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Hola mi nombre es Ryan. Yo vivo en Nicetown, Philadelphia. Mi mural ubicado en Butler y Smedley st. La mayoría de personas en mi barrio son africanas americanas. Mi barrio tiene algunos personas de razas diferentes pero es un pequeño número de personas. En el pasado, Nicetown tenía muchos campesinos y herreros de Europeos. Además, Nicetown tenía muchas fábricas de acero. Las fábricas eran muy útil de la comunidad sin embargo las fábricas no pueden funcionar en el presente. Ahora, personas blancas no viven en Nicetown. Así lo veo, en el presente yo no pienso que mi barrio tiene una sensación muy positivo desde mi punto de vista. Muchas personas en mi barrio no son cariñosos con sus barrio. Yo creo que eso, porque yo veo basura todos los días en los calles o las acercas a veces. El titulo de mi mural es “El paz y la violencia en armonía.” Yo creo que mi mural simboliza los dos temas muy profundos de Nicetown, en mi opinión. Los temas están religión y la violencia en Nicetown. En mi barrio yo veo y escucha sobre de mucha violencia de pistolas y drogas en barrio pero por el otro lado, mi barrio tiene muchas iglesias también. Como lo veo yo es el religión es un cosa muy importante de personas en mi barrio. Además, yo veo que es muy interesante que religión puede existir con mucha violencia. Mi pieza demuestra como los temas puede existir con juntos. El cruz en mi pieza represente el religión de Cristianismo porque es religión muy popular en mi barrio. El cruz simboliza felicidad, y unión con el gente, entonces la violencia simboliza el odio y los delitos de drogas o pistolas. En el interior de el cruz, hay fotos de armas y drogas a apoyar el tema de violencia. Como yo lo entiendo es mi barrio es muy similar a el mundo. El mundo tiene los símbolos de paz (U.N., UNICEF) por otro lado, el mundo tiene símbolos de violencia también (las guerras). El propósito de mi mural es a demostrar que los dos temas de paz y violencia existen todos partes. Yo quiero mi arte ser el opuesto de el vandalismo y el graffiti en my barrio. Yo pienso que el papel de arte público es a demostrar las influencias en su barrio. Otro propósito es para personas que estar en contra de el gobierno. Una muralista de Banksy de Inglaterra, es un muralista muy controvertida y sus obras represente las cosas polémicas en el gobierno de Inglaterra. El arte público puedo ayudar los problemas en su barrio también. Si un barrio fuera terrible, encargarían un mural a ayudar el barrio ser una comunidad que juntos. 

En la comunidad, son muchos formas de arte. Hay cuadros, sculpturas, fuentes bonitos, y hasta grafiti representan el arte público de la comunidad. Soy una artista yo misma, y veo que mi comunidad necesita otros murales. Entonces, yo, Nia Hammond, voy a ayudar con la creación de más murales. El título de mi mural es “En la Vida Real,” y está ubicado en West Philadelphia, más explícitamente en Fairmount Park. Yo decidé a ponerlo al lado de una tienda que fue en venta para un tiempo largo. Eso es porque siempre es interesante a ver algo  nuevo, especialmente un mural nuevo en un pared que es usualmente desnudo, como lo veo.

            Viviendo en Fairmount Park es un buen encanto. Está literalmente mi patio trasero. Mi barrio es por lo general tranquilo y son desvalidos en las grietas. También la comunidad  es diversa en todas formas. Hay muchos parques públicos y lugares para ver el cielo abierto, distinto de la cuidad parte de Filadelfia. Además, Fairmount Park es concido a tener mucho del arte público.

            “En la Vida Real” tiene una imagen. Tiene césped, y un cielo de la  noche, cuando todo es tranquila, como en mi barrio. Hay una estrella pelea y algo está indicando, simbolizando nuestras capacidades a soñar y tener deseos en la vida. Todos de los elementos en mi mural son importantes porque hacen visiones más grandes, y eso es el mural en general. El mural no es abstracto, entonces, mis colores no son asombrosos. Yo simplemente usé colores naturales. Sin embargo, yo aseguré que los colores del cielo de la noche les caen bien con el césped esmeralda. Las temas que yo uso giran alrededor de los valores de la gente sobre cumpliendo sus sueños. Yo quiero la gente que ve mi mural a saber que tiene que vives cuando/mientras estás joven, y tiene que ir a tus sueños. Cuando pienso sobre mi mural, pienso sobre sueños, jóvenes vivido con felicidad, jugado, el divertido, y solo estando con el feliz.

            Para mi, el papel del arte público es para traer un poco de la alegría a las personas durante el día. También los murales se transforman un pared normal en una obra bonita de arte. Unas ciudades son conocidas porque son muchos murales, todas son significativas para razones diferentes. Pienso que el arte público es para entretener la gente y atraer turistas que van a una comunidad. Mi mural es entre los otros murales porque es llamativo, creativo, y fácil. Mi mural es arte, pero es el arte digital. Creo que todo que nosotros tenemos es arte. Hay arte en las ciencias, en la historía,  y en la clase de inglés. Arte puede ser en formas, como el vandalismo y también algo que es en un museo. Entonces, mi mural debe de ser arte. Finalmente, como yo lo entiendo, mi mural es bonito y inspirado. Demuestra el acto de haciendo el ejercicio de su libre.  Además, murales y el arte pueden ir para un tiempo largo, y crean la inspiración para todo del mundo.

Sean Force

Q2 Benchmark

1-12-12

Cunfuzzling Language

“Well Tim, do you know the answer?” 

It was math class in our sixth grade year.  

“Uuuuhhhh…” Tim said in utter confusion.  “I’m cunfuzzlled” he bursts out in one of those oh-so comical moments that Tim was famous for at our old school.  

“What?” the teacher responded at this time, as she was also now confuzzled.

At this time that was the first time that I had heard this word ever used or mentioned.  Being that I was in sixth grade and this was the first time that I had ever heard the word used I naturally assumed that he had just made up the word.  At the time, I also just assumed the definition to be basically and even higher tier of confusion and bewilderment than he knew how to express with any current words that he knew of.  

“What are you doing?” My mom said one day when I was sitting on the couch playing a game on the computer.

“Sturf” I replied not really feeling like saying stuff would work there as a general enough word to fit this situation.

“Ok,” she said and walked away.

I wasn’t really all that sure of when exactly I started to say that word.  I just remember that one day I had started to use it in place of stuff where I though it was necessary to describe the things I had or that I was doing when asked.  I wasn’t really sure of where or why I had picked it up but regardless I did it’s done and now I use that word.

“Alright, orange stream today we’re going to take a walk down to the river for an activity”

It was last spring shortly before spring break.

“Hey, where are we going,” Fred said as the whole stream started to get up and walk outside while he just sat there.

“Derp, we’re going to the river the teacher just told us that” I said.

As opposed to the previous word that I didn’t know where I got it from I do know that I got this word from school and my friends.  I had heard them using it and then after I really understood that they were saying and using another word entirely to describe what they thought to be indescribable with any other words that they currently had at their disposal did I start using it.  Derp isn’t necessarily the nicest word to use but it’s not really a bad one it’s just a more over-arching version of saying or calling someone stupid.

In “How to tame a WIld Tongue” by Gloria Anzldúa the author while talking about how one of the languages that she uses came to be states, “Chicano Spanish sprang out of the Chicanos’ need to identify ourselves as a distinct people. We needed a language with which we could communicate with ourselves, a secret language. For some of us, language is a homeland closer than the Southwest”.  The Chicanos developed their own language that they thought could describe what they needed to be described when they couldn’t use the language that they knew to describe what they needed to describe anymore.

Several years ago, when I was in the third grade, I read a book called, Frindle. It was a really funny book about a boy who finds a pen.  He decided to call it a frindle just to see what would happen.  As the school year progressed, his friends go along with it, but his teacher is not so excited.  Soon, the whole school is calling a pen a “frindle”.  The media catches wind of it and then a company begins selling frindles, and apparel with the word frindle on it. By the end of the story, the boy, a man now, receives a copy of a new dictionary with the word frindle in it.  This story really got me thinking about how people just will make up the words to describe what needs to be described.

Long ago someone decided a couch would be called a couch and a book, a book.  Why was that?  Making up new words to describe the situation we’re in or the surroundings that we have is something that we all do.  People needed to communicate with each other with more than just pictures.  Soon these new words were accepted by others, used by society, and became the norm.  The words became part of our daily usage.  Our ever changing culture with recently developed ideas and inventions, add new words to our language constantly.  If human nature follows its current path, there will be much more confuzzling language to come.

I had trouble uploading but here is a link to my video.

​http://dl.dropbox.com/u/23590101/Spanish%20BM2.mov

            The Way You Speak is Your Stamp of Who You Are!!

 

Where can I start? I had so many people say that I talk with an country accent, I’ve been made fun of because I can’t pronounce words right, and I have been corrected to not talk like I’m in the streets. I had to deal with being told how to pronounce words right, and how to say a proper sentence. I used to get so mad when people corrected me. I used to curse them out, stab them, hit them, and even choke them. I used to do anything to get them out of my face. I would do it because they made me feel bad about myself. They hurt me, so in return I had to hurt them. The way you speak can tell people where you grew up and who you grew up with.

            I remember when I was in the sixth grade and two girls that were in my class made fun of the way I pronounced street. We were in the classroom in our reading groups, we all had to read a paragraph out loud. As I was reading they began to laugh, I was confused because they were the only ones laughing.

“What’s so funny? Y’all the only ones laufin!” I said.

“Can you reread that sentence?” one of the girls asked.

“…he kicked my ball across the street.” They laughed again. I didn’t know why until they said that I pronounced street wrong. The way I pronounced it sounded like

“he kicked my ball across the shkreet.” To me it sounded like I pronouncing it like “street” but I wasn’t. It made me so furious, I started cursing them out really loud.

“How you gon’ try and judge me when you look like a silverback monkey? Get yo ‘hairy a** away from me. And you get the f**k away from me wit yo no neck havin’ a**. Go ahead wit yo’self, you dikes.” They were judging me because I say some words with a country accent. I’m not from the country or anything, but my family and I go to South Carolina every summer, so the way they speak clings to my tongue. Like when I say “dog”, I don’t say dog but I say,

“Dhog.” to me it sounds as if I’m saying “dog” but to others it sounds like “dhog”. At home my family doesn’t notice it because they speak just like me. And another thing, I don’t get how they their judging me when they speak nearly the same language as me. They didn’t speak “upper English”, but they spoke slang with “good English”.

            At the time, it seem that I only had a hard time pronouncing str and scr words, and that I sometimes sound country. I never thought that the language that I spoke and speak would be considered as “ghetto English”. Speaking “ghetto English” can tell the person you’re talking to a lot about you. It can tell where you live, who you live with, what type of school you went too, and even your education level. I never paid any attention to the way I talked because everybody around me talked just like me. I thought I was speaking English, but other people knew I was speaking “ghetto English”. The way I talked didn’t begin to bother me until I came to SLA. It was then when I realized that I wasn’t speaking “normal English”.

            In “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” by Glona Anzaldoa, there’s a girl who tells how at home and with her friends she can speak a normal language. A language that they all grew up speaking, but when she’s in school, she must speak another language. “My home tongues are the languages, I speak with my sister, brothers, with friends. From school, he media and job situations, I’ve picked up standard and working class English.” I feel the same way as she does, when I’m at home I don’t have to watch my tongue. I can pronounce things the way I want to pronounce them without being corrected.

            Now that I go to SLA I have been getting correct almost everyday on how to say a sentence right.

“ You doing anythin’ Friday?”

“You mean, ‘Are you doing anything this Friday?’” she corrects me.

“You wanna com’ downtown wit me?”

“Do you want to come with me downtown?” she corrects me again. I used to hate when people corrected me. I used to snap and curse people out when they corrected me. However I don’t do that now, I take what they say and practice my pronunciation. Instead of snapping on them, I practice because I know a lot of people judge you on the way you talk.  I stopped snapping because it was only getting me in trouble and I didn’t want to keep getting suspended because it was only making me look bad. I practice everyday and I’m starting to learn how to speak “normal English” even when I’m with my friends from home. I used to code switch but that takes too much work, I rather speak one language and try to change the way they speak. I know it may not sound right, but I know that if they want a good job they must be able to code switch or speak “good English”.

            The way you speak is a stamp to tell people where you come from, unless you train yourself to speak better then you can fool people. However if you cannot code switch or change the way you speak, you’re labeled so people know everything about you. I’m learning how to change my language so that people would know everything about me. Some people even think that it tells people your education level, I don’t think so because I’m a smart person with a GPA of 3.73. Even though I have a good GPA, the way I talk doesn’t seem like it.  

​ 

No human experiences anything identical to another. We may search the ends of the earth attempting to make my experience your own. It is as if to make you see what I see through my eyes is some unwritten obligation of the human way. Nevertheless, it is impossible. We are too individual as a people. Progression of ones’ self no matter how we try to deny it, is at the forefront of human focus in life. And this so called life is nothing but a collection of decisions made in an allotted time by people who choose to live.

Life day #25185 Events:

• Completed daily morning routine
• Wake
• Fulfill standard hygienic requirements
• Eat breakfast of 1 multi-vitamin tablet, oatmeal topped with rehydrated assorted fruits, and 2 liters of water, and 1 protein supplement.
• Left home and traveled to the university
• Conducted three lectures and lessons on Time Travel 101, Future Time, and Human Time
• Left lecture hall for the Rhoneart’s Sciences Auditorium and accepted the Stielgermier’s Award for Advancement of the Human Race Award
• Returned home and consumed an evening meal and medications intravenously 
• Journal until overcome by sleep

This schedule is my fathers life and he follows it too the letter. When a new event is introduced to the entire schedule it is documented for future research purposes. My father was was a man that lived through his work. As a child I begged for his attention, cried even. I remember at my most desperate moments, I would hold my breath and threaten suicide. Even when I was on the verge of death, his work was his priority.  It was my hope that uniting them change that. I am still hoping. 

Skhi-Lee walked into the doors of her mentor’s office expecting the worse. She was late and knowing his obsession with time, he was bound to scold her. 

“Time, Ms. Smith,” he said as he briefly peered above the pages hiding his face, “ May occur different to you than it does for me. In order for this relationship to work, you must learn to operate on my time. One o’clock means one o’clock. I operate on the time that humans have universally agreed upon. Normal time. One-fifteen is not one o’clock. Your time with me has passed. You are dismissed.”

“Mr. Smith, I”

“ You mean Dr. Smith,” he corrected, “Again, if you are expecting this relationship to be beneficial, things must be done in order.”

“Dr. Smith, my mother is extremely ill and I was on the phone with her doctor in Sacramento. Her kidneys are failing and they are looking at me as a donor. I apologize for being late for our first meeting but you must understand. She is the only...”

“Quite frankly Ms. Smith, Aarina’s health is no longer my concern.”

  “How did you know her...”

“You are dismissed Ms. Smith,” he said sternly

As she walked out of his office she could not help but think that he did not like her. The semester had not even officially started and her mentor and professor already did not like her. Great start to the school year, don’t you think?

“Time, class as you will learn is relative to the human who is experiencing time,” Professor Smith said at the lecture hall podium. “You all  are here because you have demonstrated an accelerated understanding of physics and shown promise,” he continued, “ on your applications that you are the best the world could offer. In this class you will be experimenting with my discovery of high speed time travel. Unfortunately, because I have simply proved its existence, it now becomes time to prove its applications for the human race.”

A student rose his hand. “So basically what you are saying is that we are igors for your scientific endeavors. And hear I was thinking that is would be an honor to learn from Father Time.”

“Your insubordination will not be tolerated in this class!” he said as he slammed the podium with a fist. “If igors are what you would like to consider yourselves, then so be it. I have no time for human emotions. Time is science. Humans have carelessly muddied the waters between science and emotion.”

Skhi-Lee attempted to sneak to her seat.

“A prime example of this is your fellow igor, Skhi-Lee. She again is late to an event where she is to be engaged with me because her mother’s time on Earth is coming to an end. Look at her class. She is in tears. Take Ms. Smith as an example, if you are late or insubordinate in any way you will be dismissed and this opportunity to work alongside the award winning Jarold Smith,” he briefly paused to scan the room of students. “ Ms. Smith this is your last opportunity. If you are late again you will be dismissed from my company.”

As a girl Skhi-Lee was the happiest of people. She was funny to. When ever someone was down or she saw the need for a smile, she would be right there with one of the jokes she found on a popsicle stick. My daughter was the light was the light of my life. 

“One day when I get real big and go to college, I am going to invent a money tree and I will wrap it up and give it to you for Christmas Mommy,” she’d say. “But, only you and me would know I invented it. So, then only us would have money forever and ever.” Money was the least of our problems. When I got sick the light drained from her eyes. She became remote from all things joyous. I wished there was something I could do, but my illness had made me weak and all I could do was try to stay alive. The only thing she seemed to find purpose and remnants of happiness was in her work. She and I used to do mini science experiments. The last one we worked on awarded her the Young Physicists of America award and a full ride Umkington University. UU was all she talked about. I was her dream school and now we didn’t have to worry about student loans and scholarship hunting. She was set. 

In the following weeks of class Skhi-Lee was on time and on point. She lived right under Professor Smith’s wing and for that, other students seemed to resent her. They would often go out to eat.

“Well that was exhausting, come on everyone. How’s Thai sound tonight?” one of the students said.

“I love Thai,” Skhi-Lee said. 

The other students turned to her and sighed. She understood. Her only friend was her work and I was no longer there to cheer her up. My baby was on her own. Life can be a scary place when you have no one. It can change a person, force them to do things that contradict who they are.

“Today we will be transporting small invertebrates with timers,” Prof. Smith announced.

Students immediately went to their assigned stations. Skhi-Lee worked alone.

“You will need to make sure that both the timer at your station and the one being transported transported are started at the same time,” he continued, “You will do this nine time and record all data. I will need all quantitative and qualitative data for my records. I will return in one hour, twelve minutes, and twenty-four seconds. Begin.”

Time travel had become common knowledge to the students, it was the speed at which an  object could travel that would set one students findings apart from another.  Skhi-Lee was the only student who was seeming to show progress. The rate at which her invertebrates were traveling doubled every other trail and her invertebrates were demonstrating less abnormalities. The worked diligently for one hour, eleven minutes, and  twelve seconds. At that time Skhi-Lee’s phone rang. It was the hospital calling about me. The nurse told her to come immediately. They needed to talk about other donor options. Immediately, she broke into tears and darted to the door. By this time, one hour, twelve minutes, and twenty-four seconds had passed and Prof. Smith was walking in. He grabbed her by the arm.

“Where do you think you are going Ms. Smith?”

“The hospital called. I have to go. It’s an emergency.”

“Our time is not finished here. You will stay,” he replied.

“ All you talk about is time!” she nearly shouted. “  Time this and time that. Sir, my mother is very low on time and I am all she has left. Her time is my time and because of that, today my time is finished here.” She walked around him and out the door.

“Your time with me is finished Ms. Smith.”

At the hospital the nurse explained that Skhi-Lee was not match and could not donate her kidney. Without a donor, I had only three days left to live. Time was not on our side. 

“Are you sure that there is no other family?” the nurse asked.

“No,” I replied “The last of my family abandoned me a long time ago.”

“Mom , they died.They didn’t abandon you. It was just their time.
My medications got the best of me. “No Skhi! Yo don’t understand. He turned his back on us. His work was his life not his wife and daughter.” By now i was sitting straight up, my eyes blood shot red. “ He is alive and doesn’t even care that I am on the verge of death!”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“That man is horrible. Every time I hear you on the phone nearly in tears because of him. it brings back the nightmare that was my childhood. I can’t bare it.”

“Who are you talking about. Nurse can you come in here please.”

I was panting like a dog, gasping for air. “Your professor...”

“ Step back ma’am. we are going to have to sedate her. Don’t want her to go into shock,” the nurse said.

“... is your grandfather,” I whispered as I slipped into a medically induced sleep.”

Through her tears, Skhi-Lee some how found her way back to campus. For a day and a half she did nothing but cry. Her body was heavy with the weight of what now lay before her.  Should she ask the callous man that turned his back on his family for science for a kidney to save his daughter’s life, or live not knowing his response, without a mother.

Covered in tears, but dressed as if she were about to be interviewed, she dragged herself to Prof. Smith’s office.

“I can’t believe that in all this time, you knew and still you punished me,” she started.

“I am not sure why you are here Ms. Smith. I dismissed you all of two days ago. Why are you in my company?” He never removed his eyes from the documents before him.

“My mother lies on her death bed and the only one who can save her is you, her father.”

“My daughter has run her course and her time is coming to an end. That is something that I can not avoid. Something I will not avoid.”

“You can not possibly be that heartless she is your daughter! I am begging you.”

“I chose a life, Ms. Smith, that was detached from emotion. That means that I have no family. Those ties were slashed at my discovery of high speed time travel, at my success as a professor, at my superiority in the scientific community. I have no family. You have no grandfather. And my daughter has no father.”

Within an hour of that conversation I was dead. My funeral was brief, Skhi-Lee my only attendee other then the minister. Her life went to a dark place after that. Prof. Smith let her back on is team of igors and she began to excel even beyond her master. But, the dark of my death clouded her mind. She blamed  my father for my death and dreamed in revenge.

He claimed to have removed all human emotion from his life. To him sadness, regret, and true loneliness were irrelevant human creations. To make him feel this things would cripple him. But, how do you make a man with no heart feel? You attack the one thing that he does love. His work. With the research that she was already breaking into, Skhi was already ahead of Prof. Smith’s research. High Speed time travel would soon be a thing of the past.

 

http://dw4.convertfiles.com/files/0029773001326459115/spanish%20bm%202.vob
- This is a clickable link that will download an FLV video of my benchmark :D

Me llamo Alejandro Johnson. También me llamo "Paz" en la cultura de grafiti. Otro de mis nombres está “Stryk”. Soy de Filadelfia y vivo en la sur de la ciudad. Mi obra de arto se llama "El Nuevo Día con la Paz".  En mi comunidad, hay mas que todos de la gente gustan. Está un parque un calle atrás de me casa y también muchos tiendas pequeñas. Mi barrio no tiene la violencia ahora pero en el pasada o, sobre 2007 a 2009, hay mas violencia y asesinatos. El sur de Filadelfia tiene una historia muy rica. La cultura es muy diversa. No es una rica mezcla de las culturas italiana, hispanos y afroamericanos. Solía haber una gran cantidad de asesinatos. Durante un verano, en realidad testigos de un tiroteo. Fue realmente aterrador. Pero ahora mi barrio es mucho más seguro.

 

Mi mural se muestra mis pensamientos a la paz y mi ciudad. Uso mas colores pero uso mas de azul y rojo. Pienso que los colores vibrantes está importante a muestra las imágenes. Uso un robot para decir “Amor, la paz, y la felicidad.” El robot está feliz y uso imágenes para decir la frase. Decidí usar un sol rojo en el fondo para dar la sensación de un Nuevo día. Además, yo incorporó un pájaro para representar a la libertad y la libertad de la paz. Yo uso la palabra “amor”. También yo incluyó un signo de paz entre la z y la a.

           

Para mi, el arte publico está fundamente en la cultura de los barrios. Así lo veo, un barrio sin grafiti está un barrio sin vida. El grafiti está una parte de los barrios y una parte de la corazón de los ciudades. Aunque el grafiti es un crimen, no es justo para criminalizar este. Por lo tanto, es un desperdicio de los recursos y dinero también. Todos los niños disfrutan mucho jugando al aire libre en el sur de Filadelfia. Cuando pueden salir a la calle un arte asombroso ver públicas o graffiti, que se lo agradezco mucho. Creo que es una de las razones por las que el público es tan importante. Entonces, este es desde mi punto de vista y otros personas piensan el opuesto.

“No!!”

Jin shot up in her bed, screaming into the darkness. Once silence overcame the room again, she brought her fist down on her pillow, clenching her teeth. Every night was the same: she woke up screaming, sweat trickled down her forehead, she felt sick to her stomach, and she trembled in fear.

She buried her head in her hands, silently sobbing. ‘The same dream.’ she thought. ‘The same damn dream!’

Out of all the dreams she had for the past weeks, this was the worst. Everything was just so vivid, clear as day. There was maniacal laughter, the glint of a knife, a splash of red, screams, and the unmistakable sound of metal piercing skin again, and again, and again. It was all over in a flash, but it still chilled her to the bone.

            Still groggy, she walked into her bathroom. Tiny motion sensors installed in the doorway activated, filling the room with a warm, yellow light. She was never very tech-savvy, even when technology reached a new high with hover cars, robots, and microchips, but she was extremely grateful for these motion sensors. As twitchy as she’s gotten over the past few weeks, she had trouble handling simple things like a lightswitch.

She looked at her mirror, studying her reflection. She was a mess. Crust was built up in her sunken eyes. Her skin, instead of its usual tan, was a sickly pale. Her black hair was unforgivably frizzy, resembling a giant hairball on her head. Great. She felt sick, and she looked even worse, and how couldn’t she? These days, she was lucky to get three straight hours of sleep before the nightmares came back. They would be the death of her. It was clear: she needed help, and needed it soon.

----

Once morning came around, the nightmare still lingering in her mind, Jin stumbled into her living room. When she did, a robotic voice echoed from her personal P.A system.

“Good morning, Ms. Walker.” it greeted in a robotic, female voice. The blinds slid open, allowing stingingly bright light to pour into the room. Jin shielded her eyes from the offending light, groaning in protest.

“Power off!” she growled. The blinds closed back shut immediately, leaving Jin in her shady home. She let out a reluctant sigh. She didn’t want to use that ‘revolutionary helmet’ that got everyone all giddy, not with the way it worked. Apparently, through some technobabble nonsense, it allowed you to enter your nightmare, sort of like ‘living’ in it. That way, you could find the source of your nightmares, confront it, and overcome it. Why anyone would want to meet their nightmare in person, Jin didn’t know. There were even complaints about physical pains experienced in the dream world being carried over to the real world, though those people didn’t seem to mind too much. Then again, those people probably didn’t have nightmares involving death.

On the other hand, Jin wasn’t going to blow five-thousand credits so some jerk in a nice suit would waste three hours of her time just to tell her to ‘take it easy’. It looked like she didn't have much choice. After all, desperate times.

After retrieving the helmet from her closet, Jin sat down on her living room floor. As much as she didn’t like it, she had to admit, the design was appealing. It was round and sleek in design. Its chrome finish seemed to shine even in the shade of her house. At first glance, it seemed to be a very nice-looking hovercycle helmet, with a visor, padding inside, and a chinstrap. The only real difference was a controller connected to the helmet’s side.

Jin picked up the controller. It was small, rectangular, and black. It had only a switch and a dial, so it seemed simple enough. There was the ‘On’ and ‘Off’ switch, and the dial seemed to be for setting the time.

“Okay. Let’s give it a try.” Jin said, though doubt lingered in her mind. Was this thing really going to help end all of this? Could it? Only one way to find out.

“Now, let’s see…” She picked up the helmet and placed it on her head. The next thing she grabbed was the controller, focusing on the time dial. “Let’s go for a…thirty minute test-run.” She turned the dial until it was pointing at the 30-minute mark. All she had to do now was turn the power on.

“This had better work.” With a deep breath, she slowly flicked the switch to ‘On’.

Immediately, a tingling sensation wrap around her head as the machine hummed to life. The feeling persisted for nearly ten seconds until Jin felt a sudden drowsiness overcome her. Her body became weak, her eyes became near impossible to keep open, and soon enough, she fell back on the floor, eyes shut as she drifted into sleep.

----

            Jin’s eyes snapped open as she shot up from her place on the ground. Her vision was blurry and her head was aching. Did it work? Was she dreaming? Once her vision came back, a quick look around gave her an answer. She was no longer within the confines of her home; she was sitting on the cold, hard driveway of an average, two-story house. As plain as it was, Jin recognized it. It was the home where she grew up. Strangely enough, she couldn’t remember much of her childhood. The only real significant things she could remember were that her mother was ill, and her father, a doctor, was trying to find a cure that always eluded him. Everything else was a blur. But what was she doing here in the first place? What was so important about it?

            Jin was so caught up in thought that she nearly failed to notice something else. Looking around, she found herself surrounded by an impenetrable shroud of fog. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t see a thing, save for the house, as if she was being directed towards it. Not only that, but Jin couldn't hear a thing either. Nothing, not the chirping of birds, or even gusts of wind, like they didn't even exist. The place was just silent, eerily so.

            Jin tried to shake off the worry, telling herself that it was all just a dream. A nightmare, yes, but still a dream. She got up to her feet, looking up at the house.

She heaved a heavy sigh, trying to dispel the hesitation built up inside. "Okay, let's do this."

            She approached the front door. Aside from the surrounding fog, it seemed safe enough. However, when she tried to open it, she found that it was lock. Of course it was.

            “Couldn’t be that easy, could it?” Jin muttered, chuckling to herself.

            “What have you done?”

            With a shocked gasp, Jin whipped around, darting her head side to side, trying to find the source of the whisper. There was nothing around her, no one in sight. Jin knew that it was a man’s voice, a strangely familiar one at that. Even stranger, Jin could’ve sworn that it was right behind her. She couldn’t be that paranoid already, could she?

Jin turned back around, calming her racing heart only to have it speed up again once she saw that the initially locked front door was open. Well, not open, gone, hinges and everything, like it was never even built in. The new entrance lead into darkness, one that Jin would have to brave if she wanted to find the answers for her nightmares.

“It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream.” Jin kept saying, which didn’t help much. With her breath held, she crept into her childhood home, unaware and unprepared for the answers she would find.

As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, Jin could see that she was in the living room. It was rather cozy, if not antique in design. Instead of the fancy holograms and streamlined furnishings she’s grown used to, the decorations seemed to have come from the 21^st century. A nice, red couch sat in front of a fireplace. If Jin wasn’t scared out of her mind, she may have taken a rest.

Jin observed an end table next to the couch, spotting a framed photograph. Picking it up, she saw that it was a photo of her parents before her mother’s illness. It seemed to be a vacation photo, because they were both at the beach, wearing swimsuits. However, Jin noticed that a piece of the photo was missing, torn out. Jin turned the photo over, looking at its back. Despite the darkness, Jin was able to make out ‘Florida ’59’ written in black felt-tip pen.

“2259?” Jin mumbled to herself. “I was five back then.” Then where was she in the photo? For some reason, her place in the picture was torn out, but by who?

She didn’t have much time to think of an answer before she heard something that nearly made her heart stop. In the dead silence, Jin could hear slow, heavy footsteps. They were faint at first, but slowly grew louder, and louder, and louder. Someone, something was approaching her, each step growing louder as they pounded in her mind. Jin flipped into a silent panic; her body was stiff, but her mind was racing a mile a minute. What was she going to do? Could she run? Would it catch her? Where would she go? All the while, those footsteps were getting louder, getting closer, until...they stopped. They stopped behind her. Jin froze up; she didn’t move, didn’t even breath. It took all she had not to shriek as she felt cold, musty breath brush against the back of her neck. She could feel it staring down at her with its cold, dead eyes. This was unbearable! Why wouldn’t it just leave?

Then, for reasons Jin couldn’t describe, maybe stupidity, she found herself slowly turning around, keeping her eyes shut as she did. Only when she was certain that she was facing her stalker did she muster up the courage to open her eyes. She expected to see a ghost, a demon, a man slapping a goat, anything but what she did find: nothing. Again. Even after the fear passed and her heart calmed down, she was still left speechless, confused, and above all, angry. Really angry. Angry that this place was teasing her, toying with her emotions like it was all some sick joke. There was no way in this nightmarish hell that there was nothing the whole time!

Jin clenched her fists, trying and failing to contain the anger bottling up inside. Just when she was about to explode, a door next to her swung open, slamming into the plaster wall. In an instant, all of Jin’s rage left her in a very shocked, not-angry yelp. Once she got a hold of herself, she stared into the darkness of the room beyond. Somehow, it was even darker than the living room, but Jin could hear something coming from it. Whispering? Yeah, it was whispering. Jin couldn’t make it out, but it sounded like something was calling her. That was when it hit her. This place, this dream, was leaving signs and signals for her to follow. They were leading her somewhere, but to what? Jin just had to decide whether or not she wanted to find out.

She didn’t have much time to come to a decision. A sudden sense of drowsiness came over her, making her brain numb. Her legs became jelly, her eyes became heavy, and her whole body in general just grew weak. It didn’t take very long before Jin collapsed, unconscious before she even hit the ground.

Her thirty minutes were up.

Introduction:

Ask: ¡Hola! Mucho gusto.

Me: ¡Hola! Igualmente.

Ask: ¿Como se llama?

Me: Mi nombre es Bartolo Rinaldi. Yo tengo treinta y cinco años. Soy de Filadelfia pero vivo en San Francisco, CA.

Ask: ¿Dónde asististé a universidad?

Me: Para universidad, yo asistí a Baruch College en New York. Yo matriculé por la maestria. Yo me gradué en el año dos mil.

Ask: ¿Dónde trabajaste?

Me: Yo trabajé para Filadelfia Metro como periodista de los años dos mil uno hasta el año dos mil tres. Yo trabajé para New York Times como escritor de los años dos mil tres hasta el año dos mil cuatro. Yo trabajé para IGN Entertainment como el diseñador del sito de internet de los años dos mil cuatro hasta el año dos mil seis. Recientemente, yo trabajé Gamepro como la periodista de los años dos mil seis hasta el año dos mil diez.

 

Questions:

Ask: ¿Que te especializaste en la universidad? (What did you major in college?)

Me: En universidad, yo especializarse en periodismo y escritura.

Ask: ¿Cuanto tiempo tiene interesada en escritura? (How long have you been interested in writing?)

Me: Desde yo en escuela. Yo supe me encanta escritura.

Ask: ¿Tiene usted experiencia en entrevista? (Do you have experience in interviewing?)

Me: Si, yo entrevista muchos personas por mi trabajo en IGN Entertainment y GamePro.

Ask: ¿Una palabra que mejor te describe? (What one word best describes you?)

Me: Una palabra que mejor describe mi es: Dedicado.

Ask: ¿Por qué tu eliges nuestra compania? (Why did you choose our company?)

Me: Yo queré trabajo aquí desde yo pequeña. Tu compania es muy diferente.

Ask: ¿Que puede aportar a nuestra compania? (What can you contribute to our company?)

Me: Yo voy a aportar mis habilidades de escritura y el periodismo. Yo voy a aportar mi habilidad de diseño también para tu sitio de internet. Mi habilidad en entrevista va a ayudo por la trabajo.

Ask: ¿Que tu penses nuestra magazine? (What do you think of our magazine)

Me: ¡Me encanta tu magazine! Leí todos los magazine. Yo obteno mi inspiracíon de magazine.

End: 

Ask: ¡Bueno!

Me: ¡Gracias, mucho gusto!

Ask: Igualmente. ¡Adios!

Video:

"How is he, Dr. is he ready?"

"Yes, the chip has just been activated. Everything is in place and working Sir."

"Marvelous, now I just need to take him to the Commander. (Snaps twice) Guards please escort Alex to Commander Mitchell's Space Room. "

Something was different about me. My hair was fine. There was nothing in my teeth. There were no wrinkles in my clothes. I couldn't quite put finger on it but I know something was up. Where am I even at? I had never seen this place ever in my life. The room's walls were covered in outer space wallpaper. The floor carpet was jet black. The weirdest thing in the room was the desk that was shaped and painted yellow like the sun. Whoever room this was must have an extreme obsession with space. Walked in was a tall slim male saying, "I am not obsessed, I just think outer space cool." How did he hear me? I didn't say it out loud. Can he read minds? If so, that is incredibly cool. He laughed saying, "No I do not read minds that would be cool though if I actually could. But let's focus, I will explain everything in a moment. Do you know who I am, Alex?

“No, but should I?”

“I am Commander Mitchell of the Human Fleet Assembly. The reason you are here is because we need your help with destroying the Martians for good. The reason we chose you is because you’re different. You may not know this but you were developed in a lab. Dr. Sylvia, your creator, actually used you to test her new instantaneous thinking chip. You were the only survivor that is why you are so valuable. You are the weapon to defeating the Martians.”

Wow, so that explains how he heard what I was thinking and replied so fast. I not sure on how I feel about everyone relying on me to defeat the Martians. I am just a kid. That is a big responsibility. Wait, if I am capable of thinking instantaneously then Commander Mitchell just heard everything. Way to go Alex. “Sorry, Commander this is all new to me.”

“Alex don’t beat yourself up about it. I understand this a lot to take in. As you said your just a kid, and I making it my mission to get you fully prepared for the Martians. So don’t worry. Just remember what you think the whole planet will know, so watch what you say buddy!” he said with a funny giggle.

Commander Mitchell was serious when he said he wont stop until I was fully prepared to fight. We have been training together for six weeks now. I learned so much since then. He taught me everything from mathematics to army techniques and even literature. We played the game Battleship everyday also. I never quite understood why. He simply answered saying “it will come in handy some day, you’ll see.”

Although I felt mentally powerful, I felt the physical features were not present as much. So it was to the gym I went. After 3 weeks of non-stop exercising I became extremely fit and muscular. Now I was definitely mentally and physically strong and ready to fight. I just needed the thumbs up from the Commander.

“Now Alex if you pass this test, with out a doubt you would have proved to me that you’re ready.” Rumor has it that no one has even been close to passing Commander Mitchell’s special test. I also heard that this is the hardest test known to man. Hearing those rumors did not scare me at all. My confidence was high as ever. I was ready.

After the long seven-hour test, I was thrilled to hear that I pass the test with flying colors. I soon became Commander Mitchell’s prodigy. I was given the title Chief Adam Za. I was also the youngest member added to the Human Fleet Assembly.

There was still unfinished business with the Martians. The fight was still on and serious as ever. They invaded our land and killed many and we did exactly the same to them. It was uncertain to say the winner just yet of the battles. We were similar in so many ways it was hard to understand why we hate each other so much. The last fight was the “Battle of the Seas”, whoever won the fight was in control of everyone and everything. This meant the opposing opponent would have to surrender.

The Martians were absolutely ruthless. They threw cannon after cannon at our naval ships. The smallest boat of ours was hit, killing 1,000. That was it. I was fed up and needed a plan as soon as possible. That’s when it hit me, Battleship! I can use my skills to find the exact latitude and longitude of the Martians ships and eliminated them.  

“G9 Go! Shoot it!” I screamed to the men regulating the ammunition.  A minute later, on of the Martian ship blew up into a million pieces. Commander Mitchell was right about the game battleship being useful. With the biggest grin on my face I began shouting out all the coordinates of their ships. “B7, A1, E3, C2, D4 & F6 Let’s go, fire them up!” After the last missile was launched, each Martian ship was taken down. Every one on the boat screamed with joy. We did it. We won. We defeated the Martians.

Once we sailed back to land we quickly celebrated our victory. Commander Mitchell patted me on the back and said, “Great work Alex. I told you could do it. I am also glad I got to watch you do it. You turned from a fifteen year old kid to a young warrior. I am so proud of you!”

 I was extremely proud of myself also. I was the fifteen year old that was the brains of an operation that defeated the powerful Martians. This was an experience I’ll never forget.

"Don’t let your age prevent your from doing something amazing." – The Great Alex Za 

Me llamo Dylan Long, y soy un estudiante del primer año en SLA. Yo vivo en un barrio fantástico. Se llama “Bella Vista”, que significa “Vista hermosa” en Italiano. Bella Vista esta ubicádo en el Sur de Filadelfia. Uno de los murales más famosos de mi comunidad está en el centro del Mercado Italiano. El mural es una autorretrato del ex-alcalde de Filadelfia, Frank Rizzo. Mi comunidád no solo tenemos murales en el Mercado Italiano. Tenemos un festivál anuál, “el Festival del Mercado Italiano”. Hay apenas crimen y delito en mi comunidad, y eso significa que no hay casi ninguna marca en la mayoría de los murales. Sería peor para los murales si teníamos mas delitos en el comunidad.

Mi murál representa el tema de siguiendo tus sueños, y que nunca deberías para de intentar a lograr esos sueños. Soy de acuerdo con esa mensaje. Para mí, hacer eso es tocar mis instrumentos consistentemente (los tambores, bass, y guitarra). El propósito de tocar musica es cuando yo no puedo expresar mis emociones, puedo expresarles con la musica. Hacer eso es ser enamorado con tocar mis instrumentos, y ser feliz y energetico cuando soy tocando en conciertos. Para mí, mis instrumentos tienen una significancia enórme en mi vida. Yo usé colores diferentes, porque un solo colór puede ser muy aburrido. Usé letras de tamaños, diseñosm y colores diferentes, porque como lo veo yo, si todo es lo mismo, no es muy interesante. La tema de mi murál es usar ejemplos de mi interés y vida con musica para mandar una mensáje a otros. Esta mensaje es que sí, va a ser deficil, pero si tu sigues tus sueños, vas a tener una vida muy feliz. Yo escogé el ubicación del mural porque es solo unos metros de mi casa, y es un pared desnudo.

El papel del arte público es para personas que quieren expresarse con arte, pero quieren que todos vean su arte. Pienso que los leyes que estan en su lugar ahora son buenos, útiles, y deben quedar como son. Como yo lo entiendo, muralistas deberían solo poder pintar murales si tienen permiso. Si pintan un mural sin permiso, deben ser castigados. Pienso que voy a hacer un buen trabajo con hacer esto con mi mural. Mi mural es arte expresivo. tyEs imagenes y una mensaje, y esto puede ser considerado arte. Pienso que mi pedazo manda un mensaje muy bueno, y es muy artistica. Soy orgulloso de mi murál, y no podría pedir para nada mas.