"Beautiful Soul"

         Yes, you read it right-I am analyzing Jesse McCartney's "Beautiful Soul". I feel sorry for those of you who do not remember the days this song used to play on Radio Disney; unfortunately, your childhood is a dying cause. Anyways, on to my brief analysis.
         The first thing I notice is the emphasis put on a 'beautiful soul'. Throughout the song, there are no degrading lyrics referring to a woman's body in immature and demoralizing ways. In fact, there are no words calling direct attention to the girl's physical beauty- just her inner beauty. This exclusion of such derogatory lyrics shows the innocence of the song and the relationship between the singer and the girl. When the lyrics are sweet and modest, the song is understood to be so as well. This is the overall effect that McCartney wants on his listeners.
         Another aspect that draws my attention is the fact that the song is about a specific girl. In most songs these days, love objects are anonymous sexy girls. Basically, as long as the girl seems hot or beautiful to the singer, she is worth singing about. This mindset rips the song of the feeling of any intimate relationship. McCartney on the other hand, gives the girl a unique personality, making the proposed love seem more real.
         McCartney's song is very effective because it is clean. McCartney doesn't swear at all in the song, keeping the song innocent. The lack of profanity helps establish a very sweet, innocent, and modest relationship implied between the subject and the singer.
         McCartney's overall ability to make the song very pure makes it effective. I think I can say that generally, when lyrics reflect message, the song is a success. Plus, who doesn't want to listen to a song about young, pure love, especially when it's increasingly hard to find these days?

           "Ew! The Bachelorette?" Now before you start putting labels on those who enjoy this love-based reality show, just think for a minute about how you are approaching it. Have you seen a major portion of the show? Besides the overall concept, do you know any details? If the answer is yes to either of these questions, consider yourself a biased and unreliable source for any type of analysis of the show. I do not watch "The Bachelorette" often or religiously. I have however, seen enough of one season to form a well-rounded opinion, in which instinctive and overly emotional views do not impulsively enter the scene. Regardless, the show does elicit some controlled and reasonable concerns in which feminist views are quite valid. I will be pessimistic today, concentrating predominantly on the various, dangerous arguments the show makes. Because believe me, there are many.
          So let's start with the "bachelorettes" themselves. Women on "The Bachelorette" are thin, tall, and sexy, qualities that men apparently adore. They wear tight, revealing clothes while surrounded by guys with eyes glued to them. Their rippling hair cascades down their shoulders, and their faces are made up in a 'mesmerizing' way, highlighting their best facial features. Unfortunately, this is how all the bachelorettes look, due to the socially accepted definition of beauty, and even more severe, the ideal woman. By establishing such a criteria for a perfect woman, men's values become skewed. This is seen in "The Bachelorette"'s interviews with the male contestants. The guys have the opportunity to speak to the camera, presumably to detail how much they love the bachelorette. Almost always, a reference to her 'stunning' beauty is made, whether it be about her hair, her face, or her clothes. But let's think for a while. Is this really what a woman is? Desiree, a bachelorette, was an interior designer. This achievement, however, was not acknowledged by the men. Instead, they complimented her on her beauty and her clothes. On the show, we see relatively little respect given to her intellect or accomplishments, and more given to her body and sexual temptation.
          Let's now talk about men. The contestants on the show are muscular, handsome, and sexy. With this flawed depiction of manliness, the idea of the perfect man becomes extremely limited. As a result, the men, like the women, are not usually characterized by their intellect or talent. They instead become objects of the women, who can decide which mixture of good looks and charms is best. This is ironic, and is an interesting spin on the feminist lens, though it is the same in concept. Even in the show's talent show, many of the men sexualize themselves by taking off their shirts and bearing their muscles. This generates a favorable response from Desiree, who later, when asked to review the show, comments that the boys were hot.
           We also see standards for love being created. What is true love? According to the show, it consists of intimate kissing on an Antigua beach, and going on planned, manufactured dates in the Alps. The TV show, aimed at young, love-crazy women, gives a false notion of what true love ought to bring. Expectations for love are raised significantly with every glance of the romantic settings, and many girls eagerly search for their buff, sweet, but nonexistent Prince Charming. In addition, the show perpetuates the shallow and materialistic idea of true love. By vising scenic places and by kissing intimately in the sunset, the viewer begins to think that such is true of all love, and they begin to desire it. Relationships, however, are not so easy, and there are several aspects of love that don't have to do with expensive limos and grand vacations, which are unfortunately overlooked. The fact that the couple barely knows each other certainly doesn't help either. Values like commitment, time, and simplicity are rarely shown on "The Bachelorette", and are therefore dismissed by those searching for that perfect love. The men are more concentrated on getting the rose than building a stable relationship with the girl. Surprisingly (this is sarcasm), this is false. Love does not simply come to a girl. She must run across it.
              The show also enforces a stereotypical view of the rich. Expensive limos, glittering dresses, and fantasy vacations are all the scene. This perpetuates the notion that the rich are self-absorbed, pampering themselves with all the wonderful things their money can buy. Is this stereotype true for all rich people? Of course not. But this is true of every episode on "The Bachelorette". T-shirts and standard automobiles are extinct. As a middle-class audience, we are forced to wonder- Has a rich girl on the show ever once played it simple? Does this mean that all rich people live lavish lives, filled with unnecessary extras?
               So "The Bachelorette" makes some pretty absurd arguments about societal definitions, most of which we as individuals disagree with. I hope those who watch this show will watch it sparingly as light entertainment, but we know that's improbable. Media have those sneaky ways to subconsciously infect our minds whether we like it or not.
           

         

     Ah, MEA break. It's unfortunate that a time meant for relaxation consists instead of studying and doing homework. Oh, well. I guess that's life as a student.
     For this week's blog post, I have decided to upload another part of the book my sister and I are writing. The excerpt is from the viewpoint of another character, so don't get confused.

        The school has provided an air conditioned coach bus to take us to camp. It is somewhere in the northern part of our home state, Minnesota. Everyone around me is discussing unnecessary topics, such as professional sports, fashion, and celebrities. Some have degraded themselves even further and have decided to gossip about others. I am truly disgusted.

            I, on the other hand, have intelligently chosen to study for the upcoming ACT exam. Though I am only in eighth grade, I am determined to acquire a perfect score. Harvard will not accept near-perfect. It will only accept the best of the best, which I’m quite sure I am. My father attended that university, so the proverbial bar is set higher. Of course, Harvard is not the only option. I am also looking into Yale, Princeton, Dartmouth, Cornell, Columbia, Brown, and the University of Pennsylvania. Though the Ivy Leagues seem in clear view, I will also be content in other prestigious universities, such as Stanford and Rice, the latter of which my mother attended.

“He’s such a nerd!” I hear a few girls gossiping about me.

            I am quick to sophisticatedly retaliate. “I do not care about your invalid opinions. They are produced by minds that are incapable of even the most basic things. Please keep your undesirable words to yourself.”

            They do not say anything more about me.

           

            I continue to study. I have taken an ACT practice exam, timing myself using my watch. I have come very close to a perfect score, receiving a 33 out of 36. The loss of three points was most likely due to the irritating jabber of the people around me. I should have brought earplugs.

            After another hour or so, we stop at a grassy area to eat lunch. As we get out of the bus, we are handed a box containing our lunch. I sit fairly close to a group of boys with passable IQs. They do not notice me, and I am happy for it, as I must reflect on my ACT practice test score. It is far too important.

              I open the box and find that my lunch is a turkey sandwich, potato chips, and a juice box. So much studying and perfection has made me hungry, so I relish my meal. The turkey blends perfectly with the tomatoes, lettuce, and wheat bread. The chips are greasy and full of saturated fats, but everyone must indulge themselves from time to time. I complete the rest of my food and throw my garbage into a nearby trash can. As I am walking back, I hear a beep. I turn around and find out that it is Marcus, a boy in my class who is blind.

            “Sorry,” Marcus apologizes. He uses a beeping cane to manoeuvre around me. His friends, Fred and Jack, are a few steps behind him.

            “It’s fine,” I respond. Marcus invites me to sit with him and his friends. I enjoy my introversion, but I decide to take the offer.

            “So...” Jack starts when I sit down. “What’s up?”

            “Nothing,” I respond. “I was reflecting upon my ACT practice test score. I did not perform at quite the level I would have liked.”

            “Isn’t this camp supposed to be a break from school?” Fred asks.

            I look at him incredulously. “This is not schoolwork. Our school’s education system is much too mediocre to prepare us for prestigious exams such as the ACT.”

            “Don’t you want a break from studying?” Jack interrogates.

            “Never lose the opportunity to expand your field of knowledge. Besides, studying brings me joy.”

            “Don’t you ever want to try something new?” Marcus questions.

            “Yes. I read different books, try different math problems, and learn different concepts in science.”

            “I meant something other than studying. Have you ever tried sports?” Fred asks.

            “No. I exercise my mind. Sports are a pointless waste of time with no objective.”

            “You try to win,” Marcus points out. “That’s an objective.”

            “But what do you do with that objective? Winning some silly sports competition won’t get you into Harvard or Yale. Very few people play well enough to earn athletic scholarships. And let’s say you do play professionally. Your career will end by the time you’re 30, as that’s when your bones start to weaken.” I am making excellent points. “However, if you are a doctor, lawyer, or engineer, you can have a career for the rest of your life, earn respect, and make a decent living.”

            “It’s not about college. Sports are something you can do for fun. What about video games? Or music?” Jack asks.

            “Video games kill brain cells. Music, however, is in my field of interest. I do study the great composers.”

            “I think you should do something that doesn’t involve studying,” Fred explains.

            “Thank you for the suggestion, but I will stick to my strong suits.”

            “Ok,” Jack says, obviously unable to come up with anything else. “Um...we need to go. I think someone was calling us, so we’ll catch you later.”

            The three of them leave, and I am left to reflect on various ACT questions. Just when I thought I was in solitude, I hear two brown-haired boys approaching my area. I recognize the shorter one as Miguel, a boy from my class, and the other as Justin, who is in a different class.

            “Did you see that chick?” Justin asks Miguel.

            “The blonde? Yeah.”

            “Damn, she was hot.”

            “Ok, one to ten. What would you give her?” Miguel questions.

            “I’d say nine. How ’bout you?”

            “Maybe a six.”

            “Six?! That’s all?” Justin looks aghast.

            “What? She’s not that hot.”

            This is an ungodly conversation. I try to tune them out.

            “I know who you think is hot. Everyone does,” Justin teases.

            “She doesn’t know,” Miguel says, obviously referring to the girl he is infatuated with. “I think.”

            “I can always tell her. You know, so she’s prepared. Otherwise she’ll slap the heck out of you if you try to pull any moves on her.”

            “I’m not pulling moves on anyone, Justin,” Miguel explains. “I’m just planning on asking her to the school dance at the end of the year.”

            “Yeah, and then you’re going to use your Latin lover boy moves on her.”

            “I don’t have a death wish, idiot.”

            This is disgraceful. I can no longer endure such torture.

            “Shut your mouths!” I scream. “This is inappropriate. Such discussions should not be allowed in public. You should be ashamed of yourselves! Please remove yourselves from my field of vision.”

            Justin looks like he wants to spit at me. “Dude, you have problems. You need help.”

            Miguel shares a similar countenance. “Yeah. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you.”

            Justin makes a profane gesture at me and the two walk away. Good. I have rid myself of their presence. I don’t know how I will be able to live through such horrible conversations at camp.

 

            Once we are back on the bus, I open my ACT book and study the science section. Thoroughly intrigued by the many techniques offered, I choose to ignore the tap on my shoulder.

            “Hello?” I know that voice. It’s Mali.

            “What?” I ask, continuing to read.

            “Can you look at me when you’re talking to me?”

            I close my book and make eye contact. “What do you need? As you can see, I’m studying.”

            “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Why don’t you ever do anything else? Don’t you get bored of studying?”

            I shake my head. “Studying stimulates and enriches the mind. It prepares us for college and the real world.”

            Mali rolls her eyes. “The problems you’re going to face in life aren’t in that textbook, Sam. Don’t you think you’re smart enough, anyway? Don’t you ever want to have fun?”

            “Studying is enjoyable. And I may be intelligent, but there is a higher level of perfection that I wish to achieve.”

            “You are so full of yourself! When I tied with you in the Brain Bowl, you acted like it was such a big surprise. Just because you’re smart does not make you better than everyone else! You might be good at math and all that stuff, but that’s it. I don’t know why I tried talking to you.”

            “Ok. Now would you please leave me to my studying?”

            Mali does not talk to me at all after that encounter.

           

            After about 20 minutes, the bus goes through a tunnel. People all around me are holding their breaths. This is most likely some silly superstition, so I obviously do not participate. When we are out of the tunnel, everyone acts like they haven’t breathed in years. I am disgusted by their childish games. Even the teachers participate. I do not understand why they degrade themselves in such a manner.

            I am still studying when a girl requests we watch a movie. Mr. Rice, the health teacher, reads off a few names of films. Everyone chooses a movie that I have never heard of, but apparently has some heartthrob actor. I decide to take a short break from my studying to watch it.

            Throughout the movie, girls get excited when the actor comes onscreen. It is some sort of action-romance film, and I must admit the special effects are spectacular. The acting and storyline, however, are absolutely dreadful.  In the end, there is a kissing scene with buildings blowing up in the background. Overall, I am unimpressed.

            Mr. Rice, who is now sitting behind me, decides to strike up a conversation. “What did you think of the movie?”

            “The special effects were quite impressive, but I did not approve of the movie in general.”

            “You didn’t like the story?”

            “Not at all. It was very unrealistic.”

            “Oh. Well, that’s too bad. Maybe we can find something you’ll like on the way back.”

            I nod. However, I don’t think the majority of people would agree with my taste in entertainment. 

 

            After about an hour, we reach a long string of wooden-cabin-like dorms. They are located in front of a thicket of trees. At the door, we check in and collect our room keys. I am given the room B6. Due to a limited number of rooms, each dorm will house four pupils. I cross my fingers that my roommates will be somewhat intelligent.

            I walk into the hall, which has three wooden tables. It is extremely spacious, and the blue paint on the walls gives it an even more open feel. The girls’ wing is on the right, so I walk over to the left. Once I find my room number, I unlock the door and find Henry, Miguel, and Carl. There are two sets of bunk beds, and the only space left is the lower bunk under Miguel. There is a large window behind the beds to let the morning light in. The carpet is so flat it feels almost hard. I am disgusted to be left with Miguel. Henry, who is in my class, is a decent person, but not necessarily someone I would talk to. Carl is in a different class, and I honestly don’t know him well enough to even come up with a judgement. This is going to be an interesting experience.

 

 

      Immense liberty is often associated with the idea of blogging about whatever one wants. This may be true, but I can truthfully say that I am stymied. What can I possibly write about? I could rant about how bad my day has been or how unenthused I am about Wednesday's PSAT, but I would quickly get bored with myself. After all, how long can one read or write about negativity and first world problems? On the other hand, I could write something demonstrating that I am in fact the epitome of 90's boy band fandom. But that would be annoying and creepy to someone who is not used to a regular dose of my weirdness.
       With that said, I have decided to upload some writing I have done for a book my sister and I are writing. It is not a particularly interesting scene, nor is it amazingly good writing, but life is not always supposed to be perpetually exciting, is it? Sometimes we just have to take it slowly. Here goes.

I am sitting cross-legged on my bunk, absent-mindedly twirling the ends of my blanket. Two of my roommates, Clay and Daniel, are on their beds, excitedly talking with each other about something I am not paying attention to. My third and last roommate, Mike, is sitting on his bunk with his back towards us and his face to the wall. I guess he’s pissed that the teachers said he couldn’t talk with his friend Larry until dinner. Anyways, I’m not too excited about being roommates with Mike. From my experiences in class, I can say for sure that he is one aggressive boy.

It has been about half an hour since we arrived at our cabins at Camp Eagle Spirit, and so far it has been pretty droll. When I walked into our room, I couldn’t see any suitcases or people, so I quietly assumed the bottom bunk of the bed near the door as mine. My rationale was that this way I would be able to bolt to the bathroom, cafeteria, and all those other places important for a functioning camp.

Anyways, I sat alone in my soon to-be-shared room for what seemed to be centuries until Daniel and eventually Clay walked in. We introduced ourselves and talked briefly about the introductory assembly we had to attend after we got settled into our rooms. It turned out they didn’t know what to expect either. After we had finished our short conversation and had made ourselves comfortable in our bunks, Mike walked in. He didn’t say anything, but he did throw us all individual and personalized dirty looks before retiring to the remaining bottom bunk to face the wall in unexpected silence. And he has not moved nor said a word since.

I’m starting to feel a tad bit awkward just sitting here, so I decide to speak up. It’s bound to be better than just sitting here and twiddling my thumbs like an idiot. “When do we have to leave for the welcome assembly?” I finally ask. This question is not entirely dumb, because I actually am curious about the answer.

Clay stops talking to Daniel and looks at me. “I’m not really sure.” He runs a hand through his bronze-colored hair, perplexed. “They really should have told us before we got off the buses.”

“Maybe the teachers will come tell us when we need to start?” Daniel offers from the top bunk.

“Yeah, but how?” Clay asks. “I mean, we’re all in different rooms.”

“They could knock on all the doors, I guess.” Daniel suggests.”I mean, it would take a while, but it’s still possible.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Clay agrees, turning towards me again. “I think Daniel’s right. I mean, how else could they tell us?”

“A loudspeaker?” I propose. If they use it in the school, it has to be an easier solution, right?

“That would be a good idea,” Daniel starts, “but I don’t think there are loudspeakers in these cabins”

All of a sudden, Mike whisks himself around, his face crimson and his nostrils flaring. “Can you assholes shut up? All you do is talk and talk and talk. I’m in the middle of a big, stupidass zoo, and you all are a bunch of wild asses!”

“What the hell is your problem?” Clay attacks. “Just turn around and stare at your stupid wall, ‘cause no one wants to see or hear you.”

“No, Clay,” Daniel starts, “It was a good metaphor. You know, I never thought Mike paid attention in Language Arts, but he proved me wrong.”

I want to laugh at Daniel’s joke, but something about Mike’s furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes warns me against doing just that. “You think this is funny?” he yells, staring right at Daniel. “I’ll show you what’s funny.” With that, he leaps off his bottom bunk and lunges straight for the ladder on my bed to attack Daniel, who is on the bunk right above mine. I quickly back up to the wall and hug my knees, terrified. I want to be as far as humanly possible from this deranged kid.

            Daniel screams as Mike swiftly climbs up the ladder. Poor Dan really has nowhere to escape, and I feel the terror he is experiencing. Surely there must be a way to help him. But how?

            Suddenly, a flash of black hits Mike on the back of his head, just as he reaches the top of the ladder. The mystery object falls to the floor, and upon closer inspection, I discover it is a deodorant container.

            “Which one of you sissies did that?” Mike yells as he turns around, his face redder than a ripe apple in the spring. He eyes Clay and me ferociously.

            I look down, trying my best to avoid making eye contact with the monster. I want to disappear and never return.

            “That would be me.” Clay says. I think he realizes what he has just gotten himself into, because as soon as the words escape his mouth, his eyes grow wide and he mumbles something that sounds like Oh, shit.

            “Well, you asked for it.” Mike retorts, smiling devilishly. With that, he jumps off the ladder and runs for the one leading to Clay’s top bunk.

            At this point, I am scared out of my wits, and I dash for the door. I have to find a teacher to put an end to this, and I’m hoping the lobby will be a good place to find one. I’m not very far from my room when I bump into Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime.

            “Al, I was just on my way to check on you and your roommates. I received a complaint from a student in the room next to yours about some disturbances. Is everything okay?”

            I am hyperventilating, and I don’t know where to start. There is so much I want to tell him. “No, nothing is okay. Mike is crazy, and you need to hurry.”

            With that, we both jog to my room. As we get closer, I can start to hear the yells clearer. I get increasingly nervous with every step we take.

            When Dr. Pinkaeasaboboflime finally opens the door, I first see Daniel yelling while running around aimlessly. My other two roommates are on the ground now, and Mike is on top of Clay, throwing punches left and right.

            “Boys!” Dr. Pinkaerasoboboflime shouts, obviously flustered. “Stop that this instant!” He runs to pull Mike off of Clay and pushes the angry blond towards me. We are standing right next to each other, so I inch away from him slowly.

            “What is going on here?” Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime gasps, flabbergasted.

            “I am the frickin’ victim here, that’s what.” Mike yells, glaring at Clay, who is now standing, though hunched over. He is clenching his stomach and his face is twisted into an extremely uncomfortable expression.

            “You will speak in an indoor voice on these premises,” the teacher orders. “Now Daniel, tell me what exactly happened.”

            Daniel, voice slightly quivering, relates the entire incident. I know most of what he is saying from first-hand experience, but towards the end, I learn what happened while I was gone. In a nutshell, Mike managed to get Clay on the floor, where the aggressive blonde delivered quick blows to Clay’s face and stomach. Mike is strangely quiet for the entire explanation. I guess he’s too tired from the physical strain that came with punching Clay’s gut.

            “Well boys,” Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime begins, “I’m disappointed. Engaging in physical fights is absolutely inappropriate, especially at Camp Eagle Spirit, and I will have to talk with the other teachers in order to take proper action.”

            “What would this action be?” Daniel asks, hesitantly.

            The teacher sighs. “That I am not sure of, but removal from camp is a viable option at this point. It’s unfortunate, but what must be done must be done.” He pauses for a moment. “I want all of you to follow me. The other teachers and I will make an executive decision as to what must happen now.”

            Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime opens the door and leads the way with us following close behind. We silently walk past beautiful paintings of ducks, deer, and various nearby wildlife, but none of those matters now. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I’ve never gotten into trouble with anyone, and here I am walking into a possible suspension or removal from camp. I want to cry.

            Finally, we reach a room. Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime tells us to stay seated in the small space while he summons the other teachers. When he returns with the other four teachers, I sit straight up in my chair. I only want to make the best of impressions.

            “So,” Mr. Rice begins, “Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime told us about the whole incident on our way here, but in order to take proper action, we want each of you to give your account of what happened.”

            “We’ll bring each of you to talk with us separately.” Ms. Pinora adds. “We just want to ask you a few questions. The other three of you will wait outside.”

            Well, that’s perfect. This is just like a criminal interrogation.

            “Daniel, we want to talk with you first.” Mrs. Brock says.

            With that, Clay, Mike, and I find our ways out the door. We sit on the floor right outside the room, our backs against the walls.

            “I can’t believe this is happening,” Clay says quietly, staring at the floor.

            I don’t say anything. Neither does Mike. His emotions baffle me, and I really don’t know what’s going through his mind.

            “We won’t be suspended, right?” I ask, frightened of the answer.

            Clay shakes his head “You and Daniel won’t be, but Mike and I might.” He exhales loudly.

            “I don’t give a shit if they do suspend me,” Mike snorts. “This is all bullshit.”

            Clay and I look at each other, but we don’t say anything. We all know what could happen if we did.

            After a while, Daniel walks in and tells me that I’m up next. I take a deep breath and walk in.

            The actual interrogation is not that bad. I tell the teachers what I saw happen, and then I answer some questions. The questions are not hard, as they are factual, and I can remember the answers to most of them.

            After about five minutes, my interview is done, the teachers thank me, and I get up to leave. Just as I am about to turn the knob on the door, I remember my all-important question and turn around. “Am I going to get suspended?” I ask.

            The teachers laugh. “No, Al. You’re not.” Mr. Rice comforts.

            I thank them and leave the room, relieved. I tell Mike he has to go in before I sit down with my other roommates. He just grunts and makes his way to the door.

            The next several minutes are a blur. I don’t talk at all and fail to notice when Mike changes places with Clay. I am awakened from my daze when Mrs. Brock comes out and summons us all inside the room again. I follow, unsure of what to expect.

            “Well, boys,” Ms. Moon starts once we are all seated next to each other, facing the teachers, “We have come up with a decision after much discussion. We’ve taken a lot into consideration, and we feel our actions reflect the best interests of all four you.”

            “All four of your families will receive a phone call home describing the incident.” Mrs. Brock continues. “In addition, Mike will spend the rest of the day, as well as the night, in a different room.” She turns to face the sulking boy. “You won’t be eating dinner with the rest of the student body today, and you will not attend the welcome assembly.”

            Mike is remarkably stoic despite this news, and I begin to wonder if the reason for his lack of expression is due to similar experience.

            “Mike, you will join your roommates tomorrow morning.” The teacher continues. Mike groans and begins to protest, but Mrs. Brock silences him. Even I am confused. Aren’t students usually suspended for involvement in fights?

“Clayton, from the evidence gathered, we realize that the only real damage you have done was in throwing that bottle, or whatever it was, and defending yourself from Mike’s assault. You will continue with the regular schedule, but you will help clean tables after dinner today. Due to this responsibility, you may miss some of the welcome assembly.”

Clay exhales and gives a weak smile. I guess he was expecting worse.

“Daniel and Al, you will simply continue with the regular schedule. Thank you all for contributing to our decisions, and you may leave for dinner now. Mike, stay with us.”

I tell Daniel and Clay that they can make their way to the cafeteria, and that I’ll catch up with them later. They shrug, confused, and walk out the door.

“Al, do you need something?” Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime asks.

“Actually, I have a question. Can we talk over there?” I say pointing to a corner while lowering my voice.

“Of course.” Dr. Pinkaerasaboblime says, following me away from the other teachers and Mike.

When we are far enough from them, I decide to ask my question. “I know a lot of times, teachers suspend kids for stuff like this. But you didn’t though. Why?”

The teacher smiles. “We truly believe this camp is what Mike needs in order to change his behaviour. Sending him away would essentially be denying him what he needs most at this time.” He looks at me, trying to read my expressions. “Do you understand that?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say.

Dr. Pinkaerasaboboflime laughs. “Well, don’t think about that now. It’s over. Go enjoy dinner.”

'The Simpsons' features many examples of satire. The show uses humor to criticize several social aspects of society as a whole. In the above clip, Lisa, who has bought more songs on her MyPod than she can pay for, is traveling to the Mapple (a parady of Apple) Headquarters in an attempt to ask CEO Steve Mobbs for a reduced payment option. In the beginning of the clip, Lisa arrives at the Mapple Headquarters in a submarine. A voice announces that the cost of the journey will be added to her bill. This is an example of satire. The show is trying to relay that companies are obsessed with making money, often forcing payment for seemingly random, ridiculous, and irrelevant things. The submarine trip is an exaggeration of the things such companies place price tags on. Another example of satire is when Steve Mobbs responds that even though Mapple's posters say "Think Differently", its real motto is "No Refunds". This is satire in that once again, the top companies, such as Apple, claim to care for customers, but are unwilling to help them when a monetary incentive exists. The companies chiefly desire for money and will do anything for it. Also, the entire scene is a parody of Apple. It makes many negative statements about the ethics of the single company.

Narration on Grief

When I was eight years old, I could tell you, without a hint of doubt on my face, that my fish were the best pets any little girl could ask for. Every afternoon, I loved to watch them race to the surface of their fish tank to nibble the flakes I so lovingly sprinkled for them.  Whenever I rushed down the stairs, I happily anticipated their small, emotionless faces waiting for me by the edge of their tank. My goldfish were my pride as well as my friends, and I cherished each day I spent with them.

 One unfortunate day however, I felt myself being shaken, somewhat violently, but definitely urgently. Despite the obvious vigor of the shoves, I slowly opened my eyes to a narrow squint and adjusted them to bear the bright lights. I saw my dad frowning as he started my day with some horrible news in store. One of my beloved fish had died. At that moment, my eyes shot wide open. I threw the covers off myself, jumped out of bed, and rushed downstairs. I was completely unwilling to believe my father, and I hoped desperately that he was wrong. Perhaps he had been dreaming or hallucinating for some reason. Despite the optimism, my hopes were dashed instantly as soon as I neared the fish tank. Sure enough, my white goldfish was upside down, floating at the top of the water, eyes wide open. I screamed, terrified. Then I succumbed to tears.

We had decided that an informal burial in our garden bed would be a decent way to honor my fish’s life. I watched my fish being lowered into the ground as tears welled in my eyes. I was extremely devastated, and when we reentered the house, I burst into tears.

Even after we had buried my fish in the garden bed, my grief was still evident. Though I did not cry every minute of the day anymore, I was definitely disappointed. I felt the pain every hour. On many occasions, I would cry and sit alone in my room, dejected. When I went downstairs and looked at my remaining fish, I felt filled with an intense sadness. When my parents offered to buy me another fish, I refused. I didn’t want to experience such pain ever again. Besides, my fish was one-of-a-kind. At the time, it seemed to me that I would never be happy again. But as time passed, I gradually learned to better manage my emotions, and am happy to say that I am now healed.