked me if i minded waiting for just a minute.

You can see the tears in my eyes. 

   He came back with a gold envelope, which he handed to me and told me i could open it right there. I broke the seal and pulled out the first piece of paper. The top read: Congratulations! You've been accepted into the class of 2017 at Gustavus Adolphus College...
    I didn't read anything else. My mouth dropped and I looked up at Bob (the counselor) and blurted out, "Really?!"
    He smiled. "Yes. You don't even need an interview. We accepted you a couple days ago."
    My eyes automatically started tearing up and it literally took everything in me not to start balling right then and there. "Thank you, thank you so much!" was all i could say. He laughed and congratulated me. My friend jane had to grab my arm and guide me outside. As soon as we were out of view from the  important adults in the office i broke down in joyful sobs, half crying half wailing. It was the best kind of crying i had ever experienced in my whole life. Jane just grabbed me into a big hug and it took me five minutes to get me all out.
   I think the reason i was so emotional about it is because i had been picturing that moment for two years. Not to mention the complete spontaneity in the situation. Here i thought i was going to have my interview, when instead i got accepted.
    My dream has finally come true, and my future is more real to me now than it ever has been.

       See you in a year, Gustavus!

I'm going to college!

    

visual essay- influences of media

nana

    First of all, my grandmother hates it when i call her "grandmother" or "grandma". It has to be nana, otherwise she doesn't feel special enough to us. I don't quite understand her logic, because nana is Italian and my grandmother is french.
    She is a short woman who is never seen without her makeup, the most important being her bright red lipstick. For as long as i can remember she has worn her hair up in a bun. When i was a kid, she always made up stories about her hair. My siblings and i would sit in the back seat of my grandparents mini van on our way home from our weekly dinners with them, and the whole ride she would create a fantasy of how a family of spiders lived in her hair. Then her hair turned grey, we children grew up, and those stories stopped.
    Unfortunately she still thinks I am a little girl. Every time i see her i am always greeted with a big loud kiss smack dab on my lips, and it is quite embarrassing. Her next door neighbor used to have this large, yellow lab that we would love to play with whenever we went to visit. Too often she would clutch her neck at the sight of him walking over. She would tell us to be careful because she didn't want us to get hurt. Her voice is fooling too, because she talks with a high pitched, innocent tone that makes it seem like she is cooing over a baby. And boy, does she talk.
    She talks about anything and everything.
    "I saw a bear the other day in the woods, and you'll never guess what he was doing! Yes, he was eating berries off a tree. It was the neatest thing, i tell you." Nana lives in a thick wooded area, and her conversations about nature are never ending.
    "Obama is the best president we have ever had." She is very democratic.
     "I saw this story on the news where a man killed his two daughters after attacking their mother!" Sometimes i don't know how to respond to the things she says, so i let my mother do it.
    
      For my 16th birthday my Nana and grandpa took my sister and i out to shop; it's our annual birthday celebrations, a trip to the mall. Nana usually picks up a piece of clothing, checks the price, and either sets it down slowly without a word, or exclaims "Ooohh, this would look so good on you." I always feel bad letting them pay for me because i know they don't have much. So i nod my head and agree, yes it would look good on me.
     When i went over my limit of spending money the year i turned 13, my grandma told my grandpa i didn't then turned to give me a wink. She smiled to herself and i couldn't help but smile back, because she was so happy she had a secret with me.

    For christmas, it's different. She assembles intricately decorated gift baskets for each of us, all filled with random crap that we would never think of using in a million years. They are very extravagant- just like the numerous decorations in her living room, her homemade card that probably took her hours to make, and the amount of spices she puts on top of every dish she ever makes. One year i got a tin sign with "twilight" printed on the front. I also got a coiled cross with pearls on the end. It's things like this- things i would never use- that she always gets me. My mom said she has this ideal world in her head of what all of us want. For instance, since i am a teenage girl i would love to get sparkly lip balm or tangerine shampoo.

     Nana was the only person who tried to teach me to sew. She bought me my first (and only) sewing kit with numerous amounts of thread colors and a tomato needle carrier. I sat on her couch watching Beetlejuice and trying to copy what she did with her needle and thread. My sewing days didn't last long, but i still use my sewing kid sometimes to re-patch holes.
    Whenever i see my nana she let's me know of the many compliments she gets about me. "I showed my friends a picture of you from homecoming and they told me i had the most gorgeous granddaughters in the world. I agreed with them." When her mother was dying and placed in a nursing home, Nana made her an entire bulletin board collage with pictures of her five grandchildren on it. Our faces were everywhere in my great-grandmothers sick room.
    I think that bulletin board is in Nana's living room now.

thanksgiving observations

    Just my luck, I claimed the pumpkin pie and my sister got the pecan. Every year my sister and I are in charge of the pies (well, apparently this is true. See, we don't remember ever making pies before. This year, for example, we stood in the kitchen just staring at the ingredients my mom had laid out on the counter for us, not knowing what to do with them. "You always do the pies, girls," my mom replied to our quizzical stares. Sometimes my sister and i think she lies just to get away with less work. But then again i do have a terrible memory, so maybe we did the pies last year after all.)
     I woke up on Thanksgiving on my own clock. No one shoved my shoulders, banged impatiently on my door, or coincidentally happened to vacuum right outside my door. It was nice waking up at 10:30. When i came downstairs a nice "egg-baked" brunch was being prepared by my mom. We sat down at the table and she plopped a pan of a thick combination of eggs, sausage, tomatoes, and chives. She sat down a platter of small pastries next to it, and a bowl of cut up strawberries next to me. I told myself i wouldn't eat the pastries but i did. I ate two.
     Then my sister and i made the pies. I called the pumpkin because i thought it would be easier to make. My sister helped me assemble the ingredients and we pretty much laughed the whole time because no matter how much we want to be good bakers/cooks, we are not. "Sydney, that's a tablespoon, not a teaspoon." You see what i mean? But i wanted to prove to my mother i could do it because lately she has had a bad habit of underestimating us soon-to-be-eighteen-year-olds. She would linger in the kitchen and i would tell her, "mom, leave me alone i can do this."
     "I just want to make sure you don't screw it up. You have a tendency to not pay attention to the directions."
     Unfortunately this was after the tablespoon incident so my refuting comment didn't have much strength as i would have hoped. I told my mom to just leave the kitchen. Just leave please. This whole fiasco reinforces our behavior the past several months. I think it's due to the attachment problems my mom has to us. She tries to make us feel incapable of doing things by ourselves so that we will stay close for college. What she doesn't realize is i am already staying close for college, and her comments only add to my worries and self-doubts.
      So the pie turned out fine. Originally I was very worried because the directions said it would only take 40-50 minutes and i take directions very literally. Well i take everything literally, i noticed. When the timer rang i would do the "checking" process and stick a knife in the middle of the pie. It always came back with goop on it. I would only add 2-3 minutes each time i checked it to make sure. After being in the oven for 60 minutes i finally just took it out and prayed it would be okay. It had to, because my sister and i had already made a competition of whose pie would be the best. I don't get competitive very often but with her i do because she is my twin and i have this unrelenting need to be better than her in most things.
     We arrived at my aunt and uncles house when the sky was just beginning to get dark. By this time i had already seen numerous instagram photos of my friends thanksgiving meals they had already eaten. Usually my family likes to host gatherings during the holidays because it feels more special that way. I love being a hostess. But unfortunately our floors were scheduled for being redone on friday. The carpenters actually called us a couple days ago and announced they wouldn't be able to make it until Tuesday. By then the plans were already made for my aunt and uncles house thought. But I wasn't too upset- they're better than my other uncles house, who one year served us frozen pizza at Christmas dinner.
    I am always the first to be out of the car and into the house because of my excitement (and- since it's a known fact everyone has to bring in at least one item- i always go for the things that are in bags so i don't have to take the time to take the food from the back seat. Call me lazy.)
   Whenever i enter their house i always remember to open the door slowly and small at first because they have two small parti yorkies that never run out of energy and are always sitting by the door in anticipation of the guests arriving. My grandparents have a regular yorkie the same age, so there were actually three dogs bombarding me at the door, squeaking up a storm and jumping up my legs.
   Something you should know: my grandparents spend more time at my aunt and uncles house than their actual house in Wisconsin. It's because they have a special bond with their youngest son they never had with my mother. So naturally they were already there when i walked because they had actually spent the night there before. My grandma was busying herself in the kitchen, running from station to station adding an excessive amount of different herbs and spices to everything she could get her hands on. (She literally dumps a ton of that stuff on everything she makes and sometimes it makes my eyes water).
    As soon as she sees me my grandmother drops her victimized salad and gives me a look that suggests  i am the lost puppy she lost years ago that was already proclaimed dead. She rushes over to me with outstretched arms and fingers (much like a toddler begging for food from his or her high chair) and kisses me... on the lips. I know, it's embarrassing and i always forget to brace myself for it even though it happens every time. It wouldn't be as embarrassing, except for the fact that i am almost eighteen and don't kiss anyone on the lips, ever. Also- not an entire factor but important nonetheless- she always wears bright red lipstick, so the evidence of her affection is all over my face when she lets go of me. Sometimes i think of telling her to tone down the babying. i know if i did she would take it very offensively, however, so i pretend to be happy with it to save her sanity (and my mothers ear).
     My grandpa is next, but i like him. He is a short man (but still an inch taller than me) with a skinny frame and a plump stomach. While he hugs me he pats my back. I don't have to worry about him because my grandfather doesn't kiss anyone. Ever.
     I run over to my aunt and kiss each of her cheeks while she does the same to me. We are both obsessed with france and so it's normal for us to give each other the traditional french greeting. My uncle Steve is preoccupied fulfilling his bar tending job and creating new alcoholic drinks that my parents wouldn't let me try (even though all i asked for was one sip!)
    I look over and see my grandma has finished kissing the rest of my siblings. I know she is about to ask me about my life to engage me in a long conversation so she can point out how amazing i am. Anticipating this i blurt, "Rachel has a boyfriend!" Instant attention diverter.
    And seriously that line worked the whole night. My grandparents have this weird notion in their head that my sister and i always have boyfriends that we never tell them about. When my other aunt and uncle came over with my cousins i blurted it out again and they instantly asked her a bazillion questions. Nobody wants to hear how single you are.
     I was actually thankful when i told my grandma i was single, and expected the usual line: "you are such a catch i'm sure the boys are just lining up at your door. Grandpa, get the stick!"
    During dinner my grandma brought up politics and i looked at my sister with wide eyes. It ended up being a two hour conversation between my parents and grandparents debating the wonderful/horrible acts of Obama. Needless to say they cleared the room quickly because the rest of us saved ourselves by slipping away to the kitchen. Later my dad said there was no point talking to my grandma about it because he didn't accomplish anything except a headache.
    When my aunt kathy took her kids to visit her mom, my uncle mark stayed behind and watched tv downstairs, alone.
     My dogs (they are five years old) were always escaping the wraths of the little, younger dogs. They chase my dogs around constantly and never understand when my dog Ana snips at them ferociously that she doesn't like them.
     My sister said she didn't want any pie, but then when i got my piece she ended up eating half of mine anyway.
      My brother ate the leftover pumpkin pie that was equal to four full pieces.
      My grandpa didn't understand how whipped cream could be homemade despite my mom and aunt describing in detail how they just whipped the liquid whipping cream.
      The music playing was Justin Hines and it was simply perfect. He is an artist that my aunt and uncle introduced to us last year and since then he has been one of our favorites.
      My cousins only ate three bites total of their already small meal.
      My aunt Kathy ate a piece of pie despite my uncle glaring at her and telling her it was unhealthy. I smiled at her.
      My sister's phone was constantly ringing with text messages from her boyfriend. I checked mine ten times and the only action i had were messages that weren't even aimed at me because they were in a group chat, and a couple snap chats from this one guy who used to be in my AP US History class. I never looked at them because he was creepy.
      When i was talking to my uncle and grandpa about this guy i like my uncle told me not to text him first. My grandpa agreed, saying, "Your grandmother and i have been married 50 years and I still have to chase her."
      My aunt Pam would constantly give my sister and i side comments about the use of our cell phones. We know she doesn't like it when we have our phones out all the time. Later that night when we were sitting right next to each other, my aunt texted both of us girls and we had a whole conversation on our phones. It's her way of being funny, but the conversation went on for more than an hour.
      My grandma made two kinds of salads because one was Asian and she didn't know how people would take it. but nobody ate either salad anyway because they know just as much as i do how many spices she puts on them.
      Mark was in charge of the potatoes and they actually tasted decent.
      My family said the pecan pie was the best pecan pie they had ever had. My sister then proclaimed that she will always make the pecan pie from here on. Everyone told me they thought the pumpkin was very good as well, just the pecan was amazing compared to other pecans.
     

hey, the book was already on your list!

So, I literally just checked your list of options and realized The Body Project was the last one. Weird. Anyway, I liked this documentary as well. Haha. 

I was one of the first people to watch this documentary because I went to one of the select showings Daryl  put out in theaters (he brought it to different cities, and it wasn't listed in the typical theaters. I heard about it through a nutritionist). I dragged my best friend Jane Hunerberg to it with me in 2011, , and after watching the documentary we got to meet him and he talked to us about his journey in making the film. It was really cool!

Here is what his website says about the film. 

(by the way, this was the second one he made. There is another one produced several years back. It's free on Hulu and i've also watched it.)

"In an instant, 29 million Americans became fat, out of shape and dangerously obese… and they did it without taking a single bite of food. It was all the result of a decision to change the national standard for obesity. The question is “What was behind a ruling to declare so many people to be fat? Was it political, financial or for the good of humankind?” You’ll find out that diet companies have raked in huge profits because of the new standards — guidelines the weight loss industry helped structure.

The answer lies in a new film by award-winning director Darryl Roberts who, in a follow-up to “America The Beautiful”, examines the cause of our country’s obsession with dieting. “America The Beautiful 2: The Thin Commandments” also weighs in on the raging debate between doctors who say fat is healthy versus those who disagree.

The movie, which premieres in October, offers a passionate and sometimes humorous documentation of the battle to be… well… thin. You see everything from gastric bypass surgery, an obsessed fitness fanatic and a victim of anorexia.

There’s also the revelation that — based on new “fat” guidelines — LeBron James, one of the world’s greatest athletes, is obese. So are Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, Tom Cruise, Will Smith and Christian Bale.

In what once was purely a woman’s issue, more and more men are being targeted by advertisers to diet or bulk up to resemble the Adonis images on the cover of men’s magazines. Covering issues such as America’s unhealthy dieting craze, the use of the outdated and misleading BMI scale and the currently touted “obesity epidemic,” Roberts debates the widely believed concepts that you have to be thin to be healthy. During his journey, he discovers the plethora of factors contributing to America’s body dissatisfaction, many of which are being promoted by doctors, schools, the government, and even the First Lady of the United States.

Roberts’ new film humanizes what has become an intellectual debate over whether weight loss programs should ever be promoted, bringing humor with his own efforts to lose weight.

Spiritual guru Deepak Chopra, Secretary of Health Kathleen Sebelius, the Arch Bishop of NY Timothy Dolan, Paul Campos, author Christian Lander, Carolyn Costin and former Surgeon General Dr. David Satcher are featured in the film.

Roberts questions these experts about the promotion of weight loss surgeries, fad diets, disorderly eating, and a nationwide fear of fat that causes panic whenever our Body Mass Index passes the number 25. With one of the the most advanced medical systems in the world and alternative health modalities at our disposal, is it possible to be healthy at a variety of sizes and weights?

The movie opens in New York, October 12 and platforms across the country from there."

Taken From:

synopsis: america the beautiful

the body project (inspired by "Never Just Picture" by Susan Bordo)

I read this book a couple years ago and I was impacted by it. The story we read about bodies and fantasies by Susan Gordo made me think of this book. Just a suggestion to read. "America's adolescent girls are in crisis. Growing up in a female body is more difficult today than ever before because girls' bodies have changed and so has American society. Menstruation and sexual activity begin much earlier and there is also much greater emphasis on the body as a way of defining the self. Using intimate materials drawn from the unpublished diaries of American girls, The Body Project provides a lively and engaging story of how growing up as a girl has changed over the past one hundred years, and why the pressures on girls are now so intense.Girls today grow up believing that "good looks" -- rather than "good works" -- are the highest form of female perfection. In the past, greater maternal involvment and more single sex groups, such as the Girl Scouts, supported the whole girl, placing greater emphasis on internal rather than external qualities. But in the twentieth century, that "protective umbrella" disappeared, popular culture became more powerful, and expectations about physical perfection increased so that American girls came to define themselves more and more through their bodies. Today, the body has become most girls' primary project, creating a degree of self-consciousness and dissatisfaction that is pervasive and often dangerous. For everyone concerned with adolescent girls -- parents, teachers, librarians, physicians, nurses, and mental health professionals -- Joan Jacobs Brumberg is a "must" read because she puts so many contemporary adolescent issues in historical perspective. A fascinating photo essay comprised of photographs, advertisements and postcards shows how girls and their bodies have changed since the nineteenth century. From corsets to body piercing, The Body Project demonstrates how the preoccupation with the body has intensified and why adolescent girls and their bodies have born the brunt of social change in the twentieth century. Although The Body Project acknowledges a problem, it is still an entertaining read because it evokes so many memories in the lives of girls and women -- particularly personal milestones such as first periods, pimples, training bras, first dates, and sexual awakening. The book is perfect for generating mother-daughter dialogue, and it is remarkable for its insight about what adolescent girls have gained and lost as American women shed the corset and the ideal of virginity for a new world of dieting and body sculpting, sexual freedom and self expression. " Taken From: the body project website

"idk, my bff Bauerlein?"

            I’m not going to lie, before I opened word document to write this essay I went on Facebook. In fact, that is my automatic action whenever the Internet is accessible, along with most of the people I go to school with. True, people in past generations probably spent more time in the library than they did focusing on online social networking, but does this inference justify saying this generation is less intelligent than the ones before? In the book the Dumbest Generation, Mark Bauerlein expresses his belief that Americans are, in fact, growing dumber as time goes on. He specifies on the current, or youngest, generation by arguing we are stupid due to our lack in proper motives for gaining knowledge, excessive “screen time”, and the previous generation’s incompetency in guiding us properly.

            “Books make people smarter. Nowadays, people don’t read as many books as they used to. Therefore, the current generation is dumber than the rest.” This quote, (said by nobody in particular) demonstrates one of Bauerlein’s reasoning’s on why we have become more stupid. Inspired by his first chapter where he argues the knowledge discrepancy between this generation and it’s preceding one, he claims young peoples choose not to read. With many numbers and statistics, he grasps the potential in the improvement society could make by reading more tangible books.

            Bauerlein further argues the need for less computer time. Much of his verdict comes from the progression in technology. He believes online learning coincides with no learning at all because of its many distractions. Television, books and magazines, parents and other adults, text messages, music, and the Web affect our language abilities. Apparently digital uses also “close the doors to maturity, erode habits of the classroom, and pull hours away from leisure practices that complement classroom habits.”

Bauerlein’s diction is very sophisticated, further establishing to his argument. If a person reads his book and doesn’t understand certain words or meanings, they will feel stupid. “Even if we grant that visual media cultivate a type of spatial intelligence, they still minimize verbal intelligence, providing too little stimulation for it, and intense, long-term immersion in it stultifies the verbal skills of viewers and disqualifies them from most every academic and professional labor.” Say what?!

            I’m sure our flawless prior generation could explain.

            Despite his direct attack on my friends, classmates, future coworkers, and myself, Bauerlein includes several passages that I do agree with and found interesting, even inspiring. Personally I connected more with his case centered on the TV, computer, cell phone, and any other digital objects with screens. When he stated,

“In 50 years… Knowledge will reside less in the minds of people and more on the pages of Web sites. The past will come alive on the screen, not in the imagination. The factual inventory that makes for a good Jeopardy! contestant will belong to individuals who tap quickly into the right information sources, not to individuals with the best memories and discipline. Texts will be more visual, reading more “browsy” and skimming.” (page101, Bauerlein)

my head was nodding along with the text. His hypothesis is based off credible inferences, because it seems quite possible that the dependency of the future will reside online. Game shows currently are played with knowledge within the brain and past experiences that put a contestant there. However, with technology growing and becoming more prominent in our lives, it is completely plausible that the value of a person is based, not on the content of their character, but in the content of their computer.

            Mark Bauerlein continues to gain my perspective when he confronts online learning, expressing specifically, “In 2001, Henrico Country Public Schools in Virginia distributed Apple laptops to every high school student in the system, and a year later the State of Maine gave one to each seventh and eighth-grade student in the state, along with their teachers.” (pg. 117). Shouldn’t schools focus on the students that can’t even afford to buy their own textbooks or calculators before distributing iPads and laptops? Does it really make sense to put those glamorous items before basic needs? I relate this to my own school districts approach. Elementary schools have laptops assigned to each student, giving them access to learn online. As early as next year at the High School, kids entering freshmen year will be given iPads to use for educational purposes. Yet, last year when I was a volunteer at JamFest, an organization for Fund-A-Need (program that raises money for the students inside WHS who can’t afford basic school supplies), the turnout was depressingly low. So low, in fact, that they decided to discontinue JamFest in the future.

            Just because he is essentially condemning my generation doesn’t mean I don’t accept some of his points. But- for the comparison factor- I would be delighted to share excerpts that I disagree with.  I understand the goal of his book was establish an argument. However it was hard for me to not scoff at some of his logic.

Bauerlein includes, “While 64 percent knew the name of the latest ‘American Idol,’ only 10 percent could identify the speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives.” (pg. 19). Excuse me Mr. Bauerlein, but you only interviewed people ages 15-26 years old. My stats teacher and I could both explain a sample size that small does not justify the views of the entire U.S. population. While it does give decent insight on our generation, what about the previous ones? Perform another study showing responses from 30-60 year olds and see if they know any better than we do. (By the way, I had no idea who had won the latest American idol).  

            On page 31 he brings up that kids nowadays have more money to spend. “Not many 20-year-olds in 1965 had a credit card… by 2002, 83 percent of college students carried at least one.” This argument wasn’t effective to me because the amount of money a teenager has now compared to what they had 50 years ago is obviously going to be significantly larger due to inflation and the advancement of our economy. If teenager’s back then did have the same amount of money, I find it hard to believe they would choose to exclusively purchase intellectual objects either.

            Apart from the sarcastic tone and examples against Bauerlein included in this essay, I do appreciate his effort in wanting to change the youngest generation. Obviously I am going to be defensive about his suggestions because they are directed at me. Nobody enjoys being called stupid- nonetheless being told they are becoming more stupid with time. The constant statistics, references to smart people, and claims he stated over and over bored me often. Though they did provide excessive credibility for his facts, and produced a large quantity of facts to support his claim, using too many of them left me overwhelmed. By starting off his proposal with a whole chapter on evidence similar to the Jay Leno show, he provides the chocolate cake parents tell their kids they could so they eat all their veggies first. It’s sustenance. Support. Motivation.

            Overall, the effects of Bauerlein's argument are propelling because they make kids either want to change their reputation, or counter argue why the concept "dumb" shouldn't be applied to them. It creates strong emotions. 

Bauerlein provided many personal examples from kids in this generation (the interviews by Jay Leno and the guests appearing on the Tonight Show) that moved his argument forward because many of his readers have most likely seen interviews like this. It makes his audience feel ashamed of representatives from our generation, prompting them to think, “He isn’t attacking me personally- he is attacking other people my age. So I can see why he is arguing that our generation is dumb… for the time being.” After reading this, I also feel guilt for going on Facebook before I do anything productive. The women in this video should feel even guiltier. 

Links:

Feature: is it just us, or are kids getting really stupid?

students becoming more dependent on technology in the classroom, study says

             

"The public's thirst for vampires seems as endless as vampires' thirst for blood."

   It's the Middle Ages and you're in Europe, and you you're walking down the street when you look up to see a family wrapped in their cloaks, standing in front of their sizzling, black house that was burned to the ground the night before. Their melancholy faces hang to stare at their freshly packed luggage. It's apparent they have just lost their home, but you have no idea how the fire started. Your immediate thought is that a small fire went awry, feeling sorry for the young family, yet not wanting to get involved you continue on your way to the village. When you get there however, the talk of the town is incidentally about the fire, and not about how a their supper got too overcooked. You learn the real reason they had a fire was because (dun dun dun) they were vampires! Bad things don't just happen to good people, therefore they must be cursed. You decide you will stay away from them forever.
     Okay, so maybe this wasn't the exact thought process of Europe during that time, but it was close. The theory of vampires was brought to life in order to blame bad things happening to good people. If there was a sudden unexplainable death in one's family, it was because one of them had supernatural powers. (Do the Salem Witches ring a bell?) Naturally people terrorized it more and more and it became this huge phenomenon mixed with garlic, burning skin at the touch of sun, sucking blood, and coffins. Regardless of their lack of logic, you have to give them props on their imaginations.
   

halloween, the art of enchanting the soul

Halloween 1999

Halloween 2000

Nowadays, Halloween has a completely different meaning to me than it did when i was five. Back in the day, i would get so excited to get dolled up in my glamorous princess dresses (there was always a dress involved in everything i wore) and flaunt my practiced skill of "princess hand waving". You know, because princess's have different hand waves than the common person. It's more of a roll in the wrist than a sharp hand jerk from side to side. Princess's are elegant- and that is exactly what i wanted to be. A lady.    

      "Momma make me pretty!" She would curl my hair, paint my nails brilliantly red, and- if i was lucky- let me use a dab of her soft pink lipstick.


When i was five, the only statement i tried to make with my costumes was that i was a polite, beautiful princess (who maybe had magical powers, maybe not, depending on the day). In the first picture, i am hiding my teeth in a sweet smile, while clutching my sisters hands with mine. My 'Snow White' attire would most likely match Plato's definition of rhetoric: the "art of enchanting the soul". The sharp red, deep blue, and emerald gold of my attire suggest that i was royalty, a classy young woman who was a leader in the way she walked, talked, sang, cleaned, danced, and ate apples. This dress certainly mesmerized me. In the next picture, my brother and sister are sitting on rocks while i'm rocking the shot with my sassy hip pop and awkward wave. Again, our attires suggest our heroes, yet they also reflect our personalities. But that is the point of children's costumes; their only statements in appearance is to become something or someone you admire, even if it is for just one night.

      Flash forward and you get our Senior Year Halloween. My sister and i are still together in matching costumes, but we left our princess dresses at home. My friends and i went to our halloween party as The Pink Ladies from the movie Grease. Obviously the spandex is a little tighter than my flowy princess dresses, and sure- our shirts are just a little lower than they used to be. If you were to ask Francis Bacon, he would say rhetoric "is to apply reason to imagination for the better moving of the will." The reason we thought the Pink Ladies would be an appropriate option because we are senior ladies at the high school, all blonde and outgoing, energetic and pretty, but we also are really close. Our costumes reflect our imaginations and personalities (loud, crazy, and dramatic) as well as how we view each other- as a group. The shiny, pink, awesome jackets suggest that we like to have fun and are ready for a good time. As for the spandex.... well there isn't really a plausible explanation for that one. Let's be honest, it's just what everu girl wears nowadays. The point is, now we don't dress up to our aspirations; we pick a reason for our costumes (a cute group idea) and use our imagination (the Pink Ladies....perfect!) to turn it into something great. Back then there was more meaning behind it... now we just throw something on to dance in for a night.

Halloween 2012

eyes

     Over the weekend i went on an STLF tour to do service work with thirty other high school students from the Twin Cities area. Not only was it an eye opener to the difference kids like us could make on someone else's life and the environment, but i also learned so much about people and how they interact. Every night in each city we did an activity to connect the group as a whole and "bond" us together so we could relate to each other more. The second night they had us all line up in a circle. Our leaders then broke us up into two groups- one large circle, and one circle in between that circle. We were told to face each other (inner circle looking out, outer circle looking in) and stare into each others eyes. If we made any noise we would have to close our eyes. I was in the inner circle, and i turned to face my partner: a tall, handsome boy with dark hair named Blake, who i had learned earlier was a junior at Eagan High School. At first I didn't understand what they wanted us to gain from this activity. Not only was it completely random, but i soon found it impossible to do. Within seconds of us gazing into each others eyes there was an immediate laughter coming from half of the circle. I myself tried not to laugh, but was unsuccessful. Our leader told us to close our eyes. We did. "Reopen" she said.
     Again- instant laughter. Close your eyes. Open. Laugh. It took many times for us to do it right- and even then it could only last a minute or two. During those minutes, i found it to be very awkward. I was looking up at Blake, his eyes staring down at me. The corners of our mouths were pulled up into tight smiles, hiding the imminent giggles behind them. I would glance at the floor for a second, look up. He would look behind me a couple times, then meet my stare. We were told to switch partners. Again and again we did this with different people. Our eyes closed and reopened too many times to count. And with everybody it was the same- awkward. So awkward.
     Why is it uncomfortable to stare into someone's eyes? We do it everyday when we hold conversations. We can look into the eyes of our loved ones, best friends, companions. Don't i look people in the eyes when i talk to them? Yes... briefly. More often than not I am aren't completely focused on that person for more than a couple seconds...minutes even. Staring into someone's eyes is so intimate and the activity made us uncomfortable. But why? Do we not take enough time to look at people when we talk to them?
     When these people were looking into my own eyes, i felt exposed. I was left with no guard, almost like they were staring freely into my soul. I know that is over dramatic- but that is what it felt like. It felt like they were sharing a part of them to me without even saying a word, and i to them. It was belittling and that's why i looked down at the floor. So is that why we have trouble keeping our cool? Is it awkward for us to share ourselves with others like that? Is it that we don't want to? Is it because we don't want these people to know what's inside of us? Why can't we simply stare into each others eyes for minutes, with no awkwardness?