Hey you!
July 16, 2008
Yes, you!
This blog is ridiculously mediocre.
Recent stuff:
“Mythbusters” Essay
April 25, 2008
This was one of my favorite essays all year: and probably my favorite one this semester. In it, I take a rather sarcastic stand on the whole, “You’re Italian so you must be in the Mafia,” stereotype.
Revision: After
January 17, 2008
Revision: Before
January 17, 2008
The essay that I chose to revise was my “American Romanticism” essay. It was actually rather good, considering the time constraints present when I was writing it. Looking back, I feel that the main points that I need to concentrate on are word choice (including repetition) and expression: oftentimes, my ideas and statements are muddled due to deadwood. Apparently, even when pressed for time, I tend to be rather verbose.
The pictures of the “before” essay are rather blurry, but I’m afraid that I don’t have a scanner available. Fortunately, the final copy does not really differ too much from the original, at least in content.
Freewrite!
January 17, 2008
I absolutely love freewrites…when they turn out decently. This one, well, let’s just say that I’m really not sure what on earth I was thinking when I wrote it. By the way, Nutley is a small little town in New Jersey, where I was born and was fortunate enough to spend the first 7 years or so of my life. Oh well, it makes sense and it’s coherent:
Nutley evokes strange memories. Allegedly, it is the scene of a stereotypical high school, complete with a racist football team. Stereotypical high school– that reminds me of a conversation we– never mind, I’m getting off topic and need to resume my sleepy narrative of Nutley: Nutley, with a tired main street, complete with a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. A hole-in-the-wall pizza place with a smoky back room, hushed conversations, and last names that seem to always terminate with a vowel.
Which reminds me of that conversation about the Godfa– wait! back on topic! Down main street (that wasn’t really its name) was a park. It was a huge park, bundled with geese, multiple swing sets, and a hill perfect for sledding. All this can be yours for only 3 easy payments of 19.99!
I hate childhood memories. They’re far too nostalgic.
Stream of Consciousness
January 17, 2008
This was, overall, my favorite assigned journal entry. I love writing in stream of consciousness… and I feel as though this entry turned out exceptionally well.
Who does she think she is?
Getting up and gliding across the room, I pause– ever so briefly– before striding to the commotion overtaking my rather intimidating oak door. Really, it’s odd having such an elaborate door to protect such a despicable abode, but first impressions are everything.
I look through the keyhole as I unlatch the dead bolts and unfasten the chains that guard my nearly inhabitable sanctuary: of course, of course it’s her. Who else would dare be bold enough to knock– loudly– on my front door at two in the morning?
Flinging the door open, I block the entrance. It’ll be better to make this quick and painless than to invite her in to talk. Indeed, letting her in would simply exacerbate the issue…it’s better to chat on the front porch.
Funny, it wasn’t snowing when I went to be less than an hour ago. A think blanket of freshly fallen powder envelops the drowsy street which my town house looks down upon. I paid a small fortune for the peace of mind and prestige that comes from living in the nicest place on the block. Not that money matters anyway– it’s cheap, almost as cheap as the woman now stammering apologies on my stoop.
“I…I…it was cold and I was in the neighborhood and I…”
Silencing her with a noncommittal wave, I look around again. The city is disturbingly peaceful at this hour, though in only a few more, it’ll be bustling again. The daily parade of yuppies, hookers, gang-bangers, and coffee-shop revolutionaries will head out for another day of alleged work, while the newspaper boy who stands a few houses down will attempt to drown out their conversations with his prepubescent cries.
“I just wanted to… apologize for the way that I…”
Resisting the urge to just slam the door, I turn to the slender (Did she loose weight?) figure still trying to formulate an excuse on my doorstep. She’s drunk– again. Isn’t that why this happened in the first place? It’s not that I mind drunks: I actually find them sort of funny; but when your significant other “accidently” takes a cab to a house on the other side of town where her co-worker just happens to live in a drunken stupor, things tend to simply blow up.
“Well, I just want to admit that what I did was completely and utterly wrong.”
Finally, maybe the cold is helping her nerves or something. She’s stopped stammering, and something she’s said actually makes sense– sort of. Well, actually, it’s a complete lie and we both know it. I mean, yeah, one accidental cab ride can be forgiven… but every other night for a month or so stings a little.
Research Paper
January 14, 2008
Rarely am I satisfied with a paper — and this was one of the few exceptions. As the final paper of the year, I feel as though it was one in which my abilities truly shone through my writing.
This was one of the random entries in my journal, written after the actual assigned work was finished. It’s also one of the few “extra” entires that are actually readable.
Perhaps,
just maybe,
and perhaps,
certain things are said best
when iterated from the lips
of an illiterate infant
Symbolic statements take
second-row seats to
contemporary cliches quoted courageously
Schoolchildren scold and salute
statues, senselessly
See, faith’s first folly is not so much
facilitated as forced
into ever developing follicles of
unforeseen utilitarian urgency.
Excelsior! Exponential epilogues entertain
nihilistic nothingness, nagged northward
by blundering bourgeois bastards
I really don’t remember much from this journal entry. I’m fairly certain that it had something do to with a personification or something to that nature. Anyhow it’s poetry, so it must be awesome:
November 8
Like an ignorant child,
hatred overtook me
and
casting to the wind, my values,
I took flight.
Not away from the impish fiend
that consumed my soul,
but into the heart
of hatred himself.
AFTA Analytical Essay
November 19, 2007
Ahhh…the analytical essay: I really don’t have much to say about this one, aside from the fact that it’s incredibly brief. It was an interesting topic to pursue: social decline in A Farewell to Arms. I think it took me until the second or third body paragraph to really get into a rhythm, and the introduction sounds stiff as a result. span>
Chris Sonzogni
Ms. Robinson
Honors English 3
December 4, 2007
Ulterior Motives: The Underlying Theme of A Farewell to Arms
Moral decay in society is prevalent. Through a multitude of examples in A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway alludes to such a decline. His examples of social decline can be grouped into three sub-categories: a decline in religious beliefs, a decline in ethics, and an overall loss of individual identity. While Hemingway never explicitly enumerates his visions of social degeneration, such examples clearly manifest his intent in the reader’s mind.
Arguably the most noticeable and prevalent example of social decline in A Farewell to Arms is the blatant disregard for anything remotely spiritual by the majority of the main characters. In the preliminary chapters, when the protagonist, Frederick Henry, receives a Saint Anthony medallion for good luck, he treats the figurine with a scarcely withheld skepticism. Henry’s somewhat sarcastic treatment of religion and religious symbols is reaffirmed when he, upon being asked how his blistered palms feel, comments, “there is no hole” in his side (285). However, Henry is by no means the only character responsible for casting a negative light on piety. Beginning as early as the second chapter, many of his fellow soldiers are responsible for congregating to gibe at a priest. While the aforementioned treatment is hardly prevalent in A Farewell to Arms, Hemingway’s inclusion of such remarks notably reinforces his underlying thesis: society as a whole is degenerating.
Another intrinsic example of social decline exists in Ernest Hemingway’s treatment of morality in A Farewell to Arms. From the very plot of the entire novel, in which the main character treats his affections as a game, and his suitor as simply another to be played with, Hemingway deftly, yet subtly alludes to the fact that traditional morals are deftly trampled in our society. Time and time again, Frederick Henry seems to shrug off the pains and attachments of “love.” Perhaps the most lucid example occurs in the final sentence of the novel, when a suddenly alone Frederick shuns the death of his beloved Catherine (in addition to that of his newborn child), and simply acquiesces to “walk back to the hotel in the rain,” without any signs of emotion or grief (332). Decidedly more shocking to the reader than his “love” affair with Ms. Barkley, and certainly no less officiating to Hemingway’s assault on morality, is Henry’s deliberate (and rather candid) killing of a fellow general while moving his ambulance corps away from the front line. The killing comes and passes abruptly in the middle of the men’s attempts to free an ambulance stuck in the mud. Hemingway’s prose is illustrative of the absolute lack of remorse or emotion that any of the men show to the slain general. In fact, Piani (another ambulance driver) is heard to casually remark, “You certainly shot the sergeant,” in the midst of a conversation about bicycles. Such hasty, senseless killings and egocentric attitude attribute to Hemingway’s book-long allusion of social degeneration.
Loss of identity (possibly a result of Ernest Hemingway’s modernist literary tendencies) is another prevalent theme in A Farewell to Arms that melds perfectly with Hemingway’s ideas of social deterioration. In fact, the reader does not learn the name of the protagonist until Chapter 7 of the novel, at which point it is only casually mentioned. Such failure to differentiate and humanize is also evident in the constant confusion surrounding Frederick Henry’s nationality. For instance, while Henry is recovering from war-related wounds in Milan, he requests a barber. Little does he know that the entire time, the barber thinks him to be Austrian: an enemy (91). Blurring of Frederick’s national identity is actually integral to the novel, as he is an American citizen, but serving the Italian war effort. Rarely is “home” mentioned, nor does it even play any major role Fredrick’s character. It seems to the reader that the only identity that Frederick can assume is that of Catherine Barkley’s “lover.” Throughout the novel, he associates only with his lust-driven fantasies and memories of her, and is left awestruck and emotionless once again after she perishes following childbirth.
Overall, Hemingway subtly encourages his idea that society is declining, through a host of examples. Said examples pertain mostly to decline in religion, moral values, and an overall loss of character identity. It is eerie to look now at such predictions with Hemingway’s future now our past and see how true they are – how society as a whole is in decline.
