Evernote Post

What did you like most about using Evernote to take notes in class?                 I like using Evernote because it is very user friendly and easy. The whole app is organized well. It is simplistic and eliminates the stress involved with transferring documents and pictures to other devices. I also liked that it was through the internet so you could never lose your notes. Another benefit to taking notes on Evernote is that I can access my notes from my computer at home or from my Droid. Taking notes on Evernote was nice because we didn’t have to write out everything by hand. This is beneficial to me because I can barely read my own handwriting. Overall I enjoy using Evernote and will continue to use it in my life. What problems or limitations did you encounter while using Evernote?                 I do like Evernote’s simplicity but I would have enjoyed a few more options. All of my notes look identical which is confusing at times and very boring. I would like Evernote to be a bit more like Microsoft Word which has plenty of fonts, colors, and bullets, to spice up notes. One pet peeve of mine about Evernote was that when taking notes in bullet form, if you wanted to make a sub-bullet that was not possible. I like to do that in my handwritten notes to make a broad bullet more specific. However, it could not be done on Evernote. Evernote was great on the iPad, but I found myself rarely looking at my notes on other devices. Especially school computers where it takes forever to load and is a hassle. Do you have any other feedback or suggestion on making Evernote better?                 As I previously stated I would love for Evernote to be more similar to Microsoft Word. I also think it would be beneficial if more students and teachers decided to use it so online note taking could be universal throughout the school. No one would ever lose their notes again! However that could only work if teachers allowed us to use our smart phones in class or if everyone was given an iPad. I am also not really aware of all the possibilities of Evernote. To me it is just a fancy way to take notes which can only be written in places with Wifi. It would be useful if Evernote had some kind of memory so notes could be taken absolutely anywhere. Then once internet connection was available the notes would be saved onto the internet and not onto the internal memory.

iPad and Evernote Post

What were the benefits of having a class set of iPads in the classroom?
                Having a class set of iPads was definitely a new and beneficial experience. They made the class more interesting because having the internet available at all times added depth to our conversations. Also when doing projects in class was made easier by having iPads available. The iPads prompted us to be more creative technologically, for example creating our own websites for class projects. They also helped as a viewing tool for the websites we made. Every student could look through the website at their own desk instead of looking up at the Smart Board. It was also easier to take notes on the iPad, rather than to write them out by hand. Overall, I think the iPads were highly beneficial to our classroom environment.

What were the limitations or problems with having a class set of iPads.                Though the Ipads were great to have in class there were a few problems with them. First of all we were not allowed to take them home or to other classes to see what it would be like to have an iPad all the time. I thought that would have been a cool experience to use an iPad as my textbook and notebook for a week or so. Also, the iPads could be a distraction to the class. Instead of paying attention, students could surf the web, tweet, c heck grades, or take pictures. Not going to lie, I caught myself others doing those things a few times. One other thing that was a problem was that when doing class projects devices like Weebly and Prezi do not work from an iPad, but they do work from any desktop computer. Most of the problems with the iPads were because we only have a classroom set. I believe they would be more beneficial if we could use them all the time.

Do you think that the school district should have more iPad carts for students to use or move to a 1:1 environment where all high students would have access to an iPad they would be able to take home and use during the school year.

                I definitely think we should have more iPads throughout the school. However, just having more carts would not cut it because students would benefit most from having them if they were able to take them home. If we all had iPads the possibilities would be endless. We could have all of our textbooks and notes on them, as well as the ability to personalize whatever apps we want. We could use the iPads to learn more about our classes through technology. If we are all able to look at the same website or presentation right on our desktops I think we would be more likely to absorb the information from it. We could start by getting more iPads to other classroom settings to see how they benefit. If the results of having more iPads are beneficial in all different sorts of classroom settings I think we should move into a 1:1 environment.

What did you like most about using Evernote to take notes in class?
                I like using Evernote because it is very user friendly and easy. The whole app is organized well. It is simplistic and eliminates the stress involved with transferring documents and pictures to other devices. I also liked that it was through the internet so you could never lose your notes. Another benefit to taking notes on Evernote is that I can access my notes from my computer at home or from my Droid. Taking notes on Evernote was nice because we didn’t have to write out everything by hand. This is beneficial to me because I can barely read my own handwriting. Overall I enjoy using Evernote and will continue to use it in my life.

What problems or limitations did you encounter while using Evernote?
                I do like Evernote’s simplicity but I would have enjoyed a few more options. All of my notes look identical which is confusing at times and very boring. I would like Evernote to be a bit more like Microsoft Word which has plenty of fonts, colors, and bullets, to spice up notes. One pet peeve of mine about Evernote was that when taking notes in bullet form, if you wanted to make a sub-bullet that was not possible. I like to do that in my handwritten notes to make a broad bullet more specific. However, it could not be done on Evernote. Evernote was great on the iPad, but I found myself rarely looking at my notes on other devices. Especially school computers where it takes forever to load and is a hassle.

Do you have any other feedback or suggestion on making Evernote better?

                As I previously stated I would love for Evernote to be more similar to Microsoft Word. I also think it would be beneficial if more students and teachers decided to use it so online note taking could be universal throughout the school. No one would ever lose their notes again! However that could only work if teachers allowed us to use our smart phones in class or if everyone was given an iPad. I am also not really aware of all the possibilities of Evernote. To me it is just a fancy way to take notes which can only be written in places with Wifi. It would be useful if Evernote had some kind of memory so notes could be taken absolutely anywhere. Then once internet connection was available the notes would be saved onto the internet and not onto the internal memory.

Gothic Story

The Blood Red Theater Chair

My heart is pounding hard in my chest, my black Nike Shox padding the pavement, my breathing heavy. I am sprinting down Maple Road for my life because of the fact that I am being chased down by a pack of ferocious bullies. I have them by half a block, but they are gaining on me quickly. They have been chasing me from Eastside High School all the way to a deserted, broken down part of town where I have never been before; it is getting dark. I spotted an old, empty theater with a hole in the window just big enough for my lithe frame. I slipped inside and began searching for a place to hide; the gang would be here in a few seconds. I am running through a sea of green velvet theater chairs when I stumble upon a hidden staircase. I climb all the way up stairs and get out of sight and then hear the bullies breaking the windows to get into the theater.

 I find myself in the attic of the theater hiding behind a prop guillotine; it looks as if it was from the time of Henry VIII. As soon as I find a comfortable position, I start to hear their gruff voices down below.

"Where is that prick, Lorenzo?" says Rick Reynolds, the leader of the pack.

"Maybe he just ran through here. We should check the back," says another of the bullies.

"No, he's got to be in here somewhere. I just know it. Go on boys, start looking!"

I am sure that the boys are not going to find me, so I decide to explore the rest of the attic. It is filled with cobwebs and has a damp moldy smell, it is pretty dark. The attic contains all sorts of quirky props from plays that must have been shown here, along with broken lighting and sound equipment. I am stopped in my tracks by a wall of cobwebs that blocks off the final quarter of the room. Being a terribly curious person, I decide to pull down the silky strands and continue on my journey. To my surprise the final quarter of the room is even darker than the rest. I pull out my cell phone and use it as a flashlight. As soon as I turn it on, I notice two small, glowing, yellow circles. What could it be? I creep closer to the object, and suddenly I hear a screech and what looks to be a black cat, lunges at me. I quickly jump back from the cat and I trip, but I land in a chair. The chair looks like the other theater chairs, a black metal base and legs, and a wooden back and arms. The only difference is that instead of sea green velvet, the chair I am sitting in is blood red. After sitting for a few moments, I get up and look for the cat. I find the cat in the same spot where he was last seen, but now he looks different. His eyes are no longer glowing with life and he looks like he has been dead for years. Was he always dead? No, no. That cannot be the case; I must have seen a different cat. It is starting to get late, so I head back over to my spot by the guillotine to listen for the bullies. After a few minutes I finally hear Rick.

“Okay boys, looks like Lorenzo’s not here. Damn. Let’s get outta here.”

I wait a few more minutes until I am sure that they are gone, and then I decide to leave as well. I exit the theater through the same window from which I came and begin my walk home down Maple. It is a pitch black, moonless night; I just need to get home as soon as possible. My phone has died so I cannot call anyone to come pick me up. I am getting more and more frightened by the second. Anyone that looks at me, I am certain wants to jump me; I just need to keep my head down and keep walking. Suddenly, I am hearing thoughts that are not my own.

“How should I do it? With a shovel? A gun?” Where is this voice coming from? I am alone. “That Rick Reynolds is about to meet his match, I am not afraid to get my hands a little dirty.” The last thought was paired with a devilish laugh that did not come from my mouth. I am hearing the thoughts of a murderer, but not just any murderer, one that wants to kill the kid that bullies me. How did I get this power? The only time I have heard of the ability to hear other people’s thoughts were in the comics I have read. I’ve got it! That blood red theater chair in the attic that is different from the rest must be magic! Maybe it was a magician’s chair that has been bewitched.  Whatever it was, I am sure that the chair gave me this power. How incredible! But, someone is going to kill Rick tonight. He deserves it.

I finally made it home after a long, interesting walk. When I am opening the door, I am struck with another message from the voice. “I have made my decision, I’m going to break in to room and strangle him to death. Once he is dead, I will hide his body in the old deserted theater on Maple.” What a strange coincidence. Why the old theater on Maple? I guess no one would ever find his body if the murderer put it in the attic. I hope he is successful. It has been a long day, so I clean up and decide to go to bed.

The next morning I wake up on my couch and immediately feel very disheveled. What happened last night? I went home and went to sleep in my bedroom, didn’t I? I sit up and suddenly I remember a dream I had last night. However, it is much more vivid than usual.

In my dream, I left my house, got into my black Buick Regal and started to drive. I stopped at a white wooden house with black shutters and a red door, got out of my car and walked towards the side of the house. Once I reached the side of the house, I climbed up a ladder that was resting against the wall. I opened a window and I climbed inside what looked to be a bedroom. The room was such a mess, grimy clothes all over the ground and posters of heavy metal bands were posted sporadically on the walls. There was a figure sleeping in the twin-sized navy bed, I walked over to him, and it was Rick! Once I was close enough to touch him, I wrapped my skinny hands around his thick neck and began to squeeze and squeeze, until his body became limp. Once he was dead I wrapped him in his sheets and with all my strength, threw him out the window. He landed with a thud. Then, I climbed down the ladder, grabbed Rick and began to drag him to my car. I put him in the trunk and began to drive down the narrow, desolate streets of downtown. Once I reached my destination, I got Rick out of the trunk, pushed him through a window, and then climbed through after him. I was in the theater off Maple! I continue dragging Rick’s body through the green theater chairs, and when I reached the staircase to the attic I dragged him all the way up, past the guillotine, through the cobwebs. I stopped when I reached the blood red theater chair. I put Rick’s body in the chair, laughed, and then everything went black.

I am pretty distressed by the dream I had. It just seemed too real. I decide to leave my spot on the living room couch and take a shower to get my mind off of the dream. I ascend the stairs, walk into the bathroom and take a look in the mirror. I am covered in cobwebs and am extremely dirty. I cleaned up before I went to bed last night…this dirt and cobwebs could not have been from earlier in the day yesterday. I run to the window to see if my car is parked outside, I did not bring it home from school yesterday. I open the blinds and there is my Buick Regal. How did it get there? I grab my keys, and head outside to look at the car. The front seat has dirt and grass caked on, and there are cobwebs all over the interior. I take a look at the trunk next, and inside of it is a navy sheet from Rick’s bed.

What is going on? I fall to the ground and begin to hyperventilate. I killed Rick. How did I do that without being at all aware of it? The thoughts that I heard, even though they did not sound like mine, they must have been mine. I cannot help but to think about how his family and friends will feel when they discover he is missing, dead. The story of his disappearance will be on the news all the time, and every time I see his story I will go crazier and crazier. I wanted Rick to die, but I did not want to be the one to do the deed. I cannot handle the guilt. I must turn myself in. They will catch me eventually anyways, why not be the one to decide when they do.

Pulling out of my wide asphalt driveway as quickly as I can, I head to the city police station. It takes me all but five minutes to get there, and the whole way there I cannot stop thinking about what I have done, the consequences I am going to face, and the voice I heard. I park the Regal, and walk through the double doors. On my walk inside, everyone stares at me like they already know what I have done. I suddenly have this overwhelming sense of paranoia, and I believe they all want to hurt me. I shake off my last thought. “They should be afraid of you, Lorenzo, you are the murderer.” Where did that come from?

I am told by the middle-aged secretary to wait in one of the many wooden chairs. I choose not to sit down and instead I pace up and down the checkered white and black marble floor. “Lorenzo, you know if you turn yourself in for this crime, that doesn’t mean I will leave you at peace.” It was the voice again. “Stop it!” I said aloud by mistake.

“Stop what?” the secretary asked.

“Nothing.”

“Okay then…the Chief will see you now.”

After a short walk down the mahogany-walled hallway, I am inside the Chief’s office, Chief Reynolds, the nameplate said. I gasp. The Chief is Rick’s mother. Here I am to tell her that I killed her son. Well here it goes.

“Chief, my name is Lorenzo Knotz, I came to discuss a murder that I am aware of.”

“Oh my goodness Lorenzo! What do you know?” exclaimed the chief.

“I am terribly, terribly sorry to tell you that I… I  murdered your son Rick last night when I was in a trance. An old theater chair possessed me to do so. I heard voices that were not my own thoughts. They told me how to kill Rick, and I believe that I listened to them and followed their directions. I put the pieces together this morning, and I am afraid that I have killed him.”

“Lorenzo, what are you talking about? Rick is not dead. I ate breakfast with him no more than an hour ago.”

What was she talking about? The chair possessed me to murder Rick didn’t it? “You should just kill her too, Lorenzo.” The voice says to me. No I cannot kill her, I already killed her son.

“Lorenzo, are you okay? You look pale. I think that we need to get you some help, you may have a condition that needs to be looked after.” says the Chief, with concern on her face, “You did not murder Rick, but I recommend that you have a psychiatric examination.”

The next day Lorenzo is examined, and it is determined that he is schizophrenic. He spends the rest of his life in the state psychiatric ward at Smith Creek Hospital for the Mentally Ill.

To this day an unsolved murder still exists about a body that was found in the old theater off Maple in the blood red theater chair. The victim was discovered a week after Lorenzo was committed.

Poe's Obsession With Death

Olivia Withers

            Edgar Allen Poe’s life was filled with death from the very beginning. His mother died of tuberculosis when he was very young, his foster parents John and Frances Allen died, his older brother died of tuberculosis, and also his young wife died of the same disease. It seemed that everyone that was around him was plagued by death and Poe took note of that. He became obsessed with all things death and Poe’s short stories directly correlate with the themes of death, darkness, guilt and horror. All emotions he would have gone through because of the many deaths in his life. Poe also plays on how other people feel when they are consumed by death by the development of his characters. The short stories that illustrate Poe’s fixation with death in all aspects are, “The Black Cat”, “The Masque of the Red Death”, “The Fall of the House of Usher”, “The Premature Burial”, and “Bernice”.

            “The Black Cat” is a short story of Poe’s that revolves around death. The narrator of the story has a cat that he loves to the point of obsession. However, the narrator is affected by alcoholism and drunken one night he gouges the eye out of his beloved cat Pluto who he believes is ignoring him. Pluto begins to avoid him and eventually the drunken narrator hangs the cat from a tree outside to kill him. Pluto is an allusion to death because his name comes from the Greek god of the Underworld. Also, Pluto’s death also foreshadows another death in the story. “I aimed the blow at the animal, which of course, would have proved instantly fatal had it descended as I wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of my wife” (Poe, “The Black Cat”). The animal the narrator was trying to kill was not Pluto, but another cat that resembled Pluto very closely even in the way that it lacked one of its eyes. Poe was trying to symbolize death in a way that seems that death cannot leave a person. The grief or in this case guilt can live forever. For the narrator Pluto was death along with the grief and guilt. The narrator kills his wife and hides her in the walls, and when she is entombed he notices that the cat is gone. A few days later the police come to inspect his home and once they get down to the basement they hear a loud shriek and open up the walls. There the police find the dead wife with the cat perched on top of her. This again displays how death does not leave, and it always finds itself reoccurring in life again and again as it did in Poe’s. Death is also symbolized in another of Poe’s short stories.

            In “The Masque of the Red Death” death is portrayed in many aspects of the story. The disease itself that was being alluded to, called the Black Plague, killed thousands in Europe. The wealthy Prince Prospero invited all his close, rich friends to live inside of his palace to essentially escape the disease that was right outside the doors. Little did they know that the disease was lurking right around the corner.

The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. (Poe, “Masque of Red Death”)

 This quote describes the masked figure that is roaming around the palace. The people think it is terrible that he is dressed up like a victim of the plague. However, they do not know that he in fact, is the plague and death itself. Another example of death in this story is the tall ebony clock. Clocks mark the passing of time and with each hour death comes closer and closer. Poe was always aware that death was around him and coming closer each day of his life, which is like the sense of paranoia felt by Roderick in “The Fall of the House of Usher”.

            The setting in the “Fall of the House of Usher” is very gloomy and dark, death like in a way.  The story foreshadows to death for both Ushers because they are ill and in Poe’s mind illness lead to death, based on the multiple people in his life that died of tuberculosis. Roderick Usher was a very anxious hypochondriac, and he was also hypersensitive to sounds, smells, and light. The narrator received a letter from Roderick which told the narrator that Roderick wanted to see him desperately. Roderick’s sister, Madeline, was also plagued by a disease. “The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skills of her physicians” (Poe, “House of Usher”). She falls into cataleptic trances where she could be mistaken for dead. The narrator and Roderick knew this trait about her and when she was in a trance, they locked her in a coffin because they presumed that she was dead. The narrator even notes that her cheeks were rosy. Their ignorance sparked the deaths within this story. They knew she could have been in a death like trance, yet they still buried her. When she broke out of the coffin and came to Roderick’s room she collapsed on him and they both died instantly. The narrator flees quickly because the house begins to crumble. The crashing down of the house symbolizes the death of the last two Ushers. The fear of being buried alive was very prominent in Poe’s time and he also wrote another short story that was similar to “The Fall of The House of Usher” in the way that the main character was also buried alive and had the same disease as Madeline.

            “The Premature Burial” is a story about the fear of being buried alive. Lots of cases of being buried alive occurred in the time of Poe and he decided to exploit the appeal of it. The whole theme of a story like this one is death. The ideas that get into the reader’s brain can be very frightening. No one should even want to think about the suffocation or other horrible aspects of being buried alive, let alone write about them. However, Poe was enthralled by the idea. “The unendurable oppression of the lungs—the stifling fumes from the damp earth—the clinging to the death garments—the rigid embrace of the narrow house—the blackness of the absolute Night—the silence like a sea that overwhelms” (Poe, “The Premature Burial”). The reader can sense the paranoia of being buried alive by Poe’s great use of imagery. This story feels claustrophobic, and the narrator’s madness is palpable. When the climax is reached and the narrator thinks his worst fear of being mistakenly buried alive comes true, death seems certain. However, the narrator later comes to the realization that he is on a boat and his “coffin” was actually just his sleeping chamber. The reoccurring themes of insanity and being buried alive due to catalepsy reoccur in another of Poe’s works, “Berenice”.

            “Berenice” is a story filled with horror. The narrator suffers from a disease, like in other works by Poe, but his disease is very obsessive, a monomania that causes him to obsess on certain objects, which then causes him to go into trances for days at a time. Berenice was also diseased, like many of the women in Poe’s life; she had times of catalepsy and a vague degenerative disorder.  The illness made her once beautiful body become lifeless and emaciated, the only thing that stayed the same as when she was healthy were her teeth. “Not a speck on their surface—not a shade on their enamel—not an indenture in their edges—but what that period of her smile had sufficed to brand in upon my memory” (Poe, “Berenice”). This quote marks the point of the narrator’s obsession with her teeth. He was fixated on them, and when she died he had to have them, which is similar to the way people want to hold on to a memory or object of a dead loved ones to remember them by. However, the narrator, in a trance of obsession, went to the extent of going to her grave, and surgically removing all thirty-two of her teeth, while she was alive! She had been mispronounced dead due to her catalepsy. Poe used being buried alive multiple times in his works as a symbol for death and he displays the terror of death itself in his short stories, which was surely felt by Poe or else he would not have obsessed over it.

            Given the examples, Poe’s obsession with death is clearly portrayed through his writing of short stories. Through the elements of gothic literature, and events within the stories, death was the main theme throughout. The striking symbols that Poe used to display death, like the ebony clock in “The Masque of the Red Death” and the gloomy, dark settings and themes in almost all of his pieces made his work excel over others of his time because it was different and horrifying. Death had been touched on in other pieces of literature before Poe’s time, but he brought new intense feelings to the table, like paranoia and fixation. He also was very descriptive in the deaths themselves; the reader could just imagine the gore. An underlying theme in almost all of Poe’s short stories was death because the themes in his own life were the emotions that death brought him.

           

           

           

Bibliography

Poe, Edgar Allen. "Berenice." Poestories.com. Web. 13 Mar. 2012. <http://poestories.com/read/berenice>.

Poe, Edgar Allan. "The Black Cat." Poestories.com. Web. 12 Mar. 2012. <http://poestories.com/read/blackcat>.

Poe, Edgar Allan. "The Fall of the House of Usher." Poestories.com. Web. 12 Mar. 2012. <http://poestories.com/read/houseofusher>.

Poe, Edgar Allan. "The Masque of the Red Death." Poestories.com. Web. 12 Mar. 2012. <http://poestories.com/read/masque>.

Poe, Edgar Allan. "The Premature Burial." Poestories.com. Web. 12 Mar. 2012. <http://poestories.com/read/premature>.

"Poe’s Short Stories." SparkNotes. SparkNotes. Web. 15 Mar. 2012. <http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/poestories/context.html>.

           

           

           

Foust Legend

The Barstool

Grant Scott took in everything around him. He smelled rotting flowers and dirt as he was looking at his older brother Mike’s tombstone. It was an unseasonably cold and rainy for June, and it was exactly one week since his older brother’s death. Grant was never the best at anything he did. His parents were not proud of him, they only cared about Mike. Mike was the class Valedictorian, class President, and captain of every team he was ever played for, one could say he was the perfect child. When he died the summer before his freshmen year of college at Princeton, his parents were devastated, and Grant decided that he was going to make his parents proud and take over Mike’s place in their hearts. Grant was going to become the best doctor in the world, at any cost.

His senior year of high school, Grant was accepted into Harvard, and he got okay grades, but not the great grades his brother Mike would achieve with very little effort. He knew there was barely any chance that he was going to get into the Medical School. So, he crafted a plan to pay a brilliant doctor he knew to impersonate him and take his MCAT test so he would have a chance to get into the Medical School at Harvard. His score on the exam was one of the best that Harvard had ever received, so the school gave him a partial scholarship to their Medical School. Almost as soon as classes began in the fall, his grades started to slip even more than usual. He was failing out of Medical School.  Out of desperation he began cheating on his tests, and eventually he got caught. Grant was certain he would be expelled, and sure enough when he returned to his apartment one evening there was a message for him to meet with the Dean of the Medical School, Dean Flier.

Feeling extremely worthless on the dark, moonless, December night, he turned to his poison of choice; alcohol, and began to drink away. It was the night before he was going to have to meet with Dean Flier, and he was not looking forward to the meeting. After his bottle ran dry in his apartment, he went outside and started wandering around campus. After fifteen minutes of strolling he came across an area of town that he was unfamiliar with. The vast area looked abandoned, but he saw red neon in the distance that read the word “BAR”, it was just what he was looking for so he walked on. Once he reached the door, he saw through his blurred vision that the name was “Lucifer’s”. He opened the door and tripped inside. The grimy, dingy place was nearly empty, except for the bartender, clad in black leather biker gear, filled with piercings, and sporting a red Mohawk hair style. Grant choose his barstool, one of many, and the only seat that did not have a name etched into the rear. He ordered a Bloody Mary and after that the bartender gave him a few shots of Hot Damn! red cinnamon schnapps, on the house. They burned his throat on the way down, but made him feel fiery. Grant told his whole story to the bartender, and mentioned how he was sure that he would be expelled tomorrow. The bartender said that he knew of somebody that could help him, and he motioned to Grant to follow him into the warehouse. Grant was unsure but went along anyway. He thought that maybe he was going to be offered some sort of drug that would make him more focused.  He followed the bartender into the warehouse.

 The warehouse was large, and black. The walls were made of what seemed to be steel, and it was filled with dozens of industrial sized metal shelves that held what looked to be hundreds of the same red leather seated barstools from the bar, all with different names scratched on to them. He gasped; he saw a name that he had recognized. It was his brother’s name! He wondered why, but did not have the courage to ask the burly bartender. He was led through the maze of shelves until they reached a large desk. Behind the desk there was a red leather chair with bold black letters that spelled out “Lucifer”. The chair was turned around backwards, but Grant could see the sleek slicked black hair of the man behind the chair, and he could also see that he had unusually long fingernails on his boney white hands. Lucifer greeted the bartender, but still did not acknowledge Grant. After a few moments of tense silence, the mysterious man began to talk, “I heard on the street, that you Grant, are failing out of med school and will be expelled. I have an offer for you, a way to change you circumstances. However, it comes at a cost. I will bestow upon you the most brilliant medical mind of your generation. You will live a life of fame and fortune as a result of your mental ability. You will be remembered throughout history; essentially you will be the most intelligent doctor in this century.” Lucifer said all of this facing backwards, but Grant felt as though he was grabbing onto his soul through his piercing words. His voice also seemed familiar, but Grant could not place who it was.

“That would be the greatest thing that could ever happen to me. I cannot wait to start my new life. What did you say the cost was?” Not that it mattered. Grant was sold.

“The price is very high. You give me your soul, and I make you the brightest doctor in the world!” Lucifer said with a devilish laugh.

Grant did not believe in souls anyway, so he quickly agreed. The bartender pulled out a red leather stool that his name was scratched into. “Have a seat,” said Lucifer coolly. “Go fetch a few shots of Hot Damn! we will have a toast.” Lucifer directed to the bartender. They took their shots, and the next thing Grant heard the beep of his alarm clock.

Grant snapped out of his groggy, hungover sleep only fifteen minutes before he had to meet with the Dean, and it took ten minutes to walk to his office.  He splashed his face, brushed his teeth, slipped into a shirt and tie, and prayed that he did not smell like alcohol. He left his apartment and walked at a brisk pace. When he got to the got to the building he was ushered right into the Dean’s office. Grant took a seat and waited for the Dean to turn his crimson leather chair around. The Dean had black slicked back hair and eyes beneath dark furrowed brows, his eyes were so deep brown they looked almost black. His colorless lips were in a curled back in a crooked smile, and his teeth were almost pointed. He had long boney fingers with nails that needed trimming. There was a ring on his right index finger, which looked to be an “L” made out of rubies and black onyx.  His suit was fitted dark grey with a black cherry silk tie and his shoes were a shiny polished black. “Good morning, Grant. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Morning Dean Flier, I’m alright. How are you?”

“I am doing pretty well,” the Dean said with a smirk. “So I called you in today to talk about your grades. They are suffering a bit, are they not?  I see you also cheated on a few tests.” Grant nodded. “Usually, a student would be expelled for that kind of behavior, but this is a special case.” Grant exhaled. “Since you are a scholarship student, and your score on your MCAT exam was the best we’ve seen in the devil knows how long, I am willing to give you one more chance to succeed. I know you will not fail me Grant.”

“Thank you Dean Flier for this excellent opportunity, I will be the best student you have ever had. I will not let you down.” Grant graduated the medical school program at the top of his class, without ever studying for a test. His research on cures for cancer that he did in school was outstanding, and he had dozens of articles written about his research before he had even finished his residency. The medical journals were calling him a prodigy and the greatest doctor of the century. Grant, full of narcissism, loved the things people said about him. He soon became quite famous.

Because of his fame, drug companies would pay him to endorse their weight loss supplements, pills that would turn hair back from grey to its original hue, and pills for wrinkles, the list was endless. Grant would endorse them all even if he knew nothing about them; he would do it just for the money. All of the supplements were basically placebos but people just kept buying them because his face was on the bottle. Grant began to stop using his brilliant mind to help people get better, he just wanted money and he only cared about himself.

As Grant grew older, he knew that the day that Lucifer would come for his soul was looming in. Now that he had gotten wiser, he did not want his time on Earth to end so soon and he did not want to spend his days with Lucifer. What was he thinking when he threw his life away in medical school?  His life had moved as quickly as the strike of a match, he needed to try to do something that would absolve his sins and keep Lucifer from coming to take him.

Grant decided to go back to his research regimen focused on curing cancer and other diseases. He thought that would do the trick and keep Lucifer away, his new found religious beliefs taught him that God is always watching. He also had a Plan B. Grant had been researching on the side for years now, trying to create a drug that would keep him forever youthful, thus keeping him out of Lucifer’s grasp.

He developed the drug and decided to test it out on himself. After injecting the serum he felt the effects almost immediately and he jumped for joy, it was working!  He injected two more vials and took a look in the mirror. Grant Scott looked like a forty-year-old man instead of an eighty-year-old man! If he ended up selling this drug he would make billions. It was near midnight so he decided that he would go to sleep, he felt tired suddenly, and maybe it was a side effect of the drug. Even if it was, he could not be happier.

Grant woke up the next morning feeling very strange, he could not get out of bed and felt very weak. The drug that was supposed to keep him young had backfired; he now felt twenty years older than he did before he took the drug. With great effort he sat up and turned on the lamp that sat on his wooden bedside table. He screamed. What was Dean Flier doing in his bedroom looking the same way he did when Grant was in college? Quickly Grant pieced everything together, the slicked back black hair, the long finger nails, the “L” ring, Dean Flier was Lucifer. How had he not seen this coming?

“Hello, Grant, nice to see you again. You were the best doctor of the century, now it is time for me to get my half of the deal. I hope you think your life was worth it and that you enjoyed it, because your new life is not going to be a picnic.” Lucifer laughed devilishly and the lights went black. Grant’s scream echoed throughout the empty house, he was never seen again.

The bartender at Lucifer’s bar took the red leather barstool into the warehouse, and placed it on the industrial steel shelf next to his brother Mike’s.

Mock Trial Reaction to the Verdict

            In the mock trial, the question asked was, whether or not Mark Twain was racist. In my opinion, Twain was not guilty of being a racist.

            The first reason why I concluded Twain as being not guilty was his use of satire in the novel. In the first pages of the novel Huck says that Twain exaggerated a lot. Twain may have exaggerated how people acted in the South, but those exaggerations had no reflection on the kind of person he was. The literary expert on the Defense side said that the satirical references were misread as racist, and I also believe that to be true. Twain used the word “nigger” about 200 times in the novel, each time for a specific reason. That reason as Twain said in the trial, was to emphasize how blacks were treated. He was satirizing the people of the south, and Twain also said that he wanted people to realize that they were wrong. Some people may not have noticed the underlying satire within the novel, because they wanted to immediately point fingers at Twain and say he was racist. Twain knew that people would take things differently than how he meant them, but that did not stop him from sending the message.

            Just because Twain wrote a book, that could have been seen as racist, does not make him a racist person. I saw Twain as a reliable source in the trial so I believed him when he said that he was not racist, and was not prejudice towards blacks. By saying those two things, I was swayed to vote him not guilty. The main reason why I did vote Twain not guilty, was the argument he gave. The Prosecution was unable to squeeze any evidence of racism out of him, and so I could not say that Twain was racist because I would have been making up reasons why he was. There was nothing that jumped out to me in the trial that directly stated that Twain was racist or not racist, besides Twain’s argument for himself.

            Through the novel, Twain was trying to show how life was back in the South when slavery still existed. He was portraying events how they really were, as he also explained in the trial. Blacks were not treated the same as whites during that time period. Living in that time and telling readers how life was does not make him racist, like the Defense said. Sure he exaggerated, but that was to make a lasting effect.  We are still discussing the controversy of this hundred-year-old book today. The words in the novel, really did not have a reflection on Twain’s racist ideals, it was a book of fiction as he said in the trial. He also said that he intended to make the novel not racist. Both the Prosecution and the Defense teams made excellent points in their questionings, but the Defense got my vote as a result of Twain’s argument.

              

           

           

           

           

Huck Finn Blog Post #2

                Huck and Jim have a father and son relationship; however their roles as father and son can be interchangeable.

                Jim is like a father to Huck right when they find each other in the woods. He took charge and made breakfast for Huck and himself, which is a fatherly action. Jim saved Huck from his miserable loneliness. Jim was also a man that Huck could look up to and a man that he could learn maturity from, a skill that he could not have learned from Pap. Jim was always looking out for Huck and the reader could tell that he cared for Huck as well. “’It’s a dead man. Yes, indeed; naked too. He’s been shot in de back…Come in, Huck, but doan’ look at his face-it’s too gashly’” (Twain 57). When Jim and Huck find the dead body Jim advises Huck not to look at it. Jim does this, as a father would do, to protect Huck from seeing a dead person. Jim wanted to protect Huck from seeing the dead man because he is still a child, even though does not seem like one.

                 Huck is like a father to Jim as well. Huck is also very protective of Jim and Huck tries to teach him everything he knows. “I had got so uneasy I couldn’t set still. I had to do something with my hands; so I took up a needle off of the table and went to threading it. My hands shook, and I was making a bad job of it” (Twain 64). This quote is Huck’s reaction to hearing that there if a reward out for catching Jim. Huck is immediately worried and has to go find Jim so they can go hide. Another way that Huck is fatherly to Jim is when Huck is reading to Jim. “I read considerable to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each other your majesty… ‘stead of mister” (Twain 81). Jim was surprised to hear all about these things that Huck was teaching him. Jim took the story about King Solomon very literally and Huck was helping Jim to understand the reasoning behind it.

                Huck and Jim are not the most conventional father figures to each other, but they are there for one another in more ways than one.