Street Racing

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"Endless Summer"

It's a very cold, late night in the Denny's parking lot. I glance at my watch to see that it's 415am. "Damn. We've been out here for 4 hours and all we've seen is one race. One damn race!" I think to myself. As I stand here with my friends shooting the breeze about a lot of things, I can't help but think to myself how different this whole summer ended to how it started.

For myself, the summer couldn't have started out any better. The days were longer, the weather was warmer, and the racing was over the top. It seemed like everyday was designated "race night" by the street racing gods. It seemed like everyone in the whole world showed up to come to the races, be it either to spectate, race, or just to belong. Indeed, this summer offered nothing but love to fans of the scene in ways you couldn't imagine.

Common logic would state that summertime shouldn't be any different than the other seasons of the year, except for weather. But even though that may be the case, people in the scene notice that the best racing action is still reserved for those summer months. It is that time of the year where everyone gathers in hordes to participate. The most interesting part about the whole affair is that most people don't race. So why would they show up almost every night to be at the races?

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Well before I can answer that, we have to go back to the beginning of the summer season. People are just getting out of school for the summer, and all they remember is that school has robbed them of 8- months of their lives that they can't get back. Stressing about social problems that they may have in their family, at school, at work, or relationships. Instead of continuing that stress throughout the year, they take the initiative to enjoy the rest of it. The thing about racing is that you don't have to worry about anything really. It's an outlet to problems that we can be facing in our lives, and because it doesn't ask for anything in return except to enjoy yourselves, it can be a big draw to people looking to get away from all the fuss. You don't even have to participate in racing to have a good time. Watching alone is worth going. Especially when you can be out with your peers and friends in a setting that you know and understand. A place where people can just be themselves and converse about things that they like about life or things that might be bothering them.

Of course, that is just for the spectators of the scene. For those few who enjoy the adrenaline rush that comes when you're barreling down a straightaway as fast as you can, the racing scene is a lifesaver. You don't have to pay admission to race, you don't have to wait for hours on end to get 5 runs in a night, and you don't have to put up with the attitude that some race promoters take to young people racing in general. The ability to just get away from it all is very alluring, especially to those who race themselves. Nothing is better than being able to prove to those around you just how much time and effort you have put into your vehicle, to get it to spank up on all would be contenders to your title of "Fastest on the Streets."

What it all comes down to in the end I guess, is the reason summer holds just a special place in the racing communities hearts is that no other time of the year is like it. It has that uniqueness that one thirsts for all year. Those perfect times where everything just seems to come together. The crowds. The cars. The racing. The camaraderie. You can't get this anywhere else but summertime.

I glance back at my watch again. I think to myself, "I've just been out here 4 hours, and I have seen 0 racing action. 0." As this September finally winds down, I kind of feel sad in a way. I noticed the drop-off of the racing action since the beginning of this month, but tonight's occurrence just brought it close to home. "Summertime's over. That's it." As I say goodnight to my friends, I can't help but crack a smile and realized just how fun it was. I drive off towards home, remembering what would be my endless summer. I anxiously await its return back to the streets of San Diego.

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Textual analysis

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The various changes presented in the texts studied have been made evident in many different ways. For example The National Picture by Geoff Parr, the change in Australians attitude to racial differences has been conveyed, primarily the joining together of Aboriginal Australians, and European Australians.

Their place among white society in Australia today has been presented in a photographic form, to show visual images of the artists thoughts on whatis believed to be reconciliation between the two races.

The idea is conveyed by a substitution of objects such as spears with surveying rods to show change over time, also the replacement of real animals with a skinned wallaby, and an esky, which today can be seen as a symbol of the typical Australian which has taken over indigenous cultures. This can be seen by the native aboriginal figures in the picture which appear to be fading into the background.

The portrayal of Lewis in Cosi by Louis Nowra shows his change and tolerance over time, and shows his gradual understanding and adaption to the settings in which he is placed, and shows his adjustments as he changes his perceptions and his way of thinking towards certain people, and most importantly, his views on life after his experiences.

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Lewis is placed in an environment which juxtaposes his so called normal , non-institutionalised world.

Lewiss perspectives on madness, himself, and what is important in his life is immediately challenged as he is placed in unfamiliar settings, and meets new and unique people, whom he has not encountered before.

Through the combined use of character development, dramatic structure, use of symbols, such as the darkened theatre, which represents the world of madness both in and out, in pitch black, or unknown.

This shows his journey of transformation and change of perspective towards his environment and those around him.

Various techniques are evident in Sky High by Hannah Roberts. Many symbols are used in the piece, and the use of a double persona suggest the contrasting perspectives between youth and age, with the clothesline being used as a symbol for change although its physical appearance remains unchanged. It also represents the carefree spirit of youth and acts as a form of sanctuary for the writer, as although the things around her change, the comfort of the old clothesline remains unchanged, still doing its job without any interference or thought from anybody.

The writer has provided two views of change to portray the effects of ageing and the inevitable depression and sadness which comes with it, as she explains, My hands, beginning to accumulate the lines, etched story of life in scars and wrinkles. This shows her discontent in the realised fact that she, like her surroundings is becoming older, which she realises helps her to see things in a new and different perspective.

Throughout The Matrix, the main character, Neos perspectives, beliefs, and values of the world are constantly transforming. This is portrayed through his character, who is seen to be the action-like hero on a journey of discovery, between illusion and reality. Various techniques are used throughout the film such as use of powerful names, eg Neo, Trinity, and Morpheus to indicate change in identity, also colour to show blandness and the harsh realism of The Matrix, such as the blackness of the ship and the whiteness of the matrix void. Costume also plays a big part in conveying messages to the audience, with the use of glasses which can be seen to convey a sense of mystery, and the black suits which are seen worn by the agents to show their robot-like or manufactured place in the film. These techniques are also used for the purpose of the audience, by taking us on Neos journey in The Matrix, to discover what is real and we find ourselves questioning whether change is real, or controlled by outside forces. It also helps to shape how we as an audience look at things from a different perspective to show how we and other people look at them, and how change can be conveyed through cinematography.

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English

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Journal Entry, 16

All of life is a coming home. Picture yourself walking days through the snow you don't even no your walking in circles, your shouts disappearing into the wind, and how small u are and how far away home can really feel..

The stone was all in my mind I found myself in the dark. For I have had lost the right path eventually I will find the right path, but in the most unlikely place.

I have had several jobs none seem to fit, I don't seem to fit. I found myself surrounded by boring going no where. I look around me, and it went on like it did before its like a distinction.

I feel as though I can't fit into the right places and have lost my path and reasons in my life. Becoming suicidal and trying to find myself again I admit myself to Fairfax Hospital psychiatric Ward to find the answers.

As soon as I set foot inside I felt a sick twist in my tummy, couldn't move was scared. Did I really belong here? Was I doing the right thing by putting myself here in my own free will?

As I dragged myself helplessly down the cold corridor towards my room I began to feel a great sadness although somewhat happy. I set foot into my room it was all wired up I turned around I heard the guards turning the lock to the door and walk off, this is where I felt imprisoned, had I done something wrong? Or was it safety reasons I must not be in a room by myself that I wanted. I slowly turned around I see a man sitting on the bed in the corner bouncing up and down cross legged.

Easing the tension I introduce myself as I talk about things in general he starts screams out bloody Mary screams. Start pointing at things in mid air, trying as hell not to be scared holding in my frights I ask what's wrong, "The squirrels are coming to get me"He yells in a state of panic I call the guards they come storming in with there needles I run out of the room puffin in panic as I slightly turn my head around the corner look at that short, bold man lying on the bed while two guards have him pinned down by there knees into his back and shove the needle into the ass. I think to myself is this what its rally all about can I also be this crazy?

Later on that day I discuss my problems with a physiatrist. He sat there pretending he could hear me slowly pouring in his sugar into his coffee making it sweeter, ah maybe another bit of sugar….yup that's the stuff. Glasses drooped down onto his nose in his white coat looking into his notebook thinking he is acknowledging my presence when really he wanted to concentrate on the coffee being so damn sweet. I began describing my tremors I had as a child. My father left me when I was nine and before he left he said he felt as though he lost his soul. The whole time I thought it was me. I looked up no response so staying in my same tone I dwelled into saying if I light my own farts I could fly to the moon. Look up no response, he would look up after silence of about 5 seconds and say yes Hunter your progress is coming along well.

That night while I laid there in my harden squeaky bed form the other side of the room in the darkness Roody was bouncing up and down on the bed. Throwing out my rhythm I ask him what he was making all the noise about he said he needed to go to the toilet, the toilet was 5 feet away. It was the squirrels stopping him he'd say. Hoping out of my bed I tried to tell him that squirrels are harmless creatures right at the bottom of the food chain next to baby chickens and slugs. Not convincing him of the harmlessness he stopped me from talking and told me not to move. He said one was on the corner of my bed. Thinking in desperation if this man is really imagining these things, what if it was possible to imagine I had a gun? Taking out my two fingers making a pistol position I slowly aim at the side of my bed at where he said one of them were.

This went on for a couple of minutes fighting of these squirrels at last he leaped from off his bed and ran towards the toilet. Hearing him pee felt me with such relief. Am I really that good at this? If I put a little happiness into these peoples lives? I connected with another human being; I have never done anything like that as I have tonight. I learn from them I want more of that.

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Is The Wife of Bath Suited to Tell her Tale?

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In Chaucer's General Prologue we are introduced to a very colorful character, the Wife of Bath. She is a feisty woman with much experience in life. She has, according to her description, had five husbands, who have all preceded her in death, and the experience of several others we are to conclude. Her clothing does not seem to match a woman of her day. She is well adorned with many scarves, richly clothed and had new shoes. She wears bright red stockings not befitting of a solemn widow that one would expect her to be.

She is very comfortable in her own skin and with her sexuality. She has a hint of masculinity as she takes control of her life and her situations, taking on a more common role of male authority in her own life and marriages. She becomes the dichotomy of how a woman is expected to look, act and behave in her day. A woman of the middle ages would not be expected to be strong, independent, or be sexually aggressive.

Instead we see a picture painted of a woman who is bold and a little bit brazen. She knows what she wants and has no problem going after it. This is not the manner in which a respectable woman of the middle ages would have behaved.

The Wife of Bath tells her in own prologue that through her own experience, not authority, she can tell of then woes of marriage. This is not something that a woman would usually do. She chooses scriptures from the Bible and uses them both in and out of context to justify her position on marriage, remarriage and sex. She is quite proud of her "education" by five husbands. She says virginity is perfection and she is not perfect nor does she wish to be. Her attitudes are so far fetched for a woman of her time.

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She tells of her first three "good" husbands and then her last two "bad" husbands. Her first three husbands allowed her to do pretty much whatever she wanted and she ruled the roost, they were all older men. Her last two husbands were younger and they thought they should have control.

Her fifth husband, in particular, she handed over control, by signing over her property and money to him. During their marriage she doesn't get what she needs out of the relationship because he wants to control her and reads her stories of "bad" women all throughout history from biblical times on. He would beat her to try to emphasize his points. Finally she had enough and ripped his book and hit him one night, during this course of events, they fought and she gave as good as she got. He told her he would never hit her again and he gave her control of the marriage, and governance of the house and land. Once she had all this she was the most wonderful wife she could be to him and they lived in peace and harmony until he dies.

As the Wife of Bath tells her tale, we see the story of the knight and the old woman unfold. We see him go from very un-knightly behavior as he rapes a maiden in the land and goes through a trial. By the grace of the queen he is given an opportunity to save his life by going on a quest to find what women want most.

Amazingly through his yearlong search, he finally finds an older woman, who tells him what women want, and in an interesting turn of events when he reports back to the queen that, "Wommen desire to have sovereinetee As wel over hir housbonde as hir love, And for to been in maistrye him above." (Ln 1044-1046, The Wife of Bath's Tale, Chaucer) These lines state that above all women want power and control over their men or lovers. This statement alone brings the Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale full circle. It only goes to reinforce the statements she made about her own life, in her own marriages.

All of her experiences combined, but especially as wife to her fifth husband, flipping the tables on him and regaining control of her assets and her marriage, makes her wonderfully well suited to be the teller of her tale.

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Bottling Guilt: The Ballooning Effect

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Guilt is an emotion that we create inside ourselves. It is something that a person can only feel inwardly towards himself. Once the action that created the guilt is confessed or discovered, the guilt is rid of the soul and replaced with shame and humiliation. Throughout Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, the "pure" Reverend Arthur Dimmsdale holds onto the guilt for his adulterer sins. As a result of bottling up his guilt, it grows out of control inside him and becomes the largest guilt of all the characters, eventually consuming everything that he is.

In Dimmsdale's attempt to persuade Hester to confess the name of her fellow adulterer, he makes it clear that it should bring them both great peace if she speaks his name. In one part of his speech he says, "Be not silent from any mistaken pity and tenderness for him; for, believe me, Hester, though he were to step down from a high place, and stand there beside thee, on the pedestal of shame, yet better were it so, than to hide a guilty heart through life" (60). Unable to confess himself, Dimmsdale thinks that saving himself of a guilty heart, and instead taking on the pedestal of shame might save his soul. But, instead of following God and confessing for his sins, he holds them in and the guilt begins to grow.

As Chillingworth becomes Dimmsdale's caretaker, they have a couple of deep symbolic conversations where Chillingworth torments Dimmsdale greatly. In response to a question about the Hester's pain, Dimmsdale says, "But still, methinks, it must needs be better for the sufferer to be free to show his pain, as this poor woman Hester is, than to cover it all up in his heart" (11-1). While Dimmsdale keeps his guilt locked up inside, it swells and blisters. On the other hand, Hester is allowed to wear what remains of her guilt, now shame, on her chest. Dimmsdale knows that confessing would rid him of his guilt and much of his pain. But, as an icon of spirituality in the community, Dimmsdale fears that acknowledging his sin to save himself may have a counteractive affect on the community. Their once "pure" source for spiritually enlightenment could be viewed with a disgust that could damage the morals and spirits of the community. He holds his guilt in longer as it grows like a giant balloon being blown up gradually. The longer he refrains from letting the air, representing guilt, the larger the balloon, representing personal torment, grows. Letting the air out would free him of his pain. Instead, the guilt keeps on pumping in and expanding.

During a meeting in the forest, Hester and Dimmsdale discuss a way to "escape" their sin. Hester sees the pain the Dimmsdale has been holding within and states, "Thou art crushed under this seven years' weight of misery" (181). She refers to the guilt has having crushed him, and truly, it has. But, she thinks that she has found a way to forget their transgressions and start a new life together. She believes that running away to Europe will allow Dimmsdale to break away from his guilt. Knowing that guilt is an internalized feeling we create ourselves, this would do him no good. Moving a thousand miles away from the town in which he has suffered the past seven years, does not mean that he will leave his guilt behind. The only thing that can bring that guilt out and cast it away in exchange for shame would be confessing.

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In the second to last chapter, as Dimmsdale confesses, Chillingworth cries out, "Thou hast escaped me! Thou hast escaped me!" (4). Indeed Dimmsdale has escaped Chillingworth's torment. And not only that, he has escaped his own torment produced by the monster amount of guilt he once held within. His guilt balloon had finally expanded to a point where all it could do was pop. No other character contained near this much guilt and as a result the confession was a very dramatic ending to the book.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. New York The Modern Library, 000.

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Accidental Death of an Anarchist

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It was night. It meant darkness, the silent throttle of the black. A time when everyone's fears surfaces, none were safe from its deathly glow. Silently it seeped into the dusk, chewing on the light, inflicting pain upon it.

Occasionally there was a red sky, as thought war had struck in the heavens and the blood sepped down to the earth.All objects carried the tinted red, the ground, all.It is merely the black ridding of sanity.

The most hide into there homes, secretly fearing the night, although we would never admit it.Many strange occurrences have appeared because of the night.This was definitely the time.

Emily woke up abruptly in bed, her senses sharpening, adjusting to the environment.She kept her eyes closed, an old fear she lived by.Never open them at night, for she might see strange beings standing in her room; they may condemn her to death.At eight years old she was still young enough to believe stories her older siblings told her, mainly about ghosts haunting her room and meaning her harm.

She pulled the quilt closer to her face.The bedroom was rather chilly.The cold was carried in the air and felt heavy, as though a thick icy blanket had been wrapped around hr.The frigid air was under the sheets. It had seeped into the fabric determined to chill its victim.The cold had made its way into her flesh.Shivering she turned on her side, the blankets pulled close to her chin.Shivering again she listened to the night noises.

Outside it was rather windy.A roar broke through the old chimney that had remained in her bedroom for many years.The wind charged through the old funnel and into her room, adding more coldness into the air. Once more a rush of wind gushed into the room.It was like a frozen giant's nose breathing out great gasps of air, yet it didn't breathe inwards.

Emily yawned, squeezing her eyes even tighter.She wished to fall back into sleep, but something kept her awake.At the window she heard the panes squeaking as bony twigs grasped the glass.They were the giant's fingers, trying to enter.Giving in she opened her eyes and saw blackness swirling around her like thick fog.Her eyes adjusted slowly, squinting at an unrecognisable shape at her bed.It was a ghostly outline as though smudges in chalk.As her eyes adjusted, they widened in disbelief.A figure stood at the tip of her bed.A long cloak fluttered in the breeze blown by the wind entering her chimney.

The fabric was worn and was much lighter then the darkness of night.A few cob webs clung to the material, dragging on the carpeted floor.The figure's feet could not be seen under the cloak, it was as though it was hovering slightly off the ground...

Emily felt like screaming, yet it would not surface from her throat.She was suddenly very was wide awake, her eyes transfixed to this strange figure.Through the mist she could distinguish a fearsome head.The creature had the face of a skull.Blood red in colour, as thought mouldy or stained with blood.Darker red clung to the bones, which looked like skin dried with age.Two eerie black pits burned into its victim.They were hollow and abandoned yet they contained a ferocious quality.An evil smirk seemed to be on the skull's face.There were no lips, yet large teeth also coated in a strange rusty red.

Emily shook with fright trying to force a scream to her lips, but it refused to come.The figure pointed a bony hand at her.It resembled the gnarled twigs that still tapped impatiently at her bedroom window.It pointed at her with the index finger.The fingernails on each of the hand were black and dead.The figure moved towards her.With that, Emily let out a loud scream, hiding her head under the quilt.

In a matter of seconds thumping footsteps came from out of her parent's bedroom and on the landing.A bright light blinded her, as she pushed out her head from under the blanket.Her mother embraced her in a warm hug, concern showing on her face.

"What's wrong Emily?" she asked.Emily looked to the place the figure where the figure had been, but it had disappeared, except for a black tatter of fabric.

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Let Freedom Ring!

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Dustin Wright

Intermediate Composition1

Extended Definition

May , 00

Custom Essays on Let Freedom Ring!

Freedom

Has anyone ever sat back and wondered what freedoms they have? Every U.S. citizen has freedom. In fact, it's the privilege we most often take for granted. A freedom for example, can be as minor as someone's parents letting their child go to a party or as complicated as the First Amendment. The Webster's New Explorer Dictionary and Thesaurus defines freedom as " the quality or state of being free. Unrestricted use." Although the definition is true to some extent, I think freedom means the ability to exercise choice and the exemption from unpleasant or confined conditions.

The word freedom and the word liberty are interchangeable. They both mean the right to choose. Remember this famous quote from Patrick Henry, "Give me liberty or give me death?" Just substitute the word freedom in for liberty, and the quote will mean the same.

Freedom though, involves much more than just being free. According to the Disabled American Veterans, "Freedom isn't free." First we have to fight to gain it and that means a lot of blood will be shed in the process. For example, the U.S. military fights to preserve freedom. Just look at all the past wars we've engaged in. The Revolutionary War was fought so the colonists could gain their independence from the realm of Britain. World War II was fought to preserve our political rights. Just imagine what America would be like if Germany had won. Recently for example, in Operation Enduring Freedom the U.S. military fought to free the Iraqi people from the unpleasant and confining conditions of their dictator, Saddam Hussein. America in general wants to pass on their political freedoms to other countries so that they may feel the joy in being able to make their own decisions. The Iraqi people experienced a great sense of joy when the statue of Saddam Hussein fell in Baghdad. Civilians were later seen stomping on the fallen statue shouting, " Thank you America!"

The Al-Quada group of terrorists must be jealous of our freedoms. If someone takes a glance at the Arab population they will notice everyone dressed the same and the men with beards grown to a specific length. Then look at America and see that we are all dressed differently and we all look different. This is so we each have our own individual identity. The Arab people do not have individual identities. To try to bring down America, Al-Quada destroyed important buildings and killed more than a thousand innocent civilians. It didn't take long though and the American people rebounded from this tragedy stronger than ever. Many citizens joined together in the clean up process to get the country back to normalcy.

As U.S. citizens we enjoy the right of not knowing what imprisonment is. Just imagine how it would feel to live in fear knowing that if someone spoke out against the government they could be thrown in jail and left to die. Freedom on the other hand, is like a flower blowing in the wind on a hot summer day. It allows us to express our thoughts and emotions without paying a hefty price.

Overall, I think the word freedom means the ability to exercise choice and the exemption from unpleasant or confined conditions. I feel many people take this word for granted. Many of our citizens put their lives on the line to protect this great country of ours, yet they go unnoticed. Mothers and wives, who received notification letters of dead sons and husbands, have been left to grieve for centuries. Hundreds of men gave their lives on the beaches of Normandy and Omaha. Many of the fallen go unidentified, simply to be buried with just a cross to mark the grave. Why has all this happened? The answer is to preserve freedom. The word freedom is a huge part of who we are. Recently, I asked Joe Lanning, who is a junior, his interpretation of the word freedom, "Freedom is what we have so much of, yet appreciate so little." Senior, Chris Rosetto says, "Freedom means I get to do what I want and for anyone to tell me I can't means I'm not free. Don't get me wrong, the things I do will be moral." Frankly, Freedom is the greatest privilege we will ever be given.

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