The Evolution Of The Education - 1566 Words

Michael May Mr. Hoelzle Academic Writing 4 January 2015 Major Research Paper The Evolution of Education in America Education plays the most crucial role in the quality of life any person will ever live. Before a set structure, or a standard of education was made, education was not considered a necessity. Once the importance of education was established and more people began attending school, the race to a higher education became more intense than ever. People even began saving up to send their children away from home for their best chance at succeeding in life with a good education (Public Schools in the Great Depression.). It is clear that a quality education for everyone will not only lead to the better life on one person, but to the†¦show more content†¦Sometimes, the males of an upper class family would go to a boarding school in England to be taught, while the girls would usually stay home and learn from her mother or sometimes even a governess, who was typically from England and somewhat educated, how to maintain the home (The History of Education in America.). Girls did not get th e opportunity to study in England because a quality education was not considered important for them. They would study art, music, French, standard social etiquette, spinning, weaving, needlework, cooking, and nursing. Academic wise, they were taught enough reading, writing, and arithmetic to read their Bibles and record the expenses of the household. The subjects in which males and females were educated in directly reflects on what they were expected to contribute to their families when they got older (â€Å"Colonial Women†). In 1636, Harvard College was established as institute of higher education in America. Soon after Harvard, places of higher education began to pop up everywhere, including the English Academy, known today as the University of Pennsylvania, founded by Benjamin Franklin in the early 1700’s (University of Pennsylvania.). By this time, many parents taught their children at home with a bible and a hornbook. A hornbook was a wooded board with a handle that usually had a string that allowed it

Learning Plan 2 - 2696 Words

Learning Plan 2 - Short Answer Activity (10 points each) Write and submit 1 - 2 typed paragraphs for each question. Please remember to: ↠ Reflect, in your own words, the content of textbook lessons. ↠ Use complete sentences with proper paragraphing. ↠ Use standard grammar, punctuation, and spelling. ↠ Show good logic and organization, amplifying definitions with examples. 1. Briefly explain the importance of paralanguage. Give three distinct examples of how paralanguage might (1) contradict, (2) supplement, or (3) complement your verbal message. Paralanguage is important because the 6 vocal charactistics that it is composed of portray what type of person you are or how you are feeling. When you use a higher†¦show more content†¦Note: You must do ALL options under the activity you choose. 4. Artifacts are ornaments or adornments that communicate messages about us. a. Try wearing something unusual or carrying an unusual prop. Try pinning a tootsie roll pop to your shirt or carrying a rubber ducky around with you for the day. What kinds of reactions do you get from others? What comments do people make? This is an intriguing way to meet people, by the way. b. Observe at least five strangers. Note their artifacts. What conclusions can you draw from the person who uses a cellular phone, carries a clipboard or an umbrella, or holds a folded Wall Street Journal vs. a Playboy magazine? Do you think that the people that you are observing are aware of the messages that they are sending? Are you aware of the messages that you are sending? How much consideration do you give to your clothing, jewelry, hairstyle and other elements of your appearance? What kinds of conclusions would people draw from your appearance and artifacts right now? Employers often report that this is an important factor in their job interview process. Nonverbal communication plays an important part in any interpersonal transaction. 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Black House Chapter Fifteen Free Essays

string(52) " a round coffee table \?\? has also been abandoned\." 15 BY EVENING, the temperature has dropped fifteen degrees as a minor cold front pushes through our little patch of the Coulee Country. There are no thunderstorms, but as the sky tinges toward violet, the fog arrives. It’s born out of the river and rises up the inclined ramp of Chase Street, first obscuring the gutters, then the sidewalks, then blurring the buildings themselves. We will write a custom essay sample on Black House Chapter Fifteen or any similar topic only for you Order Now It cannot completely hide them, as the fogs of spring and winter sometimes do, but the blurring is somehow worse: it steals colors and softens shapes. The fog makes the ordinary look alien. And there’s the smell, the ancient, seagully odor that works deep into your nose and awakens the back part of your brain, the part that is perfectly capable of believing in monsters when the sight lines shorten and the heart is uneasy. On Sumner Street, Debbi Anderson is still working dispatch. Arnold â€Å"the Mad Hungarian† Hrabowski has been sent home without his badge in fact, suspended and feels he must ask his wife a few pointed questions (his belief that he already knows the answers makes him even more heartsick). Debbi is now standing at the window, a cup of coffee in her hand and a puckery little frown on her face. â€Å"Don’t like this,† she says to Bobby Dulac, who is glumly and silently writing reports. â€Å"It reminds me of the Hammer pictures I used to watch on TV back when I was in junior high.† â€Å"Hammer pictures?† Bobby asks, looking up. â€Å"Horror pictures,† she says, looking out into the deepening fog. â€Å"A lot of them were about Dracula. Also Jack the Ripper.† â€Å"I don’t want to hear nothing about Jack the Ripper,† Bobby says. â€Å"You mind me, Debster.† And resumes writing. In the parking lot of the 7-Eleven, Mr. Rajan Patel stands beside his telephone (still crisscrossed by yellow police tape, and when it will be all right again for using, this Mr. Patel could not be telling us). He looks toward downtown, which now seems to rise from a vast bowl of cream. The buildings on Chase Street descend into this bowl. Those at Chase’s lowest point are visible only from the second story up. â€Å"If he is down there,† Mr. Patel says softly, and to no one but himself, â€Å"tonight he will be doing whatever he wants.† He crosses his arms over his chest and shivers. Dale Gilbertson is at home, for a wonder. He plans to have a sit-down dinner with his wife and child even if the world ends because of it. He comes out of his den (where he has spent twenty minutes talking with WSP officer Jeff Black, a conversation in which he has had to exercise all his discipline to keep from shouting), and sees his wife standing at the window and looking out. Her posture is almost exactly the same as Debbi Anderson’s, only she’s got a glass of wine in her hand instead of a cup of coffee. The puckery little frown is identical. â€Å"River fog,† Sarah says dismally. â€Å"Isn’t that ducky. If he’s out there â€Å" Dale points at her. â€Å"Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.† But he knows that neither of them can help thinking about it. The streets of French Landing the foggy streets of French Landing will be deserted right now: no one shopping in the stores, no one idling along the sidewalks, no one in the parks. Especially no children. The parents will be keeping them in. Even on Nailhouse Row, where good parenting is the exception rather than the rule, the parents will be keeping their kids inside. â€Å"I won’t say it,† she allows. â€Å"That much I can do.† â€Å"What’s for dinner?† â€Å"How does chicken pot pie sound?† Ordinarily such a hot dish on a July evening would strike him as an awful choice, but tonight, with the fog coming in, it sounds like just the thing. He steps up behind her, gives her a brief squeeze, and says, â€Å"Great. And earlier would be better.† She turns, disappointed. â€Å"Going back in?† â€Å"I shouldn’t have to, not with Brown and Black rolling the ball â€Å" â€Å"Those pricks,† she says. â€Å"I never liked them.† Dale smiles. He knows that the former Sarah Asbury has never cared much for the way he earns his living, and this makes her furious loyalty all the more touching. And tonight it feels vital, as well. It’s been the most painful day of his career in law enforcement, ending with the suspension of Arnold Hrabowski. Arnie, Dale knows, believes he will be back on duty before long. And the shitty truth is that Arnie may be right. Based on the way things are going, Dale may need even such an exquisite example of ineptitude as the Mad Hungarian. â€Å"Anyway, I shouldn’t have to go back in, but . . .† â€Å"You have a feeling.† â€Å"I do.† â€Å"Good or bad?† She has come to respect her husband’s intuitions, not in the least because of Dale’s intense desire to see Jack Sawyer settled close enough to reach with seven keystrokes instead of eleven. Tonight that looks to her like pardon the pun a pretty good call. â€Å"Both,† Dale says, and then, without explaining or giving Sarah a chance to question further: â€Å"Where’s Dave?† â€Å"At the kitchen table with his crayons.† At six, young David Gilbertson is enjoying a violent love affair with Crayolas, has gone through two boxes since school let out. Dale and Sarah’s strong hope, expressed even to each other only at night, lying side by side before sleep, is that they may be raising a real artist. The next Norman Rockwell, Sarah said once. Dale who helped Jack Sawyer hang his strange and wonderful pictures has higher hopes for the boy. Too high to express, really, even in the marriage bed after the lights are out. With his own glass of wine in hand, Dale ambles out to the kitchen. â€Å"What you drawing, Dave? What â€Å" He stops. The crayons have been abandoned. The picture a half-finished drawing of what might be either a flying saucer or perhaps just a round coffee table has also been abandoned. You read "Black House Chapter Fifteen" in category "Essay examples" The back door is open. Looking out at the whiteness that hides David’s swing and jungle gym, Dale feels a terrible fear leap up his throat, choking him. All at once he can smell Irma Freneau again, that terrible smell of raw spoiled meat. Any sense that his family lives in a protected, magic circle it may happen to others, but it can never, never happen to us is gone now. What has replaced it is stark certainty: David is gone. The Fisherman has enticed him out of the house and spirited him away into the fog. Dale can see the grin on the Fisherman’s face. He can see the gloved hand it’s yellow covering his son’s mouth but not the bulging, terrified child’s eyes. Into the fog and out of the known world. David. He moves forward across the kitchen on legs that feel boneless as well as nerveless. He puts his wineglass down on the table, the stem landing a-tilt on a crayon, not noticing when it spills and covers David’s half-finished drawing with something that looks horribly like venous blood. He’s out the door, and although he means to yell, his voice comes out in a weak and almost strengthless sigh: â€Å"David? . . . Dave?† For a moment that seems to last a thousand years, there is nothing. Then he hears the soft thud of running feet on damp grass. Blue jeans and a red-striped rugby shirt materialize out of the thickening soup. A moment later he sees his son’s dear, grinning face and mop of yellow hair. â€Å"Dad! Daddy! I was swinging in the fog! It was like being in a cloud!† Dale snatches him up. There is a bad, blinding impulse to slap the kid across the face, to hurt him for scaring his father so. It passes as quickly as it came. He kisses David instead. â€Å"I know,† he says. â€Å"That must have been fun, but it’s time to come in now.† â€Å"Why, Daddy?† â€Å"Because sometimes little boys get lost in the fog,† he says, looking out into the white yard. He can see the patio table, but it is only a ghost; he wouldn’t know what he was looking at if he hadn’t seen it a thousand times. He kisses his son again. â€Å"Sometimes little boys get lost,† he repeats. Oh, we could check in with any number of friends, both old and new. Jack and Fred Marshall have returned from Arden (neither suggested stopping at Gertie’s Kitchen in Centralia when they passed it), and both are now in their otherwise deserted houses. For the balance of the ride back to French Landing, Fred never once let go of his son’s baseball cap, and he has a hand on it even now, as he eats a microwaved TV dinner in his too empty living room and watches Action News Five. Tonight’s news is mostly about Irma Freneau, of course. Fred picks up the remote when they switch from shaky-cam footage of Ed’s Eats to a taped report from the Holiday Trailer Park. The cameraman has focused on one shabby trailer in particular. A few flowers, brave but doomed, straggle in the dust by the stoop, which consists of three boards laid across two cement blocks. â€Å"Here, on the outskirts of French Landing, Irma Freneau’s grieving mother is in seclusion,† says the on-scene correspondent. â€Å"One can only imagine this single mother’s feelings tonight.† The reporter is prettier than Wendell Green but exudes much the same aura of glittering, unhealthy excitement. Fred hits the OFF button on the remote and growls, â€Å"Why can’t you leave the poor woman alone?† He looks down at his chipped beef on toast, but he has lost his appetite. Slowly, he raises Tyler’s hat and puts it on his own head. It doesn’t fit, and Fred for a moment thinks of letting out the plastic band at the back. The idea shocks him. Suppose that was all it took to kill his son? That one simple, deadly modification? The idea strikes him as both ridiculous and utterly inarguable. He supposes that if this keeps up, he’ll soon be as mad as his wife . . . or Sawyer. Trusting Sawyer is as crazy as thinking he might kill his son by changing the size of the boy’s hat . . . and yet he believes in both things. He picks up his fork and begins to eat again, Ty’s Brewers cap sitting on his head like Spanky’s beanie in an old Our Gang one-reeler. Beezer St. Pierre is sitting on his sofa in his underwear, a book open on his lap (it is, in fact, a book of William Blake’s poems) but unread. Bear Girl’s asleep in the other room, and he’s fighting the urge to bop on down to the Sand Bar and score some crank, his old vice, untouched for going on five years now. Since Amy died, he fights this urge every single day, and lately he wins only by reminding himself that he won’t be able to find the Fisherman and punish him as he deserves to be punished if he’s fucked up on devil dust. Henry Leyden is in his studio with a huge pair of Akai headphones on his head, listening to Warren Vach? ¦, John Bunch, and Phil Flanigan dreamboat their way through â€Å"I Remember April.† He can smell the fog even through the walls, and to him it smells like the air at Ed’s Eats. Like bad death, in other words. He’s wondering how Jack made out in good old Ward D at French County Lutheran. And he’s thinking about his wife, who lately (especially since the record hop at Maxton’s, although he doesn’t consciously realize this) seems closer than ever. And unquiet. Yes indeed, all sorts of friends are available for our inspection, but at least one seems to have dropped out of sight. Charles Burnside isn’t in the common room at Maxton’s (where an old episode of Family Ties is currently running on the ancient color TV bolted to the wall), nor in the dining hall, where snacks are available in the early evening, nor in his own room, where the sheets are currently clean (but where the air still smells vaguely of old shit). What about the bathroom? Nope. Thorvald Thorvaldson has stopped in to have a pee and a handwash, but otherwise the place is empty. One oddity: there’s a fuzzy slipper lying on its side in one of the stalls. With its bright black and yellow stripes, it looks like the corpse of a huge dead bumblebee. And yes, it’s the stall second from the left. Burny’s favorite. Should we look for him? Maybe we should. Maybe not knowing exactly where that rascal is makes us uneasy. Let us slip through the fog, then, silent as a dream, down to lower Chase Street. Here is the Nelson Hotel, its ground floor now submerged in river fog, the ocher stripe marking high water of that ancient flood no more than a whisper of color in the fading light. On one side of it is Wisconsin Shoe, now closed for the day. On the other is Lucky’s Tavern, where an old woman with bowlegs (her name is Bertha Van Dusen, if you care) is currently bent over with her hands planted on her large knees, yarking a bellyful of Kingsland Old-Time Lager into the gutter. She makes sounds like a bad driver grinding a manual transmission. In the doorway of the Nelson Hotel itself sits a patient old mongrel, who will wait until Bertha has gone back into the tavern, then slink over to eat the half-digested cocktail franks floating in the beer. From Lucky’s comes the tired, twanging voi ce of the late Dick Curless, Ole Country One-Eye, singing about those Hainesville Woods, where there’s a tombstone every mile. The dog gives a single disinterested growl as we pass him and slip into the Nelson’s lobby, where moth-eaten heads a wolf, a bear, an elk, and an ancient half-bald bison with a single glass eye look at empty sofas, empty chairs, the elevator that hasn’t worked since 1994 or so, and the empty registration desk. (Morty Fine, the clerk, is in the office with his feet propped up on an empty file-cabinet drawer, reading People and picking his nose.) The lobby of the Nelson Hotel always smells of the river it’s in the pores of the place but this evening the smell is heavier than usual. It’s a smell that makes us think of bad ideas, blown investments, forged checks, deteriorating health, stolen office supplies, unpaid alimony, empty promises, skin tumors, lost ambition, abandoned sample cases filled with cheap novelties, dead hope, dead skin, and fallen arches. This is the kind of place you don’t come to unless you’ve been here before and all yo ur other options are pretty much foreclosed. It’s a place where men who left their families two decades before now lie on narrow beds with pee-stained mattresses, coughing and smoking cigarettes. The scuzzy old lounge (where scuzzy old Hoover Dalrymple once held court and knocked heads most every Friday and Saturday night) has been closed by unanimous vote of the town council since early June, when Dale Gilbertson scandalized the local political elite by showing them a video of three traveling strippers who billed themselves as the Anal University Trio, performing a synchronized cucumber routine on the tiny stage (FLPD cameraman: Officer Tom Lund, let’s give him a hand), but the Nelson’s residents still have only to go next door to get a beer; it’s convenient. You pay by the week at the Nelson. You can keep a hot plate in your room, but only by permission and after the cord has been inspected. You can die on a fixed income at the Nelson, and the last soun d you hear could well be the creaking of bedsprings over your head as some other helpless old loser jacks off. Let us rise up the first flight, past the old canvas firehose in its glass box. Turn right at the second-floor landing (past the pay phone with its yellowing OUT OF ORDER sign) and continue to rise. When we reach the third floor, the smell of river fog is joined by the smell of chicken soup warming on someone’s hot plate (the cord duly approved either by Morty Fine or George Smith, the day manager). The smell is coming from 307. If we slip through the keyhole (there have never been keycards at the Nelson and never will be), we’ll be in the presence of Andrew Railsback, seventy, balding, scrawny, good-humored. He once sold vacuum cleaners for Electrolux and appliances for Sylvania, but those days are behind him now. These are his golden years. A candidate for Maxton’s, we might think, but Andy Railsback knows that place, and places like it. Not for him, thanks. He’s sociable enough, but he doesn’t want people telling him when to go to bed, when to get up, and when he can have a little nip of Early Times. He has friends in Maxton’s, visits them often, and has from time to time met the sparkling, shallow, predatory eye of our pal Chipper. He has thought on more than one such occasion that Mr. Maxton looks like the sort of fellow who would happily turn the corpses of his graduates into soap if he thought he could turn a buck on it. No, for Andy Railsback, the third floor of the Nelson Hotel is good enough. He has his hot plate; he has his bottle of hooch; he’s got four packs of Bicycles and plays big-picture solitaire on nights when the sandman loses his way. This evening he has made three Lipton Cup-A-Soups, thinking he’ll invite Irving Throneberry in for a bowl and a chat. Maybe afterward they’ll go next door to Lucky’s and grab a beer. He checks the soup, sees it has attained a nice simmer, sniffs the fragrant steam, and nods. He also has saltines, which go well with soup. He leaves the room to make his way upstairs and knock on Irv’s door, but what he sees in the hallway stops him cold. It’s an old man in a shapeless blue robe, walking away from him with suspicious quickness. Beneath the hem of the robe, the stranger’s legs are as white as a carp’s belly and marked with blue snarls of varicose veins. On his left foot is a fuzzy black-and-yellow slipper. His right foot is bare. Although our new friend can’t tell for sure not with the guy’s back to him he doesn’t look like anyone Andy knows. Also, he’s trying doorknobs as he wends his way along the main third-floor hall. He gives each one a single hard, quick shake. Like a turnkey. Or a thief. A fucking thief. Yeah. Although the man is obviously old older than Andy, it looks like and dressed as if for bed, the idea of thievery resonates in Andy’s mind with queer certainty. Even the one bare foot, arguing that the fellow probably didn’t come in off the street, has no power over this strong intuition. Andy opens his mouth to call out something like Can I help you? or Looking for someone? and then changes his mind. He just has this feeling about the guy. It has to do with the fleet way the stranger scurries along as he tries the knobs, but that’s not all of it. Not all of it by any means. It’s a feeling of darkness and danger. There are pockets in the geezer’s robe, Andy can see them, and there might be a weapon in one of them. Thieves don’t always have weapons, but . . . The old guy turns the corner and is gone. Andy stands where he is, considering. If he had a phone in his room, he might call downstairs and alert Morty Fine, but he doesn’t. So, what to do? After a brief interior debate, he tiptoes down the hall to the corner and peeps around. Here is a cul-de-sac with three doors: 312, 313, and, at the very end, 314, the only room in that little appendix which is currently occupied. The man in 314 has been there since the spring, but almost all Andy knows about him is his name: George Potter. Andy has asked both Irv and Hoover Dalrymple about Potter, but Hoover doesn’t know jack-shit and Irv has learned only a little more. â€Å"You must,† Andy objected this conversation took place in late May or early June, around the time the Buckhead Lounge downstairs went dark. â€Å"I seen you in Lucky’s with him, havin’ a beer.† Irv had lifted one bushy eyebrow in that cynical way of his. â€Å"Seen me havin’ a beer with him. What are you?† he’d rasped. â€Å"My fuckin’ wife?† â€Å"I’m just saying. You drink a beer with a man, you have a little conversation â€Å" â€Å"Usually, maybe. Not with him. I sat down, bought a pitcher, and mostly got the dubious pleasure of listenin’ to myself think. I say, ‘What do you think about the Brewers this year?’ and he says, ‘They’ll suck, same as last year. I can get the Cubs at night on my rah-dio ‘ â€Å" â€Å"That the way he said it? Rah-dio?† â€Å"Well, it ain’t the way I say it, is it? You ever heard me say rah-dio? I say radio, same as any normal person. You want to hear this or not?† â€Å"Don’t sound like there’s much to hear.† â€Å"You got that right, buddy. He says, ‘I can get the Cubs at night on my rah-dio, and that’s enough for me. I always went to Wrigley with my dad when I was a kid.’ So I found out he was from Chi, but otherwise, bupkes.† The first thought to pop into Andy’s mind upon glimpsing the fucking thief in the third-floor corridor had been Potter, but Mr. George I-Keep-to-Myself Potter is a tall drink of water, maybe six-four, still with a pretty good head of salt-and-pepper hair. Mr. One-Slipper was shorter than that, hunched over like a toad. (A poison toad, at that is the thought that immediately rises in Andy’s mind.) He’s in there, Andy thinks. Fucking thief’s in Potter’s room, maybe going through Potter’s drawers, looking for a little stash. Fifty or sixty rolled up in the toe of a sock, like I used to do. Or stealing Potter’s radio. His fucking rah-dio. Well, and what was that to him? You passed Potter in the hallway, gave him a civil good morning or good afternoon, and what you got back was an uncivil grunt. Bupkes, in other words. You saw him in Lucky’s, he was drinking alone, far side of the jukebox. Andy guessed you could sit down with him and he’d split a pitcher with you Irv’s little tte-? ¤-tte with the man proved that much but what good was that without a little chin-jaw to go along with it? Why should he, Andrew Railsback, risk the wrath of some poison toad in a bathrobe for the sake of an old grump who wouldn’t give you a yes, no, or maybe? Well . . . Because this is his home, cheesy as it might be, that’s why. Because when you saw some crazy old one-slipper fuck in search of loose cash or the easily lifted rah-dio, you didn’t just turn your back and shuffle away. Because the bad feeling he got from the scurrying old elf (the bad vibe, his grandchildren would have said) was probably nothing but a case of the chickenshits. Because Suddenly Andy Railsback has an intuition that, while not a direct hit, is at least adjacent to the truth. Suppose it is a guy from off the street? Suppose it’s one of the old guys from Maxton Elder Care? It’s not that far away, and he knows for a fact that from time to time an old feller (or old gal) will get mixed up in his (or her) head and wander off the reservation. Under ordinary circumstances that person would be spotted and hauled back long before getting this far downtown kind of hard to miss on the street in an institutional robe and single slipper but this evening the fog has come in and the streets are all but deserted. Look at you, Andy berates himself. Scared half to death of a feller that’s probably got ten years on you and peanut butter for brains. Wandered in here past the empty desk not a chance in the goddamn world Fine’s out front; he’ll be in back reading a magazine or a stroke book and now he’s looking for his room back at Maxton’s, trying every knob on the goddamn corridor, no more idea of where he is than a squirrel on a freeway ramp. Potter’s probably having a beer next door (this, at least, turns out to be true) and left his door unlocked (this, we may be assured, is not). And although he’s still frightened, Andy comes all the way around the corner and walks slowly toward the open door. His heart is beating fast, because half his mind is still convinced the old man is maybe dangerous. There was, after all, that bad feeling he got just from looking at the stranger’s back But he goes. God help him, he does. â€Å"Mister?† he calls when he reaches the open door. â€Å"Hey, mister, I think you got the wrong room. That’s Mr. Potter’s room. Don’t you â€Å" He stops. No sense talking, because the room is empty. How is that possible? Andy steps back and tries the knobs of 312 and 313. Both locked up tight, as he knew they would be. With that ascertained, he steps into George Potter’s room and has a good look around curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought him back. Potter’s digs are a little larger than his, but otherwise not much different: it’s a box with a high ceiling (they made places a man could stand up in back in the old days, you had to say that much for them). The single bed is sagging in the middle but neatly made. On the night table is a bottle of pills (these turn out to be an anti-depressant called Zoloft) and a single framed picture of a woman. Andy thinks she took a pretty good whopping with the ugly stick, but Potter must see her differently. He has, after all, put the picture in a place where it’s the first thing he looks at in the morning and the last thing he sees at night. â€Å"Potter?† Andy asks. â€Å"Anyone? Hello?† He is suddenly overcome with a sense of someone standing behind him and whirls around, lips drawn back from his dentures in a grinning snarl that is half a cringe. One hand comes up to shield his face from the blow he is suddenly certain will fall . . . only there’s no one there. Is he lurking behind the corner at the end of this short addendum to the main corridor? No. Andy saw the stranger go scurrying around that corner. No way he could have gotten behind him again . . . unless he crawled along the ceiling like some kind of fly . . . Andy looks up there, knowing he’s being absurd, giving in to the whim-whams big time, but there’s no one here to see him, so what the hey? And nothing for him to see overhead, either. Just an ordinary tin ceiling, now yellowed by age and decades of cigar and cigarette smoke. The radio oh, excuse me all to hell, rah-dio is sitting on the win-dowsill, unmolested. Damn fine one, too, a Bose, the kind Paul Harvey always talks about on his noon show. Beyond it, on the other side of the dirty glass, is the fire escape. Ah-hah! Andy thinks, and hurries across to the window. One look at the turned thumb lock and his triumphant expression fades. He peers out just the same, and sees a short stretch of wet black iron descending into the fog. No blue robe, no scaly bald pate. Of course not. The knob shaker didn’t go out that way unless he had some magic trick to move the window’s inside thumb lock back into place once he was on the fire escape landing. Andy turns, stands where he is a moment, thinking, then drops to his knees and looks under the bed. What he sees is an old tin ashtray with an unopened pack of Pall Malls and a Kingsland Old-Time Lager disposable lighter in it. Nothing else except dust kittens. He puts his hand on the coverlet preparatory to standing up, and his eyes fix on the closet door. It’s standing ajar. â€Å"There,† Andy breathes, almost too low for his own ears to hear. He gets up and crosses to the closet door. The fog may or may not come in on little cat feet, as Carl Sandburg said, but that is certainly how Andy Railsback moves across George Potter’s room. His heart is beating hard again, hard enough to start the prominent vein in the center of his forehead pulsing. The man he saw is in the closet. Logic demands it. Intuition screams it. And if the doorknob shaker’s just a confused old soul who wandered into the Nelson Hotel out of the fog, why hasn’t he spoken to Andy? Why has he concealed himself ? Because he may be old but he’s not confused, that’s why. No more confused than Andy is himself. The doorknob shaker’s a fucking thief, and he’s in the closet. He’s maybe holding a knife that he has taken from the pocket of his tatty old robe. Maybe a coat hanger that he’s unwound and turned into a weapon. Maybe he’s just standing there in the dark, eyes wide, fingers hooked into cl aws. Andy no longer cares. You can scare him, you bet he’s a retired salesman, not Superman but if you load enough tension on top of fright you turn it into anger, same as enough pressure turns coal into a diamond. And right now Andy is more pissed off than scared. He closes his fingers around the cool glass knob of the closet door. He squeezes down on it. He takes one breath . . . a second . . . steeling himself, getting ready . . . psyching himself up, the grandkids would say . . . one more breath, just for good luck, and . . . With a low, stressful sound half growl and half howl Andy yanks the closet door wide, setting off a chatter of hangers. He crouches, hands up in fists, looking like some ancient sparring partner from the Gym Time Forgot. â€Å"Come outta there, you fucking â€Å" No one there. Four shirts, one jacket, two ties, and three pairs of pants hanging like dead skin. A battered old suitcase that looks as if it has been kicked through every Greyhound Bus terminal in North America. Nothing else. Not a goddamn th But there is. There’s something on the floor beneath the shirts. Several somethings. Almost half a dozen somethings. At first Andy Rails-back either doesn’t understand what he’s seeing or doesn’t want to understand. Then it gets through to him, imprints itself on his mind and memory like a hoofprint, and he tries to scream. He can’t. He tries again and nothing comes out but a rusty wheeze from lungs that feel no larger than old prune skins. He tries to turn around and can’t do that, either. He is sure George Potter is coming, and if Potter finds him here, Andy’s life will end. He has seen something George Potter can never allow him to talk about. But he can’t turn. Can’t scream. Can’t take his eyes from the secret in George Potter’s closet. Can’t move. Because of the fog, nearly full dark has arrived in French Landing unnaturally early; it’s barely six-thirty. The blurry yellow lights of Maxton Elder Care look like the lights of a cruise ship lying becalmed at sea. In Daisy wing, home of the wonderful Alice Weathers and the far less wonderful Charles Burnside, Pete Wexler and Butch Yerxa have both gone home for the day. A broad-shouldered, peroxide blonde named Vera Hutchinson is now on the desk. In front of her is a book entitled E-Z Minute Crosswords. She is currently puzzling over 6 Across: Garfield, for example. Six letters, first is F, third is L, sixth is E. She hates these tricky ones. There’s the swoosh of a bathroom door opening. She looks up and sees Charles Burnside come shuffling out of the men’s in his blue robe and a pair of yellow-and-black striped slippers that look like great fuzzy bumblebees. She recognizes them at once. â€Å"Charlie?† she asks, putting her pencil in her crossword book and closing it. Charlie just goes shuffling along, jaw hanging down, a long runner of drool also hanging down. But he has an unpleasant half grin on his face that Vera doesn’t care for. This one may have lost most of his marbles, but the few left in his head are mean marbles. Sometimes she knows that Charlie Burnside genuinely doesn’t hear her when she speaks (or doesn’t understand her), but she’s positive that sometimes he just pretends not to understand. She has an idea this is one of the latter times. â€Å"Charlie, what are you doing wearing Elmer’s bee slippers? You know his great-granddaughter gave those to him.† The old man Burny to us, Charlie to Vera just goes shuffling along, in a direction that will eventually take him back to D18. Assuming he stays on course, that is. â€Å"Charlie, stop.† Charlie stops. He stands at the head of Daisy’s corridor like a machine that has been turned off. His jaw hangs. The string of drool snaps, and all at once there’s a little wet spot on the linoleum beside one of those absurd but amusing slippers. Vera gets up, goes to him, kneels down before him. If she knew what we know, she’d probably be a lot less willing to put her defenseless white neck within reach of those hanging hands, which are twisted by arthritis but still powerful. But of course she does not. She grasps the left bee slipper. â€Å"Lift,† she says. Charles Burnside lifts his right foot. â€Å"Oh, quit being such a turkey,† she says. â€Å"Other one.† Burny lifts his left foot a little, just enough for her to get the slipper off. â€Å"Now the right one.† Unseen by Vera, who is looking at his feet, Burny pulls his penis from the fly of his loose pajama pants and pretends to piss on Vera’s bowed head. His grin widens. At the same time, he lifts his right foot and she removes the other slipper. When she looks back up, Burny’s wrinkled old tool is back where it belongs. He considered baptizing her, he really did, but he has created almost enough mischief for one evening. One more little chore and he’ll be off to the land of dreamy dreams. He’s an old monster now. He needs his rest. â€Å"All right,† Vera says. â€Å"Want to tell me why one of these is dirtier than the other?† No answer. She hasn’t really expected one. â€Å"Okay, beautiful. Back to your room or down to the common room, if you want. There’s microwave popcorn and Jell-O pops tonight, I think. They’re showing The Sound of Music. I’ll see that these slippers get back to where they belong, and you taking them will be our little secret. Take them again and I’ll have to report you, though. Capisce?† Burny just stands there, vacant . . . but with that nasty little grin lifting his wrinkled old chops. And that light in his eyes. He capisces, all right. â€Å"Go on,† Vera says. â€Å"And you better not have dropped a load on the floor in there, you old buzzard.† Again she expects no reply, but this time she gets one. Burny’s voice is low but perfectly clear. â€Å"Keep a civil tongue, you fat bitch, or I’ll eat it right out of your head.† She recoils as if slapped. Burny stands there with his hands dangling and that little grin on his face. â€Å"Get out of here,† she says. â€Å"Or I really will report you.† And a great lot of good that would do. Charlie is one of Maxton’s cash cows, and Vera knows it. Charlie recommences his slow walk (Pete Wexler has dubbed this particular gait the Old Fucks’ Shuffle), now in his bare feet. Then he turns back. The bleary lamps of his eyes regard her. â€Å"The word you’re looking for is feline. Garfield’s a feline. Got it? Stupid cow.† With that he continues his trip down the corridor. Vera stands where she is, looking at him with her own jaw hanging. She has forgotten all about her crossword puzzle. In his room, Burny lies down on his bed and slips his hands into the small of his back. From there down he aches like a bugger. Later he will buzz for the fat old bitch, get her to bring him an ibuprofen. For now, though, he has to stay sharp. One more little trick still to do. â€Å"Found you, Potter,† he murmurs. â€Å"Good . . . old . . . Potsie.† Burny hadn’t been shaking doorknobs at all (not that Andy Railsback will ever know this). He had been feeling for the fellow who diddled him out of a sweet little Chicago housing deal back in the late seventies. South Side, home of the White Sox. Blacktown, in other words. Lots of federal money in that one, and several bushels of Illinois dough as well. Enough skim available to last for years, more angles than on a baseball field, but George â€Å"Go Fuck Your Mother† Potter had gotten there first, cash had changed hands beneath the proverbial table, and Charles Burn-side (or perhaps then he’d still been Carl Bierstone; it’s hard to remember) had been out in the cold. But Burny has kept track of the thief for lo these many years. (Well, not Burny himself, actually, but as we must by now have realized, this is a man with powerful friends.) Old Potsie what his friends called him in the days when he still had a few declared bankruptcy in La Riviere back in the nineties, and lost most of what he still had hidden away during the Great Dot-Com Wreck of Double Aught. But that’s not good enough for Burny. Potsie requires further punishment, and the coincidence of that particular fuckhead washing up in this particular fuckhole of a town is just too good to pass up. Burny’s principal motive a brainless desire to keep stirring the pot, to make sure bad goes to worse hasn’t changed, but this will serve that purpose, too. So he traveled to the Nelson, doing so in a way Jack understands and Judy Marshall has intuited, homing in on Potsie’s room like some ancient bat. And when he sensed Andy Railsback behind him, he was of course delighted. Railsback will save him having to make another anonymous call, and Burny is, in truth, getting tired of doing all their work for them. Now, back in his room, all comfy-cozy (except for the arthritis, that is), he turns his mind away from George Potter, and begins to Summon. Looking up into the dark, Charles Burnside’s eyes begin to glow in a distinctly unsettling way. â€Å"Gorg,† he says. â€Å"Gorg t’eelee. Dinnit a abbalah. Samman Tansy. Samman a montah a Irma. Dinnit a abbalah, Gorg. Dinnit a Ram Abbalah.† Gorg. Gorg, come. Serve the abbalah. Find Tansy. Find the mother of Irma. Serve the abbalah, Gorg. Serve the Crimson King. Burny’s eyes slip closed. He goes to sleep with a smile on his face. And beneath their wrinkled lids, his eyes continue to glow like hooded lamps. Morty Fine, the night manager of the Nelson Hotel, is half-asleep over his magazine when Andy Railsback comes bursting in, startling him so badly that Morty almost tumbles out of his chair. His magazine falls to the floor with a flat slap. â€Å"Jesus Christ, Andy, you almost gave me a heart attack!† Morty cries. â€Å"You ever hear of knocking, or at least clearing your goddam throat?† Andy takes no notice, and Morty realizes the old fella is as white as a sheet. Maybe he’s the one having the heart attack. It wouldn’t be the first time one occurred in the Nelson. â€Å"You gotta call the police,† Andy says. â€Å"They’re horrible. Dear Jesus, Morty, they’re the most horrible pictures I ever saw . . . Polaroids . . . and oh man, I thought he was going to come back in . . . come back in any second . . . but at first I was just froze, and I . . . I . . .† â€Å"Slow down,† Morty says, concerned. â€Å"What are you talking about?† Andy takes a deep breath and makes a visible effort to get himself under control. â€Å"Have you seen Potter?† he asks. â€Å"The guy in 314?† â€Å"Nope,† Morty says, â€Å"but most nights he’s in Lucky’s around this time, having a few beers and maybe a hamburger. Although why anybody would eat anything in that place, I don’t know.† Then, perhaps associating one ptomaine palace with another: â€Å"Hey, have you heard what the cops found out at Ed’s Eats? Trevor Gordon was by and he said â€Å" â€Å"Never mind.† Andy sits in the chair on the other side of the desk and stares at Morty with wet, terrified eyes. â€Å"Call the police. Do it right now. Tell them that the Fisherman is a man named George Potter, and he lives on the third floor of the Nelson Hotel.† Andy’s face tightens in a hard grimace, then relaxes again. â€Å"Right down the hall from yours truly.† â€Å"Potter? You’re dreaming, Andy. That guy’s nothing but a retired builder. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.† â€Å"I don’t know about flies, but he hurt the hell out of some little kids. I seen the Polaroids he took of them. They’re in his closet. They’re the worst things you ever saw.† Then Andy does something that amazes Morty and convinces him that this isn’t a joke, and probably not just a mistake, either: Andy Railsback begins to cry. Tansy Freneau, a.k.a. Irma Freneau’s grieving mother, is not actually grieving yet. She knows she should be, but grief has been deferred. Right now she feels as if she is floating in a cloud of warm bright wool. The doctor (Pat Skarda’s associate, Norma Whitestone) gave her five milligrams of lorazepam four or five hours ago, but that’s only the start. The Holiday Trailer Park, where Tansy and Irma have lived since Cubby Freneau took off for Green Bay in ninety-eight, is handy to the Sand Bar, and she has a part-time â€Å"thing† going with Lester Moon, one of the bartenders. The Thunder Five has dubbed Lester Moon â€Å"Stinky Cheese† for some reason, but Tansy unfailingly calls him Lester, which he appreciates almost as much as the occasional boozy grapple in Tansy’s bedroom or out back of the Bar, where there’s a mattress (and a black light) in the storeroom. Around five this evening, Lester ran over with a quart of coffee brandy an d four hundred milligrams of OxyContin, all considerately crushed and ready for snorting. Tansy has done half a dozen lines already, and she is cruising. Looking over old pictures of Irma and just . . . you know . . . cruising. What a pretty baby she was, Tansy thinks, unaware that not far away, a horrified hotel clerk is looking at a very different picture of her pretty baby, a nightmare Polaroid he will never be able to forget. It is a picture Tansy herself will never have to look at, suggesting that perhaps there is a God in heaven. She turns a page (GOLDEN MEMORIES has been stamped on the front of her scrapbook), and here are Tansy and Irma at the Mississippi Electrix company picnic, back when Irma was four and Mississippi Electrix was still a year away from bankruptcy and everything was more or less all right. In the photo, Irma is wading with a bunch of other tykes, her laughing face smeared with chocolate ice cream. Looking fixedly at this snapshot, Tansy reaches for her glass of coffee brandy and takes a small sip. And suddenly, from nowhere (or the place from which all our more ominous and unconnected thoughts float out into the light of our regard), she finds herself remembering that stupid Edgar Allan Poe poem they had to memorize in the ninth grade. She hasn’t thought of it in years and has no reason to now, but the words of the opening stanza rise effortlessly and perfectly in her mind. Looking at Irma, she recites them aloud in a toneless, pauseless voice that no doubt would have caused Mrs. Normandie to clutch her stringy white hair and groan. Tansy’s recitation doesn’t affect us that way; instead it gives us a deep and abiding chill. It is like listening to a poetry reading given by a corpse. â€Å"Once upon a mih’nigh’ dreary while I ponnered weak ‘n’ weary over many a quaint ‘n’ curris volume of forgotten lore while I nodded nearly nappin’ sun’ly there came a tappin’ as of someone gen’ly rappin’ rappin’ at my chamber door â€Å" At this precise moment there comes a soft rapping at the cheap fiber-board door of Tansy Freneau’s Airstream. She looks up, eyes floating, lips pursed and glossed with coffee brandy. â€Å"Les’ser? Is that you?† It might be, she supposes. Not the TV people, at least she hopes not. She wouldn’t talk to the TV people, sent them packing. She knows, in some deep and sadly cunning part of her mind, that they would lull her and comfort her only to make her look stupid in the glare of their lights, the way that the people on the Jerry Springer Show always end up looking stupid. No answer . . . and then it comes again. Tap. Tap-tap. â€Å"‘Tis some visitor,† she says, getting up. It’s like getting up in a dream. â€Å"‘Tis some visitor, I murmured, tappin’ at my chamber door, only this ‘n’ nothin’ more.† Tap. Tap-tap. Not like curled knuckles. It’s a thinner sound than that. A sound like a single fingernail. Or a beak. She crosses the room in her haze of drugs and brandy, bare feet whispering on carpet that was once nubbly and is now balding: the ex-mother. She opens the door onto this foggy summer evening and sees nothing, because she’s looking too high. Then something on the welcome mat rustles. Something, some black thing, is looking up at her with bright, inquiring eyes. It’s a raven, omigod it’s Poe’s raven, come to pay her a visit. â€Å"Jesus, I’m trippin’,† Tansy says, and runs her hands through her thin hair. â€Å"Jesus!† repeats the crow on the welcome mat. And then, chipper as a chickadee: â€Å"Gorg!† If asked, Tansy would have said she was too stoned to be frightened, but this is apparently not so, because she gives out a disconcerted little cry and takes a step backward. The crow hops briskly across the doorsill and strides onto the faded purple carpet, still looking up at her with its bright eyes. Its feathers glisten with condensed drops of mist. It bops on past her, then pauses to preen and fluff. It looks around as if to ask, How’m I doin’, sweetheart? â€Å"Go away,† Tansy says. â€Å"I don’t know what the fuck you are, or if you’re here at all, but â€Å" â€Å"Gorg!† the crow insists, then spreads its wings and fleets across the trailer’s living room, a charred fleck burnt off the back of the night. Tansy screams and cringes, instinctively shielding her face, but Gorg doesn’t come near her. It alights on the table beside her bottle, there not being any bust of Pallas handy. Tansy thinks: It got disoriented in the fog, that’s all. It could even be rabid, or have that Key Lime disease, whatever you call it. I ought to go in the kitchen and get the broom. Shoo it out before it shits around . . . But the kitchen is too far. In her current state, the kitchen seems hundreds of miles away, somewhere in the vicinity of Colorado Springs. And there’s probably no crow here at all. Thinking of that goddamn poem has caused her to hallucinate, that’s all . . . that, and losing her daughter. For the first time the pain gets through the haze, and Tansy winces from its cruel and wiry heat. She remembers the little hands that sometimes pressed so tidily against the sides of her neck. The cries in the night, summoning her from sleep. The smell of her, fresh from the bath. â€Å"Her name was Irma!† she suddenly shouts at the figment standing so boldly beside the brandy bottle. â€Å"Irma, not fucking Lenore, what kind of stupid name is Lenore? Let’s hear you say Irma!† â€Å"Irma!† the visitor croaks obediently, stunning her to silence. And its eyes. Ah! Its glittering eyes draw her, like the eyes of the Ancient Mariner in that other poem she was supposed to learn but never did. â€Å"Irma-Irma-Irma-Irma â€Å" â€Å"Stop it!† She doesn’t want to hear it after all. She was wrong. Her daughter’s name out of that alien throat is foul, insupportable. She wants to put her hands over her ears and can’t. They’re too heavy. Her hands have joined the stove and the refrigerator (miserable half-busted thing) in Colorado Springs. All she can do is look into those glittering black eyes. It preens for her, ruffling its ebony sateen feathers. They make a loathsome little scuttering noise all up and down its back and she thinks, â€Å"Prophet!† said I, â€Å"thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!† Certainty fills her heart like cold water. â€Å"What do you know?† she asks. â€Å"Why did you come?† â€Å"Know!† croaks the Crow Gorg, nodding its beak briskly up and down. â€Å"Come!† And does it wink? Good God, does it wink at her? â€Å"Who killed her?† Tansy Freneau whispers. â€Å"Who killed my pretty baby?† The crow’s eyes fix her, turn her into a bug on a pin. Slowly, feeling more in a dream than ever (but this is happening, on some level she understands that perfectly), she crosses to the table. Still the crow watches her, still the crow draws her on. Night’s Plutonian shore, she thinks. Night’s Plutonian fuckin’ shore. â€Å"Who? Tell me what you know!† The crow looks up at her with its bright black eyes. Its beak opens and closes, revealing a wet red interior in tiny peeks. â€Å"Tansy!† it croaks. â€Å"Come!† The strength runs out of her legs, and she drops to her knees, biting her tongue and making it bleed. Crimson drops splatter her U of W sweatshirt. Now her face is on a level with the bird’s face. She can see one of its wings brushing up and down, sensuously, on the glass side of the coffee-brandy bottle. The smell of Gorg is dust and heaped dead flies and ancient urns of buried spice. Its eyes are shining black portholes looking into some other world. Hell, perhaps. Or Sheol. â€Å"Who?† she whispers. Gorg stretches its black and rustling neck until its black beak is actually in the cup of her ear. It begins to whisper, and eventually Tansy Freneau begins to nod. The light of sanity has left her eyes. And when will it return? Oh, I think we all know the answer to that one. Can you say â€Å"Nevermore†? How to cite Black House Chapter Fifteen, Essay examples

Chen v Minister for Immigration and Border Protection [2013]

Question: Read the decision of Chen v Minister for Immigration and Border Protection [2013] FCAFC 133 (20 November 2013) attached to this assignment.Examine and discuss (in plain English) the reasons why Katzmann, Griffiths and Wigney JJ decided as they did and the implications of this case in terms of valid visa applications. Did their Honours employ any principles of statutory interpretation? Answer: Discuss Chen v Minister for Immigration and Border Protection [2013] The issue before the court was if the applicant is made a valid visa application. In this regard, Regulation 2.10. Provides that the visa application should be made "at the office of immigration". However the applicant sent his visa application to the GPO Box of the department by express post and the application reached the GPO box of the department before the deadline for making the application expired. But the application was not collected from its GPO Box by the department before the expiry of the deadline. As a result, it was needed to be decided if GPO Box can also be treated as the office of immigration or a part of the office. Therefore the court had to decide if, by sending the application to the GPO Box, the applicant has been able to comply with the requirements prescribed by the Act. The applicant had deposited his visa application in the GPO Box that was prescribed by the department in this regard. At the same time, it was required by the migration regulations that the application for visa should be made at the office of immigration. In this regard, katzman, Wigney and Griffiths JJ based their decision on the reason that the department has leased the GPO box in order to receive the visa applications. As a result, in this case the GPO box can be treated as the "place for business transactions".Alternatively, it can also be considered that the GPO box is the "place for business" or a place where the department carries on its business. Therefore the GPO box was prescribed by the department to receive written applications and at the same time, there were arrangements made by the department according to which the visa applications were collected from such box and were delivered to the department's processing center where the officers processed these applications. At the same time, department's website also mentioned that a visa application can also be made by using other means like courier, facsimile and at the same time, these applications can be made through the Internet but the department also allowed the applicants to apply for a visa by sending the visa application to the denominated GPO box of the department. Therefore this submission was accepted by the court that even if the GPU box cannot be treated as the stand-alone office, at least it can be treated as a part of the office of the department. The result was that the court stated in this regard that the GPU box of the department can be treated as its 'office'. Similarly, the court also stated that as a result the application received in the GPO box has to be treated as an application that has been made at the department's office itself. In order to reach its conclusion, the court rejected the submission made by the Minister in which it was contended that sufficient evidence has not been presented which could be established a stable physical existence can be attributed to the GPO box of the department as is the case with any other 'place'.For this purpose, the evidence of ACDC manager was considered by the court related with the Express Post Service provided by Australia Post. The court also considered how it was received, sorted out and delivered the post. But in case of some routes, the department guaranteed delivery on the next business day for all Express Post envelops. When a particular item arrived at ACDC, it was scanned and then transferred to the relevant area to be sorted out and sent to its destination which included the post office box. The manager also stated in the court in this regard that after a particular item has been placed in the post office box, Australia Post had no longer any control over such item. In this regard, the representative of a company called Converga was examined in the court. This employee of Converga stated in the court that the company had a contract with the department according to which mail was collected by the company from ACDC every day and later on the mail was delivered to the department by the company. In this way, the Court considered that this evidence was sufficient to refute the convention made by the Minister that sufficient evidence has not been placed in the court in order to establish the stable physical existence of the GPO box of the company like any other 'place'. The result was that in the opini on of the Court, the GPO box can be treated as a 'place' like any other which was capable of being leased and at the same time, mail can be physically delivered on such place and mail can also be collected from there. At the same time, the convention made by the applicant was also accepted by the court that by specifying the GPO box number in the relevant booklet of the department and also in its letters, it can be said that evidence is present which supports the main contention of the applicant that at least the GPO box is a part of the office of the department where applications can be received by it. The court accepted this submission made by the applicant. At the same time, relying on the golden rule of statutory interpretation, it was stated by the court that the doctrine of substantial compliance did not apply in the present case.The question before the court in this case was that of construction if the act that does not comply with the condition related with the exercise of statutory power is invalid and as a result, of no effect. The court stated in this regard that the language used in migration regulation 2.10does not allow any scope for the doctrine of substantial compliance. Case Law Migration Regulations 1994 (Cth) Migration Act, 1958 Macrae v St Margarets Hospital [1999] NSWCA 381 Cabal v Minister for Immigration and Multicultural Affairs (No 2) [1999] FCA 11 VUAX v Minister for Immigration and Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs [2004] FCAFC 158 Wu v Minister for Immigration and Ethnic Affairs (1996) 64 FCR 245 Tasker v Fullwood [1978] 1 NSWLR 20 Migration Regulation 1994 Sch 2.10

Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead Essays - Characters In Hamlet

Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead In response to the bloody battles of World War I, the Theatre of the Absurd was born. Soldiers surrounded by death and destruction often found no other relief but to laugh at the absurdity of noble, but increasingly meaningless traditional rhetoric and patriotism. This laughter was a response to not only the absurdity of their situation, but also to the absurd responses of others to their situation. Out of this response grew what we know today as the Theatre of the Absurd. A classic example of a work from the Absurdist Theatre is a piece known as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. In this work, John Stoppard uses allusion to T.S. Eliots poem, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, and Shakespeares Hamlet to help the audience understand the play. The connection that is seen initially between The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is the reliance on romantic irony. In Eliots poem romantic irony is expressed in the form of significant assertations and decisions that are made again and again only to be followed by an immediate collapse. Throughout Eliots poem decisive statements such as Prufrocks decision To lead you to an overwhelming question (line 10) are followed by procrastination and thoughts that There will be time, there will be time (line 26). The humor in this technique is also apparent in Stoppards play. This is nicely demonstrated in the opening scenes of the play where Rosencrantz often gathers himself to say something, but before anything can come out, the moment has passed, and Guildenstern has moved on. Just as Prufrock is unable to do anything, Rosencrantz has only managed an unintelligible grunt. Another connection between the play and poem is an allusion to J. Alfred Pruf rock through the character of Alfred in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. In Stoppards play Alfred is the tragedian who plays a girl wearing a frock. Stoppard seems to be mocking the character of J. Alfred Prufrock by suggesting that he is like a girl. The use of such allusions to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock provides a colorful characterization of Alfred, as well as a comparison for Rosencrantz and Guildensterns inability to do act without guidance. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is more obviously linked to the play, Hamlet. A working knowledge of Hamlet is very helpful to understanding the background to the play, the characters of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and the frequent incorporation of scenes from Hamlet. In Act I, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern seem to deepen their awareness of Hamlets transformation through a question and answer process in which Guildenstern pretends to be Hamlet. By having Guildenstern play the role of Hamlet in order for them to understand Hamlets woes, Stoppard suggests that plays can foster ones understanding. The brilliance of Stoppards piece is the use of the actual tragic play, Hamlet, in place of The Murder of Gonzago . By doing this, a tragedy becomes the vehicle for a sense of tragedy in another play with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern caught in the middle without hope of escape. Hamlet is used to add yet another touch of absurdity to the play by making places where Rosencrantz and Guilde nstern exit from Hamlet , entrances somewhere elsewhich is a kind of integrity (28). From this, Stoppard seems to suggest that there is no end to this absurd universe and that one will be continually subjected to tragedy. The allusions to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and Hamlet provide a more in depth understanding of Stoppards views and interpretations of the meaning of his play. The play focuses on Rosencrantz and Guildensterns inability to act independently and the fact that it is absurd that no help ever arrives to direct them in the right direction. As an example of a play that is part of the Theatre of the Absurd, the use of these allusions facilitates the purpose of portraying the world as a place free of logic and memory where the protagonists must wait for some form of direction that will never arrive. English Essays

Free Essays on Similarities And Relationships Of Love And Hate

â€Å"love† and â€Å"hate,† some think of them being opposites and others think they are related. I feel that the two are both of those and plus the added feature that when one is involved the other is as well. In the drama â€Å"Othello† written by William Shakespeare, each character shows a form of hate and love. For example, Iago is a person one would think of as the definition of evil but he does love as well as hate; he loves to hate. There is no other explanation for his need to be so evil. One can even see that he hates the woman he loves. He shows this by talking of trying to sleep with Desdemona to get back at Othello for something of his own imagination. If he didn’t hate his wife then why would he talk of cheating on her just to get back at Othello for something Iago has no proof of? Iago plays with the power of my theory of â€Å"where there is love, there is hate and where there is hate, there is love,† by turning Othello against Desdemona. Iago messes with the fact that Othello loves Desdemona and turns it into a hatred. He hates because he loved. If Othello hadn’t loved there would have been no hatred. Iago realizes that hate is strengthened by love and uses that as a weapon. He loved to see people hate. Roderigo is the venetian gentleman that loved one so much that he hated the one that she loved. The love and hate is not directly related in this example but shows how one persons love can cause another persons hatred. Brabantio is the father that had the love of her daughter split in two. He only received half her love after Othello came into the picture and stole the other half. He became outraged with the fact that Othello had done this to him so he grew some hatred for the â€Å"moor.† One that would love without knowing whether he loves or not, like Othello, causes there significant other to hate falling in love. The reason for this is that they themselves... Free Essays on Similarities And Relationships Of Love And Hate Free Essays on Similarities And Relationships Of Love And Hate When one thinks of the meanings of the words â€Å"love† and â€Å"hate,† some think of them being opposites and others think they are related. I feel that the two are both of those and plus the added feature that when one is involved the other is as well. In the drama â€Å"Othello† written by William Shakespeare, each character shows a form of hate and love. For example, Iago is a person one would think of as the definition of evil but he does love as well as hate; he loves to hate. There is no other explanation for his need to be so evil. One can even see that he hates the woman he loves. He shows this by talking of trying to sleep with Desdemona to get back at Othello for something of his own imagination. If he didn’t hate his wife then why would he talk of cheating on her just to get back at Othello for something Iago has no proof of? Iago plays with the power of my theory of â€Å"where there is love, there is hate and where there is hate, there is love,† by turning Othello against Desdemona. Iago messes with the fact that Othello loves Desdemona and turns it into a hatred. He hates because he loved. If Othello hadn’t loved there would have been no hatred. Iago realizes that hate is strengthened by love and uses that as a weapon. He loved to see people hate. Roderigo is the venetian gentleman that loved one so much that he hated the one that she loved. The love and hate is not directly related in this example but shows how one persons love can cause another persons hatred. Brabantio is the father that had the love of her daughter split in two. He only received half her love after Othello came into the picture and stole the other half. He became outraged with the fact that Othello had done this to him so he grew some hatred for the â€Å"moor.† One that would love without knowing whether he loves or not, like Othello, causes there significant other to hate falling in love. The reason for this is that they themselves...

Women in Shamanism Research Paper Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1250 words

Women in Shamanism - Research Paper Example When giving a reflection on the mainstream history, it is important to understand that the references on women, and the power they possess emanates greatly from the periods of the Goddesses. On the other hand, Znamenski (351) denotes that there is very little written on the role of women in advocating for religious doctrines, as well as issues in politics, rites of passage, economic affairs, world leadership etc. Scholar further denotes that women who have been written about, such as Jeanne d’Arc and Mary Magdalene have had a false representation, through the views of the masculine, or either victimized for their courage and bravery in speaking up (Holyoak, 413). It is important to understand that the society placed certain requirements for women. They had to be wives, mothers, as well as perform other feminine duties in their homes. Women who took up the roles of shamanism were unable to fulfill these roles that the society expected of them. Over the years, female shamans have suffered great discrimination and bad treatment from their communities. For example in the Korean communities, female Shamans did not have any respect from the people, and they used to live in a very poor life. Scholar denotes that these shamans have always been viewed as witches, and this is because of the manner of their dressings and behavior (Znamenski, 351). These people normally dress in very ugly dresses, wearing scary masks, and behaving under trance, as if speaking to spiritual objects. Some communities believe that Shamans have the capability of travelling to the unseen world, and communicating with spirits (Znamenski, 352). Some communities associate these aspects with black magic, and demonic forces. Based on this ground, Scholar believes that female Shamans only masquerade as medicine people, but in real sense they are witches, having learnt their trade from demonic forces. It is important to denote that the culture of contemporary

Drama- Glengarry Glen Ross a play by David Mamet Essay

Drama- Glengarry Glen Ross a play by David Mamet - Essay Example The drama contains many idioms that also emphasize the moral teachings that the author talks about in the book. In the drama, the characters use pauses and stammers that make the language vibrant (Mamet 73). The personality of the characters in the drama often changes and it both repulses and amuses the audience. The characters in the drama also have a comic effect because of their exaggerated personalities. I believe that the drama is a piece that reminds people on the need of not losing their humanity and morality. This is especially those caused by the current hardship of the economic world. The drama clearly depicts the life of people struggling to become financially stable. The script of the author uses some styles that make it extremely difficult to execute in a play. These styles are like the use of idioms and stammers (Mamet 73). However, the actors that play the roles should be able to execute the script with all the idioms and the musical language

International Finance and Financial Management Essay

International Finance and Financial Management - Essay Example The bottom-up approach is the opposite of top-down approach, dealing first with companies and then the industry groups and finally the economy. Fundamental analysis has its strengths in forecasting long-term trends, determining the company's fair value in terms of asset valuation, strong balance sheet, earnings stability, and staying power1. There are certain risks that investors have to put up with when investing in stocks. A company may face one or more of the several sources of fundamental risk, namely, business risk, financial risk, liquidity risk, exchange rate risk, country risk, interest rate risk, and credit risk2. Domiciled in Seattle, US, Microsoft has its offices in 100 countries. As per the information excerpted from its annual report for the year 2006, Microsoft reported a net income of $12.5 billion. Such profitability, however, does not get achieved without taking risks. Investors need to be aware of what risks Microsoft tackles with in order to satisfy its stakeholders. Microsoft, in its operations, encounters business risk which is the risk of uncertainty over cash flows caused due to a number of reasons. Microsoft faces intense competition across all markets for its products and services. 1Jones, C.P. (1996). Investments: Analysis and Management. John Wiley & Sons Inc., New York. 2Clark, E., Levasseur, M., & Rousseau, P.(1993). International Finance. Chapman & Hall, New York. Its competitors range from Fortune 100 companies to small, specialized single-product businesses. With low barriers to entry, this business segment is facing a fierce competition worldwide. These competitive pressures have the capability to threaten Microsoft's sales volumes and operating costs resulting in lower revenue. Microsoft faces a challenge in combating unlicensed use of its software and intellectual property rights3. It spends a fortune every year to educate the public regarding abuse of its software. However, continued educational efforts may not succeed in implementing Microsoft's desired security objectives and any reductions in the legal protection of its intellectual property rights can adversely affect revenue. Due to its geographic dispersion, Microsoft is subject to tax risk. Tax risk affects investors because it affects net earnings4. Being accountable for tax in the US as well as numerous foreign jurisdictions, there is uncertainty over Microsoft's tax liabilities . Therefore, tax provisions may not be accurate which can significantly impair its earnings. Other examples of business risk that may affect Microsoft's revenue are delays in product development, lawsuits and claims, changes in accounting standards, and maintaining uniformity in pricing structures due to global presence. Another challenge for Microsoft is to tackle with market risk that comprises of foreign exchange risk and interest rate risk. It is quite obvious that having operations worldwide Microsoft is deemed to face risk of foreign currency losing value relative to its domicile currency. However, as mentioned in its annual report, Microsoft manages this risk by hedging its foreign

Effect of Short Message System Reminder on Medicine Regime

Effect of Short Message System Reminder on Medicine Regime Effect of Short Message System reminder on adherence with recommended regimen among Ischemic Heart Disease patients. Introduction: Ischemic heart disease is the narrowing of coronary artery by a plaque which composed of fat material, according to World Health Organization (WHO) ischemic heart disease (IHD) is the first leading cause of mortality and morbidity worldwide, accounting for 13.3% of death cases (World Health Organization, 2011). 75% of death and 82% of disability adjusted life years (DALY) in low and middle-income countries occur due to IHD (Gaziano, Bitton, Anand, Abrahams-Gessel, Murphy, 2010), in Jordan IHD account for 18% of death cases, being the first leading cause of death (CDC, 2013). However survival rate of IHD increase recently (Piepoli et al., 2010). Patients discharge to their homes within five days (Saczynski et al., 2010), and the progress of healing after discharge demands an effective care planning, particularly, those who are newly diagnosed with IHD. After discharge patients encounter a challenge time (Eshah Bond, 2009), and life style changes include, adherence with eating heart-healthy diet, adherence with regular physical activity, and adherence with medication have ascertained by American Herat Association and considered from moderate and strong evidence (Eckel et al., 2013). adherence with these recommendations are associated with decrease readmission and mortality rate (Heran et al., 2011) , however few people adhere with recommended guidelines (Martin, Williams, Haskard, DiMatteo, 2005). Non adherence, one of the most important obstacle for successful treatment, is a widespread health problem that threat the health and cause a valuable economical burden as well (Martin et al., 2005). Non adherence to healthy lifestyle including eating unhealthy diet, physical inactivity, smoking, and non compliance with medication are known to increase the development and progression of IHD (Danaei et al., 2009). On the other direction adherence with healthy lifestyle would decrease the burden of IHD (Chiuve, McCullough, Sacks, Rimm, 2006). Medication adherence refers to whether patients take their medications as prescribed, as well as whether they continue to take a prescribed medication (Ho, Bryson, Rumsfeld, 2009). Medication non adherence is a major public health problem (Desai Choudhry, 2013). The immediate time after discharge is a high risk period for non adherence (Baroletti DellOrfano, 2010), in which 24% of patients dont adhere to their prescribed medication (Jackevicius, Li, Tu, 2008). After six weeks of discharge one forth of patients didnt adhere to prescribed medications (Mathews et al., 2012) and 80% on the long term (DiMatteo, 2004). Non adherence to medication lead to progression of the disease, increase readmission, increase mortality rate, and increase health care cost Smoking is so widespread (WHO,2007), and one of the ten strongest risk factor of IHD (Goff et al., 2013), although non adherence with healthy diet, medication, inactivity all are attributing risk factors for development and progression of IHD, smoking has a significant effect of all risk factor (CDC). Smokers have double to four times to develop IHD than non-smokers (CDC). However quit smoking is the single most effective measure to prevent IHD (Goff et al., 2013). A strong evidence exist about the casual relationship between diet and IHD (Mente, de Koning, Shannon, Anand, 2009). Eating unhealthy diet lead to increase blood cholesterol level, developing of hypertension and diabetes mellitus, obesity, and eventually metabolic syndrome which all are modifiable risk factors for IHD (Goff et al., 2013). However eating vegetables, nuts and mono-saturated fatty acid are among protective habits for prevention of IHD progression (Mente et al., 2009). Non adherence to physical activity in different culture and societies are common (Rodrigues, Joà £o, Gallani, Cornà ©lio, Alexandre, 2013). The proportion of adults who meet the recommended guidelines of American Heart Association (AHA) for regular physical activity has reduced over time (Roger et al., 2012). A recent meta analysis has been shown that an inverse relationship exist between physical activity and increasing risk of IHD; those patients who didnt do physical activity are 10-20 more risky than who do moderate physical activity and 20-30 more risky than who do high physical activity (Li Siegrist, 2012). To decrease the effect of IHD and prevent its progression secondary prevention programs done and rehabilitation centers are found, However few people attend these programs regularly (Bjarnason-Wehrens et al., 2010). Many obstacles hinder the attendance of these programs include logistic barriers like transportation difficulties, financial cost, and embarrassment of attendance (Neubeck et al., 2012). So more feasible, economical, and provide privacy for patient method is required as alternative. Tele-health, which define as the use of different type of modern information and technology to contribute t clinical support and to improve health (WHO,2009), is more economical, feasible, and provide the patients privacy. The use of mobile is growing faster and faster, and many patients have mobiles (Deng, 2013). Many studies done using technology to improve adherence among patients, especially Short Message System (SMS) in high technologic counties (Dale et al., 2014; Khonsari et al., 2014). To my knowledge this is the first study done to assess the effect of use of telehealth in a less technology-dependent countries. So the purpose of the study is: examine the effect of short message system (SMS) on medication, healthy diet, smoking cessation and physical activity adherence among IHD patients. Research hypotheses: patients who will receive reminder message will be more adherent to medication, healthy diet , smoking cessation and physical activity than those who will not. References Baroletti, S., DellOrfano, H. (2010). Medication adherence in cardiovascular disease. Circulation, 121(12), 1455-1458. Bjarnason-Wehrens, B., McGee, H., Zwisler, A.-D., Piepoli, M. F., Benzer, W., Schmid, J.-P., . . . Niebauer, J. (2010). Cardiac rehabilitation in Europe: results from the European cardiac rehabilitation Inventory survey. European Journal of Cardiovascular Prevention Rehabilitation, 17(4), 410-418. Chiuve, S. E., McCullough, M. L., Sacks, F. M., Rimm, E. B. (2006). Healthy lifestyle factors in the primary prevention of coronary heart disease among men benefits among users and nonusers of lipid-lowering and antihypertensive medications. Circulation, 114(2), 160-167. Dale, L. P., Whittaker, R., Jiang, Y., Stewart, R., Rolleston, A., Maddison, R. (2014). Improving coronary heart disease self-management using mobile technologies (Text4Heart): a randomised controlled trial protocol. Trials, 15(1), 71. Danaei, G., Ding, E. L., Mozaffarian, D., Taylor, B., Rehm, J., Murray, C. J., Ezzati, M. (2009). The preventable causes of death in the United States: comparative risk assessment of dietary, lifestyle, and metabolic risk factors. PLoS medicine, 6(4), e1000058. Deng, Z. (2013). Understanding public users adoption of mobile health service. International Journal of Mobile Communications, 11(4), 351-373. Desai, N. R., Choudhry, N. K. (2013). Impediments to adherence to post myocardial infarction medications. [Research Support, Non-U.S. Govt Review]. Curr Cardiol Rep, 15(1), 322. doi: 10.1007/s11886-012-0322-6 DiMatteo, M. R. (2004). Variations in patients adherence to medical recommendations: a quantitative review of 50 years of research. Medical care, 42(3), 200-209. Eckel, R. H., Jakicic, J. M., Ard, J. D., Miller, N. H., Hubbard, V. S., Nonas, C. A., . . . Smith, S. C. (2013). 2013 AHA/ACC Guideline on Lifestyle Management to Reduce Cardiovascular RiskA Report of the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association Task Force on Practice Guidelines. Journal of the American College of Cardiology. Eshah, N., Bond, A. (2009). Acute myocardial infarction survivors experiences: a qualitative literature review. J Med J 43(3), 238-264. Gaziano, T. A., Bitton, A., Anand, S., Abrahams-Gessel, S., Murphy, A. (2010). Growing epidemic of coronary heart disease in low-and middle-income countries. Current problems in cardiology, 35(2), 72-115. Goff, D. C., Lloyd-Jones, D. M., Bennett, G., Coady, S., D’Agostino, R. B., Gibbons, R., . . . Wilson, P. W. F. (2013). 2013 ACC/AHA Guideline on the Assessment of Cardiovascular Risk: A Report of the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association Task Force on Practice Guidelines. Circulation. doi: 10.1161/01.cir.0000437741.48606.98 Heran, B. S., Chen, J., Ebrahim, S., Moxham, T., Oldridge, N., Rees, K., . . . Taylor, R. S. (2011). Exercise-based cardiac rehabilitation for coronary heart disease. Cochrane Database Syst Rev, 7(7). Ho, P. M., Bryson, C. L., Rumsfeld, J. S. (2009). Medication adherence its importance in cardiovascular outcomes. Circulation, 119(23), 3028-3035. Jackevicius, C. A., Li, P., Tu, J. V. (2008). Prevalence, predictors, and outcomes of primary nonadherence after acute myocardial infarction. [Research Support, Non-U.S. Govt]. Circulation, 117(8), 1028-1036. doi: 10.1161/CIRCULATIONAHA.107.706820 Khonsari, S., Subramanian, P., Chinna, K., Latif, L. A., Ling, L. W., Gholami, O. (2014). Effect of a reminder system using an automated short message service on medication adherence following acute coronary syndrome. Eur J Cardiovasc Nurs. doi: 10.1177/1474515114521910 Li, J., Siegrist, J. (2012). Physical activity and risk of cardiovascular disease—a meta-analysis of prospective cohort studies. International journal of environmental research and public health, 9(2), 391-407. Martin, L. R., Williams, S. L., Haskard, K. B., DiMatteo, M. R. (2005). The challenge of patient adherence. Therapeutics and clinical risk management, 1(3), 189. Mathews, R., Peterson, E., Honeycutt, E., Chin, C. T., Ryan, K., Effron, M., . . . Wang, T. (2012). Medication nonadherence among patients with acute myocardial infarction treated with percutaneous coronary intervention: insights from the Translate-ACS study. Journal of the American College of Cardiology, 59(13s1), E1814-E1814. Mente, A., de Koning, L., Shannon, H. S., Anand, S. S. (2009). A systematic review of the evidence supporting a causal link between dietary factors and coronary heart disease. Archives of internal medicine, 169(7), 659-669. Neubeck, L., Freedman, S. B., Clark, A. M., Briffa, T., Bauman, A., Redfern, J. (2012). Participating in cardiac rehabilitation: a systematic review and meta-synthesis of qualitative data. European journal of preventive cardiology, 19(3), 494-503. Piepoli, M. F., Corra, U., Benzer, W., Bjarnason-Wehrens, B., Dendale, P., Gaita, D., . . . Zwisler, A.-D. O. (2010). Secondary prevention through cardiac rehabilitation: from knowledge to implementation. A position paper from the Cardiac Rehabilitation Section of the European Association of Cardiovascular Prevention and Rehabilitation. European Journal of Cardiovascular Prevention Rehabilitation, 17(1), 1-17. Rodrigues, R. C. M., Joà £o, T. M. S., Gallani, M. C. B. J., Cornà ©lio, M. E., Alexandre, N. M. C. (2013). The Moving Heart Program: an intervention to improve physical activity among patients with coronary heart disease. Revista Latino-Americana de Enfermagem, 21(SPE), 180-189. Roger, V. L., Go, A. S., Lloyd-Jones, D. M., Benjamin, E. J., Berry, J. D., Borden, W. B., . . . Fox, C. S. (2012). Heart disease and stroke statistics—2012 update a report from the American heart association. Circulation, 125(1), e2-e220. Saczynski, J. S., Lessard, D., Spencer, F. A., Gurwitz, J. H., Gore, J. M., Yarzebski, J., Goldberg, R. J. (2010). Declining length of stay for patients hospitalized with AMI: impact on mortality and readmissions. The American journal of medicine, 123(11), 1007-1015. World Health Organization. (2011). The top 10 causes of death. Fact sheet Number 310: Geneva: WHO. 1

Leo Tolstoys The Death of Ivan Ilyich Essays -- Leo Tolstoy Death Iva

Leo Tolstoy's The Death of Ivan Ilyich I related readily with Ivan Ilyich, the main character in Leo Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich. There was a time when I myself lived my life without regard to the spirituality of life. I, however, was very lucky in that it did not take death looming over my head to realize this. Maybe the fact that my bout of depression’s onset happened sooner in life allowed me to see it sooner. Eric Simpson put it best as â€Å"We all die, like Ilyich, and if we only live to live, to create and carve our own meaning into the universe, then life itself becomes ultimately meaningless and painfully insignificant.† The key point here is the â€Å"painfully insignificant†(Simpson). Depression snuck up on me like old age will, forty times quicker. Ilyich manages to cover his depression by compartmentalizing his feelings from his thoughts and by becoming a workaholic. Doing this, he had a means of either dismissing his depression or drowning it in work. Ivan Ilyich did not notice his depression and lack of spirituality until three days prior to his death. It is not until Ilyich asks himself, â€Å"What if my whole life has really been wrong?†(Tolstoy 1203), and comes up with an affirmitave answer that Ilyich tries to find a way to rectify his situation. His solution is painfully simple, spare his family the heartache of his dying and to just get it over with. My solution was quite different. I came up with two simple rules. The number one rule of feeling better is to help strangers whenever possible. For example, last Wednesday, my car broke down on Route 7. I did not have a cell-phone and there wasn’t a payphone in sight. Since I had a paper due, I started hitchhiking to class. After about five minut... ...d Western doctrines. He also points out Ilyich’s total lack of spirituality and the feeling of a wasted life. Simpson points out these differences and includes Biblical quotes to back it up with great insight, getting to a level of depth that could confuse some readers but has shown this reader something I would never have thought of on my own. Novel Analysis: Death of Ivan Illich. 12 April 2001 This author explains how Ilyich’s life is a ‘front’ for the sake of propriety. Also, the author points out that Ilyich is not aware of this until just days before he dies. A very short interpretation, but one that completely backs me up. Note: All quotes from Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich are from the following edition: Literature: Reading and Writing the Human Experience. Seventh ed. Ed. Richard Abcarian and Marvin Klotz. New York: St. Martin’s, 1998.

A Teacher’s Guide to the Holocaust Essay

What comes into your mind when you hear the word holocaust? What would be the most powerful deterrent against another holocaust? Will keeping the memory of a holocaust prevent it from happening again? Holocaust refers to the great destruction of humans made by other humans that result in extensive loss of life. In holocaust, there is a thorough destruction of life, especially by fire. In the modern world 1900 to present, it refers to the killing of some six million European Jews by the Nazis, thus the survivors in the holocaust of 1900 were able to write their experiences about the event. The literature was made possible because of the Holocaust of World War II. The literature includes true stories of survival, loss, and death. An example of a holocaust literature was â€Å"The Night†, written by Elie Wiesel. The novel â€Å"The Night† is about Elie Wiesel’s teenage experiences at different Nazi camps. He said that he would never forget those flames which consumed his faith forever. Other literatures influenced by Holocaust of World War II include Saul Bellow’s â€Å"Mr. Sammler’s Planet,† Anne Frank’s â€Å"The Diary of a Young Girl. † In conclusion, holocaust is the extensive loss of life through fire. Upon reading holocaust literatures, one will be able to see clearly that the most powerful deterrent against another holocaust are the survivor’s memories and testimonies about their experiences. Works Cited â€Å"Survivor Testimony and Literature. † 2005. A Teacher’s Guide to the Holocaust. 4 August 2008 < http://fcit. usf. edu/HOLOCAUST/ARTS/litSurvi. htm>.

Roles of Government essays

Roles of Government essays The size and role of government are two very important factors, and can be difficult to pin point exactly. The role of government plays a huge part in society, by establishing all sorts of standards for living. Standards for things like monitoring of our hospitals, food industries, environment, human behavior, and even out burials. So you can say government has been there regulating and controlling parts of our lives from our birth to our death. United States government has always played a large role throughout history, ever since the creation of the U.S. Constitution. The size of government has been decreasing greatly as our economy has been increasing. The balance in America now lies between the public and the private sectors, with the private sector doing more of the spending. The private sector is businesses of firms owned by individuals or shareholders. Large businesses like IBM and Microsoft are examples of the private sector. These corporations sell goods and services like cars and computers, or haircuts and dry cleaning. The public sector includes the following; executive office, legislative bodies, courts, and administrative agencies at 3 different government levels, the federal, state, and local levels. They are owned by government and are run by elected and appointed officials. They are funded mostly through taxes and the issuing of bonds. Examples of this include the military, state motor vehicle agencies, and city fire departments. These companys deliver goods and services that can not be owned by any one single person, like environmental protection. Now that we know what the private and public sectors are we can begin to discuss the balance. The balance of the government now accounts for less then one third of the national economy. Two thirds of this amount is the general spending, or about 18% of the GDP. Total federal spending, is the 18 percent of the full 28 percent that government spen...