Academic Strategies

This is a five-part assignment. You should have already accessed the assignment in Canvas and completed the previous four steps: 1 . Watch the Academic Strategies video. 2. Practice annotating Plat's Allegory of the Cave using the concepts taught In the video. 3. Watch the video lecture on the Allegory of the Cave and practice taking notes during the lecture. 4. Take the practice quiz In Canvas to see how well you were able to anticipate the questions. The fifth and final part of the assignment Is to save and submit this file, along with a copy of your annotated allegory and lecture notes.Note: there are scanner is each of the 1 1 open-access computer labs on campus. Assignment Assess how effective your notes and annotations were. Before scanning your notes and annotation, clearly identify by quiz number where relevant information is present. For example, if question one was answered in your annotation marks, put a number one next to that part in your annotation. Complete the two gri ds and questions below before saving and submitting in Canvas along with your two other scanned files. Quiz Question Did you miss the question? Is the answer to the question In your text annotation or lecture notes?Text Annotation Lecture Notes Match each part of the allegory with the best possible interpretation. Partly This information I found in my notes. I think I Just got confused about how I had written it and how I interpreted it. Based on the lecture, which of the following Is NOT true of Socrates? No Both Which of the following fictional works was given In lecture as an example of an allegory. No The prisoners chained at the base of the cave are like . Yes Again, I think I Just misinterpreted my notes and what I thought was the idea. What does the sun outside the cave represent?No Which of the following is not true in the Banking Model of Education? Yes I didn't read the â€Å"not true† part of the question and instead answered what I thought was true. What is the si gnificance of the activity of â€Å"naming? † Liberal Arts Education is the process of becoming a free person liberated from intellectual vices such as apathy, lack of curiosity, and ignorance. Using the metaphors and symbols of the cave, why does the university require students to engage in the process of Liberal Arts Education? No Both. Could have connected it better to the story.Even the best students often encounter challenges with their study skills throughout their college career. In fact, it is not uncommon for students who earned As in high school to seek out additional study strategies once they experience the variety of coursework in college. Identify a couple of challenges that you may expect to encounter with regard to your own study skills, and then discuss the resources available and your action plan to overcome those challenges. Challenges Resources Action Plan Example: Inability to fully concentrate and take notes during a long lecture. US Academic Resource Ce nter online information and workshops, I. . Information about active listening during lectures. Read the information on the ARC website about listening during lectures. Practice habits of an effective listener listed on the website. Take a quick nap before class, put phone and laptop away, and practice concentrating during history class. Visit ARC workshop if that doesn't work. 1. I am worried I will be a procrastinator, and not work as hard as I should on my studying. I can go use the US Academic Resource Center and watch helpful videos. I can also offer to some of the videos that have been used on the US 1010 Canvas course.Start making study schedules. I need to start doing my homework when it is handed out and fresh in my mind. I need to do homework when it is first available for me to do it. I can also make calendars and plan out my weeks. 2. I will also struggle to keep up with the rest of the class. I am a slow learner, and I am worried I will fall behind. I can use the resour ces my professor gives me, like Supplemental groups and use the opportunity to study with my peers. I need to start going to Supplemental Instruction Courses and make time to learn more when I am not aught up.I need to make sure I put in extra time to study and stay caught up. Did you use your annotation and notes while taking the quiz? If so, would you have done as well if this was a closed-note quiz? I did use my notes and annotation, but I think I would have probably done Just as well as I did without them. What did you learn while doing this assignment? It is important to do well on note-taking and annotating. Even if you are not able to use those on a test or quiz, you retain more information by writing it down and going through the material repeatedly afterwards.

Justification of Human Violence Through Fight Club Essay

Throughout the history of the Human Race, violence and destruction is a reoccurring theme. In modern society we view ourselves as socially and economically evolved people when comparing ourselves to our ancestors, who were barbaric and uncivilized in comparison. However, our society has not evolved very far from this. There remains an instinct and desire for chaos and destruction in humans. I will not say this applies to all people, but it cannot be agued that the Human species is the single most destructive creature on the planet Earth. We have created war amongst each other, creating weapons and advancing our sciences for the sake of finding new and better ways of killing each other. The violence is not only contained in war, but in our entertainment as well. Romans used to watch gladiators kill each other in the coliseum, and we today watch action movies of men blowing each other up with guns and dynamite. Video games themselves allow you to kill and maim people, but why would someone want to play a game where you kill someone? Why does a violent and gory movie become so popular? What is it about aggression, destruction, and violence that attracts people? Sigmund Freud developed many theories and ideas about the human mind and explores society and its effects on people. This, as well as the movie and book â€Å"Fight Club†, will help to give insight into the minds of violent people and will give reasoning to their destructiveness. The majority of the world is made up of people who have an urge for violence and corruption, even if they don’t consider themselves to be, and the book â€Å"Fight Club† gives examples of this. Fight Club† is a book that was first written by Chuck Palahniuk in 1996 and was later transitioned into a film in 1999 starring Edward Norton and Brad Pitt. In this story, the narrator, who is never named in neither the film nor the book, but has been referred to as jack, is an office worker who lost his view on life and has one bad thing happen to him after another. He has insomnia, his condo was blown up by a gas leak, and he is overwhelmed by work, finding himself in different places after he falls asleep. To cure his insomnia, he goes to cancer meetings and other such help group. It is her where he is allowed to cry and have everyone around him assume the worst. This helps him to sleep until his lie is reflected by a woman who starts to do the same thing. Her name is Marla and keeps Jack from being able to cry. They agree to different days so that he can be alone and they ironically become close by the end of the book, due to the fact that Jack is constantly bitter towards her while she is at the self help meetings. He eventually meets a character named Tyler Durden on a business trip and finds himself living with him. Tyler is much more outgoing and adventurous than Jack, and soon becomes his mentor and teacher. After one night of some drinks, Tyler starts a fight with Jack for fun. They continue to do this every few nights and eventually gather a crowd of other men that want to fight as well. They then create fight club, a weekly gathering where two men are put together to brawl against each other in a circle of shouting man. Tyler leads this whole thing, with Jack at his side, but Fight Club grows more and more into a cult, and Tyler creates his own personal army which he call project mayhem, which has the sole purpose of bringing chaos and madness on the buttoned down society that shunned them away and led them to believe that they could be something they’re not. What Tyler tries to teach Jack throughout the story is that he needs to â€Å"hit bottom† meaning that he must detach himself from everything in his life. He says â€Å"It is only when we have nothing that we are free to do anything. With nothing to lose, no one can threaten you and you can do whatever you want. Tyler wanted to teach the world this and planned on using his followers to accomplish this. His big plan was to destroy all the major credit card company buildings and their records, putting everyone’s credit to zero. What Jack eventually finds out is that Tyler is his own split personality. Tyler is an extension of Jack, and only he sees him, but whatever Tyler has ever said to anyone or done, it was really Jack. Fight Club helps to evaluate the reasoning and deduction of violence and the need for chaos. Tyler tells his followers that they have been promises by industry that they could become movie gods and rock stars, but they’re not, and â€Å"we’re slowly learning that fact, and we are very, very pissed off. † Fight Club was created because of the first night with Jack and Tyler, and Tyler says â€Å"How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight. I don’t want to die without any scares. † This means to say that a man is considered to show his true worth and self in a fight. It can show that he is either brave or a coward, or strong or weak. Most people cannot say that they’ve actually been in a fight before, but there is much to be learned about ones self if they are ever to encounter one. However, there are some that have actually started real fight clubs and follow the teachings of the fictional character of Tyler Durden. There do exist real fight clubs. USA Today wrote an online news article about software engineers near the age of 30 to 40, who hold fight clubs in a garage every two weeks. This is inspired by the movie, and these people that fight do it to exert their anger and frustration into something physical. They meet up and have full fledged fights with each other, two at a time and sometimes with weapons to. They took the movie and book quite literally, and many parallels can be seen. The article quotes one of the men who say â€Å"I have fantasies about it† compared to the movie where the narrator says â€Å"You aren’t alive anywhere like you’re alive at fight club. † Another man says â€Å"You get to be a superhero for a night. We have to go to work every day. We’re constantly told to buy things we don’t need, and just for a couple hours we have the freedom to do what we want to do. This is near to what Tyler Durden teaches about losing touch with personal possessions and going back to the hunter gatherer sense and also being able to do what you want. These technical engineers joined a fight club and enjoy it. They say they feel powerful and â€Å"macho†. It can therefore be dismissed that only unintelligent people would have the sense to be in a fight, seeing as we have software engineers doing it. There are other fight club that are started by teens, but they are unfortunate in the fact that sometimes a person is unwilling to fight and is beaten by his attacker. These teenagers get caught and arrested after they make DVD’s of the fight to sell online. This is the ignorant side of fighting. The tech engineers only fight with each other and organize it together, but these teenagers choose to turn it into an act of bullying by prying on the weak and taking advantage of them. It is dishonourable and untrue to the true nature and message of Fight Club. Many people can see the reasoning behind these fighting engineers, but others only see the teenager side of fight club and see it as grotesque, violent, and meaningless. The main idea though, is to put more meaning to your life than that new T. V you want, or the sofa you saw in an Ikea magazine that you think matches your curtains. There is a quote that depicts the meaning Tyler’s lesson very well. It’s from a kid named Lester in a book called â€Å"The Brimstone Journals†. He is talking about his mother working days and his dad working nights, saying â€Å"All so they can buy more crap. Man, it reminds me way too much of this movie on TV where a bunch of slaves were moving some big statue of a god. They had it on these logs that were like rollers and most of the laves pushed this god while the rest picked up the last log and hustled it around to the front. They did this all day. † The meaning behind this is that most people are stuck in the social loop of working hours like a drone, only to buy something you don’t really need. Society has everyone working hard so we can take our money and put it into the system we’re working for. The point is to drive yourself to become more than that and learn more about yourself through fight club. The other people of the fight clubs mentioned could defend to this. The movie has a scene where Jack is mad about his condo being destroyed and the amount of stuff he had in it, saying its ok, his insurance will cover it. This is when Tyler laughs and say â€Å"The things you own, end up owning you. † Meaning we become dependant and needy for material possessions. Fight Club certainly promotes violence, but it does it in a way so others don’t have to become involved if they choose so. It is a good way to get ride of anger and frustration compared to how others have done it before. As long as others have an outlet to express these feelings, others are safe. Some people choose to express their anger with a different violence witch targets others. Husbands sometime hit their wives, a student may bring a gun to school, or maybe even an office worker. These things have happened and are very unfortunate to have done so. In the book , â€Å"The Brimstone Journals† which depict poems of student in high school and their thoughts, Lester is holding his dad’s gun saying he wouldn’t hurt anyone with it, but if he did he would do it naked in the gym saying â€Å"They wouldn’t laugh then, would they? The jocks would crap their pants. The girls’d kiss my fat feet. † These people became unhappy and were mistreated and decided to act back. With fight club, anger is not contained and built up; it is exerted with friends in a brawl. As stated previously, Fight Club remains to be about finding happiness and disconnecting from society. Sigmund Freud has a writing titled, â€Å"Civilization and its Discontents† and in one chapter, he evaluates how men find it difficult to become happy and that the source of our misery is our civilization and the comfort that we as humans have made for ourselves. He says (pg38) â€Å"What we call our civilization is largely responsible for our misery, and that we should be much happier if we gave it up and returned to primitive conditions. † This is the main goal of Tyler Durden in â€Å"Fight Club†. He wants to bring civilization back to its primitive roots because it’s better than the narrowed society and community that we have worked so hard to make for ourselves. He says in the movie â€Å"In the world I see – you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You’ll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You’ll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you’ll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway. † This is the world that Tyler wants to create. A world where skyscrapers and highways are but remnants of an old life, and civilization has downgraded into a society of those who only perform what they need to, and are not bound by industries. Freud goes on to say that (pg38) â€Å"It is a certain fact that all the things with which we seek to protect ourselves against the threats that emanate from the sources of suffering are part of that very civilization. † Mean that society that we have created for ourselves has also created the source of our suffering. Buddhism is known to have said that the source of all suffering comes from wanting something. However, we have created an economy of â€Å"want†, surrounded by advertisements, TV commercials and supermarkets. If wanting something is suffering, then we have created it ourselves and surrounded ourselves with it. Later in this text, he states that â€Å"It was discovered that a person becomes neurotic because he cannot tolerate the amount of frustration which society imposes on him in the service of its cultural ideals, and it was inferred from this that the abolition or reduction of those demands would result in a return to possibilities of happiness. † (pg39) This means that the idea of happiness in our society is reliant on the basis of a lack of work. Our lives are clustered and overwhelmed by housework, jobs, food shopping, and the idea of not doing any of that is the only thing we know as happiness and yet we are stuck in a paradoxical loop. We want to be happy, we have to buy a new coffee table, if we want that then we have to work, if we have to do that, we have to be unhappy. Being happy should not be based on the sheer contrast of unhappiness. Freud changes his subject to man’s view of God. He goes on to say â€Å"To these gods he attributed everything that seemed unattainable to his wishes, or that these gods were cultural ideals. To-day he has come very close to the attainment of this ideal, he has almost become god himself. †(pg44). What he means by this is that gods used to be beings of unforeseen knowledge with the ability to control the element and do as they please, but we have reached an age where we can control our own world and our knowledge has gone beyond what we could have ever imagined. Freud goes on to say â€Å"Future ages will bring with them new and probably unimaginably great advances in this field of civilization and will increase man’s likeness to God still more†¦. an does not feel happy in his Godlike character. †(pg45) This merely re-emphasises what is being said. That our technological and scientific advances allow us to become the God that man has always praised. We are able to alter DNA, remove and fertilise embryos, and the list goes on. In â€Å"Fight Club†, the father figure is what is expected to be seen as a person’s view of god. The narrator says† What you end up doing, is you spend your life searching for a father and God. What you have to consider is the possibility that God doesn’t like you. Could be, God hates us. This is not the worst thing that could happen. Getting God’s attention for being bad was better than getting no attention at all. Maybe because God’s hate is better than His indifference. † The brings a religious aspect to the subject. It can be questioned as to weather or not God is the reason people act violently. This is true, seeing as there are cases where people commit murder in the claim that God â€Å"told them† to do it. And yet, an entire war happened all in the name of God, it was also known as the Crusades. Could the only way to get God’s recognition is to be bad? I can’t be argued that religion has in fact created war, hatred towards other beliefs and murder. Violence is clearly an innate part of the human race as far as history and as a society. â€Å"Fight Club† helps to give a view that gives a justification for fighting and violent actions. With the help of â€Å"Fight Club† and the theories of Sigmund Freud, we have developed a better understanding as to the reasoning of actual fight clubs. We can see that they are not events where the innocent are beaten, but rather gatherings where men can exhort their anger and frustration into a physical manifestation of punches and kicks. We can see now that this type of violence among other people who want it, is better than the type of violence where others are dragged into it unwillingly. â€Å"Fight Club† says a lot of things about society and civilization being the source of our misery, as well as contains parallels with the work of Sigmund Freud. The book â€Å"Fight Club† has influenced many lives and has changed the ideals and views of many. The majority of the world is made up of people who have an urge for violence and corruption, even if they don’t consider themselves to be, and the book â€Å"Fight Club† gives examples of this.

Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk

I N V I S I B L E M O N S T E R S Chuck Palahniuk W. W. Norton & Company New York †¢ London For Geoff, who said, â€Å"This is how to steal drugs. † And Ina, who said, â€Å"This is lip liner. † And Janet, who said, â€Å"This is silk georgette. † And my editor, Patricia, who kept saying, â€Å"This is not good, enough. â€Å"CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CHAPTER THIRTY-TWOCHAPTER O N E Where you're supposed to be is some big West Hills wedding reception in a big manor house with flower arrangements and stuffed mushrooms all over the house. This is called scene setting: where everybody is, who's alive, who's dead. This is Evie Cottrell's big wedding reception moment. Evie is standing halfway down the big staircase in the manor house foyer, naked inside what's left of her wedding dress, still holding her rifle. Me, I'm standing at the bottom of the stairs but only in a physical way. My mind is, I don't know where.Nobody's all-the-way dead yet, but let's just say the clock is ticking. Not that anybody in this big drama is a real alive per-son, either. You can trace everything about Evie Cottrell's look back to some television commercial for an organic shampoo, except right now Evie's wedding dress is burned down to just the hoopskirt wires orbiting her hips and just the little wire skeletons of all the silk flowers that were in her hair. And Evie's blonde hair, her big, teased-up, backcombed rainbow in every shade of blonde blown up with hairspray, well, Evie's hair is burned off, to o.The only other character here is Brandy Alexander, who's laid out, shotgunned, at the bottom of the staircase, bleeding to death. What I tell myself is the gush of red pumping out of Brandy's bullet hole is less like blood than it's some sociopolitical tool. The thing about being cloned from all those shampoo commercials, well, that goes for me and Brandy Alexander, too. Shotgunning anybody in this room would be the moral equivalent of killing a car, a vacuum cleaner, a Barbie doll. Erasing a computer disk. Burning a book. Probably that goes for killing anybody in the world.We're all such products. Brandy Alexander, the long-stemmed latte queen supreme of the top-drawer party girls, Brandy is gushing her insides out through a bullet hole in her amazing suit jacket. The suit, it's this white Bob Mackie knock-off Brandy bought in Seattle with a tight hobble skirt that squeezes her ass into the perfect big heart shape. You would not believe how much this suit cost. The mark-up is abo ut a zillion percent. The suit jacket has a little peplum skirt and wide lapels and shoulders. The single-breasted cut is symmetrical except for the hole pumping out blood.Then Evie starts to sob, standing there halfway up the staircase. Evie, that deadly virus of the moment. This is our cue to all look at poor Evie, poor, sad Evie, hairless and wearing nothing but ashes and circled by the wire cage of her burnedup hoop skirt. Then Evie drops the rifle. With her dirty face in her dirty hands, Evie sits down and starts to boo-hoo, as if crying will solve anything. The rifle, this is a loaded thirtyaught rifle, it clatters down the stairs and skids out into the middle of the foyer floor, spinning on its side, pointing at me, pointing at Brandy, pointing at Evie, crying.It's not that I'm some detached lab animal just conditioned to ignore violence, but my first instinct is maybe it's not too late to dab club soda on the bloodstain. Most of my adult life so far has been me standing on s eamless paper for a raft of bucks per hour, wearing clothes and shoes, my hair done and some famous fashion photographer telling me how to feel. Him yelling, Give me lust, baby. Flash. Give me malice. Flash. Give me detached existentialist ennui. Flash. Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism. Flash. Probably it's the shock of seeing my one worst enemy shoot my other worst enemy is what it is.Boom, and it's a win-win situation. This and being around Brandy, I've developed a pretty big Jones for drama. It only looks like I'm crying when I put a handkerchief up under my veil to breathe through. To filter the air since you can about not breathe for all the smoke since Evie's big manor house is burning down around us. Me, kneeling down beside Brandy, I could put my hands anywhere in my gown and find Darvons and Demerols and Darvocet 100s. This is everybody's cue to look at me. My gown is a knock-off print of the Shroud of Turin, most of it brown and white, draped and cut s o the shiny red buttons will button through the stigmata.Then I'm wearing yards and yards of black organza veil wrapped around my face and studded with little hand-cut Austrian crystal stars. You can't tell how I look, face-wise, but that's the whole idea. The look is elegant and sacrilegious and makes me feel sacred and immoral. Haute couture and getting hauler. Fire inches down the foyer wallpaper. Me, for added set dressing I started the fire. Special effects can go a long way to heighten a mood, and it's not as if this is a real house. What's burning down is a re-creation of a period revival house patterned after a copy of a copy of a copy of a mock-Tudor big manor house.It's a hundred generations removed from anything original, but the truth is aren't we all? Just before Evie comes screaming down the stairs and shoots Brandy Alexander, what I did was pour out about a gallon of Chanel Number Five and put a burning wedding invitation to it, and boom, I'm recycling. It's funny, bu t when you think about even the biggest tragic fire it's just a sustained chemical reaction. The oxidation of Joan of Arc. Still spinning on the floor, the rifle points at me, points at Brandy. Another thing is no matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.Except for all this high drama, it's a really nice day. This is a warm, sunny day and the front door is open to the porch and the lawn outside. The fire upstairs draws the warm smell of the fresh-cut lawn into the foyer, and you can hear all the wedding guests outside. All the guests, they took the gifts they wanted, the crystal and silver and went out to wait on the lawn for the firemen and paramedics to make their entrance. Brandy, she opens one of her huge, ring-beaded hands and she touches the hole pouring her blood all over the marble floor. Brandy, she says, â€Å"Shit. There's no way the Bon Marche will take this suit back. Evie lifts her face, her face a f inger-painting mess of soot and snot and tears from her hands and screams, â€Å"I hate my life being so boring! † Evie screams down at Brandy Alexander, â€Å"Save me a window table in hell! † Tears rinse clean lines down Evie's cheeks, and she screams, â€Å"Girlfriend! You need to be yelling some back at me! † As if this isn't already drama, drama, drama, Brandy looks up at me kneeling beside her. Brandy's aubergine eyes dilated out to full flower, she says, â€Å"Brandy Alexander is going to die now? † Evie, Brandy and me, all this is just a power struggle for the spotlight.Just each of us being me, me, me first. The murderer, the victim, the witness, each of us thinks our role is the lead. Probably that goes for anybody in the world. It's all mirror, mirror on the wall because beauty is power the same way money is power the same way a gun is power. Anymore, when I see the picture of a twenty-something in the newspaper who was abducted and sodomized a nd robbed and then killed and here's a front-page picture of her young and smiling, instead of me dwelling on this being a big, sad crime, my gut reaction is, wow, she'd be really hot if she didn't have such a big honker of a nose.My second reaction is I'd better have some good head and shoulders shots handy in case I get, you know, abducted and sodomized to death. My third reaction is, well, at least that cuts down on the competition. If that's not enough, my moisturizer I use is a suspension of inert fetal solids in hydrogenated mineral oil. My point is that, if I'm honest, my life is all about me. My point is, unless the meter is running and some photographer is yelling: Give me empathy. Then the flash of the strobe. Give me sympathy. Flash. Give me brutal honesty. Flash. â€Å"Don't let me die here on this floor,† Brandy says, and her big hands clutch at me. My hair,† she says, â€Å"My hair will be flat in the back. † My point is I know Brandy is maybe proba bly going to die, but I just can't get into it. Evie sobs even louder. On top of this, the fire sirens from way outside are crowning me queen of Migraine Town. The rifle is still spinning on the floor, but slower and slower. Brandy says, â€Å"This is not how Brandy Alexander wanted her life to go. She's supposed to be famous, first. You know, she's supposed to be on television during Super Bowl halftime, drinking a diet cola naked in slow motion before she died. † The rifle stops spinning and points at nobody.At Evie sobbing, Brandy screams, â€Å"Shut up! † † You shut up,† Evie screams back. Behind her, the fire is eating its way down the stairway carpet. The sirens, you can hear them wandering and screaming all over the West Hills. People will just knock each other down to dial 9-1-1 and be the big hero. Nobody looks ready for the big television crew that's due to arrive any minute. â€Å"This is your last chance, honey,† Brandy says, and her bloo d is getting all over the place. She says, â€Å"Do you love me? † It's when folks ask questions like this that you lose the spotlight.This is how folks trap you into a best-supporting role. Even bigger than the house being on fire is this huge expectation that I have to say the three most worn-out words you'll find in any script. Just the words make me feel I'm severely fingering myself. They're just words is all. Powerless. Vocabulary. Dialogue. â€Å"Tell me,† Brandy says. â€Å"Do you? Do you really love me? † This is the big hammy way Brandy has played her whole life. The Brandy Alexander nonstop continuous live action theater, but less and less live by the moment. Just for a little stage business, I take Brandy's hand in mine.This is a nice gesture, but then I'm freaked by the whole threat of blood-borne pathogens, and then, boom, the ceiling in the dining room crashes down and sparks and embers rush out at us from the dining room doorway. â€Å"Even if y ou can't love me, then tell me my life,† Brandy says. â€Å"A girl can't die without her life flashing before her eyes. † Pretty much nobody is getting their emotional needs met. It's then the fire eats down the stairway carpet to Evie's bare ass, and Evie screams to her feet and pounds down the stairs in her burned-up white high heels.Naked and hairless, wearing wire and ashes, Evie Cottrell runs out the front door to a larger audience, her wedding guests, the silver and crystal and the arriving fire trucks. This is the world we live in. Conditions change and we mutate. So of course this'll be all about Brandy, hosted by me, with guest appearances by Evelyn Cottrell and the deadly AIDS virus. Brandy, Brandy, Brandy. Poor sad Brandy on her back, Brandy touches the hole pouring her life out onto the marble floor and says, â€Å"Please. Tell me my life. Tell me how we got here. † So me, I'm here eating smoke just to document this Brandy Alexander moment.Give me att ention. Flash. Give me adoration. Flash. Give me a break. Flash. CHAPTER T W O Don't expect this to be the kind of story that goes: and then, and then, and then. What happens here will have more of that fashion magazine feel, a Vogue or a Glamour magazine chaos with page numbers on every second or fifth or third page. Perfume cards falling out, and full-page naked women coming out of nowhere to sell you make-up. Don't look for a contents page, buried magazine-style twenty pages back from the front. Don't expect to find anything right off.There isn't a real pattern to anything, either. Stories will start and then, three paragraphs later: Jump to page whatever. Then, jump back. This will be ten thousand fashion separates that mix and match to create maybe five tasteful outfits. A million trendy accessories, scarves and belts, shoes and hats and gloves, and no real clothes to wear them with. And you really, really need to get used to that feeling, here, on the freeway, at work, in your marriage. This is the world we live in. Just go with the prompts. Jump back twenty years to the white house where I grew p with my father shooting super-8 movies of my brother and me running around the yard. Jump to present time with my folks sitting on lawn chairs at night, and watching these same super-8 movies projected on the white side of the same white house, twenty years later. The house the same, the yard the same, the windows projected in the movies lined up just perfect with the real windows, the movie grass aligned with the real grass, and my movie-projected brother and me being toddlers and running around wild for the camera. Jump to my big brother being all miserable and dead from the big plague of AIDS.Jump to me being grown up and fallen in love with a police detective and moved away to become a famous supermodel. Just remember, the same as a spectacular Vogue magazine, remember that no matter how close you follow the jumps: Continued on page whatever. No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all. There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That's how your whole life will feel some day.This is all practice. None of this matters. We're just warming up. Jump to here and now, Brandy Alexander bleeding to death on the floor with me kneeling beside her, telling this story before here come the paramedics. Jump backward just a few days to the living room of a rich house in Vancouver, British Columbia. The room is lined with the rococo hard candy of carved mahogany paneling with marble baseboards and marble flooring and a very sortof curlicue carved marble fireplace. In rich houses where old rich people live, everything is just what you'd think. The rubrum lilies in the enameled vases are real, not silk.The cream-colored drapes are silk, n ot polished cotton. Mahogany is not pine stained to look like mahogany. No pressed-glass chandeliers posing as cut crystal. The leather is not vinyl. All around us are these cliques of Louis-the-Fourteenth chair-sofa-chair. In front of us is yet another innocent real estate agent, and Brandy's hand goes out: her wrist thick with bones and veins, the mountain range of her knuckles, her wilted fingers, her rings in their haze of marquise-cut green and red, her porcelain nails painted sparkle pink, she says, â€Å"Charmed, I'm sure. If you have to start with any one detail, it has to be Brandy's hands. Beaded with rings to make them look even bigger, Brandy's hands are enormous. Beaded with rings, as if they could be more obvious, hands are the one part about Brandy Alexander the surgeons couldn't change. So Brandy doesn't even try and hide her hands. We've been in too many of this kind of house for me to count, and the realtor we meet is always smiling. This one is wearing the standa rd uniform, the navy blue suit with the red, white, and blue scarf around the neck.The blue heels are on her feet and the blue bag is hanging at the crook of her elbow. The realty woman looks from Brandy Alexander's big hand to Signore Alfa Romeo standing at Brandy's side, and the power blue eyes of Alfa attach themselves; those blue eyes you never see close or look away, inside those eyes is the baby or the bouquet of flowers, beautiful or vulnerable, that make a beautiful man someone safe to love. Alfa's just the latest in a year-long road trip of men obsessed with Brandy, and any smart woman knows a beautiful man is her best fashion accessory.The same way you'd product model a new car or a toaster, Brandy's hand draws a sight line through the air from her smile and big boobs to Alfa. â€Å"May I introduce,† Brandy says, â€Å"Signore Alfa Romeo, professional male consort to the Princess Brandy Alexander. † The same way, Brandy's hand swings from her batting eyelashe s and rich hair in an invisible sight line to me. All the realty woman is going to see is my veils, muslin and cut-work velvet, brown and red, tulle threaded with silver, layers of so much you'd think there's nobody inside. There's nothing about me to look at so most people don't.It's a look that says: Thank you for not sharing. â€Å"May I introduce,† Brandy says, â€Å"Miss Kay Maclsaac, personal secretary to the Princess Brandy Alexander. † The realty woman in her blue suit with its brass Chanel buttons and the scarf tied around her neck to hide all her loose skin, she smiles at Alfa. When nobody will look at you, you can stare a hole in them. Picking out all the little details you'd never stare long enough to get if she'd ever just return your gaze, this, this is your revenge. Through my veils, the realtor's glowing red and gold, blurred at her edges. Miss Maclsaac,† Brandy says, her big hand still open toward me, â€Å"Miss Maclsaac is mute and cannot speak . † The realty woman with her lipstick on her teeth and her powder and concealer layered in the crepe under her eyes, her preta-porter teeth and machine-washable wig, she smiles at Brandy Alexander. â€Å"And this . . . ,† Brandy's big ring-beaded hand curls up to touch Brandy's torpedo breasts. â€Å"This . . . ,† Brandy's hand curls up to touch pearls at her throat. â€Å"This . . . ,† the enormous hand lifts to touch the billowing piles of auburn hair. â€Å"And this . . . ,† the hand touches thick moist lips. This,† Brandy says, â€Å"is the Princess Brandy Alexander. † The realty woman drops to one knee in something between a curtsy and what you'd do before an altar. Genuflecting. â€Å"This is such an honor,† she says. â€Å"I'm so sure this is the house for you. You just have to love this house. † Icicle bitch she can be, Brandy just nods and turns back toward the front hall where we came in. â€Å"Her Highness and Miss Maclsaac,† Alfa says, â€Å"they would like to tour the house by themselves, while you and I discuss the details. † Alfa's little hands flutter up to explain, † . . . the transfer of funds †¦ the exchange of lira for Canadian dollars. â€Å"Loonies,† the realty woman says. Brandy and me and Alfa are all flash frozen. Maybe this woman has seen through us. Maybe after the months we've been on the road and the dozens of big houses we've hit, maybe somebody has finally figured out our scam. â€Å"Loonies,† the woman says. Again, she genuflects. â€Å"We call our dollars ‘Loonies',† she says and jabs a hand in her blue purse. â€Å"I'll show you. There's a picture of a bird on them,† she says. â€Å"It's a loon. † Brandy and me, we turn icicle again and start walking away, back to the front hall. Back through the cliques of chairsofa-chair, past the carved marble.Our reflections smear, dim, and squirm behind a lifetim e of cigar smoke on the mahogany paneling. Back to the front hallway, I follow the Princess Brandy Alexander while Alfa's voice fills the realtor's bluesuited attention with questions about the angle of the morning sun into the dining room and whether the provincial government will allow a personal heliport behind the swimming pool. Going toward the stairs is the exquisite back of Princess Brandy, a silver fox jacket draped over Brandy's shoulders and yards of a silk brocade scarf tied around her billowing pile of Brandy Alexander auburn hair.The queen supreme's voice and the shadow of L'Air du Temps are the invisible train behind everything that is the world of Brandy Alexander. The billowing auburn hair piled up inside her brocade silk scarf reminds me of a bran muffin. A big cherry cupcake. This is some strawberry auburn mushroom cloud rising over a Pacific atoll. Those princess feet are caught in two sort of gold lame leg-hold traps with little gold straps and gold chains. These are the trapped-on, stilted, spike-heeled feet of gold that mount the first of about three hundred steps from the front hall to the second floor.Then she mounts the next step, and the next until all of her is far enough above me to risk looking back. Only then will she turn the whole strawberry cupcake of her head. Those big torpedo, Brandy Alexander breasts silhouetted, the wordless beauty of that professional mouth in full face. â€Å"The owner of this house,† Brandy says, â€Å"is very old and supplementing her hormones and still lives here. † The carpet is so thick under my feet I could be climbing loose dirt. One step after another, loose and sliding and unstable. We, Brandy and Alfa and me, we've been speaking English as a second language so long that we've forgotten it as our first.I have no native tongue. We're eye level with the dirty stones of a dark chandelier. On the other side of the handrail, the hallway's gray marble floor looks as if we've climbed a st airway through the clouds. Step after step. Far away, Alfa's demanding talk goes on about wine cellars, about kennels for the Russian wolfhounds. Alfa's constant demand for the realty woman's attention is as faint as a radio call-in show bouncing back from outer space. † . . . the Princess Brandy Alexander,† Alfa's warm, dark words float up, â€Å"she is probable to remove her clothes and scream like the wild horses in even the crowded restaurants †¦ The queen supreme's voice and the shadow of L'Air du Temps says, â€Å"Next house,† her Plumbago lips say, â€Å"Alfa will be the mute. † † . . . your breasts,† Alfa is telling the realty woman, â€Å"you have two of the breasts of a young woman . . . † Not one native tongue is left among us. Jump to us being upstairs. Jump to now anything being possible. After the realtor is trapped by the blue eyes of Signore Alfa Romeo, jump to when the real scamming starts. The master bedroom will a lways be down the hallway in the direction of the best view. This master bathroom is paneled in pink mirror, every wall, even the ceiling.Princess Brandy and I are everywhere, reflected on every surface. You can see Brandy sitting on the pink counter at one side of the vanity sink, me sitting at the other side of the sink. One of us is sitting on each side of all the sinks in all the mirrors. There are just too many Brandy Alexanders to count, and they're all being the boss of me. They all open their white calfskin clutch bags, and hundreds of those big ringbeaded Brandy Alexander hands take out new copies of the Physicians' Desk Reference with its red cover, big as a Bible. All her hundreds of Burning Blueberry eye shadow eyes look at me from all over the room. You know the drill,† all her hundreds of Plumbago mouths command. Those big hands start pulling open drawers and cabinet doors. â€Å"Remember where you got everything, and put it back exactly where you found it,† the mouths say. â€Å"We'll do the drugs first, then the makeup. Now start hunting. † I take out the first bottle. It's Valium, and I hold the bottle so all the hundred Brandys can read the label. â€Å"Take what we can get away with,† Brandy says, â€Å"then get on to the next bottle. † I shake a few of the little blue pills into my purse pocket with the other Valiums. The next bottle I find is Darvons. Honey, those are heaven in your mouth,† all the Brandys look up to peer at the bottle I'm holding. â€Å"Does it look safe to take too many? † The expiration date on the label is only a month away, and the bottle is still almost full. I figure we can take about half. â€Å"Here,† a big ring-beaded hand comes at me from every direction. One hundred big hands come at me, palm up. â€Å"Give Brandy a couple. The princess is having lower back pain again. † I shake ten capsules out, and a hundred hands toss a thousand tranquilizers onto the red carpet tongues of those Plumbago mouths.A suicide load of Darvon slides down into the dark interior of the continents that make up a world of Brandy Alexander. Inside the next bottle are the little purple ovals of 2. 5milligram—sized Premarin. That's short for Pregnant Mare Urine. That's short for thousands of miserable horses in North Dakota and Central Canada, forced to stand in cramped dark stalls with a catheter stuck on them to catch every drop of urine and only getting let outside to get fucked again. What's funny is that describes pretty much any good long stay in a hospital, but that's only been my experience. Don't look at me that way,† Brandy says. â€Å"My not taking those pills won't bring any baby horses back from the dead. † In the next bottle are round, peach-colored little scored tablets of 100-milligram Aldactone. Our homeowner must be a junkie for female hormones. Painkillers and estrogen are pretty much Brandy's only two food groups, an d she says, â€Å"Gimme, gimme, gimme. † She snacks on some little pink-coated Estinyls. She pops a few of the turquoise-blue Estrace tablets. She's using some vaginal Premarin as a hand cream when she says, â€Å"Miss Kay? † She says, â€Å"I can't seem to make a fist, Sweetness.Do you think, maybe you can wrap things up without me while I lie down? † The hundreds of me cloned in the pink bathroom mirrors, we check out the make-up while the princess goes off to cat nap in the cabbage rose and old canopy bed glory of the master bedroom. I find Darvocets and Percodans and Compazines, Nembutals and Percocets. Oral estrogens. Anti-androgens. Progestons. Transdermal estrogen patches. I find none of Brandy's colors, no Rusty Rose blusher. No Burning Blueberry eye shadow. I find a vibrator with the dead batteries swollen and leaking acid inside.It's an old woman who owns this house, I figure. Ignored and aging and drugged-out old women, older and more invisible to the world every minute, they must not wear a lot of make-up. Not go out to fun hot spots. Not boogie to a party froth. My breath smells hot and sour inside my veils, inside the damp layers of silk and mesh and cotton georgette I lift for the first time all day; and in the mirrors, I look at the pink reflection of what's left of my face. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest one of all? The evil queen was stupid to play Snow White's game.There's an age where a woman has to move on to another kind of power. Money, for example. Or a gun. I'm living the life I love, I tell myself, and loving the life I live. I tell myself: I deserved this. This is exactly what I wanted. CHAPTER T H R E E Until I met Brandy, all I wanted was for somebody to ask me what happened to my face. â€Å"Birds ate it,† I wanted to tell them. Birds ate my face. But nobody wanted to know. Then nobody doesn't include Brandy Alexander. Just don't think this was a big coincidence. We had to meet, Brandy an d me. We had so many things in common. We had close to everything in common.Besides, it happens fast for some people and slow for some, accidents or gravity, but we all end up mutilated. Most women know this feeling of being more and more invisible everyday. Brandy was in the hospital for months and months, and so was I, and there's only so many hospitals where you can go for major cosmetic surgery. Jump back to the nuns. The nuns were the worst about always pushing, the nuns who were nurses. One nun would tell me about some patient on a different floor who was funny and charming. He was a lawyer and could do magic tricks with just his hands and a paper napkin.This day nurse was the kind of nun who wore a white nursing version of her regular nun uniform, and she'd told this lawyer all about me. This was Sister Katherine. She told him I was funny and bright, and she said how sweet it would be if the two of us could meet and fall madly in love. Those were her words. Halfway down the b ridge of her nose, she'd look at me through wire-framed glasses, their lenses long and squared the way microscope slides look. Little broken veins kept the end of her nose red. Rosacea, she called this. It would be easier to see her living in a gingerbread house than a convent.Married to Santa Claus instead of God. The starched apron she wore over her habit was so glaring white that when I'd first arrived, fresh from my big car accident, I remembered how all the stains from my blood looked black. They gave me a pen and paper so I could communicate. They wrapped my head in dressings, yards of tight gauze holding wads of cotton in place, metal butterfly sutures gripping all over so I wouldn't unravel. They fingered on a thick layer of antibiotic gel, claustrophobic and toxic under the wads of cotton. My hair they pulled back, forgotten and hot under the gauze where I couldn't get at it.The invisible woman. When Sister Katherine mentioned this other patient, I wondered if maybe I'd see n him around, her lawyer, the cute, funny magician. â€Å"I didn't say he was cute,† she said. Sister Katherine said, â€Å"He's still a little shy. † On the pad of paper, I wrote: still? â€Å"Since his little mishap,† she said and smiled with her eyebrows arched and all her chins tucked down against her neck. â€Å"He wasn't wearing his seatbelt. † She said, â€Å"His car rolled right over the top of him. † She said, â€Å"That's why he'd be so perfect for you. † Early on, while I was still sedated, somebody had taken the mirror out of my bathroom.The nurses seemed to steer me away from polished anything the way they kept the suicides away from knives. The drunks away from drinks. The closest I had to a mirror was the television, and it only showed how I used to look. If I asked to see the police photos from the accident, the day nurse would tell me, â€Å"No. † They kept the photos in a file at the nursing station, and it seemed an ybody could ask to see them except me. This nurse, she'd say, â€Å"The doctor thinks you've suffered enough for the time being. † This same day nurse tried to fix me up with an accountant whose hair and ears were burned off in a propane blunder.She introduced me to a graduate student who'd lost his throat and sinuses to a touch of cancer. A window washer after his three-story tumble head first onto concrete. Those were all her words, blunder, touch, tumble. The lawyer's mishap. My big accident. Sister Katherine would be there to check my vital signs every six hours. To check my pulse against the sweep second hand on her man's wristwatch, thick and silver. To wrap the blood pressure cuff around my arm. To check my temperature, she'd push some kind of electric gun in my ear.Sister Katherine was the kind of nun who wears a â€Å"wedding ring. And married people always think love is the answer. Jump back to the day of my big accident, when everybody was so considerate. The peop le, the folks who let me go ahead of them in the emergency room. What the police insisted. I mean, they gave me this hospital sheet with â€Å"Property of La Paloma Memorial Hospital† printed along the edge in indelible blue. First they gave me morphine, intravenously. Then they propped me up on a gurney. I don't remember much of this, but the day nurse told me about the police photos.In the pictures, these big eight-by-ten glossies as nice as anything in my portfolio. Black and white, the nurse said. But in these eight-by-tens I'm sitting up on a gurney with my back against the emergency room wall. The attending nurse spent ten minutes cutting my dress off with those tiny operating room manicure scissors. The cutting, I remember. It was my cotton crepe sundress from Espre. I remember that when I ordered this dress from the catalogue I almost ordered two, they're so comfortable, loose with the breeze trying to get inside the arm holes and lift the hem up around your waist.The n you'd sweat if there wasn't a breeze, and the cotton crepe stuck on you like eleven herbs and spices, only on you the dress was almost transparent. You'd walk onto a patio, it was a great feeling, a million spotlights picking you out of the crowd, or walk into a restaurant when outside it was ninety degrees, and everyone would turn and look as if you'd just been awarded some major distinguished award for a major lifetime achievement. That's how it felt. I can remember this kind of attention. It always felt ninety degrees hot. And I remember my underwear.Sorry, Mom, sorry, God, but I was wearing just this little patch up front with an elastic string waist and just one string running down the crack and back around to the bottom of the patch up front. Flesh-tone. That one string, the one down the crack, butt floss is what everybody calls that string. I wore the patch underwear because of when the cotton crepe sundress goes almost transparent. You just don't plan on ending up in the e mergency room with your dress cut off and detectives taking your picture, propped up on a gurney with a morphine drip in one arm and a Franciscan nun screaming in one ear. Take your pictures! Take your pictures, now! She's still losing blood! † No, really, it was funnier than it sounds. It got funny when there I was sprawled on this gurney, this anatomically correct rag doll with nothing but this little patch on and my face was the way it is now. The police, they had the nun hold this sheet up over my breasts. It's so they can take pictures of my face, but the detectives are so embarrassed for me, being sprawled there topless. Jump to when they refuse to show me the pictures, one of the detectives says that if the bullet had been two inches higher, I'd be dead.I couldn't see their point. Two inches lower, and I'd be deep fried in my spicy cotton crepe sundress, trying to get the insurance guy to waive the deductible and replace my car window. Then, I'd be by a swimming pool, w earing sunblock and telling a couple cute guys how I was driving on the freeway in Stingray when a rock or I don't know what, but my dri-ver's-side window just burst. And the cute guys would say, â€Å"Whoa. † Jump to another detective, the one who'd searched my car for the slug and bone fragments, that stuff, the detective saw how I'd been driving with the window half open.A car window, this guy tells me over the eight-by-ten glossies of me wearing a white sheet, a car window should always be all the way open or shut. He couldn't remember how many motorists he'd seen decapitated by windows in car accidents. How could I not laugh. That was his word: Motorists. The way my mouth was, the only sound left I could do was laugh. I couldn't not laugh. Jump to after there were the pictures, when people stopped looking at me. My boyfriend, Manus, came in that evening, after the emergency room, after I'd been wheeled off on my gur-ney to surgery, after the bleeding had stopped and I wa s in a private room.Then Manus showed up. Manus Kelley who was my fiance until he saw what was left. Manus sat looking at the black-and-white glossies of my new face, shuffling and reshuffling them, turning them upside-down and right side up the way you would one of those mystery pictures where one minute you have a beautiful woman, but when you look again you have a hag. Manus says, â€Å"Oh, God. † Then says, â€Å"Oh, sweet, sweet Jesus. † Then says, â€Å"Christ. † The first date I ever had with Manus, I was still living with my folks. Manus showed me a badge in his wallet. At home, he had a gun.He was a police detective, and he was really successful in Vice. This was a May and December thing. Manus was twenty-five and I was eighteen, but we went out. This is the world we live in. We went sailing one time, and he wore a Speedo, and any smart woman should know that means bisexual at least. My best friend, Evie Cottrell, she's a model. Evie says that beautiful people should never date each other. Together, they just don't generate enough attention. Evie says there's a whole shift in the beauty standard when they're together. You can feel this, Evie says. When both of you are beautiful, neither of you is beautiful.Together, as a couple, you're less than the sum of your parts. Nobody really gets noticed, not any more. Still, there I was one time, taping this infomercial, one of those long-long commercials you think will end at any moment because after all it's just a commercial, but it's actually thirty minutes long. Me and Evie, we're hired to be walking sex furniture to wear tight evening dresses all afternoon and entice the television audience into buying the Num Num Snack Factory. Manus comes to sit in the studio audience, and after the shoot he goes, â€Å"Let's go sailing,† and I go, â€Å"Sure! So we went sailing, and I forgot my sunglasses, so Manus buys me a pair on the dock. My new sunglasses are the exact same as Manus's Vuarnets, except mine are made in Korea not Switzerland and cost two dollars. Three miles out, I'm walking into deck things. I'm falling down. Manus throws me a rope, and I miss it. Manus throws me a beer and I miss the beer. A headache, I get the kind of headache God would smote you with in the Old Testament. What I don't know is that one of my sunglass lenses is darker than the other, almost opaque. I'm blind in one eye because of this lens, and I have no depth perception.Back then I don't know this, that my perception is so fucked up. It's the sun, I tell myself, so I just keep wearing the sunglasses and stumbling around blind and in pain. Jump to the second time Manus visits me in the hospital, he tells the eight-by-ten glossies of me in my sheet, Property of La Paloma Memorial Hospital, that I should think about getting back into my life. I should start making plans. You know, he says, take some classes. Finish my degree. He sits next to my bed and holds the photos between us so I can't see either them or him. On my pad, with my pencil I ask Manus in writing to show me. When I was little, we raised Doberman puppies,† he says from behind the photos. â€Å"And when a puppy is about six months old you get its ears and tail cropped. It's the style for those dogs. You go to a motel where a man travels from state to state cutting the ears and tails off thousands of Doberman puppies or boxers or bull terriers. † On my pad with my pencil, I write: your point being? And I wave this in his direction. â€Å"The point is whoever cuts your ears off is the one you'll hate for the rest of your life,† he says. â€Å"You don't want your regular veterinarian to do the job so you pay a stranger. Still looking at picture after picture, Manus says, â€Å"That's the reason I can't show you these. † Somewhere outside the hospital, in a motel room full of bloody towels with his tool box of knives and needles, or driving down the highway to his next v ictim, or kneeling over a dog, drugged and cut up in a dirty bathtub, is the man a million dogs must hate. Sitting next to my bed, Manus says, â€Å"You just need to archive your cover-girl dreams. † The fashion photographer inside my head, yells: Give me pity. Flash. Give me another chance. Flash. That's what I did before the accident.Call me a big liar, but before the accident I told people I was a college student. If you tell folks you're a model, they shut down. Your being a model will mean they're networking with some lower life form. They start using baby talk. They dumb down. But if you tell folks you're a college student, folks are so impressed. You can be a student in anything and not have to know anything. Just say toxicology or marine biokinesis, and the person you're talking to will change the subject to himself. If this doesn't work, mention the neural synapses of embryonic pigeons. It used to be I was a real college student.I have about sixteen hundred credits t oward an undergraduate degree in personal fitness training. What I hear from my parents is that I could be a doctor by now. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God. There was a time when Evie and me went out to dance clubs and bars and men would wait outside the ladies' room door to catch us. Guys would say they were casting a television commercial. The guy would give me a business card and ask what agency I was with. There was a time when my mom came to visit. My mom smokes, and the first afternoon I came home from a shoot, she held out a matchbook and said, â€Å"What's the meaning of this? She said, â€Å"Please tell me you're not as big a slut as your poor dead brother. † In the matchbook was a guy's name I didn't know and a telephone number. â€Å"This isn't the only one I found,† Mom said. â€Å"What are you running here? † I don't smoke. I tell her that. These matchbooks pile up because I'm too polite not to take them and I'm too frugal to just throw them away. That's wh y it takes a whole kitchen drawer to hold them, all these men I can't remember and their telephone numbers. Jump to no day special in the hospital, just outside the office of the hospital speech therapist.The nurse was leading me around by my elbow for exercise, and as we came around this one corner, just inside the open office doorway, boom, Brandy Alexander was just so there, glorious in a seated Princess Alexander pose, in an iridescent Vivienne Westwood cat suit changing colors with her every move. Vogue on location. The fashion photographer inside my head, yelling: Give me wonder, baby. Flash. Give me amazement. Flash. The speech therapist said, â€Å"Brandy, you can raise the pitch of your voice if you raise your laryngeal cartilage. It's that bump in your throat you feel going up as you sing ascending scales. She said, â€Å"If you can keep your voice-box raised high in your throat, your voice should stay between a G and a middle C. That's about 160 Hertz. † Brandy Al exander and the way she looked turned the rest of the world into virtual reality. She changed color from every new angle. She turned green with my one step. Red with my next. She turned silver and gold and then she was dropped behind us, gone. â€Å"Poor, sad misguided thing,† Sister Katherine said, and she spat on the concrete floor. She looked at me craning my neck to see back down the hall, and she asked if I had any family. I wrote: yeah, there's my gay brother but he's dead fromAIDS. And she says, â€Å"Well, that's for the best, then, isn't it? † Jump to the week after Manus's last visit, last meaning final, when Evie drops by the hospital. Evie looks at the glossies and talks to God and Jesus Christ. â€Å"You know,† Evie tells me across a stack of Vogues, and Glamour magazines in her lap she brings me, â€Å"I talked to the agency and they said that if we re-do your portfolio they'll consider taking you back for hand work. † Evie means a hand mode l, modeling cocktail rings and diamond tennis bracelets and shit. Like I want to hear this. I can't talk. All I can eat is liquids.Nobody will look at me. I'm invisible. All I want is somebody to ask me what happened. Then, I'll get on with my life. Evie tells the stack of magazines, â€Å"I want you to come live with me at my house when you get out. † She unzips her canvas bag on the edge of my bed and goes into it with both hands. Evie says, â€Å"It'll be fun. You'll see. I hate living all by my lonesome. † And says, â€Å"I've already moved your things into my spare bedroom. † Still in her bag, Evie says, â€Å"I'm on my way to a shoot. Any chance you have any agency vouchers you can lend me? † On my pad with my pencil, I write: is that my sweater ou're wearing? And I wave the pad in her face. â€Å"Yeah,† she says, â€Å"but I knew you wouldn't mind. † I write: but it's a size six. I write: and you're a size nine. â€Å"Listen,† Evie says. â€Å"My call is for two o'clock. Why don't I stop by some time when you're in a better mood? † Talking to her watch, she says, â€Å"I'm so sorry things had to go this way. It wasn't all of it anybody's fault. † Every day in the hospital goes like this: Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Sister Katherine falls in between. On television is one network running nothing but infomercials all day and all night, and there we are, Evie and me, together.We got a raft of bucks. For the snack factory thing, we do these big celebrity spokesmodel smiles, the ones where you make your face a big space heater. We're wearing these sequined dresses that when you get them under a spotlight, the dress flashes like a million reporters taking your picture. So glamorous. I'm standing there in this twenty-pound dress, doing this big smile and dropping animal wastes into the Plexiglas funnel on top of the Num Num Snack Factory. This thing just poops out little canapes like crazy, and Evie h as to wade out into the studio audience and get folks to eat the canapes.Folks will eat anything to get on television. Then, off camera, Manus goes, â€Å"Let's go sailing. † And I go, â€Å"Sure. † It was so stupid, my not knowing what was happening all along. Jump to Brandy on a folding chair just inside the office of the speech therapist, shaping her fingernails with the scratch pad from a book of matches. Her long legs could squeeze a motorcycle in half, and the legal minimum of her is shrink wrapped in leopard-print stretch terry just screaming to get out. The speech therapist says, â€Å"Keep your glottis partially open as you speak. It's the way Marilyn Monroe sang â€Å"Happy Birthday† to President Kennedy.It makes your breath bypass your vocal chords for a more feminine, helpless quality. † The nurse leads me past in my cardboard slippers, my tight bandages and deep funk, and Brandy Alexander looks up at the last possible instant and winks. God s hould be able to wink that good. Like somebody taking your picture. Give me joy. Give me fun. Give me love. Flash. Angels in heaven should blow kisses the way Brandy Alexander does and lights up the rest of my week. Back in my room, I write: who is she? â€Å"No one you should have any truck with,† the nurse says. â€Å"You'll have problems enough as it is. but who is she? I write. â€Å"If you can believe it,† the nurse says, â€Å"that one is someone different every week. † It's after that Sister Katherine starts matchmaking. To save me from Brandy Alexander, she offers me the lawyer without a nose. She offers a mountain climbing dentist whose fingers and facial features are eaten down to little hard shining bumps by frostbite. A missionary with dark patches of some tropical fungus just under his skin. A mechanic who leaned over a battery the moment it exploded and the acid left his lips and cheeks gone and his yellow teeth showing in a permanent snarl.I look at the nun's wedding ring and write: i guess you got the last really buff guy. The whole time I was in the hospital, no way could I fall in love. I just couldn't go there yet. Settle for less. I didn't want to process through anything. I didn't want to pick up any pieces. Lower my expectations. Get on with my less-than life. I didn't want to feel better about being still alive. Start compensating. I just wanted my face fixed, if that was possible, which it wasn't. When it's time to reintroduce me to solid foods, their words again, it's pureed chicken and strained carrots. Baby foods. Everything mashed or pulverized or crushed.You are what you eat. The nurse brings me the personal classified ads from a newsletter. Sister Katherine peers down her nose and through her glasses to read: Guys seeking slim, adventurous girls for fun and romance. And, yes, it's true, not one single guy specifically excludes hideous mutilated girls with growing medical bills. Sister Katherine tells me, â₠¬Å"These men you can write to in prison don't need to know how you really look. † It's just too much trouble to try and explain my feelings to her in writing. Sister Katherine reads me the singles columns while I spoon up my roast beef. She offers arsonists. Burglars. Tax cheats.She says, â€Å"You probably don't want to date a rapist, not right off. Nobody's that desperate. † Between the lonely men behind bars for armed robbery and second-degree manslaughter, she stops to ask what's the matter. She takes my hand and talks to the name on my plastic bracelet, such a hand model I am already, cocktail rings, plastic I. D. bracelets so beautiful even a bride of Christ can't take her eyes off them. She says, â€Å"What're you feeling? † This is hilarious. She says, â€Å"Don't you want to fall in love? † The photographer in my head says: Give me patience. Flash. Give me control. Flash. The situation is I have half a face.Inside my bandages, my face still bleeds tiny little spots of blood onto the wads of cotton. One doctor, the one making rounds every morning who checks my dressing, he says my wound is still weeping. That's his word. I still can't talk. I have no career. I can only eat baby food. Nobody will ever look at me like I've won a big prize ever again. nothing, I write on my pad. nothing's wrong. â€Å"You haven't mourned,† Sister Katherine says. â€Å"You need to have a good cry and then get on with your life. You're being too calm about this. † I write: don't make me laugh, my face, I write, the doctor sez my wound will weep.Still, at least somebody had noticed. This whole time, I was calm. I was the picture of calm. I never, never panicked. I saw my blood and snot and teeth splashed all over the dashboard the moment after the accident, but hysteria is impossible without an audience. Panicking by yourself is the same as laughing alone in an empty room. You feel really silly. The instant the accident happened, I kn ew I would die if I didn't take the next exit off the freeway, turn right on Northwest Gower, go twelve blocks, and turn into the La Paloma Memorial Hospital Emergency Room parking lot. I parked. I took my keys and my bag and I walked.The glass doors slid aside before I could see myself reflected in them. The crowd inside, all the people waiting with broken legs and choking babies, they all slid aside, too, when they saw me. After that, the intravenous morphine. The tiny operating room manicure scissors cut my dress up. The flesh-tone little patch panties. The police photos. The detective, the one who searched my car for bone fragments, the guy who'd seen all those people get their heads cut off in half-open car window's, he comes back one day and says there's nothing left to find. Birds, seagulls, maybe magpies, too.They got into the car where it was parked at the hospital, through the broken window. The magpies ate all of what the detective calls the soft tissue evidence. The bone s they probably carried away. â€Å"You know, miss,† he says, â€Å"to break them on rocks. For the marrow. † On the pad, with the pencil, I write: ha, ha, ha. Jump to just before my bandages come off, when a speech therapist says I should get down on my knees and thank God for leaving my tongue in my head, unharmed. We sit in her cinderblock office with half the room filled by her steel desk between us, and the therapist, she teaches me how a ventriloquist makes a dummy talk.You see, the ventriloquist can't let you see his mouth move. He can't really use his lips, so he presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make words. Instead of a window, the therapist has a poster of a kitten covered in spaghetti above the words: Accentuate the Positive She says that if you can't make a certain sound without using your lips, substitute a similar sound, the therapist says; for instance, use the sound eth instead of the sound eff. The context in which you use the sound w ill make you understandable. â€Å"I'd rather be thishing,† the therapist says. hen go thishing, I write. thank you. And then I ran away. This is after my new cotton crepe sundress arrives from Espre. Sister Katherine stood over me all morning with a curling iron until my hair was this big butter creme frosting hairdo, this big off-the-face hairdo. Then Evie brought some make up and did my eyes. I put on my spicy new dress and couldn't wait to start sweating. This whole summer, I hadn't seen a mirror or if I did I never realized the reflection was me. I hadn't seen the police photos. When Evie and Sister Katherine were done, I say, â€Å"De foil iowa fog geoff. And Evie says, â€Å"You're welcome. † Sister Katherine says, â€Å"But you just ate lunch. † It's clear enough, nobody understands me here. I say, â€Å"Kong wimmer nay pee golly. † And Evie says, â€Å"Yeah, these are your shoes, but I'm not hurting them any. † And Sister Katherine says, â€Å"No, no mail yet, but we can write to prisoners after you've had your nap, dear. † They left. And. I left, alone. And. How bad could it be, my face? And sometimes being mutilated can work to your advantage. All those people now with piercings and tattoos and brandings and scarification . . . What I mean is, attention is attention.Going outside is the first time I feel I've missed something. I mean, a whole summer had just disappeared. All those pool parties and lying around on metal-flake speed-flesh-tone lumps of ice in the freezer bin. I dig around until I find the biggest turkey, and I heft it up baby style in its yellow plastic netting. I haul myself up to the front of the store, right through the check stands, and nobody stops me. Nobody's even looking. They're all reading those tabloid newspapers as if there's hidden gold there. â€Å"Sejgfn di ofo utnbg,† I say. â€Å"Nei wucj iswisn sdnsud. † Nobody looks. EVSF UYYB IUH,† I say in my best vent riloquist voice. Nobody even talks. Maybe just the clerks talk. Do you have two pieces of I. D.? they're asking people writing checks. â€Å"Fgjrn iufnv si vuv,† I say. â€Å"Xidi cniwuw sis sacnc! † Then it is, it's right then a boy says, â€Å"Look! † Everybody who's not looking and not talking stops breathing. The little boy says, â€Å"Look Mom, look over there! That monster's stealing food! † Everybody gets all shrunken up with embarrassment. All their heads drop down into their shoulders the way they'd look on crutches. They're reading tabloid headlines harder than ever.Monster Girl Steals Festive Holiday Bird And there I am, deep fried in my cotton crepe dress, a twenty-five pound turkey in my arms, the turkey sweating, my dress almost transparent. My nipples are rock kind is wearing this sleeveless Versace kind of tank dress with this season's overwhelming feel of despair and corrupt resignation. Body conscious yet humiliated. Buoyant but crippled . The queen supreme is the most beautiful anything I've ever seen so I just vogue there to watch from the doorway. â€Å"Men,† the therapist says, â€Å"stress the adjective when they speak. The therapist says, â€Å"For instance, a man would say, ‘You are so attractive, today'. † Brandy is so attractive you could chop her head off and put it on blue velvet in the window at Tiffany's and somebody would buy it for a million dollars. â€Å"A woman would say, ‘You are so attractive, today',† the therapist says. â€Å"Now, you, Brandy. You say it. Stress the modifier, not the adjective. † Brandy Alexander looks her Burning Blueberry eyes at me in the doorway and says, â€Å"Posing girl, you are so Godawful ugly. Did you let an elephant sit on your face or what? † Brandy's voice, I barely hear what she says.At that instant, I just adore Brandy so much. Everything about her feels as good as being beautiful and looking in a mirror. Brandy is my instant royal family. My only everything to live for. I go, â€Å"Cfoieb svns ois,† and I pile the cold, wet turkey into the speech therapist's lap, her sitting pinned under twenty-five pounds of dead meat in her roll-around leather desk chair. From closer down the hallway, Sister Katherine is yelling, â€Å"Yoohoo! † â€Å"Mriuvn wsi sjaoi aj,† I go, and wheel the therapist and her chair into the hallway. I say, â€Å"Jownd wine sm fdo dcncw. The speech therapist, she's smiling up at me and says, â€Å"You don't have to thank me, it's just my job is all. † The nun's arrived with the man and his I. V. stand, a new man with no skin or crushed features or all his teeth bashed out, a man who'd be perfect for me. My one true love. My deformed or mutilated or diseased prince charming. My unhappily ever after. My hideous future. The monstrous rest of my life. I slam the office door and lock myself inside with Brandy Alexander. There's the speech therapist's notebook on her desk, and I grab it. save me, I write, and wave it in Brandy's face.I write: please. Jump to Brandy Alexander's hands. This always starts with her hands. Brandy Alexander puts a hand out, one of those hairy pigknuckled hands with the veins of her arm crowded and squeezed to the elbow with bangle bracelets of every color. Just by herself, Brandy Alexander is such a shift in the beauty standard that no one thing stands out. Not even you. â€Å"So, girl,† Brandy says. â€Å"What all happened to your face? † Birds. I write: birds, birds ate my face. And I start to laugh. Brandy doesn't laugh. Brandy says, â€Å"What's that supposed to mean? † And I'm still laughing. was driving on the freeway, I write. And I'm still laughing. someone shot a 30-caliber bullet from a rifle. the bullet tore my entire jawbone off my face. Still laughing. i came to the hospital, I write. i did not die. Laughing. they couldn't put my jaw back because seagulls had eaten it . And I stop laughing. â€Å"Girl, your handwriting is terrible,† Brandy says. â€Å"Now tell me what else. † And I start to cry. what else, I write, is i have to eat baby food. i can't talk. i have no career. i have no home. my fiance left me. nobody will look at me. all my clothes, my best friend ruined them.I'm still crying. â€Å"What else? † Brandy says. â€Å"Tell me everything. † a boy, I write. a little boy in the supermarket called me a monster. Those Burning Blueberry eyes look right at me the way no eyes have all summer. â€Å"Your perception is all fucked up,† Brandy says. â€Å"All you can talk about is trash that's already happened. † She says, â€Å"You can't base your life on the past or the present. † Brandy says, â€Å"You have to tell me about your future. † Brandy Alexander, she stands up on her gold lame leg-hold trap shoes. The queen supreme takes a jeweled compact out of her clutch bag and naps the compac t open to look at the mirror inside. â€Å"That therapist,† those Plumbago lips say, â€Å"the speech therapist can be so stupid about these situations. † The big jeweled arm muscles of Brandy sit me down in the seat still hot from her ass, and she holds the compact so I can see inside. Instead of face powder, it's full of white capsules. Where there should be a mirror, there's a close up photo of Brandy Alexander smiling and looking terrific. â€Å"They're Vicodins, dear,† she says. â€Å"It's the Marilyn Monroe school of medicine where enough of any drug will cure any disease. † She says, â€Å"Dig in.Help yourself. † The thin and eternal goddess that she is, Brandy's picture smiles up at me over a sea of painkillers. This is how I met Brandy Alexander. This is how I found the strength not to get on with my former life. This is how I found the courage not to pick up the same old pieces. â€Å"Now,† those Plumbago lips say, â€Å"You are g oing to tell me your story like you just did. Write it all down. Tell that story over and over. Tell me your sad-assed story all night. † That Brandy queen points a long bony finger at me. â€Å"When you understand,† Brandy says, â€Å"that what you're telling is just a story.It isn't happening anymore. When you realize the story you're telling is just words, when you can just crumble it up and throw your past in the trashcan,† Brandy says, â€Å"then we'll figure out who you're going to be. † CHAPTER F O U R Jump to the Canadian border. Jump to the three of us in a rented Lincoln Town Car, waiting to drive south from Vancouver, British Columbia, into the United States, waiting, with Signore Romeo in the driver's seat, waiting with Brandy next to him in the front, waiting, with me alone in the back. â€Å"The police have microphones,† Brandy tells us.The plan is if we make it through the border, we'll drive south to Seattle where there are nightclub s and dance clubs where gogo boys and go-go girls will line up to buy the pockets of my purse clean. We have to be quiet because the police, they have microphones on both sides of the border, United States and Canadian. This way, they can listen in on people waiting to cross. We could have Cuban cigars. Fresh fruit. Diamonds. Diseases. Drugs, Brandy says. Brandy, she tells us to shut up a mile before the border, and we wait in line, quiet. Brandy unwinds the yards and yards of rocade scarf around her head. Brandy, she shakes her hair down her back and ties the scarf over her shoulders to hide her torpedo cleavage. Brandy switches to simple gold earrings. She takes off her pearls and puts on a little chain with a gold cross. This is a moment before the border guard. â€Å"Your nationalities? † the border-guard guy sitting inside his little window, behind his computer terminal with his clipboard and his blue suit behind his mirrored sunglasses, and behind his gold badge says. à ¢â‚¬Å"Sir,† Brandy says, and her new voice is as bland and drawled out as grits without salt or butter.She says, â€Å"Sir, we are citizens of the United States of America, what used to be called the greatest country on earth until the homosexuals and child pornographers— â€Å"Your names? † says the border guy. Brandy leans across Alfa to look up at the border guy, â€Å"My husband,† she says, â€Å"is an innocent man. † â€Å"Your name, please,† he says, no doubt looking up our license plate, finding it's a rental car, rented in Billings, Montana, three weeks ago, maybe even finding the truth about who we really are. Maybe finding bulletin after bulletin from all over western Canada about three nut cases stealing drugs at big houses up for ale. Maybe all this is spooling onto his computer screen, maybe none of it. You never know. â€Å"I am married,† Brandy is almost yelling to get his attention. â€Å"I am the wife of the Reverend Scooter Alexander,† she says, still half laid across Alfa's lap. â€Å"And this,† she says and draws the invisible line from her smile to Alfa, â€Å"this is my son-in-law, Seth Thomas. † Her big hand flies toward me in the backseat. â€Å"This,† she says, â€Å"is my daughter, Bubba-Joan. † Some days, I hate it when Brandy changes our lives without warning. Sometimes, twice in one day, you have to live up to a new identity.A new name. New relationships. Handicaps. It's hard to remember who I started this road trip being. No doubt, this is the kind of stress the constantly mutating AIDS virus must feel. â€Å"Sir? † the border guy says to Seth, formerly Alfa Romeo, formerly Chase Manhattan, formerly Nash Rambler, formerly Wells Fargo, formerly Eberhard Faber. The guard says, â€Å"Sir, are you bringing any purchases back with you into t

Consolidation Case Study Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 750 words

Consolidation - Case Study Example The preparation of the consolidated financial statements DOES NOT involve any adjustments to the financial statements of either the parent or the subsidiary companies. In this case, the parent is Batman and the subsidiary is Robin. A. This means that the investing company, Batman is willing to pay more that the total value of the stockholder's equity. There are many good reason why companies agree to pay more than the acquired company's actual net worth. some of the reasons are: A. The pre acquisition journal entry is also known as the elimination entry. The journal entry made such as investment in subsidiary is credited. The original entry where the stockholders' equity amounts are credited is now debited. The main reason for such pre -acquisition entry is to produce a correct combined financial statement where the assets, liabilities and stockholders' equity accounts are lumped together. Based on the above declaration, the dividends declared after acquisition is bigger than the dividends declared before acquisition. The main reason is that the income derived from combined financial statement shows that the is higher then the pre acquisition net income.

The Novikov Telegram, September 27, 1946 Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1000 words

The Novikov Telegram, September 27, 1946 - Essay Example The evidence he uses to justify this perspective stems from the â€Å"the real meaning† of the claims of the American leadership of the right to lead the world. These words have been followed up by the enlisting of the army, the air force, the navy, industry, and science in America to serve this long-term goal of the American foreign policy. In addition Novikov cites the existence of â€Å"broad plans† for the expansion leading to world domination, and the use of diplomacy in implementing these plans by the setting up a system of air and naval bases that are far beyond the boundaries of the United States of America. Further evidence cited by Novikov to justify the long-term goal of world domination in American foreign policy through the arms race and the development of â€Å"newer types of weapons†. The newer types of weapons that Novikov refers to are the atomic bombs possessed by the United States of America, which at that time was not possessed by any other co untry. Novikov goes on further to say that the United States of America was moving towards ending the allied occupation of Germany so that by establishing democracy in Germany, it could be used to in the service of the plans of the United States of America for world domination. (1). To Novikov the American strategy in its timing of entry into Second World War was planned on assisting it aims to dominate the world. During the Second World War the main theatres of war were in Europe and Asia. As far as possible the United States of America would not enter the Second World war and if pushed to it would delay its entry in such a manner that with minimal effort it could decide the course of the war, as the main combatants by then would weak and weary of the war. This strategy had to twin benefits on one hand the leading nations of the world involved in the battles of the second world war would be weakened while the fresh American forces would retain their strength and this would allow them to

What was the idea, belief, or movement that had the greatest impact on Research Paper

What was the idea, belief, or movement that had the greatest impact on Western civilization from the Enlightenment to the present day - Research Paper Example First, there was a need to make an improvement in technology. An improvement in technology would improve the world to a better place (Perry 12). Secondly, it was a prudent approach to make advances on science. In the ancient times, science was part of the society. Consequentially, the people were using traditional approaches in science, which recorded dismal performance. Thirdly, there was a need to mark an improvement in the social organisations of the day. With a collective bargain on the three issues, the human condition would be improved. This called for reaction from different individuals, governments and organisations that were directly involved in governance. Therefore, concentrating on these issues would yield results. Though it would take time, their efforts were greatly rewarded. Apparently, they were geared towards improving social progress that would improve the lives of people. This would also have an impact on developing economy and improve science and technology applic ation. There are notable ideologies and movements that were influential in steering western civilization in the world. To begin with, the idea of revolution was an influential approach in the western countries. North America was among the first regions to induct revolution in improving the human condition (Spielvogel 18). Many British colonies decided that this was the right time to bring change in various aspects of the country. First, they focused on improving the economy. They noted that the economy was strong pillar that would be influential in improving human condition. As such, they had several ideologies that would improve their economy. As such, they had to make a different approach by employing sophisticated ideas that would develop their economy. In perfecting their economy, some countries like Britain decided to develop great cities. This was particularly successful since they had a large population that would provide the much-needed labour. For instance, a better part of the population was the Britain ascent. However, there were other minorities which included the Dutch, Irish and black slaves (Sherman 17). The large population would provide descent labour to build cities across the nation. With developed cities, the region was able to record an improvement in the economy. In making an even better improvement, the region accepted immigrants from neighbouring regions. This would increase the number of people in need of employment. In return, the economy would gain by utilising the labour provided by the population. One of the ideas that improved the economy of the region was the introduction of taxes. The Britain government felt that the population needed to pay taxes. This was a move to increase the revenue collected by the government. In actual sense, the Britain government felt that all colonies should pay taxes that would run the government (Spielvogel 21). Consequentially, there was opposition from the colonies that felt overburdened by the tax es. Apparently, their grievances and opposition did not deter the government of the day from implementing the tax. This is particularly due to non-representation in the government. This was a milestone to improving the economy as the governments continued to amass revenue. While focusing on these revolutions and change in the economy, there are many regions that benchmarked the ideology. For instance, Canada, Australia and New Zealand made possible changes to mark an improvement in the economy and culture. This collectively improved the western countries to a better social and economic path. There was a belief that improving education and application of science would improve the world, especially the western count

Logical Reasoning Math Problem Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1250 words

Logical Reasoning - Math Problem Example Euler circles otherwise known as Euler diagrams are graphical representations of logical statements. Each set in this diagram is represented as a circle or closed curve. Intersections between sets are shown as partially overlapping circles. On the other hand, the equivalence of two sets is given by a complete overlap of the circles. Using this approach, the relationship of sets becomes clear. It is then easy to determine the validity of a conclusion based on the diagram. For the first statement it is clear from the diagram that given the premise, there is no established relation between B and C. Likewise, the second statement also establishes no relationship between the two. Therefore, both statements are invalid. In contrast, truth tables are textual representations of the logic statement. Unlike a pure logic statement, the truth table presents all possible combinations of the input set and determines the conclusion from each combination. While not as intuitive as Euler circles, this approach provides a more exhaustive view of a logical statement. The respective truth tables for the above logical statements follow: In the first table, when all the premises are satisfied, there is definitely no way wherein the conclusion is satisfied. This statement is therefore invalid. For the second statement, most cases satisfy the statement except for one. However, since the conclusion is an implication, then the presence of this single case invalidates the statement. Conclusion From the given examples, it is clear that the use of alternative representations of logical statements aid in logical reasoning. In fact, both Euler circles and truth tables were consistent in invalidating the logic for both examples. Question 1 Let: Equations: Solution: Modify eqn 1: Substitute to eqn 2: Conclusion: UniquePhil has 10 $0.37 stamps. Question 2 Solution: Using the Venn Diagram Exactly 2 writing instruments: Conclusion: 15 backpacks contain exactly two of the three writing instruments. Question 3 Question 4 Solution: Conclusion: The car got 54.4 miles per gallon. Question 5 Question 6 Biconditional Question 7 2.8700 Question 8 Question 9 Solution: Conclusion: cups of flour should be used. Question 10 Solution: During peak hours: During off-peak hours: Conclusion: $1.76 can be saved by making 16-minute calls during off-peak hours. Question 11 Solution: Using the Law of Contraposition: Using De Morgan's Law: Conclusion: They are logically equivalent. Question 12 Solution: truth table p q q pq TRUE TRUE FALSE FALSE TRUE FALSE TRUE TRUE FALSE TRUE FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE TRUE FALSE Conclusion: There is only 1 T in the final columb. Question 13 Question 14 Question 15 Valid Question 16 Question 17 Question 18 Invalid Question 19 Solution: 1 3 7 13 15 19 25 27 31 37 --- Diff 2 4 6 2 4 6

Humanities 2 Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1000 words

Humanities 2 - Essay Example It is, hence, easy to understand how opera was developed in order to satisfy the Baroque contemporary requirements. To demonstrate this, the opera contains several elements that express Baroque cultural values and this paper will cite them. In order to understand the relationship of the opera to the Baroque artistic style, it is important to explain what it is all about. Here, Guisepi's work becomes helpful. He explained that the term literally means "irregular" and was applied to the dynamic and undisciplined artistic creativity that "grew out of the Catholic pomp and confidence accompanying the Counter-Reformation." Rome is central to this musical development wherein many musicians converge in order to study or find work in numerous choirs and for families like Colonna and Borghese (Sabene 2011). It would then come to symbolize the power of the European monarchies as Baroque gained prominence and popularity. These developments led to a kind of artistic style that is unbridled and s ought to impress and awe. Opera was an inevitable offshoot of this environment since, along with visual art, the Church and rich Roman families and nobles commissioned musical pieces as well. The sheer pomp and pageantry of the Baroque society, particularly of its festivities and celebrations, called for a type of music that would similarly reflect it and its grand events. Stone recounted an account of one important celebration, which could provide an idea of what this point means - the public performance arranged by Medina Coeli in celebration of the birthday of the Queen back in 1696: Before the Royal Palace a huge amphitheater was built on which was performed Scarlatti's cantata Il Trionfo dell Stagioni (The Triumph of the Seasons). This was a performance of Mahlerian proportions with 150 instrumentalists and a chorus of 50; the whole construction was illuminated by some 900 torches and lanterns†¦ In these events the entire community was brought together, not as equal specta tors, but as participants in a celebration of hierarchy, which sought, to image power relations of that society (89). Combination of Art Essentially, what makes the opera Baroque in style is the idea that it combines all music and art forms together. First, it is based "on the linking of text to music such that the music followed and augmented the natural speech flow" (Modern Baroque Opera Newsletter 2004). Then, it would utilize and integrate other forms of art such as literature, drama, painting and elaborate stage settings (Guisepi). No wonder many people and music enthusiasts even today refer to it as one of the most exciting artifact of European art and culture. Opera implies a certain grandness that can only be equated with the powers of the European monarchs and the magnificence of the Christian God. The construction of elaborate opera houses depicted the dynamics of grandeur that characterize the opera. Opera houses in many Italian cities demonstrate this such as the La Scal a in Milan and in other countries as well as like the Paris Opera in France with its ornate ceiling and general architecture considered as a masterpiece of the French Baroque. The cavernous and ornate architecture sought to highlight the drama and grandeur of each performance as with the other elements integrated in the whole experience. It is perhaps safe to say that opera or experiencing the opera is incomplete without the imposing Baroque magnificence of these buildings. The Margravial Opera House in Germany is an

Mock Interview with Edward Snowden Assignment Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1000 words

Mock Interview with Edward Snowden - Assignment Example Throughout my working, I have learned our government is doing the exact opposite of what it purports to do in our name. Edward Snowden: I have worked thought in security settings, and more particularly in the settings of information security. I can assure you what the government is doing against you against the law the very laws it is supposed to protect are a lot. They pretend to be following the law, protecting your security, your privacy and working for the interest of the nation when in actual sense they are just working for their interests. They intercept all your telephone conversations; your activity on social media is spied on in the name of national security including your very private pictures yet the law protects the privacy of every individual. I thought things would change when President Barrack Obama was elected but to my shock, whistleblowers have been prosecuted at an alarming rate in this administration. It came to my realization that I was just part of the harm and nothing was going to happen to make the truth known unless I acted myself on what I strongly believe in. My experience o f what our government is doing against us and other people the world over informs and more especially my stint in Geneva strongly informed my decision to do at least something. Interviewer: Do you ever ponder the fact that it was actually wrong to release the documents and circulate them against our employer and government? Didn’t you think you were betraying and actually sabotaging? Edward Snowden: One may want to look at it the same way you are doing but for me, it was a bigger picture. A strong belief in the rule of law, the right to privacy as envisaged in America’s own constitution and equality for all are principles dear to my heart. I worked shortly in the military, at the CIA, NSA, and for private companies.