Every friendship needs to be a “Scalia-and-Ginsburg” friendship


Aww! Look at these two! Photo Credit: NPR

“Scalia and Ginsburg: The end of a beautiful friendship,” by Megan Daum of the Los Angeles Times. Published on February 18, 2016.

Megan Daum’s article, “Scalia and Ginsburg: The end of a beautiful friendship (2016),” argues that the once strong friendship between Scalia and Ginsburg — who were ideologically polar opposites — is what society has failed to mirror in recent years. Daum supports her argument by pointing out the efficacy of befriending our ideological enemies and why doing this action hardly occurs. Daum’s purpose is to use Ginsburg’s friendship as an example of an effective and helpful friendship in order to remind the audience that despite our differences, politics does not need to drive us apart. Taking into account Daum’s liberal tone and use of liberal examples, it is implied that she appeals to a young audience.

Contrary to what one of Daum’s readers may think, she uses an intro sentence that pokes fun at both parties. She describes the GOP as preventing Obama from nominating a justice and the Democrats as trying to not “smack their lips” regarding the aftermath of Scalia’s death. But, if you aren’t sure Scalia or Ginsburg is, Daum easily describes them both as ideological opposites by using support: Scalia believes homosexuality is equivalent to murder while Ginsburg had recently officiated a same-sex wedding. The purpose of these two paragraphs is to establish an introducing ground for the reader.

Daum lists most of the events that Scalia and Ginsburg were involved in outside of the Supreme Court: visiting opera performances and riding an elephant together. Their relationship was so strong that an opera depicting it was created. This is useful in the next paragraph in which Daum includes a quote from the opera that Ginsburg had said in response to Scalia’s death: “we are different, we are one.” Finally, Daum uses the mutual support between Clinton and Sanders to describe how we must follow their shoes.

Free-Post Comment on Madison’s Blog

Pundit Comment on Caroline C.’s Blog

Comment on Daum’s Post



Kinky Boots


Last night, I saw probably the most phenomenal musical I have ever seen in a while at the Saenger Theatre. Kinky Boots successfully conveys a message emphasizing acceptance and identity through its jubilant music, sense of humor, symbolic characters, and plot line.

In case you are not familiar with this musical, it centers around a boy, Charlie Price, and his friendship with a transvestite whose feminine identity is Lola and masculine identity is Simon. Charlie, who aspires to move to London with his girlfriend, Nicola, is suddenly faced with the death of his father, which coerces him into looking after his ill-fading shoe factory, Price and Son. The sales of the factory’s products are dramatically lowering, so Charlie has to craft a new product that people want. Through a run in with Lola, Charlie finally figures out the product his factory needs to make: high-heeled boots for drag performers.

During the show, I tried to restrain my feet from thumping the floor, but they ignored me. Every time the quiet side of mind tried to control my body from syncing along with the rhythm of Lola, the amplitude of my movements dramatically increased: I wanted to be on stage with the cast members. At the end of the musical, I wanted to scream, “MORE! MORE! MORE!,” but I would have been ushered out. Having to leave the theatre is equivalent to stepping on a LEGO, but the audience leaves with their feet punctured by them and no response of pain.

I’m in Starbucks right now, listening to Kinky Boots‘s soundtrack. As soon as I hit play, I ripped the earbuds out of my ears and jumped on all of the tables. Some stared at me with amazement, others with disapproval. Well, all I can do for the disapproving eyes is mimic the words of Lola, “I like being looked at & you like to look.” Okay, to tell the truth, what I had just said happened in another dimension.


Yesterday was a busy day for me: the tests were cumulative in number, and the number of papers had accumulated from my procrastination. But despite the number of assignments I had due yesterday, or the lack of sleep, or even the winter weather, it was a strange day. It all started in the tepid room of Physics Honors. I had studied somewhat much for the test on Thursday night, but not as much as I would have wanted. Loosely confident and resting my feet flat on the floor, I began to take my test. Seeing the first problem, I focused my mind on thinking about only what was in Dr. Morden’s room. One problem: my unsureness and anxiety would periodically come to haunt me whenever I confronted a peculiar problem. Leaving the room, headed towards the chapel, I felt a sense of ambiguity about my test. But, here comes the best part: during chapel, I thought that it would be best to understand that I did my best, no strings attached. Everything will be the way it is supposed to be.

The next strange event happened right after school. To beat the traffic of Sherwood Blvd., I take the back way from school, turn right  onto the street by Starbucks, and turn onto Coursey, making my way towards Airline Highway. At the same time as I was entering the right lane on Coursey, a school bus felt like it was appropriate to merge into the lane I was entering. Even though the bus driver used their blinker, I was clearly already in the right lane. The bus swerved back into the left lane, and the awkwardness continued for the next mile. The middle-schoolers of this public school bus were smirking and laughing at me! I could clearly tell they were not cooperative; they threw stuff out of the bus! I was glad that I didn’t return home in a scraped piece of metal, but in a vehicle of safety and dignity.

The evilness of the Barbie, despite its size(s)

“Curvy or no, Barbie is still a mean girl,” by Meghan Daum of the Los Angeles Times. Published on February 4, 2016.

Meghan Daum’s article, “Curvy or no, Barbie is still a mean girl (2016),” argues that despite the recent expansion of Barbie dolls on the basis of sizes and skin tones, children will always dislike the famed doll. Daum supports her statement through the citing of a recent study and quotations from fellow writers. The purpose of the humorous article is to report on the negative connotations behind the Barbie doll in order to state that it will always be hated. Finally, from the use of a feminist tone, it is implied that Daum’s audience consists liberal-minded individuals.

In the beginning of the article, Daum uses an understatement (“Never mind the prospect of a woman in the White House.”), to discuss the trendiness of this topic. After the introduction of “curvy” Barbie, Daum begins to talk more about the background behind this new toy. First, she mentions a TIME article, in which the author observed that many of the children had fat-shamed the new doll. Then, through a critical, but humorous voice, Daum describes the political blaming (some claim the doll panders to liberals) and anti-feminist reaction with a quotation from Milo Yiannopoulos. It is humorous to the reader when she explicitly states “Uh, OK” at the end of his quote.

“every step fat-feminism takes toward victory means another wistful glance in my direction from otherwise-straight men.” – Milo Yiannopolos

Overall, humor is the key tone expressed through Daum’s disapproval. She describes the doll as “basic” (yes, the pop-culture term) and a “mean girl.” If you are a Millennial, you must know what she means by “mean girl,” and that is the famed Regina George from the movie of the same name.

Comment to Meghan Daum:

Ms. Daum,

Could your opinion of the Barbie doll additions represent all brands of dolls? Now that I think about it, most dolls that I have ever seen reflect only beauty and perfection.




The EU needs assistance

“Friends and Refugees in Need,” by Thomas L. Friedman of The New York Times. Published on January 27, 2016.

Thomas L. Friedman’s article, “Friends and Refugees in Need (2016),” argues that the flood of refugee crises is slowly crippling the European Union’s strength. Friedman authenticates his argument through the use of an expert, personal commentary, and a background of the origins of the problem facing the EU. His purpose is to plead his audience, most likely politically-invested individuals and the friends he has made at a seminar (states that he is in Stockholm at beginning), and most importantly, the member countries of the EU, to help with the refugee crisis because an overwhelmed Germany may pull out soon.

Friedman’s concerning tone follows from his previous article; this issue was one he addressed. Friedman is very aware of his audience; he acknowledges that by explicitly stating “EU” in title, nobody would pay attention. Also, he provides the answer to one important question: why should America care? Well, he gives an easy answer to even the most politically-outdated person, which is that the European Union is the “United States of Europe,” a central system made of states together providing actions towards the modern day issues. In addition to miscellaneous, yet important facts, Friedman features a supporting individual that brings attention to a need that will have to be addressed soon: “As long as there is ‘war without law and without end in Syria,’ the refugee flow will continue, with all its destabilizing implications.” This allows the reader to leave the article with an intense, pensive focus on this current issue.

The Night Shift

Before it all had happened, I enjoyed the night shift: there weren’t that many customers, I earned more pay, and I got home just in time to watch American Horror Story: Asylum. I mean, I did have to perform extra but simple work such as cleaning all of the roasters and espresso machines, sweeping the work area, and most dismal of all, closing the store. Closing the store involved me arming the alarm system near the dishwasher, turning off the lights, locking the back and front doors. These were the standard procedures of closure. But, on a chilly Januarian night, someone added to the routine.

Everything was normal as I entered the City Beans Roasting Co., a thriving and eclectic coffee shop that took the place of an old fire station. The fire station was remodeled into a posh extension of apartments for the complex next to it. The coffee shop took the place of the old front lobby. Every day was pretty much the same: customers came for our coffee, and the coffee satisfied our customers. As I quietly burst through the double-doors, I greeted Cara and Michael, my goofball coworkers. After I had donned my apron, I shared a satirical story that I had found on Buzzfeed about a barista worker who campaigned to remove peanut allergy warning labels from products in every restaurant. How crazy is that?

Around six, a young man who looked around my age entered the shop, clad in brown corduroy pants, a gray cotton shirt, a mahogany leather jacket. He had a good sense of style with these features. Topping off the collar of the leather jacket was a black scarf that wrapped around his neck. When he approached the counter, I thought he was staring at me, but he was staring at the menu board behind me. “Hmmm, I’ll take a grande iced coffee with cream and sugar,” he said. I nodded and wrote his order on the square markings of a grande-sized cup. After this, I punched in his order into the computer and asked him, “Would you like anything else?” looking at his hand in the process. Partially hidden by his jacket, his wrist had a device that looked similar to a FitBit. At that moment, I yelled at myself for forgetting to put mine on. After the man took his order, he sat at the bar, checking his phone for updates.

At 9 o’clock, everyone had already left, and I did all of the usual closing procedures. I shruggingly stepped outside into the snowy weather, digging into my pocket for the keys. I quickly turned the deadbolt and walked towards my car. In the distance of the parking lot, I could see the silhouette of a body inside a sedan. Because the window was opened, the wind caused a piece of cloth to lift perpendicular from the silhouette’s neck. The snow chilled my veins, but my veins were chilled by this discovery.