Ugh.

Well, this is my first non-scholastic post. So a week or two ago I had to watch Food Inc. It's a documentary about...food. Rather, what's in it, who controls it, etc. After viewing this documentary, I royally lost my appetite. I saw no reason to eat at Mcdonald's. Okay, maybe one; the fries. (Even though those aren't very healthy either. But hey, it isn't my fault they taste so good!) Apparently the majority of the meat at fast food establishments is not meat at all, but meat fillers. What the turkey neck is wrong with companies?? Yes, I understand that it's cheaper, but how can they possibly live with themselves knowing that the food their producing isn't food at all? It's...it's...un-food, for a lack of a better existing word.

What happens to the animals that we think we're eating? Well, Johnny, the answer to this question is they are abused. Now, we all know that the animals have to die, but not many of us think about how the animal dies. Or what it goes through before death. That leg that you're about to eat most likely belonged to a chicken that was given steroids. A chicken whose developement was cruely sped up and was unable to keep up with it. See, that chicken's internal organs and limbs were growing entirely too fast. That chicken got so beefed up that its legs couldn't handle the weight. It could only make it 2 or 3 steps at a time. Or perhaps it couldn't take one step at all. With all of the overcrowding in the coop, that chicken could have just dropped dead from the heat. Or maybe 2 or 3 chickens on top of it that couldn't move either. If neither of these were the cause of death, that chicken was cancelled out the traditional way; the neck was rung. Either way, it's a horrible fate to suffer, in my opinion. I know they've got to die somehow, but why so brutally?I just can not seem to process this in my mind. Maybe I'm one of the last people to learn this stuff but I just want to know if any one else is as outraged as I.

Reflection on English 111

Jameisha Harris

111-63 Fall 09

Refection Essay

December 8, 2009

My heart beat erratically inside of my chest as my feet dragged across the floor. I was about 2 feet away from room 117 and dread seemed to grasp each and every step I took. I walked into the classroom and found a seat in the first row. I took in my surroundings. I stared at the chalkboard that sucked up a great portion of the wall infront of me. I then watched as faces of people I had never seen in life walked into the classroom and found seats themselves. I felt a wave of amazment wash over me as I realized that the classroom was not composed of just teen-agers, but adults. It kind of befuddled me. My mother had told me it would probably be that way, and since it was a night class I would probably see more adults then my contemporaries. Actually, it was a good balance of both. Still, I did not feel any more comfortable about it.

Then, in comes the teacher. This guy was not anything I expected him to be, thank God. Since it was not only my first day of English 111, but also my first day of college, I had this weird mind set that all college professors were obesse, balding, white males. Well, I was obviously wrong. Since middle school, all my English teachers were female. When I looked at Mr. Gasparo, I learned that only two of my assumptions were correct; he was a white male. He did not really seem like a teacher to me. He could have easily been mistaken as a student taking the course. I actually did mistake him for a student, that is, until I noticed him placing handouts on the table.

When he began to speak, I realized that his tone was not at all menacing. As the class began to converse along with him, I learned that he was fairly young-not middle-aged, as I had previously conceived. He spoke just like the rest of us. At times, he went on random tangents-and even commented on them himself, but I found it calming. He was blunt yet comical; serious yet sarcastic. That was when I started to feel a little more comfortable. Soon, we headed to the computer lab and he taught us how to use BlackBoard. By the end of the night, I was convinced that college was great and I could hardly wait until my next class meeting.

I had not expected it, but I kept this mentality the entire 16 weeks of class. Each week we built on things that we had learned the previous week and foreshadowed what we would be doing the following week. For instance, one week Mr. Gasparo wrote ‘pathos, logos, and ethos’ on the board. I was a little familiar with those three words because in my previous year of school, when I was in the 12th grade, I had to read “A Modest Proposal” and I had to identify those three things within the literary work. We did not have enough time to thoroughly discuss ‘pathos, logos, and ethos’ that day in class but the next week, we did. I was appreciative for the refresher.

‘Pathos, logos, and ethos’ seemed to be the theme of the class, I noticed. Shortly after we had learned about them, we had to write an essay about why we are the people we are today. In said essay, we had to give two examples of the three rhetorical tools (‘pathos, logos, ethos’). In the final essay, the argumentative one, there were requirements to use the rhetorical tools and also in the presentation of our argument essay in front of the class.

I had believed that in the presentation of the argument, I was just going to read it to my classmates. Instead, I, along with the remainder of the class, was told that no one would be reading their papers. What we would end up doing is presenting our argument to our class in the form of a PowerPoint. We were given the choice of either trying to persuade our classmates to agree with our standpoint on our argument of choice or to present our research process. I chose the latter. I found it easier that way.

In the past 16 weeks, I have learned many things. I have learned not to judge a teacher by my assumptions. I have learned that high school was not a complete waste of my time, but actually beneficial at times. By using rhetorical tools, I have learned new ways to argue with people, and I learned that college is not a complete bore. It is my hope that all who read this will understand why taking Paul Gasparo’s English 111 course is a good idea. I guarantee that all who take this course will learn something and have fun doing so.

Lazy Linguistics 2.0

Jameisha Harris
111-63
Diagnostic Essay-Revised/Final
3 December 2009

The week seemed to go by in slow motion. The television bored me, my friends were always busy, and if I had watched another video on Youtube I’d probably cry. So having nothing better to do, I decided to remove myself from the computer screen and get something to eat. After perusing through my refrigerator, I settled on leftover steak, onions, and mushrooms and the remaining portion of mashed potatoes from KFC. Twenty minutes after the fact I trudged up the stairs to my room. I threw myself across the bed and just stayed there. I turned on the television and soon I was asleep.
I awoke the following morning to the sound of drumming. Apparently I had dozed off on the African channel. As I listened to them speaking about the festivities for that day, my head began to ache. It was unlike any other headache I had experienced. It felt as though my brain was throbbing rhythmically with the drums, and I seriously doubted Tylenol would help. I had not yet realized that the headache I was experiencing held a great significance, that there was a reason my head hurt. I had awakened that morning with this amazing ability to speak and understand different languages. It would not hit me until later that day.
I thought it was just a hunger pain and shrugged it off. I stretched, yawned, and headed for the kitchen. I grabbed a box of Lucky Charms and emptied its contents into a lime green plastic bowl. I smothered it with milk and plopped myself down in the computer chair. I logged on to Myspace and checked my mail; no comments, no messages…nothing. So I decided to read bulletins my friends had posted. I steered away from the bulletins with the angry boldfaced obscenities and clicked on one that said “Goat cheese and pearls of wisdom.”When the bulletin opened up I realized it was just a random survey. Still, out of curiosity I decided to read it anyway. I laughed at the ridiculousness of some of the questions along with the answers the person had responded with. It had not yet occurred to me that half the answers were written in French.As the day proceeded, while flipping through channels, I noticed that “Kung Fu Hustle” was on Spike TV and began to watch it. As I laughed at the opening dance sequence I felt the couch vibrate and noted that someone was calling me.
“Hello?”“Hey girl, what’s up?”“Nothing, watching Kung Fu hustle…”
As the conversation went on I arose and went into the kitchen to satisfy my slight hunger. As I poured a couple of Tostitos on a plate I erupted in laughter.
“Are you okay over there?” She asked.
Still laughing I managed to say“Yeah, sorry about that, but the landlady is so funny. She asked this one guy ‘What’s so funny?’ and before he could answer she said ‘Rent’s no laughing matter, fairy.’ I can not believe she called the man a fairy. That was crazy, man. ”She laughed.
“Man, it’s a good thing that movie has subtitles because I know I would be lost.”“
Yeah…” I smiled. “So would…” abruptly I stopped.
“Hello? Hello…Hey!” she shouted.
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something just occurred to me.”“
What?”“I understood what she said.”
“Well, yeah, you were reading the…-”
“No, Jas, you’re not getting it. I seriously understood what she said. I didn’t read the subtitles. I was in the kitchen getting nachos when she said that.”
She paused. “…Are…you trying to tell me…that you speak Chinese now?”
“I guess so.” I replied just as shocked as she was.
“Are you sure you just haven’t seen the movie before and memorized the lines?”
“YES. This is my first time watching it.”
“Wow.”
“My sentiments exactly...” I replied.
We ended the conversation a few moments later and I went back in the living room to sit on the couch. I covered my eyes with my hands and proceeded to think.
“Am I losing it?” I asked myself. “Am I really going crazy or is this really happening?”
I reached in my pocket and grabbed my cell phone. I scrolled down until I found “Mexican” in my address book.
“Hey, Aaron, say something Spanish.”
“Um…okay… ¿Que estas haciendo?”
“Nothing much; watching “Kung Fu Hustle, you?” “¿’PERATE, QUE? ¿YO HABLO ESPANOL TAMBIEN?”
“Yeah, and you seem to speak it really well too.” He laughed.
“Oh be quiet, Aaron. This is no time to be goofy.”
“But I am goofy.” He said half jokingly.
“True…” I laughed.
“…But you also have a serious side, which I need you to use.”
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
“Well, I seem to be able to comprehend and speak random languages.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Ugh. You’re not helping me. I’ll talk to you later.” I replied frustrated.
“Aww…okay ¡Chao!”
Feeling even more confused than before I sat and thought quietly. Soon Aaron’s words came back to me
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” I asked myself. Smiling, I imagined how my life would be from that moment on. I could watch the Spanish channel and not get a headache. When wandering through the mall, waiting for friends to get their nails done, I could listen to the conversations and know if we were being talked about. When Tasania gets mad I would actually understand her Jamaican language. Since I was already in college, I would no longer be undecided. I would major in International Studies, travel the world, and be a translator for at least eight languages. I would get paid a substantial amount, buy my parents a house, a car, and do the same for myself. I would pay my tithes and bless many people. At some point I would get married and retire by age 32. Yes, life would be good. I hopped off the sofa and picked up the land line.
“Hey mommy, guess what?” I asked excitedly.“I know what I want to do with my life…”

Diagnostic essay: "Lazy Linguistics"

Jameisha Harris

Eng 111-63
Diagnostic Essay

8/27/09

It was a slow week. The television bored me, my friends were all working and if I had watched another video on Youtube I’d probably cry. So having nothing better to do, I decided to remove myself from the computer screen and get something to eat. After perusing through my refrigerator, I settled on leftover steak, onions, and mushrooms and the remaining portion of mashed potatoes from KFC. Twenty minutes after the fact I trudged up the stairs to my room. I threw myself across the bed and just stayed there. I turned on the television and soon I was asleep.
I awoke the following morning to the sound of drumming. Apparently I had dozed off on the African channel. As I listened to them speaking about the festivities for that day, my head began to ache. It was unlike any other headache I had experienced. It felt as though my brain was throbbing rhythmically with the drums, and I seriously doubted Tylenol would help. I had not yet realized that the headache I was experiencing held a great significance, that there was a reason my head hurt. I had awakened that morning with this amazing ability to understand different languages. It would not hit me until later that day.
I thought it was just a hunger pain and shrugged it off. I stretched, yawned, and headed for the kitchen. I grabbed a box of Lucky Charms and emptied its contents into a lime green plastic bowl. I smothered it with milk and plopped myself down in the computer chair. I logged on to Myspace and checked my mail; no comments, no messages…nothing. So I decided to read bulletins my friends had posted. I steered away from the bulletins with the angry boldfaced obscenities and clicked on one that said “Goat cheese and pearls of wisdom.”
When the bulletin opened up I realized it was just a random survey. Still, out of curiosity I decided to read it anyway. I laughed at the ridiculousness of some of the questions along with the answers the person had responded with. It had not yet occurred to me that half the answers were written in French.
As the day proceeded, while flipping through channels, I noticed that “Kung Fu Hustle” was on Spike TV and began to watch it. As I laughed at the opening dance sequence I felt the couch vibrate and noted that someone was calling me.
“Hello?”
“Hey girl, what’s up?”
“Nothing, watching Kung Fu hustle…”
As the conversation went on I arose and went into the kitchen to satisfy my slight hunger. As I poured a couple of Tostitos on a plate I erupted in laughter.
“Are you okay over there?” She asked.
Still laughing I managed to say
“Yeah, sorry about that, but the landlady is so funny. She asked this one guy ‘What’s so funny?’ and before he could answer she said ‘Rent’s no laughing matter, fairy.’ I can not believe she called the man a fairy. That was crazy, man. ”
She laughed. “Man, it’s a good thing that movie has subtitles because I know I would be lost.”
“Yeah…” I smiled. “So would…” abruptly I stopped.
“Hello? Hello…Hey!” she shouted.
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something just occurred to me.”
“What?”
“I understood what she said.”“Well, yeah, you were reading the…-”
“No, Jas, you’re not getting it. I seriously understood what she said. I didn’t read the subtitles. I was in the kitchen getting nachos when she said that.”
She paused. “…Are…you trying to tell me…that you speak Chinese now?”
“I guess so.” I replied just as shocked as she was.
“Are you sure you just haven’t seen the movie before and memorized the lines?”
“YES. This is my first time watching it.”
“Wow.”
“My sentiments exactly...” I replied.
We ended the conversation a few moments later and I went back in the living room to sit on the couch. I covered my eyes with my hands and proceeded to think.
“Am I losing it?” I asked myself. “Am I really going crazy or is this really happening?”
I reached in my pocket and grabbed my cell phone. I scrolled down until I found “Mexican” in my address book.
“Hey, Aaron, say something Spanish.”
“Um…okay… ¿Que estas haciendo?”
“Nothing much; watching “Kung Fu Hustle, you?” “¿’PERATE, QUE? ¿YO HABLO ESPANOL TAMBIEN?”
“Yeah, and you seem to speak it really well too.” He laughed.
“Oh be quiet, Aaron. This is no time to be goofy.”
“But I am goofy.” He said half jokingly.
“True…” I laughed. “…But you also have a serious side, which I need you to use.”
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
“Well, I seem to be able to comprehend and speak random languages.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Ugh. You’re not helping me. I’ll talk to you later.” I replied frustrated.
“Aww…okay ¡Chao!”
Feeling even more confused than before I sat and thought quietly. Soon Aaron’s words came back to me “What’s wrong with that?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” I asked myself.
Smiling, I imagined how my life would be from that moment on. I could watch the Spanish channel and not get a headache. When wandering through the mall, waiting for friends to get their nails done, I could listen to the conversations and know if we were being talked about. When Tasania gets mad I would actually understand her Jamaican language. Since I was already in college, I would no longer be undecided. I would travel the world and be a translator for at least eight languages. I would get paid a substantial amount, buy my parents a house, a car, do the same for myself. I would pay my tithes and bless many people. At some point I would get married and retire by age 32. Yes, life would be good.
I hopped off the sofa and picked up the land line.
“Hey mommy, guess what?” I asked excitedly.
“I know what I want to do with my life…”