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Senin, 01 Desember 2014

Softskill "Pembelajaran Bahasa Inggris Berbantuan Komputer" (Tugas 3) - "Ing-form"

Sintia Trijayanti
16611781
4Sa02

The -ing form

The –ing form can be used like a noun, like an adjective or like a verb.
We can use the -ing form of the verb:
  •  as a noun:

I love swimming.
Swimming is very good for your health.
You can get fit by swimming regularly.

-ing nouns are nearly always uncount nouns
  •  as an adjective:

The main problem today is rising prices.
That programme was really boring.
He saw a woman lying on the floor.

Because the -ing noun or adjective is formed from a verb it can have any of the patterns which follow a verb, for example:
  •                     ... an object:

I like playing tennis.
I saw a dog chasing a cat.
  • ... or an adverbial:

You can earn a lot of money by working hard.
There were several people waiting for the bus.
  •  ... or a clause:

I heard someone saying that.


The -ing noun can be used:
  •  as the subject of a verb:

Learning English is not easy.
  •  as the object of a verb:

We enjoy learning English.

Common verbs followed by an -ing object are:
Admit
Like
Hate
Start
Avoid

Suggest
Enjoy
Dislike
begin
finish

  • as the object of a preposition

Some people are not interested in learning English.

The -ing adjective can come:
  • in front of a noun:

I read an interesting article in the newspaper today.
We saw a really exciting match on Sunday.

 The commonest –ing adjectives used in front of the noun are :
Amusing
Interesting
Worrying
Shocking
Disappointing
Boring
Surprising
Exciting
Frightening

Tiring
Annoying
Terrifying


  •  after a noun:

Who is that man standing over there?
The boy talking to Angela is her younger brother.
  • and especially after verbs like see, watch, hear, smell etc.

I heard someone playing the piano.
I can smell something burning.

https://learnenglish.britishcouncil.org/en/english-grammar/verbs/ing-forms

And than for my softskill assignment, this is the example ing-form that I take from an article :

 
 
And than for my softskill assignment, this is the example ing-form that I take from an article :
Thirty-Three-Hit Wonder
Billy Joel still lives on Long Island, still rules the Garden.
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/10/27/thirty-three-hit-wonder
Billy Joel sat smoking a cigarillo on a patio overlooking Oyster Bay. He had chosen the seating area under a trellis in front of the house, his house, a brick Tudor colossus set on a rise on the southeastern tip of a peninsula called Centre Island, on Long Island’s North Shore. It was a brilliant cloudless September afternoon. Beethoven on Sonos, cicadas in the trees, pugs at his feet. Out on the water, an oyster dredge circled the seeding beds while baymen raked clams in the flats. Joel surveyed the rising tide. Sixty-five. Semi-retirement. Weeks of idleness, of puttering around his motorcycle shop and futzing with lobster boats, of books and dogs and meals, were about to give way to a microburst of work. His next concert, his first in more than a month, was scheduled to begin in five hours, at Madison Square Garden, and he appeared to be composing himself.

 
 
 There are the "ing-form" from the article above :

1. Billy Joel sat smoking a cigarillo
    > Ing- as a noun because that is gerund

2. overlooking Oyster Bay
    > Ing- as an adjective because overlooking refers to Bay

3. He had chosen the seating area under a trellis in front of the house
    > Ing- as an adjective because seating refers to noun from the word erea

4. Out on the water, an oyster dredge circled the seeding beds while baymen raked clams in the flats. 
    > Ing- as an adjective because seeding refers to noun from the word beds

5. Joel surveyed the rising tide.
    > Ing- as an adjective because rising refers to noun from the word tide

6. Weeks of idleness, of puttering around his motorcycle shop and futzing with lobster boats,
    > Ing- as a noun because it is gerund ( after the word "of" must be followed by gerund that have a function as a noun)

7. he appeared to be composing himself.
    > Ing - as a verb


Selasa, 28 Oktober 2014

Softskill "Pembelajaran Bahasa Inggris Berbantuan Komputer" (Tugas 2) - Report Speech

Sintia Trijayanti
16611781
4SA02

“REPORT SPEECH”.

SOURCE DATA ARTICLE:
Thirty-Three-Hit Wonder
Billy Joel still lives on Long Island, still rules the Garden.

Billy Joel sat smoking a cigarillo on a patio overlooking Oyster Bay. He had chosen the seating area under a trellis in front of the house, his house, a brick Tudor colossus set on a rise on the southeastern tip of a peninsula called Centre Island, on Long Island’s North Shore. It was a brilliant cloudless September afternoon. Beethoven on Sonos, cicadas in the trees, pugs at his feet. Out on the water, an oyster dredge circled the seeding beds while baymen raked clams in the flats. Joel surveyed the rising tide. Sixty-five. Semi-retirement. Weeks of idleness, of puttering around his motorcycle shop and futzing with lobster boats, of books and dogs and meals, were about to give way to a microburst of work. His next concert, his first in more than a month, was scheduled to begin in five hours, at Madison Square Garden, and he appeared to be composing himself.
“Actually, I composed myself a long time ago,” he said. He told a joke that involved Mozart erasing something in a mausoleum; the punch line was “I’m decomposing.” He knocked off an ash. Whenever anyone asks him about his pre-show routine, he says, “I walk from the dressing room to the stage. That’s my routine.” Joel has a knack for delivering his own recycled quips and explanations as though they were fresh, a talent related, one would think, to that of singing well-worn hits with sincere-seeming gusto. He often says that the hardest part isn’t turning it on but turning it off: “One minute, I’m Mussolini, up onstage in front of twenty thousand screaming people. And then, a few minutes later, I’m just another schmuck stuck in traffic on the highway.” It’s true: the transition is abrupt, and it has bedevilled rock stars since the advent of the backbeat. But this schmuck is usually looking down on the highway from an altitude of a thousand feet. He commutes to and from his shows by helicopter.
Joel was wearing a black T-shirt tucked into black jeans, black Vans, and an Indian Motorcycle ball cap. The back of his head, where hair might be, was freshly shorn, and his features, which in dark or obscure moods can appear mottled and knotted, were at rest, projecting benevolent bemusement. To prepare for the flight, he’d put on a necklace of good-luck medallions—pendants of various saints. The atavism of Long Island is peculiar. Though Jewish, and an atheist, he had, as a boy in a predominantly Catholic part of Hicksville, attended Mass, and even tried confession. His mother took him and his sister to Protestant services at a local church; he was baptized there. Still, a girl across the street said he’d grow horns, and a neighborhood kid named Vinny told him, “Yo, Joel, you killed Jesus. I’m gonna beat your ass.” Vinny did, repeatedly. Joel took up boxing to defend himself. The nose still shows it.
There was a rumble in the distance. “That’s my guy,” Joel said. “He’s early.” A helicopter zipped in over the oystermen and landed down by the water, at the hem of a great sloping lawn, where Joel had converted the property’s tennis court to a helipad. He’d recently had to resurface it, after Hurricane Sandy. Joel often attempts to inoculate himself with self-mockery. “Oh, my helipad got flooded,” he says, with the lockjaw of Thurston Howell III.
He got up to go. He has the short, wide, halting gait of an old lineman—two fake hips. He called through the screen door leading to the kitchen: “A-Rod!” A-Rod was his girlfriend, Alexis Roderick, from Northport, a thirty-three-year-old former risk manager at Morgan Stanley. They met five years ago at a restaurant in Huntington, where they’d both gone with friends. He introduced himself, got her number, and, when he was done eating, called her on the phone from across the restaurant and asked if she would give him a ride home. “I always try to go out with North Shore girls,” he likes to say. “They usually have a car.” She drove him back to Centre Island. He asked her if she wanted to hear him play. She said no. He played anyway—Rachmaninoff, on the living-room grand, a move he got from “The Seven Year Itch.” She says, “It was like he couldn’t not be ‘Billy Joel’ at that moment.”
“I may have got a little fresh,” he recalls. She drove off that night, but months later they began seeing each other. She moved in with him, and he persuaded her to quit her job on Wall Street. Joel, who refers to his former wives as Ex 1, Ex 2, and Ex 3, says that he is in no hurry to be married again.
They got their stuff together in the kitchen. She had on a short light suède jacket and jeans. “Do you have your shots?” she asked. He retrieved a padded envelope with allergy medication and stuck it into a small black wheelie bag containing throat spray and some motorcycle magazines for his longtime lighting man and fellow-gearhead, Steve Cohen. Outside the kitchen, he tossed the bag in the back of a Polaris U.T.V. and drove down toward the helipad. “This doesn’t suck,” he said. Along the way, he passed Roderick, who was on foot. “Hey, chicky baby!” he called out, in his Vinny voice. The pilot, in uniform, took his bag and escorted them to the chopper, a sleek black Bell 430, twin engine. Within moments, it was soaring across the bay and over the wooded estates of Nassau County. Joel name-checked harbors, parkways, and golf courses, some of which he’d caddied at as a kid. To the south, Levittown, where he grew up. To the north, Kings Point and Sands Point, Fitzgerald’s models for West Egg and East Egg. “And now we’re over the great gray ash heaps,” Joel said, still on “Gatsby” and referring to the once blighted section of Queens. Cemeteries, row houses, projects: the copter tacked southwest over Brooklyn and aimed for Manhattan’s lower tip, towers sparkling in the late-afternoon sun. “This is the beginning of the psych-up for the show,” Joel said. “You see this and you tell yourself, ‘I gotta do a good one.’ ”
Since the beginning of the year, Joel had been playing the Garden once a month. This would be the ninth such show so far. All twelve had sold out well in advance, and the secondary market was tight. He intends to continue the residency, as they are calling it, for as long as both ticket demand and his level of performance remain strong. He’s not quite sure which he’d rather see fall off first.
The chopper turned up the Hudson, flying low, and eased down to the heliport, a few blocks west of the arena. “You know, if you type ‘Billy Joel’s house’ into Google maps, you get Madison Square Garden,” Joel said. The flight had taken sixteen minutes. An S.U.V. whisked him and Roderick and his tour director, Max Loubiere, crosstown and then up a ramp to the passageway behind the stage, where crew and band members were milling around. Sound check. “Back in the salt mines,” Joel said.
Steve Cohen, who has been Joel’s lighting designer since 1974 and his creative director since the mid-eighties, handed Joel his suggested set list. It doesn’t vary much from show to show, but there are always a few wild cards, and this time Cohen had inserted “Just the Way You Are,” the 1977 ballad that became Joel’s first big hit, propelling sales of the album “The Stranger,” and of Joel’s earlier albums as well, which up until then had languished. (Among those was “Piano Man,” the title track of which became, to his increasing weariness, his signature song; that album, Joel was told, initially earned only seven thousand dollars.) Joel hadn’t played “Just the Way You Are” in five years.
“The set’s a little M.O.R.,” Joel complained, meaning “middle of the road,” the soft-rock category now called Adult Contemporary. He made his way onto the stage and sat down at the piano and knocked out a little Beethoven, before the band members, most of whom have been with him for more than ten years, worked out the backup vocal harmonies to “My Life.” They vamped for a while on “Sledgehammer,” by Peter Gabriel, and ran through the end of “Movin’ Out,” to get the right level for the horns. And then Joel was doing “Just the Way You Are.” He’d written it for his first wife and manager, Elizabeth. When he told her, “This song is for you,” Donna Summer, standing nearby, said, “Does that come with the publishing?”
Before long, at the sound check, he began substituting bawdy lyrics: “I just want someone . . . to have sex with” and “Now you know I’m . . . full of shi-it.” “I couldn’t have loved you any better, unless . . . you grew some bigger tits.” Cohen walked by, shaking his head.
After a while, Joel stopped. “Should we really do that one? Really?”
“There won’t be a dry eye in the house,” the saxophonist Mark Rivera said.

Joel continued to argue against playing it. (He’d wanted to leave it off the album, too, but Linda Ronstadt and Phoebe Snow, dropping by the studio one day, told him he was nuts.) He usually won these arguments. At other sound checks, I’d seen him scrap such mainstays as “Angry Young Man” (the tempo was lagging, and the sentiment felt false) and “Captain Jack.” (“Dreary, dreary, dreary,” he said. “It just goes on and on. I’m sick of the thing. It didn’t age well. It’s been busted down to ‘Private Jack.’ ”) But this time Cohen and Brian Ruggles, Joel’s sound engineer since the early seventies, prevailed.
A few hours later, the arena was full, and he was back onstage with the band, delivering the familiar hits in full voice. He was all in. The cynicism surfaced only between numbers, such as when, after playing “The Entertainer,” he repeated, in a quizzical tone, the line “I won’t be here in another year / If I don’t stay on the charts” and then exclaimed, “Bullshit!” A roar greeted the opening notes of “Just the Way You Are,” and up in Section 106 I could see some women of a certain age singing along and dabbing their eyes. When the song was done, Joel turned to the audience and said, “And then we got divorced.”
Joel’s show hasn’t changed much over the years. Songs cycle in and out, and he and the band play many of them in a different key, to accommodate his aging vocal cords (he says that he prefers his late-career baritone to the tenor of his prime), but for the most part the big hits are always there, presented in the same arrangements and sonic array. The saxophone is the radiocarbon. Close your eyes and it’s 1982, which in many ways is exactly what his fans want. The delivery was tight and strong. Long ago, Joel grew tired of having to look out at the fat cats in the two front rows, the guys who’d bought the best seats and then sat there projecting a look of impatience and boredom that Joel characterizes, using his Vinny voice, as “Entertain me, Piano Man.” So Joel’s people stopped selling the two front rows and instead send the crew into the cheap seats before the show to hand out tickets to people of their choosing. That this usually results in a foreground that is both young and female may or may not be an unintended consequence, but Joel believes that it helps buck up the band.
To close out the set, he sprayed his throat, donned a harmonica rig, and launched into “Piano Man” without betraying any exasperation, only wonder, as thousands of people, many of them about half the song’s age, sang along. You could stand behind the stage and look out at the throngs, lit up by Cohen, and begin to understand why a man might rouse himself from hibernation and go through the motions again. “Gotta feed the elephant,” he likes to say. He means all the stakeholders in Joel, Inc., but the phrase also suggests his own desire for validation or love.
He closed out his customary five-song encore with “Only the Good Die Young.” It’s one of those songs that get the Garden arena, which is built on springs, to start bouncing. The bouncing had hardly ceased by the time Joel’s S.U.V. was gunning down the ramp and west toward the helipad, where the chopper waited. Ruggles and Cohen got aboard with Joel and Roderick. Someone had rescued a gigantic bag of popcorn from the dressing room; Joel liked to have it at home. The helicopter lifted off, tracked north over Central Park, and then out over Queens and LaGuardia. The metropolis alight. Joel leaned over to Cohen and said, “This is a great fucking job.”
Over Long Island Sound, Joel pointed out a mass. “That’s J. P. Morgan’s old island,” he said. “I rented a house there for a while, after I sold the house in East Hampton.” The helicopter cut south along the eastern shore of Centre Island. The helipad’s lights flashed on. As the passengers disembarked, Roderick quietly urged Ruggles, who was going through a divorce and living for the time being in one of Joel’s guesthouses, to take the popcorn.
Joel drove Roderick up the hill in the U.T.V. Soon, the helicopter was gone and all was quiet, except for the whir of katydids and a Beethoven violin concerto on the Sonos. Joel was back out under the trellis with a cigarillo. He’d given up cigarettes—he’d gone to see a hypnotist in Boston. Dock light from across the bay wobbled on the surface of the Sound. Less than a half hour before, he’d stood at the lip of a stage, sweaty and beaming, absorbing an arena’s adulation: Mussolini. Now just a schmuck. The commute had earned him more than a million bucks. He projected contentment and ease, and seemed in control of his appetites, as though he’d learned how to bank the endorphins and draw on the account as needed—rock stardom on time release. Roderick brought out a tray of cheese.
“Did you tell Brian to take my popcorn away?” he asked her. “Did you say, ‘Don’t give him the popcorn?’ ”
“I would never—”
“He’s been with me for fifty years,” Joel said.
“I didn’t tell him to take it away,” she said. “What I said was I didn’t want it to exist in the first place. It was really gross.”
“It’s not really gross,” Joel said. “I like the popcorn.”


They sat outside until almost 2 A.M. and then headed for bed.
People tend to assume, given the recent burst of reputational favor and vigor in performance, that Joel must be sober, that the narrative of redemption must rest on abstinence. But not everyone can be George Jones. Joel steers clear of spirits, he says, and just drinks wine, in moderation. “I think of it as a food group,” he told me. At one lunch, we each had a glass of Chianti. At another, we had a little sake. He ordered sashimi; he was hitting a steak house later with some friends. He likes to eat. “I’m with the Jack Nicholson school, that it’s this flat-belly shit that’s ruining America,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything more pathetic than a man on a diet.”
He is sensitive about the alcohol thing. He cops to having had lots of problems in the past, drinking to excess, behaving like an ass. He chalks it up to Long Island, the culture of day’s end at the local pub. In the old touring days, the whole band boozed it up, and often they were the last ones standing in the hotel bar, Billy at the piano, crew gathered around with a few stragglers and girls, singing Sinatra and the Beatles: not exactly “Hammer of the Gods.” He claims not to have ever really got into drugs, though they certainly tried things, including heroin, on a 1981 swing through Amsterdam; in videos of concerts from the mid-eighties the clothes and the hair styles alone seem to scream “Cocaine!” You’ll hear Long Islanders tell old stories about the time they saw Joel at this or that Huntington bar, the man not looking his best. There were, in the past decade, a couple of interventions and a couple of stints in rehab, in 2002 and 2005. Still, he rejects the A.A. approach and favors the kind of self-moderation that A.A.’s devotees cluck at.
Elton John, who did a number of tours with Joel, told Rolling Stone in 2011, “Billy’s a conundrum. We’ve had so many cancelled tours because of illnesses and various other things, alcoholism . . . He’s going to hate me for this, but every time he goes to rehab they’ve been light . . . When I went to rehab, I had to clean the floors. He goes to rehab where they have TVs. I love you, Billy, and this is tough love.”
“Elton is just being Elton,” Joel responded to Rolling Stone. But he was pissed. According to a biography of Joel by the Rolling Stone writer Fred Schruers—the book was originally intended as an as-told-to autobiography, but at the last minute Joel, increasingly uneasy about revealing so much of himself, pulled out and sent back his advance—Joel wrote Elton John an angry note: “What gives you the omnipotent moral certainty and authority to justify the public humiliation of anyone—especially of someone to whom you should, at the very least, consider according a modicum of honor?” He signed off, “We are done.”
Whether it’s denial or a hard-earned aversion to the intrusions of the celebrity-media complex and its twelve-step pieties, Joel greets most booze-related reports or questions with a flash of annoyance. He has protested that a trio of car accidents, in the early aughts, weren’t actually booze-related. It was dark, it was icy, he’d had eye surgery, the Citroën 2CV is a tricky little car. But it is true that these incidents coincided with a rough patch in his life—one of many over the years, the catalyst usually a breakup or a divorce. He takes it hard. His friends and collaborators give these periods a wide euphemistic berth. Schruers, in the biography, tells the story of an intervention led by friends in the summer of 2009, at the house on Centre Island. The friends brought along a trained counsellor, and Joel turned on him: “Now, who the fuck are you? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
We don’t often side with the intervenee, but there’s something to be said for defiance. As one of his biggest hits has it, “I don’t care what you say anymore, this is my life. Go ahead with your own life and leave me alone.” The song’s peppy electric piano—and its presence on the old cross-dressing sitcom “Bosom Buddies”—disguises a sentiment that is at the core of Joel’s outlook on his place in the world. When he plays “My Life” in concert, it can seem rote, but the anger at the heart of it, misplaced or not, gives it a pulse.



From the article above, I take  some sentence to discuss :

DIRECT SPEECH
INDIRECT SPEECH
REPORTED STATEMENTS
1. “Actually, I composed myself a long time ago,” he said.
2. He says, “I walk from the dressing room to the stage. That’s my routine.

1. He said that he actually had composed hisself a long time ago.
2. Joel said that he walked from the dressing room to the stage. That was his routine.
REPORTED QUESTION
1. “Do you have your shots?” she asked.
2. “Now, who the fuck are you? Who the fuck do you think you are?.”
1. Vinny asked Joel whether he had his shots.
2. Joel asked to his friends then who the fuck you were and who the fuck you thought.



IMPERATIVE
1. “Entertain me, Piano Man.
2. “Go ahead with your own life and leave me alone.”
1. Vinny ordered Joel to enternain her.
2. Joels told to his friends to go ahead with their own life and to leave him alone.


DISCUSSION :
Reported Statements

1. In number one  the sentence used  the past tense, so we change the tenses in the indirect speech into Past Perfect. We can change words 'I' in direct speech into 'he' in in indirect speech because in this article the writer talk about Joel.

2. Number two in reported statement used Simple Present in direct speech and we can change into Past tense in indirect speech.

  • ·         The word “says” is Simple Present Tense. It must be changed into Simple Past Tense “Said”.
  • ·         In the direct speech “He” as the pronoun refers to “Joel“ so we can used Joel in the indirect speech.
  • ·         Because the speaker is Joel, so we can change “I” in the direct speech into “he”.
  • ·         “walk” is Simple Present Tense which must be changed into Simple Past Tense “walked”.
  • ·         “is” in Simple Present Tense that changed into Simple Past Tense “was”.


Reported Question

1. We must changed the question into clause “Vinny asked Joel whether he had his shots.”
In the direct speech The pronoun “she” changed to “Vinny”. “you” refers to “Joel” and we can used the pronoun “he” to subtitude Joel. Because we changed the Simple Present Tense to Simple Past Tense, we changed “have” to “had”.

2. This in The question from Joe to his Friends. The question “Now, who the fuck are you? Who the fuck do you think you are?.” We changed into statement “Joel asked to his friends then who the fuck you were and who the fuck you thought.”

  • ·         The adverb of time “now” changed into “then”.
  • ·         Because we changed into statement, the word “are you” changed into “you were” and the word “who the fuck do you think you are?” changed into “who the fuck you thought.”


Imperative

1. This is the Reported order/request. We simply use “to+V1” in the indirect speech.
Because the speaker is Vinny, we can used name Vinny as the Subject in the indirect speech.

2. This is the example of Reported order/request. Same with the number one, we only use “to+V1” in indirect speech. But in this sentence, the speaker or the subject is Joel.


Tenses in Reported Speech
No
Direct Speech
Indirect Speech
1
Simple Present (V1)
Simple Past (V2)
2
Present Continuous (V2)
Past Continuous (Had+V3)
3
Present Future (am/is/are)
Past Future (was/were)
4
Present Perfect (Do/does)
Past Perfectv(Did)
5
Present Perfect Continuous (Do/does not)
Past Perfect Continuous (Did not)
6
Simple Past (Did not)
Past Perfect (Had not+V3)
7
Past Continuous (Was/were)
Past Perfect Continuous (Had been)
8
Am/is/are + V-ing
Was/were + V-ing
9
Was/were +V-ing
Had been + V-ing
10
Has/have + V3
Had + V3
11
Will/shall/can/may/must
Would/should/could/might/had to
12
Could/might/should/would + V1/be
Could/might/should/would + have+ V3/been

For the complete theory, you can look at this link :