The story of “Peacock In The Land Of Penguins”, written by B. J. Gallagher Hateley and Warren H. Schmidt was a uniquely structured book filling pages with short stanzas and at least one illustration of what’s going on in the story Bj Gallagher is known for writing books or making speeches about empowerment and understanding in ways that could be universally understood in our society. In this book it’s no different in being able to tackle mature situations in a way that even children can understand. She was competent in being able to bring these characters to life because the peacock was molded after Bj’s own personality and experiences. Personally, I wouldn’t have expected someone who had a doctorate from the University of Southern California
I had arrived at the stop. It was surrounded by little children water jungle gyms. There was also a bar on the side of a pool made as an adult “resting” place. By the time I had taken in my surroundings I was in a chair looking at the lazy river, hoping that one of my family members would go by in it.
James Thurber’s “The Wood Duck”, published in 1936, splits nature into multiple recognizable pieces, some to be hunted and used for human gain, while others are to be left alone for a distant enjoyment, like merciful gods gazing down upon a simple, weak being. Death would be easy for the small being, is easy, and yet it lives and so it is treasured as a small entertainment. “The Wood Duck”, rather than take an obvious stance against or for human industrialization and what it does to the ecosystems that share our small blueish planet, instead brings to light the jarring contradiction in which humans live with nature as both aggressors and innocently curious viewers of a nature that is forced to adapt to survive in a world humans had vitally
There was another complex across the road which seemed to look over every few minute. Meeting into the center was a trial that led right back to the lobby. Walking past the lobby towards the more dense area of the center was a branched off arm of the trail leading to the recreation center, trails, gym, and lake. The center was huge filled with soccer balls, basketballs, and volleyballs. Father up ahead was the lake whose essence was magnificent. The lake bordered on all sides by trees shone brightly as the sun reflected of its surface. Birds and squirrels could be heard scurrying around and talking to one another, allowing a placid feeling to govern the
A Great Blue Heron navigated the shoreline and several Mallards in search of breakfast, which coincidently sounded like a good idea. The views of the lake at not only this locale, but at each of our stops were excellent. There isn’t a proverbially bad seat in the house for observing waterfowl.
New York City, the shining icon of the American dream and the mixing pot of cultures, was but a name I knew when I was young. Nine years ago, I finally set foot on the fabled city when my family immigrated to the United States. The gigantic airport, JFK International, spanned for miles and its terminals stood proudly over the jumbo jets below. That night, nausea from the plane’s descension and the entropic movements of my aunt’s Jeep prevented me from seeing the outside world. I rested my head on my mom’s lap while still imaging what the city was like.
Boston is a strange place, and the more I explore it the more evident that becomes. It’s a city where the founders of the nation neighbor the pioneers of the new age, where a bear playing a keytar is an icon, and where the Red Line is inevitably experiencing “minor” delays in service due to a disabled train at Davis Square. My hunt to fulfill my Social Media Photography assignment effectively affirmed my affectionate feelings of confusion toward the city. It was a whirlwind adventure where I asked myself questions like “What were they thinking?” “Did I really almost get hit by a duck boat?” and “Why are there so many vendors trying to sell knock-off Shopkins in the Common?”
Boston and New York are major American cities that have grown and prospered since Revolutionary times, in large part due to their location on the Atlantic seaboard. Both were, and continue to be, centers of commerce of ports of entry for visitors and immigrants. Despite some similarities, however, Boston and New York boast some striking differences, as Maier points out, in their people, their politics, in feeling, in character, and "in that wonderfully all-encompassing thing called culture." Maier further contends that, while both cities have naturally evolved since the eighteenth century, each had distinct characteristics evident from the beginning that influenced their development. These distinct characteristics can still be seen today.
I stand under the Washington Square Park arch onlooking the fountain as I watch my mother lean backward in attempts to fit both me and the arch in a photo. It was a chilly spring day, one of those where the sun was out but you still needed a light jacket to keep warm. Cars zoomed by. Groups of students Looking around, this untraditional campus was my first impression of what college is like. I imagined how the park would look in the fall with the leaves each a different shade of red and yellow; revealing their last burst of beauty before falling on the ground to make a satisfying crunch underneath my feet. It has been 5 years since my first visit but the treasures of NYU remain timeless.
The sound of blaring car horns and chatter of important phone conversations filled the city of Washington D.C. Men and Women dressed in business attire raced frantically up and down faintly painted crosswalks pushing by me as if I weren't there. A place I once thought was professional and mindful turned out to be more deceiving than I imagined. as I walked through the city I realized it was a place of chaos and oblivious people. I walked around the city for a few minutes before I discovered Pershing Park ( a park known for its protests). Along the perimeter of the park I saw mostly business people walking in and out of government buildings and occasionally a tourist snapping pictures next to a historic landmark.
American cities range in size from extremely large to small town USA. They exist from coast to coast and vary in popularity, population, and prosperity. Some of them are so little known that only their inhabitants and those who reside in close proximately know of them. Others, however, are known world-wide, and their names are synonymous with greatness. Washington, D.C., the city that was non-existent until it became a nation in 1789, has risen to become our nation’s capital and a hub for political activity.
I woke up early morning with intentions to catch the train to go to Chicago with my friends. I was filled with partial excitement because we weren’t going to Chicago to visit North Ave or Magnificent Mile, but instead our plans were to visit the Chicago Historical Society. In complete honesty, I felt as though this visit would be a waste of time and money and I wanted to do almost anything but get started on my summer work. So when my friends and I walked in, I looked around with skepticism and a huge groan. However, soon enough my friends and I were going from exhibit to exhibit, reading about the past history and actually enjoying ourselves. I never knew that Chicago held so much history within its streets and buildings, and it was a pleasant surprise that Chicago has much more to it than just towering skyscrapers.
Anderson uses sensory imagery and onomatopoeia to paint the scene, as the mother duck prompts her ducklings to jump into the water with her demonstrative “Splash!”. Akin to Fran being pushed over and ran into, the ‘poor duckling’ is ‘picked and pushed about and made fun of’. Anderson’s use of plosive p sounds and emotive terms enhance audience empathy. When the duckling runs away, he is self-exiled as a result of social rejection.
After contacting the author Adam Rapp, Writer of Punkzilla , and Under the Wolf, Under the Dog, I was able to interview him for about an hour through Skype. I was able to ask him many questions in that time. Included in this is part one of the interview.
The tale of “The Ugly Duckling” has been told for many generations. It is the story of a little swan that is mistakenly hatched in a duck’s nest and because of his strange and different appearance he is teased and ridiculed. Even his mother can’t understand how this “ugly duckling” could be one of her own. The ugly duckling goes through many hardships and a long, lonely winter. Then upon seeing his reflection in the pond he realizes that he has become a beautiful swan and happily swims off, joining a group of nearby swans.