Revisions and Decisions

Deciding which paper I should do my revision on isn’t quite as easy as it would seem. On the plus side, I received relatively high grades on all of my last three papers. On the down side, I received the exact same grade on all of my last three papers. That being said, I can’t choose the paper to revise based on how it’ll affect my grade. But I guess that’s actually a good thing; English as a course is primarily for developing a good writing style and actually learning something with the grade only as a secondary aspect. I forget that at times. But with the motive of boosting my grade the most off the table, it’s a pretty difficult decision to pick between my last three papers based on passion and content. My second paper regarding the term ‘gay’ was largely an experiment with an unfamiliar topic and unfamiliar structure that I think turned out pretty well. I’m usually not one of those people that have too much luck with try something new so it would be fun to revise and improve on a paper in which I did succeed at delving into the unknown. That being said however, my analysis paper on It’s Kind of a Funny Story revolved around a topic that I also didn’t know much about beforehand, but now fascinates me: adolescent depression. But I think most of all, I would like a second shot at writing on a topic that I’m truly passionate about. My argumentative paper on the WTO provided for some good arguing points but definitely has a lot of room for improvement. That being said, I will most likely revise paper 4, and keep in mind papers 2 and 3 when considering if I want to do an optional revision on a second paper.

Thanksgiving!

This is my late-blog

Having spent most of his life in China and Great Britain and only the last few years in the United States, my father hasn’t quite gotten the grasp of a normal Thanksgiving, especially the food. Each year, it seems as if the menu becomes an increasingly grotesque hybrid of Oriental flavors and American traditions. This year was no different. Abreast the dining table there laid stir-fried shrimp served next to the mashed potatoes, a sticky rice stuffing, and lastly, sliced turkey breast stewed in Asian spices that served as the centerpiece of our multiracial meal. However, although the thought of not having a golden, oven-baked turkey to drool over on Thanksgiving Day may seem almost sacrilege to some, I was delighted by the food laid out in front of me. I have to hand it to my father, the man sure can cook! But even though my dad may not know what turkey basting is or even know who the pilgrims were, his lack of knowledge of what a ‘normal Thanksgiving’ is doesn’t detract from the quality time that my father and I shared this past break. Sitting around our small dining table in our suburban home, we enjoyed a delicious meal as a loving family. And even though our numbers only accounted for the two of us, we were able to reflect upon our relationship and be truly thankful for it, even if we didn’t explicitly say so. So in that sense, I would count my Thanksgiving experience this year as nothing but a success, no matter how unconventional it was. Because when it comes down to it, I don’t care how much you crave for turkey, gravy, and pumpkin pie, Thanksgiving is about family. And looking upon the relationship between me and my father, I have yet to witness a stronger one. 

Terms of Argument - The WTO

In the terms of the World Trade Organization and global economic equality, I would argue that the WTO is a critical factor in propagating global economic equality. Global economic equality entails spurring the economic growth of less-developed and developing countries and I plan to start there with my argument. The WTO’s recognition of weak states has led to agreements that allow weaker states to be competitive in a global market that otherwise would be dominated by the economic super-powers. These agreements include tariff reduction, domestic subsidy reduction, and export subsidy reduction. The benefit that weak countries have received from these agreements can be evidenced in both economic studies as well as basic tracking of GDP growth in those countries. Furthermore, we can look towards how the WTO is structured as a representation of global economic equality. The WTO is practically a forum space in which all member-states can hash out their agendas with equal voice. This equality is in turn evidenced by the fact that all decisions conducted by the WTO must be unanimously agreed on, essentially giving even the weakest of countries veto power. Another structural pillar of the WTO is the Principles of Equality. The Principles of Equality are composed of the principle of non-discrimination which provides for an equal playing field by setting rules in which countries must treat domestic and foreign goods equally (national treatment rule) and must not discriminate between foreign goods(most-favored-nation rule). Additionally, these rules are applied to all members be they big or small. The second principle, the principle of consensus decision-making, provides equal right and equal vote to each member-state.  If we were to look at a broader picture, we would also find that the WTO is the only entity in the world that accommodates such a vast number of such different and diverse states. No other international organization has the capabilities or the motivation to propel global economic equality in such a way. 

Potential Argument Topic - Decreasing the Global Income Cap

In the United States, there is a lot of unrest revolving around the topic of income inequality. The lower and middle classes argue that the '1%' are excessively wealthy and the rich see little reason why they should denounce their wealth. Granted, income inequality in the United States is a topic that deserves serious levels of economic attention, but I can't help but think that the topic of income inequality is a bit of a microcosm. The ones arguing against the super-rich are perhaps making only minimum wage but their argument encounters complications if they were in turn compared to the Filipino children working for eighty cents an hour. If we care so much about income inequality throughout the US, why not the world? Countries like Zimbabwe are fathoms behind countries like the US when it comes to income-generating ability and economic growth. As economic power continues to be a backbone of a nation's stability, we can ill-afford as people of the world to let smaller, less-developed countries be 'steamrolled' by economic giants. How? The answer lies in the World Trade Organization.

Established in 1995, the World Trade Organization has been the international force behind a liberalized international trading system that intends to build unprecedented global economic growth through the elimination of barriers to trade. The WTO’s mission, as they would put it themselves, is to be ‘the international organization whose primary purpose is to open trade for the benefit of all.’ In advocating for such a level playing field, the WTO provides a forum for negotiation and a collective body to oversee implementation of passed agreements. Through this forum space, even smaller countries are given the tools needed to not only be their own boss but to have a significant hand in world trade affairs. Whether it be the Principles of Equality that the WTO applies to all member-states or the essential veto power that each member-state has, the WTO does well to provide increased economic equality to all, thus decreasing the 'global income gap'.

English 125 - Quote in the Third Person

He could hear it in the frantic scuttle of nurses' feet. He could smell it in the way-too-clean hospital stench that drove up his nostrils. He could feel it in the faint beeping of the heart rate monitor that constantly mocked him with irregularities. Today would be the last. And as his mother lay deteriorating before his eyes, Kyle knew there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to take his mind of the cancerous cells ravaging his mother's liver and brain but no amount of Game Boy or twiddling his thumbs would allow him to escape fate. And as the night drew on and tears flooded his eyes, a cloaked figure glided through the hall and accompanied him at the bedside. Laying down his scythe on the table and removing his hood, Death took a few moments to sympathize alongside him before looking at him through eyes not of malice but of sorrow. At that moment, it was as if Death channeled the stoic voice of Marcus Aurelius and whispered, "It was for the best, so Nature had no choice but to do it."  Matching Death’s gaze with drenched eyes of his own, Kyle finally gave a little nod, the subtlest of commands. On cue, Death gathered up his belongings and strode out the way he came in; taking with him the last drops of life Kyle’s mother had left. And with that, no longer was Kyle mocked at sixty beats a minute. Flat-line had put him out of his misery.

That day, Kyle peered into Death's sad eyes, witnessing a sense of pain that was a match for none other than his own. And knowing that his mother's passing was as excruciating for Death as it was for him gave Kyle a sense of peace. Kyle no longer struggled or wanted to challenge Death to a Battle Royale for his mother's last moments but instead graciously passed her on to a being that could care for her better. Perhaps Death was to be pitied. Death killed not for pleasure but for necessity, so that Nature could run its course. And as Kyle saw that Death too was a slave of fate, Kyle laid down his arms and accepted what was to happen. 

English 125 - Reverse Chronology

As our eyes glossed over with the tears of defeat, we solemnly raised our white flag. The clatter of rifles falling to the ground harmonized by the hollow tones of bitter surrender rang through the piercing sound of gunshots and cannon fire. Our beloved leader could guide us no longer.  The image of his mortal body returning to Mother Nature’s earthly grips was complemented only by his soul gracefully drifting upward towards the heavens. As the shrapnel tore and gnashed its way through General Cunningham’s crimson-stained chest, the spark of adventure fleeted from his eyes to be replaced by the most stoic of stares. Guided by divine intervention, a single shell landed mere feet from the head of our command. Like always, the Gods of War had been unjust. With cannon fire blazing through the murky skies and brothers-in-arms from both sides toppling like pins in a bowling alley, the Gods of War suddenly finally decided that they were bored. For hours, good men from both sides charged the frontlines, praying for salvation with every tap of the trigger. The instant cacophony of violence and bloodshed shredded the tranquility that preceded it. This was our last stand. Shrouded by dark cloak of the night, we readied our rifles, locked our bayonets, and struck first. We knew we could defend no longer. Ammunition had dwindled to critical levels and starvation threatened to bring about feral cannibalism. We had stood our ground in the bloodbath of stalemate, fueled by the desperate desire to preserve our own lives. Like fireflies, cigarette tips flared up all around me as my fellow men tried to get their last tastes of tobacco bliss. We were down to our final stronghold.

English 125 - Guilty Pleasure

­­­­The euphemism I would use to describe my guilty pleasure would be ‘caring for my babies’. And although at the surface you may not see this as a guilty pleasure at all but rather good parenting, the perspective changes when you realize that my babies are my shoes. Each pair a different shade of flaming red, my shoes are cared for by me with the same meticulous dedication that a father would tend to a child. The highs I receive from ‘adopting’ them from the store, naming them by their traits, bathing them when they get dirty, and even sometimes watching them as they sleep can only be matched by a mother nurturing her newborn. Now the pleasure that I receive from caring for these inanimate objects may seem a bit obsessive and possibly insane to you but to me it’s perfectly logical. I dedicate my time in giving my shoes the best upbringing that they possibly could have and in return they grace me with the blessings of being a proud father with undoubtedly and awesome flamboyant taste in shoes. However, when I’m sometimes watching my babies purr in their sleep, I do often see the other side of the coin. As much as my shoes mean to mean, they are in reality only inanimate objects, ones that actually cost a lot of money. It’s during these times that I often have foolish regrets of spending so much time and money on objects that were only meant to keep my feet warm. But then as I hear Dragonfruit softly snore his baby snore, I put the thought out of my head and keep on feeling like the proud parent that I am.

English 125 - TV Episode

            How I Met Your Mother is quite the ironic title of a TV show as the show never delves into how the narrator actually met his children’s mother. I guess that’s something they’ll get to eventually once they’ve made enough money of rave TV ratings. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The narrator is a middle-aged Caucasian male named Ted telling the story (or not telling the story) of how he met his wife to his two children. But Ted doesn’t exactly like to get to the point so he instead tells fairly amusing and often insane and hilarious stories about the shenanigans he and his best friends pull while they were in their thirties. His best friends Lily and Marshall are a happily married couple since their gooey romantic days in college as Ted’s roommates and they provide the sane yet sexual aspect of the group. Robin, the independent and strong, career-oriented female of the group, struggles with balancing her infinitely mercurial love-life and her bipolar career path. And Barney, the ever-loveable black hearted smooth-talker has only one agenda: sleep with as many insecure women as possible while maintaining the utmost level of awesome-ness. These five compose the partners in crime that the show revolves around.  What happens in this episode is as predictable as any other. Barney makes vague comments about how being clad in a suit makes him superior to his peers while trying to get laid at every possible moment by chatting up a girl in the gang’s favorite bar, Mclaren’s. In the mean time, Marshall and Lily discuss various serious relationship phenomena (in this case, having a baby) while jokingly hinting at how they are extremely sexually active and Robin continuously whines about either how she doesn’t need a man to be happy or how her job is or isn’t approaching a dead-end. And all the while, Ted discusses various stories from his point of view involving the various women he dated, the ways his heart was broken, and the lead-up to how he actually met his wife. Predictable and gushy may not be the primary words to describe an top-class show but in it’s defense, perhaps predictable and gushy are exactly what this show needs. The texture of each show is secondary and the content itself is quite trivial when put in context too. But perhaps therein lies the rub. Ted, Barney, Marshall, Robin, and Lily don’t have to come up with outlandish tales because all of their stories are about life, and the ecstasy and hardships that accompany it. Even if these characters don’t exist in real life, versions of the gang does, trying to battle it out in the badlands of New York City. So if you ever get a chance, sit back and catch an episode of How I Met Your Mother and laugh and cry at the events that occur to five normal yet oddly unique people while not caring that the plot meanders and the characters never seem to really develop as age should have them do from episode to episode. When it comes to How I Met Your Mother, details take a backseat to the intricate and heartwarming group chemistry that we all can relate to.

English 125 - Glorifying the Mundane

                Beads of sweat sprint down my face and back, creating a sticky, icky fusion between my shirt and the supple leather seats. Futile is the air conditioning that misreads my discomfort as the sweat of heat and humidity. No, these are beads of suspense and paranoia, a much more stubborn annoyance. Writhing in my wet pit of disgust and despair, I shoot vicious glares into the skull of the driver in front of me. I squint to the point of severe discomfort in my efforts to burn a hole clean through his head but alas, my powers today have escaped me. As my fingers inch closer to that dreaded button on the steering wheel, tremors run down my arm like a San Francisco earthquake. “Please, oh please don’t do it. Perhaps one is tolerable but we all know that after one trigger happy palm commits the ultimate noise crime, none other than a chain reaction ensues,” I tell myself in attempts to ensnare my delirious digits, eager to not be the culprit. Blaring green orbs strike my eyes trying to coax me into frustration. ‘Go!’ they mock with their light. But in this spider’s web of steel and gasoline they don’t really mean it. I crack the window to taste the sweetness of fresh air and distract myself in the process but the only notes that reach my tongue are those of oil, exhaust, and hatred of life. Dehydration and misery slowly claw into my mind, pulling and gnashing at my sensible thoughts. But just as I drift into the surreal, someone snaps. BEEP! Suddenly snapped back into life, my heart pounds as if fueled by pure nitrous. Kicked into overdrive, I join to melee with insatiable hunger. Rabidly, I thrust my palm into the steaming rubber of the steering wheel, aiming to punch all the way through to the dashboard. The cacophony rages, stinging my ears with a piercing symphony of bloodlust. Readying my chariot, I rev my horses gearing for battle. This is war. And all of us know it.      

English 125 - The Best Writing Conditions

When it comes to the best environment for writing, I personally have no magic formula. I’m still on the hunt for that elusive set of conditions that’ll cause my mind to flow with ideas and my hand to start laying down ink at light speed. To those of you who have found your magic formula, I truly envy you. To all others like me who haven’t, I wish you all the best of luck as I’m sure you all know how fickle of a beast writer’s block is. That being said, I’m a truly sporadic writer, one who writes only in bursts and only when he’s inspired by both some of the strangest and most commonplace moments. Furthermore, it’s incredibly unpredictable when those moments are going to strike. I could be riding the London Underground and suddenly have the urge to jot down potential hooks or lying down on my futon when great ways to develop my conclusion pop into my head. But I’m not saying that there’s no method to this madness of mine, there are some things that generally help. Jake Shimabukuro’s sweet ukulele playing has some way of jolting my brain to find new ideas. Additionally, I always find that I write better when I pen down potential jigsaw pieces of an essay that I’ll later reshape, revise, and fit together into a finished product than if I start from the beginning and proceed in a straight line. So in my quest to find my magic formula, perhaps I’ve found two ingredients in ukulele music and the jigsaw method. But until I find the remaining parts, I have little to no idea when my next writing fix will come. I look forward to it.