Response: The American Life

Overall, I thought that Ira Glass made it clear what was missing from the business of story telling. I could definitely relate to how he said that everything being put out is made to be bad. No one is trying to bring a better way to do things, but rather fit a pre-made mold. I also got what he was saying in terms of making anything interesting. He said something about how if you're going to present something, even if it looks mundane, there is a reason you chose it, so don't treat it as if you have nothing important or relevant to say about it. It's funny, because sometimes we pick topics that are 'easy' because they are broad, but are still uninteresting. What we've done is paint ourselves into a corner in terms of our creativity and what we are able to do.



I also liked what he said about anecdotes:



"The Power of the anecdote is so great...No matter how boring the material is, if it is in story form...there is suspense in it, it feels like something's going to happen. The reason why is because literally it's a sequence of events...you can feel through its form [that it's] inherently like being on a train that has a destination...and that you're going to find something..."



This reflects how important it is to engage an audience with a climax. It's apparent that we are drawn to something that is tied-together. I liked how he went on to say that we don't abandon crap enough. We continue with the pre-made standards set for us, while innovating and producing novel ideas falls by the way side....



NEMESIS:



Oh my nemesis. My nemesis. or nemisisses are real. The way I saw them is as shape-shifting humans who alternate between good and evil. The good hooks you in, and then the evil proceeds to take over. All together, I see my nemesese (I don't know the plural) as mostly real but with (maybe) fictional attributes. Ira talked about how you have to get through the crap in life, and I think my nemesis story narrates a point through which I had to sift through a moment in time and try to get away with goodness.

Open Mic Night

I liked it. :]

It was cool to see everyone go up there and become a performer for a few minutes. I enjoyed watching everyone present something they felt a connection to. I think the venue was a bit too large and it didn't accomodate well in terms of sound projection. Lighting and room-size would be something to change next time around. I think Kochoff Hall or the lecture room in CASL would be good places to have the event. The room needs to be dark, with a spotlight on the speaker. Also, in terms of publicity, I think it needs to be made a bigger deal. More people need to know about it and as an incentive maybe some kind of panel of judges should watch and judge in order to award the best performers. Competition always brings people out of the wood work. When it comes to the performances, it was nice that they were varied. Everyone brought a different flavor to the table and thats what made it entertaining. All together, I would definitely do it again, we need more activities like this at UMD.

KYTL: Afterthoughts

After finishing this book, it's hard to remember the story he told. I have to admit that sometimes Klosterman was really engaging and I could relate to the subtle realities he brings to light, but most of the time I was wading through the thickness of rock history, a history I couldn't really relate to. He uses this book as a way to make himself cool, and I can't really support his superiority 0r maybe inferiority complex- building. He just got too annoying and as I kept reading I just got tired of the way he told his story. I think he tried a bit too hard to make this trip out to be more than it may have been. The fact that he went alone to all of these places and visited people that are specifically special to him (the women) exemplifies how self-obsessed he is and how much he needs for everything to revolve around him--even people. It would have been different if he had took someone with him...Anyways, I wasn't a huge fan of the book, and a part from the few interesting pictures he paints of realities and relationships, I didn't really enjoy it.... -____________-

Killing Yourself to Live

The Goodbye to Lenore:

The way he and Lenore ended their pseudo-relationship was interesting to read but definitely seemed to be a part of the fifteen percent of his story that he embellished. What people say and don't say mean a lot, and the way Chuck tells his story fails to include all those words that fall between. The words that don't really matter and often dull the conversation and in reality bring people back to the fact that our lives aren't always on some kind of rythm that you can play a song to..I think Chuck tries to do that with his immense collection of music and try to live his life through the lens of rock. Music cannot encompass every sphere of our lives and finish our sentences...I think that would be the precise reason as to why Chuck's story cannot be 100% real--he's too busy trying to sync it up with the beat..

Whas Happnin

So, the weather these days is INCREDIBLE. I love spring, I wish it could occupy half of the year. It's amazing.

Currently, I am preparing to go to Saudi for the summer. I haven't been off the mainland in ten years, and I am dying to go visit the holy land as well as my brother's houses. I got a copy of my birth certificate and I have to send that in to the Saudi embassy in order to get the process going. I want to leave in May, but my parents want me to go with them in June. I'm not sure what I'll do, because I have to quit my job to go and I'll have to let my boss know soon... That is pretty much the only thing on my mind right now. I really want one of my friends to come with me to make it an EPIC trip. She's heading to Africa this summer and I really want to link up somehow. Her family lives in Sudan, and I think a ticket from Saudi-->Sudan would be cheap, but I'll have to go through the bureaucracy and red tape of it all...We shall see. I REALLY want to go to Africa. Other than that, I am seriously looking forward to the end of this semester. I can't believe I'm getting so old. This will be the end of my sophomore year and it's passing by so quickly. Lately, I've just been thinking about what the future has in store for me. At heart, I feel like I'm twelve, so time passing so fast is becoming the growing evidence against this belief. Getting older means so much....

I can't really picture moving out and moving on, but who knows when that'll happen. For now, I am clinging to the things that I know will soon be nostalgic.

P.S. That blue thing is what I want to take to Saudi with me ;] ;] ;]

PostSECRET...

The entries on the post secret site greatly resemble poems. Their style is to be concise and dramatic. Like the Haiku, the last line or last few words deliver the most impact. Also the way the words appear on the postcard reflect some artistry. Sometimes words are scattered throughout the card or different colors etc. This quality is similar to concrete poems, or the poems we read in class. The postcards are either funny/reveal a quirky habit, or extremely serious and life-changing. Often times though, I think the posts are a little over the top. They seem to be sensational and are maybe sent to shock readers as well as get your postcard. I don't thnk that postsecrets are incredibly beneficial though...I have a problem with the idea that people can use these to glamorize their problems and find solace in that they are publicly ______ (insert something negative)..I know there are positive postsecrets, but I just don't like the negative ones, like people are given the outlet to wallow in their self-pity...I don't know, I just don't like the need to share some really private secret anonymously like that...I guess the positive result could be that after reading postsecret entries, you can walk away feeling grateful that you don't have to deal with certain issues as well as see how some people do things just like you...like your idiosyncrasies can sometimes match up with other people.


don't think I would want to share my secrets with the world, I am a believer in cherishing the sanctity of your own little secrets. Big, harmful ones, no. But the ones that need no validation or critique from anyone else, whether you're asking for that or not, are the most sweet. The solitude of your own mind can be liberating...

poe.try.

Tangible Soul

It sat in the upper right hand corner of the shelf
Mahogany and dust filled all of the other nooks,
except this one.

Light flecked off of each cut of the crystal
From time to time it caught his eye
He peered up at it whenever his pen was too heavy,
Or his papers became too thick

It sat, perfectly still,
Just like it is now
But with every ray of sun,
He could see it beat
Sometimes so quickly
That it became a glorious hum

With a creak and rustle,
he would lean back against the warm leather,
And watch the luminous gleam set with the sinking sun

Guests stopped and inspected
He wouldn’t tell them,
But always thought to say:
“Call her crazy, but she gave me her heart,
And there it is, up in that nook forever”

Whas Happnin

Too much school at the moment. All of my time has been eaten up by school and work, and I miss doing things that I actually like doing. When it comes to what's happening, I got in a scary car accident last week (Thank God, I'm 100% fine) and my airbags deployed. Those airbags saved my face and probably even my life. The accident was the other driver's fault, which made me realize how dangerous other drivers can be, and no matter what you do--your fate may just be to get hit. So, I was extremely grateful to be unharmed and unscathed by the car and even my airbag. I was reading about how airbags can be extremely dangerous and break people's bones in their face and hands. Also, many people reported getting burned. Here's a link that explains how airbags work in-depth:
http://www.airbagonoff.com/airbag%20safety.htm

Just an informational read, I would check it out because you never know when you might get in an accident.

mmm Haiku

Strong

Silver,shining hair
Subtle sorrow in her eyes
I love my mother

--

Reminisce

We laugh in the car
Moonlight quickly disappears
Memory always

---

Liberation

She covers herself
They say she is oppressed
She is the most free

---

Winter

Bitter cold burns skin
Gray skies envelope the sun
The Oaks are now bare

mmm...poetry

The City

by C. P. Cavafy Translated by Edmund Keeley
You said: "I'll go to another country. go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart lies buried like something dead.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."

You won't find a new country, won't find another shore.
This city will always pursue you.
You'll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere:
there's no ship for you, there's no road.
Now that you've wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you've destroyed it everywhere in the world.

I appreciated this poem because it speaks of the illusion of travel. Existence can be a hard pill to swallow and this poem reflects what I believe to be an innate struggle: the want to escape. When things get tough or our surroundings feel dull, I think human beings want to get up and leave their lives in search of something new, exciting and novel. That seemingly wonderful elixir we make world travel out to be can turn poisonous quite fast. This poem talks about being trapped in the city, yet the very last line holds the intended meaning. ‘You’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world’—think about what this means, the author seems to be telling us that if you waste your life in one place, you’ve wasted it everywhere in the world. Humans are always reaching for the next level, always wanting more and this poem reflects how the chase for euphoria can be destructive. In my opinion, there is no such thing as sustainable happiness, there is only contentedness. We are all limited by circumstance, and through these circumstances we must realize that some things will be attainable while others will not. It’s not to say that we should settle, but rather we should be satisfied with that which we cannot change.

Man in the street

He claps a hand
Across the gaping hole
Or else the sight might
Well inside to
Melt the mind (if any
Thinking spoke
Were in the wheel,
Or any real
Fright-fragments broke
Out of the gorge to
Soak the breast, the meaning
Might incite a stroke—best
Press against it, close
The clawhole, stand
In stupor, petrified. The dream
Be damned, the deeps defied.
The hands to keep
The scream inside

--Heather McHugh

THIS POEM WAS AWESOME
And I’m still not sure exactly why…
I didn’t understand what was happening, but it was so dramatic I pictured some movie-like scene. I really liked how once again, the climax is at the end. Her usage of verbs and the way she rhymed the words brimmed with a sense of drama that made the poem read well in my head. I actually liked how it was difficult to understand what it meant because it forces you to read it over and think what she meant by each part. I would say that this poem was artfully confusing.


We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths

by Philip James Bailey
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest:
Lives in one hour more than in years do some
Whose fat blood sleeps as it slips along their veins.
Life's but a means unto an end; that end,
Beginning, mean, and end to all things—God.
The dead have all the glory of the world.

I loved this poem because it reflected the ‘Carpe Diem’ type of thought. Life is short and to live each moment with urgency seems only appropriate when you consider that death is ultimate reality. This poem had a moral background, which personally, I liked. It fell in with how I see things. I really like the motivational flare as well, it seemed to be a poem that is trying to call people toward living life to the fullest and really appreciating the sanctity of time. Did you notice the term 'fat blood'--loved that. Fat blood makes one think of a person who is so gluttonous that even their blood is lazy and slips through their veins slowly. The heart beat being quick also reflects the idea that one is moving, acting, and DOING. Action with intention behind them is to be essentially human, and I think this poem touched on that quite well...

Makkah

i m a g i n e...

The quiet of the night is sparsely broken with a passing car rumbling down the streets and the murmur of television in the other room. I am waiting for the night silence to be broken by the call to prayer. The cold, dry Michigan air is turning my skin to crocodile scales as I cucoon myself in layers of sheets and bedcovers. I long for the humid desert air to moisten my sinuses and fill my lungs, I long for Arabia. I miss Saudi with such fervor, I often succomb to a blissful day dream. This daydream is the culprit that steals me away from the present and envelopes me in its vivid detail. I imagine my brother's simple, yet cozy apartment in Mecca. It is just before dawn and the stillness of the night is at its peak. Suddenly with the utmost clarity, the call to prayer reverberates through every fixture of the abode. The apartment suddenly grows with life as everyone leaps out of bed in the rush to prayer. The once empty streets are filled with people pacing quickly through the paved roads. The faint light of a disappearing moon leads the people through the enveloping darkness. As I draw nearer and nearer to the most holy mosque, the shining lights and eloquent boom of the the 'Adhaan' swims through the air for my eyes and ears to taste. As I turn the final corner through the winding streets, the minarets reaching for the heavens, glowing with light, expel the air from my lungs leaving me breathless in awe. The prayer of thousands concentrated in this holy city is overwhelming. I stand to pray, shoulder to shoulder, side to side with my brothers and sisters for only one reason: to glorify the Lord. The Imam leads the prayer with such eloquence and perfect allocution of the Qur'an that every word is brimming with its intended meaning. The subtle, yet surgical fluctiuation in his voice sings the praises of the Lord that we so often recite. I imagine the scene, of which I've been so blessed to experience before.

My life feels incomplete without another visit.

till then, my dreams are monopolized by this incredible dream.

T-dot.

O CANADA, you are such a trip.

literally.

So this weekend, my bro and I embarked on a roadtrip to Toronto for a conference on the Islamic jurisprudence of food and clothing. We set out on the journey friday and drove through the boonies of Missassauga. Gosh it was funny--we had to pray (fact:Muslims pray five times a day and for each prayer there is an alotted time period) So, we had to find a place to do so...too bad all we could see was private fenced farm fields and sparse housing. We both felt kind of nervous, being that we were probably at least a little bit different from the people living there(fact: a lot different) It was funny, thinking about the stereotypes in America, some of the people that have the..ahem...most 'negative' opinion of Muslims can sometimes fit a mold. Looking around, I saw a window decoration of a Bald Eagle riding a motorcycle with some kind of coat of arms in the background. well, I had to chuckle at that. Anyways, we finally found (believe this) a house that was for sale--parked in the driveway--and prayed on the concrete their as time dwindled down to a critical point. Thankfully, we fulfilled our obligation to our best ability, and moved on contentedly. Then, WOW: I highly reccomend that if you plan on heading to Canada, try and time it at dusk--picture this: the moon rising as the sun setting above the wide open spaces of rural canda...the cool palate of blues and purples lying against the faint cloud lines on the horizon..in contrast the warm yellow moon seems to sit still in the peace...some hues of the colors you see fill you with the nostalgia of that box of 128 crayola. I felt like I was driving through a calendar picture for January 2010: Missassauga-- It was phenomenal. After the long, but far from arduous drive, we got to the lively city of Toronto. The beautiful skyline and bubbling city life was fascinating. We stopped by at a coffee shop and just took some time to drink a warm drink and enjoy the scene. It was around 9 pm and it was busy. It's always busy there, that's for sure. I hadn't been to Toronto for a long while and witnessing the city life years later was novel and exciting. We walked around for a bit and then retreated to the hotel.

Currently, I've just come back from a long day of this class and to say the least, I'm dead tired. The class was beneficial, but extremely crowded. They were holding it at a lecture hall @ the University of Toronto (awesome school for sure) I plan on going tomorrow again of course, but that's if I leave this sweet hotel. Park Hyatt--my brother got hooked up because he had a lot of points because he stays here for work a lot. BUT wow, it's nice, I'm having a real tough time leaving it. Come monday....sigh..don't even wanna think about it! Anyways, thank God, this trip has been pretty fun. Tomorrow I'm planning on seeing my cousins and exploring the city a bit more, so :) I'm happy.

I wish I could write more, I will try later for sure--but I'm so sleepy I could melt into this bed and fuse into it forever.

(-_-) zzzzzzzz

TBContinued? hopefully maybe.

MY FAVE FOLKTALE

I don’t know how many times I wished I could run into some mysterious magician man who would give me some magic beans. I know, I never had a cow on me, but for so long I thought that if a normal kid like jack can score some magical beans, then maybe there’s hope for a kid like me. Briefly, the story begins with how Jack and his mother were really poor and had to resort to selling their cow to obtain some means to survive. Jack’s mother sends him into the market with the hope that Jack would make a profitable deal, but then Jack is lured by a man selling magic beans in exchange for his cow. He returns home with the beans and angers her mother, who throws them out the window. Little did they know, the beans were actually magical and produced a humongous beanstalk in their yard. Jack climbed up the stalk and found the home of a giant in the sky. Jack started stealing from the giant continuously until the giant ‘fee fi fo fummed’ enough to catch him sneaking around. A chase then ensued, and Jack defeated the giant by cutting the stalk down. As I grew up I think I appreciated the story because of the fantastical aspect but also the fact that the plot reflected the reality of how money is hard to come by. It made me think of how my parents had to devote a lot of time and effort to provide for us, so Jack’s mom getting him to sell the cow was relatable. My favorite part of the story was definitely when Jack cuts the stalk down to save himself from the giant on his tale. The reason why I liked this part so much was because it left me wondering. Like, what did the people do with the giant body decomposing on the streets? Did they even know about giants? When I tell my kids the story, I’m going to continue the story a bit to conclude the fate of the post-mortem giant (just kidding? :)
The version I am most familiar with is the first listed on this webpage (as recorded by Joseph Jacobs)
http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/type0328jack.html <<--Please read this before you read my rough draft of the new version of J&TB. In choosing this version, I determined that the narrative point of view is: Third Person Limited Omniscient >>This point of view reflects the structure in that the narrator is focusing on Jack’s feelings and thoughts in the story

So, now to tell the story from a different angle…let’s see how THE GIANT feels about Jack and his nosy beanstalk.

"We're at the bottom rung of this town, Edgar" Lara pleaded.

"I know honey, I'm saving up, but it's so hard to buy the big clouds these days--with the interest rates going up, I'm barely able to make ends meet on this one we have here.." With his head in his hands, Edgar spun his gold coins on the worn wooden table. Lara, his wife looked at him with concern and desperation. "Lara, I know it's been hard, with the droppings and all, but we have to ignore it and do our best...we're lucky we don't have kids yet, imagine the shame they'd have to endure!" Edgar envisioned his kids dealing with the garbage drops that they were facing from the Humongs and Gargants above them. Edgar and Lara were victims of the stratified giant society. The hierarchy consisted of the top level-Gargants. the mid-level-Humongs-and the lowest level of Insignos. The Insignos lived on the lowest clouds closest to the humans, which were like ants to the giants. Lately, Edgar and Lara were facing persecution by the upper crust of society by having garbage dropped on their cloud from the properties above. The shame and indecency of their social status was intolerable. Lara was a well-meaning housewife, who was dedicated to her husband, but the droppings were putting a strain on their relationship. Edgar worked on the human level, gathering lumber to make tables and chairs for the giants. His job was lowly, considering that he had to work near humans. Edgar was tired but trudged on, trying to make a better life for his wife and perhaps one day, children.

The next day Edgar headed to work. He kissed his wife goodbye and set off to the human-level. He dropped a few magic beans down to a remote area on Earth and waited a few minutes for his beanstalk. A luminous green stalk plunged into the sky and he slid down quickly to Earth. After he came down, he cut the stalk and threw it in a nearby lake. "the stench..the terrible stench" Edgar muttered. Humans were miles away, but the stench of the Englishmen filled his giant nostrils. Although, he was a victim of persecution himself, the constant belittling he faced made him a bitter giant. He hated all things low to the surface, and to be on the surface only reminded him of his failure as a provider. He brushed his thick brown air out of his face and began hoisting red oaks and maples from the forest floor. "Fee Fi Fo Fum, I hate these stupid Englishmen. Fee Fi Fo Fum, Humongs and Gargants are so dumb" he sang as he plucked each tree out. " When will I ever get to be one of those dumb humongs?...at least then, my wife will be happy and my kids will get to go to the good schools..." Edgar said to himself. Night approached and Edgar had to head back up to the cloud. He paused and looked at the sinking red sun in the distance. Sweat beads ran parallel to the tears streaming down his cheeks and before he could stop himself, the giant weeped in the empty forest.

Drained and exhausted, the giant finally made his way back to the area near his cloud. Before he dropped some beads, he noticed a stalk in the distance, seemingly attached to his cloud. He wondered if maybe he had left his stalk up earlier when he went to go gather trees. Being so tired, he didn' t feel like investigating the stalk that was further away, so he planted some seeds of his own and climbed back to his home. Kicking banana peels and toilet paper that littered his yard from the drops, he made his way home. Sadness left him, and he was now filled with anger. He stormed through his door and bellowed "Fee Fi Fo Fum, where's dinner!" Lara, surprised, hurriedly set up a table of bread and boiled potato stew. Edgar ate ravenously, filled with an unstatiable emptiness. Lara sat and watched him, herself, filled with a mixture of concern and resentment. Edgar pushed his plate away as he finished, and pulled his bag of gold coins out to count his gold coins. He counted over and over again until he dozed off into sleep at the table. Lara called her mother and thought of making plans to stay with her for a few days, but relented out of her deep love for Edgar.

The next morning, Edgar resumed the daily routine. He plucked more trees, but more violently this day. With no regard for the small forest animals or surroundings he plucked so fervently, he had doubled his normal amount. The anger was building in Edgar as he cursed the englishmen, the humongs, and the gargants. He hated them for being the little pieces in the system that was making him feel so isolated. The other insignos meant nothing to him, he thought of them as being the same shameful giant that he had become--worthless and indignant.

As the day ended, he forgot about the phantom beanstalk in the distance planted his own to go home. Kicking the heaping amount of garbage that had accumulated from the giants above, he stormed into his house again. On this day, he smelled a scent that was more familiar on Earth...he smelled the smell of an Englishman, but he ignored it. He couldn't gauge his senses properly anymore, anger had taken his awareness to an inconceivable level. Skipping dinner, he threw his gold coins down on the table and counted them. There were always 52, but today he counted 51. The veins in his forhead pulsed up and down as sweat covered his brow. "Lara! Lara! You took! How could you? How could you be so selfish!" Lara's jaw dropped, after all she's put up with, she couldn't believe Edgar could accuse of herof taking the very thing that gave them their lives back. Speechless and in tears, she couldn't tolerate the very accuasation against her, and ran to the bedroom. Edgar, knowing she didn't take it, spent the night awake cleaning the trash in their yard. Lara could hear him yelling and crying from her bedroom, and remembered a visitor that made it up to their home earlier that day...Angrily, she awaited his return so that her husband could have his vengeance.

The next day, Edgar sleepily went to the Giant market in the sky to make chairs and tables. He didn't take his stalk down to Earth so was near home. That day, Jack, the human who had visited Lara before, made another encounter with the now raging Lara. Jack climbed up on the table and asked Lara for some food. Lara, instead of squashing Jack on the spot, gave him some food. She kept him eating for awhile, knowing that her husband would be home soon. Before they knew it, 'thump thump thump' came Edgar screaming this time "Fee Fi Fo Fum, I smell the blood of and Englishman!" She told Jack to hide in the oven, like the day before, but this time, she told Edgar exactly where Jack was. Edgar was enraged, he ran toward the oven, with flashes of falling trash and the laughter of the humongs and gargants singing a sinister melody in his head. The Englishman reminded him of his insigno status, and worst of all, he knew that this piddly little ant had the audacity to steal from him, a giant. With adrenaline and irrationality coarsing through his portruding veins, Edgar chased the boy out of the house and into the yard. Tripping over trash and stumbling to the stalk, Edgar knew he had instilled enough fear into the boy into staying away forever. But no, Edgar refused to restrain himself, he was sick of being patient, sick of letting things go, so sick of it all. He chased Jack down the stalk and grew more enraged remembering that he could have cut this stalk himself when he saw it those days back. Jack hit Earth before Edgar and wieled an axe. Edgar froze, he was only half way down the stalk when Jack swung the axe with such force that Edgar was powerless to do anything. The stalk came tumbling down and the giant's body hit the ground with such force that the Earth shook for a considerable distance. Edgar lay, staring up at the clouds, breathing his last breath. Blood trickled from his body on the cold Earth, and he cried out for one last time screaming "Lara, Lara, I'm sorry, I'm sor....." and passed.

epilogue:

Edgar believed in the system that enslaved him, and therefore tried to succeed in a world of injustice. The frustration drove him to heights of anger and hate that reflected the struggle he faced. His tale tells of the impact of inequality and injustice on the oppressed and illustrates the extent of the mental battle that he succombed to. His wife, Lara, went on to fight for equality and fair treatment of all cloud levels. She succeeded in passing a law that prohibited trash dropping and named it the "Edgar Act" in her husband's memory. From then on, giant discrimination receded and is an issue that has made it into the awareness of the culture. The terms Gargant, Humong, and Insigno were banned as slurs, and are slowly fading from the modern giant vocabulary.Additionally, the selling of magic beans on Earth was prohibited by an act passed in a giant-human joint coalition against theft. Humans and giants traveled to eachother's world by permission of the the H-G Committee that issued and monitored the use of magic beans.

Intro

My name is Hajera, and this here is my blog :)

I'm a student at UMD studying English/Secondary Education and minoring in Psych.