Review Assignment?

I'm still contemplating.

Letter to a Non-UCF Friend

Dear Jacqueline,

Hey! How's UGA? UCF is great. Well, mostly. We use a system here called MyUCF, which you probably have a form of at UGA actually. It's a pretty neat idea. Everything I care to know, whether it's my grades, what classes I'm taking, degree audit, or even housing, is on this website that I access with a personal i.d. and a password. Cool, right? Well, not so much. It's run by this company called PeopleSoft, and they don't seem to understand the whole don't touch it, if it's good the way it is. I'm always for updates and whatnot, but UCF has basically taken this to a whole new level. Webcourses is located through the MyUCF portal, and that's how most people access it. However, UCF is constantly taking MyUCF offline to "update" it, and tend to work on it on Sundays, which is definitely a no-no when it comes to college students as usually assignments are due Sunday nights and, come on, most people college kids you come into contact with are complete procrastinators (myself included). What really peeves me off though, is that all of these "updates" aren't even helpful! In fact they just complicate the whole system instead. I went from completely understanding how to navigate through it, to only understanding how to access the portal. I'm waiting for them to mess that part up too. I probably wouldn't mind if they gave some sort of instructions on how to use the new updated version, but they aren't even polite enough to do that! I've heard quite a few horror stories about MyUCF's updates. My dad actually has had classes on his degree audit dropped because of these upgrades! That's not cool. And he isn't the first person to tell me about that. That is seriously playing with someone's life right there. Well, anyways, I'll stop venting now. I hope you're doing amazing, and we should totally skype sometime.

See You Soon!

Hilarion

To Expand on the Idea...

MyUCF is a brilliant idea. Make it so the students can find whatever they need to know about their academics on an easy-to-access website. However the actual website that has been derived from that idea is not so great. In fact, it is slowly getting more complicated. Not only are they making it slowly harder to understand, but they are also constantly offline upgrading the system at the most inconvenient times. Obviously, UCF and PeopleSoft haven’t heard of that well-used phrase, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Commentary Ideas

1. Pedestrians abusing the privilege of their right-of-way, especially since most of the time they walk across the street in front of shuttles and cars when there isn't even a cross-walk.

2. How a person can't walk through campus without having at least one political thing thrown in their face. I'm here for an education, not other people's political opinions.

3. How UCF is constantly changing essential school tools, like myucf, and instead of making them easier to use, they make it even harder to understand.

From Obstacle to Opportunity

Baked goodness with M&Ms sprinkled on top. That is what my 4-year old eyes were focused on the first day of my speech therapy. I had just been diagnosed with a communication disorder after a pesky ear infection during my language development had made me learn distorted versions of common words. My parents quickly enrolled me in a speech class after this diagnosis seeing as anyone over the age of six could barely understand what I was saying, which frustrated both myself and the adults I wanted to communicate with. My brother or a classmate would usually end up being my translator, even when I was asking for simple things like juice or food. I’m really glad actually that I was enrolled at such a young age because I’ve noticed that some things that might seem normal to a child at the age of 5 tend to end up seeming “weird” as they get older and their world expands.

It was my first day of “class”, and already I knew what my goal was. Our teacher, Mrs. Bernard, had just explained that each of us would have a chart and that every time we learned something correctly, she would give us a sticker for that day. Our reward when the chart was completely full would be the monster cookie of our choice. At the time I didn’t realize that a completed chart signified the end of our time with her, otherwise I might have prolonged it a little bit because I really enjoyed it. However, I was determined that I would be the one who attained that M&M deliciousness. I always like to joke now that that cookie is the reason I was able to correct my speech in 9 months instead of the 2 years that the doctors had predicted.

For the next 40 weeks I attended my second “school” after my Pre-K class was let out. My grandfather would pick me up in his light blue 1987 Chevrolet Suburban and shuttle me to the public elementary school that my class was held at (I attended St. Mary’s, the small private school down the street). We would spend a couple of hours learning the lesson for the day, and then my grandfather would drop me back off at Pre-K for after care where I would crawl onto my mat with my blankie and pillow and promptly fall asleep. Surprisingly, I wasn’t the only St. Mary’s Pre-Ker, as Bianca, whose “communication disorder” sounded more like a foreign accent, was in the class with me. We sat next to each other more for security than actual friendliness, seeing as even though our moms ended up being friends and we spent the next 10 years at school together, we never quite clicked in that area as she was the blonde-haired blue eyed princess type and I was the little tomboy with unruly curls and a constant line of dirt under my fingernails. Even though she was always more popular than I was at school, I like to think that I had the upper hand as she never was able to fully get rid of her speech impediment.

I don’t remember all the different lessons I was taught that cured me of my problem, but I do remember the woman who taught me. I recall Mrs. Bernard being quite tall. However, I was barely three and a half feet at the time, so even my mother, who is only 5’1”, was a giant to me. She had short, salt and pepper colored hair that never seemed to move, and I like to imagine that it was because she used at least half a can of Aqua Net hair spray every morning to tease and glue her hair into place. From her large, squarish, thick-rimmed glasses and satin floral-print button down blouse, to her earthy colored knee length skirts, unnaturally tan panty hose, and so-comfortable-that-there’s-no-room-for-being-cute oxford shoes, Mrs. Bernard just screamed ‘90s grade school teacher. Heck, she just screamed ‘90s in general. I don’t remember her being the smiliest of people, but in a way, that made doing well in the lesson even better, because you knew you did really well when you were rewarded with a large, genuine smile that conveyed the message that you were actually learning the lesson. I actually ran into her not long ago after being forced to give a speech in front of my church community begging them to donate money to the Catholic high school I attended. I was standing outside with a cheesy smile plastered on my face handing out donation envelopes when she walked up to me. I instantly recognized her as not much had changed except she had upgraded her look to the 21^st century and her hair was looking a bit softer and looser (probably because Aqua Net had basically stopped being sold after it’s ozone-deterioration effects had been discovered). She gave me a huge smile and asked me if I remembered her, with which I replied with a genuine smile of my own and a nod of the head. “Who would have thought you would go from a 4 year old who could barely be understood to an accomplished young lady that was speaking so clearly and understandably to a large audience?” she enthused. “Obviously not you” I almost snapped back, but realized she was just paying me a compliment in her own way. We talked for a bit longer before we went our separate ways, and it felt good to know that the woman who helped me so long ago finally got to put her stamp of approval on my successful speaking.

I never realized how profound and life changing that experience was until I hit college and the subject of my future career came up. I spent my first year as a Hospitality major until it was clear that that industry just wasn’t where I should be. As I researched new majors and took tests to find something compatible with my personality, the result of Speech Pathologist kept appearing and as I gained more knowledge of the career, I realized how much it coincided with my life. I’ve always been an outgoing person, so meeting and working with different types of people would be easy. Teaching had always appealed to me, but the salary just wasn’t worth it. However, this would give me the opportunity to “teach” in my own way, and obviously having personal experience in this department would certainly help with understanding my patients on a deeper level. After consulting my career counselor, I officially changed my major to Communication Sciences and Disorders and haven’t looked back. I finally feel as if I’m in the right place, and even though my mother sometimes complains that she won’t get free stays in hotels and spas with this major, I know that this is what I’m meant to do, and someday, just like Mrs. Bernard, I’ll get to see one of my students speaking “clearly and understandably” thanks to the lessons and smiles they got from me.

Memoir Draft

Baked goodness with M&Ms sprinkled on top. That is what my 4-year old eyes were focused on the first day of my speech therapy. I had just been diagnosed with a communication disorder after a pesky ear infection during my language development had made me learn distorted versions of common words. My parents quickly enrolled me in a speech class after this diagnosis seeing as anyone over the age of six could barely understand what I was saying which frustrated both parties. My brother usually ended up being my translator, even when I was asking for simple things like juice or food. It was my first day of “class”, and already I knew what my goal was. Our teacher, Mrs. Bernard, had just explained that each of us would have a chart and that every time we learned something correctly, she would give us a sticker for that day. Our reward when the chart was completely full would be the monster cookie of our choice. At the time I didn’t realize that a completed chart signified the end of our time with her, otherwise I might have prolonged it a little bit because I really enjoyed it. However, I was determined that I would be the one who attained that M&M deliciousness. I always like to joke now that that cookie is the reason I was able to correct my speech in 9 months instead of the 2 years that the doctors had predicted.

For the next 40 weeks I attended my second “school” after my Pre-K class was let out. My grandfather would pick me up in his big blue and white construction van and shuttle me to the public elementary school that my class was held at (I attended St. Mary’s, the small private school down the street). We would spend a couple of hours learning the lesson for the day, and then my grandfather would drop me back off at Pre-K for after care where I would crawl onto my mat with my blankie and pillow and promptly fall asleep. Surprisingly, I wasn’t the only St. Mary’s Pre-Ker, as Bianca, whose “communication disorder” sounded more like a foreign accent, was in the class with me. We sat next to each other more for security than actual friendliness, seeing as even though our moms ended up being friends and we spent the next 10 years at school together, we never quite clicked in that area as she was the blonde-haired blue eyed princess type and I was the little tomboy with unruly curls and a constant line of dirt under my fingernails. Even though she was always more popular than I was at school, I like to think that I had the upper hand as she never was able to fully get rid of her speech impediment.

I don’t remember all the different lessons I was taught that cured me of my problem, but I do remember the woman who taught me. I recall Mrs. Bernard being quite tall. However, I was barely three and a half feet at the time, so even my mother, who is only 5’1”, was a giant to me. She had short, salt and pepper colored hair that never seemed to move, and I like to imagine that it was because she used at least half a can of Aqua Net hair spray every morning to tease and glue her hair into place. From her large, squarish, thick-rimmed glasses and satin floral-print button down blouse, to her earthy colored knee length skirts, unnaturally tan panty hose, and so-comfortable-that-there’s-no-room-for-being-cute oxford shoes, Mrs. Bernard just screamed ‘90s grade school teacher. Heck, she just screamed ‘90s in general. I don’t remember her being the smiliest of people, but in a way, that made doing well in the lesson even better, because you knew you did really well when you were rewarded with a large, genuine smile that conveyed the message that you were actually learning the lesson. I actually ran into her not long ago after being forced to give a speech in front of my church community begging them to donate money to the Catholic high school I attended. I was standing outside with a cheesy smile plastered on my face handing out donation envelopes when she walked up to me. I instantly recognized her as not much had changed except she had upgraded her look to the 21^st century and her hair was looking a bit softer and looser (probably because Aqua Net had basically stopped being sold after it’s ozone-deterioration effects had been discovered). She gave me a huge smile and asked me if I remembered her, with which I replied with a genuine smile of my own and a nod of the head. “Who would have thought you would go from a 4 year old who could barely be understood to an accomplished young lady that was speaking so clearly and understandably to a large audience?” she enthused. “Obviously not you” I almost snapped back, but realized she was just paying me a compliment in her own way. We talked for a bit longer before we went our separate ways, and it felt good to know that the woman who helped me so long ago finally got to put her stamp of approval on my successful speaking.

I never realized how profound and life changing that experience was until I hit college and the subject of my future career came up. I spent my first year as a Hospitality major until it was clear that that industry just wasn’t where I should be. As I researched new majors and took tests to find something compatible with my personality, the result of Speech Pathologist kept appearing and as I gained more knowledge of the career, I realized how much it coincided with my life. I’ve always been an outgoing person, so meeting and working with different types of people would be easy. Teaching had always appealed to me, but the salary just wasn’t worth it. However, this would give me the opportunity to “teach” in my own way, and obviously having personal experience in this department would certainly help with understanding my patients on a deeper level. After consulting my career counselor, I officially changed my major to Communication Sciences and Disorders and haven’t looked back. I finally feel as if I’m in the right place, and even though my mother sometimes complains that she won’t get free stays in hotels and spas with this major, I know that this is what I’m meant to do, and someday, just like Mrs. Bernard, I’ll hopefully get to see one of my students speaking “clearly and understandably” thanks to the lessons and smiles they got from me.

Memo to Mrs. Moody

To: Professor Moody

From: Hilarion Van Sickle

Date: 09/15/2009

RE: Revision Plan

Regarding the peer review in class, I really don't plan on changing much about the introduction, at least for right now. I really appreciated the feedback from my classmate, and her suggestions and comments were helpful in a way. The answers to the questions about my paper were a bit redundant, but I don’t think she fully comprehended the questions as a couple of them were more about reviewing details later on in the memoir and not in the into. However, she did vocally help me decide where exactly I would like to go with this story.

I plan on introducing my thesis to the story so that the viewer can understand how exactly the image of me in a speech therapy class as a 4 year old pertains to my major in the here and now as a 19 year old student in college. I hope to detail further some people and events in my life during that time and elaborate on how I went about learning the process of curing my disorder. If I have enough space, I might also describe other factors that lead me to declare a major in Communication Sciences and Disorders. Overall, it will most likely be mostly about what I remember of the class and conclude with me switching my major thanks to my experience in speech therapy.

Introduction

Baked goodness with M&Ms sprinkled on top. That is what my 4-year old eyes were focused on the first day of my speech therapy. I had just been diagnosed with a communication disorder after a pesky ear infection during my language development had made me learn distorted versions of common words. My parents quickly enrolled me in a speech class after this diagnosis seeing as anyone over the age of six could barely understand what I was saying which frustrated both parties. My brother usually ended up being my translator, even when I was asking for simple things like juice or food. It was my first day of “class”, and already I knew what my goal was. Our teacher, Mrs. Bernard, had just explained that each of us would have a chart and that every time we learned something correctly, she would give us a sticker for that day. Our reward when the chart was completely full would be the monster cookie of our choice. At the time I didn’t realize that a completed chart signified the end of our time with her, otherwise I might have prolonged it a little bit because I really enjoyed it. However, I was determined that I would be the one who attained that M&M deliciousness. I always like to joke now that that cookie is the reason I was able to correct my speech in 9 months instead of the 2 years that the doctors had predicted.

Brainstorming

I wrote a description of Mrs. Bernard, and how I remember her looking.