Briana+Pedroni

Project Proposal with Rubric out of 100 points: Okay! So my project idea is to write letters. My plan is to write a letter a day. Each letter will tell a story of some sort. Besides that, I'm not really sure. But it'll be a good time.

Due at the End of Class on 4/22: Project Description and etc

Due at the End of Class on 4/23: A letter to my ex-boyfriend's cat.

Due at the End of Class on 4/24: A letter to math.

Due at the End of Class on 4/27: Nothing because there was no computer lab today.

Due at the End of Class on 4/28: A letter to the customers at the store in which I work.

Due at the End of Class on 4/29: Another letter.

Due at the End of Class on 4/30: Another letter.

Presentations/Celebration will occur on Friday, May 1.

Final Comments/Self-Evaluation:

Comments: (okay fine it's a comment section for people who don't know how to click the discussion label, i.e. David Kang and other discussion click impaired persons) David Kang -teh c0mm3ntz )v(@zT@- For some reason I can picture you talking to a cat, though in my picture the cat seems to be talking back. The writing is hilarious, and you're so well mannered in your treatment of Woody-the-Cat, though perhaps Woody wouldn't take the nuances of politeness to heart as much as your readers. I say you should go visit the cat regardless of the social taboos that prevent you from doing so. P.S. My little cousins all laughed aloud while I read this to them, my bigger cousins laughed at the "I have a Woody too." part... don't worry I scolded them to the best of my ability, though, as a fire prevention precaution I wasn't too harsh on them.


 * First Letter.**

Dear Woody-the-Cat, I miss you, love. I am used to seeing you several times a week, as I always used to be at your house. Well, not your house per se, but the house that you live at. Not that I didn't come to see you, I did; but I more so came to see your owner, my boyfriend. Not my boyfriend any more, though. Which is why I haven't seen you for the past two weeks. My plan is to see you sometime soon again. I know the code for your garage door opener. I also know when your owners tend to be out and doing things. (Being 'part of your family' for the past fourteen month or so will do that for you.) So I can see you quite easily. Just kidding. I won't do that. But I could, hypothetically. I have a Woody-the-Dog. And my other best friend, Trevor, has a Woody-the-Goat. Mr. Gill, my seventh grade science teacher, had a snake named Woody, too. But the snake died and now I can't see you anymore, and the goat is getting old. So maybe I should just be happy with my dog Woody. He sleeps on my bed every night. You used to sleep on my stomach. My favorite, though, was when you would sit for me. Maybe it's just me, but I think it's hilarious that you know how to sit, and you go on walks. You sit, starting out the window, waiting for cars to come. And then when someone would come to the door, you would run and greet them. I think that you think you're a dog. None of my other friends have cats, so my cat supply is dried up. No more kitties to pet and take naps with and love. So I think that you should come visit me. Or maybe if your owner starts talking to me again I'll come visit you! I'll need good luck with that last one, though. Love Briana.


 * Second Letter.**

Dear Math, How I despise you.You, math, are my mortal enemy. Every morning, first period, I have to sit in the front row of E-110 and learn about things that don't matter from an old woman who doesn't know what she's talking about. Seriously, most mornings she thinks that two and negative two equal four. She then proceeds to do a complex problem, and doesn't understand why it's incorrect. And the unit circle? What the hell is that used for, anyway? We do problem after problem, being instructed to graph "f(x)=4-2csc(1/4(x+6))" and the like. Then we graph it. Then. Nothing happens. Nothing at all. It is not useful to solve any type of real life problems. It is only useful if you want to be able to graph cosecants. Which, as you may be able to tell, I do not wish to do. Not that all math is bad. If someone wants change for a ten, you need to know to give them two fives or ten ones, or a combination. As long as it comes out to ten dollars. When you're shopping? It's good to know how to take 30% off the original price of a shirt that you see on sale. But besides that? Really? No. But the worst part, you see, is that I am good at you. How I managed that, I do not care to know. But, somehow, I managed to get put in an honors class, sitting next to a bunch of juniors who have as little idea of what is going on as me. If at least I was bad at you, I could make excuses, maybe drop down to an easier course, put more effort into something else that I actually care about. Because let's be quite frank, I do not care about you. Next year, junior year, I have opted to take AP Stat instead of Honors Calculus. After that, I will be finished with math. Forever and ever. Never again will I have to stay up late in the night, trying to figure out what my math teacher is trying to DO to me by making me figure out how to graph my name using at least five different kinds of functions. Senior year, you will not be in my schedule, instead being replaced by (most likely) a course on history, for which you do NOT have to do worthless things and stress out and et cetera. So, in conclusion, I hate you. Please go die. Or at least go away. See you never. Briana.


 * Third Letter.**

Dear Customers That Come To Delias, Please be nice to me. I know that you are buying the clothes here, which many think are too expensive. I know that you expect to be treated with courtesy and respect, which I do. But I would really appreciate if you would lay off of the snobbiness, indignency, and treating me like I am a servant. Yes, I do get paid to work here, but only minimum wage with, of course, a ridiculous amount deducted for taxes. Half of the time, I have just come from school, sitting in classrooms there all day, trying to take in knowledge that I won't use in real life but 'need' to know to get into a good college, which is why I have a job anyway: to help pay for said good college. But after seven hours at North Penn, I come to the mall to face another four or five, and it's not the most exciting thing I've done all week. Especially when one of you comes in. Please do not let your two year old sit on top of the tables with piles of clothes that I just spent two hours folding. No, we don't have a bathroom that you can use; it's for employees only. Don't unfold all of those tshirts in a stack; they all look the same and take a tremendously long time to fold. I have to use this stupid little board and everything. No, I cannot reduce your price; I believe that you have a coupon at home, but we need the actual coupon so that we can send it to corporate. That does not count in the buy-one-get-one sale, yes, I am sure, no, there is nothing I can do to change that. I'm sorry, but the other employee in the store did NOT tell you that, because I've been the only one talking to you all night. Yes, I am sure. No, we do not sell candy any more. Excuse me, but we are closing in two minutes, so why on earth did you just walk in here ready to go on a shopping spree? In short, please leave me alone unless you are going to smile back at me when I greet you warmly. Because otherwise, I would rather you not be here. Because quite frankly, ma'am, you are a large pain in the ass. Your Friendly Local Delia's Sales Rep.