Apology

Dear Andrew,
Quit calling me a warthog. You have been doing that a lot lately, and it has been getting on my nerves. First of all, I do not like being called names, as anyone else would not like to be. Second of all, why a warthog? I would prefer to be called a tugboat, or propaganda, or a neophyte, if anything. As for being called a warthog, no.
Now, this is what I really don't get. why is everyone else calling me a warthog? It was only you in the beginning. As of now, my own family is calling me a warthog on a daily basis. When anything like that is happening, one would feel that something is up.
Along with that, I hate being called a warthog since I see it as offensive. I am a human being, not some wild swine in the savanna, wallowing at its leisure. I think as you think, feel as you feel, and am as you are. As such, I'd prefer to be known for that.
That is all for now. Really, I want you and your little friends to quit calling me a warthog. I really don't enjoy it. Only after you and your familiars break this habit may you be forgiven. As of now, this is war. If you don't make an effort to end it, there will be much trouble in your future. Think about it, then write me back.
From that warthog,
Dave Oreste

My Continuations

There was darkness as far as the eye could see.
I had just woken up. I groped around in the dark, but could not sense anything nearby. My senses seemed to be dormant, as I could not feel anything, see anything, or smell anything. All that I could feel was that I was in pain, and that I was not in bed somehow.

Defeat was in the midst, as I saw the prize diminish right before my eyes.
I had always been the best. I was always on top for everything. I had worked harder than everyone put together, at least, so it felt. I had gotten used to this; yet I was myself far from where I should be, which is in the number two slot, in a three-way tie. Whatever this was, it sure was different this time around.

A falling sensation overcame myself.
I sprinted down that hill like a cheetah at full force. Yet, there was that mossy stone, and then a thud. Suddenly, I was on the ground, shaken, seemingly unable to move. I had gotten up after a minute or so, but then couldn't hold up much longer. The pain in my ankle was sharp, and what was it? No one really knew.

The potential of those beady, blue eyes seemed infinite.
Yet, she doubted herself. She seemed to have a great knowledge of the world as a whole, and it came across as odd that she had no idea as to what "vicarious" meant. I had always been the helpful type, so I offered my best advice and consolation. Where this act of good will would take me was far from expected.

The silky gloss of fur was my best memory of the rabbits.
They were my favorite animals, and I had gotten two of them. I had two sisters, yet, these rabbits seemed to be like my brothers, of whom I had none before. It seemed that they understood me better than anyone else. When I spoke to them, they just looked at me, noses twitching, seeming to nod with approval. They would be determining my life for the next two years.

First Paragraphs

From West Roxbury to Wrenthem, and it was never the same.  It was in the middle of summer, and there was a massive drought all around.  As I trotted around in my backyard, the grass felt crispy under my feet.  During this time, water had never been more appreciated.  Everything all around appeared ravished.  The wind blew by with all dryness, purging the life out of one's skin cells.  I lived near the woods, and there had always been the threat of hot sawdust blowing in the trees.  One day, as I did my homework, all I could smell at one instant was smoke.

"Stop lying and things won't have to be like this." and the slam of a closing cell phone were the last meaningful actions for quite some time.  It was horrible.  The experienced shook everyone in the vicinity.  Never had a breakup had seemed so devastating.  As a spectator, to see my best friend so upset and almost screaming at her boyfriend, who was another friend of mine, was no easy feat.

Rule #1: Never ride a tricycle in the house.

I once had this tricycle, years ago.  It was among one of my most prized possessions.  I spent long hours each day riding it all over the place.  I enjoyed the experience thoroughly, feeling the air rip on by as I cruised around on all three wheels, with my surroundings being swallowed up by the horizon.I felt unstoppable and as if anything that got into my way was finished.

I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only suspicion, not proof to destroy it.  I had known them for my entire life, and considered this an outrage.  

More Cliffhangers

1. From West Roxbury to Wrenthem, and it was never the same.

2. "Stop lying and things won't have to be like this." and the slam of a closing cell phone were the last meaningful actions for quite some time.

3. Rule #1: Never ride a tricycle in the house.

4. I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only suspicion, not proof to destroy it.

5. And I'll never forget the bitter sweet sounds of the bagpipes playing in warm spring breeze.

Cliffhangers

1.) There was darkness as far as the eye could see.
2.) Defeat was in the midst, as I saw the prize diminish right before my eyes.
3.) A falling sensation overcame myself.
4.) The potential of those beady, blue eyes seemed infinite.
5.) The silky gloss of fur was my best memory of the rabbits.

When All Was Lost

I was fourteen, and it was my first week of freshman year. I was a nervous little freshman. I was taller than many of the seniors, making me stand out in a crowd, which was even more frightening in a way. In this strange place known as high school, I heard that anything could happen. From soccer practice, which began the week before our first day, I seemed to be alright. Yet, apprehension overcame me when stepping through those mile wide front doors, and I breathed for the first time as a high school freshman in a place that would become my secondary home, if you will. I had some of my good friends along with me, such as Daryl, Mike, and Seby, but I still felt uneasy. At soccer practice, everyone seemed at ease, yet it was after entering that building that new characters crafted out of sheer stress would unveil themselves. Petrified of leaving that building with a very dense bag, I felt relieved that we freshmen got a reprieve of a mere orientation.
The next day, some of my biggest fears began to show their faces. My first class at high school was the A period Algebra 1 class taught by Ms. Sinitski. I was horrified when I found myself pick up a pencil and open that agenda and write, “In a paragraph, tell how I used math this summer.” Down below in the basement was the stage set for my next class. After fiddling with my locker for the entirety of the four minutes granted to us in the halls between classes, I arrived to my first class, the only thing, I was locked out. I felt as if I had been letting down everyone I knew by arriving late, with the kindly Biology teacher, Ms. Osborne, taking time out of class to let my pitiful self in. I heard that those who got late to classes failed, and I was vehement with myself that I might be failing a class because of my inefficiency with my locker. Distraught, I decided never to get late to another class, and began to literally carry my locker all over the place. After that first day, I found myself with a light and intimidating load of homework, and with arms that felt like they had grown a few inches from carrying all those books.
Syllabus is a word that I found much absurdity in from the start. Never had I ever heard such an unusual word, and it is not surprising that I discovered it in high school, where everyone seemed to be geniuses. From my D period English Writing class, I had received a scant assignment of getting a parent/guardian to sign the syllabus. It seemed to be a joke when the sound waves hit my eardrums that a homework assignment would be to get a sheet of paper signed. Hoping that this was as far as high school homework went, I decided to take my time with it. My first week of high school had concluded, and it was quite an accomplishing feeling that I came out of it in one piece, without an F, without a detention, and without a fight. That weekend, it was high time that I took to the basement and squandered my time with the Nintendo 64, to put out that stress felt in those first few and harsh days. In my relaxation, I lost all sight of my one responsibility, that of the syllabus. When Monday came along and I approached my D period English Writing class, I went blank. Something was wrong, but what? I took to my seat and thrusted those books under my desk, with my arms feeling as if they were almost like elastics. Ms. Walter, my teacher for that class, kicked off the class by ordering that we pass up our signed syllabi. I felt an awkward emptiness, perhaps this was that sinking feeling I felt. I opened my folder, and took out the syllabus, with the line labeled “parent/guardian signature” blank. I reached a state of panic. My first grade in this class, and looked like I was going to blow it. Would I be trapped in the infinite vortex of that dreaded AMS session? Would I fail off the soccer team? Would my parents feed me at all if they saw this? It seemed as if all were lost.

Me Talk Pretty One Day

1. How did Sedaris take a potentially boring experience - auditing a beginner's language class - and turn it into a humorous essay? An interviewer once wrote that Sedaris's signature is "deadpan" humor. What is deadpan humor? Identify - and characterize the effectiveness of - examples of it in "Me Talk Pretty One Day."

Through skepticism, Sedaris made his essay humorous, even though it had a potentially boring topic. Sedaris leaves much room for doubt when making judgments, and then fills in those gaps with his own speculations, often times accompanied by outrageous remarks and blandly unobvious statements often times marked with sarcasm. This is tied into "deadpan" humor. "Deadpan" humor is really a bland sense of humor, of which is often times unpredictable and uncalled for. It is quite effectively used, because of the that way it comes across, it seems awkward, yet strangely it fits in. An example of this could be how Sedaris described his French teacher, as he said she had an accent. He sort of exaggerated it using random gibberish in place of her accentuated French, such as "fiuscrzsaticiwelmun"(276).

2. Describe how Sedaris reveals parts of himself throughout the story. By the end we know a fair amount about the speaker. How do we gain this knowledge?

Sedaris is revealing much of himself throughout this essay. He is rather discreet in a way, and disguises it using humor. Throughout the essay, he is expressing faults and blemishes of sorts. For example, his random use of gibberish when quoting his teacher may reflect on his misunderstandings of what his teacher was telling him, and that possibly he had a limited knowledge of French and that is what the language sounded like to him. Also, he says he appeared old when he makes the statement that his classmates were all "young, attractive, and well dressed..."(274). The reason as to why we are able to learn so much from this writing style is simple. Often times, what he is joking about is relevant to the matter at hand, and that the way he portrays it with each joke shows how he views such issues personally.