Showing posts with label Newspaper Articles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Newspaper Articles. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Looking Back

You know, looking back, I probably learned more in the first few years of school than I did in the later ones.
Oh sure, high school has taught me a lot of useful things. Equations for surface area. The periodic table of elements. How to drop an egg three stories without breaking it. You know, all the things I’ll need for a career in writing. But, truthfully? Looking back, it’s the lessons I learned early on in life that prepared me for the real world.
Preschool was a well of knowledge; it’s where you learn that unlike at home, you’re not the most important person in the world. There are other kids out there, people your age and your level that you need to learn to get along with. Some of them, you like a whole ton. Some of them, you want to push off the top level of the playground. That doesn’t matter. They are all people, and all of them deserve your respect.
Kindergarten is where you learn to treat others how you want to be treated (a rule that isn’t followed by nearly as much of society as it should be). Where you learn that recess is the exception, not the norm. Where you learn the twenty-six letters that will make up every picture book, every novel, every piece of paperwork you’ll ever read. Where you won’t appreciate the naps that you’ll yearn for later in life.
Then, later on, you learn another lesson. It starts with cursive in third grade, and is culminated by being forced to play “Hot Cross Buns” on a squeaky recorder. Sometimes, in life, you have to do things you don’t like. Things that seem pointless, and sometimes they really are. The lesson you learn, however, is that sometimes, that’s just life. You need to put your head down and suffer through the things you don’t like in order to reach the things you do.
The more school you go through, the more teachers and bosses you learn to get along with (despite how much they make you want to scream). Group projects come and go, leaving the knowledge that picking up someone else’s slack is, unfortunately, something we all have to deal with.
And now, we’ve reached graduation. A point in our lives when we are expected to be adults, to make our own lives and blaze our own trails. But, even as we head off to our “real” lives, we shouldn’t forget what we learned as kids.
That sharing is always going to make friends.
That though sticks and stones may break your bones, words hurt more than you’d think.
That you need to clean up your own mess.
That saying “I’m sorry” is sometimes the hardest thing to do.
And, most importantly, that you need to raise your hand. To speak up, and speak out. Because in this world, you need to learn to make yourself heard.
Good luck, seniors. And no matter where you go and what you do, don’t forget kindergarten.


How To: Have Fun at Prom

Brace yourselves. Prom is coming. And with it comes the inevitable stress that your night won’t live up to your expectations.
Luckily, as someone who has barely gone to any high school dances, I consider myself more than qualified to offer advice on how to make your prom night wonderful. Or, at the very least, memorable.
First: make sure you get a date. After all, it’s scientifically proven that going to a dance without one means you will have the worst time imaginable. Going with friends? Please! Everyone knows friends are for losers.
If you’re a guy, you probably should have asked a girl within the first few days of the school year. One can never start too early. However, since it’s illegal for girls to ask boys to dances we are left out in the cold. This is why it’s important to subtly hint to your love interest that you’d like to go with him. I recommend faking allergies, and inserting the word “prom” into every cough and sneeze. A large neon sign spelling the words “ASK ME ALREADY” can’t hurt, either.
Remember: asking someone to prom automatically means you want a serious relationship with them, so plan accordingly.
Next, outfit choice is very important. Not for boys, of course. Just throw on a tux and you’re ready to go. But girls have an entirely different situation.
First, you leave school early and hightail it to your local beauty salon. It will of course already be filled with dozens of other desperate girls, but give yourself the false hope that you’ll get there on time. Spend no less than two hours getting hair and makeup done, allotting for a few minutes of hysterical crying and insisting you look like a moose in drag.
Hurry home and stuff yourself into that dress. Spend another few minutes asking everyone in your surrounding area if you look fat, or ugly, or both. They’ll say no. Don’t believe them.
Meet up with your date and take a few awkward pictures during which neither of you knows what to do with your arms, then drive to the dance.
This is followed by the most important picture of your life: the prom picture. You will end up leaning on one leg, shoulders squished forward, head tilted ninety degrees to the left. You will feel very stupid, and look amazing. Or vice versa, as there is no middle ground with this.
Eventually you’ll start dancing. Remember: anyone can dance, as long as they only shuffle very slightly back and forth in one tiny area. Or jump. Jumping is always good, provided some girl’s heels don’t skewer through your feet.
There will inevitably be a few people at prom who truly know how to dance, and they will show off all night. If you value your reputation, DO NOT JOIN IN. Just stand nearby and try to absorb some secondhand coolness.
There will be a place for snacks. Guys can go after this, but ladies, don’t bother. You’ve already been sewn into that dress, and your perfect hourglass shape is not worth one mini hot dog wrapped in pastry.
The night will inevitable draw to a close, and after spending a few hours doing God-knows-what you’ll be back at home. Your ears will ring, your feet will hurt, and you’ll be content in the knowledge that tonight, you were a god among men.
That is, until you remember you have to wake up at six thirty to work at Starbucks; you spent five hundred dollars on a dress or suit you’ll never wear again, and you may or may not have lost your phone.
But, hey. That’s prom.


Procrastination Nation

You know, I had a really great plan for this column.
I was going to do all of this research on where the phrase “procrastination” came from, and then provide some anecdotes from my own personal life. Maybe throw some interviews in there. A few quotes from someone famous. Like Mark Twain. Or Kim Kardashian.
Yeah, this column probably would have made you all burst into sympathetic tears and eat the newspaper out of sheer jealousy. There would have been riots, and a few people would have been sent to the hospital after passing out on the staircases.
God, it would have been glorious. So I’m sure you’re all wondering what happened.
Well... I was sick. And I knew that if I wrote while I was sick, the column would just be a rambling account of me hacking up my own lungs.
And then I had to babysit. How could I be expected to focus on my writing when one kid is pulling on the back of my hair and another is slamming their own face into the drywall over and over, all while their baby brother somehow manages to get feces on every single inch of his skin?
After that... well, the weekend rolled around. My schedule was packed. First, I had to sleep in until it was physically impossible for me to get more sleep. After a busy breakfast consisting of me eating the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms in front of the television, I vacillated between eating, watching TV, eating, watching my computer, eating, checking my phone, and thinking about eating.
And that was just Day One. I still somehow had to squeeze in hanging out with my friends, watching a movie, and waking up in a cold sweat after remembering I had homework.
Then the school week came along. I had so much I had to do- homework, pretending to do homework, pretending I wasn’t pretending to do homework. Not to mention going to sleep while pretending to do homework.
I actually did start to write this a few days ago, but then I accidentally walked out of the room, went downstairs and turned on the television. This is very closely related to an event a few days ago when I tripped on my laptop cord and somehow opened Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and YouTube all at the same time.
So, I’m afraid that I have no ground-shaking column for you this month. But, can you really blame me?
I’ll admit it (and this may come as a shock); I’ve had issues with procrastination in the past. The constant battle to prevent it is an intense affair, costing many man-hours online and thousands of useless captioned pictures of cats sent to friends. I try to fight it. I do everything from turning off my computer to locking myself in a bomb shelter underneath my house. The latter usually fails, considering there’s still internet connection down there.
Either way, I know when I’m staring down the belly of the beast. Usually, it’s when I have seven essays and four tests to study for and I’m busy reasoning to myself that one more YouTube video won’t make a difference.
However, I do feel pretty bad about procrastinating this column (ironically enough, it was ABOUT procrastination in the first place. You know you’ve hit bottom when you’re procrastinating on procrastinating). So, why not try to turn over a new leaf? My New Year’s resolution was to stop procrastinating and as I put off starting my resolutions, there seems to be no time like the present.
So I promise, next month’s column will be amazing. I’ll start on it right after the new episode of Doctor Who. And after I get a snack. And I really should wash my car.
But then, it’s column time.

Talk Nerdy to Me

I am a nerd.
What? No wedgies up the flagpole? No shoving me into a locker? No swirlies?
I thought not. Because you see, I am a nerd and nobody cares.
It didn’t used to be this way. For a long time, being a nerd was a stigma. It was a word to describe people who were overly intelligent and obsessed with being so, who were socially awkward and constantly terrorized.
They roamed the school hallways in packs, whispering to each other in nasally voices in an effort to avoid beefy jocks whose sole purpose in life was to mock intelligence.
Their glasses were always taped, their pockets were always protected, and their pants were always wedged firmly under their armpits. In short, they were the collective Steve Urkel.
But something has shifted in the world of the nerd. Maybe it’s social consciousness that bullying might be a bad thing. Maybe it’s a change in personal confidence.
My friends are nerds too. And my family. And most of the people I choose to associate with. We wear that nerd badge with pride because these days (and here’s the shocker), being a nerd is actually pretty cool.
Being a nerd means you can have deep, philosophical conversations with your friends about the meaning of life and happiness, and then immediately switch over to discussing a YouTube video.
Being a nerd means that not only do you spend time reading books, but that you have favorite books. Or bands. Or plays. Or video games.
Being a nerd means yeah, you hang out with other nerds. But not because you’re afraid you’ll be picked on if you don’t. Because you feel comfortable to be yourself around them.
Being a nerd means you can spend your time pursuing things that not many other people may care at all about, but that make you happy.
It means you don’t have to know how to dance. It means you can openly admit to liking math or science. It means you can come to school in a Pokemon shirt and receive not punches, but high-fives.
Really, being a nerd right now just means you have passion for something.
Doesn’t matter what that is. Do you play in a band? Congrats, welcome to the ranks of the Music Nerds.
Are you obsessed with Broadway? There’s a group of Theater Nerds calling your name.
There’s Math Nerds, History Nerds, Gamer Nerds. You could even call the athletes at our school Sports Nerds.
So which nerd am I? I watch Star Wars and Star Trek; I could be a Sci-Fi Nerd. I’m a Fantasy Nerd, if you factor in my love for Tolkien and the Harry Potter series. I could be a Movie Nerd, a Music Nerd; I could even be a Swimming Nerd.
I belong to the ranks of several groups of nerds, and none are better than another. They’re just equally passionate groups of people spending their free time doing what they love.
So, everyone out there: when it comes right down to it, we’re all nerds. So let your freak flag fly. Embrace that nerd card, and wear it with pride. I know I do.
And, as always: live long and prosper.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Supernatural Love


I just had the best, most original idea for a movie EVER.
So there’s this girl, right? And she’s like, maybe seventeen or eighteen. That age where you’re fully capable of making life-altering decisions. She’s also awkward (because EVERYONE is awkward at that age), and maybe clumsy too. And gorgeous. Like, twenty-five-year-old-with-photoshop gorgeous. Yet- and here’s the best part- she’s totally incapable of talking to boys. Just like every high school girl, right? I’m pretty sure we still thought boys had cooties back then...
Her name is something typical, yet edgy. Preferably something like Kaytlynn or Malyssa. A name you’d be proud to wear in your forties.
Anyway, she has to go to a new school because her parents divorced. Or maybe her dad dies, or he loses his job. Whatever. Adult drama isn’t interesting enough to include. Not when we have cheerleaders to knock books out of people’s hands or football players to call someone a spaz then high-five each other.
You know. Real, gripping drama.
So at this new school, no one really notices her (the horror!) except this one boy. And he’s hot. Like, REALLY hot. So hot, his face probably melts of his skull once or twice a day, so he has to use eyeliner and hair gel to keep it on straight. And his name is something really cool and original, like Lucien or... I don’t know, Blayde. Something dangerous, with tons of x’s, k’s, and z’s. Those are the SEXY letters.
Immediately (seriously- within walking into the same room) the two teenagers realize they are meant to spent every second of the day together, discussing art, music, and philosophy. Like real teenagers do. Blayde is the first person to truly grasp the deep, dark, deepness of Malyssa’s seventeen-year-old soul, and Malyssa is the only person who can be around Blayde’s perfectly sculpted cheekbones without cutting herself on them.
But there’s a problem. A secret Blayde has been hiding from Malyssa. Blayde is secretly... a merman.
I KNOW. Who would have guessed?
Luckily for Blayde, this only makes him more attractive to Malyssa. However, the two of them can’t be together, because Blayde’s father (who sort of looks like Poseidon, but with eyeliner) forbids him to be with a human. And also, she might drown.
So the two of them see each other in secret, existing in a perfect world of snuggling montages set to a backdrop of late-eighties love ballads and the cries of eagles.
Can’t you just picture the beautiful, heart-wrenching dialogue the two will have? Blayde will look into Malyssa’s eyes and whisper, “I’d give up my tail and gil-lungs for you, my sweet anemone.” And Malyssa won’t say anything, because they’re underwater and she’s trying not to pass out.
A bad guy will have to come in at some point, but we won’t spend much time explaining who he is or where he comes from. We’ll just have Blayde nearly die saving Malyssa and some cool slow-mo shots of him strangling the bad guy with his perfectly coiffed hair. In the end, the two end up together and another love ballad plays us into the credits.
I can’t believe how amazing and original this movie will be. Now all we need is a title... something that’s short and catchy, and has nothing at all to do with the movie.
How about “Plethora?” That’s a sexy-sounding word.
I just wish there were more z’s in it...



Friday, December 14, 2012

Holiday Hell: A Satire



Aside from summer vacation and Black Friday, the holiday season is my favorite time of year. A solid block from Halloween until New Year’s, when we get to wallow in the beauty of overpriced poultry, jarringly-bright festive lights, and more familial tension than a 12-hour “Jerry Springer” marathon. Really, though, what’s not to love?
Consider the simple goodness of Halloween: a holiday that began as a pagan method of ushering deceased relatives into the afterlife (including human sacrifice and paying homeless people to pray for your family members), and now consists of encouraging children to dress up like a comic book character and walk around parentless, demanding treats from strangers.
This is one holiday that has remained just as whimsical and traditional as when it first started. I mean, what’s the difference between eating a nutmeg-based “soul cake” that signifies a soul being freed from Purgatory and a chocolate-based Mars Bar that signifies an upcoming root canal? Only that whole “Purgatory” thing, but that’s pretty trivial in the long run. Overall, no one could find a flaw in children accepting candy from groups of masked strangers. When has that ever gone wrong?
Thanksgiving is a holiday that keeps on giving (pun shamefully intended), providing us with everything we love about the holiday season: family, good food, and historical turmoil. After all, the only way to celebrate a bunch of Puritans crashing their boat into an enormous rock and massacring 700 Pequot Indians is enjoying a slice of pumpkin pie.
Coming too soon after Halloween to manage any pre-holiday diet, Thanksgiving basically does the same thing to our bodies as the stomach-babies in “Alien”: explodes our stomach without so much as a heads-up and leaves us to suffer. The recurring (but never actually true) plan all of us hold close to our cholesterol-caked hearts is that we’ll try to eat healthier this year. This lasts until we actually begin eating, after which we usually find ourselves reclined in our chairs with the buttons on our skinny jeans screaming for mercy, as our Aunt Flo stuffs a fifth piece of pecan pie down her throat whilst claiming, “I shouldn’t; I’m on a diet!”
(Personally, I intend to follow the “Just eat as much as you want and have fun” plan. I’ll let you know how it goes after my imminent triple bypass).
Then comes the great grandiose of the holiday season: Christmas. We put trees inside, lamps outside, and sing holiday songs that will surface in our subconscious again during mid-April and refuse to disappear until next November. Christmas is like what would happen if all the other winter holidays were put into a blender and pumped full of steroids; you’ve got the forced family bonding of Thanksgiving, the sugary confections of Halloween, and the skinny-jeans-ripping meals of... well, basically everything.
Plus, the best part of all: PRESENTS.
Now, I know the whole Grinch spiel of “maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more,” and all that holly-scented jazz. We all do, having grown up with Christmas specials that shove peace on Earth down our throats with cries of “EAT SYMBOLIC HAPPINESS, YOU TINY ELVES!”
But, lets be real here. Presents are the only reason you remember Christmas at all. Years from now, we may not remember the hot chocolate we drank or the moonlit walks past the blinking house lights, but we WILL remember getting a copy of Call of Duty instead of Halo, and subsequently throwing our XBox across the house in righteous indignation and refusing to speak to our parents until New Years.
Ah, the memories of the digital generation.
The only downside of the holiday season, for me at least, is how FAST everything seems to go. You’re halfway through taking off your Halloween costume when your parents begin ordering a turkey. Three days later, the Christmas Lights Fairy visits all the good little houses and covers them in traffic hazards. And then, before you know it, all that’s left is half a pillowcase full of candy, a skyline of leftovers in the fridge, and that one neighbor across the street who keeps his lights up all year round.
So, this holiday season, try to appreciate each moment. Revel in your younger sibling throwing up eggnog all over their stocking. Giggle in delight as your great-aunt asks why you don’t just cut your hair, you freakin hippie. Suffer in contented silence through hours upon hours of sappy Christmas movies that make your mom cry. Enjoy it while you can.
And, to all my fellow Jews out there: Happy Hanukkah. See you all December 24 for Chinese food and a movie. Happy Holidays!
http://www.scotscoop.com/24853

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

A reflection on childhood


When did being a kid become uncool?
As toddlers, we lived in a state of eternal bliss, unaware that our lives had any schedule beyond wake up, eat, play, and sleep. We were sent outside, where we allowed our imagination to turn us into everything from Batman to a monkey. No one cared if we felt like humming to ourselves for an hour straight, or colored the sky purple and the ground orange. We were encouraged to be whatever and whoever we wanted, and to not care what anyone thought.
Then elementary school hit. Dragged kicking and screaming from our sleep-deprived parents, we learned everything we needed to learn for the rest of our lives: colors, numbers, and to not go around putting worms in people’s hair because you wouldn't like it if they did that. 
Making friends was never easier than in elementary. Show a kid your toy trucks or Barbie dolls, and 90 percent of the time you’d be BFFs within ten minutes. Of course they could always just call you a fart-face and push you into the sandbox, but there were thirty other kids in your class who appreciated the subtle beauty of Hot Wheels. 
Sure we felt like we were growing up, but elementary school was really our last immature hurrah. After elementary, our childhoods screeched to a halt and our imaginations were packed away into airtight shipping crates.
Middle school took everything elementary school taught us about how to make friends and chucked it out a high-rise window. If you went up and showed a guy your Hot Wheels, you’d basically be signing your name on a list called “Please Pick on Me Every Chance You Get.” Barbie dolls were basically the same, but middle school girls can think of some names that put “fart face” to shame.
I recently had a chance to observe seventh graders in their natural habitat (as a reluctant chaperon for a middle school dance), and there were a few times where I thought I was watching “Jersey Shore: The Early Days.” Hair had been flat ironed into submission, push-up bras peeked out to say “howdy-doo,”and the so-called “shorts” they wore contained less material than an average pocket. Oompa-loompa makeup jobs abounded, and I’m pretty sure most of them would need a shovel to take it all off.
The guys were no better. I’m not sure if the dance had a “skinny jeans, Vans, flat brims, condescending attitude” dress-code, but if so, they were dressed to the nines. A large pack congregated in the back, occasionally shoving one poor soul forward into the gyrating maw of the girls, only to have him retreat in shame when he realized he doesn't know how to dance. 
Watching a guy and a girl dance was like watching two people trying to get out of one straight-jacket (except during slow songs, when the walls, ceiling, and floor became the most interesting things in the world to stare at as you and your lucky date sway awkwardly from side-to-side, a minimum of two full feet apart). I verged from hysteria brought on by trying not to laugh to absolute disgust. 
But beyond the actions of the tweens, the most surprising things were what they said. From my perch by the pretzels, I had to spend my entire night listening to guys talk about how they “did so much beer last night” and girls calling “dibs” on guys (including one very entertaining moment where two girls “dibbed” the same guy and one said, “He’s mine! We talked for like, five minutes, and he said he liked my hair.” Truly a deep, meaningful connection). 
I didn't think much on it, until I walked down our hallways and listened in to a few conversations. A group of senior girls were debating furiously whether Captain America and Iron Man made a better team than Superman and Batman- and which would win in a wrestling match. A boy in my History class made a speech about Obama and Romney’s health care plans, then was heard telling a group of his friends that “Toy Story 3” made him cry- to which his friend pointed out that “Up” was WAY sadder. Choir kids spend their time either talking about musicals, or singing Disney songs in large groups.The other day, I saw a boy thoroughly entertained by a Razor mini-skateboard (and making “whoosh” sound effects while jumping with it).  
When did middle schoolers decide that it wasn't “cool” anymore to enjoy being thirteen years old? When did middle school just become an excuse to practice everything you think you needed in high school- and did they base their impressions on purely from “Glee” and “90201”? And, more importantly, if they could see us, would WE be “uncool”?
These are the last years of our lives that we can still claim to be kids; mature kids with stubble and drivers licenses, but kids nonetheless. Don’t spend it trying to grow up. Just step back, pop in a Disney movie, and savor the moment.

An in-depth look at high school English


Sigmund Freud once famously claimed that “sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar,” making the point that some things can, and should, be taken at face value. High school literature, apparently, is not one of those things.
   Overanalyzation is, in my opinion, one of the greatest pitfalls in a subject I am unashamed to call my favorite. English class has always been enjoyable for me; I have no problem with reading thick volumes in a short amount of time, or deciphering complex vocabulary. I even enjoy Shakespeare. My only real problem with the subject is when a great work (i.e. The Great Gatsby, Jane Eyre, Romeo and Juliet) is turned from a classic to nothing more than homework through a ridiculous amount of overanalysis.
   Why is it that we can never seem to accept the fact that the author may have, in fact, used things such as colors and sounds without giving them some underlying meaning? Take a sentence such as, “The curtains were dark blue to match the drapes.” Now, of course, the author may have meant the color blue to symbolize the deep anguish and anxiousness that the main character was feeling, coupled with the recent death of his father. Couldn't they just be blue to match the drapes? If they had been red, would that change the overall meaning of the book?
   Peter Ravenelle, a senior in AP English, believes that a gross amount of analyzation makes English classes difficult and unlikable- especially for younger students. “I think the upperclassmen can handle going into that much detail, because we’re used to it by now,” he stated. “But freshmen and sophomores should be able to enjoy the books they read, without analyzing them to death. Otherwise, they’ll never like English for the rest of their lives.”
   Senior Emma Smith agreed with Ravenelle, and also pointed out that reading with analysis in mind causes kids to either read too quickly or too slowly for their own tastes. “I read fast,” she claimed, “but when other kids don’t get a small piece of the analysis, or don’t agree with the teacher, we have to go back and read it again, more slowly. It takes whatever fun there was out of reading.”
    If all this analysis makes English so boring and difficult to deal with, is it really necessary to go into that much detail? Well, according to Anne Frost, a sophomore and senior English teacher, analysis is a critical skill not just for English class, but in life in general.
   “For the rest of your life,” she claimed, “you’re going to need to know how to analyze things in detail. You get real-life experience from that, no matter what you’re reading. Plus, it’s a standard that students need to be well-versed in close analysis.”
   According to Frost, having classes at mixed levels (aside from AS and AP) means that reading in class and reading slowly is necessary, as it makes sure all members of the class are on the same page. “Sometimes the language and style of the book is a barrier, or the material is too dry for the student to grasp. Analysis makes sure everyone is getting something out of the experience.”
   Eliza Hunt said that in her past four years at Carlmont, she’s enjoyed the analysis she has done. “If a kid is predisposed to like reading and English,” she explained, “then of course he’s going to hate analysis. I like it, though. Reading books like The Great Gatsby is a lot more enjoyable when you actually know what the author was trying to communicate through symbolism and language.”
   Frost pointed out that, “there will always be those kids who walk in saying ‘I already know how to speak English; why do I need to be here?’ They don’t find the work interesting so the point of the analysis, in my class and others, is to make it real for them.”

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Words with addiction

 A few words about this piece; this is, without a doubt, my favorite article. I have won several awards for it, and it really reflects my voice and writing skills.

Carlmont is in trouble. There is an invisible menace lurking within our walls. It draws unsuspecting students in with promises of fun and games, and ensnares them in a bottomless pool of addiction.
  It infects anyone and everyone without mercy, and does not discriminate between students or teachers.
  It can hide itself anywhere. In fact, it’s probably lurking in your pocket right now.
  I speak, of course, about the iPhone and Android app, Words With Friends.
  On the surface, Words With Friends seems like just another harmless app. You hear about it from a friend, you download the free version (because who wants to pay 99 cents for virtual Scrabble?), and you don’t give it a second thought. You grow to enjoy playing WWF, and are grateful for buying it.
  But soon, the fun ends. Before you know it, you’re playing countless games at a time. You buy a dictionary, just to check if there are indeed any words consisting of only consonants. Every five minutes, you refresh the page, in the vain hope someone has already played back.
  Your entire life begins to revolve around those little yellow tiles, and any conversation not involving the phrase “triple word score” bores you. Your friends and family soon see the uselessness of trying to converse with you, as you only say things like. “Ooh, ‘weather’. That’s worth like, ten points.” or “Do you think ‘JUXWAZPATION’ is a word?”
  Soon, you are at risk of infecting others. Words With Friends Addiction (WWFA) is an airborne disease, and can be spread by such simple activities as saying to a friend, “Hey, You should play Words With Friends.”
  Thus the cycle continues. An unbroken circle of addiction, that if left untreated, will consume Carlmont in no time at all. Sad as it is, more and more students are falling victim to WWFA every day.
  Sophomore Ryan Yen admitted to be extremely addicted. “I play WWF every day, but I only realized I was addicted when I noticed I had 20 games going at once.” He went on to say, “Everyone I know plays. A friend introduced me to it. I think it’s fun.”
  Even the administration is not safe from this debilitating illness. When asked if he was considering quarantining the school, Vice Principal Robert Fishtrom responded, “I think WWF is a good educational outlet for students. Since some teachers also play, it’s a good way for them to connect with the kids they teach. However, playing it shouldn't interfere with the Electronic Policy. Students are not allowed to use any electronic devices during school hours”
  Fishtrom concluded by insisting, “I don’t have a problem.” He then glanced surreptitiously at the iPhone on his desk.
  Is this the future of Carlmont? Are our hallowed halls destined to be roamed by zombified kids with their noses shoved so far into their phones they can’t see where they’re going?
  No. I hereby implore the remaining addiction-free Carlmont students to do their part in stopping WWF from taking over our school. We must make it our mission to help the poor souls who are having their lives ruined by this malevolent app.
  Addicts, or “scrabblers” as they’ve come to be called, are easy to spot. They spend every free moment they have playing WWF. Their eyes are blurry from staring at a small screen from hours on end, and they often voice the complaint “Man, my letters suck this round!”
  In extreme cases, they may turn in homework assignments with all of the letters boxed, or even intersecting each other.
  Approach scrabblers with caution. Though they may appear harmless, if angered, they’ve been known to hurl iPhones or Droids at people’s heads.
  The only known cure to WWFA is to quit cold-turkey. Convince them to stop using their phone, at least for a day. However, there are techniques that can help with symptoms, such as going on a walk or taking a nap.
  If we work together, we can prevent WWFA from becoming an epidemic. I know we can do it.
 Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go play Words With- I MEAN DO MY HOMEWORK. Yeah. Homework is what I meant.

Like Hollywood, movies get stupider

There are good movies. There are bad movies. There are REALLY bad movies. Then, there are those movies that are so bad, the only thing that seems logical while watching them is to asphyxiate yourself with a bucket of popcorn. Unfortunately, it seems that this school year was filled with the latter.
  The year started off with a fizzle, bringing Carlmont something called “Shark Night 3D.” This was the epitome of cheesy horror movies. It had it all: predictable plot (“OMG THERE’S SHARKS EVERYWHERE!”), idiotic characters (“Huh. I think I heard a splash three miles away in the middle of the night. I’ll go by myself to check it out. Good thing I’m wearing my barbecue-scented cologne.”), and copious amounts of fake blood. Oh, and don’t forget an overwhelming amount of cleavage from the eternally-bikini-clad actresses. A better name for this movie would have to be, “Busty Women Running Around and Screaming for Two Hours... Plus Some Sharks... 3D.”
  November ruined any appetite we had for turkey with “Jack and Jill,” the latest vessel for Adam Sandler to reprise his role as “Eternal Man-Child.” However, some demented producer (who undoubtedly enjoyed eating lead paint as a child) felt it was a swell idea to put Sandler in drag and make him play his own twin sister. This brings up a valid point: actors in drag don’t automatically make a movie funny. More often than not, they make the audience want to stab their eyes out with their ICEE straws.   
  The two notable exceptions to this would be “Mrs.Doubtfire” and “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” However, as “Jack and Jill” doesn’t contain Robin Williams or delightfully campy musical numbers, it turns into a nauseating entry on a long list called, “Reasons Why Adam Sandler Isn’t Funny Anymore.”
  “Contraband” (the first real flop of the new year) deserves a place on the list of bombs because it’s one of those frustrating movies that should be SO much more than what it actually is. It had all the aspects of a great action-thriller: an interesting plot, intriguing stunts/action sequences, and freaking MARK WAHLBERG. However, it suffers from one of the worst faux pas that a movie can commit: under-development.
  None of the main characters receive any sort of exposition, and it’s not even confirmed that they all have first names. Every time the audience figures out what’s going on, a new plot line is introduced or Wahlberg brings in a friend/lover/enemy/dog-walker that they’re instantly supposed to understand and care about. “Contraband” isn’t sure WHAT it wants to be, and the audience ends up unsure why they paid fifteen dollars to get a headache.
  However, the pinnacle of the bad movies, the worst of the worst, had to have been “Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance.” Watching it is the equivalent of bashing one's head into a flaming brick for ninety minutes, and is considerably more painful. The plot is impossible to follow, the acting is a disgrace (why is Nicolas Cage still being hired for movies? The man looks and acts  like a senile gorilla. Does Hollywood simply feel bad for him?), and even the editing is awful. The camera swings around like it’s attached to a drunken pigeon, and after a fight scene a collective gasp is heard as the audience attempts not to vomit from motion sickness.
 No aspect of “Ghost Rider” was enjoyable, no breath of air taken by any of the actors was believable. This was the kind of movie that turns into a legend; the kind of movie some weird, foreign cult will end up worshipping because they’re convinced it’s the root of all evil.
  Fingers are crossed tightly in hopes that next year will produce more quality films, but in light of the swill seen over the past year, Hollywood has a high mountain to climb.
 

'Inheritance' cycle comes to a close

It’s not often that the denouement of a series answers the important questions, ties up all plotlines, and leaves the audience with a feeling of both joy, and profound loss. With the final installment of the “Inheritance Cycle”, Christopher Paolini has managed all of this, and then some.
  Dedicating twelve years (“nearly half of my life,” he writes in the author’s note) to spinning the story of Eragon, a mythical Dragon Rider, Paolini has spun a fantastical tale of warriors, elves, dragons, and evil kings. While those less fond of the fantasy genre would likely shy away from prevalent mentionings of magic and dwarves, the series has grown a large fanbase.
  The past three novels, “Eragon,” “Eldest,” and “Brisingr”, have paved the way for the climactic ending, detailing Eragon’s life in the magical kingdom of Alagaesia. The final installment finishes the journey to defeat the greatest enemy of the kingdom: the ruthless King Galbatorix.
  The plot meanders in needless side-plots at some points, but manages to keep itself suspenseful. Despite a length of over 800 pages, readers will be ensnared enough to finish the book within a week. The writing is beautifully descriptive and utilizes imagery, to the point where reading about someone taking an arrow through the back elicits a wince or two.
  The greatest feature of the book is also its downfall; it perfectly continues from where the last three books left off. While this does a wonderful job of tying up all loose ends (even some that didn’t make themselves known until during the story itself), it’s almost impossible to read “Inheritance” without having read its three predecessors yet. And, as all three are particularly weighty reads, a long weekend of page-turning is necessary for the full experience.
  There are a few instances where a subplot or a certain character is given more exposition and focus than really necessary, but it never detracts from the impact of the book.
  Overall, “Inheritance” is a mind-blowing work of fantasy, and should not be missed by anyone.
 

The unwanted return of the sequel

What Hollywood needs is a cold dose of the truth: too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. I speak, of course, about movie sequels.
  Now, this is not to say that all movie sequels should be ripped from the reels they were shot on and decimated in a fiery inferno. Oh, no. Not at all. Some sequels have gone on to be huge successes, both commercially and critically.
  Take, for example, the recent “Sherlock Holmes” series. After the great acclaim of the first movie, the studio (and thankfully, the actors) decided to invest in a sequel: “A Game of Shadows”. It has since received a general seal of approval, praised for exceeding the bar previously set by its predecessor. A high bar, for there really is nothing better than a shirtless Robert Downey, Jr.- unless it’s a shirtless Robert Downey, Jr. speaking in a British accent.
  The sequel “Batman: The Dark Knight” had an added advantage of already having the whole “origin story” aspect out of the way, giving its writers room to explore new plotlines and characters. This led to the brilliance of Heath Ledger in the face-paint of the Joker, and quite possibly, one of the best superhero movies of the past decade.
  In short: sequels sometimes work, and work well. That being said, the deciding factor for what constitutes the making of a sequel has been increasingly blurry in the past few years. Compiled here is a list of guidelines for when a movie deserves a sequel, and when it should be left alone.
  One: The movie has to set itself up for a sequel. This may very well be the most important rule of all, as it effectively determines whether the sequel will succeed. Series like “Harry Potter” or “The Hunger Games” are obviously predetermined to have at least one sequel, but stories like the “Bourne” trilogy have still managed to succeed in stretching a storyline across a few movies.
  Basically, if a movie can stand alone as its own story, it should ostensibly stay that way. Conversely, if a movie ends in a dramatic cliffhanger, leaving vital questions unanswered, a sequel should be made before the rabid fans begin breaking down the doors of the studio.
  Two: PAY ATTENTION TO THE SUBJECT MATTER. No matter how much a movie makes in the box-office, or how many questions were left unanswered, the critical approval the movie receives should be a large factor in deciding whether a “Part 2” is in our future. A movie that is universally approved should have higher priority than one that is universally panned.
  Three: The sequel should be noticeably different than its predecessor. An audience comes back to see a sequel because they enjoyed the characters and the premise. They don’t come back for the same movie over again.
  Consider “The Hangover.” The first was an achievement in comedy- situational humor at its best. The second was a carbon copy of the first, to the point where it literally feels like the entire movie was simply picked up and dropped in the middle of Thailand. There is a certain virtue in giving people what they want, but not in ignoring any and all aspect of creativity.
  Four: not all movies need sequels. Remember “Bridesmaids”? That hysterical R-rated comedy that showed the world that Kristen Wiig is a comedic goddess, and that Melissa McCarthy can play more than just the sweet, heavy girl? Writer and main actress Wiig has put her foot down, and refused to write a sequel.
  Will this decision ruin the popularity of the movie? Will it destroy the careers of the main actors? Was it made to spite the directors, the producers, and the fans themselves? No, no, and no again. The reason Wiig has refused a sequel is that the movie is done. There is no need for a follow-up, no need for further adventures of the Bridesmaids.
  Sequels can be fun, but it’s important to decide if one is necessary before signing a contract for “Part 2.”