Semester Goals: Humanities

First Goal:
I would like to start coming to office hours AT LEAST once a week for Charlotte's class. This will give me extra time to do my homework, study for tests/quizzes coming up, get a better understanding of assignments, etc. which will really help not only my grade, but learning experience.

Second Goal:
Turn in homework on time and continue doing the work. I've slacked off too much in the past to let my grade slip again. I plan on consistently doing my work every night, making sure I'm happy with it and turning it in ON TIME.

Third Goal:
Focus more in class and help other students. A lot of the time in class I will tend to start doing something else when I should be doing my classwork or when I rarely stop listening to Charlotte and space off. I feel if I help other students and really focus, it will please both my teachers and I.

Semseter Goals : Mysics

First Goal:

Doing my homework every time an assignment is given and continuing it in order to raise my grade and have an easier time.

First Step:
Having my parents and friends remind me to do my work and if not finishing it before school ends, then doing it on the bus or right when I get home.

Second Goal:

-Asking more questions/asking for help in order to understand what I'm doing (because I usually don't understand what I'm supposed to do)
First step:
Going to Mele's office hours at least once a week.


Third Goal:
Participate more in class
First steps:
Raise my hand or give the answer when I know whats going on/what Im talking about

Hero Project Reflection

To answer the essential question, "how does a hero become a hero?" I believe that a hero becomes a hero by changing someones life in a positive way. For me, Davey has changed my life in so many ways. He spent time with me, always made sure I was fine and happy, listened to me when I wanted to talk, formed a good relationship with me, was honest, taught me about life and people, got me into punk, gave me reasoning for every action, etc. For those reasons and many others, Davey is my hero.

The 'hero in my eyes' project was a way to get thinking about who your heroes are, why they're your heroes, how they changed you, and write about it. At least for me that's what it did. We had to ask questions, write based on experience, tell a bit about that experience or the story, depending on what you chose to do.

For the process, I met the first couple of deadlines but I didn't meet the first deadlines for the actual paper itself: the first or second rough draft. That effected what improvements I could make and opinions, how I could improve, lowering my grade and ultimately got me behind. I was absent several days, also leaving me confused about assignments and how to do them, leaving me further behind. For the final product, I somehow managed to catch up and meet the deadline. Yet, my paper got lost in the pile and I had to re-do it.

I have learned that I MUST keep up with my work, turning my projects on that meet the deadline and do the work, if not, my grade goes down and makes it harder for me to catch up. I found it hard to sneak in Davey's answers into the paper at first, then I got the hang of it and found it to be rather easy. Asking Davey questions was rather hard itself considering he was always at work then left town to go to The Fest 8. In between times that I rarely saw him, I'd ask him small questions, making him unaware of the fact I was going to use them for my paper. I would definitely meet up with deadlines next time, sit down and ask more questions, and make it less "last minute." I think it'll help me later because now i really have more appreciation for people and will wonder about why I like/dislike/love them.

Wonder was definitely the first one I did. I had to ask myself before I even began, "Why is he my hero? What all has he done for me?" and write a list of the reasons why I look up to him then wonder what I was going to do about the paper and how I was going to map it out or even what exactly it was about and where/when it took place using details and to the point where people would understand instead of telling a boring story.

http://leftovergenevieve.blogspot.com/2009/11/spilling-beans.html

Spilling The Beans

Tears streamed down from Davey, my step-father's now glazed, baby blue eyes hinted with splashes of green and outlined with red. His mouth quivered and body shook as he wrapped his thick arms around me, weeping. "I love you more than anything else, kid," his voice cracked, going in and out of different pitches like a teenage boy going through puberty. "You're the only reason I'm even still in this house, or even alive, really." Before I knew it, streams of salty, bitter water streamed down from the corners and bottom of my eyes and down my cheeks, rapidly falling and splattering onto the surface below from my chin.

My parents had been miserable together for three, horrid years before officially deciding to split up for good. While my mother went in and out of jobs, Davey had been holding onto the same job for over a year and a half, working everyday from the time he got up, to the mid night/morning, which usually totaled up to over 80 hours a week. Once coming home, he'd usually hide upstairs for up to an hour, check up on me, go to band practice or a show and try to get which ever extra work he could do to make ends meet or get that "beautiful " guitar or bass. I cherish those times were we sit in the living room, spinning records, singing and talking- just the two of us. Still, the word "stressful" was a bit more than an understatement, but he still seemed to give everything his all, despite his misery. Despite knowing all this, I still climbed up those steps leading into his room, fully aware I was about to stack up those piles of stress and worry he faces everyday.



Several chills crawled up my spine and under my flesh as I slowly spoke. As I confessed to things that no fourteen year old girl should do or even deal with, Davey sat there- listening. No interruptions, shocked faces, horrible reactions, just his full attention. Although I felt ashamed, rarely would and do I hide things from him, leaving in all the gory details that I cant imagine any father would want to hear or know about his child. He did not and still does not judge me, no matter how bad the actions. In-fact, Davey probably knows more about me than any other person I've ever known, even up to this date.

After sluggishly kissing Davey goodnight and leaving his room, a sense of relief and warmness filled me. As I glanced at the clock that then read 4:00 AM, a light smile stumbled onto my face as I drifted to sleep. No matter how bad things got, or how horrible I felt, Davey would always be there for me and we'd have each other. That bit of knowledge and teaspoon-- no-- lifetime of love put me to ease and I knew things would be okay.

The Origin of Zero

What really caught my attention/strikes me about the article was zero's history. I would have never really thought that zero was simply just a placeholder. Its crazy to think that zero wasn't even really acknowledged til much later. Its also hard for me to think of life and speech without "zero". Its also really rad to see how other people wrote/drew zero. To me it was always just that weird oval, but its super cool to see other peoples concepts of it! I've never really thought of zeros origin before, but now I'm beginning to wonder about the other numbers..

Angela

Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her skirt, took a deep breath and walked towards where he was sitting. As her crisp golden eyes, splattered with blue sparkled like diamonds, she tucked a thin layer of aqua hair behind her right ear before she slowly began to speak. "H-hey! M-Mikey? Do you remember me..?" she stuttered, fidgeting with long, thin fingers. The boy looked up, his green eyes turned warm and a welcoming smile graced his soft skin as he jumped up, wrapping his arms around Angela. "ANGIE!" he cried out happily, nearly knocking both of them over. Angela's face went from a pale pink to beat red-- almost as if someone had dunked her head in a bucket of blood. A bitter-sweet smell of cigarettes and 'Old Spice' filled her as the sudden memory of the first time she'd seen him took over. The skies were different shades of gloomy gray, mixing with the clouds, water poured rapidly down from the air, bursts of air lifted Angela's faded green hair as she hugged herself walking down the empty sidewalks of Central Park, located in New York. After finding a small dry piece of pavement, she quickly rushed over, nearly throwing herself at it, in the processes, it seems she became blinded by this sudden rush and crashed smack into a boy. His eyes were soft and warm, consisting of green with hints of gray, tall and skinny with semi-short hair fell on his face. But, before she could even get a good look at him, everything went black. The next thing she remembered was lying on the dry spot, soaking wet and that boy-- Mikey, leaning over her and making sure she was fine. From then on, Angela knew she was in trouble. Coming back to reality, they unlinked their messy arms and got to eye level. Instead of beating around the bush, Mikey bombarded her with questions, Angela raced to find answers and catch up with an old friend-- the type you know you'll be in love with for the rest of your life, but could never admit it.

Unity

As I rest my body on the sinking, soft, red, velvet couch beside my best friend, Maya, all that ran through my head was the not only displaying of talents, but the unity that was about to happen in several hours. The horrid, stomach churning feeling that was going to enter me before the night was over made me shake with a roller coaster of excitement. The bright, blood-red walls of the collective that resides inside of The Che Café in La Jolla gave me a more excited feeling as I craved to scream the lyrics, “This Is What I Want.”

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Terry, Ted and Rymodee finished setting up their equipment, the fresh, warm and delightful smell of vegan cupcakes and cookies quickly faded and was replaced with a mixture of an odd, musty, ‘I’ve-been-on-tour’ and everyone else’s body odor scent, yet I didn’t even cringe. Instead, I smiled and took my place in the crowd, in the center front, as close as I could manage to get while my shins kissed the rather short front wall of the stage. Terry smiled as she said, “Hi, we’re This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb.” Followed by her proceeding to sing her lungs out, keep a fast pace on her bass while Rymodee did the same except with his guitar, and Ted pounded the wooden stick onto his dirty drum kit and followed along to the singing. My heart leapt, I bounced around, pushing and getting pushed while everyone screamed the lyrics with them. People piled on top of each other, kids hung from the rafters, everyone pushed to get to the microphone and I was no exception.

Sweat dripped off of my body and rubbed onto others, although, it didn’t matter at this point. The combination of everyone’s heat and odor seemed to combine, as a result, every window in the small venue fogged up, any and all fresh air was now eliminated, it was hard to breathe and my face grew green with a sick feeling. I couldn’t do a thing but smile and sing though. The music came to a halt as Ted and Terry announced that they had one more song. Loud, screeching voices protested from every corner and angle at this fact. After calming the crowd down, the words, “This next song is about punks taking over the world!” Terry yelled as my eyes bulged out, my heart raced, the widest smile I could manage quickly formed onto my face and I screamed my lungs out. The last song, ‘This Is What I Want’ started and everyone became one. And I swear, at that moment, all of our now hoarse and faintly voices, sweaty, tired, hyped up bodies, fists in the air and love for music combined. If it was possible, my eyes—no body, would have turned into hearts, resistant of letting this moment go.