A Bunch of Loons

Loon: A type of bird symbolic of the north often found in Canada or the northern United States. (Thank you allaboutbirds.org)
Loon: A person who displays behavior that seems or appears out of the ordinary and some may view said person as crazy (Thank you dictionary of Dani Boucher.)
I find my use of the word loon ever increasing. The more I think about the word loon the more I use it. Often times I say it about my friends “ Oh your such a loon” “Oh you’re loony”. At times I feel the courage to use the word with myself. Yesterday while at my girlfriend’s house I thought or spoke (look at the pristine memory I have) while we had a snowball fight “We’re just a bunch of loons”. As I sit and think about school and my life and the life of those around me (I know, why don’t I just think about the whole universe and the meaning of life) I could think of no better way to describe it. I, or we, live in a society full of social normalcies and unspoken rules that no one truly knows, but simply abides by. There are things in this “society” that no one should speak of, that we all must abide to. Why? (That’s rhetorical (I felt the need to inform you of that due to I never know if a presenter of questions intends their question to have an answer giver or not)) I have theories upon theories of this. Some nights when I can’t sleep or other times when I should sleep, but would much rather play my guitar. I wonder where they stared and why do generations see them differently. I see no better example of this generational gap then with in my own family. My grandmother (Best grandma ever) believes girls should not have their ears pierced and God made the body as a temple tattoos are a disgrace to that temple. My Mom (sometimes I call her Debbie she does not like that) says its ok to have your ears pierced and have tattoos, but an excessive amount is frowned upon I think, if some one has a body they should do with it as they please. I can’t tell some times if this gap stems from generational gaps or from social changes and influences or own personal beliefs (that’s the topic of my Original Oratory speech). Social stereotypes arise everywhere. If one goes to McDonalds and asks for a happy meal they find themselves faced with the question “Boy toy or girl toy?” (this was always a problem in my home. Hot wheels are so much cooler then Barbie’s, and so is Gi Joe for that matter). Why do we categorize toys? A more age appropriate example: clothes. Storeowners divided their stores into men and woman’s clothing. For some one like me this makes shopping quite interesting. I don’t like tight clothes, I don’t like sparkly or frilly or stylish, I like plaid and flannel. I like loose jeans and cargo shorts and finding me outside of school, church, or debate without a hat on my head; well that’s the apocalypse. My style and comfort level leans more towards the societal view of masculine clothing. They are the clothes I like to wear though. Sometimes I sit in English and look around the students in this class arise as the best writers in Chagrin more often then not. I worry though with that thought. We all have so much power with our words, how will we use it? Will these students, friends, classmates weld their words to hold up and abide by the social normalcies that I see plaguing our society, or will they write for change? I worry every time for the future of our country when I get strange looks walking down the street in my overly baggy cloths with my baseball cap laughing with friends. I worry that we forever will stay in this awkward place of discontent with ourselves and unhappiness due to societal expectations. I worry that this world will never change. That I will always get strange looks holding my girl friends hand as we walk down the street. Its late now though the hours have fallen back into single digest and if I play my guitar any louder my mom might come scold me for never getting enough sleep. How long will we stay a bunch of loons abiding by unspoken social norms?

5 Thing's They Will Never Tell You About Writing

1. We do not have the same voice- I have learned this year that my writing voice arises much like my speaking, witty, cunning, and charming. (I do sound like that right?). We might (probably) have different voices and that’s all right.

2. All topics come back to me- Although not often liking the center of attention role I find in my writing, I am learning more and more to write about me. Whether that simply means my opinion or some way to connect a book to my life.

3. I need to write- I found that I need to write and write and write(or talk) in order to understand my own ideas. Writing helps me organize the crazy spastic world of my mind.

4. I am much more open in my writing- I find that when I write I am much more open about me as a person. I say things I would never normally say and am much more open with who I am.

5. Life depends on writing- Everything I learn about writing matters today and tomorrow. My writing, no matter what I choose later in life, will matter in some form or another.

Super Dani, The Titanic, and Laurel

As I read the prompt today for English as every great AP English student does I focus so intensely that my eyeballs almost popped out of my head. All right, maybe I caught my self in that incredible unfortunate place where my mind wondered. I never mean to do it, I look up at the clock and I start thinking about time, which leads into thinking about how this week filled quickly with activities. Packed with getting new snowboard bindings, homework, the art project I need to finish, the tournament at Chagrin this weekend, and then Wednesdays. Oh Wednesday, middle of the week Wednesday. Wednesday the day I normally attend Speech practice, but this week I do not have a typical speech practice. Oh no this week I have the opportunity, to go practice at Laurel. Now for those out side of the speech and debate world. I, Dani Boucher, am in Original Oratory. I will not disclose the overly boring details of it except this one, Laurel dominates in this area of Speech and Debate. When I say dominant, I mean it almost never occurs for only one Laurel O.Oer to place. Now if that wasn’t enough to get my panties in a pinch, Clair (an O.Oer (that’s original oratory for the speech and debate impaired) at Laurel, among other things.) informed my that every one and their cousin shall attend the practice on Wednesday simply due to my presence. I don’t scare easily, I have very few fears, I am normal the oh so calm one who comes in, in scary situations and says the oh so calming words “Don’t worry, I am here, I will handle it”(picture cape and dramatic heroic music). This situation though, the Laurel practice with every one and their cousin, scares me though to the point of wanting to crawl back into bed and cuddle with my bear dog (not a typo, it’s a dog from Build a Bear). The Laurel girls only have kind words to say to me, along with incredible accepting spirits, but I find my self scared to death. The reason I know though, I sit in rounds with these girls each weekend and I listen to their speeches. All have an incredible amount of eloquence, their all so poised, and incredible intelligent, and I find my self humbled. I often find myself walking into situations where I have to talk saying oh I can do this; I am the president of speech and debate, as though that should mean something. Then Saturday rolls around and I listen to Megan Zupon talk about the need for thinking in politics with brainwashed Americans, Or Maggie’s pledge for global education for all people, Or Claire’s incredible intelligent thoughts on understanding gender identification. My descriptions of their speeches do no justice to the string of words and emotion and well thought out points of view they all present, and I sit there every single weekend laid flat down on the floor with humility. I find myself questioning the overly cocky nature I explode with at times. I think myself so powerful nothing can ever stop me. Like those who built the Titanic who proclaimed, “God himself could not sink this ship”. My cocky smirk probably resembling the one the above ironic speaker displayed when he spoke the phrase. Although the Titanic inevitable sank due to the fate of one very large iceberg, humbling those humans who dared to test fate. The Laurel girls although not even close to as painful as the iceberg; they serve about the same purpose when I rise far to high upon my horse that I am only human. Although I like the thought of Dani the super hero I have many areas of kryptonite, and thankfully I have friends, even though from different schools, who keep my sometimes overly large ego in check. As for English that ever so loud ticking clock brings back my wondering mind to the task at hand, the easy…. now focus.

Balancing AP English, My Sitter and ADD

I sat and ponder what words and brilliant things I would pull from my mind this time to write about for English. As always many incredible, intelligent and enlightening blog topics came to mind (dripping with sarcasm). Somehow the oh so uncommon (let’s be honest a very common) event occurs, my attention somehow had drawn away from English and turned to my sister, as she stood high upon a stool reciting one of my poems. For the next five (lets be honest more along the lines of fifteen) minutes I became distracted by her antics and silly nature. As I burst into laughter at her I couldn’t help to think how good it felt. I had just spent another day of school going from class to class trying to absorb some piece of information that each teacher bestowed upon me that would inevitably end up on a test. The day topped off with speech and debate (its like the frosting to a cake). Let me take a moment to pause and evaluate the situation I find myself in. I am not saying I have a difficult life because of some higher authority or because of how the man keeps me down. In retrospect the inability to focus in class rests solely on my shoulders. (I let my mind wander all to often). I choose my class schedule and I choose how difficult of classes I take. What I do think though, all too often students, my self-included, complain about school, about teachers, about just about anything, and for what? How often do we cause our own stress, yelling and cursing out a teacher or parents, when we ultimately maid the decision to take the classes we do. I think that’s something I appreciate about my English class, somehow even if at my own expense I get a laugh out of the class. AP English seems to be the most intense and thought provoking class I have ever taken, but also the most fun. Somehow Ms. Serensky creates this balance in class between intense work ethics and awkwardly-funny situations. Balance I believe all of us need in our life’s, whether we find it with friends, with classes that make us laugh, or even a sibling who makes the afternoon a bit brighter.

I Am Not a Writer

I am not a writer. I cannot write or do not write, well either way I am not a writer. I am in this class, its called AP English and I cannot seem to understand what AP stands for. Always Pray, Almost Poor, Alternating Personalities, Alligator People, Androids Probable, Altering Paranoia, Allegedly People? Some one once told me AP stands for Advanced Placement. I gave them the most disdainful look I could muster because they were most defiantly wrong. Writing means English and English means spelling and spelling and me have not been friends since the first time my kindergarten hand learned how to write A. So they were wrong, because if I was in Advanced Placement English there was something wrong with the system, dyslexia and English do not mix, it’s the definition of dyslexia. Dyslexia the inability to make spelling that makes sense within the random and often hard to understand rules that the English language puts forth often resulting in a type of spelling that makes far more sense then the English version of the word. (Taken from the American Dani Dictionary ©2011). So the person who said that AP stood for Advance Placement had no idea what they were talking about. Advanced Placement were the kids at school in Prism, Advanced Placement were most defiantly the Original Oratory at Speech and Debate who wrote their own speeches. Advanced Placement meant the students in creative writing Advanced Placement were the kids sitting in my lunch who discussed books. Advanced Placement was the students who had amazing writing skills, which means they were writers and I am not a writer there for I am not in Advanced Placement. Do not get me wrong I love poetry I am listening to poetry write now. They’re something magical about words whether written or spoken; they hold so much knowledge, so much power, so much understanding. Advanced Placement students were writers who knew how to wield those words to say just what they wanted them to. I am not that, I just write what I feel. I write what comes to my mind no filter, especially in poetry. I have written poetry in English class Creative Writing, about underwear, no filter, no meaning just words. I am not a writer though. I am a feeler; I feel the words flowing from my mind into my hands. I read the words on a page and feel them in me flying around looking for a place to nuzzle in my brain. I have written a hundred pages of an overly controversial story that no one could even tell was controversial till the last chapter. None of this makes me a writer and if I were a writer I would not live in an Advanced Placement class. None of this though means I don’t like my English class. No I quiet enjoy it. I write poetry in English. I read quotes from people much wiser then my self. I hear people talk every day that look at things in much different ways then my self and I learn from them. Its ironic, my sisters call me a writer, I am not though, I am a feeler. I am not in Advanced Placement English either just to clarify I am, though, in Always Pursuing English.

Ostracize- A Huge Ostrich or Something

Ostracize: to exclude, by general consent.
As I sat in English class I kept hearing the word over and over in my head. Ostracize and then it came back to me in the subtle voice of Anne Meeker. “We ostracize them”. My sophomore year she used that word in her Original Oratory speech the first time I heard it in a debate round I feel in love with the word. Some how I knew what it meant but to this day I can’t spell it with out spell checks aid. There was something magical about it I loved the way it sounded. I couldn’t figure out though beyond that why I loved it so much until yesterday. I listened to Ignatius J. Ryle and our discussions of him. Separated, out casted all words we used to describe Ignatius and the people he associated with. Jones, the factory workers or even Dorian, all of them minorities, outcast, leapers, or ostracized from society. Opposites attract at lest that’s what the experts say. So why then does Ignatius look for people just like him, ostracized. Why do teenagers look for people just like them self’s? It happens in lunch ever day tables full of people with something in common. Down casting any one who tries to invade. The same tables full of the same people for ninety days. Its not just teenagers adults do the exact same thing grouping together around water coolers at work, in church atriums, at school gathers, or in the teachers lounge. All secretly whispering about things only their groups are allowed to know. We’re all guilty of it and any one who says different most defiantly lies. The ostracism though steams from, the hatred of outsiders? (insert questioning voice here) Let me back track, we make groups of like people who have something in common, call it our niche, and they spew hatred at some one who wants to join the oh so cozy warm niche we have formed? (insert questioning voice again here) We are just like Ignatius we want our own perfect niche of friends and comforts. What happens when it all gets ripped away? We all face this impending doom (or gift?). Collage falls down on us like manna in the desert. My hope though, that we can deal with it better then Ignatius and his grey hound bus ride. Maybe we can take the change from ostracized niche and leave it with out PTSD that we feel the need to always talk about. Soon we will leave our ostracized society; maybe we can learn form Ignatius’ ostracizing mistakes.

Ms. Dickinson Please Meet Andrea Gibson

Emily Dickinson lives in the picture below.

Andrea Gibson resides in the image bellow

What do they have in common? Besides The Fact that Dickson and Gibson both survive through poetry. Wall we discussed Dickinson’s poem ”If You Were Coming In The Fall” this week in English I slowly heard Andrea Gibson’s poetry slip into my mind. I listen to it in photography (no its not an excuse) as if Gibson’s words would some how inspire my photography to grow in artistic value. That day though I had listened to her poem “Photograph” over, and over, and over agene. For some reason Gibson’s words struck me and stuck with me. As I delved into our English discussion I realized Gibson and Dickinson spoke on essentially the same issue. Dickinson speaker seems to portray this unwavering love that cares not about the pain her lover has ensued on her from leaving. The speak gives all still away to her lover so much as she would “toss..[her life].. yonder like a rind,/ and taste eternity”(15-16). The speaker gives no concern to the fact that her lover left her. the speak only seem to want the love she once back. As if two poets began to battle in my head Gibson words arose from the ashes of my segmented mind and led them self into the potion labeled English class bumping agents Dickinson’s structured dialog. “I never meant to fire you know/ I know you never meant to fire lover/ I know we never meant to hurt each other”(32-34) Gibson portrayed the same situation love gone wrong lovers hurting each other. As if Gibson wanted her poem and Dickinson to fallow the same issue Gibson stayed “this is going to hurt bowing to I love you/ I still love you”(50-51) Dickinson’s and Gibson suddenly clashed in my head both bursting with same knowledge. How could a poet from the eighteen hundreds have the same theme, same meaning as a poem from modern America twp thousand and nine. Unless the issue they discussed proved it self a timeless issue. The problem not caring what year it fell in only that it recede havoc on sets of lovers. Gibson and Dickinson seem to prove that the themes of poems repeat themselves over and over agene with different situations different people different years, but the same problem. I sit hear in utter amassment, because when I think of poetry I have written I can see the same painful them running through the lines ramped in taken blood just as it did with Gibson and Dickinson. Maybe Gibson and my self only re-write the wise words of those who came before us.
Andrea Gibson lives below

In the portrait below I express my inner self

We both fallow in the steady foot steps of highly intelligent poets who came before us.

Loosing Life to AP English

Once again my sister relentlessly badgered me,
“Dani why do you feel the need to analyze people.” She asks me this question constantly judging me for the constant need I have to discover some answer to what makes people tick.
“I don’t know, I don’t mean to” I mumble at her for the millionth time. It struck me though that day that this constant unintended, unneeded analysis of people occurs with every one I come in contact with. It does not matter how long I have known them, our relationship, or even their age. I analyze them, from their handshake. My sister, though annoying and antagonistic, forced me to realize I constantly analyze, with no true reason. Then it struck me, like the stench of week old milk, I sat in AP English, and with the angst of some one whose next words would determine their fate. We humbly, or perhaps modestly, discussed our newest endeavor in literature, A Confederacy of DUNCES. I sat there in my infinite amount of knowledge and began to ponder the main character, Ignatius Reilly. What I wondered, could make a thirty-year-old man say something as absurd as “for the sake of humanities future I hoped that they were all sterile”(52)? What would compel him to say such a thing? Could Ignatius have some form of Asperger’s, maybe he fell somewhere on the autism scale, or at least have some form of turrets? As if my sister was in the room her words lingered into my mind hunting me “Dani why do you feel the need to analyze people”. Suddenly the pieces fell together in my mind. I sit in a class five days a week, for at least fifty minutes not including time spent on homework, and am instructed to analyze, answer why, dig deeper. I sighed, half proud of my own detective work, one eighth saddened I could not put an end to it, one sixth confused at my new discovery, and one fourth completely and utterly aware that my life’s slowly becoming over taken by AP English.

The Gift Of Rediscovering

If I could pick one character in Jennifer Egan’s novel A Visit From The Goon Squad to give to things to I would have to choose Alex. Now I’m aware that birthday presence are normally nice and sweet things, but I’m not like that. I would provide Alex with the gifts of a backbone and himself. First a backbone, I know I know, not mine to give, but I’m giving it. “Alex felt unable to explain to Lulu the beliefs he shared with Rebecca”(321). Although the phrase at first seems trivial it’s a major point of interest to me. The words “felt” and “unable” are placed right next to each other making it seem as though Alex wants to tell Lulu, but his feelings stop him. If this was the case though then Alex would have just told her after the feeling passed. All though never tells her never corrects her witch is a Direct characterizes of him not being able to stand up for him self. This being the case I would give Alex a back bone the ability to stand on his own two feet. Giving Alex himself seem strange, but Alex him self says, “’I don’t know what happened to me’”(339). This directly characterizes Alex as loosing him self. Some where in all his years of life Alex lost touch with the person he was and became the person that he lives as now.
I presume I see some one like Alex, some one who sold out and I want to give him back what he had. I believe everyone should live the way they wish to live. If that means standing up for them self’s, and re-finding them self then that what they have to do. I believe Alex needs to grow a spine once agene to find his old self, once he finds that old self-maybe then he can feel hole agene. One Character in one book, that’s all Alex would be seen as. I feel thought that ever one no mater who they are has the right to find themselves whatever time in life they are. We can’t back track in life we can’t go back and do it agene, but we can rediscover, and that’s the real gift I want to give Alex to rediscover life.

Not So Funny After All

In Jenifer Egan’s novel A Visit From The Goon Squad, a novel wining the Pulitzer Prize, I found my self laughing or chuckling at almost ever turn. When Scotty so plainly thought “I’d toss it on the counter so causally, daring the gal to challenge me”(108) I could no longer hold in my laughter. Scotty’s use of “daring” and “challenge” make what he thinks about doing seem a huge adventure, in reality Scotty’s only dropping of laundry. The juxtaposition between reality and the fiction in Scotty’s head amuses me completely for its utter seeming lack of reality, until I read the last line. “And she would make it new again”(108). The use of it a non specific now instead of the use of the word suit proves /Scotty’s not just some delusional lunatic, believing laundry a huge feet. It seems to me Scotty doesn’t strive for a clean suit but the suit is symbolic. The suit and Scotty are one. Scotty longs to make himself knew agene like he does ever single week with his suite. In this short fraise Scotty proves how want to erase the past, like the cleaning does, to make himself knew agene.

At first I found Scotty’s obsessive suit cleaning amusing and interesting. When I looked deeper though I found in Scotty, what ever one wants. To erase. Scotty wanted to let go of the mistakes he had maid and be a clean and new agene. Scotty’s struggle is a common human struggle. I’ll admit there are things I wish I could go and erase that I’ve said or done; but I’m not a suite. I can’t send my self away for cleaning to become new agene. Why Scotty’s story for me turned from funny to pain came from his inability to realize the only way to move on form those moment is to let go. So yeah Scotty for me started of as funny, in the end though the punch line wasn’t Scotty but human imperfection and longing.

Adults the wisest? I think not.

Lou a character from Jeniffer Egan’s noval A Visit From Thee Goon Squad, or rather her compilation of stores that connected by one charter and never time. Egan a novelist featured in the New York Magazine who first lived in Brookline and San Francisco. Lou though a character Egan develops and redevelops in the matter of three chapters. At times I wish I could take Lou and pound into his head the things his missing. As an eighteen year old its surprising that I can find these moments with a “grown “ “adult”. He “cant tolerate defeat” “He has to win” “Albert is nothing…What matters now is that Mindy understands this”(79). Egan ‘s incredible strong diction in the use of “can’t” “has to” “nothing” reveals the characters she’s creating. A character needing do mince, needing control of something, and needing to assert his power through control of a human. Egan revels this farther when stating “But Charlie does know her father. He’ll marry Mindy because that’s what winning means”(80). Egan uses Lou’s daughter to magnify his problem. His addiction presents so promptly that his own daughter sees it.
I want to rip Lou from the pages Egan fills and tell him everything he misses by only looking for control in his relationships. Yes he gets to be the hero of ever situation, but what has Lou sacrificed for it? He misses so much, a daughter starving for attention, a son with wisdom beyond his years “’I don’t think those ladies were ever watching birds”’(83). I want to tell Lou how destructive he’s being, how selfish he’s being. A few pages later though Lou a miner character in a story some one else lives the role of the main character. Some how though I still want to tell him Lou you have no control let it go and just live, but he’s just a character in a book that for three hundred and thirty one pages has life through me.

Hating What I Love and Loving What I Hate

Ernest Hemingway’s 1929 novel A Farwell to Arms has a bitter sweet ending. I personal love Hemingway’s ending, but find conflict because I hate my self for loving it. In the last chapter Hemingway starts a conversation between Lieutenant Henry and his wife, Catherine with “’Hello darling’….. ‘Hello, you sweet’”(326). Hemingway use of the diction “darling” and “sweet” portrays a hole complete love, true love. The true love draws a parallel back to when Henry knew he loved Catherine the kind of love “God knows..[he]…had”(93). Hemingway’s use of the word God draws the parallels between the unstoppable nature of God and the unstoppable nature of Henry love. Henry’s love though was not the only unstoppable love Catherine’s love never stopped ether. Even when she saw death coming she said to Henry “’I want you to have girls”(331) Hemingway indirectly characters Catherine’s love as sacrificial. Hemingway creates an undeniable true love to the point that its sacrificial, and can change what Henry wants. In the end what does Hemingway do with this pure love? He kills it, no literally “Catherine…. died”(331). The book ends with her dyeing, and I love it.
Now before I am burned at the stack I have to say I hate my self for loving it, but I do. Hemingway shows something that happens ever single day. Earler he portrays how humans have no control and he drives the point home with his ending. Henry never wanted to fall in love, he never wanted to fall in love with Catherine, but he did. Henry didn’t want Catherine to die, Catherine didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want her to die. Short of me not reading the end of the book I can’t prevent it. Hemingway takes a stab at me and it’s a hard one by making me fall in love with his characters relationship and then killing it he shows me in 332 a life lesion, we don’t have control. I hate Hemingway for killing her for putting an end to there love, but I can’t dine how much I love it. I can’t dine that Hemingway complete genius in it. I also can’t dine I admire him for it. Hemmingway doesn’t paint a beautiful picture of life, but the truth of it and I cant help but love that.

Choosing Love or Love Choosing?

In Ernest Hemingway’s novel A Farewell to Arms he discusses numerous timeless and universal conflicts. Hemingway’s semi- autobiographical novel set it’s self during World War I, the most timeless and universal of all conflicts. The conflict there though does not catch my attention as much as the conflict between what Lieutenant Henry wants, and what he feels. Human beings ability to love seems to me the strongest emotion and also the headrest to deny. Lieutenant Henry exhibits that perfectly when he states “God knows I had not wanted to fall in love with her”(93). The use of the diction God implies an un able to stop motion something unseen and unstoppable. This word choice coupled with the past tens in the sentences shows Lieutenant Henry inability to control all emotions to the point that “God knows..[he]..had”(93). In both sentences Hemingway uses God, a proper noun and in this case due to the capitalization not used as a swear word but rather the Christian God, to draw parallel along with a juxtaposition. He draws the parallel between the unstoppable nature of God and emotions. Then Hemingway shows the juxtaposition of something so natural in humans what humans want and what there emotions do. Henry never wanted to fall in love with Catherine, but was unable to stop it. The amazing aspect of it though he “felt wonderful”(93). Hemingway shows that emotions can change what humans want.
Through the portrayal of this Hemingway shows so much of what I’ve seen humans have no control over there emotions. I can’t choose to truly and deeply love someone and I can’t choose to not love someone. I’ve heard so many couples say we never thought we would be together or it was an instant connection. Humans don’t choose what there emotions do. If we had control over our emotions would they truly be emotions? Hemingway shows something that we can see ever single day when it all comes down to it non of us have a choice in where we fall or who we fall for it’s all a game of chance and if the dice role on the right side then our emotions show us the right way. Whether we believe its pre destination from a God or just by chance Hemingway’s choice to include this human conflict shows how he created a novel that all can relate to on some level. We have all felt the conflict, or seen it, and I see Hemingway as ingénues to include it.

The To Quiet For Me Priest

In Ernest Hemingway’s semi autobiographical 1929 novel A Farewell to Arms, Hemingway depicts the world that so many American solders had know just ten years earlier. Hemingway’s novel fallows the life of Lieutenant Henry, wall giving an intimate look into a solders life. What I don’t quiet understand why the Priest takes so much abuse from the solders. The men constantly ridicule and make offensive comments towards the priest. One man in front of the priest says “’All thinking man are atheist”’(8). By directly charactering intelligent man as atheist Hemingway allows the lieutenant to indirectly characterize the priest as unintelligent. The Priest though does not retaliate, witch I don’t quiet understand. If hemming way allows the priest not to retaliate he ether indirectly characterizes him as weak, or incredible patent and loving. Why cant the priest still live as a solder and defend him self wall still being a good priest. Can true Christen character allow some one to just sit and allow other to deprave them of all there moral stand points? I don’t think the ignoring of others truly portrays a religious leader. Would it have been so wrong fro him to stand up for him self and defend his beliefs? I think Hemmingway did a grate disserves by allowing the priest a quiet role.

Intently Enraged

I’m someone who is not quick to anger and often slow to speak. Tom Rachmans novel The Imperfectionists though has infuriated me. In a day and age where woman are still trying to gain rights and are still making advances Rachmans complete dehumanization of them is sickening and infuriating at its most admirable moments. Rachman does this complete dehumanization most evidently with Abby Pinnoa, chief financial officer, or as her colleges call her Accounts Payable. When describing Abby getting out of a airplane row he states “She sucks in her tummy and squeezes out into the aisle”(234). Rachmans use of diction in the use of tummy indirectly characterizes Abby as childish. This word alone side with the word “squeezes” also indirectly characters her as over weight. The diction over all seems to come of as offensive and overly critical. The phrase only gains in offense when Rachman describes her plain partner Dave as “That twang and aw-shucks about him- it’s sort of exotic”(233). Rachmans use of diction in the use of the words “twang” and “aw-shucks” indirectly characterizes Dave as a down home country boy evoking the pathos of affection and admiration. These two phrases are not even placed a page apart. The placement causes a juxtaposition of the two people and the rag tag image of Abby falls short of Dave’s eloquent and impressive résumé. Rachmans image of this woman began to anger me at the begining and towards the end of his chapter just enraged me. In the process of my rage I discovered that Rachman has described ever woman as ether completely vulnerable Hardy, Abby, and Kathleen, or appears a complete and total jerk, Elzburger, Hermns wife, Zeina, Eileen, and Annika. Or the woman appears a complete lunatic as the case with Ruby and Ornella. Rachmans description of woman in ever chapter never lacks a discriminatory or down turned eye toward woman. As I read Abbys story it hit me as if a truck had come from the street with out me looking, Rachman seems to despise woman and can only describe them in hatred and a better then though light. As a woman the view Rachman has of woman infuriates me, and causes me to question him a little. Witch in its self appears slightly ingenious because Rachmans point of his book seems to want to make journalist more human and ask readers of news papers what they are reading? In causing me to question him Richman will later cause me to question other writers credibility and god like status. So maybe Rachman enraged me and causes a slight amount of hatred toward him, but the rage when put in perspective actually accomplishes Richmans goal. In all honesty that’s what makes a brilliant writer.

You Intrigu Me, Would You Like To Meet?

In Tom Rachmans novel the imperfectinist one character stand out to me not only as notable but some one who if I had the opportunity to meat I would. Kathleen or as her ex lover calls her, Kath. I finder intriguing in the regard that she seems to stand completely dominate until one digs deeper. Kathleen states about her husband “’ He feeds me grapes most evenings”(110) Although only meant as a joke Rachman uses this point to indirectly characters Kathleen as some one who emerges as independent and dominant. Her dominance in the situation would not be asserted with out another human being but looking into the action of feeding someone grapes it can only be view as doming and used as an allusion insisting on the person only being of servitude states. The fact that Kathleen uses this demining diction in reference to her husband assorts how she purses dominance and will obtain it in what ever means possible. When talking to her ex though about there former sexual relationship Kathleen “says uncomfortable”(115). Rachmans use of the diction to directly characterizes Kathleen as uncomfortable when being critiqued by her ex lead to in the direct characterization of her being sensitive this leads to the indirect characterization of her as some one dependent on other views of her self. If Kathleen was not dependent upon these views she would not become uncomfortable with Dario’s critics of her instead though She becomes unconformable and defensive. This actions seems to juxtapose it self agents the Kathleen described only a few pages early. The Kathleen though is the same person and Rachman uses this awkward seemingly two faced lady to assort that although humans always strive for independence never can fully reach it, as Kathleen the dominating dependent proves. This internal battle of balance for her own longing for dominance and need to be dependent forces me to wonder how she can easily live in the ever fighting battle. I do believe though that Kathleen would be someone that would be able to answer the difficult question that the struggle ensues. I suppose this complicated internal struggle intrigues me and draws me in to wish to meat this woman only to discus how dominance and submission embody themselves in the same body.

Just throwing it out there but this was posted from Ireland.

Never Pressing Repeat

In Tom Richman’s noval The Imperfectionists. A novel published in 2011 a time in witch each day something changes, whether it be the marriage laws in a state or even how many solders are in a foreign country, life costly changes. Richman exemplifies the ever-changing world during an interview with Gerda Erzberger. Erzberger relays a quote “’No man steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man’”(37) In the one short ferias Rachman describes how I want to live. His use of imagery and drawing a parallel between nature and man can only be perceived as brilliant. All humans know nature changes, humans see it. Leaves changed color, wind changes direction, the human body completely regenerates its self every fourteen years, and temperature drops and rises as it pleases, nature changes. By including this parallel Richman proves life changes and with it people, he exemplifies this farther with the death of, the many character of the chapter, Author Gopal daughter, a change. Its strange to think I want to live my life according to change. With change comes knowledge, wisdom, understanding, and the ability to not make the same mistake. Humans try to stay stagnate and resist change, I want my life though to embrace change, so I may grow, in understanding in knowledge and also in the ability to not make the same mistakes. I never want to walk in the same river twice or ever-hit repeat. What will I ever learn if I just keep living the same life?