Now Wait A Minute...

Google’s plan to digitize books has been stopped by Judge Denny Chin, who wants Google to rethink their proposal. The reason being is that ultimately, what is at stake here is the possibility that some people and books will lose out. Copyright is a very serious thing, and if Google doesn’t rewrite this proposal to show that copyright still matters and is an issue with this idea, then it more than likely won’t ever be approved. The possibility of leaving various works out is another reason their plan needs to be tweaked to fit the criteria for approval.

An article in the New York Times talks about food and fuel prices going up. It starts out by including all of America in this essay by using the word, “any” one who has done normal every day everyone things like, go to the store or gas station. This pulls the readers in because, “hey, I’ve done that!” Basically the article goes on to say that people are freaking out about the wrong thing. I don't know about this.

The Problem is...

An article I found interesting was about books being digitized. A plan by Google to do this has been put on hold by the government who opposes the idea because it would cause Google to have the ability to monopolize on these copyrights. The person who opposed this was Judge Denny Chin. Everyone it seems in all for digitizing books, but as the article continues we are given the reason for the deny and that is that Google would have the copyright to said books and could gain from the books without having the correct authorization. This is an argument worthy of attention by all. I agree with the decision the judge has made because it is only fair for everyone to get everything out in the open and for everyone to be on the same page. Basically the judge vetoed, but if there can be further negotiations made things might turn out different. The judge simply acted like the dad in the situation and explained that some changes needed to be made so no one got hurt.

The Summer Before

The summer leading up to me getting married was like one long, sentimental walk through the park. Everything my family and I did felt like, “this is the last time.” The last time we will ever take a car trip as The Anderson Family, the last time I will sit in my house, drinking from my coffee cups, and eating my cereal. Now it is my parent’s house, coffee cups, and cereal. They have never said it’s not yours anymore, but you just come to terms with that kind of stuff on your own. I’m quite sure everyone in the family was feeling the same way, sentimental. My parents seemed more like my friends, my sisters and brother, more like my friends. Everything in our lives was changing.

All in a Day’s Work

My life began like any other, the beginning. My parents were just like me in every possible way. My family, we all contained the same wiring if you will. We were a hardworking middle class family. I was brought up to be a tough, diligent worker. After I graduated from school I continued on to my career and began my first real job. I worked and lived in the home of a wealthy family. They always included me and I never felt out of place. I felt right at home with them and because of that I never missed my own family too often. It was a steady job and had its benefits. I was never cold, never without food or shelter, all was well, or so I thought.

The Scissors that Broke the Lock’s Back

As a child I was always nostalgic. I’m not sure why, but anything I did I would think about how in fifteen or twenty years I would look back on an exact moment in time and love or hate every second of it. Why on Earth would I need to remember a time when I was unloading the dishwasher quickly and my mom said, “watch out, sometimes the forks will stab you.” or why would I remember my sister throwing a fit for thirty minutes because I ate the last purple Popsicle (well…) or lighting my cousin’s leg on fire with hand sanitizer. These memories are seemingly useless to others; just random happenings renting my mind. Everyone has stories that they share, or don’t. We all have a story that can be applied to any situation and then those classified stories that can only be told to your small group of close, personal friends. We all have that watered down version of something crazy we tell mom and dad, and then ten years later retell it at Thanksgiving dinner, while your mom in horror utters, “That’s not what you told me!” Our stories make us who we are and what we are.