Lonesome George

Lonesome George was a Galapagos Pinta tortoise, a species known to scientists as Chelonoidis nigra abingdoni. When he died on June 24, 2012, George was estimated to be around one hundred years old and had lived in captivity for almost forty years. George was taken from the wild for good reason; he was the final member of his subspecies and scientists were desperate for him to produce offspring. Unfortunately, modern technology could not overcome biology and when Lonesome George died, the Galapagos Pinta tortoise ceased to exist. Despite the best efforts of science, George had never reproduced. After his death, Lonesome George’s body was not buried, but instead preserved to be put on display. The body traveled around the world for a while, a testament to the now extinct species, before returning to the Galapagos at the Tortoise Breeding and Rearing Center where George had spent the end of his life (“Last Pinta”).

When I was eleven years old, my grandfather took me to the Galapagos. He was in love with those islands and had been three or four times before. He was also in his late seventies and wanted to see them one final time. Almost the entire Galapagos archipelago is a National Park. To see the islands, you go by boat with a tour group and professional guide. My trip was spent hopping from island to island, sometimes visiting three or four a day. Each place we landed was both remarkably different and remarkably beautiful. I remember landing in places where the entire surface of the island was made of sharp, black obsidian. I remember islands of lush greenery and islands that were as barren as a desert. I remember the sky never wavered from electric blue. The animals of the Galapagos weren’t afraid of humans either. I suppose living in a national park your whole life could do that. To the animals of the island, we are not predators, but simply strange other animals. Birds landed on members of our tour group without a second thought.

Of my trip, I have two truly clear memories. One was seeing the taxidermied body of Lonesome George and the other was my grandfather, sitting on the roof of our boat watching the Galapagos sky. I’ll start with Lonesome George. George’s body is kept in a large glass case. He stands in a room designed to keep his body preserved. It’s clean, it’s white, and it’s barren like a hospital. After all these years, George is still alone. He’s also a strange sight to see. His body just looks so wrong. The room is sleek and modern, but George appears older than time itself. I suppose this makes sense. George’s species the Galapagos tortoise split from G. chilensis the mainland tortoise between six to twelve million years ago (for reference, humans have only existed for around two hundred thousand years at most)(Parent 4). George himself is also old. He lived through two world wars, nineteen US presidents, and five iPhone models (“Presidents”). In the birthplace of Darwinism, you have to wonder if the extinction of the Galapagos Pinta tortoise has something to do with a lack of evolution. While this played some role, the Galapagos tortoise was driven to extinction primarily by 19th century whalers who realized they could keep live tortoises in their ships to sustain themselves on long sea voyages (“Galapagos Giant Tortoises”). In the end, it was humanity that killed Lonesome George.

This is all very bleak. I don’t think I can tell the tale of extinction in a positive way, but I’ll try to end on a happier note.

My most distinct memory of Lonesome George is his pose. He looks noble and strangely proud. His head is raised like he’s looking forward into the future. His feet stand like he’s ready to take on anything. The corners of his mouth curl up in the ghost of a smile like he knows a secret. Maybe he does. George’s pose says something. Maybe he’s telling us “I contain the knowledge of the past. I lived through it all. I saw it all.” or maybe George is mocking us “You all paid the fifty dollar admission fee to see a dead turtle, so who’s really winning?”

This all brings me back to my grandfather as he stares at the sky from the roof of our small, white boat. He sat on that roof for most of our trip. The terrain of the Galapagos islands had become too hard for him to navigate. After seeing George, my eleven year old brain was swirling thinking about nebulous concepts like extinction which seemed both infinite and painfully finite. So, I went and sat with my Grandfather. Together we looked up at the sky. Together we looked forward to the future. My grandfather was smiling. I realize now I don’t know what will happen to humanity. We could evolve like the Galapagos Pinta tortoise failed to. Maybe, we’ll learn to outrun our 19th century whalers, whoever they may be. Maybe we won’t. I think all we can do is keep our heads up. Keep our heads up, and try to do more good than harm. Learn from our history and never make another creature “lonesome.” Stand together as we carry the knowledge of the past and look forward to the future. I give Lonesome George four and a half stars. The half star deduction is because of my unnecessary bitterness about the fifty dollar entrance fee.

Works Cited

BBC. (2012, June 24). Last Pinta giant TORTOISE Lonesome GEORGE DIES. BBC News. Retrieved September 26, 2021, from https://www.bbc.com/news/world/18574279.

Parent, Christine E., et al. “Colonization and Diversification of Galápagos Terrestrial Fauna: A Phylogenetic and Biogeographical Synthesis.” Philosophical Transactions: Biological Sciences, vol. 363, no. 1508, The Royal Society, 2008, pp. 3347–61, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20208750.

People's Trust for Endangered Species. (2019, January 21). Galapagos giant tortoises. People's Trust for Endangered Species. Retrieved September 26, 2021, from

https://ptes.org/grants/worldwide-projects/galapagos-giant-tortoises/.

The United States Government. (2021, February 16). Presidents. The White House. Retrieved September 28, 2021, from https://www.whitehouse.gov/about-the-white-house/presidents/.

Exploration of a Life Wasted in “The Snows of Kilimanjaro”

World War I, like all major conflicts, had a tremendous impact on the art and literature of its time; however, unlike some battles before it, the Great War would not create an artistic movement centered around the glorification of conflict; instead, according to David Lundberg, an author peer-reviewed and published by the Johns Hopkins University Press in the American Quarterly, the war would be influential in a literary movement which examined the “futility and wastefulness” (383) of bloodshed and violence. Perhaps the most notable and influential of post World War I literature came from Ernest Hemingway, an author who viewed his work as a way to communicate life lessons learned from “seeing what [he] had to see”(Orrok 443) and who would rather spend his life enduring difficulties than have “nothing to say”(Orrok 443). Specifically, Hemingway’s stories often use symbolism and imagery to communicate themes of death, hardship, and disillusionment that he learned from witnessing the horrors of World War I while working on the frontlines of battle as a military ambulance driver. While these themes are present in many Hemingway stories, “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” both illustrates these ideas through the plight of our protagonist, Harry, and exemplifies Hemingway’s writing style and philosophy. In the “Snows of Kilimanjaro,” Hemingway asserts that to live a meaningful life and find Heaven after death one cannot give themself over to the allure of comfort and wealth; instead, one must work for the achievements which fulfill them. To Hemingway, salvation comes only through struggle.

To communicate his philosophy throughout “The Snows of Kilimanjaro,” Hemingway uses the story of Harry’s unfulfilling life to illustrate the rotting and decay brought on by wealth and hedonism. As the protagonist of “The Snows of Kilimanjaro,” we watch Harry as he succumbs to gangrene. In his final hours, Harry is forced to reflect on his life and feels nothing but regret. He is a writer by trade, but has pursued frivolous pleasure instead of working hard at his art.

Rather than pursuing his passion of writing, Harry has “dulled his ability” (Hemingway 44) by living in “comfort” (Hemingway 44) and became “that which he despised” (Hemingway 44). Harry’s thoughts as his body deteriorates reveal that he is truly unhappy. He thinks only of how he has “destroyed his [literary] talent” (Hemingway 45) and committed “betrayals of himself” (Hemingway 45). Despite living a life of luxury and having his every want satisfied by the wealth of his wife, Harry loathes himself for his “laziness”(Hemingway 45) and “sloth” (Hemingway 45) which have prevented him from writing. He has wasted his life chasing pleasure through wonton spending and wild partying; however, because he is not pursuing his literary aspirations he fails to find any real fulfillment and eventually turns to drink to numb himself. Thus, Hemingway uses the story of Harry’s both opulent and meaningless life to show that earthly wealth only brings painful destruction instead of lasting contentment.

Not only does the story of Harry’s life illustrate the fleeting nature of material wealth and the true value of hard work, his death also communicates this message. Toward the end of his sad and short existence, Harry goes to Africa to learn to write again and even acknowledges he needs to “work the fat off his soul” (Hemingway 44) through struggle and perseverance. He fully understands that hardship and work are necessary to attain literary perfection; unfortunately, Harry’s weak will again causes him to fail. He does not struggle or work in Africa nor does he return to writing; instead, he continues his sybaritic lifestyle until a small untreated thorn scratch becomes gangrenous. Harry’s death of gangrene is filled with irony; moreover, this fatal infection parallels his life as both Harry’s leg and his literary talents rot because he fails to use even minimal effort to sustain them. As Harry lies dying of completely avoidable gangrene, his final thoughts are of the stories he never wrote. This pitiful unfulfilled life perfectly demonstrates Hemingway’s message. Harry has lived off unearned wealth his entire life and has never worked for anything; thus, he is unhappy and weak.

“The Snows of Kilimanjaro” does not end with Harry simply dying; instead, Hemingway gives the reader two possible endings to Harry’s journey into the afterlife. These two endings give the reader yet another glimpse of Hemingway's ideology: the rejection of riches in favor of toil. In the first ending, Harry finds himself on a plane flying to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. Hemingway notes that this summit is also referred to as the “House of God” (39); furthermore, he describes the titular peak as glowing “unbelievably white”(56). Thus, based on Hemingway's own words and imagery, a reader can deduce that this mountaintop represents Heaven, perfection, and fulfillment. Unfortunately, Harry never reaches this magnificent peak. Hemingway does not end his story at the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro; instead, he pulls the reader back into reality and shows Harry’s true fate. Harry dies of infection on the hot and arid plains of Africa while the “strange, human, almost crying”( Hemingway 56) of hyenas echoes around him; therefore, Hemingway illustrates that without work, without struggle, and without meaning Harry will never reach true satisfaction at Mount Kilimanjaro’s summit. In the words of Sam Bluefarb, a peer reviewed author for The Bulletin of the Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association, PhD holder, and an associate professor at Los Angeles Harbor College, Harry can “only catch a glimpse of

the Absolute”(9), but will never attain this truest perfection and happiness. Hemingway shows the reader that true satisfaction and lasting joy are not given; instead, they are earned.

To illustrate that perfection and happiness are attained through struggle, Hemingway also relies on symbolism, specifically the image of the mysterious leopard frozen near the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. Hemingway tells the reader this leopard is “dried and frozen” (39) near the western peak of the mountain which he notes is also referred to as the “House of God” ( 39). Thus, this leopard is “frozen” ( Hemingway 39) near the eternal perfection of God and the absolute. This “dried” ( Hemingway 39) and therefore eternal life strikes a stark contrast to the rotting flesh of Harry’s gangrenous leg. The leopard is the opposite of Harry. It perseveres and climbs to an altitude reached by few and seeks eternal perfection despite difficulty. Thus, in death, this majestic beast is rewarded with eternal life. Harry is contrasted with this leopard. He does not struggle nor does he persevere. He does not climb his mountain or work to pursue his true purpose as a writer. Instead, in the words of Douglas Orrok, a peer reviewed writer with work published by The Johns Hopkins University Press in Modern Language Notes, Harry commits “literary blasphemy” (445) by neglecting his talents. Writing and literature were Harry's meaning in life, and the stories he wanted to tell were his mountain. Harry never wrote these stories and never even attempted to climb toward the peaks of perfection. Thus, he is punished as his life and body rots away. Douglas Orrok summarizes Hemingway's point succinctly: Harry is an artist who has “blasphem[ed] against the Gods of Parnassus [and] is sacrificed in the ascent of the mystic peak” (445).

A reader can deduce by examining Hemingway’s life and notes about the literary process, that his work was not facile or shallow; instead, Hemingway used symbolism including the frozen leopard and the events and plot of his stories to convey a much deeper message. Hemingway’s writing communicates not only themes of hopelessness and despair, but also the value of hard work and the necessity of struggle and perseverance; moreover, he illustrates to the reader the devastating effects of opulence, hedonism, and laziness. This message is unquestionably transcendent as time and time again those who choose comfort and waste over perseverance and honest work are ultimately rewarded with unhappiness and despair. For example, the recent College Admission Scandal, which according to Tom Huddleston, a writer for CNBC with a master's degree in journalism from Syracuse University, was a scheme by wealthy parents to get their children into college by paying for an illegal “side door,” a blatant form of “cheating.” Students whose parents used their wealth for this deception were expelled from elite universities and never reached the peaks of their potential. Instead, they were rightfully punished for their efforts to circumvent the sacrifice and hard work needed to breathe the rarified air at the pinnacle of the American educational system.

Works Cited

Bluefarb, Sam. “The Search for the Absolute in Hemingway's ‘A Clean, Well-Lighted Place’ and ‘The Snows of Kilimanjaro.” The Bulletin of the Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association, vol. 25, no. 1, 1971, pp. 3–9. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1346601. Accessed 17 Feb. 2021.

Ernest, Hemingway. “The Snows of Kilimanjaro.” The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1987, pp. 39-56.

Huddleston, Tom. “How an Ex Basketball Coach Tried to Pull off the Biggest College Admissions Scam Ever, Allegedly Roping in CEOs and Celebs.” CNBC, CNBC, 13 Sept. 2019,

www.cnbc.com/2019/08/11/american-greed-inside-college-admissions-scandal.html.

Lundberg, David. “The American Literature of War: The Civil War, World War I, and World War II.” American Quarterly, vol. 36, no. 3, 1984, pp. 373–388. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2712739. Accessed 20 Feb. 2021.

Orrok, Douglas Hall. “Hemingway, Hugo, and Revelation.” Modern Language Notes, vol. 66, no. 7, 1951, pp. 441–445.

JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2909984. Accessed 21 Feb. 2021.

Renfroe’s Foodland: Local Market

Renfroe’s Foodland is the setting of a modern southern gothic horror story. It seemed to open overnight in the blackened remains of a Bruno’s Grocery Store in the strip mall near my house. One day, the building had cracked windows and empty knocked over shelves, and the next a glowing neon sign proclaimed “Renfroe’s Foodland: Local Market.” I was glad when it opened because I thought it would be nice to have a grocery store by my house again. Then, I went inside. Renfroe’s is quite possibly the strangest place I have ever been. It’s not even just the physical building or the products they sell; it's the feeling you get when you enter.

The feeling starts when you arrive in the parking lot. I live in a small town, there aren't many people, but the parking lot at Renfroe’s is ridiculously large; it’s probably enough space for most of the town to have a spot and then some. The lot is usually mostly empty, but for some reason or another the spots close to the store are always taken, sometimes not even by cars, but by shopping carts left by customers or weird delivery trucks that seem to sit there for hours. The walk to the store seems endless. There are no trees or islands of grass to break up the distance, just a sea of black macadam. The lines meant to demarcate parking spots have long worn away and the only thing to keep you company on your journey are the shopping carts people are too lazy to return. The carts seem to leer at you as you pass them. They poke out of the ground like the ruins of once-great civilization. Almost every time I’ve visited Renfroe's I’ve seen carts in the lot that are turned over on their side or twisted beyond recognition. This is where the feeling starts. It’s a subtle twisting in your stomach, a feeling that the air is suddenly too still, and while your insides don’t hurt; you start to feel inexplicably hollow, like someone has taken all your blood and organs away, leaving you an empty husk. It’s not the feeling that something is wrong; it’s the feeling that something has shifted, that the rhythm of the world has fallen off beat. If you look up now you’ll see the red neon sign. It taunts you. Do you turn back? I don’t. Renfroe’s is the only place in town that sells Diet Coke in a twenty-six pack for only ten ninety-nine.

So, if you’re like me and you realize Renfore’s has really good prices, you continue forward and ignore the hollowness, and the stillness, and the strange silence. That’s when you reach the sliding doors. The doors have signs on them, but I use the term “signs'' loosely. They are pieces of paper pinned to the glass windows clearly printed from a home computer and a printer in desperate need of a cartridge change. The signs must have been on neon paper at one point, but now they have faded and bled to sickening pastels. I realize now I’ve never actually read one of the signs. I stare at the letters, but they refuse to form words. The doors slide open now. You’d expect a sound or even a screech to match the store’s foreboding atmosphere, but the doors are completely silent. They seem to move without moving at all. “Last chance” you may think, but you're wrong. It’s already too late. The golden lights beckon and you enter Renfroe’s Foodland: Local Market.

The first thing you’ll notice is the products. Some of them are familiar. It lulls you into a false sense of security. Then you’ll notice the wrongness of them. It’s the brands you recognize: same packaging, same logo, same smiling mascots, but the writing on the package is in another language. “Oh” you think “So like they got the Spanish version of Cheerios.” No. The language isn’t one you’ll recognize, it's like Czech or Salish, but even more alien. Something that doesn’t fit in a family owned grocery store in rural Alabama. Something strange and otherworldly. I wish the strange language was the weirdest thing about Renfore’s products, but the store is like an old house down in the French Quarter or a political campaign- the closer you look the more rot you see. You’ll look in the meat section like I did not too long ago. There’s ground beef, and chicken tenders, and ground lamb, and horse hooves, and cow eyes. That’s the thing about Renfroe’s: you can’t look too closely. Take your chicken tenders and leave. Don’t ask questions you shouldn’t and don’t look longer than you should. Yes, there are barrels of rotten produce. They aren’t for you. Keep walking.

You have to move quickly now. Don’t make eye contact with the other customers and they won’t make eye contact with you. If you look at them closely you’ll notice they look familiar, like someone you met a long time ago, but whose name you have forgotten. They seem to drift through the store with no direction. Don’t start a conversation with these wanderers. No one wants to have an awkward conversation at the grocery store. Proceed to checkout.

Checkout at Renfroe’s is disconcerting. I think the owner must have hired too many employees and then didn’t have the heart to fire them. The employees mill around in their black outfits and wait for customers that never come. Their eyes are big and vacuous. When you look into them, you get that feeling. The feeling there’s too much space, but not enough people. Like the mold that’s visible isn’t the worst the store has to hide. Throw your items on the conveyor belt. Then realize the belt doesn’t work and awkwardly shuffle them to your cashier while multitudes of other cashiers stare at you blankly. Your total will flash in red numbers on a cash register ripped from the 80s. Always pay in cash. The chip reader is broken, but only when you’re just carrying cards. And then it’s over. Then doors slide open and you exit. You walk back across the lot and shake your head. You think to yourself “next time I’ll go to Whole Foods,” but you won’t. Whole Foods

is a rip off that sells nonsense like drinking vinegar. The soft lights of the store will beckon again soon and you won’t resist. You’ll be back to Renfroe’s Foodland: Local Market. Don’t worry, I’ll be there too. I’d rather risk my soul for Diet Coke than pay thirty bucks for kombucha.

Self-Determination in The Great Gatsby

The nineteen twenties was a time of opulence in American society. Exemplifying this time of extravagant parties and new thought was none other than F. Scott Fitzgerald, an author and New York socialite. While the surface of the nineteen twenties shimmered, all that glitters is not gold. Though parties raged through the night, a growing sense of disillusionment stoked by the aftermath of World War I spread throughout the nation. This disillusion and doubt in basic societal structures such as the notion of class are seen throughout The Great Gatsby. In the novel, Fitzgerald uses symbolism to convey the lack of agency and autonomy one truly has, showing instead that man is the victim of a repressive and vicious cycle. While this perspective is legitimate and influenced by the period in which Fizgerald lived, I disagree with the idea that one has no control, and instead I believe man has agency.

Fitzgerald’s belief in a complete lack of autonomy is seen throughout The Great Gatsby conveyed through the symbolism surrounding the eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleberg. The novel first introduces these eyes, part of an old gas station billboard, as they “brood over the solemn dumping ground”(Fitzgerald 24). The eyes first appear when Tom’s affair with Myrtle is revealed and continue to appear at pivotal moments in the novel. The eyes of the doctor cause Nick to “remember Gatsby’s caution about gasoline”( Fitzgerald 122) prompting Tom, Nick, and Jordan to stop and refuel on their trip to the city on the day of Myrtle’s death. This scene foreshadows what is to come as the eyes “regard [the group] with a peculiar intensity”(Fitzgerald 124) seeming to be judging them for their actions and offering a warning to Nick of the horrors which will soon befall all involved in the twisted web of affairs. This foreshadowing in addition to the recurring motif of the vigilant doctor’s eyes allude to the existence of a higher power and demonstrate the lack of autonomy the characters truly have. The eyes watch Tom and Myrtle’s affair and warn Nick that something is going to happen; therefore, showing that the death of Myrtle and later Gatsby is inevitable. In the story, the eyes exist as a god-like figure which watches, judges, and ultimately determines the fate of the characters. After the death of his wife, Wilson communicates this sentiment. He stares at the “pale and enormous” (Fitzgerald 160) eyes of the doctor and says God knows “everything you’ve been doing” (Fitzgerald 159) and that “you can’t fool God”(Fitzgerald 159). Thus, the characters have no true control. While they may have chosen affairs, in the end they cannot control the effects this cheating will have or who will suffer because of it. Instead, Fitzgerald asserts someone else is the judge, jury, and executioner.

While Fitzgerald believes that man’s destiny is preordained, many works of literature disagree with this idea. Works that demonstrate agency include Ernest Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. In The Snows of Kilimanjaro, Hemingway illustrates man’s agency by depicting Harry’s tragic life and early death as a consequence of his own actions. Harry dies as a result of a gangrenous wound that he “didn’t pay attention” (Hemingway 41) to; therefore, his death is completely his own fault. This contrasts with Gatsby’s death which occurred as a result of the actions of Daisy and Tom not directly because of his own mistakes. Thus, Hemingway disagrees with Fitzgerald and argues that man has control over his own fate.

Hemingway’s sentiment is also expressed by Zora Neale Hurston. In Their Eyes Were Watching God, Janie finds control over her narrative. Near the end of her story, Tea Cake is transformed into a rabid and violent husk of his former self representing the abusive relationships and men Janie has been forced to endure. He is like a “mad dog” ( Hurston 231) who tries to intimidate Janie. For her own protection, Janie is forced to kill Tea Cake symbolically also killing the violence of men she has had to face. In this scene, Janie practices autonomy and determines her own fate. Hurston further demonstrates Janie’s control at the end of the novel as she “pull[s] in her horizon”( Hurston 243) and “drape[s] it over her shoulder” ( Hurston 243) taking her life and future into her own hands. I agree with the interpretation expressed by Hurston and Hemingway. While obstacles exist, in real life people do have agency. Even Fitzgerald shows limited agency through his characters. While Gatsby is killed by Wilson because of Daisy's poor driving and Tom’s affair, he also contributes to his death by choosing both to have an affair with Daisy and not stopping the car when Daisy hits Myrtle. So even Fitzgerald, who believes characters are “borne back ceaselessly into the past”(Fitzgerald 184) must admit Gatsbty has some agency.

I believe that man has agency and autonomy. My views align with that of romantics and I see a world in which one has the power to change and improve their both lives and society as opposed to an oppressive system of misery. I agree with romantics that change can occur in a system and believe that work and education are pathways to improving status and the key to upward mobility. While this idea may seem optimistic and naive, I acknowledge that societal systems and patterns can inhibit one from achieving their goals or improving their social status. My more optimistic view is shaped in part by my family who made tremendous sacrifices for education as a route to improved status. Thus, I am surrounded by those

who have made great leaps within the system. This conclusion is similar to the ideas of authors such as Hemingway and Hurston who see that one holds their life in their hands and chooses what they make of themselves.

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Kathleen Doyle 378 friends

4 reviews

Review for: Selling Sunset

★★★☆☆

Selling Sunset is a reality tv show about the hottest and most horrible people yelling at each other for four seasons. It’s glorious. The basic premise of the show follows the relationships, careers, and lives of the female real estate agents of the Oppenheim Group, a brokerage in charge of selling the multimillion dollar homes of the Hollywood Hills and Sunset Boulevard. The show has all the hallmarks of good reality tv: a tall blond bully named Christine, conflict over literally nothing, and consent saccharide pop music. The show also has no deeper message. That’s why I love it.  Sometimes you just need to stare at a screen and turn your brain off. I have no interest in trying to let my tv shows prove my intelligence. Keep your analysis essay on the poignant political messages of Squid Games to yourself. Christine just called Chrishell two faced and someone’s about to throw their drink. I’m on the edge of my seat, and I give Selling Sunset three stars, but only because four seasons isn’t enough.

Review for: The Most Dangerous Game

★★★★☆

The Most Dangerous Game is a decidedly grisly story. The basic premise is simple: a man, Rainsford, arrives on an island after being shipwrecked, he is offered salvation in exchange for being hunted through the night like an animal, Rainsford then survives the night only to lose his humanity. Yikes. The basic premise of the story alone is unquestionably sickening, but when I read it in my

eighth-grade English class it wasn’t the plot that really turned my stomach, it was the politeness. The hunter, the man who proposes the bloody game and who has developed a taste for hunting his fellow humans, is named General Zaroff. Zaroff is a gentleman through and through, treating Rainsford with the utmost respect before proposing his little game. The general maintains his refined demeanor even until his last breath when Rainsford wins the game and kills him. I think this must mean something. Maybe, it’s showing us that evil isn’t big or showy. That the most inhumane among us may have an enviable wine cellar and good table manners. That all the trappings of civilization cannot cut away the beast. I don’t really know. I’ve only been alive for sixteen years. I haven’t seen true evil, or maybe I have and I just didn’t notice. Anyway, it’s something to think about. I don’t really know the moral here. Maybe, Richard Connell is telling us that humanity isn’t as developed as we’d like to think. Maybe, he’s telling us that the most powerful and refined among us can be savage too. Maybe, he’s advising we look in the mirror before making the delineation between man and beast. These are heavy thoughts, but I suppose they’re needed when questioning the nature of humanity. If you're wondering what my take on human nature is, you’ll have to keep wondering. I have not lived enough life to make up my mind. I give The Most Dangerous Game four stars. It’s an interesting story, but I find it upsetting to think about. I think that may be the point.

Review for: Sunchips

☆☆☆☆☆

In 1991, darkness fell. By that I mean in 1991 Frito-Lay launched SunChips, unequivocally the worst chips ever created. Let's start with the basics: SunChips both look and taste like corrugated cardboard. They have the texture of wet sandpaper and the misleading marketing of a health food product. SunChips marketing is probably the biggest problem I have with the brand as a whole. A cursory glance at the Frito-Lay website will show that the  multimillion dollar corporation is definitely trying to pass these fried chips off as healthy, which they’re not. I suppose they taste so bad people must assume they have to be healthy right? Wrong. SunChips have no redeeming qualities and are simply a blight upon the universe. I would give them negative stars if I could.

Review for: Voltaire

⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫

I’ve decided I like Voltaire. He reminds me that this world is ridiculous. Born in 1694, Voltaire was a French Enlightenment thinker whose real name was Francois-Marie Arouet (Voltaire was a pen-name). Though he lived before the United States was a country,  back when doctors still bled people and indoor plumbing was a thing of the future, most of Voltaire’s quotes remain applicable today. These quotes include brilliant pithy statements such as: “I disapprove of what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it,” “Judge a man by his questions rather than his answers,” and “Every man is guilty of the good he didn’t do.” While I appreciate Voltaire for his philosophy, I actually like him for another reason: he’s funny. Voltaire made commentary on intolerance, freedom, love, life, and death. He also said “Behind every successful man is a surprised mother-in-law.” For this quote alone, I give him five stars. When Voltaire lived, the world was in chaos; he was persecuted for his satirical commentary on both religion and government. His home nation of France was on the verge of revolution. But when is the world not in chaos? I think that’s why Voltaire is so transcendent: he saw the world for what it was, a beautiful ridiculous mess, and smiled. In his own words “God is a comedian playing to an audience that is too afraid to laugh.” I think I’m tired of being afraid. Maybe I’ll take Voltaire’s advice and start laughing. Also, I’ve decided to give Voltaire six circles. The world is ridiculous, so my ranking system should be as well.