Thespian-Lovers Rock at Blogging

As I prepare to take on the coveted title of “Second-Semester Senior,” I look back on my past years of high school quite fondly. Thinking about both the good and the bad times, thankful cannot accurately describe what I feel toward my fellow seniors. They have struggled with me in school, worked hard with me on the field, and celebrated the excitement of our hard work shown through the multitude of college acceptance letters currently circulating the community. Chagrin Falls has brought us together through the traditions of the Pumpkin Roll, the Zoo, and Blossom; however, I must thank Ms. Serensky for bringing a select group of the senior class together through AP English 12. To my fellow thespian-lovers and literary-questioners, I feel a special connection to all of you for accompanying me on an adventure through Strout’s depressing stories to a general disappointment of a delayed Gatsby film. Most importantly, AP English 12 has shown me a side of all of you that I never would have seen without reading the weekly blog posts. The blogs connect our commonalities in embarrassing awkwardness, random happiness, and frustrated questioning of life. As we each share our stories and secrets week by week, I grow more and more confident that this blog project has kept me from wishing for the end of high school and the start of a new life. Blogging has also provided me with a newfound confidence in my writing that hid from me in the past. I believe my “most well-written” blog stands as “Shannon Plus Dedication Equals Nine.” For one thing, I nailed the punctuation and I only let myself show arrogance because one could habitually classify my grammar as subpar. This blog represents my long awaited acceptance into the group of students who do not lose a plethora of points for leaving out commas. I also feel that this piece of writing does a good job of highlighting the juxtaposition of my siblings to me, an intended effect to aid the characterization of myself as ambitious and thirsty for literary blood. I believe that this thirst created a humorous anecdote about true events in my life, making it relatable to my readers (except for Ms. Serensky because Valedictorians do not have to compete with their incompetent siblings). On a different note, I believe my most interesting blog serves as “Reaping the Rewards of Redemption.” First of all, what an awesome alliteration. It begins with a single word “redemption.” POW! I felt that the simplicity brought a dramatic tone to my piece about the intensity of extra credit in English class. I believe this blog sparks interest in my readers because I give an honest look into my imperfect life in both Corn Hole and AP English 12. I admit my flaws shamelessly and accept that a little boost never hurt anybody. I enjoy this blog the most because I broke out of my blogging shell to produce something funny that does not analyze a piece of old literature. I do not always post hilarious blogs, but when I do, they generally involve my awkward and embarrassing life. Many of my peers have made comments on the tales of my uncomfortable life, including Kate Mackin. Kate chose to comment on “Shannon Plus Dedication Equals Nine,” the piece about my determination to live up to the standards set by my intelligent siblings. She chose to metaphorically push me down a sewer and leave me their to cry in my shame of imperfection by admitting that my post brought her no sympathy but did make her appreciate her foiled role as the eldest, most prosperous sibling. Well Kate, I would like to congratulate on your perfect, no-stress life. Only joking! Your comment actually made me appreciate my role in the family as well. Both of us have different statuses within our families but I must say that we both turned out pretty well, definitely better and cooler than our siblings, at least. In these comments, blogs, and my own writing, I have learned more about myself and my peers than I have through simple interactions in the classroom environment. Each AP English 12 student shows amazing talent and promise for the future. I look forward to reading more blogs in the future but for now, my fellow seniors, enjoy your auspicious title as a second-semester senior! 

Fabulously Permanent

Kids, listen up. When your teachers and parents tell you that everything you post on the Internet stays on the Internet, they speak the truth. Unfortunately, this also holds water if someone else posts about you. Of course, I have felt the same blasting force of this truly unfair rule from the day I joined the social networking world. In middle school, I, like any other wannabe facetiously cool tween, registered for Myspace and began my journey into the world of sharing photos, messages, and interests with friends. First and foremost, I had to design a flawless profile ten times cooler and more appealing than all of my friends’. I spent an average of three hours a day creating sparkly gifs that read “ShAy FuNg” and finding songs to accurately describe my distressed emotions of the “tough” times of middle school… I went with the inspirational “The World’s Greatest” by R. Kelly. The description in my profile read somewhat like so: “The name’s Shannon but you can call me Shay, Fungy, or Shah! (If you have any other nicknames just LMK!!!!!) I hate drama, love the movies, and think Nick Jonas is really really hawt! Callertext me!” Let us call that paraphrasing because I have mostly blocked that blimp in my life out of my memory; but, I do clearly remember that I absolutely HAD to have the coolest, “selfie” as my profile picture. So, naturally I took my super enviable LG Chocolate, popped open the camera, and had a ball taking mirror pictures of myself chucking up a peace sign and pouting my lips to make the perfect I’m-so-mysterious-and-moody face. Really cool, Shannon. Really cool. After two years I apparently lost interest in the world of narcissism and deleted my profile, thank a higher power. Recently, I thanked my younger self for holding the good sense to delete those dreadful documented moments until I stumbled upon an old album on my sister’s Facebook page. Stated simply, the album consists of about twenty-five percent of my old Myspace pictures ranging from bathroom self-portraits to bird’s-eye photos of a girl wearing too much eyeliner and even more sass. Just when I thought I had escaped my past, these pictures reappeared in my life, reminding me that I can never retrieve the information I once released on the Internet, especially because my sister apparently hates my existence and wants me to die a slow social death of humiliation. Sadly, my middle school misfortunes do not end there and posts get creatively more and more embarrassing. Among the seemingly greatest sabotages (according to the popularity of favorites and likes on social networks):

     -Fourteen-year-old Shannon Fung belts a rendition of “Fabulous” by High School Musical’s Ashley Tisdale. I really encourage everyone to look up the real video on YouTube in order to fully understand how the video of me trying to reenact this scene in my room looks. I wanted fabulous, but I did not want my attempts presented to the world before my official debut.

     -Shannon Fung straight out of wisdom tooth surgery photos. Truly, my friends bombarded me merely two hours following the extremely painful removal of my wisdom teeth and approached my swollen face with a camera phone. Boom. Up on Facebook they went. I applaud you if you find them, you will surely laugh at the fact that I look exactly like Glimmer from The Hunger Games after the vicious Tracker Jackers attack her face.

To me, the Internet holds the same powers that John Keats’ urn does in his poem “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Like the immovable pictures on the urn, the photos and videos posted of me of various social networks will never come down. They remain permanently within the realm of the Internet world now, readily available to all who search hard enough for them. The pictures on the urn will always depict the couple as young lovers and the desolate town as sacrificial just as the Internet will forever show my embarrassing antics as a young teenager. While anyone can paint over the urn’s old pictures, they will always remain underneath it all; I can paint over the pictures of my past but even I will never forget what came first: a chubby idiot.   

Because I mean like, really cool picture, Shannon.

Shannon Plus Dedication Equals Nine

I come from a seemingly long line of Fung children. I, personally, like to think of our group as “The Gang of Four;” unfortunately, a group of four Communist Chinese men previously claimed that name decades before my family’s legend began. As the youngest child, I often times find a struggle in making a name for myself under the shadows of three radiant and talented siblings. Justin, my oldest brother, reigns as the naturally brilliant, retro-hipster, Columbia student unaffected by any problem that crosses his path. Lauren, my only sister, finds her uniqueness in her ambition. The hardest worker, she always pushes her limits in determination to impress anyone that enters her life. Finally comes my second brother, Brendan. Teachers remember Brendan for his charisma- a spirit filled with optimism, wit, and the all-around awesome ability to just live life the right way. All of my superiors hold their own unique voice, separating themselves from the blob that many people often identify us as. Recently, I found myself flipping through the pages of their old binders, curious as to my own teacher’s interpretation of their past students’ differences. And, for the first time in my life, I saw that all three siblings held one common ground: An incredible talent within the realm of Ms. Serensky’s AP English class. Never in my past two years of taking this class have I seen students receive so many eights and nines on in and out of class writings. Initially, I found myself lying in fetal position in the foyer wanting to quit, believing that my own writing would never receive the appreciative “very nice!” or “excellent!” reviews from Ms. Serensky. For a few minutes, I wallowed in despair and jealousy of my siblings’ greatness;*sigh,* living the life of the youngest child never stands as an easy feat. As I walked toward the kitchen to bake away my feelings, I had a sudden epitome-WWBJD: What Would Bobbie Jo Do? Would she run away to bake delicious cupcakes instead of fighting her problems? Absolutely not! She would sit down at the computer, write a blog about her revelation, and take AP English by the horns. I plan to do the same. Picture me clad in seventies workout gear going through a montage as I knock down all of my obstacles to “Eye of the Tiger.” Like a good, old Rocky movie, the notorious lyrics by Survivor will guide me through my ambition to the top. From here on out, I plan to work under the goal of receiving a “very well-written, Shannon,”and a big, fat, awesome sticker at the top of my paper placed specifically next to the words, “Rubric Bonus +2.” Doubt me all you want but just like the heart, the mind wants what the mind wants, and I want it all (just like Ashley Tisdale in “High School Musical 3: Senior Year"). No longer will I live a perpetually sad life in the shadows of my siblings known strictly as “Life of the Party”  (already associated by Ms. Serensky under negative connotations) or “She Who Makes Good Cupcakes.” Get ready, Ms. Serensky. You should probably hit up Michael’s because your sticker collection will begin to dwindle along with the red ink in your pens from writing a mountainous amount of awe-inspired comments on my work. Through my new ambition for greatness, I hope to join my siblings in their defeat of AP English and truly become a worthy member in "The Gang of Four." Perhaps English will never hold the key to my strong suit, but I refuse to let myself fall below Ms. Serensky's preconceived expectations of quality Fung work. Putting aside the daily stresses of English, the Data Sheets, the in-class writings, and the dubious mounds of homework, the class has inspired me to push myself beyond what people expect of the girl who turns in her blogs at 11:30 at night. I do not want to leave this school as another blimp on the radar; I do not want to go down without a fight. I hope to end the year on a bed of eights and nines as Ms. Serensky congratulates me at graduation: “Shannon, you are far cooler than all of your siblings. You are without a doubt the best Fung… EVER.” 

These fantastic pictures stand as my current inspiration. Each of these come from one of my sibling's papers. Cue jealous rage. 

More Used than a Porta Potty at Blossom

I would like to ask my readers a serious question: do you like when new acquaintances use you for your personal connections or take advantage of your tolerant and helpful personality? Personally, I do not; however, Nick Carraway seems careless when his new neighbor “friend,” Jay Gatsby, chooses to execute a plan using Nick to achieve his goal. Surprisingly, to me, we did not address this situation in class while I see it as a large complication in both the characterizations of Nick and Gatsby. From the start of Fitzgerald’s novel, Nick adamantly shows his fascination in Gatsby and his desire to befriend his new neighbor. Nick finds solace in Gatsby’s genuine kindness and devotion to creating a strong friendship, later destroyed by Gatsby’s revealed intentions of befriending Nick to enhance his chances with his ex-lover. After pursuing Nick with trips to the city, rides on his boat, and extravagant parties, Gatsby indirectly asks Nick to host afternoon tea and to invite his cousin, Daisy (78). Initially, I felt that Fitzgerald evoked sympathetic pathos from readers who have experienced the same feelings of distress after discovering the true purpose of a hurtful friendship; however, Nick’s only response shows his dedication to helping Gatsby at any cost: “the modesty… shook me” (78). Disappointment filled me as Nick overlooks his neighbor’s rudeness and apparent claim to superiority. In both the West Egg and East Egg, Nick holds only few friends among a community of self-centered and fake people: Gatsby tricked Nick with his façade. Did no one else feel the devastation of such a seemingly awesome character turning evil at the prospect of love? Or even the immediate recall of masculinity by Nick as he allows Gatsby’s “plea” to turn into a demand? A classic case of commensalism, perhaps even an alpha male of the pack situation. In Layman’s terms, Gatsby benefits from Nick’s tolerant personality while he, himself, reaps none of the rewards. This external conflict proves problematic for me: I no longer have a protagonist to cheer on. Not Gatsby, for he holds the characteristics of an unfaithful friend. Not Nick, for he shows weakness and inevitable failure. At this point, I can only hope that both men see their flawed figures and attempt to fix their disturbing definition of friendship. I may show extreme passion in this seemingly small event; yet, I believe that I would have responded quite differently to the request. How? With an absolute “no.” Hosting afternoon tea would entail me to clean and you can bet, I will not clean prior to an answer to my question, “what’s in it for me?” 

YCLF: You Can't Live Forever

Eighteen: a small number when looked at on a number line to infinity, a large number when looked at in regards to a lifetime. Yet, infinity remains a number of years unknown to mankind and the Guinness Book of World Records. As the clock approached twelve this morning, I found myself in a panic as the last seconds of my childhood slipped between my fingers. Memories flashed across my mind: the time I fell asleep while tying my shoes, the time I ate croutons off of every salad plate in a restaurant, and even the time I stuck tweezers in an electrical outlet. Yes, thinking about the past eighteen years has evoked a large dose of nostalgia into my life today; however, as I delved into the work of F. Scott Fitzgerald in The Great Gatsby, four words turned my frown upside down: “’you can’t live forever’” (36). Spoken by Myrtle, she reflects on her initial thoughts as she decides to take a chance and make a huge risk in her life. As I absorbed this claim, I realized that dwelling in my awesome past would not help the transition into adulthood. I have to brace my new age, new responsibilities, and the new expectations set by the people around me; yet, how can I embrace this shift in the times without losing the values of childhood that I already cherish? I must synthesize my old ways with my new expectations. I will not give up my desire to live in a land of no consequences forever. I will buy my Powerball Lottery Tickets (thirty dollars worth of tickets to be exact) and I will get as many tattoos and piercings as I want (which will probably amount to zero due to my irrational fear of blood). Why? Because, I can make my own decisions as an adult, despite if they seem stupid or ridiculous to the outside world. I cannot live forever. Life encourages me to go out into the world with an open mind and a desire to take risks and make mistakes. Today, I learned that no curse lies in aging, only promise for a more exciting tomorrow. Unlike Myrtle, I will not commit adultery. Like Myrtle, I will take chances to fulfill my life while I still have the opportunity. Eighteen rocks and the time has come to embrace my new freedoms. 

A Dash of Devotion

Dear Ms. Serensky,

I wish to prove your preconceived notions about my recent superlative award, "Life of the Party," wrong. On the morning of Homecoming, I entered the cafeteria to meet you in my groggy and slow state of mind. While you blamed my fatigue on my "secretive nature" and Friday-night-antics, I knew the real reason for the bags under my eyes: a temptress by the name of the Food Channel. For years, she has used her almighty influence to destroy every last ounce of my own willpower. Every night, her replays of Cupcake Wars forbid me to complete any assignments and beg for me to cater to their deliciousness. How can I possibly resist? The episodes entertain me for a few hours; yet, I still have not stated the real reason for my... um... occasional days of pure exhaustion. With my right hand on my heart and my head to the ground, I shamefully admit that once the first batch of fresh cupcakes appear on my screen, I cannot withstand my shutter-inducing need to bake these scrumptious delectables in my own kitchen. With this in mind, I find that I can relate to the crazed speaker from "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe. No, I do not plan on ravenously murdering an old man because he has a vulture-eye; however, I believe that we relate on the conceptual level of needing to fulfill our plans. Throughout the short story, Poe makes the clear assertion that once an idea becomes implanted in an individual's mind, it becomes difficult to ignore until someone has fulfilled the deed. Like myself, the dedicated man claims, "the idea... haunted me day and night" (3). By personifying "the idea," I feel as if he understands my unexplainable and incurable duty to address the nagging idea in my mind after watching Cupcake Wars. By no means do I advocate his violence and, well, illegal actions; however, I find his powerlessness in denying himself pleasure very intriguing and relatable. I so desperately wish that my devotion to fulfill my conscious mind's priority list held schoolwork in the top spot. But, I have discovered that when I bake batches of cupcakes before completing work, my mind temporarily lets go of all the stresses caused by school, sports, and work. My mind prioritizes baking because it brings me peace and joy, not unlike the initial feelings that the satisfied speaker feels after his expulsion of the bothersome eye. We both have a secret passion unseen by the public until our own admittance of our separate guilty pleasures: I love cupcakes and the murderer loves tearing human limbs from their sockets. Perhaps our superficial features do not match up, but together we fall victim to Poe's assertion that people suffer under the temptations of individual happiness. Yes, I have released my secret to the public. I cannot avoid and I have stayed home more than a few times on Friday nights to experiment with recipes while my peers "hit the town." So, Ms. Serensky, the next time you see me in a reverie in the hallway, you will know the real reason. They call me Shannon Fung, "Life of the Cupcake Aficionado Party."

Sincerely,
I just made (if I do say so myself) an impeccable batch of Cookies 'n' Cream cupcakes.

Reaping the Rewards of Redemption

Redemption. A word loaded with passion, power, and determination, it holds enough promise to restore hope in the hearts of millions. But what does redemption mean to me? Redemption finds its way into my veins after shamefully losing to my eight-year-old cousin in Corn Hole at our annual family reunion. The sun decides to shine right into my eyes, but that never convinces anyone else. I cannot let one blemish tarnish my reputation as the Corn Hole Queen. Four more hours remain in the gathering and desperation fills me as I search to find a way to put this bragging ignoramus in her place. Eating contest? No, that corned beef and hash smells like Aunt Nancy’s dentures. Texting race? No, kids these days do technology so much better. Thinking, thinking, thinking, and then it hits me, Capture the Flag: the ultimate test of intelligence, endurance, and thievery. Not that I have any particular experience in stealing… *cough* Pumpkining *cough*. I gather the forces because I no longer wish to involve myself in one-versus-one combat with this demon. I find my tallest uncle, my fastest cousin, my oldest grandparent (because who really wants to harm the frail one?) and we prepare for war. To say that we dug and marked her grave before she could infiltrate our boundaries would stand as a large understatement. Ah, the sweet taste of redemption on a warm summer night. Not to characterize myself arrogantly, but I often reminisce on that moment and link the unmatched feeling to my life in AP English. AP English: (n) the sole class in high school that will take you on an emotional roller coaster on a daily basis. Every nine weeks of the school year, my brain throbs, my fingers cramp, and I swear by Shakespeare’s holy name that I have carpal tunnel syndrome. I begin to lose faith that I will ever catch a break and then, suddenly, a beacon of light shines through the windows in room 329. Call me crazy, but I believe that after four years of annotating with literary devices, I can apply symbolism to this majestic moment. This light symbolizes ebullience, happy endings, and fluffy unicorns in a horror movie. Why? Extra credit season has finally arrived and let us justsay the best way I know how to spell redemption looks a whole lot like b-o-n-u-s-p-o-i-n-t-s. The time has come for me to overshadow my humiliating loss against my number one enemy, grammar. I quickly scan the room for my usual crew, Kackin* and Mampers* (rest in peace, Sockie Slemens*). Our creation of a three-headed monster works diligently under the pressure of practice AP testing dominance. Yes, we miss questions from time-to-time, but working with two of the most intelligent people I know gives me great confidence that our success will prevail in the end. As they say, “three heads are better than one.” Not only do these bonus points give my grade a desired boost at the end of the quarter, but they also help alleviate the pain from my occasional “what was I THINKING?” essays. So, what have I learned from extra credit? For one, I have never appreciated an opportunity provided to me in high school more than Ms. Serensky’s extra credit. To future students, take full advantage of this day, make it fun, cheer obnoxiously, and thank your teacher for throwing you a lifeline at the end of a dark tunnel. Second off, life will throw its ups and downs at you. Sure, you may botch up a few times, but whatever path you choose to take, I can guarantee that at the end of that road, a little girl stands waiting to serve you a cup of sweet, sweet redemption.

*Pseudonyms used for the protection of students' identities.