“National Anthem” by Lana Del Rey

I love the places music makes me travel.

Maybe not physically — I don’t particularly enjoy the two hour drive back from Boston after watching One Direction perform only five songs, or what seems like years spent practicing in other towns for choir.

But instead, I am completely infatuated with the way I am transported by each chord progression and key change. Listening to someone else’s voice belt out notes is my favorite thing in the world. Just from their tone, I can picture myself chasing the Black Keys around an old ghost town, breaking hearts daily with Lana Del Rey, or being crazy with Louis Tomlinson up on a dancefloor in Doncaster, England.

As weird as I am, and though my friends mock me for it, I also am obsessed with music from my favorite video games. Having always been a big fan of Nintendo, I am reunited with the best feelings and memories when I listen to anything from The Legend of Zelda or Super Monkey Ball. It may not be popular on the radio, but instrumental music such as these are addictive to listen to and exceptionally orchestrated.

This is my most recent favorite song. (Don’t tell me you’re not dancing to it.)

The Girl and the Man

Ernest Hemingway’s “Hills Like White Elephants” was definitely an enjoyable read. The impersonal bystander perspective hooked the curiosity in me in an instant. Hemingway’s style in the piece was intriguing yet simplistic, relying primarily on dialogue to carry the plot.

The relationship between the man and the “girl” in the short story was incredibly real. It is as if the pair are friends to the reader. Though the point of view is third person limited, the portrayal of the conversation brings us to a certain familiarity with the characters as we learn more about them. Particularly before the man brings up the topic of abortion, the two are in light spirits and banter easily. When the pair receives their drinks from the bartender, they start out speaking casually to each other.

“‘It tastes like licorice,’ the girl said and put the glass down.

‘That’s the way with everything.’

‘Yes,’ said the girl. ‘Everything tastes of licorice. Especially all the things you’ve waited so long for, like absinthe.’

‘Oh, cut it out.’

‘You started it,’ the girl said. ‘I was being amused. I was having a fine time.’

‘Well, let’s try and have a fine time'” (2).

The girl referencing her pregnancy causes a slightly tense transition into their discussion of what they will do. The man proposes the abortion option that they have undoubtedly debated before. All of the references to the girl being with child are very subtle and can be overlooked. In this perspective, the audience is not entirely sure whether or not it really is a terminating pregnancy they are dealing with, surviving only on context clues to discover the truth.

Personally, I loved this form of story telling. The first time reading it through, I would have never guessed that the “operation” being pondered was really an abortion. Instead I pictured that the girl had an illness that she could not cure on her own and that she and the man were out in Spain adventuring to satiate her lust for life before she was too sick to execute such a task.The ambiguity with which Hemingway wrote the piece makes it a fascinating read.

The Legend of Jill Faucete?

Upon randomly searching Google for funny pictures to send to my friend Hannah, I found an interesting prompt that I decided would make a perfect topic to address on my blog. When I saw the idea of writing about a ficitonal character as a best friend, and being the nerd I am, I immediately thought of Link from my favorite video game, The Legend of Zelda. And like I usally do when I get excited about my favorite characters, I began to write. This is the resulting product.

　
I’m in a thickly wooded area, with rays of light erupting from the sky and cascading themselves through the ancient trees. I adjust my frayed pink tunic and ungracefully yank back midlength brown hair, tucking it securely behind my pointed ears. I am nervous. How could I not be? I am looking for Link, the boy who was dubbed by the gods “the Hero of Time.” More like the Hottie of Time, if we’re being honest. But of course, I was just searching for him in hopes of a quick chat before I went away to the lake. And such a chat session would certainly not be about my feelings in regards to his beautiful, pointed face.

The little red and blue birds twitter secrets above my head from their perches on the spindly branches. I use my expertise to navigate past mushrooms that are almost as tall as I am. I giggle at the man-eating flowers, called Deku Babas. They can’t get a nibble of me when they are constricted by their own roots. It is dangerous to go this route alone, but I know my way. I dash past the waterfall and narrowly avoid a tragic death by Bokoblin. Ducking and grappling in the appropriate places, I finally arrive at my destination; the clearing of the Lost Woods. And contrary to what the name suggests, I know exactly where I had let my feet carry me.

I clutch a vine for support as I peer into the open space just below the Great Deku Tree. The grand patch of earth under the leafy canopy was the backdrop to a brawl unfurling between a boy in his traditional green garb of the Hero, and a hideous beast wielding a sword.
It was here that I saw Link in his usual stance; knees slightly bent, shield grasped in his left hand with his right hand offering out the tip of his blade. I’d seen him fight a thousand times before. Of course, this Hylian had been trained for general combat, amongst swordsmen. Never had he dreamed that he would be ridding Hylia of grotesque beasts who housed a thirst for blood. He had learned all these skills from swinging violently at his trainer, Rusl.

It was only another moment of me waiting by before Link defeats the creature. I make sure that I have a definitive sign the Moblin is dead before I slide down my vine; try as I might, I am not as brave and tomboyish as I make myself out to be. Still, I’ll never compare to her. The girl Link is always on about.

Link is hunched over with his weight leaning on the tips of his brown boots. He splashes his face in the aquamarine water

“Jill!” Exclaims Link, a combustion of concern and surprise clouding his elven face. He gives me a forceful hug with his humongous arms and I slightly lose my wits. I gain them back in time to shake off my lovesick eyes and take in my rowdy and careless outward appearance I adopt around Link.

“What are you doing here? You could have gotten yourself killed!” Link hisses at me. My best friend got on my nerves the way most best friends do.

I cross my arms as a barricade over my chest. “But I didn’t,” I chide at him with a smug expression.

“Listen. Your mother would have my head if she knew you come out here. You know you can’t just wander in here with a bow and quiver alone,” he tells me sternly as he pulls away, a death grip on my upper arms.

If a boy can’t be interested in you enough to pursue you, he is simply annoying enough to play the older, overprotective brother. Link should know by now that scolding does no good. Besides, I know these grounds just as well, if not better, than he does. Still, I anxiously shift my quiver on my back.

“I only came to see you,” I respond with a pout, hitting his arm lightly, causing the chainmail beneath to quake. “And anyway. Don’t you want this? Delivery straight from Castletown.” I reluctantly pull out a parcel he had been expecting for quite a bit of time and extend it toward his eyes as they gradually filled with more excitement. What can I say? This is from the palace, and though I don’t want to hand over a present from the girl he’s after (at least not without addressing it from me instead) it could be something else. Like an invitation to a party that he’d need a date to. I feel mixed emotions as he destroys the brown packaging and royal seal enclosing the square object inside.

Tan Analysis

Being familiar with an author can make reading their work twice as inviting. It instantly excited me when I learned that the piece I was assigned had been written by Amy Tan, the Chinese-American author I had read about just last year. I loved Tan’s simple, fluid way of communicating in “Mother Tongue.” It was vivid in her recounts but it was not overly flowery. I was not sickened when I arrived at the last period on the page. I loved the ideas in it as she told the story of her own version of the English language and the ways it worked for her.

I ended up enjoying “Two Kinds” a lot. Tan’s portayal of her relationship with her mother was much more interesting to read in this piece. It proved her childhood to be full of constant coercion to exceed standards. Tan felt constricted by her mother’s aspirations for her. Since it exemplifies the effects of her mother’s “disappointment” in her, I found the passage below to be very revealing and beautiful.

“Before going to bed that night, I looked in the mirror above the bathroom sink and I saw only my face staring back — and that it would always be this ordinary face — I began to cry. Such a sad, ugly girl! I made high-pitched noises like a crazed animal, trying to scratch out the face in the mirror. And then I saw what seemed to be the prodigy side of me…. The girl staring back at me was angry, powerful. The girl and I were the same. I had new thoughts, willful thoughts, or rather thoughts filled with lots of won’ts. I won’t let her change me, I promised myself. I won’t be what I’m not.”

This paragraph is so important because it features Tan’s understanding that she cannot always please her mother. Through her heartbreak and shame of disappointing the woman that raised her, she comes to terms with her ability to make herself happy. She feels the power within her as she looks herself over. Even though Tan is at a very young age, this moment of self-actualization is mature. From this point on, she takes control of her own happiness and decides that she cannot sacrifice her childhood to try to satisfy her mother’s plans for her.

Getting Into Goony Goony’s Head (A & P)

 

 

It was days like these I realized I was torn. I hated and loved being a part of Lana’s clique.

The benefits were that wherever I went with her, all eyes were on us. We had that effect on others. With the nicest clothes, the cattiest of expressions, and the most pretentious auras. I had to say, I loved the attention. Boys would stare at me when I went out. Being in her presence gave me extra points in attractiveness. That’s how it works when you see a group of young friends; one person’s stunning beauty gives viewers a certain expectation for the surrounding crew. And that was just what Lana did for Gianna and I. Sure, Gianna had about twenty pounds stacked excessively on her short frame, and I had twenty fewer than I needed, but Lana was legitmately a teen goddess. She made our imperfections less noticeable.

But when I sat alone to look in my bedroom mirror, with Lana probably absorbed in her own reflection at her house, I felt just a little sad. It was no fun being the awkward one, but at least I was aware that was my role. There’s always a gangly, weird one in the group, and if you’re thinking, “My friends don’t have one of those!” then I’ve got news for you and it’s not what you want to hear. You are that friend. Despite me being “that girl,” (and not the type of “that girl” that Lana has always been) everyone told me that I was just so beautiful.

“Look at your hair, Caroline! I wish I had color like that,” Lana would gush longingly. I’d tug at the dark strands and scrunch my nose, which was constantly over-populated with freckles.

Then I’d disbelievingly ask her, “You think?” I hid my low self-esteem like a professional. Hanging out with Lana Grant and Gianna Vetra was like being lowered in a pool of sharks at an agonizingly slow rate.

Lana’s smile was so phony. “Of course I do.” And she pursed her lips as she began to flip her own mahogany, glossy locks, reminding me of a real-life version of the Little Mermaid.

Yeah, I couldn’t compete with that.

When we walked into the A & P to pick up herring snacks for Mrs. Grant, our trio assumed its usual positions. Lana lead us through the glass door with her chin high enough to touch the flourescent lights on the ceiling while Gianna and I kept a tiny bit of distance behind her, blurring the line between girlfriends and henchmen. Honestly, it was probably pretty hard to tell which category we fell into. Either way, I felt the customers and employees alike shoot us down with their lazer-like stares. I acted like Lana. Eyes straight ahead. Only slight peripheral vision should be used. Don’t look around. That’s for nervous, insecure people. I don’t need anyone’s confirmation. I’m with Lana Grant. Still, I tuned out her incessant gossip and party-girl plans. Just muttered a “yes” or a “no way” or a “she did not!” in the appropriate places. Agreeing and gasping was pretty much the only maintenance Lana needed from friends; being heard was all her little ego required.

I won’t lie to you, though. It felt pretty good to be on top. Here we are, three seventeen year old girls, and this whole supermarket can’t resist at least a fleeting glance at us. You know, it might’ve been the fact that we were walking in scantly clad with only our prettiest bikinis to cover our exposed bodies, but than was besides the fact. We were causing a stir which was what we did best.

Even though it had been at least a half an hour drive from the Grant’s vacation home on the beach, I could still feel the sand scratching at me from my swimsuit and the bottoms of my feet. Why was I barefoot again? It was uncomfortable and gross, but I wanted the illusion of being carefree even though my only thoughts were what other customers thought of me and just how much sand was hitching a ride in my bikini bottoms.

I didn’t really want to find out. I just sucked it up and pretended to not see the cashier mentally taking photographs of my lankiness. I giggled quietly at him and followed along down the tiled floor, content with my position of power. I was no queen like our very own Lana Grant, but I was at least duchess to these poor people in the A & P.

Don’t Call Me Shell-y (get it? Coming out of my shell? …I’m not quitting my dayjob.)

My biggest pet-peeve is when one of my peers steals the words right out of my mouth in class discussion. Now don’t get me wrong — I am entralled listening to the ideas others students offer up, especially if they can solidify my own thoughts on our readings. However, when I’m sitting there anxiously tongue-tied from a long lesson in French IV, the last thing I want to hear are the words ricocheting out of my brain and out of other kids’ mouths. It was like a strange, out of body experience to witness my discussion points coming out from various points in the room. I’d been preparing myself for five minutes, waiting for the relevance of conversation and perfect opportunity. It didn’t help that I had spent nearly half the night before pouring over a different story (hello, ‘Cathedral’), but I hadn’t been able to appreciate the style of Edgar Alan Poe quite as well as the other authors assigned, therefore not having an unlimited supply of things to bring up. This happens to me every year in English class and as a recurring scenario, it is time I learned that I need to act quicker in order to speak my mind.

A Poetic Companion to Q&A

With so many different subjects, themes, and ideas, Vikas Swarup’s Q&A was actually challenging to relate to. “Where to start?” became the biggest concern. The novel spanned out in such an epic way, many topics arose for comparison against other works. However, the idea that flowed the most with the main theme of Q&A turned out to be that of social class, and similarly, racism. I had this in mind when I found the following poem by Langston Hughes.

You and Your Whole Race.
BY LANGSTON HUGHES

You and your whole race.
Look down upon the town in which you live
And be ashamed.
Look down upon white folks
And upon yourselves
And be ashamed
That such supine poverty exists there,
That such stupid ignorance breeds children there
Behind such humble shelters of despair—
That you yourselves have not the sense to care
Nor the manhood to stand up and say
I dare you to come one step nearer, evil world,
With your hands of greed seeking to touch my throat, I dare you to come one step nearer me:
When you can say that
you will be free!