Thursday, December 20, 2012

Brain Food

Skylar Anthony, a junior at Biotechnology High School, blogged about the importance of reading.  She argues that reading is food your brain, and you shouldn't become malnourished. What do you think? Click here to read what she has to say!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Budding Entrepreneurs Create Press Kits

Take a look here at the press kit Thomas (CHS Class of 2014) created in Media Writing to advertise a hypothetical distribution company for independent filmmakers.  Being a passionate filmmaker obsessed with directing and producing horror films, I have no doubt that his dream will become a reality some day.  Thomas also directed and produced the film that he highlighted on the homepage of the digital kit :)

Taking Learning into the 21st Century

In her blog, BTHS junior Mia Schoening discusses the changes in education that could happen as a result of the accessibility of online video content. Click here to read her thoughts, as well as the comments by her peers!

Sunday, December 16, 2012

WCHS Radio

You probably knew that CHS had their own radio station, but did you know that 24 hours a day, 7 days a week you can tune in and listen to some great eclectic music?  You can also listen to specific radio shows from our 12th grade Live Studio Production class and newscasts from the 11th grade team "On-Air Heads".  Mr. Bengle and the students are always hard at work, so please listen and enjoy!

WCHS Radio (student newscasts and shows)

CHS Live Radio Stream

Friday, December 14, 2012

It is a Truth Universally Acknowledged.....

...that HTHS students are awesome.  These seniors put together a book trailer after reading Pride and Prejudice and the results were amazing!  Two of them weren't even in my class and participated just for fun.  

Thursday, December 13, 2012

A High Tech Canterbury Tale

Recently, the freshman class at HTHS wrote their own Canterbury Tale, to be shared with the pilgrims on their journey to Canterbury.  The poems had to approximate iambic pentameter, follow a Chaucerian rhyme scheme, and reference their first year at HTHS satirically. We hope to share a few of the finished poems over the next few days.

The Lion’s Heart
by Nicholas Ciulla
To get here my entire life, I’ve fought,
A never-ending pool of knowledge sought.
To feel at last that it can all be mine
‘Tis a feeling that is truly divine.
A mighty ruler of a world unseen
A monarch of vast seas and meadows green
And green the meadows have brilliantly shone
For all those quick and sharp who seize the throne.
And all of everything the light may touch
Was the ruler’s to keep and theirs to clutch.
* * *
A pride of lions slept through the clear night
Under the protection of the moon’s light.
The skilled hunters of the open grassland,
The bold and the brave who rule the badlands.
One lion called Ari gazed at the stars.
What isn’t now known, one can learn from his scars.
Fight bravely and fearlessly, would Ari.
The best of his pride, he knew he should be.
Enraged by failure and never content,
Ari left to find for what he was meant.

With one goodbye and a swipe of his claws
Ari was gone, new earth beneath his paws.
For many a night and many a day,
Ari carried on, led never astray
By the wind which guided him until he saw
A pride of elites, and he froze with awe.
He saw them and knew they were different.
Their authority was made apparent.
By not just their power and dignity,
But by shocking speed and dexterity.

Ari knew for a fact that he could not
Just join nonchalantly, he’d earn his spot.
And Ari knew just how hard it would be,
For those lions seemed much better than he.
His eyes shone bright with determination.
However, his fierce, fearless expression
Showed the slightest hint of hopeful longing.
Nostalgia struck him; his home was calling.
For this epic pride, he knew he could part.
And he found courage in his lion’s heart.

Ari mustered his strength one fateful day,
Hoping in the pride, he’d forever stay.
He stepped onto their land, his shoulders wide,
Wind in his mane, not a break in his stride.
To merge with this pride, Ari must surpass
All competitors, the tough and the rash.
Throughout that fateful day, he was tested.
His limits were pushed, his efforts bested.
But he never quit, and when the dust cleared,
Ari remained tall, respected and feared.

Though the trials had tested Ari well,
And swiftly to slumber that night, he fell,
A sense of accomplishment found its place
In Ari’s stone-cold, ever-stolid face.
Through the following days, he made his home
Among the elite pride, never alone.
But as he watched the others day by day,
Ari had a feeling he dared not say.
A deep sense of inferiority,
Triumphed by their superiority.

Feeling a lesser ate away Ari.
He pondered, dawn to dusk, how he could be
A member of a pride of such prestige,
His ego and confidence now besieged,
When he, himself was of such low esteem
With many past shortcomings to redeem.
Although the other lions of the pride
Were friends and allies who stuck by his side,
Subservience was intolerable.
The lion’s heart is indomitable.

In this state of gloom, he would not improve.
To better himself, Ari had to move.
He trained intensely to sharpen his skills,
Hunting through the day, claiming his own kills.
While silently stalking unknowing prey,
Ari tuned his senses to the world’s ways.
The lion into which Ari had grown
Would be none the same if he were alone.
Ari had friends to guide him the whole way.
This is, no doubt, more than others can say.

The self-pride, he had was swallowed by then.
What he’d lacked before, he overcame when
He was no longer scared to request aid
From the friends he was so lucky to have made.
He was shocked by their willing assistance
And accepted with little hesitance.
The lionesses of the long hunt,
The warriors of the savannah front
Both led Ari to power and strength.
His boundaries were now endless in length.

Ari was sure he’d earned his place
When a youth called Kizuu said to his face,
“I want to be a great fighter like you.”
Ari beamed, and agreed to share a few
Of the tips his friends had given, but he
Still wondered, Why has Kizuu come to me?
When Ari asked, the young lion replied,
“You never lose fights.” And Ari realized
The better self he’d craved since his depart
Was, at last, found in Ari’s lion heart.

The Power of Vonnegut

In a recent blog post, Teddy Buriani (Biotech class of 2013) wrote about the impact Slaughterhouse-Five had on him.

Check out his post here!

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Using Writing & Creating as Therapy

Before Hurricane Sandy, the freshmen and I had read Boccaccio's Italian novella The Decameron.   Because the characters in the frame story used stories to pass the time and forget about the plague-stricken world engulfing them, we discussed the way in which storytelling was and still can be used as therapy.

Students wrote about a traumatic event in their life and then created a slideshow to compliment the piece.   Below is just one of many amazing submissions about loss and about healing; Sally's slideshow of her artwork retells the story of her beautiful friendship that turned sour all too quickly.

- Sally Boniecki, '16

- Submitted by Ms. Harmon
(All of the images in the slideshow are Sally's sketches. - Way to go, Sally!)


Linette Reeman is a junior at CHS who attends creative writing classes at Brookdale and recently won the Regional Scholastic Gold Key Award for her poetry.


the seasons get warmer, and the mistakes
etched into my skin are peeling.
i paint my lips and bite my tongue,
and we have post-marital bliss curling
a smirk from your lips to mine. i get colder;
this winter will leave us afraid of the future.
i count cards and pack boxes,
you string lights and starve yourself.

i miss you when i’m off marching.
—then we’re okay; you’re leaving soon,
but it’s my turn first. i go to Washington
 and sweat regrets through the thin sheets.

you miss me when i’m off marching.

you leave to go to school, and i drown myself
in words; i bleed faintly from aesthetic surgery,
but you bring the red to my cheeks and lips.
the mistakes are fading; the regrets receding.
you string lights as i unpack boxes. 
there’s a spark at the end of the street
when you drive me home;

maybe next year won’t be as cold. 

- Linette Reeman, '14