really cool theme song from monk
"IT'S A JUNGLE OUT THERE" Read the rest of this entry ... (84 words left)
Some Advice: If it's the Government. Don't answer
2005/5/23
1984 excerpts
War is peace
Freedom is slavery
Ignorance is strength
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very good advice
HONY SOYT QUI MAL PENSE
*Shame be to the man who has evil in his mind.*
invitation
INVITATION
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the real test of a true student
THE REAL TEST OF A TRUE STUDENT
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compare conrast
It is not possible for a child any child - ever to use his families language at school. Not to understand this is to misunderstand the public uses of schooling and to trivialize the nature of intimate life - a family's "language."
Although that quote was from Richard Rodriguez's essay "Private Language Public Language," it describes both that essay and "The Barrio" perfectly by the fact that both communities in the essays are, in essence and in fact, cut off from the Anglo communities that surround them. Yes, they are close to their family. And when I say family, I do not mean to imply just a normal family unit where there is a mother, a father, and if so, children. No. I am talking about a community family, a community that is so close that the members would consider each other part of their family.
A community family is exactly what the "Barrio" reflects. Even though there is no blood relation in the "Barrio" the residents that live there don't need to have blood ties to consider or to be considered part of a family.
The "Barrio" is not a very large community, nor is it a very wealthy community. Yet people don't have to be monetarily wealthy to be happy. In life, as we all come to find out in due time, monetary wealth is always appreciated and very useful; but no matter how much money you have, you need other things to sustain you in life. And those "other things" are what sustain the "Barrio."
As in the "Barrio," the family of the young Rodriguez is close-nit. Or so it would seem at the beginning. Yet even though Mr. Rodriguez does drift farther and farther from his family as he grows up. He must still retain that memory of when he was a child in that neighborhood. The sense of being cut off from the outside world was all too real to the young Rodriguez, and even the adult Richard sometimes feels separate from the sounds of los gringos, if only for a moment. To the young Richard there were two different worlds The public world would begin as soon as he would step out of his house into the world of los gringos. He would go into the sounds of los gringos hearing their strange accents, delighting when he would return from that world into his family world, the world of Espanol -" the language of joyful return."
With respect to monetary wealth, the Rodriguez family was located in one of the richest parts of town. He was the son of Mexican immigrants. Both of his parents were in the working class. So they were by no means wealthy in the monetary sense, as one might assume of a family living relatively close to the largest, "whitest" houses in town.
Even though "The Barrio" and "Private Language, Public Language" seem at first glance to be two completely different essays, if you look at both of them more closely, you can see many similarities. Similarities such as isolation and unwillingness to join the rest of the world also unwillingness to keep the family language as this quote from the Barrio describes so eloquently to us
Paradoxical communities, isolated from the rest of the town by concrete columned monuments of progress, and yet stranded in the past. They are surrounded by change. It eludes their reach, in their own backyards, and the people, unable and unwilling to see the future, or even touch the present, perpetuate the past.
descriptive paper
Descriptive Paper
Everyone has something that is significant to them, something that some would consider to be meaningless, a trifle to old to be kept. Yet to those of us who posses such things that we cannot seem to live without, we know that even if others cannot see the value of our treasures, why we keep them. It doesn't matter as long as we know the value of who we are and what we keep.
It's rather old now, but it's still mine. I've had it since I was five. Back then it was painted blue the same color as my house. Now it's silver, because when I was fifteen the paint had started to crack and the metal fastenings had begun to rust and silver it seemed was the only color we had on hand. My father and my grandfather worked together to build it; it was about the only thing they worked on together.
The first time I was able to sit on my swing and swing on it I thought that this had to be the very best thing in the world. Nothing could surpass how I felt when I was on my swing. It was like I was flying. First I would have to slowly build up speed and achieve altitude. Which was me starting to swing. Then I would keep swinging for a while imagining that I was flying over some great place, one day it would be a forest the next I would be over the Amazon. Every day some new exiting adventure. But soon my mother would call me in and I would have to jump off my swing in mid stride and I would pretend that I was making an emergency landing. I was having the time of my life, and then I would have to return to reality.
The brace board on my swing set has deep cracks running through it now. It hasn't always been that way though. When it was new my swing was free of any noticeable flaws. No scratches, not a sign of rust, or of algae on the boards. No my swing was perfect. But as time goes on life has a way of exacerbating any unseen flaws into noticeable damage.
As I got older I stopped using my swing as much. I simply had better things to do. I had to go to school and do my work. Even when I was finished with my work I never visited my swing anymore after all I had TV to keep me entertained. Why use a swing. When we moved to magnolia my mother asked if I wanted to bring my swing along. And for some reason I said that I did want to bring it with us. I don't know why or what purpose it would serve, but I still wanted it with me. When we first moved to magnolia I still didn't ride my swing as much as I used to when I was small.
When I was fifteen I painted my swing silver as it had numerous cracks and algae forming on the wood along with rust forming on the chains and supports. It was and all day affair, one that I enjoyed immensely, as it allowed me to decorate my swing in a more permanent way. I had been using my swing since I was nine two years after I moved to magnolia and a month after my grandfathers first heart attack. Often I would spend my evenings out there just swinging. Not long after I had started to use my swing again the chains on the swing I had been using and in mid swing I found my self on my rump my broken swing hanging beside me. I for one cant say I was surprised but it hurt all the same. Luckily for me I was at the age that my mother said she would fix my swing. A task that took all of five minutes, she had to replace a bolt. Unfortunately I can't say that that was the only time my swing failed me. The most memorable time however occurred only last June. As I was listening to the radio and again in mid swing the chain broke again throwing me backward about three feet. At the time I couldn't understand what had happened, why on earth was I on the ground and then I saw my faithful swing hanging there. After words I could laugh at it but then I had been filled with righteous anger and I kicked my swing, which caused no end of pain in my foot. But what else could I do?
My swing is as of yet still crippled but it will be fixed. When I can. However long it takes one day I will fix it. But for now all I can do is admire it in its aging glory. The boards may be cracked and the chains may be rusting but my swing it remains for as long as I need it.
Everyone has something that is significant to them, something that some would consider to be meaningless, a trifle to old to be kept. Yet to those of us who posses such things that we cannot seem to live without, we know that even if others cannot see the value of our treasures, why we keep them. It doesn't matter as long as we know the value of who we are and what we keep.
It's rather old now, but it's still mine. I've had it since I was five. Back then it was painted blue the same color as my house. Now it's silver, because when I was fifteen the paint had started to crack and the metal fastenings had begun to rust and silver it seemed was the only color we had on hand. My father and my grandfather worked together to build it; it was about the only thing they worked on together.
The first time I was able to sit on my swing and swing on it I thought that this had to be the very best thing in the world. Nothing could surpass how I felt when I was on my swing. It was like I was flying. First I would have to slowly build up speed and achieve altitude. Which was me starting to swing. Then I would keep swinging for a while imagining that I was flying over some great place, one day it would be a forest the next I would be over the Amazon. Every day some new exiting adventure. But soon my mother would call me in and I would have to jump off my swing in mid stride and I would pretend that I was making an emergency landing. I was having the time of my life, and then I would have to return to reality.
The brace board on my swing set has deep cracks running through it now. It hasn't always been that way though. When it was new my swing was free of any noticeable flaws. No scratches, not a sign of rust, or of algae on the boards. No my swing was perfect. But as time goes on life has a way of exacerbating any unseen flaws into noticeable damage.
As I got older I stopped using my swing as much. I simply had better things to do. I had to go to school and do my work. Even when I was finished with my work I never visited my swing anymore after all I had TV to keep me entertained. Why use a swing. When we moved to magnolia my mother asked if I wanted to bring my swing along. And for some reason I said that I did want to bring it with us. I don't know why or what purpose it would serve, but I still wanted it with me. When we first moved to magnolia I still didn't ride my swing as much as I used to when I was small.
When I was fifteen I painted my swing silver as it had numerous cracks and algae forming on the wood along with rust forming on the chains and supports. It was and all day affair, one that I enjoyed immensely, as it allowed me to decorate my swing in a more permanent way. I had been using my swing since I was nine two years after I moved to magnolia and a month after my grandfathers first heart attack. Often I would spend my evenings out there just swinging. Not long after I had started to use my swing again the chains on the swing I had been using and in mid swing I found my self on my rump my broken swing hanging beside me. I for one cant say I was surprised but it hurt all the same. Luckily for me I was at the age that my mother said she would fix my swing. A task that took all of five minutes, she had to replace a bolt. Unfortunately I can't say that that was the only time my swing failed me. The most memorable time however occurred only last June. As I was listening to the radio and again in mid swing the chain broke again throwing me backward about three feet. At the time I couldn't understand what had happened, why on earth was I on the ground and then I saw my faithful swing hanging there. After words I could laugh at it but then I had been filled with righteous anger and I kicked my swing, which caused no end of pain in my foot. But what else could I do?
My swing is as of yet still crippled but it will be fixed. When I can. However long it takes one day I will fix it. But for now all I can do is admire it in its aging glory. The boards may be cracked and the chains may be rusting but my swing it remains for as long as I need it.
memories of the day
Memories of, The Day
Every generation has an event that they can never forget, be it something of peace, or happiness, or of terrifying horror. In 1963 John F. Kennedy was assassinated while riding in a motorcade in Dallas, there are other stories of woe, yet there are those of peace. But more often than not we remember the times of anger and sadness. This is one such memory.
"Okay everybody outside." It's only six forty five, its not even seven yet, I thought grumpily to myself. It was a balmy Tuesday morning and unfortunately instead of sleeping in I had band practice. "Well I better get this over with," I said to myself. Totally unaware that this would not be just any other day, this would not be a day to forget.
The morning dragged by slowly while we went through endless drills, backwards and forwards we went, almost endlessly. But eventually the buses came, and we went inside. We were inside until the dreaded bell rang and beckoned us outside yet again. When we were in the middle of marching our contest show the intercom brought us the terrible news that would shock the world and us.
"Pardon our interruption, teachers. But we have just learned that the World Trade Centers have been attacked." (I believe that is what the announcement sounded like.) Many of us in band were unaware of what the actual announcement contained because we were outside and it was hard to hear. When the announcement had finished, those who had heard what the announcement contained consoled each other. Many of us who had not heard the announcement at all waited for our band director to explain what the announcement said. When we were finally told everybody was quiet for a moment and then people started talking to their friends trying to figure out why this had happened.
That response wasn't unique I found when I went to the rest of my classes, many of which talked about what had happened, or watched the news, or in the case of the computer class I had at the end of the day we were allowed to go onto the Internet and if we wanted to, find out what was going on in New York. But what surprised me the most was that many of the students weren't interested enough in current events to look into what was happening in the country. Many played games or other unproductive things like that. I must admit that at that time I had still not fully grasped the situation. I did not understand at that point how devastating this was, or how it would shape the course of the future, and I don't think many of the students did either
When I got home though and saw the havoc on the news when I saw the ash and the destruction, I understood that all was not to be the same. Everything had changed for me that day. I no longer felt the sense of security that nothing bad would ever happen. That day my childhood had ended.
Stories
Stories
"Excuse me but do you know where I can find a Mr. Tomas brown?" I asked the receptionist. "One moment please mame," she said as I leaned against the counter. While I waited, I studied the room I was in. It wasn't a very large or grand room. In fact I realized it was a vestibule and a plain one at that. There were a few people milling about at the entrance but besides that it was fairly devoid of people. "Miss", I turned toward the receptionist," Mr brown is in room 549, he is expecting you." " Thank you" I said. As I walked to the other side of the room I passed a mother and her crying child.
When I got onto the elevator and pressed the button for level five I saw that the mother was heading toward the elevator. "Hey could you hold the door for us?" the mother said as she brought her daughter onto the elevator. "What level." "Level three please. Your not from around here are you?" the mother asked. She was a very common looking person nothing to distinguish her from any other person. Nothing to suggest weather she was a good mother, a bad mother, or indifferent. "No I'm just visiting a friend", I said as I saw the child tugging on her mother's hand. "Mommy, mommy is our stop now?" the child asked expectantly, just as the elevator opened to admit them to the floor. "Oh. Well bye then." The mother said, as she was lead by her daughter off of the elevator. When the doors closed I pulled a mirror out of my purse to make sure that I looked presentable.
When the elevator doors opened to admit me to the fifth floor I walked purposely toward room five forty nine. As I reached the door I hesitated for a moment and then strode purposely in to the room. The room was small and dark in appearance. In the middle of it was a bed with Tomas in it. "Hello Tomas, how are you doing to day?" Tomas was of middling height and slightly dumpy, but then he had always been that way. "Fine deary fine." He answered in a thin, wispy voice. He had that dazed look in his eyes again, I thought. "Tomas do you know who I am?" I asked him. He gave me a blank smile and said, "of course I do. Your that nice lady that comes to see me every week." " I see and do you remember anything else about me. Anything at all?" "No should I?" "Tomas my name is Alice Winters and I've been coming to see you for the last three years. You saved my life when I was six. You saved my sisters life as well. Do you remember any of that?" I asked frankly worried. This was a new development. He remembered last week. It shouldn't be progressing this fast the doctor said it shouldn't. "No, but I think Alice is a very pretty name I like it." He said in ponderous way. I swallowed my fear and said, "Why thank you Tomas. Tomas I'm going to talk to your doctor now so will you be okay alone for a moment?" "Yes, but you will be back wont you?" "Yes Tomas Ill be back I promise." I said as I got up from the chair I had been sitting in and made my way toward the door all the while giving Tomas a small smile to reassure him that I indeed would be back.
As soon as the door had closed I made my way to the nurse's station and asked the nurse there "excuse me but may I please speak to doctor Leinhard?" " Of course. You'll bee ms. Winters then, he is in his office. He thought you would want to speak to him. Do you know the way?" "Yes I do, thank you" I turned away and walked down the hallway back toward the elevators...
When I got to dr. Leinhard's office I knocked on the door, waited a moment, and then strode in without waiting for a response. When I walked in I saw dr. Leinhard bent over some papers on his desk "hello dr. leinhard how are you today?" "Oh hello Alice." he said," I was expecting you " "I wonder," I said in an angry voice my rage building with every word I said, " when were you going to tell me that Tomas has been getting worse?" Dr. leinhard didn't look very surprised at my entrance but he did look annoyed. "Alice I didn't call you right away because I didn't want you to come see Tomas on a different day than what he is used to. You know that he needs a stable schedule to rely upon." The doctor said firmly. I realized that what the doctor said was true. He had told me that, three years ago when Tomas had first been admitted to the hospital. He had said that the progression of Alzheimer's varied wildly from patient to patient. "I suppose you are right doctor but he remembered me last week. Why doesn't he remember this week? I thought that the progression wouldn't happen this fast At least that's what you told me when he was first admitted into the hospital." I wondered if he had been entirely truthful three years ago. Doctor leinhard looked at me for a moment as though considering how to answer. " Alice, all that I told you back then was true. Back then it was true, but now, now all that has changed. The rate o f progression has increased dramatically. Which means that he is losing memory at an exponential rate. Tell me did he remember you at all?" "No, not really he just called me 'the nice lady' that comes to see him every week why do you ask?" I wondered if that meant anything, anything important at least. "Well Alice it means that his memory loss might not be as bad as we first thought. It might be reversible, at least partially. He will lose his memory eventually. You do realize that, don't you? One day he won't remember you at all. You will just be a blank face to him. But he might remember some things now if you tell him stories. Every time you see him tell him stories about his life, about what he's accomplished." I wondered how that would help anything and I stated as much "Well, Alice, since he remembers you at least partially, you may be able jog his memory of you. And so his apparent memory loss of you might be temporary at least for now. Do you understand what I'm saying Alice?" "Yes I understand doctor. Should I visit more regularly now that we know that his condition has changed?" The doctor looked at me for a moment and said, "no I don't think that, that would be a good idea right now you could throw him into confusion. Just visit him on the regular schedule. And speaking of schedules I would recommend that you visit Tomas. He's probably worried that you aren't going to visit him anymore." When the doctor said that I checked my watch and saw that I had been gone almost twenty minutes. Tomas was probably frantic by now he had always hated it when I was late. "Your right doctor ill be going now." As I made my leave the doctor had one more piece of advice. "Alice, remember you never know how long you have in this world so make the most of it. Okay." I turned back toward him and said "I will thank you" and I left his office to go tell my friend stories.
"Excuse me but do you know where I can find a Mr. Tomas brown?" I asked the receptionist. "One moment please mame," she said as I leaned against the counter. While I waited, I studied the room I was in. It wasn't a very large or grand room. In fact I realized it was a vestibule and a plain one at that. There were a few people milling about at the entrance but besides that it was fairly devoid of people. "Miss", I turned toward the receptionist," Mr brown is in room 549, he is expecting you." " Thank you" I said. As I walked to the other side of the room I passed a mother and her crying child.
When I got onto the elevator and pressed the button for level five I saw that the mother was heading toward the elevator. "Hey could you hold the door for us?" the mother said as she brought her daughter onto the elevator. "What level." "Level three please. Your not from around here are you?" the mother asked. She was a very common looking person nothing to distinguish her from any other person. Nothing to suggest weather she was a good mother, a bad mother, or indifferent. "No I'm just visiting a friend", I said as I saw the child tugging on her mother's hand. "Mommy, mommy is our stop now?" the child asked expectantly, just as the elevator opened to admit them to the floor. "Oh. Well bye then." The mother said, as she was lead by her daughter off of the elevator. When the doors closed I pulled a mirror out of my purse to make sure that I looked presentable.
When the elevator doors opened to admit me to the fifth floor I walked purposely toward room five forty nine. As I reached the door I hesitated for a moment and then strode purposely in to the room. The room was small and dark in appearance. In the middle of it was a bed with Tomas in it. "Hello Tomas, how are you doing to day?" Tomas was of middling height and slightly dumpy, but then he had always been that way. "Fine deary fine." He answered in a thin, wispy voice. He had that dazed look in his eyes again, I thought. "Tomas do you know who I am?" I asked him. He gave me a blank smile and said, "of course I do. Your that nice lady that comes to see me every week." " I see and do you remember anything else about me. Anything at all?" "No should I?" "Tomas my name is Alice Winters and I've been coming to see you for the last three years. You saved my life when I was six. You saved my sisters life as well. Do you remember any of that?" I asked frankly worried. This was a new development. He remembered last week. It shouldn't be progressing this fast the doctor said it shouldn't. "No, but I think Alice is a very pretty name I like it." He said in ponderous way. I swallowed my fear and said, "Why thank you Tomas. Tomas I'm going to talk to your doctor now so will you be okay alone for a moment?" "Yes, but you will be back wont you?" "Yes Tomas Ill be back I promise." I said as I got up from the chair I had been sitting in and made my way toward the door all the while giving Tomas a small smile to reassure him that I indeed would be back.
As soon as the door had closed I made my way to the nurse's station and asked the nurse there "excuse me but may I please speak to doctor Leinhard?" " Of course. You'll bee ms. Winters then, he is in his office. He thought you would want to speak to him. Do you know the way?" "Yes I do, thank you" I turned away and walked down the hallway back toward the elevators...
When I got to dr. Leinhard's office I knocked on the door, waited a moment, and then strode in without waiting for a response. When I walked in I saw dr. Leinhard bent over some papers on his desk "hello dr. leinhard how are you today?" "Oh hello Alice." he said," I was expecting you " "I wonder," I said in an angry voice my rage building with every word I said, " when were you going to tell me that Tomas has been getting worse?" Dr. leinhard didn't look very surprised at my entrance but he did look annoyed. "Alice I didn't call you right away because I didn't want you to come see Tomas on a different day than what he is used to. You know that he needs a stable schedule to rely upon." The doctor said firmly. I realized that what the doctor said was true. He had told me that, three years ago when Tomas had first been admitted to the hospital. He had said that the progression of Alzheimer's varied wildly from patient to patient. "I suppose you are right doctor but he remembered me last week. Why doesn't he remember this week? I thought that the progression wouldn't happen this fast At least that's what you told me when he was first admitted into the hospital." I wondered if he had been entirely truthful three years ago. Doctor leinhard looked at me for a moment as though considering how to answer. " Alice, all that I told you back then was true. Back then it was true, but now, now all that has changed. The rate o f progression has increased dramatically. Which means that he is losing memory at an exponential rate. Tell me did he remember you at all?" "No, not really he just called me 'the nice lady' that comes to see him every week why do you ask?" I wondered if that meant anything, anything important at least. "Well Alice it means that his memory loss might not be as bad as we first thought. It might be reversible, at least partially. He will lose his memory eventually. You do realize that, don't you? One day he won't remember you at all. You will just be a blank face to him. But he might remember some things now if you tell him stories. Every time you see him tell him stories about his life, about what he's accomplished." I wondered how that would help anything and I stated as much "Well, Alice, since he remembers you at least partially, you may be able jog his memory of you. And so his apparent memory loss of you might be temporary at least for now. Do you understand what I'm saying Alice?" "Yes I understand doctor. Should I visit more regularly now that we know that his condition has changed?" The doctor looked at me for a moment and said, "no I don't think that, that would be a good idea right now you could throw him into confusion. Just visit him on the regular schedule. And speaking of schedules I would recommend that you visit Tomas. He's probably worried that you aren't going to visit him anymore." When the doctor said that I checked my watch and saw that I had been gone almost twenty minutes. Tomas was probably frantic by now he had always hated it when I was late. "Your right doctor ill be going now." As I made my leave the doctor had one more piece of advice. "Alice, remember you never know how long you have in this world so make the most of it. Okay." I turned back toward him and said "I will thank you" and I left his office to go tell my friend stories.
clandestine communication
The word cifer is derived from the Arabic sifer meaning "nothing" when the Arabic civilization expanded through much of the western world in the seventh century C.E. it brought with it a high culture, a flourishing scholarship in science and mathematics as well as various secret writing practices in addition their mathematicians had developed decryption techniques through analyzing the repeating appearances of certain letters and words in their own texts this became known as letter frequency study and eventually as cryptanalysis
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