Current Assignment:
- Please read and annotate the following short story for Friday Share on the 18th. http://poestories.com/read/blackcat
Here are 5 questions that we are going to ask:
1. What is Poe’s main purpose for writing this and what literary techniques does he incorporate to emphasize this?
2. How is “The Black Cat” similar to his other work, “The Tell Tale Heart”? (Both were written in 1843)
3. Through usage of a first person narrative, what significance does Poe add to the story?
4. The cat’s name, Pluto, is an allusion to the Roman god of the underworld. Why do you think Poe did this and do you think it is significant?
5. To what extent is the black cat a symbol for the narrator’s descent into madness?
We are doing a fish bowl.
Previous Assignments:
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- Read and annotate the following article to prepare for a debate on Friday, March 4. You will be able to choose your own side in the debate, so please decide the night before and annotate accordingly.
http://www.bloombergview.com/articles/2014-11-18/will-generation-z-disconnect
Read and annotate the following articles to prepare for a debate on Friday, Feb. 26.
Ben Carson: The U.S. Must Not Accept Any Syrian Refugees
Read and annotate this news article to prepare for a fishbowl discussion on Friday, Feb. 5.
Read and annotate “The Fly” by Katherine Mansfield for Friday Share on December 18. Remember, annotations can include questions, connections, summaries and interpretations, among other things.
Read and annotate ch. 4-6 of The Scarlet Letter. In the comments section below, write a short Rhetorical Analysis paragraph of one technique (On p. ___, he uses such and such technique to show ____. [context + example line]. [Interpretation + connection to bigger idea].
Read and annotate “Hills Like White Elephants” by Ernest Hemingway to prepare for Friday Share, December 11. The discussion will begin with the comprehension questions below:
What do you think the “operation” is? and what does it symbolize?
Does anyone know what a white elephant is? How do the consequences of this operation relate to white elephants? How is their relationship as a whole a white elephant?
Who do you think these people are? Why do you think Hemingway leaves any description of them out? Why do you think he leaves almost all the details out? Then talk about his theory of omission. (The Iceberg Theory (also known as the “theory of omission”) is the writing style of American writer Ernest Hemingway. Just as the visible tip of an iceberg hides a far greater mass of ice underneath the ocean surface, Hemingway’s dialogue belies the unstated tension between his characters.)
Hemingway wrote “Hills Like White Elephants” in third-person point of view that limits the narration to what the characters say and do; it does not reveal their thoughts. How does this affect your own interpretation of the story?
The piece is almost entirely dialogue, how do you interpret this dialogue? Why is it so repetitive? what does it reveal about the characters?
Explain how you interpreted the symbols of the suitcase, the setting, and the alcohol. What do these reveal about the characters?
What does the ending mean to you? What does it foreshadow? Why is it significant that the man stops to drink alone at the bar? Why does the train never come?
Read “The Monkey’s Paw” by William Jacobs, and annotate in preparation for Friday Share discussion on Friday, October 30.
Read “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allen Poe, and annotate in preparation for Friday discussion on Friday, October 23.
Read “The Looking-Glass” by Anton Chekhov and annotate in preparation for Friday discussion on Friday, October 16. Remember, annotations can include questions, definitions, connections, inferences or summaries.
Read “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson and annotate in preparation for Friday discussion on Friday, October 9. Remember, annotations can include questions, definitions, connections, inferences or summaries.
In the comments box below, write your first name and last initial.
Also in the comments box write: at least two questions you have about the text. These can be level 1, 2 or 3, but you should be practicing your questioning skills.
Abate's Class 
April 12, 2016 at 8:41 PM
Most of the factories were shut down now and the only lights were some flickering neon signs. As I walked further and further into the decrepit suburbs the houses became grander and grander, trading in wire fences for lush gardens. You could see the remains of what must have once been vast wealth. Homes where families had once shared their lives. Places where the rich and famous lived out their greatest years.
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April 12, 2016 at 12:34 PM
ARSUN SORRENTI
Often i hear people complaining that they were born in the wrong year; too late. Constantly trying to convey a mentality – an attitude – a facsimile of the glory years of the 60s. That time of constant energy; of topless women and LCD, sizzling skin under the sun during outdoor concerts. A time of tangible love and endless vitality.
Im at constant war with myself in my attempt to emulate my heroes from the sixties – but not to sacrifice individuality. To steal from the past but to inspire the future. Its a fine line, like Icarus one must not fly too close to the sun, or stray too close to the sea. With our current era that intensity and originality of the 60s has almost completely dispersed into corporate units nearly trying to appeal to lusty convoluted teenagers. Everyone wants to manufacture that energy, but in their attempt to return to that memory of high intensity, their attempts become trivial.
But i believe, no matter the state of our cultural union, genuine emotion, reminiscent of that decade’s spunk is alive in our youth. Ultimately, it is those that do not dwell on, and try to return to the successes of the past that will change the world. It is those that steal from it like an artist, and force it into the future.
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April 12, 2016 at 12:49 PM
nearly = merely
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April 12, 2016 at 11:57 AM
Looking out the window, my eyes searching mindlessly for some last glimmer of sunlight, all I could see was the snow still drifting down its fine white powder. The ground was covered in a soft blanket of it, yet down it came still. The roads would be closed now, there was no safe way to trek across their iciness. I let that thought come and go, it didn’t matter to me anymore.
Autumn was gone, and with it the trepidation of what was to come. The unsureness that followed us through the passing warmth felt distant, almost alien. To remember how I felt that first morning when I woke up and felt the brisk air across my form was remembering a different time, a different place. Remembering the crunch of the leaves under our feet as we ran, filling our lungs with crisp air that felt like a breath of life; remembering the nights spent desperately holding on to each passing sun ray.
The fear that gripped us melted away as the beauty of the snow reminded me once more of winter’s ability to make you feel at home. We couldn’t see then that this would be the gift of security. We knew now.
And so we shut our eyes against the growing darkness and allowed ourselves to continue into the continuous night.
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April 11, 2016 at 12:05 PM
Realities had become clearer to him as the years of high school dragged on. It seemed so long and yet, when he looked back, his past years flickered by, like an old, projected film. Even going back a year or two, he felt now that those years that had seemed so painfully long now flashed through his head. Were they building blocks for his character – for his future?
As he kicked the pebbles at his feet, his shoulders scrunched upwards as his hands subconsciously slid into the pockets of his sagging jeans. Jogging men and women seemed to pass him in slow motion, as a chilled breeze rapidly spread goosebumps over his skin. He waited for a woman to pass him, then closed in on the railing surrounding the park’s reservoir, and he watched the ripples in the water rock the ducks back and forth.
Again his gaze wandered back towards his own kind: lost, roaming people of the park. An old man with hands clasped behind his arching back, walking inch by inch; a somber brunette in heels and sunglasses; a rugged brute in a baseball cap. He thought about his parents, and he imagined them together walking through that area. 1989, New York summer… Leaning back he smiled at the pleasure he got when pondering the city’s buzzing inspiration at the time. Their aspirations had been so readily stimulated, yet here and now that stimulation seemed to have lost its echo.
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April 11, 2016 at 12:05 PM
They say friends should last forever, but As time passes It’s harder to believe true friends can come easy. There used to be times when we could make true friends just by starting off with a kind hello.
people today continue to ignore the fact that we are all connected in some weird way. There was a time when pettiness and drama could be avoided, and all was well.
I think that everyone should communicate with each other instead of being non involved with each other…
We walk alone instead of walking together.
We need to help and live with each other, without competition and uneccssary confrontations.
I’m not speaking for myself, but for others that may be going through rough times…
For those of you that are going through hardships, all you need is a little help.
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April 11, 2016 at 11:53 AM
They say friends should last forever, but As time passes It’s harder to believe true friends can come easy. There used to be times when we could make true friends just by starting off with a kind
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April 11, 2016 at 10:39 AM
I entered the car after embracing her, practically sinking into her chest with feelings of pity and guilt. The back window of the automobile displayed her solitude further as she stood beside his old parking spot, now empty and stripped of its reserved status. She waved goodbye with a transparent countenance that unwillingly illustrated her dreadful revelation of her new life. The entire scene began to fade as her figure became increasingly hard to distinguish against the sea of houses and green mountains. I finally turned around to face the endless industrial road, which forced me to contemplate the fact that this was the beginning of the numb feeling of emptiness that followed the initial shock of loss.
They moved there to die- they needed to recover in an isolated tranquil setting from their lives that centered around death, illness, and struggle.
All I wanted was to return back to the time before his mind had deteriorated and he had some sense of reality. I would even settle to speak to him during the time the dementia plagued his formerly brilliant mind. I yearned to see him stand beside her in the parking lot smiling and waving to us as we drove away. Yet all these hopes are intangible, leaving me with a never ending feeling of regret and brokenness.
Time is the one thing we desire that can never be attained. Therefore it haunts us all for if it were to be attained it would mean an amazing amount of felicity, counteracting all feelings of remorse.
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April 11, 2016 at 7:18 AM
Most of the candy stores were now closed. Most of the cartoons no longer aired. Most of the crayons deemed used. Most of fruitfulness of time was now gone. All but the staggering, glow of dim yellow light stayed. And it grew older and again until into a transitory that changed before my eyes. As the moon rose higher, and the haze of oldness came back around, I felt like I saw the same old warmth that had once long lived in the air. That unreachable, yet so palpable light that seem to sway had made way for another memory. The whispers of scatter, and the droplets of watercolor paints and the smell of packed lunches brought me back to those great days.
And now I sit here, still, realizing that the times have gone and will not come back. My memory of the light filled days are now left with a feeling of emptiness and restrain. Dreams soared like blue dragons once to grow up but now they ripple away like waves in a drowned tsunami with the loss of time and energy.
I remember a time where worries weren’t real and the only problems I would face was having to share my crayons with my neighbor. The skipping rope, hopscotch times were full of bliss and suddenly the white slate melted and that innocence had been long gone for so many years before I even knew it.
And now, I go up the ladder to the old park slide and again go down another slope…this time looking forward.
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April 11, 2016 at 6:32 AM
The time had passed by so dramatically, it seemed that almost nothing had changed at all. The stairwell where I kissed my first girlfriend,
now has no meaning or use to me. As I have grown, I no longer find satisfaction in what I used to love. I no longer yearn to lay on roof tops and smoke while talking, so excited to learn what the world has ahead of us.
That is not life anymore. The once saucer dish eyes of the girl I once swore I’d marry, no longer are my entire world. The long nights spent hopped up on energy drinks and coffee, are nothing more than a distant memory. And I swear to God, nothing seemed worse to me then. But those days I swear we ruled the world. We were young and vibrant and had all of eternity ahead of us as lights shone in our eyes like lanterns. Although, it may have been the time of my life, I cannot long for those days. Of immense heartache, the first week after a breakup and the pain in my head from missing out on all the things in the world. I just wanted to explore.
But nothing can ever be better than those years. The hell and the tears and the raging hormones.
The table where I used to drink coffee, and panic about the world around me. My dream of getting out… Finally getting out, it was so close that I could taste it like the over sugared coffee that I sipped. I begged for it to come.
But nothing will be better than that day where we went down to the water by school and I got to hold your hand and your red lips. We begged for change to come. But the faster we chased it, the slower it would come.
The days when I held her in my arms, and looking out at the world that we called ours. We did not yet understand that the present that we would soon beg for, was right beneath our weathered shoes.
Those days of cold air and heavy backpacks and stupid fights and shitty cafeteria food, we hated them then, but oh God, I miss them now.
No matter how far away we ran from Monday morning, it always chased us down.
And now we hold on. To the brief moments which we felt that we were truly in our prime. Like we were when we watched the world go by, and the wind blows away every memory that we ever had.
Because nothing will be better than it was in high school.
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April 11, 2016 at 2:10 AM
As I reached over to flip the light switch, anticipating the darkness that usually follows, I noticed something that I hadn’t seen since his accident. The window opposite mine that had left me restless for so many nights was lit for the first time in weeks. I looked over, pretending that I might see him fervently typing away at whatever it was that kept us both up so late, but all that I saw was the light shinning on his bare wooden desk. Someone must have come in and forgotten to turn it off.
We’d never actually met and while he was living there I’d cursed him in my head almost daily for keeping me up but this time it was different. A few weeks before, my neighbor had told me about a friend of hers in the building next door, who had been killed in a car accident earlier that day. He was the first person in his family to graduate from college and had just gotten a job at one of those high tech companies in The Valley. Though it was sad to hear, I thought little of it initially. It wasn’t until the window that had once illuminated both his and my room turned into a bleak empty frame, that I realized it was him who had gotten into the accident.
This time, I longed for someone I had never met. Someone who had spent all of his life trying to achieve success and had come so close to what many people dream of. Wealth. I turned my head and struggled to fall asleep like I had when he was on the other side. Maybe I should buy some blinds.
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April 11, 2016 at 12:31 AM
When did staying up late become an everyday thing? When did school become all about passing, rather than learning? Take me back to a time where i didn’t have to worry so much. They tell you to be strong and that everyone must deal with the troubles in life, but never really teach you how to do so. I remember much simpler times, although I may have been to young to understand it, I was sure of the change. Prices hiked up on everything you can imagine. Money became tight, school became a task I was too tired to fulfill. But I will never forget, one of my teachers told me, Persevere and reach for the stars.
I remember a time when the world seemed greener. A time when american music was enjoyed in parts all over the world, and had a meaning behind the words. A time when love seemed simpler. A time when you were able to put your troubles on hold. Time are changing rapidly. Its important you maintain and keep the best qualities of yourself throughout this journey of life. America is a place of Hope, Dreams, and also Sorrows. To make it here you must think positive to be positive. You can get to where you want to be, and become the star you really are.
Like everything else, you must put in hard work, effort and your own energy into reaching your goals in life. In order to win you must lose sometimes. When you think your not gonna make it, you have to tell yourself you will and get back up. Put in all the good you can. Be the Best you you can be, and hopefully you can reach your goals in life. Stay positive even at your lowest moments, and thats the way I believe you can make it in america.
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April 10, 2016 at 11:48 PM
It was past 9o’clock, which meant that everyone was tucked away in his or her heated home and the dimly lit streets were empty. As I looked out my window, it felt as if I was the only one on the planet. Except for Mrs. O’Neal’s bedroom light across the street, every window on the block was lifeless and shut tightly closed to keep out the cold. A few cars passed by, each one faster than the last; leaving the children at play signs in their dust. I watched the cars for a while, feeling that deeply unsatisfying feeling gnaw at my gut as I realized I did not know and would never know where the cars were headed. The red Ford Pinto that had just passed could be going to the hospital to rescue a loved one that had been hurt in a fire, or the black Pontiac Firebird that was passing could be rushing to a late night drive-in.
I finally crawled back into bed and closed my eyes, soaking in the events of the day that would become distant memories by tomorrow. I thought about how my parents fought, and how normal it felt to hear. I thought about my neighbor Mrs. O’Neal and how she couldn’t stop crying over the death of her oldest cat, Prof. Fluffington. I couldn’t help myself from crying, which I hadn’t done when hearing the news of Fluffington’s passing or when seeing Mrs. O’Neal break down in front of the whole town. Hot tears rolled down my face and stuck to my skin, slowly rolling down and dampening my nightshirt. She would forget. One day, she would forget about her dead cat, whether it’s because time finally got hold of her or because she became senile, but she would eventually forget. You never realize at the time, but everything is already in the past, even when you are living it.
I try to believe that everything happens for a reason, that something was looking out for us and carefully guiding us towards happiness. But no matter how hard Mrs. O’Neal prayed that her cat would recover or how often my parents went to couples therapy, nothing would get better. We are constantly running away from the inevitable, and unfortunately, the inevitable is faster.
As I forced myself to accept sleep, I fell victim to the current of life and drifted like a falling leaf towards death.
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April 10, 2016 at 11:16 PM
I remember being a child. Sitting in my classroom, college preparation looming overhead, I remember simplicity. Persuasive packets piled up at home, I remember marvelling at the “big kids”. Waiting for my application to come in the mail and my inevitable membership; waiting to be a “big kid”, too. It seems like a lifetime ago.
The newest addition to the adult world, the next to be initiated, are the “big kids” of Generation Z. We are resistant. The thing with becoming a grown-up is that it can all seem so sudden. Being strapped to the sides of a boat first thing in the morning while the grown-ups teach us how to move in harmony with the current we must now follow doesn’t quite fit well. We feel seasick.
When we are strapped to this speeding boat, we remember holding the width of a boat in our fingers, making sure to follow no particular current in the vast bubbling oceans of our bathtubs. Our only worries, making it to the ice-cream truck before it drove off, or buying every flavor of our favorite roll-on lipgloss, or missing Halloweentown (since it only aired on Disney Channel once a year), or making sure your diary never fell into the wrong hands, or…
I remember living in a bathtub. I remember when the words “current”, “college”, “conundrum”, “cold” were not yet part of my vocabulary. I recall something about summer lasting forever and the fountain of youth being the sunshine springing from my fingertips.
The sun tends to hide behind the clouds sometimes, I’ve discovered, and summer is the shortest it’s ever been.
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April 10, 2016 at 11:09 PM
Singapore was a place I had never really ever figured out. Small pockets of open jungles separated uninviting and solemn skyscrapers while wooden wagons separated fast cars on the roads – Singapore was a city of contradictions. I often wonder if it has changed without me and whether I could even recognize it if I were to go back…The extravagant ferns that housed soft cricket chirps, the curiously white plants whose surface showed no trace of color that lined the entrance to Changi Airport, the Plumeria trees that sprung freely along sidewalks – would all these have disappeared to make way for a steely, shiny, and modern Singapore?
After five, ten, fifteen years, I don’t know that I will still see the quirks of that island that I had never valued enough while I lived there and that I am convinced the people living there now, still don’t. The scent of tangy mangosteen and rambutan coupled with the aromatic stink of durians (so putrid that they had been banned from being carried onto public transportation) seems stronger from here, in New York, than it had ever been in Singapore.
In my broodier moments, I -embarrassingly- have been known to type up my old address on Google Maps just to revisit my Singapore years. Click by click, I try to absorb the differences…new paint jobs, new signs, new sidewalks. It’s strange to feel a hot wave of relief settle over me when I recognize my old apartment building and school as if a frozen image could possibly validate my memories of a bygone life, but it does, because the past is just that – frozen. Frozen are the white plants and the plumeria and the rambutans and the durians. More importantly, frozen am I when I cling onto the familiarity of the past, trapped in limbo…And so I push forward, as we all do, into a new age – one that we must take advantage of to the fullest extent now, before it freezes into history.
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April 10, 2016 at 10:28 PM
The ringing in my ears never fails to absorb the silence I long to hear again. I’ve gotten used to the high pitched backdrop, constant in the back of my mind, though I can’t help but try to remember what it felt like to hear my own thoughts. When I was just starting out, I used to think out loud all of the time. In fact, my best ideas came from these moments of complete and utter silence. I know they’re still in there, the ideas and thoughts that brought me to this point. I feel them struggling everyday trying to find a way out, but they’re trapped in by all of the noise. They’re lost in disguise like everyone, constantly trying to find who they’re supposed to be.
Outside, it starts to rain, though there has always been something comforting about rain in the city. Everything seems to be momentarily peaceful an quiet in the heart of constant chaos, almost like a temporary escape. Walking from the stadium, I think about how it used to be before all of this madness. I think I got so caught up in the excitement and fame, I didn’t realize I was slipping away from myself. I wish I could go back to when I was happy and free. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret the path I have chosen, but I know all too well that I can’t relive the past. And with that thought, the rain began to ease up, sending the noise back in and bringing me back down to reality.
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April 10, 2016 at 10:26 PM
Standing on the corner of the street, I noticed that the once lively shops and bodegas were vacant. Just ten years ago, the streets had been a source chatter and laughter; now they were simply pathways for lethargic pedestrians. I walked down a lonely avenue, past a gas station and a horse stable and arrived at my destination. My elementary school still stood proudly with its weathered marble facade. As I gazed up the white beast, memories of my younger years flooded my head. This place was the sanctuary of my youth. The round arches above the entrances were guides towards a land of endless possibilities and dreams. I retraced to the first day of school- standing at the entrance as children poured in the doors, unsure whether or not to step into the unknown.
Looking back, I realized my naivety. My teachers had told me that I could be anything I wished to be. I consumed that lovely lie, coursing through life with boundless optimism. It wasn’t until my later school years that I realized life wasn’t all plentiful and dreamy, that along my course there would be obstacles to my ambitions, insuperable entities that would haunt me til my death.
I believed in the dream- the dream that life was fair and an immigrant child could reach success without her social status encumbering her. I desperately clung on to this belief, and by the time I had realized the ugly truth, I was already sinking in confusion and despair.
Upon this reflection, I turned back and headed to my origin, leaving behind the memories of a hopeful child.
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April 10, 2016 at 10:19 PM
When I was expelled from my jade home amongst the trees, banished by the convulsing machines and dark smog that now obscured the once golden skies, I was for the first time on this earth, lost. The only life I had known lay among the ferns and moss. The crystal springs and cry of the magpie were my company. I was unwillingly thrust into an unfamiliar world, the moon and the stars which gave me solace, the crickets my concerto, are now absent. My city of Aspen’s replaced with that of a jungle of iron and steel. I now crave for the feeling of the rich red soil under my toes, rather than that of the grey concrete pounding at my feet. The constant deafening hum of the lights and trains sickens me. Wishing to only hold my mass in my cathedral of ancient oaks, I forsake my god. Dreaming of shunning the mechanical beasts and taking refuge in my fortress of spruce. I would trade the neon lights of the Empire State for the reflection of the blood red strawberry moon in the silver rivers of my muse. I abandon the city that never sleeps for my lost symphony of stars, and the moonlight trickling through the emerald branches, to seek tranquility among the groves of ivory birch and find my final sleep in the forest of my memories.
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