Course Evaluation
* what you learned
I wrote some five paragraph essay’s about ten years ago in High school but had long forgotten the format. I learned the proper structure of the five-grapher and some different types of essays.
* whether the course surprised you in any way
A lot more work than I expected. But after I got going it was manageable.
* whether what you learned was worth your time and money
Absolutely
* what was good in the course
I like the instant feedback. Always within a day or two. Makes it worth putting in the effort.
* what was not good in the course
Nothing really
* things I should change
Really confusing at the start. It may be available at the beginning but make people look at the checklist and respond back to you.
* things that should stay the same
I like the prompts. They give some good ideas on what to write about.
* any miscellaneous advice or suggestions for me
nope
Part 2: Then go back in memory and think about what you’ve written.
Write a graf about something you’ve done you really liked (or hated).
I really like the essay I wrote on living the commuter lifestyle. I think I used it for the division essay. I thought I used some pretty good descriptive sentences like the graveyard on my floorboards, the sunflower seed infestation on the back seat and the black hole inside my tool box. You seemed to share my thoughts by liking that one the best. I also liked writing about some of my military experiences. It was kind of like therapy to get it all out on paper.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Comparison Essay
As I make the hour drive to Bangor for the millionth time, sipping my usual coffee in its Styrofoam container, I can’t help but think how much it’s like a relationship. It always starts out hot as hell, reaches that perfect temperature when I want to drink it all in one glorious chug and of course sometimes, the last quarter of the cup gets forgotten while it sits in the cup holder and turns cold. I know how the story goes every time and yet it never changes.
We all know the paradox. You get that delicious, aromatic coffee first thing in the morning and just can’t wait to throw it down your throat. You know damn well that it’s going to burn your mouth like a hot coal but it’s worth it. Having a new girlfriend is the same way for me. Eyes meet, emotions take over and for a few months, an inferno ensues. I know that most relationships which start out based on the bedroom almost always fail and I get burned. But who can help it. The sweet satisfaction and need takes over all sense of normal reasoning.
So I’ve lived through the scalding of the first sip. Ten minutes go by and the coffee has turned into something perfect. It’s perfectly warm, loving and can do nothing wrong. I just want to hold the cup to my lips and drink it all. The bottom of the cup is nowhere in sight and the only thing in my mind is how perfect the world is. It’s like her and I. Five months goes by and the flames have settled into a nice bed of coals under some glowing birch logs. We call each other honey butt and cupcake while every day is just right. There are no fights, no slamming doors and we are so accepting of everything. Perfect. I want to be with her day and night and can’t seem to get enough. There is no way this could ever end.
The cupholder. The place where coffee gets forgotten and goes to die. The music is blaring. Cars are going by. I am thinking of everything else in my life but that little cup sitting beside me. I am about to pull into my destination as I look down and remember. I grab it but it’s too late. It’s turned cold and the once succulent drink has turned into a nasty, bitter elixir. I toss it out the window and the cup goes on the floorboard graveyard. The relationship has dragged on now. We both forgotten the wonder lust and outside life has taken over. I forgot the excitement and newness of what we had and things have turned cold. It’s time to end it. What was once sweet and invigorating leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
How depressing. Is there a solution? Somewhere out there, does an eternally warm and bottomless cup exist? Sounds crazy but I think I found one. I’ve been drinking it for two years and it still tastes pretty good. It may not be as piping hot as the first couple of months but it seems as though that perfect temperature is holding true. Of course every now and then I spill a couple of drops, a harsh word is said and a sip tastes a little bitter. If it wasn’t for this, would the sips that are just right and leave a little hint of sugar on my tongue taste as good? The secret is the cup holder. Don’t use it. Hold the cup in your hand, feeling the warmth and always paying attention to it. Don’t let the noise of the outside world let you forget what’s really important inside it. Just remember, don’t ever toss it out the window at the first signs of a bad taste because once it’s gone, you can never get it back.
We all know the paradox. You get that delicious, aromatic coffee first thing in the morning and just can’t wait to throw it down your throat. You know damn well that it’s going to burn your mouth like a hot coal but it’s worth it. Having a new girlfriend is the same way for me. Eyes meet, emotions take over and for a few months, an inferno ensues. I know that most relationships which start out based on the bedroom almost always fail and I get burned. But who can help it. The sweet satisfaction and need takes over all sense of normal reasoning.
So I’ve lived through the scalding of the first sip. Ten minutes go by and the coffee has turned into something perfect. It’s perfectly warm, loving and can do nothing wrong. I just want to hold the cup to my lips and drink it all. The bottom of the cup is nowhere in sight and the only thing in my mind is how perfect the world is. It’s like her and I. Five months goes by and the flames have settled into a nice bed of coals under some glowing birch logs. We call each other honey butt and cupcake while every day is just right. There are no fights, no slamming doors and we are so accepting of everything. Perfect. I want to be with her day and night and can’t seem to get enough. There is no way this could ever end.
The cupholder. The place where coffee gets forgotten and goes to die. The music is blaring. Cars are going by. I am thinking of everything else in my life but that little cup sitting beside me. I am about to pull into my destination as I look down and remember. I grab it but it’s too late. It’s turned cold and the once succulent drink has turned into a nasty, bitter elixir. I toss it out the window and the cup goes on the floorboard graveyard. The relationship has dragged on now. We both forgotten the wonder lust and outside life has taken over. I forgot the excitement and newness of what we had and things have turned cold. It’s time to end it. What was once sweet and invigorating leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
How depressing. Is there a solution? Somewhere out there, does an eternally warm and bottomless cup exist? Sounds crazy but I think I found one. I’ve been drinking it for two years and it still tastes pretty good. It may not be as piping hot as the first couple of months but it seems as though that perfect temperature is holding true. Of course every now and then I spill a couple of drops, a harsh word is said and a sip tastes a little bitter. If it wasn’t for this, would the sips that are just right and leave a little hint of sugar on my tongue taste as good? The secret is the cup holder. Don’t use it. Hold the cup in your hand, feeling the warmth and always paying attention to it. Don’t let the noise of the outside world let you forget what’s really important inside it. Just remember, don’t ever toss it out the window at the first signs of a bad taste because once it’s gone, you can never get it back.
Lost Outro to Example Essay
Apparently when I coppied and pasted this essay I lost the last paragraph. Here it is....
So I can just imagine certain people reading this essay. They are probably thinking about what a cretin I am. I apologize ahead a time if some mud flies off one of my tires and lands on your perfectly cleaned windshield. I do however hope you notice the smiles of everyone on board peering through the blurred windows and wonder what kind of adventures we have had that day. An idea to take away from this little glimpse into the life of a guy born and raised in Maine, USA, is that life is short. If you can’t go out and enjoy it without shedding some of the shells that our culture has imposed then why exist. Go out there. Get cold. Get lost. Get dirty :)
So I can just imagine certain people reading this essay. They are probably thinking about what a cretin I am. I apologize ahead a time if some mud flies off one of my tires and lands on your perfectly cleaned windshield. I do however hope you notice the smiles of everyone on board peering through the blurred windows and wonder what kind of adventures we have had that day. An idea to take away from this little glimpse into the life of a guy born and raised in Maine, USA, is that life is short. If you can’t go out and enjoy it without shedding some of the shells that our culture has imposed then why exist. Go out there. Get cold. Get lost. Get dirty :)
Friday, May 8, 2009
Example Essay
There are people who live in or visit this state who falsely call themselves outdoorsman. They drive their tiny SUV’s with a soccer ball sticker on the back window right below their $1000 Thule rack sitting pretty with a big, fat, un-tippable, tie-died kayak strapped to it and finished off with a shiny, pink master lock like someone would actually steal the eyesore. I can’t help but laugh as I pass them on the highway with my gas-guzzeling, mud covered Chevy truck with fishing poles sticking out the back and an old rusty boat in-tow. Yes I may be a redneck but who has more fun? As I watch them turn into the public boat landing right beside the Wal-mart, I step on my gas pedal a little harder thinking about that secret trout spot my grandfather showed me as a kid. There are many reasons I consider myself an actual Maine-ah, but the time and effort I put into hunting and fishing in the state prove it. Braving the ridiculous weather we have here, the long days of traveling into the wild blue yonder and getting absolutely dirty shows my dedication to holding true to my ancestry and having fun at the same time.
“There’s a Nor’ Easta Comin’”. We hear it from the toothless guy on the corner grasping a brown bag hours before it comes from the educated meteorologist on the nightly news with his LL Bean boots sticking out of his dress slacks. People here in Maine know they live in a wasteland as far as the weather is concerned and most are proud of it. So a little snowstorm is coming. Gram will be out there in her snowmobile suit pushing a snow blower while the kids stay home from school performing 10-point back flips off the garage roof. This is when I throw my old bird dog, a beat up old pack basket full of patched up traps, a Coleman stove, a package of deer meat, and anybody I can coheres into going with me into the truck and head for the lake. Yeah it is snowing to beat hell and half the state is without power but the fishing is hot. A real Maine fisherman doesn’t let god tell him when it’s ok to hit the ice. I’ve caught some of the biggest and ugliest fish during these blizzards and wouldn’t give it up for the world. When I see that fat brook trout pop out of a 10-inch hole, flipping his tail and looking just as beautiful as can be, I tend to forget that my toes are frozen together and I can’t feel my face. Tasting that venison after it has been sautéing with butter and garlic in a tin foil fry pan, the last thought on my mind is the tornado of snow shooting down my collar. Just barely seeing the smile on the face of a six year old through the flakes as he pulls a giant pickerel through the ice makes it all worth it.
The people who print the Gazateer, a topographical map of the state, should put a scale for miles and then one that says pack a lunch sucka. If you want to get to those spots where memories are made and tourists are only found in jokes, you’re gonna have to drive. And drive and drive and drive a little more. I can always tell the folks who know where to go for a true Maine outdoor experience. They come back into town with mud and dust caked on the side of a truck with jagged lines dragged from bumper to bumper by branches. I know this look very well as the best roads are normally half grown in. I have found that these back roads, abandoned by whoever made them in the first place, usually bring me to the golden places where fish jump in my creel and deer cut in front of each other to have a look at me. Yes it takes a toll on my vehicle and might put a couple of scratches in the paint but who gives a rats ass? When I am on my death bed, am I going to think, “geez, if only I could have kept my truck a little more clean, my life would have been so much better.” Probably not.
I don’t care who you ask, even if they are just a weekend redneck, they will tell you that having fun in the outdoors almost always means getting dirty. If you happen see some friends and I after a long four wheeler ride, there will be two clean areas. One is the spot of our faces which was covered by a set of goggles and the other will be a brilliant white, Cheshire grin. For some reason unbeknownst to me, there is nothing more fun than creating a rooster tail of mud through a boggy trail. I just can’t understand the people out in the woods and on the trails wearing some white knickers, a lovely little spring jacket and a sun hat. Don’t they realize just how fun it is to go animalistic? If you haven’t gone out and just not cared about getting dirty and just enjoyed unbridled fun, you haven’t lived. This willingness to put looks and societies idea of proper attire aside makes me fit in with the true Maine outdoorsman crowd.
“There’s a Nor’ Easta Comin’”. We hear it from the toothless guy on the corner grasping a brown bag hours before it comes from the educated meteorologist on the nightly news with his LL Bean boots sticking out of his dress slacks. People here in Maine know they live in a wasteland as far as the weather is concerned and most are proud of it. So a little snowstorm is coming. Gram will be out there in her snowmobile suit pushing a snow blower while the kids stay home from school performing 10-point back flips off the garage roof. This is when I throw my old bird dog, a beat up old pack basket full of patched up traps, a Coleman stove, a package of deer meat, and anybody I can coheres into going with me into the truck and head for the lake. Yeah it is snowing to beat hell and half the state is without power but the fishing is hot. A real Maine fisherman doesn’t let god tell him when it’s ok to hit the ice. I’ve caught some of the biggest and ugliest fish during these blizzards and wouldn’t give it up for the world. When I see that fat brook trout pop out of a 10-inch hole, flipping his tail and looking just as beautiful as can be, I tend to forget that my toes are frozen together and I can’t feel my face. Tasting that venison after it has been sautéing with butter and garlic in a tin foil fry pan, the last thought on my mind is the tornado of snow shooting down my collar. Just barely seeing the smile on the face of a six year old through the flakes as he pulls a giant pickerel through the ice makes it all worth it.
The people who print the Gazateer, a topographical map of the state, should put a scale for miles and then one that says pack a lunch sucka. If you want to get to those spots where memories are made and tourists are only found in jokes, you’re gonna have to drive. And drive and drive and drive a little more. I can always tell the folks who know where to go for a true Maine outdoor experience. They come back into town with mud and dust caked on the side of a truck with jagged lines dragged from bumper to bumper by branches. I know this look very well as the best roads are normally half grown in. I have found that these back roads, abandoned by whoever made them in the first place, usually bring me to the golden places where fish jump in my creel and deer cut in front of each other to have a look at me. Yes it takes a toll on my vehicle and might put a couple of scratches in the paint but who gives a rats ass? When I am on my death bed, am I going to think, “geez, if only I could have kept my truck a little more clean, my life would have been so much better.” Probably not.
I don’t care who you ask, even if they are just a weekend redneck, they will tell you that having fun in the outdoors almost always means getting dirty. If you happen see some friends and I after a long four wheeler ride, there will be two clean areas. One is the spot of our faces which was covered by a set of goggles and the other will be a brilliant white, Cheshire grin. For some reason unbeknownst to me, there is nothing more fun than creating a rooster tail of mud through a boggy trail. I just can’t understand the people out in the woods and on the trails wearing some white knickers, a lovely little spring jacket and a sun hat. Don’t they realize just how fun it is to go animalistic? If you haven’t gone out and just not cared about getting dirty and just enjoyed unbridled fun, you haven’t lived. This willingness to put looks and societies idea of proper attire aside makes me fit in with the true Maine outdoorsman crowd.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Effect Essay
My nearly fatal decision to join the Army at 22 years old turned out to be the best one I have ever made. Of course there were endless days of lying in a pool of oil under a tank in the motor pool, a month of training in the 120° Mojave Desert, and two, year-long deployments in the bowels of Iraq, but sometimes the worst experiences in our lives are the ones that shape us into better people. I wished thousands of times that I never signed that paper, handing over my soul to Uncle Sam, never realizing that the hell I was going through might actually be just what I needed. Being part of something outside my own little universe propelled me into the life which I lead now. I gained brothers, lost some and was changed forever. The Army taught me to appreciate teamwork, never settle for the mediocre and also gave me the chance to get out of the rut I was in and have a better life back in the civilian world.
There were times in the service that common sense seemed to be as far away as my family, half a country away. Having a combat job meant that when not deployed; my days were sometimes filled with training but more often than not, meaningless tasks. I can’t count the number of times that my company would report to our motor pool on orders to prepare for an inspection. These inspections entailed emptying the enormous, metal containers which housed our tools and equipment. Being part of a heavy, mechanized unit meant that very few of these pieces were small or light. My soldiers and I would spend the better part of a day lugging each item out of the trailer and laying them perfectly in a neat and organized manner. After doing this through the muggy, Missouri heat and nearly experiencing heat exhaustion, we would sit and wait for our lieutenant to come inspect. The problem was that he rarely showed. This would mean that everything went back into the box to be hauled out the next day. The ignorance and absolute insanity of these days drove me mad. Listening to the privates piss and moan, all I wanted to do was agree with their gripes and flip out, but as their sergeant, I always kept my composure. Looking back I realize that those times were in fact horrible, but to this day, I have yet to find the brotherhood and teamwork that we had. No man ever worked alone and could always count on his fellow soldiers to help. The huge tasks that were given were accomplished no matter what. No one called in sick or just quit. We would roll up our sleeves and do it. If another unit needed help, we were there whether we knew them or not. The crazy inspections are just one example of the machine. Throughout my four years in the Army, I would be reminded time and time again that no matter how seemingly impossible something seemed, it could be accomplished if not by myself, with the help of my brothers.
From the day I entered basic training to my separation from the Army, I was taught to never just settle. If we were camped in a certain spot for longer than an hour, we were expected to somehow improve on the surroundings. Even in Iraq, we would set up temporary operating bases and continually add sandbags, observation points and fortifications. We could be well aware that we were leaving the area the very next day and yet were still busy improving upon the situation. In the states, at the end of a training session, all soldiers would line up in a row and walk the entire training area from end to end. We picked up shell casings, trash, cigarette butts and anything else that wasn’t put there by god rather it came from us or not. It gave new meaning to the term, “carry in, carry out, “ because we always would leave the area better than how we found it. This mindset of constantly improving is rather ingenious of the Army. I believe that somewhere in history, the U.S. government realized that if soldiers were expected to do this in every activity, they would internalize the idea and conduct themselves in this manner all the time. There is no better way to have a strong military than to have one that is concerned with the bettering themselves at all times. Even now as a civilian, I carry this idea with me. I find myself unhappy with just settling for the average life. I look for ways to make life better through education, healthy relationships, and staying motivated.
The third thing that the Army did for me was it gave me the chance to earn a degree. Before the GI Bill there was no way I would have been able to afford the outrageous prices colleges charge for an education. I knew going into the service that I would most likely get out after my first term and get the degree I had always hoped for. Now as I write this, I am just a couple of weeks away from receiving my Civil Engineering degree and could my more elated. Through all the tough times, miserable climates and crazy combat operations I always knew that this day would come and all of that would pay off.
I guess the Army or any other branch of service isn’t for everyone. Some people can graduate high school and move on directly to college without batting an eyelash. I know for me however it was the right choice and would make it again. I could probably go without being shot at and eventually hit but I knew that could happen. I guess I figured if I was going to serve my country, with my personality, I wouldn’t have been happy sitting in the rear with the gear. I knew that I wanted to serve in combat operations and make a difference that I could see instantly. Losing close buddies was horrible but without going through it I never would have gained the ones I still have. If it wasn’t for the Army I might still be driving a delivery truck or working in some factory for minimum wage. I definitely wouldn’t have the perspective on life that I carry with me now. I wouldn’t understand the value of being surrounded by good hard working people and what it means to have absolute trust in another person.
There were times in the service that common sense seemed to be as far away as my family, half a country away. Having a combat job meant that when not deployed; my days were sometimes filled with training but more often than not, meaningless tasks. I can’t count the number of times that my company would report to our motor pool on orders to prepare for an inspection. These inspections entailed emptying the enormous, metal containers which housed our tools and equipment. Being part of a heavy, mechanized unit meant that very few of these pieces were small or light. My soldiers and I would spend the better part of a day lugging each item out of the trailer and laying them perfectly in a neat and organized manner. After doing this through the muggy, Missouri heat and nearly experiencing heat exhaustion, we would sit and wait for our lieutenant to come inspect. The problem was that he rarely showed. This would mean that everything went back into the box to be hauled out the next day. The ignorance and absolute insanity of these days drove me mad. Listening to the privates piss and moan, all I wanted to do was agree with their gripes and flip out, but as their sergeant, I always kept my composure. Looking back I realize that those times were in fact horrible, but to this day, I have yet to find the brotherhood and teamwork that we had. No man ever worked alone and could always count on his fellow soldiers to help. The huge tasks that were given were accomplished no matter what. No one called in sick or just quit. We would roll up our sleeves and do it. If another unit needed help, we were there whether we knew them or not. The crazy inspections are just one example of the machine. Throughout my four years in the Army, I would be reminded time and time again that no matter how seemingly impossible something seemed, it could be accomplished if not by myself, with the help of my brothers.
From the day I entered basic training to my separation from the Army, I was taught to never just settle. If we were camped in a certain spot for longer than an hour, we were expected to somehow improve on the surroundings. Even in Iraq, we would set up temporary operating bases and continually add sandbags, observation points and fortifications. We could be well aware that we were leaving the area the very next day and yet were still busy improving upon the situation. In the states, at the end of a training session, all soldiers would line up in a row and walk the entire training area from end to end. We picked up shell casings, trash, cigarette butts and anything else that wasn’t put there by god rather it came from us or not. It gave new meaning to the term, “carry in, carry out, “ because we always would leave the area better than how we found it. This mindset of constantly improving is rather ingenious of the Army. I believe that somewhere in history, the U.S. government realized that if soldiers were expected to do this in every activity, they would internalize the idea and conduct themselves in this manner all the time. There is no better way to have a strong military than to have one that is concerned with the bettering themselves at all times. Even now as a civilian, I carry this idea with me. I find myself unhappy with just settling for the average life. I look for ways to make life better through education, healthy relationships, and staying motivated.
The third thing that the Army did for me was it gave me the chance to earn a degree. Before the GI Bill there was no way I would have been able to afford the outrageous prices colleges charge for an education. I knew going into the service that I would most likely get out after my first term and get the degree I had always hoped for. Now as I write this, I am just a couple of weeks away from receiving my Civil Engineering degree and could my more elated. Through all the tough times, miserable climates and crazy combat operations I always knew that this day would come and all of that would pay off.
I guess the Army or any other branch of service isn’t for everyone. Some people can graduate high school and move on directly to college without batting an eyelash. I know for me however it was the right choice and would make it again. I could probably go without being shot at and eventually hit but I knew that could happen. I guess I figured if I was going to serve my country, with my personality, I wouldn’t have been happy sitting in the rear with the gear. I knew that I wanted to serve in combat operations and make a difference that I could see instantly. Losing close buddies was horrible but without going through it I never would have gained the ones I still have. If it wasn’t for the Army I might still be driving a delivery truck or working in some factory for minimum wage. I definitely wouldn’t have the perspective on life that I carry with me now. I wouldn’t understand the value of being surrounded by good hard working people and what it means to have absolute trust in another person.
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