Entries Tagged 'English 101' ↓

There’s something about standing in front of a class, or a group of people, presenting.
I usually freak out before.  Just a little.  or a lot.  And then it happens - the flow.

The flow is this stage when all the pieces are put together.

I was working with a small class yesterday about blogging.  It was more of a technical class, using a specific technology (Angel ePortfolio) that we use at the college.

After the nervousness I was feeling as I was preparing for the class, all it took was for the professor to introduce me to the class - and I went into my instructor mode.  Words, descriptions, anecdotes and ideas flew out, putting the whole process in a logic structure, and there I was.  Giving a presentation, and it wasn’t that bad.

This ability grew into me.  or perhaps I grew into it.  When I first started here, several months ago, I had to meet with a class, give them an introductory to PowerPoint and public speaking.  I froze, sweat, stutter and lost all my words.  Only once I shifted to a more workshop type of approach, things went into place.

Since then I gave approximately 12 workshops and a presentation.

The workshops were work related, but I really wanted to mention the presentation.  It was my final exam for my English 101 course.

My final paper was not completed properly.  Mostly due to a week of illness that caught me off guard, and somewhat due to some other issues.  The final exam was a presentation.  Each student had to stand up and present his/her final paper.  It was to be a 5 minute long presentation.  Covering our topic, the research process, conclusions and a nice “what if…” question, which was more of a “well… you wrote a paper, now what?”.

Final exam day arrived.  I wrote some notes on my pretty Mac, but haven’t had a chance to print them.  One by one students stand up, all holding papers, reading some, explaining some, and I knew that with my bad paper I needed to shine.

My turn is coming up and it clicks.  I leave my laptop behind.  flying solo.  I stand up and present my topic - “US military presence in South Korea”.  My research was based on original agreements and official documentation, avoiding opinionated articles.  US was “abusing” its power, I even compared it to two characters from Titus Andronicus, and I ended my little presentation with a summary.  US was not playing nice, ok.  It happens, but it’s in the past.  The US revised its methods and the agreements, and is doing pretty well.  What next?  well, use that change and study it, applying correct methods to future agreements.  The US already did that with its new agreement with Bulgaria.

As I was speaking, I carried an occasional glance to the board, where my posted notes were projected.  I made eye contact with a few students, related to other presentations and smiled at my professor as I ended my presentation.  It went very well.

So here is my bit of advise on presentations, which may not be all that good, but works for me pretty well:

• Know your material.  improvising is good, I do it often, but it has to have some grip in reality.  so — PREPARE, PREPARE, PREPARE.
• Be confident.  What’s the worst that can happen?  someone getting bored?
• Make eye contact.  Don’t read off notes or the screen.  Pick a person who smiles encouragingly at you, and talk to them.  look around the room occasionally.  People like attention - give it to them.
• Relate to others. Give examples that most people can relate to.  Don’t be afraid to give an example that shows you in a funny light.  it’s human.  In my powerpoint workshops, when I go over color schemes I often tell the participants that I use the pre-loaded ones, because the guys at Microsoft know how to match colors better than I do, pointing at my not-always-matching-amazingly clothes.  It gets a couple of laughs and it calms everyone down.
• Summarize your whole topic at the end, emphasizing the important points.  That way your message gets across.
• Thank. Thank your audience for their time and patience.
• Smile in relief.

This following short story was written as a part of an essay for my English course.  It is based on articles, documentaries and stories about the torture at US detention centers and prisons in Afghanistan, Iraq and Cuba.  It’s not perfect, but nobody is…

—

“You are going to die here and no one will ever know”.

The bearded man looked at the soldier with terror.  His eyes open wide, mumbling prayers, hands and legs spread wide, chained to floor and ceiling.  He has been standing there for 8 hours, and unless he tells them what they want to hear, this nightmare will not end.

The bearded man, named Salaam, was looking at the young soldier yelling at him.  The soldier appeared to be his son’s age.  The soldier’s face was twisted with fury.  “Where are the explosives?  Who did you help?  Where is Bin Laden? Who were you trying to kill?  What army base were you after?” – questions were shooting from the soldier’s mouth quickly, almost uncontrolled.  A kick was directed at Salaam’s legs every time the soldier started a new question.  Praying for Allah to save him, Salaam kept on answering, “it is a mistake. You’ve got the wrong guy. I never tried to kill anyone.”

Later that night, in his cell, he was thinking of the young soldier and what made him act that way.  The young soldier’s name was David.  He was a good boy from a small town in Oklahoma.  He was about to start college in a few months, majoring Art at the University of Kentucky.  David was an artist.  His paintings were displayed in a few galleries throughout his Junior and Senior years in high school, gaining him the confidence any aspiring artist needs.  At night he’d go out with friends to watch a movie or have a video game marathon, returning home just before 11 pm, so that his parents wouldn’t be worried.  They trusted him to not drink and drive, but as they kept on reminding him, not all teenagers made sure they followed the law on that matter.

At 11pm, David would be home, wishing his mom good night, having a short conversation with his father, summing up his day, and by midnight he was asleep.

David just graduated from high school a couple of months before 19 terrorists crashed a few planes into buildings, killing a few thousand people, changing a nation forever.  Several days later, when the president announced a war on terrorism – David knew he had to join the army, so he could help make the world a better place.

On David’s way to the Bagram prison he was stationed to, a suicide bomber blew up one of the busses, killing 4 soldiers, injuring 59.  Among the 4 soldiers was Jonathan, David’s childhood friend.  Every night, before he went to sleep, David would pray to God to help him find the one responsible for the attack that took his friend away from him.  Every night, he would wake up in terror, reliving the bomb.  Every morning he would go to a new detainee, chain him up and interrogate him, looking for answers to the same meaningful questions.

Salaam’s hands are tired.  He’s been hanging all night long.  Someone forgot to untie him and kick him back to his cell.  He hasn’t eaten in over a day; he did not drink for longer than he can remember.  His legs hurt everywhere the soldier kicked him.  Salaam’s legs are a mixture of black and blue bruises.  His clothes smell like urine, a reminder for last night’s mishap, when he couldn’t hold himself any longer.  He feels shame.  Shame that at his age he has the same capabilities as a newborn baby.  His vision goes blurry and he’s drifting away from consciousness.  The room seems dimmer and then a bright light blinds Salaam.  His whole life does not flash in front of him.  No meaningful insight fills his mind.  He is simply dying.

Three hours go by.  The door opens and David walks in.  He sees a dead detainee.  He does not even remember his name.  They all look the same to him.  The body is taken away.  The family is notified.  Forms are filled.

New detainees arrive; David goes into an interrogation room to squeeze out some information.  In a small village in Afghanistan a family mourns for its dead father.  His 19-year-old son swears to avenge.

It’s a Friday afternoon, office is stuffy and my right hand is bothering me. Doc says it’s “like tennis elbow, yes?”, and that without proper rest all we can try is anti-inflammatory non-steroid medication. It’s been 4 days since I started taking the medication and there’s no improvement. So it goes.

For tomorrow I have to finish reading 2 chapters of “Nemesis” by Chalmers Johnson. I also must read through acts 3, 4 and 5 of “Titus Andronicus” and summarize approximately 5 articles that deal with US foreign policy. preferably ones discussing US military presence in foreign countries. I should have done that in the course of the past 4 weeks but was low on motivation and discouraged by the lack of interest i have in these topics. Tomorrow we will also view a few more scenes from the movie “Titus” that appalled me last week. So it goes.

I’ve been researching blogs and implementation of multi user blogging systems, testing it in one of my domains, registrations are now open in: www.write22.net/MU

Target audience is aspiring writers (ones who can spell better than I do), but all are welcome.

So it went, and is going a whole lot better.

This weekend I’ll be driving down to San Diego, to a children’s books fair of some sort.

Saturday morning and I get to class late, having to run a few test with a faculty member.

Titus Andronicus is what we read for the English 101 course, in LACC.
Act 2 is up today. Last act was pretty interesting and the outline that I read for Act 2 does not seem to pleasant. Tamora’s sons rape and mutilate Lavinia, pretty daughter of Titus.

Getting a little sick at the thought, I googled the synopsis for the play. It goes downhill from here.

Lavinia’s husband is murdered, Titus’s sons are blamed and executed, Titus acts crazy, then kills those who raped his daughter, turns them into pie and feed it to their mother. He later kills their mother and his own daughter, because she was raped.

Sickening.

The whole play is tragic/sick/disturbing, but what bothered me more than everything else is Titus’ reaction.
It’s a type of honor killing I’m used to hearing about in some Arab nations, not in class.

I’ve gone soft. I read this book and watch the movie, and all I can feel is nausea. Don’t enjoy the writing, knowing the plot.