How Bernard Malamuds, The Natural, uses Style to potray Historical events in his era :: essays research papers

Each writer is influenced in many different ways, but, in general, most of their inspiration comes from those events occurring within the era they are living in. They also use various different techniques or styles to portray those events in their writings. Bernard Malamud wrote a novel, published in 1952, called The Natural. This novel used numerous different stylistics elements to reveal the impact sports had in the late 1940s.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  One central stylistic element used, in The Natural, to show the impact of sports, in the late 1940s, was structure. The sequencing of the novel is immensely different from the majority of novels. It begins with Roy Hobbs (the main character), at nineteen years of age, when he is aspiring to become a famous baseball player. Almost everyone thinks that he is too young to become a ball player except for one man, Sam Simpson. He became Roy Hobbs’s manager and was taking him too tryout for the Chicago cubs. Ever since he seen him play in high school he believed he had what it took to make it. The ones that didn’t believe in Roy Hobbs Sam Simpson would tell them, â€Å" Well, like I said, he’s young, but he certainly mowed them down in the Northwest High School league last year† (Malamud 14). But, Sam Simpson is killed later on in that chapter, on the way to Roy Hobbs's tryout. No one else is willing to give him a change due to his age, despi te his great high school record for through the most no hitters in high school baseball history. Then, in the next chapter, Batter Up! Part I, it skips to fifteen years later when he gets his first chance to become a baseball player. In the beginning Pop Fisher, manager of the New York knights, did not want to sign him due to his age. Fisher is heard telling him, â€Å" Thirty-four --Holy Jupiter, mister, you belong in an old man’s home, not baseball† (42). But this did not matter because Judge, the owner, had already signed him for a four year contract with the knights. Fisher wanted to contest the contract, yet had no one else to put in his place. So he decided to give him a chance. Finally, the novel reaches the ending of his career, when the Knights are at their peek. Roy Hobbs gets horribly ill and is incapable of playing.

{Punctuality: Personal Nd Professional Image Essay

Punctuality: Personal and Professional Image A man of experience once said that there are four good habits-punctuality, accuracy, steadiness and efficiency. Without punctuality, time is wasted; without accuracy, mistakes are made: without steadiness, nothing can be done; and without efficiency, all is lost. To this we may add the habits of prudence, discipline and contentment as being most desirable. So what are the payoffs of punctuality? Two important ones are that it is an indicator of professionalism, and it’s respectful to the other person. These are certainly important in business. Another payoff is that it is moral and ethical. As someone once said, â€Å" A man who has taken your time recognizes no debt, yet it is the only debt he can never repay’. A taken for granted aspect of everyday life is that people are usually punctual. This norm is so well established that a common sense understanding of unpunctuality as a personality defect prevails in the social science literature. Drawing on qualitative and experiential data from the Mass Observation Archive, this paper argues that punctuality is less a matter of individual virtue and more one of age, gender, and work situation. It proposes that a close study of these differentiating â€Å"surface† conditions leads back to more fundamental questions of social structure and solidarity. The sentiments underlying the norm demanding unconditional punctuality correspond to, and may be a legacy of the mechanical solidarity that Durkheim stressed underpinned even the most complex and advanced societies. With all the tasks on our plates, it is easy to try to cram in one more activity before rushing off to the next engagement, but when you arrive late, it can resul in any of the following: Conveying to the other party involved that you feel your time is more valuable than theirs. Presenting the image that you are poorly prepared causing others to fall behind in their schedules for the rest of the day. Contrast the symptoms that often result from running late with the confident feeling of arriving at an event on time, feeling calm and in control. Punctuality is a habit that takes time and practice to develop, but both your self-esteem and your professional image will benefit. It is most important, therefore that we should acquire good habits at the very start of our life. As a friend and an individual, learn to meet people on time. Every minute counts, do not be late for doctors or dentists appointments, do not be late to school and do not meet friends 10 or 15 minutes late. Dhirubhai Ambani who started Reliance Industries says that one of his greatest achievements lies in having promoted punctuality at all levels from top executives to the workers. All had to keep exact time. It is a form of discipline that has effect on all your achievements. Many people like to get their coffee and breakfast prior to starting their work day. The biggest problem with this is that it is being done on company time. Corporate America suffers millions of dollars in losses each day because of employees spending the first 10 to 15 minutes of their workday conducting non-business rituals, such as getting coffee, eating breakfast, and chatting with co-workers about their evening or weekend. The figures given in the following example are a conservative estimate. It must be acknowledged that not all employees would make the same hourly wage and not all employees waste company time. Of course, there is also the fact that some employees waste more time than others do during a work day. Say an employee is paid $20. 0 per hour, during a 5 day work week a company would pay $25. 00 just for that employee to get their morning coffee. That is $1,250. 00 per year (this estimate deducts two weeks from the year for illness, vacation time and holidays. Next, imagine that every employee in a company of 5,000 wastes 15 minutes every day. That is an incredible $6,250. 00 that the company would lose each and every yea r because its employees utilize company time to conduct personal errands each morning. As with formal controls, informal controls reward or punish acceptable or unacceptable behavior. Informal controls are varied and differ from individual to individual, group to group and society to society. For example, in a college class, a disapproving look might convey the message that it is inappropriate to arrive late and disrupt the lecture. In a business setting on the other hand, a stronger sanction applies in the case of someone who arrives late for a business meeting and threatens to jeopardize the company’s image. Did you ever notice that sometimes, if not often, you arrive late, even when you have carefully planned to arrive on time to a meeting, date, or appointment? Possibly, you are among those who are chronically late. One reason for constant tardiness is that it’s extremely difficult to arrive on time, especially in large metropolitan areas. Unexpected traffic congestion, taking that last minute call, running back to the office or home to grab forgotten articles, are all impediments to being on time. Even the most time conscious, careful planners can be undermined by these factors. While this seems obvious at first, it’s really not that simple. One thing that makes this difficult is simply human nature we simply don’t like waiting.

Indian Cultural Background Essay

I have two cultural background which are Cherokee Indian and African American . Cherokee is really pronounced as â€Å"CHAIR-uh-kee† in our language. Cherokee comes from a Muskogee word meaning ‘speakers of another language’. Cherokee Indians originally called themselves Aniyunwiya â€Å"the principal people,† but today they accept the named Cherokee. But in their language it is pronounced Tsadagi . The Cherokees are original residents of the American southeast region, particularly Georgia, North and South Carolina, Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee. Most Cherokees were forced to move to Oklahoma in the 1800’s along the Trail of Tears. The Cherokee Indians who survived this death still live in Oklahoma today. Some Cherokees escaped the Trail of Tears by hiding in the Appalachian hills or taking shelter with white neighbors. These people live scattered throughout the original Cherokee Indian homelands. Trail of Tears was the Cherokee name for what the Americans called Indian Removal. During the 1800’s, the US government created an â€Å"Indian Territory† in Oklahoma and sent all the eastern Native American tribes to live there. Some tribes agreed to this plan with no problem. Other tribes didn’t like this plan at all , and the American army forced them. The Cherokee tribe was one of the largest eastern tribes, and they didn’t want to leave their homeland. The Cherokees were peaceful with the Americans. So they asked the Supreme Court for help. The judges decided the Cherokee Indians could stay in their homes. But the President, Andrew Jackson, sent the army to march the Cherokees to Oklahoma . They weren’t prepared for the journey, and it was winter time. Thousands of Cherokee Indians died on the Trail of Tears. Many Native Americans from other tribes died too. It was a terrible time in history. There are three federally recognized Cherokee tribes: the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma, the United Keetoowah Band in Oklahoma, and the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians in North Carolina. Other Cherokee communities in Alabama, Georgia, and other states are considered unofficial by the US government. The Eastern Cherokee people live on a reservation. Indian reservations are lands that belong to Native American tribes and are under their control. The Oklahoma Cherokee people live on trust land, though many Cherokees call it a reservation anyway. The Keetowah Cherokee do not have a land base. Each Cherokee tribe has its own government, laws, police, and services, just like a small country. However, Cherokee Indians are also US citizens and must obey American law. In the past, each Cherokee group was led by one war chief and one peace chief. Cherokee chiefs were chosen by a tribal council. Cherokee war chiefs were male, but the peace chief could be a woman. Today, Cherokee tribal councils and chiefs can be either gender and are popularly elected, like senators and governors. Most Cherokee people speak English today, but 20,000 people also speak the Cherokee Indian language. Cherokee is a complex language with soft sounds. The Cherokee language has an innovative writing system that was invented by the Cherokee scholar Sequoyah. Sequoyah’s writing system is a syllabary. That means one character represents each syllable. The other cultural background is African American .

PoP Culture Trend and Media Essay

When I was a child, all I wanted was to be a doctor. I obeyed my parents, studied hard, and played around every once in a while. I had my simple ambitions and simple outlooks. I lived a simple life. Today, however, you can ask any child about his ambition and he would most likely tell you that he would be a Dennis Rodman someday, or a Britney Spears if it was a she you’ve happened to ask. Another possible scenario could be that the child you’d like to ask wouldn’t even talk to you because he/she is too busy with his/her cellular phone, Gameboy Advance, i-pod nanno, or personal computer. Looking at this everyday situation, my father had always been asking me what is happening to this generation. This picture had also been a popular topic for homeroom or sociology classes, and online debates. Each of these discussions, however, boils down to a common phrase: pop culture. Pop Culture, or Popular Culture, is the set of customs, beliefs, values, arts, and entertainment common to massive sectors of the society.  (http://www.cobb.k12.ga.us/~smitha/PopIndex.htm).   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   Oftentimes, it results from the everyday interactions, needs and desires, and cultural ‘moments’ of the mainstream. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electronic_media). It is important that we examine the prevailing Pop Culture as it can shape people’s beliefs, values system, and attitudes since trendy music, movies, television programs, and fads often mirror the outlooks and behavior of the masses. James E. Combs recognized even in 1984 that â€Å"Popular Culture is so much a part of our lives that we cannot deny its developmental powers.   Like formal education or family rearing, popular culture is part of our ‘learning environment.’   Though our pop culture education is informal-we usually do not attend to pop culture for its ‘educational value.’ It nevertheless provides us with information and images upon which we develop our opinions and attitudes.   We would not be what we are, nor would our society be quite the same, without the impact of popular culture.† (Combs 1984). Nowadays however, an additional factor to the power of popular culture and to the importance of evaluating its effects is technological advancement. Specifically, electronic media has become a tool to further elevate the influence of pop culture, in an ever faster and unstoppable way, to all corners of the world. â€Å"Electronic media are those communications mediums which are based on electronic or electromechanical means of production and most often distinguished from print media. The primary electronic media sources familiar to the general public worldwide include radio, sound recordings, television, video recording, and streaming internet content†. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electronic media). Personally, I have been most fond of surfing the internet, watching television programs and movies, listening to contemporary and pop music through radio, cd player, and i-pod, playing computer games, and messaging through cellular phones, either for educational or entertainment purposes. I am now aware that most of my viewpoints have been influenced by the things that I watch, read, and listen to that’s why I have been trying to balance out my views by patronizing different sources of information. My most poignant realization was that pop culture has affected my viewpoint on what is beautiful. Seeing models and actors who are almost perfect and worshipped everyday and everywhere has blinded me into considering beauty as skinny, 36-24-36 for females, and hunky, tall, and handsome for males. Everything else that did not replicate what pop culture has embedded on me seemed merely normal, or worse, ugly. I very much think that this has also been the case for majority of the people in this generation, what with the number of anorexics and bulimics, and steroid users rising up to an alarming level internationally. Social responsibility and morality had also been largely affected by today’s pop culture. The case of pornography that has been very widespread, moreover in the advent of the internet and camera phones, is just an example. The concept of privacy has also been oftentimes mutilated either consciously or unconsciously through electronic means propagated by pop culture. Relationships have also been builded and shattered in the blink of an eye as a result of the prevailing culture and technology. Gossips and defamation had also been most common and aggravated these days, usually spreading worldwide in a split-second. These, however, can either be conscious or unconscious. It can be conscious in the part of the companies who perpetrate these kinds of trend to gain profits in the employment of their technology. It can also be unconscious or subconscious in both sides especially now that these trends have already been inculcated in the society’s culture. It must be noted though that pop culture, aside from its commonly criticized negative influences, also has contributed positive effects to the society. In the negative matters, social responsibility and civility must draw the line. This can only be done by a more conscious meditation and evaluation of the popular culture that is being imposed upon us. As human beings, we were given the capability to analyze the things that are going on around us. And we should. As for the trend in pop culture that had greatly influenced me, I have already mentioned that it is the way that I viewed beauty. Upon analysis, I have come to a conclusion that it had been a result of both my personal desires as a consumer, and the media’s making. Popular culture, in general, does not only result from the corporation’s commercial pursuits. I believe that it is a mixture of the continuous interaction of the consumers and suppliers in every society. References: Combs, James E. Polpop:Politics and Popular Culture In America. University of Wisconsin Pr. 1984 http://www.cobb.k12.ga.us/~smitha/PopIndex.htm http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electronic_media http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electronic media

Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 3

3. The Samurai of Jackson Street TOMMY When he first arrived in San Francisco, Tommy Flood had shared a closet-size room with five Chinese men named Wong, all of whom had wanted to marry him. â€Å"It's horrible-like being packed into a take-out box of Kung Pao chicken,† Tommy had said, and although it wasn't like that at all, and Tommy was just trying to use colorful language which he felt was his duty as a writer, it was very crowded and smelled strongly of garlic and sweaty Chinese guys. â€Å"I think they want to pack my fudge,† Tommy had said. â€Å"I'm from Indiana, we don't go for that kind of stuff.† As it turned out, the Chinese guys didn't go for that kind of stuff either, but were, in fact, very much interested in getting green cards. Fortunately, only a week later, in the parking lot of the Marina Safeway where he worked nights, Tommy met a gorgeous redhead named Jody Stroud, who rescued him from his confinement with the Chinese guys, by giving him her love, a nice loft apartment, and immortality. Unfortunately, little more than a month after that, their minion, Abby, had them bronzed while they slept, and Tommy awoke one night to find that despite his great vampire strength, he couldn't move a muscle. â€Å"I'd rather be trapped in a take-out box of Kung Pao chicken,† Tommy would have said if he could have said anything, which he couldn't. Meanwhile, right next to him, sharing the same bronze shell, his beloved Jody drifted in a dream-state, a side effect of being able to turn herself to mist, a trick she had learned from Elijah Ben Sapir, her vampire sire. Between the dead sleep of daylight, and the floating in a dream-world, she could endure decades inside the statue. Tommy, however, had never learned how to turn to mist. There had never been time to teach him. So come sundown, his vampire senses came on like neon, and he experienced every second of his confinement with an electric intensity that nearly had him vibrating in his shell-an alpha predator pacing the cage of his mind and shredding his reason. Of course, he did the only thing he could do: he went barking at the moon mad. CHET He'd have to lick about a mile of kitty-butt to get the taste of meter maid out of his mouth, but Chet was up for it. He raked a couple of hind-leg kicks through the dust that was the meter maid's remains, and headed across the street and into the alley, where he curled up in the dark and set about blunting the human taste. It was only a little over a month since the old vampire had turned Chet, but already he was losing all sense of his former self. Time was, that he spent his days on Market Street, napping next to William, the homeless man who made his living with a paper cup and a sign that said, I AM HOMELESS AND MY CAT IS HUGE. Chet was indeed very large, and while much of his volume had been fur, he had achieved a weight of thirty-five pounds on a diet of semi-used hamburgers and French fries donated by passersby outside of McDonald's. Now Chet hunted the night, taking down nearly any warm-blooded creature he encountered: rats, birds, squirrels, cats, dogs, and even the occasional human. At first it had only been drunks and other homeless, and the first time he had drained one, his old friend William, who turned to dust in front of him, Chet yowled, ran, and hid under a Dumpster for the rest of the night and all of the next day. There was no regret, simply hunger and elation of the blood rush. It was beyond the satisfaction of the kill, it was positively sexual, something Chet had never known as a normal cat, as he'd been neutered by the animal shelter when still a kitten. But along with speed, strength, and senses far more sensitive than even a human-based vampire, Chet, like his human counterparts, found that he was physically restored to perfection. In other words, his junk was working. He found that soon after the kill he desperately needed to hump something, and the more squirmy and wailing, the better. Above the smells of bus fumes, cooking food, and urine-bathed curbs that pervaded the City, he caught the scent of a female in heat. She might be a mile away, but given his newly heightened senses, he'd find her. A wave of excitement undulated under the fur of his spine, fur that had mostly grown back since the humans had shaved him, mated in front of him, and drank his blood, which served to traumatize his little kitty consciousness before he was turned vampire, and motivated a whole new feeling he'd grown into as a vampire cat: vengeance. For since his metamorphosis, it wasn't just his senses that had expanded. His brain, which before had run a loop of â€Å"eat-nap-crap, repeat,† was now growing into a whole new awareness, getting bigger, even as Chet grew. He was a good sixty pounds now, and roughly as smart as a dog, where before he'd only been a little brighter than a brick. Dog. The hated. There was dog on the air. Coming closer. He could smell it-them-two of them. And now he could hear them. He arose from his butt bath and screeched like an electrified lynx. In response, the neighborhood echoed with a chorus of yowls from a dozen other vampire cats. THE EMPEROR â€Å"Steady, fellows,† said the Emperor. He laid his hand across the neck of the golden retriever and scratched under the chin of the Boston terrier, who squirmed in the great pocket of the Emperor's overcoat, looking like a frantic, black-and-white, bug-eyed kangaroo mutant. â€Å"Cat! Cat! Cat! Cat! Cat!† barked Bummer, with a spray of doggie slobber across the Emperor's palm. â€Å"Cat! Murder, pain, fire, evil, cat! Can't you smell them? Everywhere! Must chase, chase, chase, bite, bite, bite, let me go you insane, oblivious old man, I'm trying to save you, for the love of God, CAT! CAT! CAT!† Unfortunately, Bummer only spoke dog, and while the Emperor could tell that the Boston terrier was upset, he had no idea why. (Anyone who translates dog knows that only about a third of what Bummer said actually meant anything. The rest was just noise he needed to make. Human speech is about the same.) Lazarus, the golden retriever, having battled vampires on and off for the last two months, and being steady by nature, was much calmer about the whole thing, but despite Bummer's tendency to overreact, he had to admit, the smell of cat was tall in the air, and what was more disturbing, it wasn't just cat, it was dead cat. Dead cat walking. Wait, what was that? Not cat-cats. Oh, this was not good. â€Å"He's right about the cat,† Lazarus ruffed, nudging the Emperor's leg. â€Å"We should get out of this neighborhood, maybe go over to North Beach and see if anyone dropped a beef jerky or something. I could sure use a beef jerky. Or we can stay and die. Whatever. I'm good with it.† â€Å"Easy, men,† said the Emperor, alert now that something was amiss. He knelt down, his knees creaking like rusted hinges, and as he looked around, kneaded the spot between Bummer's ears as if he were readying to make doggy-brain biscuits. He was a great, woolly, thunderstorm of a man-broad shouldered and gray bearded, fine witted and fiercely loyal to the people of his city. He had lived on the streets of San Francisco as long as anyone could remember, and while tourists saw him as a raggedy, homeless wretch, the locals viewed him as a fixture, a rolling landmark, a spirit, and a conscience, and for the most part, treated him with the deference they might pay royalty, despite the fact that he was a raving loon. The street was deserted, but a half a block away the Emperor saw the three-wheeled cart of an S.F.P.D. parking enforcement officer, stopped behind an illegally parked Audi. The cart's rotating yellow caution lights chased themselves around the surrounding buildings like drunken, jaundiced Tinkerbells, but there was no officer in sight. â€Å"Strange. It's long past time when a meter maid should be working. Perhaps we should investigate, gents.† But before he could stand, Bummer leapt out of the Emperor's pocket and made a beeline for the cart, trumpeting himself into the charge with a staccato barking fit. Lazarus took off after the black-and-white fur-rocket, and the old man ambled along behind, as fast as his great, arthritic legs would carry him. They found Bummer on the far side of the Audi, snorting and snuffling inside an empty police uniform, and covered with a fine gray powder. The Emperor's eyes went wide. He backed across the sidewalk and stood against the fire door of one of the industrial lofts that lined the street. He had seen this before. He knew the signs. But when he had seen the old vampire and his companions board an enormous yacht in the Bay over a month ago, he thought his city rid of the bloodsucking fiends. What now? There was a crackling static noise from the police cart: a radio. Call it in. Alert his people to the danger. He rolled to the cart, fumbled with the door catch, and reached for the microphone. â€Å"Hello,† he said into the microphone. â€Å"This is the Emperor of San Francisco, Emperor of San Francisco, protector of Alcatraz, Sausalito, and Treasure Island, and I'd like to report a vampire.† The radio continued to crackle and distant voices ghosted through the ether, uninterrupted. Lazarus padded to the old man's side and barked furiously, â€Å"You have to push the button. You have to push the button.† Unfortunately, while the noble retriever understood English, he only spoke dog, and the Emperor did not get the instruction. â€Å"Button! Button! Button! Button!† Bummer barked, springing up and down in front of the police cart. He scurried around to the door and jumped in on the Emperor's lap to show him. â€Å"Yeah, that helps,† growled Lazarus sarcastically. Golden retrievers are not a very sarcastic breed, and he felt a little ashamed and, well, catlike, using that tone of voice. â€Å"Okay. Button! Button! Button! Uh-oh.† â€Å"Button! Button! Button! Uh-oh, what?† barked Bummer. A short ruff from the retriever: â€Å"Cat.† Lazarus boiled out a low growl and laid his ears back against his head. The Emperor saw two of them: cats, coming down the sidewalk toward them. But they didn't look quite natural. The light from the police cart was reflecting back from the cats' eyes like red coals. A screech, there were two more coming across the street. Lazarus turned to face them, snarling now. A chorus of hisses from behind. The Emperor looked in the rearview mirror to see three more cats stalking from behind. â€Å"Quick, Lazarus, in the cart. Up, boy, in the cart.† Lazarus was spinning now, trying to watch all of the cats at once, warning them off with bared teeth and bristled hair. But the cats came on, baring their own teeth. â€Å"Come now,† said the Emperor into the microphone. Something landed hard on the roof of the cart and Bummer yelped. Another thump and the Emperor looked back to see a large cat in the bed of the cart, coming up on two legs and trying to claw around the back window. The old man pulled the door shut. â€Å"Run, Lazarus, run!† Lazarus caught the first cat in his jaws and was shaking it furiously when the rest fell upon him. STEVE â€Å"There's nefarious shit afoot, Foo,† said Abby. â€Å"Bring portable sun and fry these nosferatu kitties before they nom everyone in the ‘hood.† Steven â€Å"Foo Dog† Wong had no idea what his girlfriend, Abby, was talking about, and it wasn't the first time. In fact, much of the time he had no idea what she was talking about, but he had learned if he was patient, and listened, and more important, agreed with her, she would mercilessly sex him up, which he liked quite a bit, and occasionally he got the message. He used the same strategy with his maternal grandmother (without the sexing-up part), who spoke an obscure, country dialect of Cantonese, that sounded to the uninitiated like someone beating a chicken to death with a banjo. Just wait, and all would become clear. This time, however, Abby, whose tone ran from tragically romantic to passionately dismissive, was sounding much more urgent, and the patience gambit wasn't going to work. Her voice in his Bluetooth headset was like having a malevolent fairy bite his ear. â€Å"I'm in the middle of something, Abby. I'll be home as soon as I finish up here.† â€Å"Now, Foo. There's a herd, or flock, or a-what do you call a bunch of kitties?† â€Å"A box?† Foo offered. â€Å"Fucktard!† â€Å"A fucktard of kitties? Okay, sure, that could be it. A pride of lions, a murder of crows†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"No. You fucktard! There's a bunch of vampire kitties about to eat that crazy Emperor guy and his dogs right outside on the street. You need to come save them.† â€Å"A bunch?† Steve was having a hard time getting his head around the idea. He'd only recently gotten his head around the idea of one vampire cat, but a bunch, well, that was more. He was just a couple of months away from having his master's in biochem at age twenty-one-he wasn't a fucktard. â€Å"Define a bunch,† he said. â€Å"Many. I can't count them because they're stalking the golden retriever.† â€Å"And how do you know they're vampire kitties?† â€Å"Oh, because I drew blood samples from them, ran it in that centrifuge thingy of yours, prepared some slides, and looked at the blood cell structure under a microscope, duh?† â€Å"No, really,† he said. She was flunking high school biology, there's no way she prepared blood slides. And besides- â€Å"Of course not, you douche nozzle, I know they're vampires because they're stalking a golden retriever and a homeless fuck who's hiding in the vaporized meter maid's cart. That's not standard kitty behavior.† â€Å"Vaporized meter maid?† â€Å"The one Chet ate-sucked her to dust. Come now, Foo, turn your sunbeam full-on and get your luscious ninja ass over here.† Steve had rigged the hatchback of his tricked-out Honda Civic with high intensity UV floodlights, which he'd used to flash fry a number of vampires, thus saving Abby and, for the first time in his life, having a girlfriend and someone who thought he was cool. â€Å"I can't come right away, Abby. The sun lights aren't in the car.† â€Å"Oh my fucking God, there's some little old guy with a cane coming out of the alley. Well, he's toast. Fuck!† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Fuck!† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Oh fuck!† â€Å"What? What? What?† â€Å"Oh-my-fucking-god-ponies-on-a-stick!† â€Å"Abby, you need to be more specific.† â€Å"It's not a cane, Foo, it's a sword.† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Come now, Foo. Bring the sun.† â€Å"I can't, Abby. My car is full of rats.† THE EMPEROR The Emperor watched in horror as the cats leapt onto the back of his noble captain, Lazarus. The golden retriever shook himself violently, dislodging two of the fiends, but they were replaced by two more, and three more leapt on top of them, nearly bringing Lazarus to the ground. But they weren't pack hunters, and as each maneuvered for the throat, another attacker was pushed off, his claws shredding both predator and prey as he fell. Blood splattered the windscreen of the police cart. Bummer bounced around inside the tiny cabin, barking and snorting, and throwing himself against the glass, covering everything with angry dog slobber. â€Å"Run, Lazarus, run!† The Emperor pounded on the glass, then pushed his forehead against it as he tried to squint back tears of anguish and frustration. â€Å"No!† He would not do it. He would not watch his companion slaughtered. Outrage filled the ancient, boiler-tank of a man and condensed to courage. He was fighting the door latch when half a cat hit the side window and slid down trailing gore. The door handle snapped off in his hand and he threw it to the floor of the cart. Bummer immediately attacked it and broke a tooth on the metal. Through the haze of blood spray, the Emperor could see another figure in the street. A boy-no, a man, but a small man, Asian-wearing a fluorescent orange porkpie hat and socks, tight plaid trousers that looked as if they'd been teleported out of the 1960s, and a gray cardigan sweater. The little man was brandishing a samurai sword, bringing it down again and again on Lazarus in quick snapping motions, but before he could cry out, the Emperor saw that the sword wasn't even grazing the retriever's coat. With each stroke one of the cats fell away, beheaded or cut in half, both halves squirming on the pavement. There was no spinning, no wind-up or flourish to the swordsman's movements, just grim efficiency, like a chef chopping vegetables. As his targets moved, he pivoted and stepped just enough to deliver the cut, then snapped the blade back and sent it to its next destination. The weight and fury removed from his back, Lazarus looked around and whimpered, which translated to: â€Å"Whaaa-?† The swordsman was relentless, step, cut, step, cut. Two cats came at him from under a Volvo and he quickly retreated and swung the sword in a quick, low arc that approximated a golf stroke and sent their heads back over the car to bounce off a metal garage door. â€Å"Behind!† the Emperor warned. But it was too late. The low attack had thrown the swordsman off-a heavy-bodied Siamese cat launched itself from the roof of a van across the street and landed on the little man's back. The long sword was useless at such close range. The swordsman arched in pain, even as the Siamese clawed its way up his back. He spun, then threw his feet out before him and fell hard on his back, but the Siamese took the impact and dug its fangs into the swordsman's shoulder. A half-dozen vampire cats came scurrying out from under cars toward the struggling swordsman. Lazarus, his fur matted with blood, caught one of the cats by the haunch and bit to the bone. The cat screamed and squirmed in the retriever's jaws, trying to claw his eyes. The others fell on the swordsman with fang and claw. The Emperor threw his shoulder against the Plexiglas door of the police cart, but there was no room to move, to gain momentum, and while the entire cart rocked and went up on two wheels under his weight, the door latch would not give. He watched in horror as the swordsman writhed under his attackers. The Emperor heard a steel fire door hitting brick and light spilled across the sidewalk and into the street. Out of the doorway ran a thin, impossibly pale girl with lavender pigtails wearing pink motocross boots, pink fishnet stockings, a green plastic skirt, wraparound sunglasses, and a black leather jacket that looked studded with glass. Before he could warn her, the girl ran into the street and shouted, â€Å"You motherfucking kitties need to step the fuck off!† The vampire cats attacking the swordsman looked up and hissed, which translated from vampire cat, meant: â€Å"Whaaa-?† She ran right at the swordsman, waving her arms as if shooing birds or trying to dry some particularly stubborn nail polish and screaming like a madwoman. The cats turned their attention to her, and were crouching, readying to leap, when her jacket lit up like the sun. There was a collective screech of agony from the vampire cats as all around the street, cats and cat parts smoked, then ignited. Burning cats made for the alley across the street or tried to hide under cars, but the thin girl ran after them, darting here and there, until each ignited, then burned and reduced itself first to a bubbling puddle of fur and goo, and finally, a pile of fine ash. In less than a minute, the street was quiet again. The lights on the girl's jacket went dark. The swordsman climbed to his feet and fitted his orange porkpie hat back on his head. He was bleeding from spots on his back and arms, and there was blood on his plaid pants and orange socks, but whether it was his or the cats' was impossible to tell. He stood before the thin girl and bowed deeply. â€Å"Domo arigato,† he said, keeping his eyes at her feet. â€Å"Dozo,† said the girl. â€Å"Your kitty-slaying skills are, if I may say so, the shit.† The swordsman bowed again, short and shallow, then turned and trotted across the street, down the alley, and out of sight. Lazarus was digging at the Plexiglas door of the police cart with the pads of his paws, as if he might polish his way through to release his master. Abby scratched his nose, nearly the only part of him not covered in blood, and opened the door. â€Å"Hey,† she said. â€Å"Hey,† said the Emperor. He stepped out of the cart and looked around. The street was painted with blood for half a block, punctuated by piles of ash and the occasional charred flea collar. Parked cars were sprayed in red mist, even the security lights above several fire doors were speckled with gore. Acrid smoke from burning cats hung low in the air, and on the sidewalk greasy gray ash spilled out of the sleeves and collar of the parking officer's uniform. â€Å"Well, you don't see that every day,† said the Emperor, as a police cruiser rounded the corner, the red and blue lights raking the building. The cruiser stopped and doors flew open. The driver stood behind his door, his hand on his gun. â€Å"What's going on here?† he said, trying to keep his eyes on the Emperor and not look at the carnage that surrounded them. â€Å"Nothing,† Abby said.

Nowadays, Food Has Become Easier to Prepare Essay

Nowadays, Food Has Become Easier to Prepare. Has This Change Improved the Way People Live? Use Specific Reasons and Examples to Support Your Answer. By annicat Man, through the ages, has undergone many changes, from a period when he hunted for his food to the present era when man is dependent on preprocessed foods. During this period not only has man changed his mode of eating but his whole lifestyle as well. In pursuit of more in this competitive world, man no longer has time as he once had. He is caught in a race against the clock. A person who finishes more n lesser time is considered more efficient. This pressure to do more in less time has affected his eating habits as well and, as a result, man no longer has time to cook food. Early man’s only objective was to seek food to sustain him and his family. Nowadays finding food has taken a back seat to other priorities, such as career and education. Food is no longer of that importance. This is not an encouraging trend. People are too dependent on preprocessed or precooked food, which no longer has the freshness it once had. Such foods loose their mineral and vitamin content and re not as healthy as fresh food. That is why the number of diseases is also rising. People have also shifted to high calorie content food like French fries, pizzas, and ice cream, etc. , which is causing obesity, fatigue, etc. As man is becoming busy and too involved in his busy schedule, he has no time even to take care of his own personal needs. Furthermore, cooking is an art which is dying out. People once enjoyed cooking . It was a means of eliminating stress and tension. People were once able to relax during this time and reflect on their lives. People may tend to argue that by sing precooked and preprocessed food they are efficiently using time and can use this precious time saved for other purposes. But is it really worth it? This is a question whose answer can invite much speculation about whether by saving this little time we are inviting lots of other problems, which could easily be avoided. It is actually making our lives not simpler but more complicated. We have lost many of the simpler things in our lives, like the simple acts of selecting our evening meal, preparing it, and enjoying it with our loved ones, and we are worse off for it.

Lifespan Development and Personality Paper Essay

Lifespan Development and Personality Paper - Essay Example This essay will be considering several incidents that took place throughout the course of Hitler's childhood and youth, reflecting on the way that they may have been instrumental in shaping the future personality, philosophy, and beliefs of the dictator. Through this observation, thought will be given concerning the different influences that affected his psychological development, with a view to determining how his growth could have been optimized. Finally, two different personality theories will be discussed, with an emphasis placed on the theory that best accounts for Hitler's behavior, with reasons give for this choice. Adolph Hitler, like millions of other children, had a difficult childhood that was marked with diverse tragedies, violence, personal failure, and under achievement. Born 1889, in Braunau Am Inn, which is a small Austrian village just across the boarder from German Bavaria, Adolph lived with his family on a small farm. The family moved on several occasions when Adolph was a young boy, which caused several disruptions in his schooling, and his childhood was dominated by a father, who was a strict disciplinarian. The whippings and beatings were so bad that Alois Jn. left home at fourteen years of age, never to see his father again. Adolph was just seven years old at the time. Hitler's obsession with authority and power were present from a very young age, and were reflected through his love of playing war, role games, a fascination with any kind of authority figures, and his intense dislike of being corrected in any form. He had a terrible reputation at school, due to his refusal to either obey, or study. It is also evident from research material that Hitler, even when still a young child, believed himself to be different. He saw himself as 'one of the lads', a popular ring-leader, who enjoyed hanging around with the tougher boys, whereas others have described him as a violent child, with a harsh temper, and spoilt by his mother. It is evident that he needed to be the 'leader' during any game, portraying at an early age his need to control both events and people. The cold fingers of death first touched Hitler's life when his little brother Edmund died of measles, and was believed to have deeply affected him. He could see his brother's miniscule grave from his bedroom window and, in later years, neighbours spoke of remembering the young Adolph often sitting on the wall of the cemetery, just staring into space (Wikipedia, Online Article, 2007). The sudden, and early, death of Adolph's father in 1903 caused the thirteen-year-old boy to break down and cry. However, it also meant that no one was there to enforce discipline, or to guide the already headstrong young lad, and it was from this time onwards that Hitler began to really fail academically. Hitler had, before his father's death, already experienced difficulties at school, but after his father's departure, his behaviour deteriorated, and he was reputed as being a difficult student, with many teachers feeling that he ought to be expelled. He finally left school, definitively, at sixteen years old, without accomplishing his exams, claiming