000 Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

Obama being presidentelect Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 750 words

Obama being presidentelect - Essay Example The appropriate response is twofold. Obama was chosen in light of a) changing occasions and perspectives and b) his situation on Iraq war. We need to concede that our more youthful age isn't as one-sided as our more seasoned ages were with regards to race. The adolescent particularly in urban regions and large metropolitan urban areas have interacted with individuals from such a significant number of nations that they don't have the foggiest idea whether there would ever be only one skin shading. They know very well that nationals of various nations have been adding to the development of the nation and thus consider them as much an American resident as any. This has majorly affected Obama's crusade that was about change. Obama said from the earliest starting point that all he needed was change. Also, he as an African American was the very image of Progress. A white man in his place discussing change would never have been as successful as him. This is just on the grounds that to discuss transform, it was critical to likewise speak to change and be an image of progress. That is the thing that individuals found in Barack Obama's racial foundation. Another significant thing was Obama's remain on war. ... We have to comprehend that most nations can battle their own wars and in the event that they can't, at that point USA must figure out how to pick its fights cautiously. This is on the grounds that in the course of the last numerous years, we have lost a huge number of our men to silly wars-to wars that were not in any case our own. Being a military individual, I know how much our nation intends to us. In any case, when a youngster joins the military, he is doing that to secure the nation and guard its inclinations. Anyway in the course of recent years, we have battled wars that had close to nothing or nothing to do with United States legitimately. As the consequence of this, disdain has developed in individuals' brains and hearts. They may regard the military yet they would prefer not to see their little amazing fights that were not by any means their own. At the end of the day, if a kid passes on while battling to safeguard his nation, it is viewed as a respect. Yet, when a similar individual bites the dust on outside land, taking on a conflict between two nations that he doesn't have a place with, individuals normally detest it. This doesn't make them any less energetic. They just need to see fights picked cautiously so their young men can battle for their own nation and not lose their lives in a useless war. This is actually what has occurred during Iraq war. We have lost many several valuable lives both in Afghanistan and Iraq. Also, these wars have been going for quite a while now. Individuals are burnt out on silly executing and need to see their kids return home. Obama contacted individuals' central cores when he said he would end the war in Iraq and bring those little fellows back. Envision the help such a significant number of moms and families more likely than not felt after hearing this. Do you imagine that with such a case, any other individual had even a remote possibility of

The Tupacs of Literature

The Tupacs of Literature I don’t know if you caught the rather disturbing Tupac hologram at this years Coachella music festival in California, but even more than being kind of morbid, it stretched the already bloated posthumous Tupac industry” to its most shameful limit. Even before he appeared live after-death at Coachella, he had released six posthumous albums. You can make the case that The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory doesn’t count since the album was recorded and mixed in August of 1996, Tupac was killed in September, and the album was released in November. But that still leaves five other albums. And their content amounts to rarities, lost b-sides, demos, and songs that were cut altogether. It’s a sort of licking the cultural plate clean, as morbid as that metaphor is. And it’s a divisive issue among fans. Or at least the fans that would consider themselves hard-core. On the one hand, it’s completely and transparently cynical. In an act of grave robbing, everyone from record to t-shirt companies are exploiting the deceased. Everyone’s making tons of cash off of material that the artist never agreed to release. On the other hand, once the artist is gone, doesn’t all of the work belong to everyone? Aren’t fans entitled to have what they want? Music isn’t the only industry that operates like this. Publishing has produced some of it’s own Tupac’s. David Foster Wallace, for instance, has had a spate of post-death releases. The Pale King, his posthumous novel, got mixed reviews that ran from molten hot appreciation to hardened disapproval. His newest to be released is Both Flesh and Not, essays that hadn’t ever seen book form. Included in the collection will be his famous pieces on the tennis player Federer and the movie Terminator 2. This release should pass the moral muster of detractors of posthumous publication, since all the essays have appeared elsewhere. But this book may be an outlier. It seems like The Great Bandana is trending Tupac. If David Foster Wallace is the American Champion of posthumous publishing, then Roberto Bolaño holds the world title. At least as far as being translated into English is concerned. So far he’s had two novels and a collection of short stories released after his death. And due out in November is his rediscovered novel Woes of the True Police Man. If you’re already a fan of Bolaño, you’ll probably read this novel no matter what it’s about. But if you’re not familiar and need a plot to entice you, it’s a gritty tale about the unsolved murder of a number of women in northern Mexico. It’s a theme Bolaño fans should already be familiar with. And I have to tip my hand and show my cards here. I’m all for publishing as much material by an artist as possible after their death. Maybe I’m just a person of a certain place and time, but I feel our right to have as much art (because that’s what this is really all about) in our lives as possible trumps any claims of privacy that the deceased are entitled to.

If You Had Taken a Different Path Ice Breaker

Almost everyone has wished at some point that they had taken a different path in life. We get started in one direction, and before long theres no turning back. Sometimes this isnt that big of a deal, but what a tragedy it is when a life so full of promise gets off track and derails. It can seem like theres no way to change direction. Wouldnt it be wonderful if simply stating the desire for a new path could inspire it to action? Cant hurt to try. Use this easy ice breaker game to find out if your students are in your classroom to find a new direction. Ideal Size Up to 30. Divide larger groups. Use For Introductions in the classroom or at a meeting. Time Needed 30 to 40 minutes, depending on the size of the group. Materials Needed None. Instructions Ask each participant to share their name, a little about the path they chose to take in life, and which path they would choose today if they could do it all over, knowing what they know today. Ask them to add how the different path is related to why they are sitting in your classroom or attending your seminar. Example Hi, my name is Deb. I have been a training manager, performance consultant, editor, and writer. If I could start over and take another path, I would study creative writing more and start my publishing career much earlier. I’m here today because I’d like to include more history in my writing. Debriefing Debrief by asking for reactions to the choices that were shared. Were the changes people would make just slightly different or completely different? Is it too late to change paths? Why or why not? Are people in your classroom today because they’re working toward that change? Use personal examples from the introductions, where appropriate, throughout your class to make the information easier to relate to and apply.

Philosophy of Literacy Education - 3054 Words

Personal Philosophy of Literacy Education Throughout my first year as a middle school Language Arts teacher, I have developed a theoretical understanding of what I believe are the necessary components to providing a meaningful and generative environment in which students develop and expand literacy skills. The teaching of literacy needs to include a balance of reading, writing, speaking and listening activities, and needs to be a social endeavor that provides a variety of instructional strategies to meet the needs of all diverse learners. My teaching strategies, beliefs and personality that I bring to my classroom can be characterized as a blend of two types of philosophical theories: social constructivism and relational teaching and†¦show more content†¦Literacy cannot be learned through multiple lessons taught solely in isolation. Instead, it must be learned in a comprehensive manner, in which various literacy skills are fully-integrated. Vygotsky (1987) is the theorist wh o appears to have had the greatest influence on literacy researchers working from a social constructivist perspective. Vygotsky’s approach to learning was holistic in nature, and he advocated the study of higher mental functions with all their complexity (Moll, 1990). Research on school literacy learning conducted from a social constructivist perspective suggests that students need to engage in authentic and relevant literacy activities, as opposed to rote memorization or repetitive worksheets contrived for practice (Au, 1998). The fourth element of my philosophy of literacy education is the importance of teaching literacy through bringing relevance, to establish a deep link between the students and the content. My student population is comprised of an array of diverse backgrounds, all coming together in my classroom. Literacy achievement of students of diverse backgrounds can be strengthened by moving from a mainstream orientation to a more diverse orientation, giving greate r consideration to issues of ethnicity, primary language, and social class (Au, 1998). Themes in constructivist work encourage creating relevant learning experiences for students as a central part of literacy acquisition, includingShow MoreRelatedPhilosophy Of Equitable Literacy And Language Education Essay2042 Words   |  9 PagesPhilosophy of Equitable Literacy and Language Education The purpose of education is to provide children with a further understanding of subjects and the world around them. Education gives children a chance to mature and develop socially and intellectually. Each and every child is unique and needs special individualized attention in the classroom in order to learn and grow. 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Hirsch, to be culturally literate is to possess the basic information to thrive in the modern world. It is the grasp on the background information that writers and speakers assume their audience already has. In his book, Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know, Hirsch sets forth 5,000 essential words and phrases of which each person should be knowledgeable. The list ranges from idioms to mythology, from science to fairyRead More Educational Philosophies Essay1574 Words   |  7 PagesEducational Philosophies Many different ideas of the correct educational philosophy exist. Highly acclaimed psychologists and educators developed these varying philosophies. Each of these philosophies have their strengths and weaknesses and have their positives and negatives in different situations. It is our job as educators to sift through this list of philosophies to find our own style and philosophy. We must research the pros and cons of each philosophy and pick and choose which sectionsRead MoreLiteracy Is The Cornerstone For All Learning926 Words   |  4 PagesLiteracy is the cornerstone to all learning; it is imperative to future academic success. (Tracey and Morrow, 2012). Due to the significance of literacy instruction, there are a myriad of ways to teach literacy. Literacy is a complex subject, honing in on balancing reading, writing, speaking, and listening. As a result of the complexity of literacy instruction, we arrive at the age-old debate of what is the best literacy instruction . My philosophy of literacy instruction centralizes around theRead MoreI Am A Great Philosophy Of Education1104 Words   |  5 PagesTeachers need a great philosophy of education, which includes a great philosophy of literacy. The philosophy of literacy contains two parts, which are the philosophy of reading and the philosophy of writing. 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The Stupidest Angel Chapter 2 Free Essays

Chapter 2 THE LOCAL GIRLS HAVE A WAY ABOUT THEM The Warrior Babe of the Outland steered her Honda station wagon down Cypress Street, stopping every ten feet or so for tourists who were stepping into the street from between parked cars, completely oblivious of any automobile traffic. My kingdom for a razor-blade cowcatcher and Cuisinart wheel covers to cut my path through this herd of ignorant peasant meat, she thought. Then: Whoa, I guess I really do need the meds. We will write a custom essay sample on The Stupidest Angel Chapter 2 or any similar topic only for you Order Now So she said, â€Å"They act like Cypress Street is the midway at Disneyland – like no one actually has to use the street to drive on. You guys wouldn’t do that, would you?† She glanced over her shoulder at the two damp teenage boys who were huddled in the corner of the backseat of the car. They shook their heads furiously. One said, â€Å"No, Miss Michon, no we’d never. No.† Her real name was Molly Michon, but years ago, as a B-movie queen, she’d done eight movies as Kendra, Warrior Babe of the Outland. She had a wild mane of blond hair shot with gray and the body of a fitness model. She could pass for thirty or fifty, depending on the time of day, what she was wearing, and how deeply medicated she was. Fans agreed that she was probably somewhere in her early to midforties. Fans. The two teenage boys in the backseat of the car were fans. They’d made the mistake of taking part of their Christmas break to go to Pine Cove in search of the famed cult-film star, Molly Michon, and get her autograph on their copies of Warrior Babe VI: Revenge of the Savage Skank, just released on DVD, with never-before-seen outtakes of Molly’s boobs popping out of her gun-metal bra. Molly had seen them skulking around the outside of the cabin she shared with her husband, Theo Crowe. She’d snuck out the back door and ambushed them on the side of the house with a garden hose – sprayed them down good, chased them through the pine forest till the hose reeled out of its cart, then she tackled the taller one and threatened to snap his neck if the other one didn’t stop in his tracks. Realizing at that point that she might have made a public relations error, Molly invited her fans to come along to help pick out a Christmas tree for the Santa Rosa Chapel Christmas Party for the Lonesome. (She had been making more than a few minor misjudgments lately, as she’d stopped taking her meds a week ago in order to save money for Theo’s Christmas present.) â€Å"So, where are you guys from?† she said cheerfully. â€Å"Please don’t hurt us,† said Bert, the taller, thinner of the two kids (She had been thinking of them as Bert and Ernie – not because they really looked like the puppets, but because they had the same relative shapes – except for the big hand up their bottoms, of course.) â€Å"I’m not going to hurt you. It’s great to have you along. The guys at the Christmas-tree lot are a little wary of me since I fed one of their coworkers to a sea monster a few years ago, so you guys can sort of act as a social buffer.† Damn, she shouldn’t have mentioned the sea monster. She’d had so many years of obscurity between the time she’d been pushed out of the movie business until the revival to cult status of her movies that she’d lost most of her people skills. And then there was that fifteen-year disconnect with reality when she’d been known as Pine Cove’s crazy lady – but since she’d hooked up with Theo, and had stayed on her anti-psychotics, things had been a lot better. She turned into the parking lot of Pine Cove Hardware and Gift, where a half acre of tarmac was corralled off for the Christmas-tree lot. Upon spotting her car, three middle-aged guys in canvas aprons quickstepped their way into the store, threw the bolt, and turned the  «Open » sign to CLOSED. She’d thought this might happen, but she wanted to surprise Theo, prove that she could handle getting the big Christmas tree for the chapel party. Now these narrow-minded minions of Black Decker were foiling her plans for a perfect Christmas. She took a deep breath and tried to exhale herself into a calm moment as her yoga teacher had instructed. Well, she did live in the middle of a pine forest, didn’t she? Maybe she should just go cut a Christmas tree herself. â€Å"Let’s just go back to the cabin, guys I have an ax there that will work.† â€Å"Noooooooo!† screamed Ernie as he reached across his damp friend, threw the latch on the Honda’s door, and rolled them both out of the moving car into a pallet of plastic reindeer. â€Å"Okay, then,† Molly said, â€Å"you guys take care. I’ll just see if I can cut a tree out of the front yard.† She swung around in the parking lot and headed back home. Slick with sweat, Lena Marquez slid out of her Santa suit like a baby lizard emerging from a fuzzy red egg. The temperature had risen into the high seventies before she’d finished her shift at the Thrifty-Mart, and she was sure she’d probably lost five pounds in water in the heavy suit. Wearing only her bra and panties, she padded into the bathroom and jumped on the scale to enjoy the surprise bonus weight loss. The disk spun and settled on her usual preshower weight. Perfect for her height, light for her age, but dammit, she’d fought with her ex, been pounded with ice, rang out good cheer for the less fortunate, and endured the jolly heat of the Santa suit for eight hours, she deserved something for her efforts. She took off her bra and panties and hopped back on the scale. No discernible difference. Dammit! She sat, peed, wiped, and jumped back on the scale. Maybe a third of a pound below normal. Ah! she thought, brushing her beard aside so she could read the scale more clearly, this could be the problem. She pulled off the white beard and Santa hat, flung them into the nearby bedroom, shook out her long black hair, and waited for the scale to settle. Oh yeah. Four pounds. She did a quick Tae Bo kick of celebration and stepped into the shower. She winced as she soaped up, hitting a sore spot there by her solar plexus. There were a couple of purple bruises developing on her ribs where the ice bag had hit her. She’d had more pain after doing too many crunches at the gym, but this pain seemed to shoot on through to her heart. Maybe it was the thought of spending Christmas alone. This would be her first since the divorce. Her sister, whom she’d spent the last few Christmases with, was going with her husband and the kids to Europe. Dale, total prick that he was, had involved her in all sorts of holiday activities from which she was now excluded. The rest of her family was back in Chicago, and she hadn’t had any luck with men since Dale – too much residual anger and mistrust. (He hadn’t just been a prick, he had cheated on her.) Her girlfriends, all of them married or paired up with semipermanent boyfriends, told her that she needed to be single for a while, spend some time getting to know herself. That, of course, was total bullshit. She knew herself, liked herself, washed herself, dressed herself, bought herself presents, took herself out on dates, and even had sex with herself from time to time, which always ended better than it used to with Dale. â€Å"Oh, that get-to-know-yourself stuff will send you full-blown batshit,† said her friend Molly Michon. â€Å"And believe me, I am the uncrowned queen of batshit. Last time I really got to know myself it turned out there was a whole gang of bitches in there to deal with. I felt like the receptionist at a rehab center. They all had nice tits, though, I gotta say. Anyway, forget that. Go out and do stuff for someone else. That’s much better for you. ‘Get to know yourself’ – what good is that? What if you get to know yourself and find out you’re a total harpy? Sure, I like you, but you can’t trust my judgment. Go do something for other people.† It was true. Molly could be – uh, eccentric, but she did make sense occasionally. So Lena had volunteered to man the Salvation Army kettle, she’d collected canned food and frozen turkeys for the Pine Cove Anonymous Neighbors food drive, and tomorrow night, as soon as it got dark, she was going to go out and collect live Christmas trees and drop them off at the homes of people who probably wouldn’t be able to afford them. That should take her mind off herself. And if it didn’t work, she’d spend Christmas Eve at the Santa Rosa Chapel Party for the Lonesome. Oh God, there it was. It was Christmastime, and she was in the Christmas spirit – she was feeling lonesome. To Mavis Sand, the owner of the Head of the Slug saloon, the word lonesome rang like the bell on a cash register. Come Christmas break, Pine Cove filled up with tourists seeking small-town charm, and the Head of the Slug filled up with lonesome, disenfranchised winners seeking solace Mavis was glad to serve it up in the form of her signature (and overpriced) Christmas cocktail, the Slow Comfortable Screw in the Back of Santa’s Sleigh, which consisted of – â€Å"Well, fuck off if you need to know what’s in it,† Mavis would say. â€Å"I’m a professional bartender since your daddy flushed the condom that held your only hope of havin’ a brain, so get in the spirit and order the goddamn drink.† Mavis was always in the Christmas spirit, right down to the Christmas-tree earrings that she wore year-round to give her that â€Å"new-car smell.† A sheaf of mistletoe the size of a moose head hung over the order station at her bar, and throughout the season, any unsuspecting drunk who leaned too far over the bar to shout his order into one of Mavis’s hearing aids would find that beyond the fluttering black nylon whips of her mascara-plastered pseudo lashes, behind the mole with the hair and the palette knife-applied cakes of Red Seduction lipstick, past the Tareyton 100s breath and the clacking dentures, Mavis still had some respectable tongue action left in her. One guy, breathless and staggering toward the door, claimed that she had tongued his medulla oblongata and stimulated visions of being choked in Death’s dark closet – which Mavis took as a compliment. About the same time that Dale and Lena were having their go-round down at the Thrifty-Mart, Mavis, perched on her stool behind the bar, looked up from a crossword puzzle to see the most beautiful man she’d ever lain eyes on coming through Slug’s double doors. What had once been a desert bloomed down under; where for years lay a dusty streambed, a mighty river did now flow. Her heart skipped a beat and the defibrillator implanted in her chest gave her a little jolt that sent her sluicing electric off her bar stool to his service. If he ordered a wallbanger she’d come so hard her tennis shoes would rip out from the toe curl, she knew it, she felt it, she wanted it. Mavis was a romantic. â€Å"Can I help you?† she asked, batting her eyelashes, which gave the appearance of spastic wolf spiders convulsing behind her glasses. A half-dozen daytime regulars who had been sitting at the bar turned on their stools to behold the source of that oily courtesy – there was no way that voice had come out of Mavis, who normally spoke to them in tones of disdain and nicotine. â€Å"I’m looking for a child,† said the stranger. He had long blond hair that fanned out over the rain flap of a black trench coat. His eyes were violet, his facial features both rugged and delicate, finely cut and yet with no lines of age or experience. Mavis tweaked the little knob on her right hearing aid and tilted her head like a dog who has just bitten into a plastic pork chop. Oh, how the pillars of lust can crumble under the weight of stupidity. â€Å"You’re looking for a child?† asked Mavis. â€Å"Yes,† said the stranger. â€Å"In a bar? On a Monday afternoon? You’re looking for a child?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"A particular child, or will just any child do?† â€Å"I’ll know it when I see it,† said the stranger. â€Å"You sick fuck,† said one of the daytime regulars, and Mavis, for once, nodded in agreement, her neck vertebrae clicking like a socket wrench. â€Å"Get the hell out of my bar,† she said. A long, lacquered fingernail pointed the way back out the door. â€Å"Go on, get out. What do you think this is, Bangkok?† The stranger looked at her finger. â€Å"The Nativity is approaching, am I correct?† â€Å"Yeah, Christmas is Saturday.† Mavis growled. â€Å"The hell does that have anything to do with anything?† â€Å"Then I’ll need a child before Saturday,† said the stranger. Mavis reached under the bar and pulled out her miniature baseball bat. Just because he was pretty didn’t mean he couldn’t be improved by a smack upside the head with a piece of earnest hickory. Men: a wink, a thrill, a damp squish, and before you knew it it was time to start raising lumps and loosening teeth. Mavis was a pragmatic romantic: love – correctly performed, she believed – hurts. â€Å"Smack ‘im, Mavis,† cheered one of the daytime regulars. â€Å"What kind of perv wears an overcoat in seventy-five-degree weather?† said another. â€Å"I say brain him.† Bets were beginning to be exchanged back by the pool table. Mavis tugged at an errant chin hair and peered over her glasses at the stranger. â€Å"Think you might want to move your little search on down the road some?† â€Å"What day is it?† asked the stranger. â€Å"Monday.† â€Å"Then I’ll have a diet Coke.† â€Å"What about the kid?† asked Mavis, punctuating the question by smacking the baseball bat against her palm (which hurt like hell, but she wasn’t going to flinch, not a chance). â€Å"I have until Saturday,† said the beautiful perv. â€Å"For now, just a diet Coke – and a Snickers bar. Please.† â€Å"That’s it,† Mavis said. â€Å"You’re a dead man.† â€Å"But, I said please,† said Blondie, missing the point, somewhat. She didn’t even bother to throw open the lift-away through the bar but ducked under it and charged. At that moment a bell rang, and a beam of light blasted into the bar, indicating that someone had come in from outside. When Mavis stood back up, leaning heavily on her back foot as she wound up to knock the stranger’s nads well into the next county, he was gone. â€Å"Problem, Mavis?† asked Theophilus Crowe. The constable was standing right where the stranger had been. â€Å"Damn, where’d he go?† Mavis looked around behind Theo, then back at the daytime regulars. â€Å"Where’d he go?† â€Å"Got me,† they said, a chorus of shrugs. â€Å"Who?† asked Theo. â€Å"Blond guy in a black trench coat,† said Mavis. â€Å"You had to pass him on the way in.† â€Å"Trench coat? It’s seventy-five degrees out,† said Theo. â€Å"I’d have noticed someone in a trench coat.† â€Å"He was a perv!† someone shouted from the back. Theo looked down at Mavis. â€Å"This guy flash you?† Their height difference was nearly two feet and Mavis had to back up a step to look him in the eye. â€Å"Hell no. I like a man who believes in truth in advertising. This guy was looking for a child.† â€Å"He told you that? He came in here and said he was looking for a kid?† â€Å"That’s it. I was just getting ready to teach him some –  » â€Å"You’re sure he hadn’t lost his kid? That happens, Christmas shopping, they wander away – ; â€Å"No, he wasn’t looking for a particular kid, he was just looking for a kid.† â€Å"Well, maybe he wanted to be a Big Brother or Secret Santa or something,† said Theo, expressing a faith in the goodness of man for which he had little to no evidence, â€Å"do something nice for Christmas.† â€Å"Goddammit, Theo, you dumbfuck, you don’t have to pry a priest off an altar boy with a crowbar to figure out that he’s not helping the kid with his Rosary. The guy was a perv.† â€Å"Well, I should probably go look for him.† â€Å"Well, you probably oughta should.† Theo started to turn to go out the door, then turned back. â€Å"I’m not a dumbfuck, Mavis. There’s no need for that kind of talk.† â€Å"Sorry, Theo,† said Mavis, lowering her baseball bat to show the sincerity of her contrition. â€Å"Why was it you came in, then?† â€Å"Can’t remember.† Theo raised his eyebrows, daring her. Mavis grinned at him. Theo was a good guy – a little flaky but a good guy. â€Å"Really?† â€Å"Nah, I just wanted to check with you on the food for the Christmas party. You were going to barbecue, right?† â€Å"I was planning on it.† â€Å"Well, I just heard on the radio that there’s a pretty good chance of rain, so you might want to have a backup plan.† â€Å"More liquor?† â€Å"I was thinking something that wouldn’t involve cooking outdoors.† â€Å"Like more liquor?† Theo shook his head and started toward the door. â€Å"Call me or Molly if you need any help.† â€Å"It won’t rain,† said Mavis. â€Å"It never rains in December.† But Theo was gone, out on the street looking for the trench-coated stranger. â€Å"It could rain,† said one of the daytime regulars. â€Å"Scientists say we could see El Nià ±o this year.† â€Å"Yeah, like they ever tell us until after half the state has washed away,† said Mavis. â€Å"Screw the scientists.† But El Ni;o was coming. El Ni;o. The Child. How to cite The Stupidest Angel Chapter 2, Essay examples

Women Should Never Be Trusted Essay Example For Students

Women Should Never Be Trusted Essay Even before the book, The Odyssey by Homer is created, there are many instances where women are to be believed as people who could not be trusted, and men has many different thoughts on how a woman acts. In The Odyssey, there are many dealings where this major theme of women continually repeats itself in books nine through twelve, where the lustful goddess, Circe tricks Odysseus men, and Clytemnestra, Agamemnons wife kills her own husband. Homer tries to point out that women cannot be trusted by showing numerous instances that women betray or trick men. Homer puts out that women are not dependable after the first of many examples where women deceive men. Odysseus is not the only one man who is tricked by a woman but many of his men at Aeaea Island got decieved as well. At Aeaea Island, Odysseuss men run into Circe, and Eurylochus, being wary, decides not to trust Circe while the others do, She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting us all in, and in we went, all innocence. But I stayed behind I sensed a trap (Homer, 10.281). Eurylochus shows his feelings on beautiful women such as Circe, when he says, I sensed a trap meaning that even though in The Odyssey people trusts other when it comes to hospitality he does not trust Circe since she is a woman. Sensing a trap even before Circe had done anything to the men shows distrust toward women in general. We will write a custom essay on Women Should Never Be Trusted specifically for you for only $16.38 $13.9/page Order now Eurylochus also expresses his opinion on the men for acting in all innocence since all of the men goes in without thinking about the consequence that would follow after. Without taking into account that Circe is a woman, the men all went in blind to the tricks up Circes sleeve. Later, at Aeaea Island, when Odysseus finds out that his men are pigs, he goes to confront Circe, In a golden bowl she mixed a potion for me to drink, stirring her poison, her heart aswirl with evil (10.350). Odysseus shows his disbelief toward Circe, when she had stirring her poison knowing from Hermes that inside that potion will poison him. Looking at Circe makes Odysseus feel that her personality is dark, when he think that her, heart aswirl with evil and not a woman that he should trust. Women, in total, are creatures that cannot be trusted at all in Homers point of view. Homer again conveys how women are not faithful and are backstabbers. When Odysseus meets Agamemnon in Hades, Agamemnon teaches Odysseus that he should not believe women. Agamemnon learns this lesson the hard way when his own wife, Clytemnestra, kills Agamemnon her own husband when he come back from the war in Troy. But she that whore, she turned against her back on me, well on my way to death she even lacked the heart to seal my eyes with her hands or to close my jaws. So, theres nothing more deadly, bestial than a woman () (11.481). When Agammenon rants about how women are all beasts, theres nothing more deadly, bestial than a woman shows how he feels that no one should trust a woman, even their own wife. Agammenon, who wholeheartedly believes that women are not people to be trusted, and that women have no heart, she even lacked the heart to seal my eyes with her hands or to close my jaws. If a woman has no heart, there is no reason to trust in that person, knowing that they will do harm. Agammenon tries to show Odysseus that never trusting women is the best path to go. Women backstabbers and hurtful people, and women are not to be believed no matter how related they are. .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a , .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .postImageUrl , .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a , .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a:hover , .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a:visited , .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a:active { border:0!important; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a:active , .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .uece1369de508d5c3c9906f69f1174b4a:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Essay about Resilience Of The Health Care Environment EssayThroughout The Odyssey, continually Homer shows different examples that try to prove that all women are evil, where Clytemnestra kills her own husband, and Circe tricks all of Odysseus men. Women are believed by Homer to be people that are not trustworthy or dependable. What Homer missed is the fact that it may be the man who makes themselves not trustful at the first place, so that the woman has no choice but to betray the untruthful men after all.