The Difference Between Choking and Panicking By Nick Matkiwsky

Why is it that the simplest tasks that you've practiced time and time again become increasingly difficult under pressure? Why do professional basketball players who practice their shots for countless hours without end miss the open shot with the game on the line? In my case, why is it that when I only need a few points to close out a match, the thought of victory, breaks down the way I play and the simple things I was performing in practice and early in the match appear foreign? People who experience situations like this tend to interchange the terms panic and choke. However, these two words, while similar, have contrasting meanings. The difference is a matter of experience in the task your performing. When it comes to panicking, its more often a result of inexperience and the fear of the unknown. For example, a younger driver with little road experience is stuck in a snow storm and the roads become very icy.  The driver, who has never drove on an icy road, locks his/her hands on the wheel and freezes. This is the cliche panic example, however panicking can come in many forms. In relation to school work, coming to class ill-prepared for a test usually results in mini panic attacks for those who care about how they do. In contrast experienced individuals, the best example being sports, who have practiced their trade day after day will also inevitable have to deal with pressure and extreme stress. Choking is failure to perform even though you are well prepared. Missing 3 free throws with the chance to beat the juniors in the student faculty basketball game or being up 25 points in the second half of the Superbowl and allowing the opposing team to come back are examples of choking. Athletes who learn to embrace pressure and evade from "seeing the finish line to soon" often thrive in high stress situations and you dont see a decrease in their level of play in the crucial moments of the game.

Antidisestablishmentarianism by Dylan Mazzella

Antidisestablishmentarianism

Antidisestablishmentarianism was a political position developed in the 19th century England, opposing liberals who wanted the Anglican church to withdraw. Withdrawal in this case simply means to remove the Anglican church as the official state church of the regions England, Wales, and Ireland. The supporters of antidisestablishmentarianism didn’t achieve their goal in England, as the Anglican church did remain the official Church of England. They most certainly did achieve their goal in Ireland, as the Anglican church of Ireland was disestablished, or withdrew, in 1871. In Wales, the goal of the movement was also not achieved.

Beyond this, the term antidisestablishmentarianism has been used in an analogous manner to describe opposition to those who are against the establishment, or government. The term could be used to describe any person today who opposes protesters of Donald Trump. Not only is the word still usable today, but the fact that individuals behind the movement got what they wanted still has it’s effects in England today. To this day, the monarch of England is still the Supreme governor of the Church of England, which of course means the Church of England never did withdraw, and no separation exists between the church and state, as the supporters of antidisestablishmentarianism had intended.

The word itself is interesting because of its length. The word has twelve syllables, and twenty-eight letters. The word was created after disestablishmentarianism had become popular. As one could imagine, it was the movement that intended for the withdrawal of the Anglican church, and antidisestablishmentarianism opposed that. Many argue that antidisestablishmentarianism is not even a real word, due to the fact it contains two negative prefixes, and the term that should have been used is establishmentarianism. If one were to look at the two words, he or she would realize that they do mean the same thing. The history behind the word makes the term antidisestablishmentarianism appear to be logical, because disestablishmentarianism existed first, and antidisestablishmentarianism was an antonym created in opposition to the word.

Reading Slumps 101 | By: Kristine Le

The infamous reading slump-- a moment in time where a reader cannot find it within themself to pick up that book that is just calling out to them to be read. The causes of this condition have not yet been determined however, it is a very real thing and I’m here to inform all my fellow readers on how to survive and push past the infamous reading slump.

Tip #1: Avoid Netflix at all costs

Netflix is a reading slumps best friend. It further pushes you away from all your lovely books waiting to be read and instead fuels you with this undying need to watch all five seasons of Switched at Birth. Now, what was once your reading time, now becomes replaced with your Netflix obsession. So, if you ever find yourself in the beginning stages of a reading slump do yourself a favor and delete the Netflix app from all of your devices.

Tip #2: Surround yourself with books

In cases like this, I feel that surrounding yourself in books is the perfect way to jump start the reading craze. Just simply being around them and admiring the beauty of each cover will remind you that you love books and wish to read them all. Also, just as a side note, who can walk out of a bookstore satisfied knowing that they are leaving all those pretty books on the shelves without taking one home with them.

Tip #3: Pick up a book that you know you’ll love

Even in your worst of times when you really just do not have it in yourself to pick up that book that you know you’ve been dying to read, try picking up a book that you know you’ll enjoy and read that first. It will help pull you back into the reading world and make you want to read again. With that you’ll be ready to attack your “to be read” pile will full force.

Tip #4: Talk to your other book-loving friends

One of my absolute favorite things to do when it comes to reading is talking about the books I have read or am reading with the people around me. It always put a smile on my face when someone shares the same love, or hate, for a particular book because it creates a bond between us and the book and it’s just a lovely feeling. So, my point being is that talking about books with others and seeing what books they have read and what they recommend for you to read can really "re-spark" your desire to pick up a new book. Sometimes, the best way to get back into reading is by hearing others swoon about books.

Tip #5: Go to a bookish event

This tip, for the most part, combines all the above tips into one. At a bookish events you are surrounded by other readers, tons of books and special guests such as authors and booktubers. Really putting yourself into the bookish community will for sure kill any reading slump you may be having. Think about it, imagine meeting one of your favorite authors and then not going home immediately to open up one of their books. Personally, I just think that would be impossible for me. Sidenote: as bookish events can be hard to come by if you’re new to the whole bookish community, just to give a little heads up there is an upcoming book festival in New York called ‘Teen Book Festival.”

The Fallen City by Melissa La Fountain

Silence cascades over the room like thick syrup, slow and spreading. The insignificant mutter of quiet can easily become thunderously noiseless when it consumes a room in the way that it has tonight. It is dripping from the walls, a hue of blurry gray gathering into a puddle on the cold ground. What was once merely uncomfortable now feels lethal, the denseness of the air suffocating the throats of those who refuse to speak.

Whether it be stubbornness or uncertainty tying their tongues, it was demolishing the city they had built together. Gusts of the dangerous quiet knocked into the street lights, killing their gleam. The pressure of the air pushed the buildings to the ground. The silence flooded the city, breaking through its walls and seeping through the cracks that had begun to form in both of their lonely hearts.

The pain could be heard weeping through the trees outside of the decaying room. He couldn’t decide what made his soul throb the most—the silence or what led up to it.

***

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” he mumbled, furrowing his brows. Her phone had gone off five times in the past two minutes, all with the same ringtone that he had never heard before.

“Nope.” Her voiced cracked, and she tried to cover it up with a cough. But he’d noticed.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she explained, gripping his hand tighter, “it’s probably not that important or they would call me.” He slid his fingers out of hers, shifting his body to face her.

“Who are ‘they’?” he tilted his head to the side, conveying confusion. But he knew.

She shifted uncomfortably and cracked her knuckles; something he knew she only did when she was nervous. She refused to look into his eyes.

“Um...it’s...I…” Her breath started to shake, her words vibrating.

“Don’t lie to me.” Hurt leaked through his voice. He looked at her with pleading eyes, searching for a shred of hope that the worst wasn’t a reality.

“I’m...I’m so sorry…” she whispered, trying to reach for his hand again. He snatched it away.

“I love-”

“Don’t even say it,” he roared. “Just. Don’t.” And then he sealed his lips, looking down at the floor.

Twenty minutes had passed, and nothing had changed.

“Please talk to me.” She whimpered. He remained frozen, arms flexed and crossed tightly across his collapsing chest.

“At least look at me…” she whispered, salt water raindrops forming in her guilty eyes. He looked up at her with blue fire in his eyes but remained soundless. There was nothing left to say. His suspicions were true, and she was begging for forgiveness as if what she did could be forgotten.

But the city had fallen, and there was no going back.

The Pros and Cons of Chromebooks in Sparta by Sylvia Kloian

A couple of weeks ago, several students caught wind of some news: next year, there is a large possibility that Sparta will be buying chromebooks for every student in 6th to 12th grade. There are varying opinions that I have heard about this. Personally, I don't like the idea, but there are several positives to it. For instance, every student would have a laptop to work on, and as more and more classrooms go paperless, a lot of pupils are assigned work online. This would be useful if someone wants to work on homework or other assignments during lunch. Instead of having to go to the library, they can simply take their chromebook out.
However, there are a lot of risks to (temporarily) owning a chromebook. If anything happens to it, students will have to pay for the damages, which is money that many parents and kids are not going to want to spend, especially if the laptop was not something they even wanted in the first place. And although it seems like it's a good idea to give children computers, and the board may think that that will solve the problem for students without computers at home, some kids might not have internet access, and with so many assignments being on google sites, the pupil still can't do any work. I had a conversation with my Chemistry teacher about this topic, and she said that the administration wants to give her a new laptop, too, but she is completely content with the technology she has now, and does not wish to change it.
This brings me to the next con. I know several students who already have laptops, and they think that if they were supplied with another one, it would be a waste. After all, many classrooms currently have enough chromebooks for 30 students, which has proved to be sufficient. I take notes on paper in most of my classes, and the classes I do do computer work in already have chromebooks. One of the biggest concerns of the adults of Sparta, though, is that they will be made to pay taxes for a very expensive decision that they might not even think is necessary. So, it seems now that the cons outweigh the pros, but it's very probable that you students reading this now will be able to read it again next year on your very own chromebook.

Blamed; a short story by Rebecca Greenberg

Blamed

When did tomorrow become today? When did this whole mess blow up and become so twisted the original form is unidentifiable? These questions often swarmed my throbbing brain. My soul was ripped out by him. He caused this. I'm envious that he doesn't have to sit in front of all these disgusted faces, and be judged like a tiny, helpless ant under a magnifying glass being burned by the hatred of the sun. “Ms. Fields do you have an answer? Ms Fields!” Gulping down the hard spit clogging up my air ways, which I wish would just close, I answered the Prosecutor. His semi- ironed shirt hung out of the back of his pants, and the tapping of his foot notified me of the lack of interest in what I really had to say. “Can you repeat the question” I asked.

“Did you, or did you not smash a brick into Dave Parker's face?” As the prosecutor jabbed those words at me a cry erupted in the room. Without moving my eyes off of the grey, poorly constructed window, I knew it was Debra Parker. Honestly, it's incredible to me how well someone can fake cry, and make it seem so realistic.

“ I did”. The jury gasped. I imagined them pondering how I could do such a terrible thing. You would be surprised at what drives a person to do the unthinkable, to become mad. The untold, the unheard, the unknown drives a person mad.

“What was the motive behind this action?” The prosecutor continued. Looking up from my gaze with a blank stare I uttered, “Revenge. Revenge was the one who picked up the brick and put it in my hand”

“Revenge for what?”.

“For the things he did to me; the things he said to me”.

“Are you hinting that my son touched or harm you? That's absolute nonsense. My poor Dave kept to himself and wouldn't hurt a fly!” Debra Parker yelled.

“It didn't stop the voices in his head…” Mrs. Parker was standing up now, spit foaming from her mouth, “Order! Order in the court!” The until now silent judge cried. I couldn't take it anymore. The looks, and side whispers, the hatred it was too much, so I took in a deep breathe filled with dust and mold and proclaimed that, “I Lauren Fields murdered Dave Parker”. The room was dead silent, silent like the grave I was digging for myself. But the grave seemed warmer than this brown embellished room. The judge sent the jurors out in the long hall to deliberate my future. Within 5 minutes the jury filed back in with a sad but justified look in their eyes. “We as the jurors believe that on the charge of First degree murder the defendant is guilty as charged, and we believe that special circumstances exist warranting the death penalty.” I eased back in my chair, wanting to feel something, sadness, anger, happiness? But all I felt was numbness. If my soul was still alive in this decaying body of mine, I would have pleaded, begged, for a life sentence, rather than accepting the death penalty. But I didn't. I was content with it. As if this was the only way to escape the horrors he burned into me, the imprints he scared into my mind, and the hell he stained my soul with. This was the end, I was finally free from the torture the pain, and the blame.

Mrs. Parker left the courtroom in a hurry with a relaxed posture, as if justice had been served. Pulling up to her long, country-like ranch home, she got out of the car and walked into the empty house. Dragging her hand against the ripped wall, which exposed the pink, flesh like fiber glass, she proceeded down a dark hallway to the very last door on the left. As she opened the door, it revealed a room, consumed with confusion. One of side of the room, everything was in  place, every divot and groove of the furniture was dusted, and every string on the edge of the rug was perfectly straightened. The other side was taken over by dirt and filth and month old pizza’s. Cockroaches had made themselves comfortable in the empty food containers. The room had two personalities. Mrs. Parker picked up a few notebooks, then left the room shutting the door behind her. She went to the shed in the backyard as well, gathering notebooks and placing them in the box labeled recycling. As she was making her way down the pebble stone driveway a green spiral notebook fell off of the stack. She bent down to pick it up and noticed something unusual; there was cursive, girl handwriting scribbled throughout the pages. Dumbfounded, she tilted her head trying to read the writing. He told me not to do that… I should have listened. Mrs. Parker dropped the box full of books, flipped to the first page, and tried swallowing the lump of spit in her throat, but the guilt rising in her stomach kept pushing it back up. She began to read.

Click. The string on the light beyond this door that is keeping me in, was pulled. He was coming.  I slid as far away from the door as the chains would allow me. “I brought you breakfast, eggs and bacon your favorite. No she does like this. Stop you're wrong. SHUT UP!” These were the conversations I often heard. For the longest time I thought someone else was out there, but I soon realized he was just talking to himself. The old wooden door creaked open and the light flooded into the room, along with a refreshing breeze in the otherwise scorching room. Sweat would drip off of my forehead and form a puddle on my arm. I was so thirsty that I would drink my own sweat, which left a foul taste in my mouth, and a hole in my stomach. I slept on a blanket that smelt like rotting corpses, and peed in a bucket. He would come to the door every morning and bring eggs and bacon, empty my pee bucket and have a long argument with himself. I know what you're thinking, eggs and bacon… sounds like I had it easy, but the thing was, they weren't cooked. The egg was liquidy and cold like my insides, and the bacon was raw and fatty. This was the routine I got to know and love, until everything changed.

The day started out routinely, inedible breakfast followed by arguments with himself, except I heard a different more feminine voice.  “Dave, sweety where are you? Are you in the shed again?” My heart started to race, adrenaline pumping throughout my body. This was my chance to get out of here, but before I could pound on the door, Dave was slick and grabbed the stereo's remote and started blasting “I Can feel it Coming in the Air Tonight”. The song blocked out my screeches, my cries for help. I exerted all my strength and power but the chain was relentless. I felt all hope and strength leave my body like water rushing out of a broken dam. Click. The song sang its lasts words, I've been waiting for this moment for all my life...and the shed became silent again. Out of the darkness two hands appeared dragging me out by the hair. I screamed he cut. I screamed again he cut more. The saw was rusty and covered with blood. My blood. “You bad bad girl. We gave you everything. No harm, no touching you. But you had to do this. We can't have that. Now can we.” I was afraid to open my mouth so I nodded, another tear running down my face. He put down the saw and I relaxed until he picked up pruners. He grabbed my neck with his hard veiny hands, and reached into my mouth. Next thing I know there was a puddle of blood beneath me and  Dave grabbed his ears and began to yell, “Stop! Stop crying. Tell her to stop”. He ran over to me, pinned me down and started to choke me. My lungs felt like they were filled with water and the veins in my head were pulsating. I felt around the floor next to me, and my hand rubbed against a brick. I grabbed the brick and bashed it into the side of his skull, over and over and over again. He rolled off of me and I was now the one pinning him down. My hands had a mind of their own and kept picking up the brick and smashing it into his bruised, bloody, deformed face. He mumbled something, so I turned around and grabbed the pruners and served some justice.

Mrs. Parker dropped the book from her hands and stood there with her mouth wide open and a whole in her heart. “My poor baby, beaten to death by that vile, repulsive whore of girl. I  love you and I will only bring honor and love to your name.” Mrs. Parker Proclaimed. She picked up the book, ran inside, and started a fire. “It's all been a pack of lies. I know what you did” she shouted. Grabbing the green notebook, she tossed it in the fire, and left with a smile. That night, when Mrs. Parker was tucked in bed sound asleep a fiery ember flew out of the fireplace. The rug embraced the ember and lit up in flames. Soon, the house became engulfed with fire, and there in her bed laid a crisp, well done Mrs. Parker. Call it fate, or karma, but in the end justice will always be served. Always.

Marriage - Brianna Falco

A Marriage...
Makes of two fractional lives a whole,
it gives two purposeless lives a work,
it doubles in strength,
it gives something to live for,
it will create new gladness, it will create new sunshine,
it will create a new beauty to the Earth,
a new fragrance to the flowers,
and maybe a new life to the existing lovers.



It hurts me to say that I have been noticing more and more divorced parents and dysfunctional relationships as I get older. I can only pray that I will have a happy ever after marriage and work through hardships with my husband.

Basic Guide to Riding Bareback- Josie Embleton

       Most people that own or ride horses want to be able to gallop on their horse bareback, it just looks like so much fun. Just imagine galloping on the back of a horse without a saddle, it really does sound like fun. When you decide to try it, you might find it's not as graceful and comfortable as everyone makes it look. You manage to climb up your horses back and you've already worked up a sweat. Then as you scoot into place on your horse's back, you realize there really is no good place to sit and that your horse has a very prominent spine. Once you finally find a spot you can manage to sit in, you make your horse walk and you discover the next obstacle, horses are slippery. You can't manage to stay in that one spot once you get trotting and cantering. Bareback almost seems like too much work to be bothered with.
      It doesn't always have to go like this though. There are some tricks and tips I've learned from riding bareback that you may find helpful. First of all, the stronger your legs are, the easier this will be. To make mounting more graceful, use a mounting block (the taller the better). This puts you higher up so you can just swing your leg over your horse and slide into place. Next, you have to find a comfortable spot to sit on your horse. I've found the best spot to sit is just behind the withers in a sort of groove. Once you've found a comfortable spot, you can move your horse forward and work through the gaits. The walk is best to start out with and get comfortable. The trot is the hardest to sit bareback due to the bounciness of the gait, if you'd like to trot though, I find the sitting trot to be the most comfortable. Next, you can canter your horse, this gait is actually quite smooth to sit bareback considering it's a rocking motion rather than bouncing. If you're really feeling good at this point, you can gallop and even jump. Jumping is fun to do, but remember horses are somewhat slippery so start low and build your way up. The best thing to help with a slippery horse is sitting in a towel or saddle pad, which helps you grip a little better.
       I hope your next bareback ride can go smoother and be more enjoyable with these tips.

The Bystander Effect- Stephanie Downes

         Recently in class we had a discussion about a woman named Kitty Genovese who was stabbed to death in her apartment one night. Although there were many witnesses, not one person attempted to help. This seems absolutely absurd and leads many to ask the question of why no one helped. One theory to explain this peculiar circumstance is the Bystander Effect.
         The Bystander Effect is the mentality that responsibility vanishes when other people are around. For example, if you were walking in a crowded hall and saw a kid drop their books, would you help them pick them up? Most decent people would say yes. However, with the bystander effect, this is unfortunately not always the case. A person is less likely to help someone when others are around because they figure someone else will do it. This is different than a scenario where you are the only other person in that hallway. In this case, it is far more likely that a person would help out, as there is no one else there who will handle the situation.
         Though the mystery of why no one helped Kitty Genovese may never be solved, the Bystander Effect is one theory as to why this tragic incident happened.

Shakespeare - Sophie Venus

Shakespeare:
Starting a new unit involving Shakespeare scares me and probably many others too. The thought of having to read old English and figure out the deep meaning behind his lines of poetry gives me a bad feeling. I've never done well with Shakespeare because I get caught up in his words. Last year when I was asked to say the meaning of a quote I just starred at the paper until I figured out something reasonable to write. This year I hope that I start to enjoy reading it and that after we finish this unit I will no longer be filled with fear when I hear the word Shakespeare.

Excerpt from The Battle for Magic by William Theilacker (Disclaimer - This is fairly old)

The crisp air rushed past my head as I raced down the slope towards a bear. It turned it's head to glare at me and I froze. As it turned back to it's meal I slowly loaded my sling with a glistening pebble .I hit in the leg and it fell stunned. Relief flooded through me as it lay there motionless. I quickly finished it off with a second shot to the neck. I had been tracking it for five days while living on fish from a nearby pond. The lush green forest around me felt like home. I turned around but was blasted back by a fire inferno. I summoned magic to stop the inferno from injuring me. “Ricker!” I yelled. A blue field of light covered me in a half globe shape. Fire rushed over my blue force field as fast as the wind. I pushed forward towards the source. It only seem to get stronger towards center the as I went on though. Finally I saw the source, it was a fire ghoul. It dived at me and cracks appeared in my field of light. “Berit” I yelled. As soon as the word left my mouth green light shot from my fingertips. The ghoul got blasted back forty feet and slammed into a tree. Suddenly the ghoul turned to dust and vanished. I raced through the woods towards my house. I froze as I heard the flapping of wings and quickly looked above me and saw my giant falcon. It landed next to me on the soft muddy ground. I climbed up onto it’s saddle. A burst of air almost knocked me off the saddle when we took off. “Faster Fal!” I yelled over the roaring wind. We rocketed past trees, lakes, and even over an ocean!

About thirty minutes later my tiny hut came into view. Fal landed elegantly behind my wooden cottage. I rushed inside to see what the fire ghoul had done. The contents were picked through as if the ghoul had been looking for something. Suddenly smelt smoke and ran to my room and found that it was burning up. The smoke blurred my vision and made my eyes water. The fire raged through across the room in a confusing pattern. The fire ghoul fire had hypnotizing effect that I could hardly withstand.“Verting” I cried in agony. Water launched out of my palms and fought a miniature battle with the fire. Steam flew up and the fire sizzled, popped, and hissed. Where had Fal’s son and my parent gone? Then the terrible truth hit me as i saw two bodies in the corner. Someone had taken Fal’s son and killed my parents.. I rushed outside to tell Fal the terrible news about his son, but before I could tell him I fell to the ground in heap on the ground from the shock of it all. Fal laid by my side and waited until I was feeling better. Then he slowly stood up and  started getting ready to fly. That’s when I decided to tell Fal about his son As I told Fal the grim news the memory of me first feeling Fal’s son came to my mind. I suddenly remembered how light he felt for his size when I picked him up. How soft his feathers were and the beautiful designs on his wings.

Fal cried out in agony as I finished telling him about his stolen son. With two gigantic leaps Fal cleared the village and then flew off into the clouds. I desperately called his name but he would not return to the smoldering house. After an hour of calling my throat was sore and my mouth was dry so I sat on the grass and passed the time by watching my house go from a fierce fire to pitch black ashes. Soon I heard the flap of wings and a low screech. I knew that Fal was near and that he was probably watching me with his observant eyes. Instead of trying to call Fal again, I just sat and let the warm sun lull me to sleep. In my dreams I was Fal’s son. I didn’t know where I was but it seemed like some type of underground castle. I could tell this because of the damp musty smell that filled the room. I started to walk forward, when I was flung backwards by some invisible force field inside the cell bars. A man walked into my vision and injected a metallic colored liquid into my body. I suddenly felt very nauseous and then I passed out on the ground.

Cult Mentality in the Lord of the Flies

A cult is defined as a small group of people having religious beliefs or practices regarded by others as strange or sinister. There are thousands of cults around the world today and many are bizarre and strange. One of the strangest things about cults is the mentality of their members. In William Golding's The Lord of the Flies, the group of boys progress into a cult and it can be argued Jack transforms into a dangerous cult leader.

 Psychology Today recently published an article about the characteristics of cult leaders (https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/spycatcher/201208/dangerous-cult-leaders). Former FBI Agent Joe Navarro dealt with cults in his career and goes on to describe how cult leaders are identified as dangerous. He says all major cult leaders are "individually narcissistic", or believe they are very special. Jack Merridew fits this profile. Throughout the book he stands out as a natural hunter, disregarding the ideas decided at the assemblies and focusing on his hunting. Jack thinks he is special, he is above everyone else because he is a killer. Navarro goes on to describe other characteristics of dangerous cult leaders.

These characteristics include but are not limited to: is arrogant and haughty in his behavior or attitude, has an exaggerated sense of power (entitlement) that allows him to bend rules and break laws, and has a certain coldness or aloofness about him that makes others worry about who this person really is and or whether they really know him.

Jack is arrogant when he defies Ralph and bullies Piggy. He steals Piggy's glasses and makes fun of him because he know there is nothing Piggy will do about it. Jack also feels entitled when he goes hunting and splits off from the group later in the book. Finally, Jack does have a coldness about him. After Piggy or Simon is killed he shows no remorse. Jack brutally kills the pigs and becomes obsessed with killing as the book progresses. All of these behaviors make Jack fit the profile of a dangerous cult leader. This is obvious as he gets them to nearly wipe out the other faction at the end of the book.
Billy Stoddard