Monday, June 2 Snacks: Jerry Ohrt	Tuesday, June 3 Snacks: WiP#0: Bud Hunt	Wednesday, June 4 Snacks: WiP#1: WiP#2:	Thursday, June 5 Snacks: WiP#3: WiP#4:
8:45-9:00: Snacks 9:00-9:30: Welcome/Getting to Know You - Two Truths/One Lie/Overview of Schedule 9:30-10:15: "Blogging together" - Bud 10:15-10:30: Norms around Feedback  10:30-10:45: BREAK 10:45-11:45: "Our other tools"– Bud 12:00-1:00pm - Lunch on your own 1:00pm - 2:50pm - Work time   2:50-3:00: Blogging Out of the Day	8:45-9:05: Snacks & Lies 9:05-9:15: Blogging into the Day 9:15-9:45: Book Club Expectations/Norms   9:45-10:30: Book Club #1  10:30-10:45: BREAK 10:45-11:00: OLC Exploration 11:15-11:40: Technology Focus - Online Learning Communities   11:40-12:00pm: Work in Progress #0 12:00-1:00pm - Lunch on your own 1:00pm - 2:50pm - Work time   2:50-3:00: Blogging Out of the Day	8:45-9:05: Snacks & Lies 9:05-9:15: Blogging into the Day 9:15-10:30: Technology Focus - Essential Tools (Appendix A) 10:30-10:40: BREAK 10:40-11:00: Technology Focus - Del.icio.us 11:00-11:20: Work in Progress #1 11:20-11:30: Feedback WiP1 11:30-11:50: Work in Progress #2 11:50-12:00pm: Feedback WiP2 12:00-1:00pm - Lunch on your own 1:00pm - 2:50pm - Work time   2:50-3:00: Blogging Out of the Day	8:45-9:05: Snacks & Lies 9:05-9:15: Blogging into the Day 9:15-10:30: Book Club #2 10:30-10:40: BREAK 10:40-11:00: Follow up from BC#2 11:00-11:20: Work in Progress #3 11:20-11:30: Feedback WiP3 11:30-11:50: Work in Progress #4 11:50-12:00pm: Feedback WiP4 12:00-1:00pm - Lunch on your own 1:00pm - 2:50pm - Work time   2:50-3:00: Blogging Out of the Day

What do you think of me?

Of how I write, of all the words I’ve shared with you

So trapped among your thoughts and grades of papers

Turn the page, does it reveal lifes answers?

As you sit and jot what ever it may be

Silence, cough, gone unnoticed, or so you thought

Stillness, then you walk

To fidget among so many scattered items

Back turned and all the secrets your eyes reveal are gone

Fabric rustles , a story created in the folds of your cardigan

Heavy strides for such a tiny person

Traveling with so much purpose over inches of time worn carpet

Explain, so confused, you reach and receive an image

One so full of questions

What do you see?

Is it all the ideas of a teacher you think I miss?

The hidden messages your voice carries as you speak

A whisper, an ear shattering cry

Slipped between the young tone you use

These things you thought I’d never hear

As you stand being dissected by my eyes

How does one describe you?

"I'm okay," she lies

"I'll be fine," she cries

but theres something in her eyes

an emptiness that never seems to leave

 

"it's just a scratch, I swaer."

"The bruises? Fell off a chair."

but there's something in her stare

the way she looks right through you

 

"I love life," she pretends

"I ran into a door," she defends

but that tortured look never mends

it always shines with the gloss of tears

 

"I wont give up," she whispers

"It doesn't hurt," she whimpers

but theres something in those eyes of hers

filled with so many secrets she tries to hide

 

Her arms were sliced clean through

She'd never know how to love you

there had always been something in that icy blue

but its taken her away

Unopened letters from a California jail

From a sister sitting in a cell

Praying to the God she curses

Begging her blessed mother to save her still

But not if salvation means getting clean

Not if redemption doesn’t include a fix

 

Unanswered phones in a Colorado room

For a sister who knows who’s on the other line

Hoping she wont hear the crackled machine voice

The rants on a message she can’t bring herself to play

She’s only trying to forget a past

Trying to forget an addiction still flowing through her veins

 

Unheard tears from a California jail.

From a sister who can’t admit she’s wrong

Seeking out the mercy she doesn’t deserve

Reaching out for the hands she has burned

Only to turn around and kill herself again

Just to turn around and kill those she “loves”

 

Unrecognized hate in a Colorado room

For the sister that left her like she did

Believing only in the pain she has faced

Counting and recounting the scars etched apon her arms

Waiting for her lies to come crashing down

Only waiting for the return of a sister as good as dead

 

Untrue words from a California jail

From a sister who blames everyone but herself

Screaming at the world for all her faults

Denying all the wrong she has done

Shes just a junkie, just a whore

Just another addict who refuses to change

 

Unseen guilt in a Colorado room

Filling a sister whos abandoned another

Crying out in the silence of her own self-made prison

Despiseing the heartless reflection stareing back at her

She'll never forgive herself for all that shes done

She'll never forgive the sister who turned her on

 

The story of Helen Keller is the story of a normal child who, at the age of 18 months, was suddenly shut off from the world but, against overwhelming odds, waged a slow, hard but successful battle to re-enter that same world. The child grew into a highly intelligent and sensitive woman who wrote, spoke and labored incessantly for the betterment of others.

Helen was born in Tuscumbia, Alabama on June 27, 1880. However, her real life began one day in March of 1887, when she was almost seven years old. She was always to call that the most important day I can remember in my life. It was the day when Annie Sullivan, a 20-year-old graduate of the Perkins School for the Blind, came to be her teacher. They were inseparable until Annie’s death in 1936.

Even as a little girl Helen expressed a desire to go to college. In 1900, she entered Radcliffe College and graduated from there cum laude in 1904. She thus became the first deaf-blind person to graduate from college. Throughout these years, Annie Sullivan laboriously spelled books and lectures into her pupil's hand.

While still at Radcliffe, Helen Keller began the writing career, which was to continue for 50 years. In addition to The Story of My Life, she wrote 11 other books and numerous articles on blindness, deafness, social issues and women's rights.

Despite the broad range of her interests, Helen Keller never lost sight of the needs of others who were blind and deaf-blind. She was a personal friend of Dr. Peter J. Salmon, Executive Director of Helen Keller Services for the Blind (then known as the Industrial Home for the Blind) and lent her support to the establishment of what has become known as the Helen Keller National Center for the Deaf-Blind Youths and Adults. She was a visitor to a number of facilities and programs operated by IHB.

In 1936, Helen Keller moved to Westport, Connecticut, where she lived until her death on June 1, 1968, at the age of 87. In his eulogy at her funeral, Senator Lister Hill said of her, "She will live on, one of the few, immortal names not born to die. Her spirit will endure as long as man can read and stories can be told of the woman who showed the world there are no boundaries to courage and faith."elen Keller is the story of a normal child who, at the age of 18 months, was suddenly shut off from the world but, against overwhelming odds, waged a slow, hard but successful battle to re-enter that same world. The child grew into a highly intelligent and sensitive woman who wrote, spoke and labored incessantly for the betterment of others.

Helen was born in Tuscumbia, Alabama on June 27, 1880. However, her real life began one day in March of 1887, when she was almost seven years old. She was always to call that the most important day I can remember in my life. It was the day when Annie Sullivan, a 20-year-old graduate of the Perkins School for the Blind, came to be her teacher. They were inseparable until Annie’s death in 1936.

Even as a little girl Helen expressed a desire to go to college. In 1900, she entered Radcliffe College and graduated from there cum laude in 1904. She thus became the first deaf-blind person to graduate from college. Throughout these years, Annie Sullivan laboriously spelled books and lectures into her pupil's hand.

While still at Radcliffe, Helen Keller began the writing career, which was to continue for 50 years. In addition to The Story of My Life, she wrote 11 other books and numerous articles on blindness, deafness, social issues and women's rights.

Despite the broad range of her interests, Helen Keller never lost sight of the needs of others who were blind and deaf-blind. She was a personal friend of Dr. Peter J. Salmon, Executive Director of Helen Keller Services for the Blind (then known as the Industrial Home for the Blind) and lent her support to the establishment of what has become known as the Helen Keller National Center for the Deaf-Blind Youths and Adults. She was a visitor to a number of facilities and programs operated by IHB.

In 1936, Helen Keller moved to Westport, Connecticut, where she lived until her death on June 1, 1968, at the age of 87. In his eulogy at her funeral, Senator Lister Hill said of her, "She will live on, one of the few, immortal names not born to die. Her spirit will endure as long as man can read and stories can be told of the woman who showed the world there are no boundaries to courage and faith."

I think Helen Keller is a very good leader, considering the fact that for 18 yrs she could see and hear and then getting sick took that way from her and she was still able to learn to read and write. Because of her and the woman that taught her to have faith in life again, there has been many foundations formed for the blind and hearing impaired. 

  The "Tank Man" was a man but some say he was a teenager that was shopping becuase some say that he was carring shopping bag sin his hand.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tank_man

  I really didn' find that much about the "Tank Man" all that I found was he was a man or a teen that stood for what he thought was right but I'm going to search some more on the internet and ask Farly

 

the book that I'm reading in teh morning is The Clockwork Orange by, Anthony Burgess. The book is about a tennager who's name is Alex who has a group of friends that go around and beat up people and rape people helpless becuase Alexs group would help out with the rape like one one would hold the victim dowen while the rest of his friends would take turns. They woould beat up people just random and beat them like if they had no feeling at all. Alex and his friends are not all there they have some thing wrong with their head like mentally challenged. I like the book becuase how the book is writing. The book is writing like if you were in the character mind and you could almost feel what he is feeling like the rage in himand the sadness in him. The book was challenging for me to read and that'sm the other thing i liked about the book. I recommend this book to any one who is looking for a book that challenes you.

(Original Image teaken by Sysy 81)     

            Jesus

Aug, 29 2006

 My scary successful story 

I was never successful on writing in my life because English was a second language for me until I got into seventh grade. That’s where every thing changed how I wrote. 

            Beep Beep Beep the most annoying device ever created goes off. I hit the snooze button to get a break from the real world and go back to my dreams. I close my weary eyes it felt like I was sleeping for at lest five minutes. I turn my head to get a glimpse of the annoying device. It was not five minutes it was thirty minutes. I only had ten minutes to get ready. My hair was full of gel from the day before and saliva around my mouth. I rush to the restroom and right to the bathtub to get the filth off from the day before. I turn the facet on- don’t care how the water felt cold or hot. The cold water falls on my head like a water fall water so crystal clear. The coldness of the water a weakness every nerve cell under the skin of my face. The water feels like a big slap on my face to wake my weary soul. I rush back to my room.

 I got to class just in time. My teacher Mr. C, which is one of the best teachers I ever had, he was calling out attendance. Just when I walked in class, he called my name.

            I said, “Here,” with all the energy I still had in me

            I walked and sat next to my friend Leo. Mr. C walked to the front of the room.

            He said, “I have good news for all of you since Halloween is just a week away. The whole seventh grade class is going to have a writing contest .The contest is going to be about who could write the scariest story and there will be ten winners and the winners are going to the cemetery and read their stories out loud and to each other and go to a nearby restaurant which was a cool Mexican restaurant.”

            Every one was getting excited so was I. A lot of ideas were popping in my head. Story on ghosts, zombies, scary kids, and other things. We had the rest of the week to think and write our scary stories. I was thinking and thinking until a story came to mind then ha ha. I’m going to write about a school getting attacked by zombies. I was writing every thing that was coming to my mind. I had a paper full of ideas.

I looked around to see what my competition were doing every one were so focused on winning the prize. It was like a group of kids working in a factory focused on getting paid to fed there family and my teacher being like a supervisor looking over every one I turned to my friend to see what he’s going to write about but he wouldn’t anything. He so wanted to win the prize that friendship was a blur. I made my friend Leo my number one cumpation so I ignored every one who was determined to win the prize.

I wrote a little in every class that I had that day. When I got home I started to write non stop two days passed. I was finally done. I didn’t know what was going to happen because I never had a good writing experience I tried so hard to do my best but it was never enough. I finally turned in my story. Days started to pass by they felt like forever. Then BING the day came to announce the winners.

The entire seventh grade gathered in the auditorium. Every one was sitting on their chairs so anxious to find out who were the winners. You could almost hear their heart betting. My class sat in the back row. My heart was pounding so hard it was almost ready to pop out of my chest. One of the teachers went to the front to announce the winners. She had an envelope in her hand.

The envelope that every one wanted their name  in. Some of the students were doing the drum roll. She started to announce the winners the first went up and then the second until she got to the fifth one she announced my friends name he was so excited so was I for him. He started to walk to the front. Every one was clapping for him. I was a little jealous after all his was my number one competition. The teacher started to call out the rest of the names and finally the tenth winner was called out. I heard my name called out. Time stood still in my world everything was in slow motion I was excited I didn’t know what to do or say.

I never felt like this for writing. Writing was like a chore for me something I had to do when I was told.

Now that you read the point in my life that I did something successful to do with writing, you can see that writing is not an obstacle for me. Ever since that experience I looked at writing so different. Writers want the whole world to see their masterpiece. The words are the color and your paper is your canvas and your pencil is your brush and your pallet of colors is your mind filled with words just waiting to be mixed. The words are rushing to your finger tips and rush to the tip of your pencil. With all your tools at your finger tips make your masterpiece.

(Original image taken byTuula)

 

For me I think writing is always a learning experience, I have never been a fan of writing, though coming to this class with Bud, I have found that it’s not so hard. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t like it but it’s easier for me to write a paper. I have always wanted to be a good writer, but it’s not something that everyone can be good at. I always try to write my best but find that I am always fixing my writing. Aren’t you allowed to make mistakes? I do all the time. Writing is something that I chose not to make a hobby, I rather read a book and talk about it then write a paper. I have never really liked writing; It doesn’t appeal to me to sit down and write about a person or my life story. I love to read about people and the things that they say and the stories that they tell. I don’t like writing. I will still always make sure that when I do write that my papers are always “Perfect” to me and its always my best work.             I started writing when I was in the fifth grade. My school was doing a contest for opera tickets and I wanted them so bad. We were to write an essay on any topic of our liking and I chose to write about why I want the tickets. I wrote about 2 ½ pages about why I thought I should have them. I told them about how much I have always wanted to go to a musical, how I would love to take my Grandma to it because she loved the Phantom of the Opera. I also explained how I have never wrote anything like this before and I am glad that I get to try something new. It was the role of the dice. The moment of truth. Would I win? Heck yeah I won the tickets, out of the whole fifth grade (Which I was very proud of myself for) and all the good papers that were written by the students. I felt like a superhero saving the day. I wasn’t happy that I beat all the kids (I was at first). I was happy that my writing was the best and everyone got a chance to see it. My teachers, family, and friends were very proud of me. I think I was most proud that I told myself that I couldn’t do it and I did so well that I won.             I have been writing since then, I really started respecting writing when I joined Writing and Comp;I have been in my Film and Comp classes a lot and with his Writing and Comp class, I think just being in there is an experience for me. I learned how to write an essay, as well as many kinds of papers. It’s hard for me to write them. For example, I was watching a movie called Gattaca and we were assigned to write an essay about how we think he is a hero and if any how religion tied into the movie. I wrote my essay and let me tell you, it sucked. I wrote a rough draft and a final, I even revised it and thought I did so well that when I got my paper back I got the lowest grade possible. I had a hard time with the grade I got because I like doing things right and good and I thought I did really well and I didn’t. Another reason is because I worked so hard on my paper that it made me feel like I failed and did a horrible job. I was never mad at my teachers for giving the grade that they did and was never mad at the reason for it either because my teacher sat down with me and gave me idea’s for my paper and helped me out with some of the hard spots, like how to put a sentence together, grammar, things that didn’t need to be in there. I went back and wrote my paper the best that I could and I received a high B for it. I was so proud at myself for writing a good paper and getting a very good grade for it.             From fifth grade to high school, I have come a long way with writing and liking it. Fifth grade I would write because I had to of course, but it was easier for me because it was very basic, easy, sometimes it was fun. Going through school and coming up to now I really didn’t like it, it was very hard for me and I would give up. I have always had trouble writing anything. I never thought I could use my brain hard enough to have confidence to write really well. I fell in love with books and decided that I am a reader and good listener then a writer and loud speaker.(For speeches).   I came here for high school, and to my surprise I had to write a paper almost everyday. I would struggle so much to get the right and perfect paper and every time I would always have to change and re-write and fix. I think the big lesson for me was I learned to rough draft and plan my papers. I learned to word my sentences better and know how to put paragraphs together. I learned how to write for myself and learned that I can always make it a positive thing to do, like when I am having a rough day and am upset with a person I can write my feeling in a journal and keep my secrets all to myself. I can write a really good reader’s response paper. Plus what I have to write about isn’t boring and I enjoy the topics that I am given to write about. I learned not to be bored with writing.  Good writing doesn’t mean that you only do it when you are going to win something or get something but because you get the feeling of accomplishment and success. I will always be proud of the papers that I write. I have learned that good writing isn’t just the paper that you write to turn in for a grade but it can also be the paper of a  letter that you write to your friends, family, the card you send to somebody, the art that you draw onto paper. I never really respected writing to tell the truth but I started when I came to OldeColumbineHigh School.  Writing is an adventure for a lot of people. Most doubt themselves but I do try to do my best. I might not always get the best grade, but I always get an “A” for effort and just trying makes my feel good about my writing. Now I love to write, letters, stories, in a journal, and anywhere that I can. Love writing because you can always have fun and learn from it

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