Video Creative Workshop

Infomercial: Stress Away

This class was so funny. We had to create an advertisement for strange objects and try to sold it. So I will write what my group and I developed.

Are you tired of finger pain? Do you have problems to fill an online report?

We have the solution. We present the new "Stress Away". This extraordinary and unique massage device that makes you forgive that annoying pain. You only have to slide the Stress Away across your fingers and the hurt will dissapear. Your boss will be enchanted with you professionalism and dedication.

Our phone-in customer service facility is 4-047-301-002. So call now, our operators are waiting for you and you will receive a product developed for your satisfaction.  

Crockery

Today in class, I didn´t feel a creative girl but at home appeared a couple of ideas so, here is my story:

Men: Mrs. Smith borrowed me the crockery of my great-great-grandmother for the marriage of her daughter. Have you seen it?

Man: Ehh.. Mmm.. No. I haven’t

Men: I remember it was saved in the barn. I’m going to look for it.

Man: wait a moment, are you sure? I mean… mmm… 

Men: Yeah. I will keep it forever. We are talking about a family heirloom.

10 minutes later.

Men: darling, darling! The crockery disappeared! It’s impossible!

Man: Oh! Really? I can’t believe it.

Men: What can I do now? Oh, no! The family heirloom!

Man: Don’t worry. There’s no nothing you can do. I remember that two weeks ago I talked with Mr. Johnson and he told me he saw a stranger in our barn but he thought it was a cousin.

Men: what? Are you joking? It has a special sense for me!

Man: calm yourself, please! Tomorrow I’m going to buy new crockery.

Men: No, It’s not the same. Please, let me alone.

Man (thinking): What did I do? She deserves to know it. Tomorrow I’m going to tell her.

Another day.

Man: darling, I need to talk with you. Please, sit down and listen.

Men: It’s ok. What happen?

Man: The truth is that I broke the crockery. It was an accident. The last week when I took my tools out from the shelf crockery was slipped out and I broke.

Men: I’m disappointed, I can´t believe you. You are a liar.

Man: I know it was a family heirloom, but please, I told you, it was an accident.

Men: It’s ok. We won’t fight for that, but the next time you have to tell me truth because if you don’t do it we will be divorced. Did you understand?

Man:  yeah, darling. From now on I’m going to be a sincere person.

Men: I hope so. Now would you like to eat ice-cream cone at Reina shop?

Man: Let’s go, my darling.

Poem: The Magic of Poverty

A birth in poverty is luck supreme! 
A death in poverty, a great blessing; 
A life of poverty is rare a dream; 
Achievements great, stark poverty can bring. 

This poverty that goads nations do feats; 
This poverty that stimulates scientists; 
In everything, poverty, wealth just beats; 
The greatest men were in poverty’s lists.

And poverty lessens our worries much; 
Account to God will be much easier; 
Poverty gives the saint a divine touch; 
In poverty, poets can fly higher! 

Poverty helps to shun worldly pleasures; 
A soul in poverty, Heaven allures. 


Written by: John Celes

Fight into the Cote’s pencil case

Names:

Natalia C. as Logan / Timothy

Camilo C. as narrator / kate

María José G. as Tom / Coté / Augustine

Main Characters:

·         Highlighter: bully, bad, egocentric, selfish, arrogant, colorful, violent. Name: Logan

·         Pencil: shy, boring, insecure, vulnerable. Name: Tom

·         Lead (friend of pencil): cheerful, pleasant, faithful.  Name: Timothy

·         Correcting pen: wise, serious, faithful, patient. Name: Augustine

·         Pencil case: worried, attentive, loving, responsible (mom) Name: Kate

Background:

·         Cote’s pencil case

Moral: Everyone is important without regard the color, age or appearance.

Story: 

     Once upon a time a responsible student called Maria Jose. When she went at the university she always took with her a beautiful and cheerful pencil case, which was very important for her to do her assignments. However, she did not know what was really happening inside of it.

     Tom was sleeping on the ruler and suddenly Logan sprang upon him and broke his leads. The vulnerable pencil cried and ran deeper inside the pencil case, while his friend Timothy tried to give him support and consolation.

     “Don’t worry Tom; you know you can count on me. We will be friends forever”, said Timothy.

      “I know it, but I am tired of that colorful guy, he always is trying to stand out from the rest. One day he will be unusable and he will regret”, said Tom

     All the time Logan wanted to be the center of attention. He always felt superior, being the most used of the group, although this did not mean he was the only one that Maria Jose used.

     After being attacked, Tom began to hide himself among the others school supplies, because he was ashamed about what had happened to him. One day Maria Jose opened her pencil case and as always Logan was at the top, while Tom lay hidden at the bottom.

     Logan begins to shout: “Here I am, use me! Use me! Use me, please!” While Tom desperately asks: “Where will I hide?” And his friend Timothy replies: “calm down friend, everything will be okay”.

     Something was wrong and Logan knew it immediately. This time Maria Jose was not looking for the always pretentious Logan, she needed to Tom. But he was hiding again and again among the pencils because he cannot forget what had happened. She looked for Tom several times but she did not have success. Finally she decided to do something.

     Maria Jose was very surprised to not find Tom, so she thought: “As I cannot find you, I will have to empty my pencil case”. When she emptied it then continued to murmuring: “Mmmh where are you? Where are you that I cannot see you? Aha here you are!” she said gladly when finally found Tom.

     Logan saw that whole scene and a deep hatred was formed inside of him and thought: “How can be possible that a simple pencil overcomes my talent? This is unacceptable, but Tom will return to the pencil case and he will see what will happen”.

     When Maria Jose was about to start writing, she suddenly noticed something wrong with Tom and said: “Ooh, How strange! You do not have leads! Mmmh and only yesterday I put two into you!  Well, never mind!” She looked for Timothy quickly, who was smiling at Tom. Then she took some leads out and put them to Tom.  “Done, you are ready Tom, let’s work!” she said. In this way, she started to write.

     When Tom finished his work he had to return to the pencil case, though he knew what would happen to him. However, Logan had noticed that Tom was not alone and if he wanted to get rid of Tom, first had to do it with Timothy. So every day Logan thought in a plan to eliminate them from his path, because he and nobody else deserved to be used.

     Logan, absorbed in his plan, had not been noticed that someone else was watching to him all the time and that someone was the correcting pen called Augustine, who was wise and knew every gesture emitted by the mischievous and always arrogant Logan. One day Augustine decided to approach Logan and told him: “I know what you are planning, little boy! It is not right! Maria Jose loves us equally and nobody is more important than the other one”. But Logan got angry and replied to him: “What are you talking about? Mind your own business, no one asked you some advices or anything of the sort! Now, get out of here, mad old man!” But before leaving, Augustine told him one last time: “When someone is so young, also is so obstinate. I hope you do not end suffering because of it”.

     Days went by inside the pencil case, and mom Katy watched sadly as Logan tried to hurt to the good Timothy and  the friendly Tom. Suddenly, Maria Jose opened her pencil case, and as always Logan was at the top, shining as usual and waiting to be taken, and so it was. But nobody could have predicted what would happen.

     Out of nowhere, Logan did not work, and Maria Jose noticed why it was happening, he did not have ink. Logan had finally reached the end of his useful life, but she had a special love for him “How can I throw him away? My mother gave him to me!” she exclaimed. So she could not get rid of Logan.

     “No! What shall I do? I prefer being thrown away to going back into that place. Everyone will laugh at me, everyone! Tom and Timothy will bother me, that place will be a complete hell and I could not endure it. God, help me!” cried Logan.

     Finally, Logan was saved in order to never to be used to highlight something again and it was there, in that dark moment that he realized that everyone is important. We are all a team made up of several pillars and everything falls apart without one.

     Every night, Mom Katy and Augustine consoled Logan when they see him crying because of his unhappiness and loneliness. Meanwhile, Tom and Timothy are still great friends and none of them feels hatred or some other dark feeling to Logan.

The End

This is me

I am 21 years old. My hair is brown and it has little waves. I have brown eyes and a thick nose. My skin is white. I am a little fat person and I usually polish my nails. 

Bully

     Once my grandmother told me when she was a little girl she suffered from bullying in kindergarten because she was very small compared to the other children. She actually don't remember the name of the bully but she remembers he pulled her long braids constantly every day until the great-great.grandfather taught her to fight. The next day the boy pulled the braids but this time my grandmother fought with him and never was bothered again. 

The Call of Wild: Summary (Chapter 3)

     At the beginning Buck didn't react to Spitz's provocations. However at the next day, when Perrault distributed the fish, Buck left his nest and when he finished his ration and returned, he found his nest occupied by Spitz so he sprang upon him with fury. The camp was suddently surrounded by starving huskies with injured the team of dogs. After that, the fight of the leader position began with the chase of a rabbit and ended with Spitz's death.  

Description of a house

The last class, we were talking about descriptions of different kind of things, especially houses. I learnt vocabulary and how to describe some styles of houses.



My assignment:

Dear Teacher,
     The last week I saw a two floors house with a drab white chimney that you can buy. Although it has a Tudor style, the grey thatched roof is beautiful. The portched front door, which has two hanging flowers, is flanked by two square and blue stained glass windows. The house has a beige brick gate from where appears little flowers everywhere. The gate also has a metal piece with a thin design of hearts.  Close to the house there are a big green cheerful tree.

The house is located in a central place, I hope you can visit and buy it.

Sincerely,
     María José

My feelings

     Two months ago, I had a little white cat called Snow White which stayed with me for two weeks approximately but from one day to the next it suddently dissapeared. It always slept with me while I was watching tv or doing my assignments and we spoilled every day. I felt so sad when my grandmother told me that my baby girls dissapeared ; although was a short while I loved it. But today I hope that my little cat is fine
anywhere in the world.

What does it mean to be a good person?

     For a while the church and the society has imposed us the morals which are defined as a whole of beliefs, customs, values and standards, but today being good is an overrated concept.  If you answer someone what about the right and wrong things the answers can vary depending on the relationship with the environment and the community which helps us to establish bonds.

     Are we really good? Do we get up every day thinking “today I´m going to be good person”?  What are the features of a good person? The easy answer is that a good person must be honest, sincere, caring, fraternal, respectful, tolerant, understanding, modest, humble, and grateful. However, is it enough to be a good person? I don’t believe that. If you have all the features mentioned above but your behavior and attitude go against the social stereotype, the people look you as if you were from another planet.

     At home I always try to be a good person because my grandmother counts on me only because she has 70% of disability. Also we live with my uncle but he doesn’t help us too much. For this reason I wash the dishes, make the beds, clean the house, take care of my nephew, cook pastries and try to help in everything I can but sometimes it’s difficult don’t complain, however, someone has to do it.

     At university I consider myself as a good student because I do my assignments and reports, pay attention to the teacher say, help to my classmates, share my notes, study for the test, research information related to the topics, and arrived early to the university.

     In short, I can say that a good person is someone which thinks in the others, helps them, listen to them and never demand anything in return. A good person has a lot of virtues and don’t stand out the faults of his/her family and friends.  However, doesn´t matter if you consider yourself as a good or bad person because the most important is that you don´t forget your origins and who you are.

The Umbrella Man

I'm going to tell you about a funny thing that happened to my mother and me yesterday evening. I am twelve years old and I'm a girl. My mother is thirty-four but I am nearly as tall as her already.

Yesterday afternoon, my mother took me up to London to see the dentist. He found one hole. It was in a back tooth and he filled it without hurting me too much. After that, we went to a cafe. I had a banana split and  my mother had a cup of coffee. By the time we got up to leave it was about six o'clock. When we came out of the cafe it had started to rain.

"We must get a taxi," my mother said. We were wearing ordinary hats and coats, and it was raining quite hard.

"Why don't we go back into the cafe and wait for it to stop?" I said. I wanted another of those banana splits. They were gorgeous. 

"It isn't going to stop," my mother said. "We must get home." We stood on the pavement in the rain, looking for a taxi. Lots of them came by but they all had passengers inside them.

"I wish we had a car with a chauffeur," my mother said.

Just then a man came up to us. He was a small man and he was pretty old,probably seventy or more. He raised his hat politely and said to my mother, "Excuse me, I do hope you will excuse me... " He had a fine white moustache and bushy white eyebrows and a wrinkly pink face. He was sheltering under an umbrella which he held high over his head.

"Yes?" my mother said, very cool and distant.

"I wonder if I could ask a small favour of you," he said. "It is only a very small favour."

I saw my mother looking at him suspiciously. She is a suspicious person, my mother. She is especially suspicious of two things - strange men and boiled eggs.  When she cuts the top off a boiled egg, she pokes around inside it with her spoon as though expecting to find a mouse or something. With strange men, she has a golden rule which says, 'The nicer the man seems to be, the more suspicious you must become.' This little old man was particularly nice. He was polite. He was well-spoken. He was well-dressed. He was a real gentleman. The reason I knew he was a gentleman was because of his shoes. 'You can always spot a gentleman by the shoes he wears,' was another of my mother's favourite sayings. This man had beautiful brown shoes.

"The truth of the matter is," the little man was saying, "I've got myself into a bit of a situation. I need some help. Not much I assure you. It's almost nothing, in fact, but I do need it. You see, madam, old people like me often become terribly forgetful... My mother's chin was up and she was staring down at him along the full length of her nose. It was a fearsome thing, this frosty-nosed stare of my mother's. Most people go to pieces completely when she gives it to them. I once saw my own headmistress begin to stammer and simper like an idiot when my mother gave her a really foul frosty-noser. But the little man on the pavement with the umbrella over his head didn't bat an eyelid. He gave a gentle smile and said, "I beg you to believe, madam, that I am not in the habit of stopping ladies in the street and telling them my troubles."

"I should hope not," my mother said.

I felt quite embarrassed by my mother's sharpness. I wanted to say to her, 'Oh, mummy, for heaven's sake, he's a very very old man, and he's sweet and polite, and he's in some sort of trouble, so don't be so beastly to him.' But I didn't say anything.

The little man shifted his umbrella from one hand to the other. "I've never forgotten it before," he said.

"You've never forgotten what?" my mother asked sternly.

"My wallet," he said. "I must have left it in my other jacket. Isn't that the silliest thing to do?"

"Are you asking me to give you money?" my mother said.

"Oh, good gracious me, no!" he cried. "Heaven forbid I should ever do that!"

"Then what are you asking?" my mother said. "Do hurry up. We're getting soaked to the skin here."

"I know you are," he said. "And that is why I'm offering you this umbrella of mine to protect you, and to keep forever, if... if only...

"If only what?" my mother said.

"If only you would give me in return a pound for my taxi-fare just to get me home."

My mother was still suspicious. "If you had no money in the first place," she said, "then how did you get here?"

"I walked," he answered. "Every day I go for a lovely long walk and then I summon a taxi to take me home. I do it every day of the year."

"Why don't you walk home now?" my mother asked.

"Oh, I wish I could," he said. "I do wish I could. But I don't think I could manage it on these silly old legs of mine. I've gone too far already."

My mother stood there chewing her lower lip. She was beginning to melt a bit, I could see that. And the idea of getting an umbrella to shelter under must have tempted her a good deal.

"It's a lovely umbrella," the little man said.

"So I've noticed," my mother said.

"It's silk," he said.

"I can see that."

"Then why don't you take it, madam," he said. "It cost me over twenty pounds, I promise you. But that's of no importance so long as I can get home and rest these old legs of mine."

I saw my mother's hand feeling for the clasp of her purse. She saw me watching her. I was giving her one of my own frosty-nosed looks this time and she knew exactly what I was telling her. Now listen, mummy, I was telling her, you simply mustn't take advantage of a tired old man in this way. It's a rotten thing to do. My mother paused and looked back at me. Then she said to the little man, "I don't think it's quite right that I should take an umbrella from you worth twenty pounds. I think I'd better just give you the taxi-fare and be done with it."

"No, no no!" he cried. "It's out of the question! I wouldn't dream of it! Not in a million years! I would never accept money from you like that! Take the umbrella, dear lady, and keep the rain off your shoulders!"

My mother gave me a triumphant sideways look. There you are, she was telling me. You're wrong. He wants me to have it. She fished into her purse and took out a pound note. She held it out to the little man. He took it and handed her the umbrella. He pocketed the pound, raised his hat, gave a quick bow from the waist, and said, "Thank you, madam, thank you."

Then he was gone.

I saw my mother and told her "did you see his shoes? He was a liar and you believed in his sham. You're so naive mom!

Suddently we stopped to talk when we saw the police car speeding up at high-speed as a car chase, so we ran to catch it and we could see how the police tried to arrest him for charge of fraud but he ran away and the police didn't catch him. After that we decided denounce him and finally took a taxi to go home. 

"Come under here and keep dry, darling," my mother said. "Aren't we lucky. I've never had a silk umbrella before. I couldn't afford it."

"Why were you so horrid to him in the beginning?" I asked.

"I wanted to satisfy myself he wasn't a trickster," she said. "And I did. He was a gentleman. I'm very pleased I was able to help him."

"Yes, mummy," I said.

"A real gentleman," she went on. "Wealthy, too, otherwise he wouldn't have had a silk umbrella. I shouldn't be surprised if he isn't a titled person. Sir Harry Goldsworthy or something like that."

"Yes, mummy."

"This will be a good lesson to you," she went on. "Never rush things. Always take your time when you are summing someone up. Then you'll never make mistakes."

"There he goes," I said. "Look."

"Where?"

"Over there. He's crossing the street. Goodness, mummy, what a hurry he's in." We watched the little man as he dodged nimbly in and out of the traffic. When he reached the other side of the street, he turned left, walking very fast.

"He doesn't look very tired to me, does he to you, mummy?" My mother didn't answer."He doesn't look as though he's trying to get a taxi, either," I said.

My mother was standing very still and stiff, staring across the street at the little man. We could see him clearly. He was in a terrific hurry. He was bustling along the pavement, sidestepping the other pedestrians and swinging his arms like a soldier on the march.

"He's up to something," my mother said, stony-faced.

"But what?"

"I don't know," my mother snapped. "But I'm going to find out. Come with me." She took my arm and we crossed the street together. Then we turned left. "Can you see him?" my mother asked.

"Yes. There he is. He's turning right down the next street." We came to the corner and turned right. The little man was about twenty yards ahead of us. He was scuttling along like a rabbit and we had to walk very fast to keep up with him. The rain was pelting down harder than ever now and I could see it dripping from the brim of his hat on to his shoulders. But we were snug and dry under our lovely big silk umbrella.

"What is he up to?" my mother said.

"What if he turns round and sees us?" I asked.

"I don't care if he does," my mother said. "He lied to us. He said he was too tired to walk any further and he's practically running us off our feet! He's a barefaced liar! He's a crook!"

"You mean he's not a titled gentleman?" I asked.

"Be quiet," she said.

At the next crossing, the little man turned right again. Then he turned left. Then right.

"I'm not giving up now," my mother said.

"He's disappeared!" I cried. "Where's he gone?"

"He went in that door!" my mother said. "I saw him! Into that house! Great heavens, it's a pub!" It was a pub. In big letters right across the front it said THE RED LION.

We were stood a long time in front of the door until we decided open it. The first that we saw was the old man eating fish and chips. In that moment we went to talk with him but suddently he started with whimperings and told us "ladies! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to swindle you, but I needed the money. Please, let me invite you fish and chip plate".

"you´re behavior, your behavior, you should change your attitude and start a job search immediately", my mother said.

"It's ok. Waiter! she want to order fish and chip, please", the old man said.

"Fine, wait a moment and I bring you the order" the waiter said.

"You're not going in are you, mummy?"

"No," she said. "We'll watch from outside." There was a big plate-glass window along the front of the pub, and although it was a bit steamy on the inside, we could see through it very well if we went close. We stood huddled together outside the pub window. I was clutching my mother's arm. The big raindrops were making a loud noise on our umbrella.

"There he is," I said. "Over there." The room we were looking into was full of people and cigarette smoke, and our little man was in the middle of it all. He was now without his hat and coat, and he was edging his way through the crowd towards the bar. When he reached it, he placed both hands on the bar itself and spoke to the barman. I saw his lips moving as he gave his order. The barman turned away from him for a few seconds and came back with a smallish tumbler filled to the brim with light brown liquid. The little man placed a pound note on the counter.

"That's my pound!" my mother hissed. "By golly, he's got a nerve!"

"What's in the glass?" I asked.

"Whisky," my mother said. "Neat whisky." The barman didn't give him any change from the pound.

"That must be a treble whisky," my mummy said.

"What's a treble?" I asked.

"Three times the normal measure," she answered. The little man picked up the glass and put it to his lips. He tilted it gently. Then he tilted it higher... and higher... and higher... and very soon all the whisky had disappeared down his throat in one long pour. "That's a jolly expensive drink," I said. "It's ridiculous!" my mummy said. "Fancy paying a pound for something to swallow in one go!"

"It cost him more than a pound," I said. "It cost him a twenty-pound silk umbrella."

"So it did," my mother said. "He must be mad."

"Probably he is mad. In any way, the money is money and doesn't matter the source of it", I said.

"You´re right, now we can't do nothing but don't worry when the police catch him he'll pay dearly for it.

We were watching him for a long while until we saw a suspicious movement.

The little man was standing by the bar with the empty glass in his hand. He was smiling now, and a sort of golden glow of pleasure was spreading over his round pink face. I saw his tongue come out to lick the white moustache, as though searching for one last drop of that precious whisky. Slowly, he turned away from the bar and edged his way back through the crowd to where his hat and coat were hanging. He put on his hat. He put on his coat. Then, in a manner so superbly cool and casual that you hardly noticed anything at all, he lifted from the coat-rack one of the many wet umbrellas hanging there, and off he went.

"Did you see that!" my mother shrieked. "Did you see what he did!"

"Ssshh!" I whispered. "He's coming out!"

We lowered our umbrella to hide our faces, and peered out from under it. Out he came. But he never looked in our direction. He opened his new umbrella over his head and scurried off down the road the way he had come.

"So that's his little game!" my mother said.

"Neat," I said. "Super." We followed him back to the main street where we had first met him, and we watched him as he proceeded, with no trouble at all, to exchange his new umbrella for another pound note. This time it was with a tall thin fellow who didn't even have a coat or hat. And as soon as the transaction was completed, our little man trotted off down the street and was lost in the crowd. But this time he went in the opposite direction.

"You see how clever he is!" my mother said. "He never goes to the same pub twice!"

"He could go on doing this all night," I said.

"Yes," my mother said. "Of course. But I'll bet he prays like mad for rainy days."