Hero Project Reflection

1. A hero becomes a hero by doing something to change someone's life, either physically, or by not giving up, because it would be an example to someone else.

2. The Hero in My Eyes project is about seeking someone who you think is a hero, and showing why they are you hero. You need to find out what makes a hero.

3. First, I wrote a rough draft, and I got it back with feedback saying that I need more physical descriptions of my hero. Then, I wrote up my second draft, and I got feedback saying that there were places (marked with boxes) that specified where I needed more showing and not telling. Finally, I got pictures, put the entire thing together on the form that we were given and presented it. I got a 48 out of 50.

4. I learned that the reason my hero is my hero is not because she went to the Olympics. The reason she is my hero is because she went to the Olympics and shattered her ankle, but she continued the sport through helping me to my goal. A challenge that I had was using showing sentences in a story full of dialog. Something that I would keep the same is the dialog. Dialog is fun, one of my favorite parts of writing.

5. I used one of the Habits of Mind in my project: Perspective. I changed the perspective from the dialog of me, to my coach recounting memories of her skating career.

6. Here's the link to my blog post: http://jovanmillet.blogspot.com/2009/11/final-hero-character-sketch.html

Final Hero Character Sketch

“So, Ms. Jaclyn, how did you prepare for the Junior Olympics?” I glanced over at her, standing behind me in a white fur jacket, dark brown hair flowing down to her mid-back. I looked back at my computer screen, and breathed out. The air was frigid. We were in an ice rink for a competition.

“Well,” my coach said, deep in thought. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her gaze was directed to the ceiling. “I trained twice a day, before school and in the afternoon. I did a lot of off-ice training too, and ballet. It was very important to run through my program twice, off ice and on ice.”

Jaclyn Lewis had trained a ton for this shot at the Olympics. It was intense thinking about it!

“How did you feel when you made it to the Junior Olympics?”

“I felt very excited and nervous.” She gave a laugh, hoping to break the air.

“Did you have to make any sacrifices along the way to becoming an Olympic-bound champion?”

Jaclyn sighed, and disappointment flooded the wall of air between us. “There were a lot of things.” She told me of all of the sorrows of not having sleepovers, and having to be homeschooled from 7^th grade on.

That’s right. I don’t give up much for skating, yet my coach gave up everything. She didn’t get to do any of the cool stuff that I’ll get to do at high school, and she didn’t get to have the social experience, like hanging out with friends at lunch or chatting before school starts about this and that. I can’t imagine it. My coach gave up everything to go to the gargantuan Olympics. I stared out the window, watching the cars zoom by and screeching in and out of parking spaces as I mulled over what her experience must have been like.

“So, how did you feel during the competition? Were you nervous? Determined?”

Jaclyn recounted her feelings from the smile that never left her face to the nervousness of looking at that ice.

She smiled, and her cheeks creased upwards as she remembered the last part. It reminded me of how a petulant child’s face would look after her father had given her the right doll.

I knew the feeling well. Worrying that your blades will break once you get on the ice, not that you’ll hurt yourself, but you’ll make a fool out of yourself. You look at the ice, and you have to look away so you don’t see the other people fall during their routines. It must’ve been insane, yet awesomely fun at the Junior Olympics!

As my coach was skating her long program, she fell to the ice with a thud and searing pain. Something in her foot was numb, and mangled. It was shattered. “How did you feel?” I asked.

“Well” she answered, grave and yet also light. She moved her arms up to her chest and hunched her shoulders closer to her chin, looking not like a sad person, but someone who was pouting! “It kinda sucked. She smiled again, and laughed heartily. “It hurt a whole lot, and I knew that I’d have to give up all of the skating I’d done competitively and that was a let-down. But I get to coach, and that’s really fun!” Her mood lightened. My coach was amazing at that kind of stuff; being able to remember something sad, but lighten herself up and not darken others’ moods.

“Well, thanks!” I said, hitting the save button and closing my laptop.

“Okay, get your skates on, you’re on in 20 minutes, and you need to get warmed up beforehand, too!” She said, confidently and jokingly, as more of a best friend than just a coach. I knew that she had stopped pushing herself after her dream; that would be futile. But if I wanted to go after that same dream, she could and definitely would help me along!

Literary Devices: Catching the Signal...

Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her skirt, took a deep breath and walked towards where he was sitting. He was sitting in his tunic leaning his back against an apple tree, green and healthy in the spring. Angela walked towards him, her plated skirt glinting like fire. The boy turned his eyes to her. He had such intelligent eyes, those of a wolf.

“What do you want?” He asked, staring at her with his uncaring, amber eyes.

Angela drew a breath and stumbled. It couldn’t be him. The day gave way to a white screen, and suddenly, she was in the past, looking at the world like a bird would. A young girl was training with a sword. She looked no older than about 8 years old. A young boy with amber eyes and dark umber hair to match scowled at her. After all of his work to get here, some girl had been accepted?! It wasn’t fair!

“How is it that a girl like you got to be here? I’ve worked years for this, and suddenly, someone like you gets to be accepted immediately? It’s not fair!” He shouted at her, storming off in fury.

The flashback fades off into white again, and then grows dark, transforming into a horrid scene.

A man with dark umber hair runs through the smoke, adorned in plate mail armor. The wind howls its rage at him. It was all his fault. This place would be reduced to cinders, and it would all be his fault. Even the trees are bent at him, frowning with anger…

The Origin of Zero, Answers

Q: What strikes you about these articles?

A: Well, I think that it's impressive that 0 dates all the way back to the Sumarians!

Q: How do we decide who discovers what?

A: I think it kind of depends on various things: The context that the "0" is in can determine what language it came from, and therefore, who discovered it.

Q: Who really discovered 0?

A: Well, technically, the concept of 0 was first discovered by the Sumarians. However, the actual number 0 was first used by the Chinese, being the open circle that we use now.

Q: How did the world come to a concencus?

A: From my understanding, it kind of spread around from tradesmen going from country to country using that symbol for 0, and it kind of just caught on.

I could've put his eye out...

The bamboo poles were cradled in our arms, one for each of us. We stood 20 paces apart, and had the poles aimed at each other, ready for a death match. I stared him down, and that look of “I don't want to do this.” spread on his face. At the sound of a horn, we both charged at each other, me going faster. Despair and impending doom lingered on his face as time seemed to slow. He held his pole cautiously, not wanting to hurt me, but also wanting to look like he enjoyed it. I know he didn't. Wyatt Holcomb was a withdrawn person, timid and reserved…He wanted to make friends but he didn't want to do things, like stick fighting, or playing war, that other people thought was fun.

            In a last-ditch attempt of withdrawing from the battle, he ducked. Smooth one, Wyatt. My bamboo pole, too long and heavy to control, hit him with a resounding thud right above his left eye. Blood dripped onto the ground, and the smell of it hung on the air, as daunting to my esteem as death. All that raced through my mind was 'Oh my god, what have I done?' He screamed and cried, hoping that time could be reversed, hoping that he'd be okay.

            By the end of it, his eye was cleaned up, but still, a long gash remained at the top of it. At least he wasn’t crying…crying makes me freak out, and then I’m not sure what to do…The paramedics came, and Wyatt climbed in. I looked at his face, not saying anything. I didn't need to. My face said everything. His eyes met mine, and they glowed with one single message. 'You dolt! I told you I didn’t want to do this, and if I die, my ghost will haunt you. By the way, I’ll get you back for laughing at my eye.' He could've lost and eye and it could've been my doing. The fine line that separated vision and seeing was breeched.  It would be a long time before I could look at him squarely without repenting my actions.

Sounds: Intercepting Signals

Imagine...You're playing your old Nintendo Entertainment System (NES). Suddenly the game crashes.  It plays one tone, without a break. It starts out as being annoying. Then, it soon develops into a soothing, hypnotic melody. It is as mysterious as the stars, but as calm as the night. You begin to realize that you are no longer listening intently, but slowly drifting off into sleep. Yes, as a hypnotist would guide you, the music is a reassuring hand. It's monotonous tone becomes the metronome-like watch dangled in front of you. You start to dream, and this odd sound influences them, as if he were the God of your will. It seems to control your mind. Suddenly, abruptly, it stops. Almost like a warning. Why should it go away? The sound if comfort, it is the least bit annoying. When it stops after going for five hypnotic minutes, it turns into a warning. That sound turns into a suggestion of danger.

The Locker Problem FINAL DRAFT! =D

Jovan Millet

October 1, 2009

The Locker Problem

THE LOCKER PROBLEM: The Solution

 

            Here’s the scenario: High Tech High has 1000 new lockers, and they have 1000 students to test them out. The 1^st student opens every locker. The 2^nd student changes the state of every other locker, starting with locker 2. The 3^rd student changes the state of every 3^rd locker, starting with number 3. The fourth student changes the state of every 4^th locker, starting with number 4, all the way until the 1000^th student has changed the state of the 1000^th locker. These are 10 lockers, with locker numbers 1, 4 and 10 open.

 

[ ] [X] [X] [ ] [X] [X] [X] [X] [ ] [X]

 

            I solved it this way. I started with 100 lockers first, to see how it would turn out. I looked at the open ones at the end, and saw that there were 10 open lockers: Numbers 1, 4, 9, 16, 25, 36, 49, 64, 81, and 100. I also noticed that these were all perfect squares. After testing my theory of all of the open lockers being perfect squares, I found I was correct, with 31 open lockers out of 1000.

 

Why are the open lockers perfect squares? Simple. In order for a locker to be open, it has to have been touched an odd number of times. The first locker was touched once (Student 1). The second one was touched twice (Student 1 and Student 2). The third one was touched twice (Student 1 and Student 3). The fourth locker was touched 3 times (Student 1, Student 2, and Student 4). Get it?

 

Finally, perfect squares have an odd number of factors, but the others don’t. as you may have noticed in my explanation above. Let’s compare the factors of 16, a perfect square, to the factors of 8, a regular number:

 

16 = 1, 2, 4, 4, 8, 16

8 = 1, 2, 4, 8

 

You could write out the factors of 16 like that, and say I’m wrong. However, one of those 4s is going to be canceled out, because there’re two of them. So, 16 would have five factors, and 8 would have 4. But why do perfect squares have an odd number of factors? Let’s group them into pairs.

 

16 = [1 x 16], [2 x 8], and [4 x ?]

8 = [1 x 8], and [2 x 4]

 

See? 16 has two pairs and a pair-less number, 4, while 8 has two pairs with no remaining numbers at the end of it.

 

Ta-Da! That’s the solution to The Locker Problem! I know it’s very cliché, but this was live, Saturday Night!