Gabrielle Greenblatt

November 2020

Ten Instances of Phenomenal Reporting by The Survey

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When I first heard the talk of my lovely homeland, Canada, becoming the 51st state of America I screamed, “Hearsay!” But when my mother calmed me down she took my hand and told me it was true. Trump, the real deal president, was actually trying to purchase our northern neighbor. 

But then I realized something crazy. Trump can’t have Canada, cause she’s mine. Yup, that’s right, I already own the damn place. And Justin Trudeau is A-OK with it. 

Let me tell you how it happened. So there I was, in my living room, wondering what to do with the money I got from the bank. It was a large sum that I got from the basement of a fancy bank in Manhattan and so I wanted to spend it wisely. I had to do a lot of sneaky things to get it but my mother told me that telling people to “get on the floor” is  how she always withdraws money from her accounts. 

The money filled up every room of my house so I bought another small Manhattan penthouse to go to where I could think about what to spend my fortune on. And then it struck me. Canada. Who wouldn’t want to own ten provinces and three territories in one of the coldest, least densely populated places in the world? 

After I was enlightened with this idea, I sought out a method to acquire the beaver-filled land. First, I looked on Amazon, but the only countries they sell there are Cyprus and Micronesia. I thought, go big or go home, but I couldn’t go home cause my couch was covered in dough, so I scrolled past those and went to eBay. I thought I’d found something, but it was just a magnet of Canada. 

Naturally, after my fruitless search, I called up Justin Trudeau and I said:
“I’d like to take it off your hands.”
“What off my hands?”
“Canada.”
And then he sighed very loudly so the earth shook and replied. “I’m quitting anyway. Maple-syrup land is all yours.”

I thanked him, asked him when I could pick it up, and hung up the phone. 

That’s basically how I became King of Canada. 

If Trump wants to get Canada from me, he’ll have to find me chilling atop the highest mountain peak in Alberta and pry the nation from my cold dead hands. 


Back off Trump, She’s Mine (Canada)

It’s real and it’s here to stay. Block blast! was introduced in late 2022 and has since skyrocketed in popularity in all spheres (and cubes) of life. Not only are the commuters on the subway playing the colorful game but the conductor of the subway is also tapping away at their iPhone. 

“Drag, drop, repeat” has become a popular mantra for these mindless block blasters, forcing experts to ask; When does it become an addiction? Well, we asked a few people for their thoughts. 

———

Joey: I used to only play it in the day but now I play it at night too.

*WOW, Joey. Ok, slow down. At night too?? You’re a real rebel, Joey.*

Jilly: I have hallucinations of the block blast board on my ceiling and I play it as I fall asleep like Beth Harmon in The Queen's Gambit.

*Chill Jilly, you’re no Beth Harmon. She was a redhead so you don’t want that anyhow.*

Josh: I ate my brother's Lego set because it reminded me of the game and I just couldn’t hold myself back.

*Jesus, I hope you apologized. Really makes me feel like the kids who eat play-dough aren’t as stupid as I thought. Also, I feel like we skipped a beat between “addicted to Block Blast” to “eating plastic.” This may be a pre existing problem.*

*P.S. Is eating them more or less painful than stepping on them?*

Jakwelin: My screen time is 25 hours a day on block blast and my mother disowned me.

*I would disown you too but only because you broke the laws of the space-time continuum.*

Jim Bob: I spend my days slotting blocks. At lunch, at yogurt class, at my great uncle's second funeral, I just can’t stop.

*Not sure what yogurt class is. Do you make yogurt, eat it, or neither? What do you mean by second funeral? Is English not your first language? If so, perhaps Duolingo should be your app of choice over Block Blast.*

Joo Lee Uh: The 3 by 3 block is tattooed onto my corneas. 

*I can’t tell if you mean by choice or because you’ve been staring at the game for so long. Either way, phonetically spelling your name has never and will never be in style.*

Jason Derulo: I know I’m falling into the famous-person-addict lifestyle and for that, I’m truly…

*And he’s started playing Block Blast. Another great one is lost to the blocks.* 

James, Lebron: Balling? More like block blasting!
 
Kevin: I hate the stupid game. I work day and night blasting endless blocks and get paid nothing. The makers of this game are ungrateful wannabes. You know that Block Puzzle was around first?? That’s the real og. Also, Block Blast always tries to make me lose. What’s up with that huh? You knew I couldn’t place that zig-zaggy block and you gave it to me anyway! You worthless piece of—

*Ok Kevin, let's get you to bed.*  

———

Well folks, it’s up to you; are these people addicted? And is it a problem? 

Therapists around the world are debating these questions every second. Some say the dopamine rushes you get from clearing a row are unhealthy while others say that the wave of rage that washes over you when you know you’re about to lose cleanses your soul more thoroughly than reaching nirvana (I asked Buddha and he said so. We’re pals). 

My opinion, you ask? Do what makes you happy. For some people that’s spending time with family, touching grass, and creating long-lasting memories. For other people it’s clearing 32 blocks in a single move, getting an “all clear”, and hearing an unsettling voice say “good” or “amazing.” I mean, we’re all unique beings at the end of the day, right? 

Let’s even take another step back. Is being addicted to Block Blast really that bad? You can learn colors, spatial reasoning, anger mismanagement, and tons of other things from the game. You might even learn to count to a million! And even if your high score never exceeds ten thousand and your IQ drops to the lowest of lows, you’ll always have community with Joey, Jilly, Josh, Jakwelin, Jim Bob, Joo Lee uh, Jason, James (Lebron), and Kevin. 

So block blast away my friends, and reach for the stars (Because you’ll never get there for real because NASA doesn’t hire people who willfully rotted their brains away—maybe SpaceX does?)


Block Blast: An Addiction

6:35 am

Wake up and feel the fear of God sink into my bones. Another day, not another victory for the OG. Why? Because I have to go to English class. 

6:50 am

Wash my face in glacier water because senioritis makes it too hard to use both taps. 

7:00 am

Eat banana bread. Now this may be the highlight of the day. The way it collects on the roof of my mouth in a mushy mass is just…delectable. 

7:25 am

The literal Oregon trail. I feel like I’m going to die of dysentery every day on my walk to the G train. 

7:35 am

On the train. Should I do every single New York Times game right now? Yes. Frick that Duolingo streak. 

8:05 am

Arrive disgustingly on time to my first class instead of dilly-dallying and then telling the teacher my train entered another dimension on the way to school and that’s why I’m late. 

8:20 am

Relearn how to read an analog clock to see how much longer I have to scribble incoherencies on my notebook from 9th grade. 

8:41 am 

Admire the weirdly amazing picture of an airplane I drew in the margins and contemplate becoming an art major. 

8:43 am

Never mind, I choose life. 

9:32 am

Second period done. I think I’m about ready to leave now considering I learned everything there is to know about physics. 

Work and energy, amirite?

11:03 am

This life is a prison—only the bars are double-sided, legal-sized sheets of paper with math on them. 

And by math, I don’t mean the fun “1+1” stuff. . I mean the scary, unfriendly numbers—the math with letters. The "the right answer is a decimal" stuff. 

11:20 am

Asked my economics teacher why we can’t just print more money and three people ended up dead. 

12:00 pm

Lunchtime! 

12:37 pm 

Show my stolen lock to the bouncer in front of the locker room and get absolutely dripped out in my gym uniform. 

1:18 pm

Walking out of gym feeling like the LeBron of badminton. 

1:30 pm

Marinate in my major classroom while I inhale the concrete dust that coats every surface in the civil room. It fills my lungs and cures my senioritis. 

1:50 pm 

Look out the window longingly. 

2:10 pm

By this time of the day I have lived five full lifetimes. I can’t even remember what my first-period teacher looks like anymore. 

2:50 pm

Crawl to my last class. 

3:20 pm 

Calculate how many minutes are left and draw little fun shapes on AutoCAD because I am supposedly the future of engineering. 

3:34 pm

Finally free from the education demons! I leave school knowing my notes are chicken scratch, my brain is shrinking and I have a lung disease from dust inhalation. 



Day in the Life of a Second Semester Senior

The days just fly by, but that doesn’t mean the 67th Annual Grainy Awards this year are any less of a surprise: winner of the most consumed food award goes to…rice. A decorated title, even other foods that get nominated for this award are still in high praise. Actually, not that high, because no one ever remembers past the second best in any category. No, seriously, do you remember who the third person to land on the moon was?

Nom-inees include established foods such as African rice, Canadian rice, and Indian rice… am I reading this right? Then what’s the most consumed rice? Oryza sativa, also known as Asian rice? What’s the difference between it and Indian rice? We live in a post-industrial world, ingredients are now spread around the entire globe! Different nations don’t need to have different tastes! 

In fact, there are other nom-inees that didn’t make the cut but are still eaten around the globe, such as bamboo and sushi rice.

Really? What’s the difference between sushi rice and the rice they serve in the school cafeteria? Sure, the cafeteria rice is concerningly dry, while sushi rice is fermented using vinegar and sugars. In that case , what’s the difference between sushi rice, long grain rice, and even sticky rice? It’s up for you to decide, mostly because we’re arguing against empirical reality. How much oryza sativa is there in the world to compete with other rice? A lot more than you think. Since egg prices are high, we might even need to synthesize rice, like carrying coal to Newcastle.  



Rice Becomes the Most Consumed Food Behind Other Rice

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The 137.15912 foot tall radio tower above Brooklyn Tech has been unused since the 1990’s. It has no use other than holding one tiny, blinking light in the air. Many residents of the area have wanted to, in their words, “destroy the eyesore in a blaze of glory” (Fluffy, resident Sciurus Carolinensis). Others have suggested, “knock it over with a raw potato the size of Fluffy!” (Professor Gthsihtoihsoilbgripesrh, Felis Catus). 

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And while there are some who advocate for the right of the radio tower to exist, none could be found amidst the scores of people that want it gone. Unfortunately for those anti-tower scores, the removal of the radio tower would cost millions of billions of dollars. There is also nowhere to put the crane, so the local government decided to keep the overwhelming radio tower. Realizing this, two warring factions decided to take on the task. Both factions planned their demolition job to take place on the exact same day.
	
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the brink of dawn, the first faction rose from the shadows to take on the task. The Squirrels of Dekalb, armed with nothing but their wits, their claws, and their British, bulky torches. They climbed the side of the building with their claws and their torches. Silently, they began to scale the radio tower. Their leader, Fluffy, had just reached the lightbulb when someone else grabbed it first.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the same time that The Squirrels of Dekalb had been climbing the tower, The Housecats of Fulton had been doing the same. The Housecats of Fulton were armed with only their wits, their claws, and their Fluffy-sized potatoes. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Both factions had planned to destroy the tower in their own way. The Squirrels of Dekalb had planned to burn the defunct radio tower down with their British, bulky torches. Alternatively, The Housecats of Fulton had planned to knock the radio tower down by throwing their Fluffy-sized potatoes at the structure. 

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In a fit of rage at the realization of this, both groups began to attack one another. Students coming into the school for their first period reported seeing Fluffy-sized potatoes and British, bulky torches falling through the scaffolding and onto the ground.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“It’s really nice. Now I have forty free potatoes and twenty-two flashlights” (Jimmy, resident Person Named Timothy). However, the general consensus was, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- -HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (Everyone and their mother).

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now, while the students ran for their lives, The Squirrels of Dekalb quickly realized that they had made some key mistakes. First of all, they were using British, bulky torches, which are really just flashlights. Additionally, Housecats are bigger than Squirrels. And finally, Housecats eat Squirrels. The Housecats of Fulton, figuring this out after several minutes, began to cook The Squirrels of Dekalb using the heat from the one tiny, blinking light on the top of the tower.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Within minutes, The Squirrels of Dekalb were no more; they had been cooked into a delicious feast for The Housecats of Fulton. There were so many baked, fried, boiled, pickled, candied, simmered, caramelized, barbecued, creamed, basted, blanched, and dropped from space to hopefully cook in the upper atmosphere squirrels left after the feast. The Housecats of Fulton gave them away for the school’s chefs to serve. 
	
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You know, squirrels tend to be eaten quite a bit in the United States once you get out of NYC,” (Professor Gthsihtoihsoilbgripesrh, Felis Catus and leader of The Housecats of Fulton) reporters were told that afternoon. However, while The Housecats enjoyed their murdered feast, the students had other things to say.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I found squirrel brains in my pasta. Now I can hear colors” (Maya, unknown attention-seeker).

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I can’t eat meat. Everything has meat in it now. Help!” (Jason, regretful chemistry major-er).

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“IIIIIIIIIIIIII LOVE IT!!!!!” (Maxamilian, A.K.A. The Weird Guy That Seems ToHave a Stomach Made of Titanium).

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Animal Control then proceeded to call themselves to the scene, citing the recent devouring to be the cause. Upon hearing their trucks, The Housecats of Fulton fled back to a secret meeting place, which is definitely not found in their name. The Housecats were never seen again.


Squirrels Attempt To Destroy Brooklyn Tech Radio Tower, Eaten By House Cats Trying To Do Same

3 months ago, on the 17th of December, I overheard my friend talking to his mom in French. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought anything of this as they are French, but what was truly strange was that I understood them. Now you see, I was pretty sure I didn’t speak French, so I was quite befuddled by this. It kept me awake at night, thinking, "What the heck? I don’t know French. I cheated my way through my 8th-grade French class. Something must be afoot…”

Ever since that day, I’ve spent every waking moment looking into possible explanations. Had I just assumed what they had said? Had our lord and saviour Ryan Reynolds spoken to me, telling me what they had said? Did I actually learn things in my French class last year? No, these theories were all completely ridiculous—especially the one about learning in my French class. There's no way I learned anything there.

Then, all of a sudden, it came to me. I realized that even though I wasn’t taking a French class, I was taking a language class. It may have been advertised as a Spanish class, but what proof do I have that that was the language I was learning? How am I to know that my teacher wasn’t teaching me another language, like French? I’ve never had a conversation in “Spanish” outside of class. In fact, whenever someone, like my sister, who had been taking Spanish for years, spoke to me in Spanish, I could barely understand a word they said! At the time, I just thought I was really bad at Spanish, but now that I know the truth, I know I’m really bad at Spanish, but for a far less disappointing reason! 

Now armed with the most realistic explanation there is, I began my research. 3 months later, here is all the proof I have found.
- I’ve been able to do a ton of French lessons on Duolingo without struggle, but I struggled to do any Spanish lessons.
- I helped my friend with her French homework.
- I went to Mexico and couldn’t understand anyone (but I got a bunch of pretty pictures!!)
- I accidentally walked into a different Spanish class one time and I didn’t know what anyone was saying.
- My teacher called my class French 1 instead of Spanish 1 one time.
- I understood every word Frenchie from The Boys said in French.
- I understood every word the French guy at the restaurant in Spider-Man™ 3 said in French.
- This guy who I know that lies about everything said I was wrong when I told him my Spanish teacher was teaching me French.
- My grandma only knows French and English, but when I thought I was speaking Spanish, she understood what I said.
- I could do my old French homework that I cheated on originally.

Now it’s finally time to do something with all the proof I’ve gathered. Tomorrow, my months of investigation and plummeting grades will finally have their payoff.

The Radish

The Radish

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Back off Trump, She’s Mine (Canada)

Block Blast: An Addiction

Day in the Life of a Second Semester Senior