Got Milk? Campaign

*I may have forgotten a couple things about the intro but it's late so go ahead and ignore that for now*

Submitted to: Got Milk? Campaign

Submitted By: Uni High Swim Team

Executive Summary

The University Laboratory High School’s (UNI) girl's swim program is rigorous and challenging but also extremely rewarding. Our swimmers are talented individuals who all come from different backgrounds and leave everything they have in the water. It is common that after a practice, the girls will have some sort of snack or drink to get protein in their bodies. Chocolate milk is the most popular refueling method. Especially after morning sessions of dryland (weights and core exercise), chocolate milk is essential for recovery and starting the day right. While morning practices are never easy, our team is known for our hard working mentality and ability to endure through tough sets. If some members are struggling, the rest of the team will go out of their way to encourage them and make sure they make it to the end.

Additionally, our team prides itself on our academic excellence. When it comes down to supporting our swimmers, we always make sure that everyone is maintaining their schoolwork and can ask their teammates for help. As a result, we are one of the few teams in the state of Illinois to be named the Gold Scholar Team by the National Interscholastic Swimming Coaches Association of America (NISCA), an honor only given to teams with an average GPA of 3.75 or higher. Our swim team pours a lot of effort both swimming and in school and thus have developed a work ethic much greater than the average team.

Above all, our main goal is to make sure everyone feels a part of the team and has fun. With this in mind, one thing we always like to have is a team uniform that represents that attitude. Every year, we pick out new swimsuits for the team and find designs that are fun while maintaining our competitive edge. Unfortunately, due to having to replace them every year, the swim team budget takes quite the hit. For this reason, the Uni High girl’s swim team invites The Got Milk? Campaign to consider a grant of $500 to afford equipment and further our team’s fundamental ideals of community and teamwork.

Needs Assessment

Recently, the University Laboratory High School in 2015 announced that there would be no more fundraising on school property due to financial and tax reasons. This led to many clubs being shut down, budgets being cut, and teams having to survive on money raised by the PFO (Parent-Faculty Organization). Many teams are able to get by with the little money left since they have reusable uniforms, but the swim team does not have that option. Since we must replace our swimsuits and caps every year, we lose on average about $1000 each year on equipment alone. In order to preserve our bank account, the team has taken measures to try and fundraise outside of school but the number of opportunities to do so has dramatically decreased. Thus, the importance of fundraising has skyrocketed and has led us to consider outside help. With the Got Milk? Campaign’s aide, the equipment needs of the Uni High swim team can be met and will further our progress as one of the top swim teams in the area.

Superhero Movies: R-Rated

The recent success of Deadpool has evoked a phenomenon within Hollywood studios.

Batman News/ComicBook.com/Collider

Say goodbye to the typical PG-13, cliched superhero films and hello to the edgier and adult superheroes of today. No longer will there be the generic villain who strives to achieve “a better world” by mindlessly destroying cities or whatnot. Instead, this new R-Rated universe will allow studios to delve even deeper into the comic books and uncover villains that were just a little too villainy for their younger audiences to handle. Movies can move past pitting the protagonists against some inherently evil dude with no moral compass whatsoever. Now, these R-Rated films, while allowing us to see a more mature superhero, can invest in the bad guys and make them just as iconic as their counterparts.

This is already happening in television. For instance, Jessica Jones, a show about a former superhero with super strength and her struggle with PTSD, assault, and rape, features a villain known as Killgrave (played by David Tennant). Killgrave has the power to control people with his words and uses that power to abuse and manipulate people on his quest to control Jessica. Within the first episode, when Jessica Jones is tasked with finding a missing person, there are already elements of a R-rated nature that constantly overshadow the show (i.e., language, sex, violence), but it’s the ending that really takes that extra step that changes the series from being mindless action and cliched subplots to something truly dark and powerful. Nothing is what it seems and ultimately leaves the viewer questioning what is going to happen next.

No longer are the boundaries set on what can be allowed on the main screen. Instead, audiences are given the given the chance to be a part of the story and develop alongside the characters. With the R-Rating, that doesn’t necessarily mean that audiences will like them or be able to identify with them. Rather, they will be caught in a gray area where the distinction between good and evil is blurry and they must decide who is right and who is wrong. Either way, the ability for superhero movies and TV shows to take that next step into a more adult setting has the potential to break the superhero film industry.

Certainly, there are cons to making films R-Rated. For one, studios lose one of their biggest markets: children and teenagers. Although teenagers can kind of make their way around this one, most pre-teens or younger will not be able sneak into the movies quite as easily. The reason the PG-13 movies have been so successful is that they’re fun for everyone. Kids can root for the favorite hero and watch them smash things while older people can enjoy the comedy and (again) the action. The reason it is so hard to change the superhero formula is because it works. If movies start excluding that audience, superhero genre actually loses appeal. Superheroes are meant to be an escape from society: a fantasy that problems can be solved with one swing of some guy’s hammer.

At the same time, as people are fed the same plot over and over again, change is inevitable. It’s a matter of whether studios can find that balance between their older and younger audiences. As far as R-Rated superhero films go, while they have their faults, they provide more opportunities than the current system offers. Does that mean audiences will be overrun with R-Rated films? Maybe. Either way, superhero movies are here to stay, but they now have the chance to entertain audiences in completely new ways.

Casual Liar

Lying is not one of my specialties. I just can’t help telling the truth sometimes. You know that game two truths and a lie? Well, I would always mess up because I would forget to tell a lie and say three truths instead. That’s not to say I can’t let out a little white lie every now and then, “What do you think of my new haircut? Oh, it looks amazing!” No, that’s not a problem. I let those out on a daily basis. In that sense, I’m uber comfortable with lying. As long as the lie has no long term consequences, why not lie? Sometimes, the truth can be a little boring so that’s when it’s time to spice things up with a couple of big, fat lies.

Last spring break, my dad and I went canoeing and camping down Buffalo River, Arkansas and ended in Hot Springs, AR. This area was particularly well known for their famous bathhouses and was a huge spa town. After the harrowing journey that my dad and I had just underwent (maybe for another blog), we were ready to relax.

I decided to get a massage while my dad went to the bathhouse. After I arrived at the spa and got changed, they called me in and revealed that my masseuse was a man. Not one to let gender roles define a career, I was like “Okay” and got ready to enjoy an hour of peace and quiet. But, this did not happen. Apparently, I got the Chatty Cathy of masseuses and this guy would not stop talking. Since I’m not big on confrontations, the only way to survive was to make conversation. At one point, the guy asked me what year I was, “I’m a sophomore.”

“Really? Where do you go to school?”

“Oh, well, I go to Uni in Champaign, Illinois.”

“Ah, the U of I?”

“Yeah, it’s right there.”

“Wow, what major are you?”

At that point, I realize that this guy thinks I’m in college. I quickly review and see if I should tell him the truth but eh, what the hell? So, I lie and tell him about my time in college, the professors, my major, and even the parties I went to. Turns out, I’m having a great time at college.

One hour later, the massage was over so I thanked him and left. That was it. There was no consequence from telling such a completely false story and no one could tell the difference. Can I say that I’m a comfortable liar? Sure. It’s all about maintaining an element of truth but twisting the rest so that the lie seems believable. I also think that there is need for some level of improvisation skills. Without it, when the lie is questioned, it will fall apart. While I obviously know how to tell a lie, that doesn’t mean I always will. Lying is one of those things I see as something to do only if I need to spice a story up or to be polite. Like, what if I told you I made that entire story up? What if it’s true but the details are altered? In the end, it doesn’t really matter. It’s just a story after all.

Conceal, Don't Feel (unless it's Max)

*I'm not sure my conclusion rounds this paper out as well as I would like. Also, please watch some of my transitions since that's something I'm trying to work on.

You know that pop sound you can make with your mouth? You purse your lips together and then...Pop! It was super fun to do as a kid but now you’ve kind of grown old of it. Well, that was not the case for Max. This little punk is a member of my swim team and loves to make noise, especially when the coach is talking. Pop, pop, pop! Max sits smugly in the corner of his lane, trying to irritate anyone who pays attention to him. The coaches ignore him but I am starting to become irritated. I twitch with every little “Pop!” and I can practically feel my heart rate increasing. Max switches tactics. Now, he’s verbally attacking the coaches head on. “This set sucks! Why do I have to do this? You’re not the head coach, why do I have to listen to you? I don’t care!” and so on and so on.

All throughout this test, I have been silent. I know that I can destroy him since he is a puny thirteen-year old, but I remain in control. That is the only way to remain ahead. If I give up my self-control, then I am no better than Max. So, I simply turn to Max and say the same thing I always say when I am annoyed beyond belief with someone, “Please, be quiet.” It works for maybe ten seconds then Max is back at it, delightfully ignorant of the beast he continues to displease. Nevertheless, I stay strong and focus on my task. I take a deep breath and release my anger. Max is not worth it.

My rage for Max may appear alarming to some but it’s merely a side of myself that I tend to keep under wraps. In fact, I can count the number of angry outbursts that I’ve had on one hand. Even then, they mostly consist of yelling and then me storming away. If there’s one thing I hate doing, that is being upset. That’s why I’ve built a strong defense: self-control. With a strong sense of self-control, I can focus on what is important and not get distracted by other people or things (looking at you, doughnuts). In some cases, having a strong sense of self-control actually helps others more than myself.

For example, I’ve made sharks and minnows safer for newbies. In case you didn’t know, I am a swimmer. A particularly aggressive swimmer. So, when we are allowed to play sharks and minnows, I’m only in to win. If someone dares to try and catch me, I do every possible escape maneuver that you can imagine: the crocodile roll, wall escape, head butting, kicking, or just straight up grabbing the attacker by the arms and throwing them off. It wasn’t until one game when I got a tad too aggressive (ripped out two earrings and elbowed someone in the mouth) that I decided to make a change in my life.

No longer was I going to be that one crazy chick that has no restraint when playing a kids game. Instead, I was going to reform the way I play. Nowadays, I only play sharks and minnows if I have some sort of constraint. For instance, I can’t use my legs, wear goggles, or go underwater. In this way, more inexperienced swimmers get a chance to have fun and not get hurt in the process. 

All in all, I feel I have pretty good self-control. I mean, I still struggle with food, but who can’t resist chocolate? Otherwise, I finish my homework on time and always try to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. Of course, there’s times where I want to lose to let loose and do whatever I want, but it’s the realization that what you want may not be necessarily what you need and that’s the challenge to overcome.

A Blog about a Blog

“Today, we served spaghetti with meatballs. Lauren may have choked a little bit when eating a meatball but she’s fine now. As for the dinner, it was actually really good. I’ll have to remember to use homegrown tomatoes for the sauce.” If my mother had a blog, that’s definitely something I could picture my mother blogging about. Me? Sure, why not? My whole family could blog about me if they wanted. There’s a running joke in my family that we deserve our own reality show since we are always busy and usually get caught up in some ridiculous situations.

For example, there was one evening where we challenged each other to recite the Star Spangled Banner and my sister and I kept messing up at one line. So, as a family, we sang the entire national anthem until we fixed the mistake. There was no particular reason we needed to do this, but we did it anyway and I feel like that would be an awesome story to blog about (especially if you’re feeling really patriotic).

Or, another story better told from my parent’s perspective, the time when my sister and I visited an alligator farm in St. Augustine, My sister and I had seen plenty of alligators before then (since we lived next to Okefenokee Swamp) so the trip wasn’t anything too special. What we didn’t know, however, was that my father was helping Dr. Kent Vliet (world renowned crocodilian) run some tests on the alligators. As my mother guided us to the alligator viewing area, we spotted my father and a bunch of other people standing in the murky waters below. Just as we walked up, one of guys launched on top of an alligator and began wrapping its mouth duct tape. At the same time, another man jumped on its tail and held it down. After someone gave the alligator a shot, my father stepped up and did something I’d rather not type.

“What’s he doing, mommy?” I turned to my mother whose mouth was wide open in shock. I looked back at the battle below, confused. “Um, well...your father is helping a very important doctor with some tests.”

“What type of tests?”

Well, er, right now they’re checking the gender of each alligator in the swamp.”

My brain finally made the connection.

“oh...OH!” I quickly looked away from the scene below.

“What does that mean?” My innocent sister asked.

“Um, no. Maybe another day.”

My mother quickly escorted us away from the alligators and never quite explained what had just happened until a couple years later.

All I’m trying to say is that having my family write a blog about my life and all the stories we’ve collected as a family wouldn’t be a bad thing. In fact, I would love to hear my mother’s perspective during the alligator farm incident. Heck, I’m sure my father’s side of the story was equally exciting. The key thing about this hypothetical blog is that we wouldn’t forget. These memories would be remembered and easy to access. Even the incidents that weren’t quite so happy, we could look back and learn from our mistakes or simply reminisce about past times. So, if my family started a blog about me, I would embrace it. Plus, they’d have at least one reader for life.

The One That Burned

Feedback: I'm at 654 words so I will take any suggestions for cutting it down. Also, please tell me if this essay includes enough vulnerability and needs help with the conclusion.

What objects tell the story of your life?

There is one thing, and one thing only, that has been a part of my life like nothing else. I’m speaking, of course, about my robe. Its sky blue cloth dotted with white circles to make a simple but elegant design. Its fuzziness which keeps me warm in the midst of winter. This robe has been with me for a long time, and contains many stories within its fabric.

It all began one Christmas morning seven years ago. My sister and I were in the midst of a fierce battle. Wrapping paper was flying through the air, our cats were attacking whatever landed on the floor, and the gifts lay scattered across the floor when I made a discovery. Tucked underneath the tree, was a rather large box that had escaped my gift opening frenzy. I was curious as to what it could be since it was bigger than the rest of my presents but it weighed very little. As I unwrapped the gift, my heart sank. Lying inside was every kid’s least favorite present, clothes. In this case, a ginormous robe that dragged across the floor and barely clung to my body.

Naturally, the robe was thrown into the back of my closet and forgotten. It wasn’t until seventh grade when I rediscovered the robe and found that I could actually wear it without it dragging everywhere. Unaccustomed to the Illinois winters, since I had moved from Georgia only one year before, the robe quickly became an important part of my daily life. Everyday, I would wake up, put my robe on, and get ready for school. Only when it was absolutely necessary, I would take off the robe and lose its warmth.

As I moved on from the awkward pre-teen years, the robe stayed with me. Since it was already too big, I didn’t have to worry about outgrowing it, but I was constantly lugging it around and dropping it. As a result of dragging my robe around everywhere, the tail end of the robe became very dirty. Not in the sense that it was covered in stains and smelled, but rather its color began to diminish. Not only was the vibrant blue beginning to disappear and turned a more robin egg color (imagine light blue except mixed with gray), but the sleeves were gradually fraying and falling apart. Five years after the robe had entered my life, it was preparing to leave. But, I refused to bow to time. I repaired the sleeves as best I could and cleaned it as much as possible (although it didn’t make too much of a difference) and it actually seemed to be returning to its former glory. The robe was going to make it! Then, tragedy struck.

During my sophomore year, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner (something that does not occur often) when I noticed something peculiar. There was smoke rising from somewhere but I couldn’t find the source. I checked the stove, the oven, even the sink but couldn’t find it. Suddenly, it disappeared. I shrugged and continued cooking. Then, my sister came in and said, “Oh my god! What happened to your robe?” Apparently, without even knowing it, I had caught myself on fire. The robe had suffered from some serious smoke stains on its back and its rope that tied it together was almost burnt in half. Luckily, nothing serious happened but I knew the robe wasn’t going to recover from this.

As of now, I still have the robe. Sure, it might be a little ragged but it holds up. Every day, my mother complains that I should just “get rid of the robe and buy a new one.” But, this robe represents so much more to me. Its fabric contains so many stories and helps me relax in times of stress. This robe may be on its last leg but it will forever remain in my heart.

Bob and Braces

Have you ever felt embarrassed by the things that you used to like?

Yes, it would be impossible to say I haven’t had my fair share of embarrassments and regrets in my life. For example, back in the day, I had a penchant for ripping off my clothes and running around in my birthday suit. Sometimes, I’d dig out a big, fluffy tutu and wear that around my waist but refuse to put on anything else. No shirt, no pants, and no underwear. Of course, I was only four or five so my behavior makes a little more sense, but it’s only natural to feel a little embarrassed by my war against society’s restrictions. Yet, I feel a certain pride in my old wild spirit. She didn’t care and did what she wanted with no regrets. But, that could last for only so long. In a couple years time, I would make one of the worst decisions of my life.

It was 2010. My family had just moved from hot and humid Southeast Georgia to flat and dry central Illinois. On top of that, my once bright, fine hair was beginning to darken to a dirty blonde. Least to say, I was not happy. While I was able to handle the transition well enough, the fact that I was losing my natural hair color was astonishing. There was a now a distinct line across my head; it was a fight between the light and the dark. To understand my next move, you must understand that at the time, I hated hairstyles that blended multiple colors. There was something about dipping your hair in dye and being stuck with a new color that simultaneously terrified and angered me. Despite its usefulness in this situation, dye was just not an option. As a result, this ongoing battle between my bright blonde and dirty blonde hair was hard for me to deal with. I had to figure out a way to fix it without coloring my hair. Then, I came to a terrible decision. I was going to chop it off.

At the time, bobs were the fashion of sixth grade society. A bob, in case you don’t know, is a hairstyle that is really short in the back and gets longer as you near the face. And, I knew I wanted one. Once I got to the salon and told everyone my idea, they tried to talk me out of it, but I refused to listen to reason. No, even better, I decided to get a bob that would not only chop off my blonde but ride just along my jaw for extra style. However, what I was imagining was not what happened in reality. My hair, normally straight and fine, poofed out to the side and rose higher than my jawline so that it was more around mid-cheek. In addition, my head looked ginormous within the confines of this tiny haircut. Yet I had convinced myself that this was the right decision, and that I looked amazing.

For those in disbelief, I present "the haircut"
and my fabulous sister, Gabby.

I strutted out of that salon with a sense of superiority. My new haircut demonstrated my professional skill (since I had the “sharp jawline” look) and built up my confidence in making decisions. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after the haircut that I created the worst combo in the history of middle school -- bob and braces. With my teeth trapped in a metal cage and my hair falling slightly past my ears, seventh grade was especially brutal. While I never made the connection between that awful haircut and its effect on my social life, I realize now that that bob was a terrible mistake. Even today, I very rarely show anyone pictures from that time period. The embarrassment is just too much. If there’s one thing I could say to twelve year old Lauren, it would be to just consider dye and don’t trust yourself with scissors.