Thankful for a Classmate

I'd like to start by saying that it's been an enjoyable year overall, because even though I hate most of my decisions all throughout what we've done so far, there have been people there for the whole time who weren't going to let me stray too far away.

This year has been tough, because I always thought that the frackies would stay together, even in the cloud of new freshmen and the sophomores in their classes. Then I realized that it was so much different than what I expected. I see bonds weaken and break between friends as they hang out with new people more than those whom they've known longer. I've been a part of that too, seeing as I've been to more freshie houses than frackie houses this year. That's tough. I've seen my closest friend switch the tables on me, with them being the connection to the "Game Night Group" instead of me.

I'm  thankful to the frackies nearby me in this class. Rashmi, Sydney, and Ayanna (and I guess Makenzie, Marta, and Dorothy too), because even though you may decide not to listen to my sometimes daft sometimes clever ideas, you are all still familiar faces and that reminds me that I'm in good company.

I'm thankful for new friends, like Emilio and Rodrigo. I've got 7th period with, and it's always better to walk in company than by yourself.

My one regret is not making more bonds with the people in this class, and I hope to know all of you by name soon, because I can't keep going on like this. It's really a problem.

Forgetting the homework that all of us have been given for a second, just try to spend some time relaxing and enjoying yourselves this weekend. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

What Did Margot Macomber Do?

In one of Ernest Hemingway's short stories, The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber, the story has quite the shocking ending. Francis Macomber's life is ended while he is right in front of a charging bull. He did not die from the bull, but instead his wife, Margot/Margaret Macomber, shot him in the back of the head. The question is, did she mean it, or was it an accident?

Some people argue that it was an accident, while others argue that she truly meant to kill her husband.
My argument is somewhere in between, however, it does lean towards accidental murder.

Margot Macomber shot her husband. That is fact. Also, by her words at the end of the story, she quite clearly regretted her decision. Repeating "no" and "stop it, please" over and over again shows how distraught Margot is at that moment when her husband is now dead.

Margot's attitude towards Francis for the majority of the story was that of a superior. She would always talk down of him and even kissed and flirted with Wilson, who was the guide of the safari. When Francis loses his fear of the lion and all other things that he could encounter, he begins to rupture the stable control that Margot has on him. This possibly angered Margot, or at least made her think. We see in one scene where Francis wakes up in the middle of the night to find Margot not in their tent. When she comes back, she states she was in Wilson's tent and they were playing games. (Very naughty games I can assume) Margot was gone for a very long time, and yes, she could have been having an affair with Wilson, but he could also have been teaching her to...

Wait For It...

How to shoot a gun.

Now Margot has the skills to kill her husband, and the anger to create a motive. However, lets fast-forward to the kill. Margot hits her husband "two inches up and a little to the side of the base of his skull. Hemingway mentions the base of the scull as a focal point because it is most likely where Margot was aiming. Why did she miss then? It could have been from the recoil and bad aim of the 6.5 Mannlicher she was using; but I think she had a doubt. That may be the reason why she did not hit dead on: because she tried to pull away. Sadly, guns are much faster and more powerful than human reactions, meaning Mr. Francis Macomber was dead once Margot began to carry out her plan.

R.I.P. Francis Macomber

Six Word Stories

This is a neat little assignment I'm supposed to do, which instructs us to make six six-worded stories.

1. The grave stands outside time, alone.

2. The widow wears black, and weeps.

3. The flowers lay wilting, forgotten forever.

4. She silently whispers, "Goodbye my love."

5. A child born, a mother lost.

6. The dust collects, and never leaves.

Edit: I thought of some more.

Bonus:

Thousands of graves, all brand new.

Baby in a basket, left abandoned.

John Proctor: Hero or Stooge?

I would just like to begin by defining both the words hero and stooge.

Hero: (noun) a person, typically a man, who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities. Synonyms: Brave, Courageous, etc.

Stooge: (noun) a person who serves merely to support or assist others, particularly in doing unpleasant work. Synonyms: Underling, Minion, Lackey, etc.

When reading through the three acts of The Crucible, John Proctor's character portrays aspects of both hero and stooge. However, as the play gets closer to its end, John Proctor's attitude becomes more heroic, which shocks the reader as they see this "change of heart."

John Proctor at the beginning of this play is shown to have cheated on his wife with Abigail, and would do anything in his power to stop that secret from ever seeing the light of day. As the play progresses, he still can be seen as a stooge, but his actions are repainting him as the hero.

His biggest sacrifice is admitting all of his wrongs in front of the court, as long as it means that he can take down Abigail and save the accused witches.

At times he can be a stooge for only defending his wife, who is still a very personal aspect to him, but at others he defends all the accused witches, which shows his heroic aspects.

In conclusion John Proctor is both a stooge and hero but his hero characteristics outweigh his stooge ways.

A Bit About Me

Hello, I'm Emiliano. Some people call me Milly or Em, but that's not my name. I'm a pretty average person, and the only thing pretty abnormal about me is the incredibly large chance that I will do something that will end up hurting me. [Edit] Just this morning, I was calmly walking down the school hallway, when my foot slipped and I fell. It was seriously something out of a bad high school drama. [End of Edit] Another instance of where I was hurt by a ridiculous way was in 6th grade in my elementary school's library. I wasn't the tallest of the class, and I needed help reaching some of the higher-up books. The school had just purchased new stools, and these ones had wheels so they could roll around. So there I was, calmly rolling the stool across the library, when the stool's rim caught on a loose string from the rug. It held the stool back and tilted it over, where the rim was level with my shin. Now, the old stools couldn't roll, so the school put rubber rims on them to keep from slipping. These new ones however, didn't have that rubber seal. The rim made a clean cut about halfway down my shin, and I didn't really know how to react, so I just stood there, leg bleeding and all. That was an interesting day, but a recognizable experience. There was another time when I broke my wrist on the sidewalk, but that's a story for another time.

First Post

Just an introductory post. More will follow.