Unrelated post.

Blog 6: REVISED Ramp Tramps

Ramp Tramps

Ramp Tramps, there is no Webster Dictionary definition, there is no online thesaurus for it. Urbandictionary.com describes them as “Girls, normally in their teens who go to skateparks and try to look cute, when in reality, they have no idea what is going on. They just want to be seen and hopefully hook up with someone”.  The name comes from Ramp, being the things that you ride on at a skate park, and Tramp being slang for a promiscuous girl. Tramp in this case does not mean its literal definition of to walk heavily or a homeless person. That definition however still doesn’t do the word, or name justice. In the world of BMX (Bicycle Motocross) and skateboarding, ramp tramps are the worst kind of human beings.

First let me tell you what they are not; classy, pretty, quiet, funny, knowledgeable of tricks and doodads, or nice. They wouldn’t be able to tell a ‘kickflip’ from a ‘bar spin’. In fact they probably think that a bar spin is the coolest trick they’ve ever seen. Which that is a quite simple one used to make a different trick look cooler by adding in a simple bar spin. BMXers who lack creativity and skill use them as a crutch. I'm sure you care so much about that, so now I'll go ahead and tell you what they are: noisy, trashy, annoying, in the way, and ultimately stupid. In my experience I have seen many, they stand around on the ramps giggling, trying to look cute. Eventually they get bored and sit down (yes as you may have guess, right in the center of everything) and stare at their phone. 

There may be a question forming in your head, isn't this a girl writing this? What a hypocrite, right? Well I don't go to pick up boys there, I already picked up my boyfriend, and I learned everything I possibly could about the thing he is passionate about. Ramp tramps however have no care for the boy they pick up, they just want to be seen with someone who may eventually make pro. Which I'm sure they don't even understand what that means either. Guys don't go to the park looking to pick up girls, they go to ride and watch other people better than them.

There is another class of ramp tramp though, those are the girls who actually try to skate or ride. Most don't ride BMX however because the bikes are expensive, too expensive for something they will fake. So they usually buy a board from a place like Zumiez. Then they proceed to stand there and pretend to ride it around thinking they look cute. When again, they are in everyones way. There is yet a final variety, they are not tramps though. They are the boys who do not have any skill and stand around with their one friend who does. These boys tend to bring girls and then stand around talking about lifting and sex.

Ramp Tramps, there is no Webster Dictionary definition, there is no online thesaurus for it. They are just girls who go to skateparks and try to look cute, when in reality, they have no idea what is going on. They just want to be seen and hopefully hook up with someone. That definition however still doesn’t do the word, or name justice. In the world of BMX (Bicycle Motocross) and skateboarding, ramp tramps are the worst kind of human beings.

Blog 5: ORIGINAL ramp tramps

Ramp Tramps

Ramp Tramps, there is no Webster Dictionary definition, there is no online thesaurus for it. Urbandictionary.com describes them as “Girls, normally in their teens who go to skateparks and try to look cute, when in reality, they have no idea what is going on. They just want to be seen and hopefully hook up with someone”. That definition however still doesn’t do the word, or name justice. In the world of BMX (Bicycle Motocross) and skateboarding, ramp tramps are the worst kind of human beings.

First let me tell you what they are not; classy, pretty, quiet, funny, knowledgeable of tricks and doodads, or nice. They wouldn’t be able to tell a ‘kickflip’ from a ‘bar spin’. In fact they probably think that a bar spin is the coolest trick they’ve ever seen. Which that is a quite simple one used for 'filler' if you will, when you want to make a different trick look coolers by adding in a simple bar spin. BMXers who lack creativity and skill use them as a crutch. I'm sure you care so much about that, so now I'll go ahead and tell you what they are: noisy, trashy, annoying, in the way, fake bakers (a term to describe women who artificially tan way to much and then look like a gingerbread cookie) and ultimately stupid.

In my experience I have seen many, they stand around on the ramps and park itself getting in the way and giggling. Eventually they get bored and sit down (yes as you may have guess, right in the center of everything) and stare at their phone. They think they look all cute hunched over with their low cut shirt, but no one goes to the park for girls. They go to ride and watch other people better than them.

There may be a question forming in your head, isn't this a girl writing this? What a hypocrite, right? Well I don't go to pick up boys there, I already picked up my boyfriend, and I learned everything I possibly could about the thing he is passionate about. Ramp tramps however have no care for the boy they pick up, they just want to be seen with someone who may eventually make pro. Which I'm sure they don't even understand what that means either.

There is another class of ramp tramp though, those are the girls who actually try to skate or ride. Most don't ride BMX however because the bikes are expensive, too expensive for something they will fake. So they usually buy a board from a place like Zumiez. Then they proceed to stand there and pretend to ride it around thinking they look cute. When again, they are in everyones way. There is yet a final variety, they are not tramps though. They are the boys who do not have any skill and stand around with their one friend who does. These boys tend to bring girls and then stand around talking about lifting and sex.

Everything sounds so stereotypical but it is all accurate, I assure you that you are getting nothing but the truest information. Ramp tramps give BMXers girlfriends a bad name, girls who learn things about the sport and have urgent care on speed dial for when their boyfriend breaks their face.

Ramp Tramps, there is no Webster Dictionary definition, there is no online thesaurus for it. They are just girls who go to skateparks and try to look cute, when in reality, they have no idea what is going on. They just want to be seen and hopefully hook up with someone. That definition however still doesn’t do the word, or name justice. In the world of BMX (Bicycle Motocross) and skateboarding, ramp tramps are the worst kind of human beings.

Blog 4: proposal

Title: Customers at My Work

 

Topic: the customers that come in to my work

 

Personal Connections: I work there so I have to deal with all sorts of different people.

 

Audience: Everyone.

 

Purpose: People should learn how to treat other people. Especially people who are just doing their jobs and doing it the way their boss would like.

 

Classification or Division: I will use classification.

 

Potential Categories: The rude people who don’t acknowledge your existence, the people who are actually nice, the needy people, the people who non-stop talk through-out the store, the people who get mad at you for following simple rules, the people who ignore the rules and touch/play with everything or break things.

 

Examples: 1. Some people will come up and ask if you have something or what you would recommend for a child, then ask you to get everything down for them, ask for other things, ask your help for decision making, don’t let you go even when there are other people who need to be helped.

2. People who come in and start talking half to themselves half to you, they don’t want you to actually talk back, they just want to talk about everything but do expect you to listen and nod your head. They do this throughout the entire store at the checkout and on their way out the door. Sometimes they even stop and lean over the counter for 15 minutes yapping about stuff.

3. One lady freaked out because we stopped accepting the coupons she had. And we couldn’t combine her two rewards cards, and we had to void her last sale because the SYSTEM not us did something wrong.

 

Techniques: I will use compare and contrast, classification, examples, brand names

 

Potential Problems: I don’t think there will be any

Blog 3: Different Introductions

    My name is James Michael Richardson. I was a homeless man living in Manhattan up until June Seventeenth, two-thousand-two. My story made me famous. I was not a part of a family who lost a loved one because of it, not a loving boyfriend, husband, son, uncle. Not a friend, coworker, nothing. Instead I sat on the street and watched them pass. Some of them not giving me a glance or second of their time. A few though were probably the nicest people I have ever met. A hot coffee, a simple “How are you doing?” or “What’s your name?” is what made their lives important to me. The rest of them I watched shuffling along, suits fresh from the dry-cleaners, neatly pressed skirts and blouses, hair gelled and sprayed in position, shoes clacking along. I got to know their routines as I am sure they didn’t care about mine. Helen Burkbe, however, she was one of a kind. Chocolate brown curls, Granny Smith-green eyes with sun-drop flakes. Her lips were soft pink and thin, faint freckles were delicately placed across her high cheek bones and small nose. She remained my beacon of light long past her death. She is the reason I told this story. She didn’t have any to remember her, like me she was an adult orphan in a big city of people who didn’t care. No boyfriend, no siblings, no extended family she knew or cared for. It was my job to make sure her death wasn’t over-looked. I watched One World Trade and Two World Trade burn and fall to the ground on September Eleventh, Two-thousand-One.
CHANGES:

Statistic:
The attacks of 9/11 resulted in a death toll of 2,996 people.These numbers included World Trade Center employees, the passengers of the airplanes American 11, and United 175, firefights, police officers, emergency workers, paramedics, EMT's for private services, the attacks in Arlington and Shanksville, Military personnel, and the hijackers themselves. New York City was only able to identify remains for about 1,600 of the World Trade Center victims. As of August 2011, 1,631 victims have been identified, while 1,122 of the victims remain unidentified. Helen is a part of the 1,122 unidentified victims.

Dialogue from character:
"James, Gatsby was so high school, not to say Fitzgerald wasn't a wonderful writer, but the book didn't leave a.. uhh, lasting effect on me." Helen argued over a pipping hot cup of coffee.
"I see what you're saying, but today's authors have no idea what they're doing. They just write and don't bother with symbolism or-" James was cut off.
"All that nonsense?" Helen questioned. "I know what you mean, it's really sad. But just because I don't like that book doesn't mean I don't enjoy good literature."
"I see, I see. Well-" James was cut off again.
"I'm sorry but I gotta run to work!" Helen exclaimed while jumping up coffee in hand.
"Where DO you work?"
"See you tomorrow morning!" Helen called out while leaving the Dunkin Donuts they were sitting in. Her curls bounced, and her gray skirt swayed in the wind as she crossed the busy New York City street.
That was the last time James spoke with Helen or watched her dodge taxi's as she ran to work.

Question:
How do you remember the tragic events on 9/11? Were  you even born yet? What do you remember? I was not in it, but I watched it all happen. I sat on a street curb watching the two magnificent towers tumble to the ground. I stood by as nameless people were pulled from the rubble and families frantically search for their loved ones. Many people were never found or named, Helen was one of them. Her story was never told, a body to match her name, she was just a name on a list of people who worked in the building.

blog 2- 3 ways of writing

Telling only-

I was sitting in a Diner somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. It was small and cozy, the floors had a dark blue carpet, and the walls were beige color. There were lots of windows, it was a free standing building. Where there weren't windows, there were pictures. All different  but same in style, mostly of the blue variety. My mother and I were sitting at a light wood table with two matching chairs. Our table had crayon wax on it, a child had obviously sat here before. We were across from each other. We had just ordered our own breakfast and were now waiting. We had been talking about college applications and what not, filling in the time until we could finally eat. The bell at the door dinged and a friendly hostess inquired on the number of people. She pulled out a menu, just one. She put him in the table behind my mother, he sat in the chair facing me. He sat there for a little bit before a waitress walked up and gave him a menu. The menus had dark blue binding and off white paper, laminated. He stared at it for just a second and then asked if they're orange juice was freshly squeezed. He went on to ask about the blueberry pancakes, the special ones. He didn't want blueberry compote in the center but he wanted the blueberries on the top. He wanted to know if the blueberries were fresh as well. The waitress was responding to his demands as best as she could, as for the freshness, she had no clue. She has a look of distress on her face. She was an old young. She had a young face, but with a few smile lines. No crows feet yet. Her hair was shoulder length, black, and pin straight. She still had a young body. She wore her white blouse buttoned up to the top and tucked in to her black pants. She had a blue apron folded over at her hips, and standard black, nonslip sneakers. The man kept yapping about what he liked and how he wanted it. Finally the waitress cut in and said she would find a manager. The man said never mind and asked for something completely different. The woman with the black hair turned on a dime and hurried away.

Dialogue Only-

"So wasn't North Carolina great? Sure wish we were still there, Pennsylvania is absolutely terrible." My mother was going on about North Carolina.
"Yeah I really loved the college." I replied.
"I really hope you get in!" She was basically screaming.
The bell at the door dinged.
"How many today sir?" asked the hostess.
"Just one" The man said.
He was seated by us. A waitress approached after a moment.
"Is your orange juice freshly squeezed?" He asked.
"Uh, I don't think so." said the waitress.
"Of course not" replied the man with a sigh after. "These pancakes, is there blueberry in the middle and on top?"
"Yes it-"
"I only want the blueberries on top, not in the middle and that gooey syrup in a cup on the side. I want bacon but not really crispy, just kind of. No black on it but I don't want to have to bite it like a bear."
"Okay anything else."
"Actually yeah, are the blueberries fresh? Or is like your orange juice? And is the bacon local farms or it processed from some other state?"
"I'm not sure, let me get a manager" She said with a bit of distress.
"Never mind, it's fine. I'll just have buttermilk pancakes with hash browns."
"Alright" Her voice turned to obvious annoyance.
"Jeez, what a piece." My mother whispered to me.
"Yeah, glad I don't work in restaurants." I whispered back.

Little Bit of Both

I was sitting in a Diner somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. It was small and cozy, the floors had a dark blue carpet, and the walls were beige color. There were lots of windows, it was a free standing building. Where there weren't windows, there were pictures. All different  but same in style, mostly of the blue variety. My mother and I were sitting at a light wood table with two matching chairs. Our table had crayon wax on it, a child had obviously sat here before. We were across from each other. We had just ordered our own breakfast and were now waiting.
 "So wasn't North Carolina great? Sure wish we were still there, Pennsylvania is absolutely terrible." My mother was going on about North Carolina.
"Yeah I really loved the college." I replied.
"I really hope you get in!" She was basically screaming.
 The bell at the door dinged and a friendly hostess asked "How many today sir?"
She pulled out a menu, just one. She put him in the table behind my mother, he sat in the chair facing me. He sat there for a little bit before a waitress walked up and gave him a menu. The menus had dark blue binding and off white paper, laminated. He stared at it for just a second.
"Is your orange juice freshly squeezed?" He asked.
"Uh, I don't think so." said the waitress.
"Of course not" replied the man with a sigh after. "These pancakes, is there blueberry in the middle and on top?"
"Yes it-"
"I only want the blueberries on top, not in the middle and that gooey syrup in a cup on the side. I want bacon but not really crispy, just kind of. No black on it but I don't want to have to bite it like a bear."
"Okay anything else."
"Actually yeah, are the blueberries fresh? Or is like your orange juice? And is the bacon local farms or it processed from some other state?"
The waitress was responding to his demands as best as she could, as for the freshness, she had no clue. She has a look of distress on her face. She was still pretty young. She had a smooth, young face face, but with a few smile lines. No crows feet yet. Her hair was shoulder length, black, and pin straight. She still had a young body. She wore her white blouse buttoned up to the top and tucked in to her black pants. She had a blue apron folded over at her hips, and standard black, nonslip sneakers. The man kept yapping about what he liked and how he wanted it. Finally the waitress cut in and said she would find a manager.
"Never mind, it's fine. I'll just have buttermilk pancakes with hash browns."
"Alright" Her voice turned to obvious annoyance. She turned on a dime and hurried away.
"Jeez, what a piece." My mother whispered to me.
"Yeah, glad I don't work in restaurants." I whispered back.

Welcome post :)

My welcome post is about me as a person, and a writer. My name is Leah Elizabeth Salmon, my favorite colors are purple and yellow, not related to one of my favorite NFL teams. The Baltimore Ravens, thank you Brendan Way. My dog's name is Stewie and in my previous life I was a cat. That is all you need to know about me. The purpose of my blog is to share my writing with everyone else, not that I really want to. The actual purpose is to get credit for the class and please Ms Basko so she doesn't want to kill me. So one to who I am as a writer. Writing isn't my favorite thing to do in the world, but I love to read. My favorite writer is Stephen King. He inspires a lot of the things I write and choose to read. What really inspires me about King's work is how in depth he gets with the characters. Into the first chapter you already know everything about them. I usually love to write with detail. Most of the time I get really bored with school assignments and I start off good, then just wrap it all up in one paragraph. In my opinion reading/writing a good story isn't only about a good plot, you have to understand the character. Although due to my desire for detail I get very self conscious about my writing. I could turn a half page assignment into a novel if you gave me enough time. It is also an "acquired taste". Some people want a quick read and no deeper understanding other than why Bella is crying when Edward left her in the woods alone. So not all people will care for what I write. Then there are people who read the The Hunger Games, and do not actually understand what it is about. Then again the author of the book lost sight of what she wanted it to be about during the second and most of the third book. Towards then end it kind of came back. Katniss did a lot of uneeded crying though. Anyways, I'm also one of those people that complains until no end when my english teacher rambles on about the green light in Gatsby and all the symbolism they have to pointlessly pick apart, but I happen to look for symbols in everything I read because it's always there. There's not much more about me other than I wish I was the Hulk because I would Hulk smash SO many things. It would be grand. John is my boyfriend, but no body really cares. I like chinese food. and Kevin annoys me when he asks what he should write about :p. anndddd that's all I have to write about, have fun stalking my blog, creeper.