9/18/2012
Retell a myth or a fairy tale, changing what happens or exploring characters more deeply than in the original. For example, GRENDEL is the story of the monster in BEOWULF and WICKED is a story about the Wicked Witch of the West. Reverse the myth or tale and try to create an anti-hero.
Sisy had always thought of himself as a clever boy. His father had given this name because he thought it would give his son character. For some reason, his father had always resented his son. He claimed tought love would make him grow to be a man.
One day, his father told him to begin carrying stones from a quarry over to their house. He never gave him the real reason as to why he wanted the stones, he only told him that it would make him become a man.
Sisy did as his father said, and began carrying the stones, one by one, over to a pile of stones by their house. He worked day and night, but the stones in the quarry never seemed to grow any less. Sisy continued to follow his father's orders to the point that he hadn't noticed that his father had passed away. One day the news came to Sisy, and he contemplated quitting his work. But he figured it was what his father would have wanted. So he continued.
He thought he might be able to build a pile of rocks so high that one day he would be able to reunite with his father in heaven. He continued his work tirelessly until he eventually died of old age.
In heaven, he found that his father was nowhere to be found. His task was set until the day he died, but even then, his work had gone unrewarded. Because Sisy had spent his entire life trying to gain the respect of his father, he missed experiencing his own life of happiness.
Moral of the story: don't waste your life away chasing the respect of another person. Even if they are the people who raised you.
The "Earth" without "Art" is just "Eh."
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Hometown
9/13/2012
Write about your hometown - where your family lives now. Write about what you like best - the landmarks, the best restaurants, the recreational activities.
My hatred for Williamsport has been brewing since the day I moved here. In all the other places I've lived in my life, I've never experienced the kind of segregation that I've seen here for the majority of my life.
Before the third grade, I was never picked on for being asian. Everyone saw everyone as being the same kind of person. If there was any hatred towards another person, it was because of something they said, did, or what someone had said about them. The onslaught of remarks never ceased, even up to my highschool graduation.
Nevertheless, Williamsport is a beautiful place. Every year we're put on the map by the Little League World Series. It's about the only thing that other people around the world can identify with. However, if you've spent enough time in this place, like I have, you will eventually find the local hotspots that are fun to hang out with your friends at.
There are places along creeks with rope swings, places you can jump off of bridges into somewhat deep water, and lookout spots on top of hills where you can take a romantic date (i.e. squirrel run in South Williamsport). We've also got a great local area in the heart of Williamsport where people can shop in small businesses or go to hole-in-the-wall coffee shops. All over the area, places continue to be added to the downtown area and the mall: Panera Bread, Starbucks, The Cinema Center, Target, and Michael's. Sometimes I'll leave for a period of one or two years and find my hometown totally unrecognizable.
It may be filled with resentful people, but Williamsport continues to grow into pleasant hometown with everything anyone would possibly need to live a happy life with the people they love.
Fuck that was a corny way to end :P
Write about your hometown - where your family lives now. Write about what you like best - the landmarks, the best restaurants, the recreational activities.
My hatred for Williamsport has been brewing since the day I moved here. In all the other places I've lived in my life, I've never experienced the kind of segregation that I've seen here for the majority of my life.
Before the third grade, I was never picked on for being asian. Everyone saw everyone as being the same kind of person. If there was any hatred towards another person, it was because of something they said, did, or what someone had said about them. The onslaught of remarks never ceased, even up to my highschool graduation.
Nevertheless, Williamsport is a beautiful place. Every year we're put on the map by the Little League World Series. It's about the only thing that other people around the world can identify with. However, if you've spent enough time in this place, like I have, you will eventually find the local hotspots that are fun to hang out with your friends at.
There are places along creeks with rope swings, places you can jump off of bridges into somewhat deep water, and lookout spots on top of hills where you can take a romantic date (i.e. squirrel run in South Williamsport). We've also got a great local area in the heart of Williamsport where people can shop in small businesses or go to hole-in-the-wall coffee shops. All over the area, places continue to be added to the downtown area and the mall: Panera Bread, Starbucks, The Cinema Center, Target, and Michael's. Sometimes I'll leave for a period of one or two years and find my hometown totally unrecognizable.
It may be filled with resentful people, but Williamsport continues to grow into pleasant hometown with everything anyone would possibly need to live a happy life with the people they love.
Fuck that was a corny way to end :P
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
9/11/2001
In elementary school, I was one of three kids selected to be in a higher math class than everyone else. In fourth grade, eventually the other two kids had to drop back down to the fourth grade class. I was the only one left.
In fifth grade, I had to attend sixth grade classes at Lycoming Vally Middle School. A bus driver had to employed to drive me back to elementary school. It didn't really seem economical to me, but it wasn't my place to question the school's budget.
When I first realized there was something wrong, I was walking through the hallways of Hepburn Elementary with my backpack wheeling on the ground behind me. The sound of the wheels echoing through the halls seemed to be louder than usual. I passed by Mr. Guild, my old math teacher from fourth grade. There was no one in his room, so that meant he was watching the news and drinking coffee by his desk. But something was different. He was standing three feet away from the screen today. It looked like something you would only see in the movies. Only it was happening in the news.
There's not much I can remember from that day. Just the sight of two airplanes disappearing into a skyscraper, the sound of the announcer's voice, and the plume of dust that engulfed New York City. I just remember that the day a girl named Katie was struck and killed on impact by a car was more devastating to those kids than saddest day in U.S. history.
Because of this, however, I can't help but remember the most chilling quote that's always stuck with me by a man named Joseph Stalin.
"One death is a tragedy, A million deaths is a statistic."
Until that day, I didn't even know what the World Trade Center was. I didn't even know the U.S. government was in the middle of a quarrel with these people. Hell I didn't even know who these people were or why they would do such a thing. On 9/11/2001, we were just kids. We couldn't possibly comprehend the complexity of what was happening that day. But we would as time moved on. Because that was the day we were forced to accept the reality of the real world. Life wasn't always going to be worrying about next week's spelling test. Real life was the tragedy we were forced to watch on that TV screen.
In fifth grade, I had to attend sixth grade classes at Lycoming Vally Middle School. A bus driver had to employed to drive me back to elementary school. It didn't really seem economical to me, but it wasn't my place to question the school's budget.
When I first realized there was something wrong, I was walking through the hallways of Hepburn Elementary with my backpack wheeling on the ground behind me. The sound of the wheels echoing through the halls seemed to be louder than usual. I passed by Mr. Guild, my old math teacher from fourth grade. There was no one in his room, so that meant he was watching the news and drinking coffee by his desk. But something was different. He was standing three feet away from the screen today. It looked like something you would only see in the movies. Only it was happening in the news.
There's not much I can remember from that day. Just the sight of two airplanes disappearing into a skyscraper, the sound of the announcer's voice, and the plume of dust that engulfed New York City. I just remember that the day a girl named Katie was struck and killed on impact by a car was more devastating to those kids than saddest day in U.S. history.
Because of this, however, I can't help but remember the most chilling quote that's always stuck with me by a man named Joseph Stalin.
"One death is a tragedy, A million deaths is a statistic."
Until that day, I didn't even know what the World Trade Center was. I didn't even know the U.S. government was in the middle of a quarrel with these people. Hell I didn't even know who these people were or why they would do such a thing. On 9/11/2001, we were just kids. We couldn't possibly comprehend the complexity of what was happening that day. But we would as time moved on. Because that was the day we were forced to accept the reality of the real world. Life wasn't always going to be worrying about next week's spelling test. Real life was the tragedy we were forced to watch on that TV screen.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
The Stick Game
Recount a somewhat serious anecdote – a real or a fictional one—in the form of a joke. Use the rhythms and the voice you use when telling a joke, such as premise, setup and punch line.
Back when I used to live in Virginia, my brother and I would often invent our own games to entertain ourselves through the long summer days when playing video games was considered a shameful activity in the midst of such beautiful afternoons. I remember these games to be sporadic manifestations of our imaginations combined with our battle to overcome the monotony of childhood life. Often, they would come to fruition out of our usual competitive nature with one another; even though most of the games we invented never seemed to have any actual goals in the first place. Our parents were always against us seeing any ‘R’ rated movies growing up, however, violent action movies were never a problem. This was also before the era of violent video games, so we had to use our imaginations to fuel our need for an aggressive output. That being said, this particular game we invented seemed to be the one to end them all. The destruction of our youth.
I can’t exactly remember what this game was called, although I do recall what it consisted of. I imagine it arose from the type of dispute we always had over ‘who got who, first’ every time we shot at each other with our pointed fingers. That was how ‘The Shooting Game’ came to be called ‘The Stick Game.’ I’m sure you can figure out where this is going, and it pains me to think that we didn’t at the time. If you’ve ever heard your parents tell you not to do something because there was a chance someone could get their eye poked out, this was one of those situations. Nevertheless, the game consisted of throwing sticks at each other while hiding behind two adjacent trees. The object was to try and dodge the other player’s stick while trying to hit your opponent at the same time. Let’s just say my brother won after I dove out from behind my tree and connected my left eye to his stick.
As soon as this happened, I ran inside and cried to my mother like a little girl. I was then rushed to an eye doctor to see if there had been any real damage to my retina. I could only imagine the hell my brother was going through at home with my crazy father, despite the game being his idea in the first place. According to the doctor, my vision appeared to be fine, which made me wonder why I was forced to wear an eye patch over my face for the next two weeks. Although I knew how ridiculous it made me look, I kind of liked looking like an Asian pirate baby. I suppose it made me feel like a man who now had a cool battle scar and a good story to tell his friends at the lunch table. After I came back, however, my dad pulled my brother outside by his sleeve as I walked into the house. My brother began crying after he saw the patch on my eye.
“Look at him!” he cried, “Look at what you did to your brother!” It was then that I felt something strange come over me that I had never felt before. At the time, I couldn’t exactly describe it. It wasn’t sadness or empathy. And it wasn’t even the sight of my brother breaking down over such an unforeseeable accident. It was my father. It was the first time I had actually seen him give a shit about my general well being. I mean, I knew he was doing this to teach my brother a lesson, but it was over something that he’d done to me. Something that might’ve actually caused me permanent damage for the rest of my life. It was then that I knew why I started to cry in that moment. My father might act like he hates me sometimes, but there was something in him that caused him pain at the sight of me actually getting hurt. What was this feeling? And why had I never seen it before?
Back when I used to live in Virginia, my brother and I would often invent our own games to entertain ourselves through the long summer days when playing video games was considered a shameful activity in the midst of such beautiful afternoons. I remember these games to be sporadic manifestations of our imaginations combined with our battle to overcome the monotony of childhood life. Often, they would come to fruition out of our usual competitive nature with one another; even though most of the games we invented never seemed to have any actual goals in the first place. Our parents were always against us seeing any ‘R’ rated movies growing up, however, violent action movies were never a problem. This was also before the era of violent video games, so we had to use our imaginations to fuel our need for an aggressive output. That being said, this particular game we invented seemed to be the one to end them all. The destruction of our youth.
I can’t exactly remember what this game was called, although I do recall what it consisted of. I imagine it arose from the type of dispute we always had over ‘who got who, first’ every time we shot at each other with our pointed fingers. That was how ‘The Shooting Game’ came to be called ‘The Stick Game.’ I’m sure you can figure out where this is going, and it pains me to think that we didn’t at the time. If you’ve ever heard your parents tell you not to do something because there was a chance someone could get their eye poked out, this was one of those situations. Nevertheless, the game consisted of throwing sticks at each other while hiding behind two adjacent trees. The object was to try and dodge the other player’s stick while trying to hit your opponent at the same time. Let’s just say my brother won after I dove out from behind my tree and connected my left eye to his stick.
As soon as this happened, I ran inside and cried to my mother like a little girl. I was then rushed to an eye doctor to see if there had been any real damage to my retina. I could only imagine the hell my brother was going through at home with my crazy father, despite the game being his idea in the first place. According to the doctor, my vision appeared to be fine, which made me wonder why I was forced to wear an eye patch over my face for the next two weeks. Although I knew how ridiculous it made me look, I kind of liked looking like an Asian pirate baby. I suppose it made me feel like a man who now had a cool battle scar and a good story to tell his friends at the lunch table. After I came back, however, my dad pulled my brother outside by his sleeve as I walked into the house. My brother began crying after he saw the patch on my eye.
“Look at him!” he cried, “Look at what you did to your brother!” It was then that I felt something strange come over me that I had never felt before. At the time, I couldn’t exactly describe it. It wasn’t sadness or empathy. And it wasn’t even the sight of my brother breaking down over such an unforeseeable accident. It was my father. It was the first time I had actually seen him give a shit about my general well being. I mean, I knew he was doing this to teach my brother a lesson, but it was over something that he’d done to me. Something that might’ve actually caused me permanent damage for the rest of my life. It was then that I knew why I started to cry in that moment. My father might act like he hates me sometimes, but there was something in him that caused him pain at the sight of me actually getting hurt. What was this feeling? And why had I never seen it before?
Thursday, August 30, 2012
My Philosophy on Life
1. We all change. Whether you like or not, you're not going to be the same person that you were back in high school. The experiences you share with the people you surround yourself with are going to shape and alter your perceptions of yourself, your relationships with other, how you motivate yourself, how you deal with failure, recognizing reality vs. neglecting deception, recognizing incentives/manipulation, and how to be realistic about achieving your goals. Not everyone is going to have the same experiences. And not everyone is going to learn from these lessons as quickly as they should. You will make mistakes along the way, but the hope is that you will learn from them sooner than later to repeat.
2. There's no point in living the life your parents want you to live if it doesn't make you happy. If what you choose to pursue doesn't invigorate and excite you on a daily basis, then you will spend your days feeling as though you are wasting your time. This feeling often leads to depression. And if that persists for long enough, it only takes one incident to push you over the edge. If you can stand before the judgement of the pearly gates with a smile on your face, then who's to say your life had no meaning. It meant something to you and you were, hopefully, please with your journey. Live happily by working happily. All else will fall into place.
3. Essentially, my basic philosophy on how to live my life boils down to being optimistically skeptical. In other words, anyone you meet down your rocky path of life could be God. You would have no way of knowing for sure.
So act accordingly.
2. There's no point in living the life your parents want you to live if it doesn't make you happy. If what you choose to pursue doesn't invigorate and excite you on a daily basis, then you will spend your days feeling as though you are wasting your time. This feeling often leads to depression. And if that persists for long enough, it only takes one incident to push you over the edge. If you can stand before the judgement of the pearly gates with a smile on your face, then who's to say your life had no meaning. It meant something to you and you were, hopefully, please with your journey. Live happily by working happily. All else will fall into place.
3. Essentially, my basic philosophy on how to live my life boils down to being optimistically skeptical. In other words, anyone you meet down your rocky path of life could be God. You would have no way of knowing for sure.
So act accordingly.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Prompt 1
Why did you choose Lycoming College and what were your other choices?
I choose Lyco because I was fairly certain that Penn Tech wasn't going to be able to provide me with the classes that I was interested in. I was also forced to go to a school close to home so my parents could attempt to control my rather crazy lifestyle. I believe in enjoying the short amount of time that I'll be on this Earth. If I can't see the joy in doing something, chances are I won't do them. At least not for long.
What is your major and why did you choose it?
I don't really have a major. I'm leaning towards studying filmmaking, however, the closest thing they have in that department is DCOM. And I'm more concerned about broadening my intelligence in order to create a more interesting story. That's why I'm studying philosophy, psych, spanish, astrology, dinosaurs, photography, etc. I don't really know if that's an effective way to go about the job market these days, but, for some reason, I'm not really that worried about it. Things just feel right when I'm learning what I want to learn.
What do you hope to accomplish with your degree once you graduate?
Either working in advertising, becoming a financial consultant, or becoming a filmmaker. A friend told me I should combine advertising and film to make a badass career. However, I don't really see myself as someone who can create a 30 second ad that can make you laugh. Because 70% of all effective advertising is supposed to tug at your humor strings. I love film because of its artistic aspect and its power within our culture. I firmly believe film has such a cultural weight that it can change people on a subconscious level. In other words, an hour and a half of something meaningful can change your life forever.
I choose Lyco because I was fairly certain that Penn Tech wasn't going to be able to provide me with the classes that I was interested in. I was also forced to go to a school close to home so my parents could attempt to control my rather crazy lifestyle. I believe in enjoying the short amount of time that I'll be on this Earth. If I can't see the joy in doing something, chances are I won't do them. At least not for long.
What is your major and why did you choose it?
I don't really have a major. I'm leaning towards studying filmmaking, however, the closest thing they have in that department is DCOM. And I'm more concerned about broadening my intelligence in order to create a more interesting story. That's why I'm studying philosophy, psych, spanish, astrology, dinosaurs, photography, etc. I don't really know if that's an effective way to go about the job market these days, but, for some reason, I'm not really that worried about it. Things just feel right when I'm learning what I want to learn.
What do you hope to accomplish with your degree once you graduate?
Either working in advertising, becoming a financial consultant, or becoming a filmmaker. A friend told me I should combine advertising and film to make a badass career. However, I don't really see myself as someone who can create a 30 second ad that can make you laugh. Because 70% of all effective advertising is supposed to tug at your humor strings. I love film because of its artistic aspect and its power within our culture. I firmly believe film has such a cultural weight that it can change people on a subconscious level. In other words, an hour and a half of something meaningful can change your life forever.
Happy Shorts
JP Auclair Street Segment (from All.I.Can.) from Sherpas Cinema on Vimeo.
The one short that will consistently make me happier for the next three hours ^^^. Next to this one vvv. Kudos to the amazing people I had a chance to live with this last summer for showing them to me. Jesse, I don't care about the mug. Chrispy, I heard what happened and I hope we can still be friends. I didn't understand your circumstances and I'm sorry. By the way, I appreciate you taking me to Grassroots. Even though you did abandon me there after taking all of my stuff. Altogether, though, It was an amazing experience and I'll definitely be back soon.
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