Wild for the Night

I walk into the AP English room only to find a black hole of doom sucking my classmates and me into its dark shadows. As we swirl around in the space-time continuum, we collectively decide we have stumbled upon a time-traveling machine. Several images of significant past and future events flash before our eyes before we see Ms. Serensky dancing the Charleston, clad in a black sparkly dress with her short hair in tight curls. Instinctively, I jump out of the vortex to come face-to-face with Ms. Serensky’s dancing partner, Mr. Jay Gatsby. With a smirk on her face and a twinkle in his eye, I understand that Ms. Serensky simply forgot to close the time portal and every day travels back to the Roaring Twenties to visit her soul mate. He introduces himself and greats me with “welcome to my house party” as he takes our hands and drags us to the heart of the carousal: the vod… food. Luckily for us contemporary girls, kale chips remain non-existent at this time so we enjoy REAL food and observe our fellow party guests. We spot mob members and priests, to girls fidgeting with their dresses and women passed out from too much eating (a.k.a. food coma). Jay suggests we enter the dance contest so we make our way over to the disc jockey booth. We agreeably decide on “Three O’Clock in The Morning” by Paul Whiteman. I decide to watch from the fountain as the couple dances circles around everybody else. Suddenly, a ghastly howl crawls out of Ms. Serensky’s mouth as tears stream down her face, smudging her delicate makeup. I run over to check on her just in time to hear her scream “YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO A SENTENCE WITH A PREPOSITION?” In the moment, I realize Jay Gatsby does not hold the key to the world, he holds terrible grammar. Before Ms. Serensky has the opportunity to dropkick him in the jaw, I drag her back to the portal as she yells eloquent profanities to the smoky air behind her. When I go to comfort her, she refutes and mutters something about a blue rebound or something of the sort. I stand fairly certain that Ms. Serensky and I have eaten too much and therefore our thoughts remain fuzzy and fragmented because as soon as we arrive in the classroom, I cannot form words to describe the experience to my frazzled classmates. 

How to become Serensky's Shining Star

 Dear brave student,

Congratulations! I must give you a pat on the back for making the daunting decision to enter the world of an AP English student. Tough times lie ahead but trust me, you will get through the countless essays and you will stand forever grateful that you took on the tasks that no ordinary student ever would. The things you will discuss in this class will range from awkward to serious, from laughable to obscure. Every minute of every day will bring an opportunity to recognize a new potential in yourself or a new light in which to view the world. AP English will teach you how to write an essay in twenty-five minutes, a skill most coveted by any procrastinating college student. So, now that you have made the decision to take on Ms. Serensky’s world, it stands as my job to teach you how to survive in the wild world of AP English.

Step 1:

Take your parents’ credit card to the nearest CVS, Target, or OfficeMax. Buy yourself 100 pens (blue, black, and red), two of the biggest binders you can find (one per semester), and one million sheets of college-ruled paper. You will need to return to the store to buy more paper after the first quarter.

Step 2:

Do some hand and finger exercises. Carpal tunnel remains an unfortunate inevitability for every AP English student. You may as well try to prevent it for as long as possible.

Step 3:

Please, for the love of Mortimer, do the following for the only easy points you will ever receive in this class:

1.     TURN IT IN TO TURNITIN.COM.

2.     TYPE ALL PAPERS IN TIMES NEW ROMAN, FONT SIZE 12 WITH 1” MARGINS, DOUBLE SPACED, AND A HEADER.

3.     DO NOT DOODLE ON YOUR PAPERS.

Step 4:

Run a few miles prior to entering the classroom. The arctic tundra may ironically stand as the first thing to kill you.

Step 5:

If you do not have an intelligent question to ask, do not ask one at all. Think it over in your head and ask yourself “will Ms. Serensky want to hurt me after I let this leave my mouth?” The answer? Probably yes.

Step 6:

Have fun. No other class in the high school allows you so much freedom when it comes to answering a question or talking in a discussion. No other class in the high school will have an open-ended discussion on why you remain alone on the holidays, or how you turn into a monster once a month, or where your opinion lies on tramps named Laurie.

Honestly, there remain many more tips and tricks to survive your years in AP English but I cannot share with you because that would ruin your whole experience. You will laugh and cry and cry of laughter; you will jump for joy and curse the name Elizabeth Strout; but, you will never forget the hard work and time you put forth on your way to finally receive a hug from the one and only, Queen Serensky.

Best wishes,

Dshannon: AP English Extraordinaire.

A Case of THE Bradley Mundays

My parents named me Bradley Munday but most people refer to Brad, B-Mund, or THE football/ track guru. I have always stood as a fan of Mondays (obviously) because they allow me a fresh start to a new week under my motto: “Work hard. Play hard.” You see, most people would call me multi-talented and although I consider myself humble, I cannot disagree. During the week, you can find me working on homework from one of my many AP classes in which I thrive. Calculus BC? Please, the limit never exists for Bradley Munday. Chemistry? Call me Dmitri Mendeleev. Computer Science? I speak java in my sleep. English? Well… uh… I… you see… Jon and Laurie… and yeah… Olive, too… I think… pathos. Trust me, you cannot and will not stop my academic grind. I carry out my intensity all the way until I reach the front of the line on Pasta Wednesday. I mean, jeez Megan, THAT’S how you make pasta. *Insert the B-Mund head shake here* After school, I book it to the holy football locker room to get myself amped for another three-hour practice at Harris Stadium: my home away from home. Man, the memories I have made with my friends, no, brothers will carry me throughout the rest of my life. Seriously. After scoring an average of six touchdowns a game with the help of my baby bro, Michael, I talk to my many adoring fans (mostly girls) and head to the hottest social scene to get my groove on. You could call me the greatest dancer alive or you could not. But the latter would make you wrong and a wrong answer deserves an extra long head shake. Look up “Harlem Shake CFHS AP Chemistry” and watch me head-BOB across the camera. (Notice the difference between the head shake and the head-bob). So many talents, so few people to share them with, which remains why I chose to attend The Johns Hopkins University in the fall of 2013. There, I can put those wannabe intellectual peasants in their places and wreak havoc on the gridiron with my dude, Soup. Everyone wants to live a day in the life of Bradley Munday, the big man on campus, as Mr. Maas would say. One day, you will all regret laughing at me when I stand ruling the world with a new Spain t-shirt on my back and my long-long-term girlfriend, Megan Stricker, on my arm. God, those memories with my football boys… awesome. 

Bow Down to the Queen

In a matter of weeks, we, the class of 2013, will move adventurously on toward the future leaving the names we have made for ourselves at Chagrin Falls behind. Some of us anxiously wait for the moment when we can throw our embarrassing titles out the window (for the record, I passed my driver’s test on the first try… flawlessly); some of us deservingly hold on to the auspicious titles given to us by our classmates (Blythe- we all hate you. YOU KNOW WHY).  For me, I find that I have made several names for myself during my years here, both good and bad. Life of the Party: awarded by classmates, frowned upon by Ms. Serensky. Worst Driver: one time. One time I hit Andrew Osgood. One time. Token Asian: the Chinese take over America? *hint hint* Totally a real thing. Dshannon: self-explanatory (for those who do not see the explanation in itself: I kill slave owners with a German dentist in my spare time).These names have given me a run for my money, but I stand ready to move on and show my true colors. We all have labels, whether we like it or not; however, as we move forward, college provides us with plenty of papers on which we may signature a new name. Mine? Queen of the Nerds. Who needs to party with Greek Row when a perfectly good marathon of The Lord of the Rings coaxes you to stay in your cozy 10-by-10 dorm all weekend? Truly, I have a flare for the supernatural, an obsession with magic, an addiction to re-reading the Harry Potter series, and an unhealthy craving to win a national LARPing tournament. As college stands as the opportune moment to spread my wings and fly, I plan to join the Squirrel Watching Club along with a plethora of other unusual clubs to establish my dominant presence on campus. I want my future classmates to view me this way because I have hidden this side of myself for far too long and I fear that if I keep it down any longer, I will face unfortunate victimization under the Dissociative Identity Disorder. Perhaps I will cheer up my stressed classmates with a Spock sign as they walk to class as I often feel that a simple solute to my home planet will put a smile on anyone’s face. I firmly consider the obviously truth that showing your true self to others will draw them toward you. I also hope that this new name will encourage me to study harder and work more diligently in academics as I may finally get the compliment of “you work TOO hard.” I believe that those habits will happily juxtapose those of my current status as I fail to do most of my homework (excluding English, of course) until the due date. I find myself restless with excitement for the debut of the new and arguably improved Shannon Fung. Just wait until our ten-year reunion when I promise, I shall make my entrance on a glimmering Segway with a robot boyfriend on my arm. 

No Leo? No Go.

“Dear Ms. Serensky,

My boyfriend wants to break up, but I do not. Help me!

Sincerely, Desperate & Confused”

Dear Desperate & Confused,

Look, honey, you need to listen to the directions of life: Wash your hands thoroughly until you have wiped yourself clean of all germs. Your boyfriend stands as the flu-carrying germ in your life. No one begs to get the flu unless they hold a serious mental derangement. Do you hold said problem? I sincerely hope not, and I shall continue on in my advice as if you do not. You need to make a clean break from this indolent caveman and move on with your life. Why would you ever want to attach yourself to someone who clearly does not care about your life, interests, or aspirations? I mean unless your current love interest stands as Leonardo DiCaprio, I see no benefit in keeping a relationship sinking faster than the RMS Titanic. Pun totally intended. (*Side note* If this boyfriend does go by the name of Leonardo Dicaprio and he acts in many movies, my previous advice cannot reign as applicable or useful in any way, shape, or form. Hold on to that man for as long as possible. Do not let go. Ever.) I can tell that you hold great potential to flourish, individually, into an awesome and independent person. Do not let one person in a world of seven billion hold you back- that would fall under the category of “pitifully stupid.” So, with my expert advice, I suggest that you dump the fool first, and work on finding a real man who will buy you tampons when you need them. Study diligently and become the valedictorian to show him who runs the world (the answer: girls). Work hard and become the most well-respected employee of your work place to teach him how to fear power. Break a sweat at Zumba to make him regret ever wanting to leave a sizzler like you. If you find yourself needing more advice on this topic, I implore you to dive into He’s Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo. They should definitely help sort some things out for you mentally. Good luck and remember if you ever find yourself in a sticky situation, ask yourself: “What Would Bobbie Jo Do?”

Sincerely, Ms. Serensky. 

Dshannon Unchained

You can call me Shannon… or you can call me Movie Buff the Cinephile, Fiend for Film. Yes, I quite like that. The search for entertainment in my life habitually ends when I log onto Netflix, flip to Movies on Demand, or drive myself to the theatre. Do I re-watch a classic or do I adventure into a new director’s world? No matter what I choose, I always find myself fully engaged in the actors, script, and direction. Ryan Gosling chick-flicks? Yes. Harry Potter enchantments? Absolutely. Oscar-worthy movie-to-book adaptations? The more the merrier. Japanese anime? Well, eh, not so much; but, hey, I cannot stand as one to judge. Recently, my passion has turned 180 degrees from romantic comedies to gore- unedited, immoral, cut-through-the-bone gore. And where else does one turn to quench their bloody thirst other than the one and only Quentin Tarantino, director of my new chart-topping favorite, “Django Unchained.” First of all, dang! Tarantino’s mastermind somehow takes such a dark part of American history, puts a dramatic spin on it, and turns it into a story of love, determination, and yes, murder. From start to finish, the 180-minute movie captured me with its unexpected humor yet emotionally daunting character development. Jamie Foxx, Christopher Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio take on the main stage among a star-studded cast and nail their transformation into characters of the Deep South in an era of unjustified slavery and conflict beyond one’s wildest imagination. Tarantino takes on a new level of ambition as he creates a sadistic tone and pushes the effects profanely over the top. Blood spews uncontrollably every time someone receives a gunshot wound as if they hold no bones in their body. Yes, unrealistic as it may seem, the deranged yet lovable director themes this masterpiece off of revenge and disregards a flare for the practical. I love it. Only Tarantino can handle this level of irony and violence in one film and still have the ability to make every moment tense and unpredictable for the audience. I warn, “Django Unchained” may arouse great discomfort in some due to its use of language and heavy sadistic attitude toward a touchy mistake in our nation’s past; however, I encourage those mentioned to look past the sometimes politically incorrect script and see the movie for what it truly remains: a fun, thrilling, over-the-top adventure meant for enjoyment, not political debate. 

"Django. The D is silent." 

Say "Cheese"

I walked into the unfamiliar room to meet the man I only knew through email;

He greeted me with a sly grin as a single bead of sweat ran down his messy brow.

He instructed me to change into my “special outfit” as he slowly sipped his ginger ale.

Nervous, I obeyed. It must happen now.

The man, twice my age, led me to a single chair,

Demonstrating the position in which the light would perfectly catch my face.

I followed his exhibition and faked a smile as he handed me an orange teddy bear.

Lights flashing I knew- my daunting and awkward task I must brace.

Boy, I do hope my senior picture turns out well,

The thought of returning to Ripcho Studios makes me want to yell.

Initially, I found great difficulty in creating an awkward topic to share with my fellow AP English students. Surprising, I know, as some people would call me the most awkward person alive. However, I believe that any of my peers can relate to the discomfort aroused by taking senior pictures. My description of my photographer evokes great anxiety from the audience as I make him sound almost pedophilic: “sly grin” (2). The mysterious diction of “sly” creates unpredictability for his intentions especially as I directly characterize him as “twice my age” (5). As the man stands much older than me, the email conversations suddenly become problematic and totally inappropriate (1). Furthermore, for anyone as addicted to looking at awkward family photos as me, the teddy bear in line eight only heightens the uncomfortable task of posing in odd positions for a yearbook photo. Sitting backwards on a chair stands as one of many distorted and strange poses that my photographer instructed me to do. All in all, I find the whole process of taking pictures uncomfortable for every party present. I say we ditch the cameras and start taking mental images. John Mayer seems to think it a good idea as well. 

Howdy there, Pikachu. How you doin'?