J’adore les films français!
A French film festival, at Facets Theatre, began on December 7, and lasts until December 13. As a student of the French language, I looked forward to seeing one of the films when I found out about the festival.
So, on Tuesday, December 11, a friend and I went to see the thriller Anna M. The film was directed by Michel Spinoza, and stars actress Isabelle Carré.
The main character, Anna, has a suffers from erotomania, which leads to a psychotic obsession with her doctor. She believes he is in love with her, so she pursues the happily-married Dr. Andre Zanevsky by giving him unwelcome gifts, calling him late at night, and showing up at his home. She is introduced as a woman at the edge of madness when she attempts suicide, then focuses her complete attention on the doctor who treats her. Unfortunately for Dr. Zanevsky, when she makes pleasant conversation, she isn't just being friendly. She is fantasising about their future together. When he tries to distance their relationship, she becomes more zealous in trying to keep him (rather, get him) interested in her.
Everything Zanevsky does to ward her off is interpreted as an act of affection by Anna. As he becomes more annoyed with her actions, she goes to great lengths to break up his marriage. The police eventually become involved, which further complicates the plot. Overall, the film follows Anna’s psychotic obsession spiralling out of control.
On the whole, I enjoyed seeing the film. I enjoy hearing the French language, and experiencing French culture. However, the plot was a little disappointing, as many aspects of it were unbelievable. For example, the doctor hires a policeman to look into Anna’s condition, when he should have asked another doctor; the policeman has no experience with deranged people, so he would not be able to deal with Anna correctly. Furthermore, a lot of the emotion is lost. I felt strangely detached from the characters while watching the film; Anna was the patient, and Dr. Zanevsky was Anna’s obsession. Neither character really invoked any feeling for me. Maybe a medical student would find it more entertaining! Bien, c'est la vie, et c'est dommage!
12 December 2007
11 December 2007
The Improbability of Enjoyment
In order to find the linearization of function f(x), you have to take the first derivative. Then, put the value “a” into the first derivative for “x” and solve. Next, take “a” and put it into f(x) for “x” and solve. Finally, subtract the derivative’s solution for “a” multiplied by the quantity (x-a) from the solution for “a” from the original function. The equation that results from all of this is the linearization of the original function.
Why did I choose to take AP Calculus? After suffering through three years of algebra (7,8,9 grades, a year of geometry, and a year of pre-calculus, I should have understood that math and I have a distinctly antagonistic relationship, and all ties should be severed as quickly as possible. Yet, I chose to subject myself to another year of x’s and y’s and z’s and all other sorts of letters that are actually numbers.
Maybe it has its uses in the real world. Maybe all of math has some application in the real world. (The real world is anything outside a math classroom.) Actually, I know that isn’t true. One section of my Pre-Calculus book specifically stated that it had no function in the non-math world; we just learned it for fun! However, as much fun as adding, subtracting, and graphing imaginary numbers is, I can’t get excited about it.
Sure, I can predict the rate at which a snowball will triple its size while rolling down a hill, if x amount of snow is added each second. And I suppose, if I wanted to, I could even tell you what the American population will be in 2060 by using a graph. However, I will never have an opportunity to display these skills. I want to go into the medical field. As far as I know, predicting rates and amounts by setting up equations and graphs do not have a use in an ER.
So, it comes down to the answer to my initial question. Why did I choose to take Calculus? For a few reasons; no, I did not learn to love math after all the agonizing years I suffered through it. I took Calculus because: 1) I must take at least four years of math; and, 2) I can test out of it later in college. The only thing worse than choosing to take Calculus in high school is having to take it in college.
Why did I choose to take AP Calculus? After suffering through three years of algebra (7,8,9 grades, a year of geometry, and a year of pre-calculus, I should have understood that math and I have a distinctly antagonistic relationship, and all ties should be severed as quickly as possible. Yet, I chose to subject myself to another year of x’s and y’s and z’s and all other sorts of letters that are actually numbers.
Maybe it has its uses in the real world. Maybe all of math has some application in the real world. (The real world is anything outside a math classroom.) Actually, I know that isn’t true. One section of my Pre-Calculus book specifically stated that it had no function in the non-math world; we just learned it for fun! However, as much fun as adding, subtracting, and graphing imaginary numbers is, I can’t get excited about it.
Sure, I can predict the rate at which a snowball will triple its size while rolling down a hill, if x amount of snow is added each second. And I suppose, if I wanted to, I could even tell you what the American population will be in 2060 by using a graph. However, I will never have an opportunity to display these skills. I want to go into the medical field. As far as I know, predicting rates and amounts by setting up equations and graphs do not have a use in an ER.
So, it comes down to the answer to my initial question. Why did I choose to take Calculus? For a few reasons; no, I did not learn to love math after all the agonizing years I suffered through it. I took Calculus because: 1) I must take at least four years of math; and, 2) I can test out of it later in college. The only thing worse than choosing to take Calculus in high school is having to take it in college.
10 December 2007
Little House of Horrors
Many people believe that one must travel to the wilderness to find feral creatures. However, after having been a babysitter for over five years, I can attest to the fact that wild animals exist in the homes of suburban America.
I can recount many horror stories of my worst encounters with children. One of these instances ocurred when I was a freshman in high school. A family that I barely knew, but who lived next-door to a family I often babysat for, asked if I would watch their kids for a night. I said I would, and showed up at the front door on Saturday night. As soon as the father opened the door, I knew something was wrong.
He wore cowboy boots with spurs, and had a dissheveled look about him. His greasy hair hung in strings over a tough face. A woman appeared next to him; his wife had the same hard glint in her eye, and all she said was, “The kids are asleep. They’re in that room – “ she pointed to a closed door “ – and you should not go inside, no matter what. No matter what, ok?”
The pair left me alone after giving me the phone number of the place they would be at. I tentatively explored my immediate surroundings. The living room contained a cage, in which a squirrel scurried around. The kitchen cabinets only held a few packages of microwave popcorn, yet I could not find a microwave anywhere in the room. Suddenly, a noise startled me. A mangy cat wormed its way into the space between the door to the kids’ bedroom and the wall, disappearing into the dark, forbidden room. I started to panic. After a few more frightened minutes, I decided to call my dad.
He arrived shortly, and told me to go home; he would stay in the house until the parents came home. I never got paid, I never heard from the parents again, and I never found out what was in that room. It may have been children, it may have only been cats. Who knows?
Incidents such as these make me question the safety of babysitting. I never know what type of people I am involving myself with. In an episode of “Malcolm in the Middle,” Malcolm takes a job watching the children of a wealthy family in his neighborhood. The children always go to sleep soon after he arrives, so he has free reign to watch cable, eat as much food as he wants, and explore the house; it is a dream situation. However, he discovers that the family has a hidden camera that has been taping his every move.
I remember what my mother always did befor she hired a new babysitter. She would take my brothers and I on an outing with the babysitter. We would go to a public place, such as a park, so that he or she could get to know us and we could get to know her/him in a neutral environment. I thought it was a good idea as a six-year-old, since I got to know the babysitter; now, as a babysitter, I endorse this method for different reasons. I never know what kind of situtation I’m walking into, so it would be great to have a preview.
I can recount many horror stories of my worst encounters with children. One of these instances ocurred when I was a freshman in high school. A family that I barely knew, but who lived next-door to a family I often babysat for, asked if I would watch their kids for a night. I said I would, and showed up at the front door on Saturday night. As soon as the father opened the door, I knew something was wrong.
He wore cowboy boots with spurs, and had a dissheveled look about him. His greasy hair hung in strings over a tough face. A woman appeared next to him; his wife had the same hard glint in her eye, and all she said was, “The kids are asleep. They’re in that room – “ she pointed to a closed door “ – and you should not go inside, no matter what. No matter what, ok?”
The pair left me alone after giving me the phone number of the place they would be at. I tentatively explored my immediate surroundings. The living room contained a cage, in which a squirrel scurried around. The kitchen cabinets only held a few packages of microwave popcorn, yet I could not find a microwave anywhere in the room. Suddenly, a noise startled me. A mangy cat wormed its way into the space between the door to the kids’ bedroom and the wall, disappearing into the dark, forbidden room. I started to panic. After a few more frightened minutes, I decided to call my dad.
He arrived shortly, and told me to go home; he would stay in the house until the parents came home. I never got paid, I never heard from the parents again, and I never found out what was in that room. It may have been children, it may have only been cats. Who knows?
Incidents such as these make me question the safety of babysitting. I never know what type of people I am involving myself with. In an episode of “Malcolm in the Middle,” Malcolm takes a job watching the children of a wealthy family in his neighborhood. The children always go to sleep soon after he arrives, so he has free reign to watch cable, eat as much food as he wants, and explore the house; it is a dream situation. However, he discovers that the family has a hidden camera that has been taping his every move.
I remember what my mother always did befor she hired a new babysitter. She would take my brothers and I on an outing with the babysitter. We would go to a public place, such as a park, so that he or she could get to know us and we could get to know her/him in a neutral environment. I thought it was a good idea as a six-year-old, since I got to know the babysitter; now, as a babysitter, I endorse this method for different reasons. I never know what kind of situtation I’m walking into, so it would be great to have a preview.
07 December 2007
Most Wonderful Time of the Year?
What is the perfect Christmas gift?
I always have trouble finding the perfect gift for each of my family members, my close friends, and a Secret Santa. What if they hate it? Would I want to receive such a present? Will they get me a horrible gift next year if they hate the one I got them this year? How can I find an inexpensive item that doesn't look cheap?
My mom and dad are always the easiest to shop for. I know they'll love me no matter how cheap, unwanted, or last-minute their gifts are. I can simply make them a card or buy them a box of Fannie May chocolates; I've done it in the past, and I will do it again.
However, it is my brothers and my friends that I have problems with. First of all, I have to find out what they want. Though it may seem like a relatively easy task, as I can ask them or look at their Christmas lists, those sources can be unreliable. If they tell me that they want "nothing special, maybe chocolate or a CD," that could mean that they are being modest and actually want a bag full of chocolate plus a couple CDs; it could also mean what they say, and they really want a chocolate bar OR a CD. However, there is also that third option: they don't want chocolate, they don't want a CD. They want something completely different, such as a gift card to Starbucks, but didn't tell me for God knows what reason. What do I do with this information?
So, you see, I overanalyze the whole Christmas-gift-shopping ordeal. It takes me about an hour to buy one gift for someone, which is why I have created shopping creteria for myself this year:
1) Do not spend more than thirty dollars on one person. One year, I got carried away and bought my little brother concert tickets, as well as a t-shirt to wear to the concert. It cost me over one hundred dollars.
2) Do not wait until the day before Christmas Eve to do any shopping. This rule was made as a result of an evening shopping spree that had me up past midnight, rushing to find a gift for the people I had left til two days before Christmas.
3) Do not return a gift after buying it. I returned my best friend's gift six times until settling on one. Too much stress, too many trips to Yorktown Mall...enough said.
4) Do not overanalyze people's Christmas lists. As proved by my earlier rant about gift requests, I tend to spend too much time thinking about what people "really mean" by what they ask for.
With these rules in my mind, I think I will have a much saner, happier, more peaceful Christmas Shopping Season. I can only hope that my Christmas turns out more like a typical Whoville Christmas, with lovely carols creating a soft soundtrack for the joyful exchanging of gifts, and less like Arnold's frantic shopping escapades in "Jingle All the Way."
I always have trouble finding the perfect gift for each of my family members, my close friends, and a Secret Santa. What if they hate it? Would I want to receive such a present? Will they get me a horrible gift next year if they hate the one I got them this year? How can I find an inexpensive item that doesn't look cheap?
My mom and dad are always the easiest to shop for. I know they'll love me no matter how cheap, unwanted, or last-minute their gifts are. I can simply make them a card or buy them a box of Fannie May chocolates; I've done it in the past, and I will do it again.
However, it is my brothers and my friends that I have problems with. First of all, I have to find out what they want. Though it may seem like a relatively easy task, as I can ask them or look at their Christmas lists, those sources can be unreliable. If they tell me that they want "nothing special, maybe chocolate or a CD," that could mean that they are being modest and actually want a bag full of chocolate plus a couple CDs; it could also mean what they say, and they really want a chocolate bar OR a CD. However, there is also that third option: they don't want chocolate, they don't want a CD. They want something completely different, such as a gift card to Starbucks, but didn't tell me for God knows what reason. What do I do with this information?
So, you see, I overanalyze the whole Christmas-gift-shopping ordeal. It takes me about an hour to buy one gift for someone, which is why I have created shopping creteria for myself this year:
1) Do not spend more than thirty dollars on one person. One year, I got carried away and bought my little brother concert tickets, as well as a t-shirt to wear to the concert. It cost me over one hundred dollars.
2) Do not wait until the day before Christmas Eve to do any shopping. This rule was made as a result of an evening shopping spree that had me up past midnight, rushing to find a gift for the people I had left til two days before Christmas.
3) Do not return a gift after buying it. I returned my best friend's gift six times until settling on one. Too much stress, too many trips to Yorktown Mall...enough said.
4) Do not overanalyze people's Christmas lists. As proved by my earlier rant about gift requests, I tend to spend too much time thinking about what people "really mean" by what they ask for.
With these rules in my mind, I think I will have a much saner, happier, more peaceful Christmas Shopping Season. I can only hope that my Christmas turns out more like a typical Whoville Christmas, with lovely carols creating a soft soundtrack for the joyful exchanging of gifts, and less like Arnold's frantic shopping escapades in "Jingle All the Way."
06 December 2007
Presente
I looked out at the seemingly endless procession of mourners, holding their white crosses solemnly as they chant, “Presenté, presenté.” So many people, so many individuals who care about the injustices in Latin America. I had never even heard of the School of the Americas two years ago, as little or no mention of the November protest appeared in the media; today, however, I had joined thousands of protesters working to close the institution.
Sixteen St. Ignatius College Prep students, along with students from Loyola Academy, left by bus for Ft. Benning, Georgia, on Thursday, November 15th. Only three Ignatius students had attended the event in 2006, so most of us were uncertain as to what would actually take place. Before we left, we watched a video about main event of the protest. Figures in black with painted-white faces carried coffins in a mock funeral procession; thousands of people held crosses, while others lay “dead” on the ground, covered in “blood.” Endless chanting, tears, and solemn faces bombarded me on the video screen. Then, I saw the busloads of protesters who were being arrested because they had crossed the line onto the property of the school. Not only hardcore activists filled those buses, but fathers and students. These people were fighting for what they believed in, no matter what the cost, and I admired them. I wanted to join them in this fight. I wanted to live out my faith, to be a “woman for others,” as we say at Ignatius.
So, I left on Thursday night with the images of these protesters in my head. Throughout the journey to Georgia, my friend and I discussed our expectations for the event. There was a nervous energy permeating the students, and I added my own excitement when we pulled in to our hotel in Ft. Benning. Though we left on Thursday night, I feel as though the trip didn’t really begin for me until Friday night, at the first event we attended: the Ignatian Family Teach-In.
The Teach-In was held inside an enormous hall, whose large interior was packed with students from Jesuit colleges and high schools across America, as well as Jesuits, churchwomen, and people who had no Jesuit affiliation whatsoever, but were interested in attending the Teach-In. Speakers representing different social justice issues appealed to their audience to take action, to be aware of the injustices in their world. Environmental activists, reformed prisoners, anti-sweatshop representatives, and many other such speakers were present. Overall, the Teach-In was very inspiring and educational.
The next day, we traveled to the gates of the school. I had no idea what to expect, so I was surprised to find vendors with booths lining the driveway and lively music being played from a large stage. Thousands of people mingled in front of the booths, buying “End the War in Iraq” or “Recycle!” or “Peace” t-shirts and buttons. The voices of speakers from Latin America sounded from the stage, and people crowded the fence surrounding the school. It was like a huge outdoor hippie music festival; I felt as though I was back in the 60s.
Though my experience at the gates on Saturday was fun and exciting, the mass we attended on Saturday night remains the most meaningful event in my mind. We returned to the college where the Teach-In was held, and once again, it was packed with people. Even more people attended the mass than did the Teach-In; we were sharing seats, and many had to stand in the back. I felt the presence of God throughout the entire mass: in the songs, which each person sung with passion; in the priest’s homily, which implored the congregation to become aware of social injustice in the world; in the presence of the thousands of others who were praying with me to close the SOA. At the end of the mass, those present who were over 50 were asked to bless the “younger” members of the congregation, to pass on their wisdom. So, I left with a blessing and the hope that the peace, unity, and love that I had felt on Saturday night would be present at the protest on Sunday morning.
That morning, Sunday morning, we arrived at the driveway to the SOA. Immediately, I sensed that the atmosphere had changed since the day before. Only a few vendors remained, quietly advertising their goods. Masses of people moved solemnly towards the gates, holding white crosses with the names of victims of SOA graduates. Then, the procession began. The name of a victim, and their age, was called out, and we chanted, “Presenté” as a response. As the names were called out, I began to think about why I had come. I remembered the frustration and sorrow I had felt about the crimes that had been committed against the Latin American mothers, fathers, and children. Hearing those names, seeing the thousands of people who had prayed with me the night before, and who were now helping me make sure that the victims were never forgotten, personified the concept of peace for me.
The entire weekend resulted in an enlightening journey for me. I left with preconceived notions about what the protest would be like, but these notions were flipped upside-down and scrambled before the experience was over. I felt extreme joy, sorrow, and confusion in the course of three days. I was uncomfortable, insecure, and nervous throughout much of the time I spent in Ft. Benning; yet, I would not change a single aspect of the journey. I can pinpoint one lesson out of many that I took away from the trip: to be a true Christian, I must be willing to question the status quo, face my uneasiness, and act for social justice.
Sixteen St. Ignatius College Prep students, along with students from Loyola Academy, left by bus for Ft. Benning, Georgia, on Thursday, November 15th. Only three Ignatius students had attended the event in 2006, so most of us were uncertain as to what would actually take place. Before we left, we watched a video about main event of the protest. Figures in black with painted-white faces carried coffins in a mock funeral procession; thousands of people held crosses, while others lay “dead” on the ground, covered in “blood.” Endless chanting, tears, and solemn faces bombarded me on the video screen. Then, I saw the busloads of protesters who were being arrested because they had crossed the line onto the property of the school. Not only hardcore activists filled those buses, but fathers and students. These people were fighting for what they believed in, no matter what the cost, and I admired them. I wanted to join them in this fight. I wanted to live out my faith, to be a “woman for others,” as we say at Ignatius.
So, I left on Thursday night with the images of these protesters in my head. Throughout the journey to Georgia, my friend and I discussed our expectations for the event. There was a nervous energy permeating the students, and I added my own excitement when we pulled in to our hotel in Ft. Benning. Though we left on Thursday night, I feel as though the trip didn’t really begin for me until Friday night, at the first event we attended: the Ignatian Family Teach-In.
The Teach-In was held inside an enormous hall, whose large interior was packed with students from Jesuit colleges and high schools across America, as well as Jesuits, churchwomen, and people who had no Jesuit affiliation whatsoever, but were interested in attending the Teach-In. Speakers representing different social justice issues appealed to their audience to take action, to be aware of the injustices in their world. Environmental activists, reformed prisoners, anti-sweatshop representatives, and many other such speakers were present. Overall, the Teach-In was very inspiring and educational.
The next day, we traveled to the gates of the school. I had no idea what to expect, so I was surprised to find vendors with booths lining the driveway and lively music being played from a large stage. Thousands of people mingled in front of the booths, buying “End the War in Iraq” or “Recycle!” or “Peace” t-shirts and buttons. The voices of speakers from Latin America sounded from the stage, and people crowded the fence surrounding the school. It was like a huge outdoor hippie music festival; I felt as though I was back in the 60s.
Though my experience at the gates on Saturday was fun and exciting, the mass we attended on Saturday night remains the most meaningful event in my mind. We returned to the college where the Teach-In was held, and once again, it was packed with people. Even more people attended the mass than did the Teach-In; we were sharing seats, and many had to stand in the back. I felt the presence of God throughout the entire mass: in the songs, which each person sung with passion; in the priest’s homily, which implored the congregation to become aware of social injustice in the world; in the presence of the thousands of others who were praying with me to close the SOA. At the end of the mass, those present who were over 50 were asked to bless the “younger” members of the congregation, to pass on their wisdom. So, I left with a blessing and the hope that the peace, unity, and love that I had felt on Saturday night would be present at the protest on Sunday morning.
That morning, Sunday morning, we arrived at the driveway to the SOA. Immediately, I sensed that the atmosphere had changed since the day before. Only a few vendors remained, quietly advertising their goods. Masses of people moved solemnly towards the gates, holding white crosses with the names of victims of SOA graduates. Then, the procession began. The name of a victim, and their age, was called out, and we chanted, “Presenté” as a response. As the names were called out, I began to think about why I had come. I remembered the frustration and sorrow I had felt about the crimes that had been committed against the Latin American mothers, fathers, and children. Hearing those names, seeing the thousands of people who had prayed with me the night before, and who were now helping me make sure that the victims were never forgotten, personified the concept of peace for me.
The entire weekend resulted in an enlightening journey for me. I left with preconceived notions about what the protest would be like, but these notions were flipped upside-down and scrambled before the experience was over. I felt extreme joy, sorrow, and confusion in the course of three days. I was uncomfortable, insecure, and nervous throughout much of the time I spent in Ft. Benning; yet, I would not change a single aspect of the journey. I can pinpoint one lesson out of many that I took away from the trip: to be a true Christian, I must be willing to question the status quo, face my uneasiness, and act for social justice.
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