Social Media Has Changed The English Language

Ever hear a member of the older generation, perhaps an English teacher, say texting, tweeting, and facebooking are ruining our language? There is actually no proof that shortened text language affects our grammar. Facebook introduced us to new words with new meanings like 'friend,' 'wall,' and 'like.' Read more here.

English Majors: It's What We Want

English majors have a bad rap. We're virtually taught to be poor and thrown out into the world assumed that we can only be teachers. False. My English major is everything I want. And it is a lot more than people think. 
I'm pursuing what I love, and it has opened so many doors for me. No, I do not want to be a teacher; I want to be an editor, a writer, an intellectual, a critic, and a traveler. My English major gives me these options and coupled with my Spanish and Publishing major, the world is wide open! 
There is nothing wrong with being a teacher; they're the people that do the most for this world and receive the least credit. I salute them, and I have an utmost respect for them. Teachers are the ones who got me to where I am today: I owe it all to them. 
But let me tell you what I can do with my English major: Anything I want. 
I can travel. I can teach English in Spain. I can edit articles for the local newspaper. I can submit short stories to popular publishers. I can write a novel. I can read The New Yorker and Wired, and learn about anything I want. I can be a writer; I can be an editor; I can be an intellectual. I have the skills to do just about anything, skills that are valuable in a company. 
I started taking a Web Communications class this year, and the class is not what you would think it is, unless you were like me and had really no notion of what a class with that title could entail. The professor spoke in terms a layman like me did not understand (what are deliverables), assigned 60 pages of reading, and told us there was a large project due at the end of the semester of producing an online presence for a real company. I shrugged and said, "That's nothing for an English major." 
The professor and the students in this class looked upon me as unprepared and oblivious to this class. On day one. And as much as I mirrored those looks, I knew I had what it takes. Sure, the first reading I actually had to active engage myself and look up terms and take notes and do such things that I've managed to skip since freshman year, but I get it. I think critically; I think outside of the box.
Second day of class, the professor notices my Star Wars mug and jeers, "Hannah's a closet nerd!!"
I said, "Oh, there's nothing in the closet about it." Apparently, I gave him the perfect segue to his next discussion: being open to new concepts and the ever-changing world. 
I may not know all the web design terminology, or what deliverables are, but I surely can find out. I can be as up-to-date as anybody because I love information and I love searching for it. Reading is easy. Research is easy. Best of all: It's my passion. 
So here's to the doors opened to me, doors of travel, opportunity, and novelty. 
Lastly, here's to all the English majors. Keep on keeping on. 

Spanish Poetry and my Journey to Fluency

As much as I hate being stuck in the same cycle, having a daily routine is healthy. I've started a list of things that I want to do each day, and limited them in some ways so that the list is achievable and more feasible. School started this week, and with the new rhythm of a schedule, I'm settling into a new routine. I'm writing of list of things I want to do everyday, and the first thing on my list is to read one Pablo Neruda poem a day. I bought Cien sonetos de amor (100 Love Sonnets) by Pablo Neruda translated by Stephen Tapscott several months ago and I didn't start digging into until now.
I will share my favorite stanza:

Oh invádeme con tu boca abrasadora,

Indágame, si quieres, con tus ojos nocturnos,

Pero en tu nombre déjame navegar y dormir.

Invade me with your hot mouth; interrogate me

with your night-eyes, if you want—only let me

steer like a ship through your name; let me rest there. 

These words struck me, "Only let me steer like a ship through your name; let me rest there." I read them over and over, settling into their loveliness, their familiarity. Some people truly have a way with words, and it's one thing to be a poet, famous or not, and it is quite another to be a translator of poetry. 

I'm speaking from experience. 

Spanish Senior Seminar last year, I worked on several poems, translating them from Spanish into English. Spanish is a much prettier, more romantic, and lyrical language than English is, and it is tricky to maintain the rhythm and the mean. I translated poems by Venezuelan poet Elías David Curiel (1871-1924).

Curiel used archaic Spanish and some words are not widely used today, in English or Spanish. Many times I could not find any inkling of the words online and sat down with my professor who pulled out aged thick books to look up outdated definitions.

This was one of the poems I had the most fun with. Many times I took creative license to make the English lines lyrical and pretty. 

~

MAL DE LUNA

a Antonio Smith

¿No ha padecido usted nunca  de ilunación?

 He aquí una enfermedad mucho 

más peligrosa que la más terrible de las

insolaciones, según lo atestigua Guy de

Maupassant.

Blanca noche. Me enfermo de mal de luna. Un prado. Surtidores.

Estatuas. Indecisas penumbras. Temblorosas claridades.

Una niña, en su blanco peinador semi-envuelta, entre las flores,

me espera, junto a una de las marmóreas míticas deidades!

Esa desconocida, que me aguarda, a los tímidos fulgores

de las rubias estrellas en un pensil cuyas frondosidades

penumbrosas acendran perfumes de sus labios tentadores,

suda el humor divino de las divinas voluptuosidades!

Bad Moon (Moon stroke)

For Antonio Smith

Have you ever suffered from moon stroke?

I have a sickness more dangerous than the 

worst sunstroke, as witnessed by Guy of 

Maupassant.

White night. I have moon stroke. A meadow. Fountains. 

Statues. Irresolute shadows. Trembling clarities. 

A girl, half wrapped in white negligee, among flowers, 

She waits for me, next to one of the mythical marble deities!

That unknown, she awaits me, the timid glow

Of the blonde stars in the garden whose shadowy 

Canopy of trees purify the perfume of their tempting lips,

She sweats divine humor of divine voluptuousness!

Seated, beside her, upon the moss bank, among the roses 

And amid the statues,—an arbor of goddesses made of Pentelikon marble—,  

I will tell her that love is the cradle of art, of which she is they symbol. 

She will squeeze a cluster of grapes in my mouth with a kiss.

I will bite an apple: her heart. And in my memory printed

her love, my soul will be the vision of a garden full of moon!

~

Poetry is beautiful artistic expression in all languages. Incorporating into everyday the poetry of Pablo Neruda makes me happy! And furthers my journey to fluency in Spanish. 

Being a Country Girl in a City World: 4 Ways to Stay True to You

As an English major, I am passionate about writing. I obsess over errors I find in texts, and I love reading. Books are my passion. But the balancing act between work, school, and internships is difficult. To top things off, rodeo is also a passion of mine, a passion that is time consuming and requires a lot of money. This article explores the balance between to very contrary loves and how a country girl is supposed to make it in a city world. 
"For me, I had the duality of two oppositional interests—rodeo and horses; books and writing. The former fills my waking hours, my evenings, and weekends with manure scooping, hay tossing, and horse riding. The latter draws up images of New York City..."


http://www.whiskeyriff.com/2016/06/13/being-a-country-girl-in-a-city-world-4-ways-to-stay-true-to-you/

11 Signs You Attended Hastings College

Hastings College provides a unique experience for students. Not only do they have a wide variety of classes, they have a rodeo team, and many campus events including Mr. and Mrs. Bronco and Boars Head. The professors are personable and give one-on-one experience with all of their students. 

From drinking warm beer and cheap vodka, students in Nebraska get creative when it comes to entertaining themselves in the flat lands and cornfields. 

"Upon graduation, the government sends you a reminder that you owe at least your firstborn’s life in debt.

While I spoke of students earning a lot of scholarships, few received full rides. After four years, any amount of tuition adds up, leaving grads with a surmounting amount of debt to the government."
Read more here: 

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/signs-attended-hastings-college

Dreaming of the NFR

In a world where gender roles are changing, tensions arise between those that welcome the change and those that don't. A magazine article discussing the aspirations of a female roper to make the top 15 in team roping was shunned by male team ropers. In the rodeo world, men and women have the opportunity to compete side by side, yet a woman has not made it to the National Finals Rodeo in an event other than barrel racing. This fact has never been an issue until someone stated that women absolutely not make it to the NFR. Why? In my opinion, a statement like that is unnecessary. 

"Growing up, all rodeo competitors, including women, dream of making it to the NFR to compete under those Las Vegas lights and win the buckle proving they're the best."

Who's to say a woman can't?

Check out the rest of my article here. 

Tammy Meeske Fine Art
tammymeeske.com

The Lessons Rodeo Taught Me

Patience

The long, sometimes drab drives taught me the patience to sit for hours, along with the talent of entertaining myself while driving for hours.

Growing up in rodeo, a lot of people train their own horses. I learned how to barrel race and pole bend with my horse. Neither of us had any experience and we taught each other in our own way until we started winning. But that is one of the hardest parts, working with a horse. It's also the most rewarding. For some people, it comes natural, but as a little girl learning by doing is quite the process. Not only that, but a horse has so much personality. 

A horse has off days and on days just like we do. Days they don't want to work and days they have too much energy to contain. Relying on a living creature that weighs 1,000 pounds is a scary thing. Getting bucked off, trampled, and stepped on comes with the territory.

Read more here.

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/glimpse-of-the-rodeo-road

Princess Sincerity

I am a dating expert. I said it, I am the date expert. I get women; I understand them. I consume them. And they love me. It doesn’t matter who you are; with a few of my tips women will be crawling all over you. 

The only problem I have is women, well, they get too attached.  My techniques are not meant for the one night stand. I make women fall hard in one night. If a committed, long term relationship is what you want, I can get it. But I cannot get you anything less.

My goal is not to find a relationship, nor is it to find a one night stand. I revel in the flirting, the small talk, and the attraction. Yet nothing more. My skill is in the art of the human mind. I understand the intricacies of its desires and complications of its functions. The fields of psychology and therapy suit me. But it is not enough for me. I strive to apply my knowledge, to test it in real life. I cannot sit across from someone and give them therapeutic advice. I like being out in the field. I call it research and women are my test subjects.

A dating expert typically is associated as being a player, a cheater. Essentially, the expert views dating as a game. I disagree. As an expert, I am a keen observer of the human psyche. I’m a charmer. I watch behavior patterns; I look for signs, clues to who is sitting across the bar. It may be a game for me: a psychological game. Psychological thrillers always interested me. My mom and I would sit in the living room reading mystery novel after mystery novel, soaking up the twists and turns, the surprises and the unanswered questions. I never admit this, but I enjoy curling up on the couch with a cup of coffee and a book to read on a snowy day. Women enjoy the thrill of being ‘picked up,’ flirted with, and lusted after. In itself is an art of mystery.

She’s stirring her drink quickly, almost agitated. I whisper something in her ear as I walk by, brushing my fingertips against her neck. She smiles and turns to look. But I was already immersed in the crowd. Now I’m the one that makes her happy and I am just out of her reach. Her eyes are scanning the place for me. She’s looking for something she never knew she wanted. I’m the mystery.

What did I say to her? Well, I could have said anything. It was in the way I caught her off guard, leaned in close sending chills all over her, and disappeared. The questions to be asked, “Who was that?” “Where did they go?” She must find out more.

“Your eyes sparkle like a thousand stars in the night sky.” That was charming.  But it was the truth laced with poetry. A romantic statement of an observation. Pretty words to whisper in her ear.

Prince Charming got his name because he gives delight and admiration. He is not called Prince Sincere. As for me, I mean what I say. I know it is exactly what they want to hear, but I am not lying. And that’s the difference. The honesty in my voice creates a security in her mind. And a desire for more. I believe one can be charming and sincere. And that’s important.

Sincerity.

I’m leaning against the bar when she sidles up next to me.

“Hello,” she says in a barely audible voice. She doesn’t look at me.

I’m observing her from the corner of my eye.

“Crown and coke?” she asked.

“Mm. Martini? Dry.” I asked.

She nods.

“You’re not what I expected.” She said.

“How do you know it’s me?”

She turns her body to me and leans an elbow on the bar and her drink on the napkin.

“Woman’s intuition,” she smiled.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Oddly, not at all,” her eyes flashed, zeroing in on my body.

“Good.” I said.

She thought she was one step ahead of me.

“It was the way you touched me, your lips against my ear and your fingers on my neck. And when you disappeared, I knew you couldn’t have gone far. The bar would be a safe bet. You’re alone, but you’re not waiting for anybody,” she said as though reading my mind. “Your body position is open, yet not welcoming. I walked by a few minutes before and I saw you shift your weight and I felt your eyes. That wasn’t the first time you’d noticed me. And you weren’t prepared for me to notice you yet.”

I shook my head. “Wow.” I said. “I’m impressed.”

“Want another one?” she motioned to my drink.

“Absolutely,” I said, watching her cautiously.

“I don’t usually drink martinis, but the happy hour makes them cheap enough to be worth it.”

“Mm,” I said. I still faced the dance floor and she leaned over the bar talking to the bartender.

I was intrigued.

“Any plans for later this evening?” She asked.

It was 11:30.

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead,” I said.

She examined me. “What? Did I throw off your game?” she smiled.

“No, no.” I smirked. “Not at all. I’m just impressed you found me so quickly.”

“Hmm,” she mumbled. “Well, after this drink do you want to get out of here?”

I looked into her eyes, searching them.

“I’d like that,” I smiled.

She put her hand on mine.

She fancies the idea that she outsmarted me. She thinks this was her idea.

She leads me out of the bar and to her car, proud of what she snatched up.

I have an unfair advantage; I have quite a bit of insight into what makes a woman, a woman. I know what makes her heart throb, what she loves and what she hates. I know her weaknesses.

Because I am one.

I am a woman.

Call me Princess Sincerity.