Lannonhope's Weblog

Last Journal

lannonhope — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 14:12:36 +0000

Ever since my freshman year, I knew what my point of excellence and my downfall was in writing. I have tried to work on it but yet, I still have such a hard time with these things. My strength is, and will probably always be, starting papers. I could write introductions all day, but when it comes to actually continuing the story, I get stuck. I often find myself getting distracted while writing my story, so I stop writing. To make matters worse, when I come back to the story I find it hard to get the same flow I had when I started writing the story. This has always happened no matter how hard I try to stay concentrated on my story. I feel as though this is my major problem and I still haven’t really improved on it. Although I still can never trust my opinion of my papers. Even if I spent all week on my paper and spent hours at the computer, I will hate my paper. I always feel as if my writing is worse than a first grader, even if I spent a week writing or working on it. In the future, I hope that in the future I will grow confident in my writing. I also hope that I will one day be able to continue a story, effectively. I hope that one day I will be able to write a book, just for fun. I don’t think it would actually become published, but it would be fun to writ

Journal

lannonhope — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 13:30:24 +0000

I will be emailing my story to you when I get home.!

Merry Christmas!

Life in a valet

lannonhope — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 14:33:01 +0000

“How are you sir? Can I take that for you?”

I repeated this phrase at least ten, maybe twenty times a day. The thing about valet service is that when a valet takes your car, people automatically think one of two things. It is either, “Wow, this place is nice;” or “Should I let this slob touch my car?” From doing this job for so long it is easy to tell which category people fall into. People think that they can hide their facial expression but they are so wrong, that’s one thing you learn from this job. Part of the job requirement is to look at the driver’s face when talking to them. “It establishes trust,” or something like that is what my boss always says. Another thing I learned from this monotonous job is that people can try very hard to be rich, but if you look hard enough, you can spot the fakes. The people driving sports cars that they rented that day don’t surprise me, it is the people who pretend to be poor that shock me. These are the people who come in a car that isn’t too expensive but still nice and walk out with their “casual attire.” This “casual attire” includes jeans and a sweater most of the time but it is the way they walk and their hands that give their tricks away to the public eye. No matter how hard they try, the “rich walk” as I have named it, is always noticeable. It is as if they have a wine glass in their hands at all time or like they are just waiting for a compliment. Their hands are the dead give away though. They always have rings crafted from a mountain of diamonds. It is like they can’t part with them. My thoughts were interrupted. I sighed and repeated,

“How are you sir? Can I take that for you?”

The Dance

lannonhope — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 16:58:14 +0000

They had nothing to say to each other. And yet, it was like everything was waiting to spill out. They stared at each other. They had danced this dance with others and yet, with each other, this dance seemed foreign, like they were both learning it for the first time. Each were waiting for the other’s start. They hoped for a sign that maybe, just maybe, the horror of leading this dance would not be bestowed onto them. The stares were still locked. Faces were etched with a unmoving expression that said, “No, you first.” Finally, the girl broke the stare.

“Look…”

She started, but could not find the strength to continue.

The boy saw her attempt and tried in an attempt to make it even again.

“Well…I just wanted to say…”

His words failed him. Both were unmoved; stares undying.

“I’m…I’m…I’m.” She sighed. She couldn’t get it out.

“I’m…sorry.” He smiled as if half the battle was getting it out.

She look at him with a smile on her face. All she had to do know was take his hand and follow his lead.

“Me too. I am really sorry. I am sorry I got so mad about the fight.”

The dance began, becoming more intricate as it progressed.

“No,no. You had a right to be mad. I am so sorry, leaving out orange juice isn’t something to get mad about.”

He took the lead with more pride now as he seemed to twirl her while taking in the concerto of love that had started this romance.

“I am sorry I left the orange juice out. It was my bad. It won’t happen again…let’s just not fight anymore.”

It was if they walked on clouds and twirled with the grace of angels. The concerto of love was sounding in their ears as they started their dance that they hoped, and prayed, would last a life time.

Port-a-midgets

lannonhope — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 19:24:05 +0000

So basically I would like to thank for my awesome typing skills that enables me to type this story so fast and to fill up this post with 250 words. Well here begins my story. Mr. Tanis argues that “everyone would want to have a midget in their pocket.” Well I disagree. Why would I want to have a midget in my pocket? First off, my pockets would be huge. Which means my pants would have to increase in size which I don’t think would look very cute at all. Also, how could I control this midget? What if he or she starts to have a random attack in my pocket? How could I stop the little midget from kicking me while I was in my pocket? Oh, Mr. Tanis has informed that “port-a-midgets” is the proper name for them. Anyway, I must say that how could I make this midget useful to me? Would I just pull him out when I wanted to talk to someone? Or would it not be my choice but the “port-a-midgets” decision? What if I do not want to talk to the midget? What will make him shut up? Can this midget help me with my SAT? And if not, why not? If I could carry him everywhere, why shouldn’t I be able to use him in the SAT? Answer these questions, Mr. Tanis, then get back to me.

The rational side to cliches

lannonhope — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 19:57:53 +0000

Do we really need clichés to know that, Christmas only comes once a year or that we only have one to live? I know that they are forms of literary devices that we use to try to enhance our writing but really, need we have all these clichés to point out the obvious? Don’t get me wrong I do love some clichés, such as I don’t mean to burst your bubble…or she is as thick as a brick. But I do believe that we could live without some clichés. Yes I know that clichés such as Christmas only comes once a year, means more than just the original diction you get from it and I should be sensitive to reach the true connotation of the sentence-but really? Even the connotation makes me wonder about the humanity. Do we really need a cliché to enforce these messages? Or should humans just know these things? Some clichés that are accepted into our English language are far from the verdad. The cliché that it is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission is so far from the truth in my book. I would much rather ask to borrow someone’s car then return with it wrecked saying “….sorry I stole your car and accidently crashed.” clichés, while they can be in good use, normally reinstate things that we as logical people should know or things that are wrong.

David Sedaris

lannonhope — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 14:22:48 +0000

I have read a wide range of books. All in different shapes and styles but when it comes down to my favorite book, I could hours, days, no years, on narrowing down to one book. So instead, I will name one of my favorite authors. This author always makes me laugh and always makes my day better. I have all his books and have heard or read most of his essays that are featured on NPR. David Sedaris is a storyteller and a humorist that could cause even you, Mr. Tanis, to cry with laughter. David Sedaris takes stories from his past and adds a certain twist to them that would capture any audience. My favorite literary device that Sedaris uses is sarcasm. While I always enjoy the use of sarcasm, Sedaris brings it to a whole new level with his stories. While there is a certain controversy surrounding the author. One man went to the internet and fact checked all his stories. Turns out, that Sedaris had not only exaggerated the stories but he had also made up some of the stories. After the whole “Million Little Pieces” stir-up, some people believe that Sedaris should get the same treatment that that author was subjected to. Although, I believe there is a clear difference because Sedaris, unlike the other author, based his stories on at least a little bit of facts. He at least did not make it all up. And even if he did, it still is some of the best writing I have seen. Can we not engulf the writer in flames, and just let him be?

A new face

lannonhope — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 14:47:25 +0000

I touched my nose…or someone’s nose attached to this face. “What is…how…what??” I just sat there looking a this person. Where was I in this place? Is this what 600,000 dollars will get you know in the surgical world? I thought I worked all those hours so I could look good, not like someone had taken a bat to my head. My nose was huge and purple and my cheeks…oh my cheeks looked like I had been hiding nuts in there for years. I can’t believe I worked overtime to look like this. How could that doctor think that this was what I wanted? I look dis-gus-ting. My chin looked worse than when I entered that dumb doctor’s office. He told me I would look like a million dollars-I would pay a million dollars for someone who looked like this to walk away from me. I bet people who were mugged look better than me. God, I can not believe this. I look so bad. I am going to sue if this doesn’t turn better soon. He told me that after I took off the bandages I would be a new person. Well Doctor Pleasly, I am a “new person,” an ugly, new, person. Even my stomach looks bigger. Did they inject fat INTO me? Gosh, they were supposed to take it out. My thighs…they look like huge thunder thighs. I shouldn’t move to quickly it could cause an earthquake. These doctors are so dumb. I’ll just call daddy, he will know how to deal with them.

My solemn meeting on Veterans Day with President Obama at my friend’s resting place in Arlington

lannonhope — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 16:40:39 +0000

Name: John

Age:32

appearance: comfortable pants, warm green jacket, has a face etched with grief and remembrance. He looks tired, but not from this experience, but from work. He has a beard and his hair is wind-blown from this cold and windy day.

Likes: his family, visiting his former friend on Veteran’s day

Dislikes: his job, cemeteries, but he will brave it out for his friend

positive: loyal, nice, respectable

Negative: Can be grumpy in the morning, has bad breath in the morning

Intro to story: It was any old Veteran’s Day, just like any other. I had wanted to leave half an hour ago but at the gate they told me that I couldn’t because someone was here. Who was this someone? Why am I am lock-down because of them? How important could they be? And that’s when I say him. Obama was standing by a tomb when he saw me and started to come towards me with hand outstretched. He was asking for my name, but I was still in shock. I was about to shake hands with Barack Obama. Our president. Noble Peace Prize winner. The list went on and on in my head while I somehow managed to say “Hello sir. My name is John.” It was a surreal moment. I saw my body say and do normal things while my mind was gone on still in shock of what was happening. He asked why I was here. I heard myself telling him about my friend who had died just a year ago, I also told him that I hated cemetaries. He said that he understood why I was here and that it was a great that I was here for my friend. He assured me that he would do the same thing for me. Michelle gave me a smile and shook my hand as well. And with that the couple walked away. My moment had come to a close.

Short Story

lannonhope — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 18:46:02 +0000

Don’t do you hate when you just can’t move. You can’t fight it in anymore. You have lost hope in the world, and more importantly yourself. You look at pictures of your childhood, and tears come to surface as you noticed how your face used to shine with that glow…that happiness. Your parents were your role models, they knew everything, they even knew the answer to life-they just didn’t want to share it yet, because they wanted you to learn. Your parents also did the good things for you. Yet, especially in today’s cruel world, you know the truth about parents. You know there are some days where they just don’t get you, where they don’t have the answer. It seems that in our childhood, they were our knights in shining armour, but now as you grow, so does the numbers of cracks and chinks in that armour. The first time you notice this situation, you are not sure of what to do. The work seems to be amplified by 10 as you realize if they can’t do it, how are you supposed to? Then comes the moments when you realize that your parents have qualities that you don’t like…things that are permanent about them that you don’t like. They use to be your perfect person…you wanted to be just like them. Now, you realize that if you become a parent, you will do things differently. You can find ways to improve their style, and swear that you will stick to the changes. Parallel to this is when you are little, you have that stuffed animal that you think will protect you no matter what happens, yet when you grow up, you realize that it is just a stuffed animal-cloth, string, and stuffing. You wake up one day and realize that your parents are mortals. They have a time limit, a mental capacity limit, and a limit until they break down. I look at my childhood pictures and wish that moment had never come.