Art - A Culturally Constructed Myth :: American Culture Essays

Art - A Culturally Constructed Myth The development of semiotics in the 20th century revealed much about ideology in mass culture. Structuralist Roland Barthes' texts on the matter are very much products of their times, yet many still have a troubling modern-day relevance. Barthes' Mythologies demonstrates the possibilty to find meaning through the 'trivia' of everyday life. He claims to want to challenge the 'innoncence' and 'naturalness' of cultural texts and practices, as they are capable of producing a multitude of supplementary meanings, or 'connotations'. Although objects, gestures and practices have a certain utilitarian function, they are not resistant to the imposition of meaning. Barthes wants to suspend consideration of function, and concentrate rather on what things mean and how they function as signs. Mythologies is a study of the ways in which mass culture constructs this mythological reality and encourages conformity to its own values. Barthes' analysis of signs reveals that there are very few 'innoncent' objects, that almost everything is 'coded' (assigned meaning). Barthes arrives at this conclusion based on his theory of myth: that a form (expanded from Saussure's sound-image, which was limited to linguistics) and a concept create mythologies: sign systems that render one dominant meaning (or 'signification'). For the receiver, this signification arrives automatically and smoothly, thus seemingly denying the intentional re-coding. Barthes believes that this constant creation of myth is how a culture invents its beliefs and narratives, and is able to find meaning in the world. This premise draws a particular parallel in our contemporary society: for it is my hypothesis that our culture now locates meaning through mythological art (whether fine, commercial, popular, industrial etc.). Has art truly become myth? In order to 'read' or deconstruct myth, Barthes suggests, one must (1) accept the myth as a cultural construction, thus emptying its meaning; (2) rear the myth as full, identifying all possible signs and significations; and finally (3) recognize the signifier as both empty and full, capable of signifying many things, yet with only one clear, dominant meaning. It is my argument that such a deconstruction can render art as myth. Having realized art as a structured cultural phenomenon, and having emptied its direct and apparent meaning, it is possible to identify all its possible significations. Interestingly enough, I find that art reveals many diametrically opposed significations: expression and oppression, bias and acceptance, individual and society, creativity and confinement, and freedom and convention, among others. Art signifies the de-politicization of our culture, for even the most political of pieces cease to cause a stir among the masses.

Humorous Wedding Speech †Two Best Men -- Wedding Toasts Roasts Speech

Humorous Wedding Speech – Two Best Men Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. For those of you that are wondering why there are two best men standing up here, it’s perfectly simple. Arthur wanted to appoint a best man for the occasion, but sadly couldn’t find one, so he got two barely competent ones instead. So before I start, let me clarify the ‘role’ situation. Dennis, Arthur’s university friend and very trustworthy, was responsible for carrying the rings in church. I am Steve, Arthur’s childhood friend and very good with lager (beer). I was responsible for organizing the stag weekend (bachelor’s party). We both had the responsibility of getting him to the church on time, smartly dressed and sober†¦ but neither of us could achieve that last part. And, regrettably, we have both been asked to give a short speech. So why does it take two of us to describe the bridegroom? Well, as the man in Moss Bros said, 'There's a lot to fit in'. But you can rest assured that I’ll be keeping my part brief†¦ as I know the other bloke (guy) can drone on for hours! So what can I tell you about Arthur Wilson? He is my oldest friend and I’m convinced that without his guiding hand while we were growing up I would have been half the man I am today†¦ and certainly twice as popular. From an early age we lived a few doors away from each other, so not only did we become great friends we also became great rivals, and obviously ... ...y became trapped in the sticky beer socked carpet, the music was too loud for a conversation and it was pretty dark as well. Everything was in Arthur's favour! Playing hard to get though, Linda tells me it was months before she fell for Arthur. But having witnessed how quickly they progressed to a cat and five kittens, I'm not so sure. Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for listening to Steve and myself. If you’re having a fantastic time today - which I’m sure you all are - that’s a direct result of the months of hard work and meticulous planning by Arthur and Linda. They have done an incredible job to make this a truly wonderful wedding, so please all stand as I propose this toast – to the bride and groom.

Aggressive Driving Should Be Avoided

The main thesis statement of my speech is on why cell phone use should be prohibited by driving. The primary objective here is to persuade you not to engage in cell phone conversations when behind the wheel, based on the premises that I will present before you. The methodology of this study is compilation of established facts from published internet resources and newspaper or magazine articles.While cellular phones have been considered rare luxuries a decade ago, today it is already a commonplace possession for many individuals. The advances in wireless technology coupled with high public demand have made cell phones affordable and accessible to many.A 2004 MIT survey even revealed that the â€Å"cell phone is the invention that people hate the most but can’t live without, beating out the alarm clock and television. Furthermore, in a 2005 University of Michigan study, 83 percent of respondents said cell phones have made life easier, choosing it over the internet (Leo pars. 1- 2).†The Nationwide Mutual Insurance Co. released a January 2007 estimate that out of the 231 million Americans who owned cellular phones, an astonishing 73 percent of 1, 200 drivers with cell phones used them while driving. Moreover, the use of cell phones while driving was highest among young drivers (Insurance Information Institute, Inc. par. 3).Another study made by the Insurance Institute claimed that those who used cell phones while driving were four times more likely to get into crashes serious enough to cause injury. This was backed up by the Virginia Tech Transportation Institute who put distraction as the second most frequent cause of accidents next to fatigue (Leo par. 5).Studies about cell-phone use while driving have focused on several different aspects of the problem. Some have looked at its prevalence as the leading cause of driver distraction. Others have looked at the different risks associated with hand-held and hands-free devices. Still others have focused on the seriousness of injuries in crashes involving cell-phone users and the demographics of drivers who use cell phones.I fully support public safety advocates who are one in saying that while no data directly correlates road accidents to cell phone use, cellular phones are a major distraction while driving. And the longer you are distracted, the higher the chance of a collision.Let me point out some principal findings in a study which are relevant in convincing you that using cell phones can impair driving. Did you know that those who engage in cell phone conversations while driving: ·missed twice as many simulated traffic signals as when they were not talking on the phone; · took longer to react to those signals that they did detect; and ·that these deficits were the same for those who used hand-held and hands-free phone users (Strayer et. al. par. 9).The findings that motorists who use cell phones while driving are four times as likely to get into crashes serious enough to i njure themselves, are also backed up by another study of drivers in Perth, Australia, conducted by the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety.â€Å"The results, published in July 2005, suggest that banning hand-held phone use won't necessarily improve safety if drivers simply switch to hand-free phones. The study found that injury crash risk didn't vary with type of phone (Insurance Information Institute, Inc. par. 9).†Abovementioned data were concluded from findings in an in-depth study of driver safety and cell phone usage which summarized that â€Å"conversing on either a hand-held or hands-free cell phone led to significant decrements in simulated driving performance. Moreover, the study suggests that the cellular phone use disrupts performance by diverting attention to an engaging cognitive context other than the one immediately associated with driving (Strayer et.al. pars. 10-11).†In effect, this data contradicts the laws that permit only hands-free cell phone co nversations while driving because their data suggests that it is not the phone conversation itself that is the interference but rather the central attentional processes.Although inattentive driving may include talking to a passenger, eating or reaching for something, supporters of restrictions on driving while using a cell phone say that the distractions associated with cell phone use while driving are far greater than other distractions. Conversations using a cell phone demand greater continuous concentration, which diverts the driver’s eyes from the road and his mind from driving.Most epidemiological studies to date have found indications of a link between cell phone use and auto accidents, but there is few research devoted to establishing a causal connection between the two.Despite this deficiency, there is much to be concerned about regarding this issue following the release of an April 2006 study claiming that some form of driver inattention within three seconds of the c rash attributes to 80 per of crashes and 65 percent of near-crashes.This is supported by the 100-Car Naturalistic Driving Study, conducted by the Virginia Tech Transportation Institute and the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA), which revealed that the most common distraction is the use of cell phones, followed by drowsiness.  There are two dangers posed by conversing on cell phones while driving: first is that drivers would take their eyes off the road while dialing and second, the possibility of being absorbed in the conversation may impair the driving ability of the individual and increase the likelihood of endangering the vehicle occupants as well as pedestrians.â€Å"The latest research shows that while using a cell phone when driving may not be the most dangerous distraction, because it is so prevalent it is by far the most common cause of this type of crash and near crash (Insurance Information Institute par. 2).†A summer 2006 research spearheaded by the University of Utah even concludes that talking on a cell phone while driving is as dangerous as drunk driving, even if the phone is a hands-free model.An even earlier study by the university found that â€Å"motorists who talked on hands-free cell phones were 18 percent slower in braking and took 17 percent longer to regain the speed they lost when they braked. Also, drivers using hand-free phones had to redial calls 40 percent of the time, compared with 18 percent for drivers using hand-held sets, suggesting that hands-free sets may provide drivers with a false sense of ease (Insurance Information Institute, Inc. pars. 10-11).†

Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 16

16. Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal, Nosferatu Well, that was dramatic. Ronnie is all crying and cowering in the other room because I drank a little of her blood. Fuck's sakes, you mopey emo-toy, cowboy the fuck up, you have quarts! What did she expect, she got to kill me, that's not free? I'm not like some easy death slut who lets you kill her for nothing, I am nosferatu, bee-yotch. That shit has a price. Her blood totally tastes like zit cream, too. I almost hurled. I know, trs cool, non? So, now that I am a dark and beautiful creature of unspeakable evil, I think I'm going to start a pay-subscription blog. Except I can only, like, advertise darkness and unspeakable evil, because I'm totally starting from the beginning on the beauty. First, all my tattoos are totally gone. Gone! Like wiped off. After I succumbed to the dark gift by taking a whole bottle of the Motherbot's sleeping pills, Ronnie hid me under a pile of blankets and stuffed animals in her room, and when I awoke at sundown and crawled from my sepulcher of Carebears and Muppets and whatnot, all my tats totally wiped off. Like the ink was pushed out on top of my skin. Now Ronnie has an Epileptic Elmo with more of my ink on him than I have. And my piercings healed up. My bars and rings are all in the carpet. Boobs? Still pathetic. I had so hoped to swoop down on Foo and totally flash my awesome vampyre cleavage on him. You know, like put on a bustier and really squish the girls out the top, then be all: BAM! â€Å"Check it out, Foo. Cower before killer dcolletage, and beg me to let you rub your handsome ninja face on it.† But no! Now he'll be all, â€Å"Oh, it looks like you dropped a couple of dimes down your shirt, vamp child. Can I help you with those?† So I suffer. And you can't get implants. I saw what happens when the Animals' blue hooker turned vampyre. You wake up and your implants are on the floor and you're all, â€Å"Hey, I blew like a hundred strangers to get those.† I'm only estimating. I'm sure the number of strangers will vary depending on prevailing suck and surgical rates in your area. (You acquire arcane medical knowledge when your mother is a nurse.) You can't have stuff removed either, you know, if that might be needed. Even my makeup is ruined from where Ronnie tried to smother me with a pillow, so that's going to take like an hour to fix. I had heard that sometimes even when you overdose on a whole butt-load of drugs, you don't always die because your heart won't stop, which is why you're supposed to put your head in a plastic bag. But I didn't want to because I had done Cleopatra eye makeup that was trs elegant so I would look hawt for my resurrection. So Ronnie was supposed to put her hand over my mouth and nose, just until I stopped breathing, then like fix my lipstick if it smeared. Because otherwise I'd be all girlfriend in a coma for weeks while the Motherbot whined about how she couldn't unplug me because of her guilt for treating me like an assbag and how she had never appreciated my dark complexity and inner beauty and whatnot, and I have too much shit to do for that. But Ronnie didn't even wait for me to pass out. I had just taken the pills with some Sunny D (because the nosferatu love us some irony), and I laid down on the floor like we had planned, so Ronnie could just roll my body under the bed to hide me from the deadly rays of the sun and Mom. So I'm grieving for the loss of my mortality and whatnot, when Ronnie, like, just throws a pillow on my face and sits on it. And I'm all, â€Å"Wait, wait, mmphff, mmphf.† And then she burned one-right in my face-one of those foul, vegan farts-because she's been a vegan ever since she had head lice and we shaved her head. (I don't know why. Something about garlic and parasites. She's insane.) ‘Kayso, I decided that I could wait to receive the dark gift, and that Ronnie would have to die as soon as I got her off me. So she, like, burns another one! And she's skinnier than me. I don't know how she could even have it in her. And she's laughing so hard that she falls off of me and I make my move. ‘Kayso, I'm chasing her around the house, going, â€Å"I'm going to peel off your skin and make it into boots and step in dog shit with them,† and other basic super-villain threats, and then things got all wiggly and the last thing I remember is I walked into the sliding glass doors to the balcony and kind of bounced off. And so tragically, I died young, and no one was there to grieve for me or shed tears for me or kiss my cold, lifeless lips and whatnot. But now I'm undead awesome. I think with practice, I will make a super, super-villain, and really, I'm okay with that, because there won't be any student loans like there would have been with my other career choice of tragic romantic poet. ‘Kayso, now I must fix my makeup and pick an ensem and then wander the lonely night, searching for the Countess and the vampyre Flood, and maybe drop by the love lair to totally overwhelm Foo with my haunting and eternal but still small-chested beauty. Kthxbye. Being immortal rocks! I can type like demon speed! Fear me! L8z. THE EMPEROR The Emperor and the men shared a submarine sandwich on a bench by Pier Nine in the bright noonday sun as they watched a dark knife of a yacht glide into dock. She was just short of the length of a football field, all black, with stainless-steel trim-what the Emperor imagined a star-ship might look like if it were driven by sails. The sails on her three stainless-steel masts were mechanically furled into black carbon fiber shrouds, and the curved windows of her cockpit and cabin were blacked out. There were no crewmen on the deck. In all his years on and around the sea, the Emperor had never seen anything like it. Bummer flattened his ears and growled. â€Å"Easy, little one, it's only a sailing ship, and a beautiful one at that,† said the Emperor, although he thought it quite strange that there was no crew on deck to secure the mooring lines. A ship of that size, and more important, of that expense, would usually have half a dozen or more tying her up, but once parallel with the dock, attitude jets along the sides opened in the hull and gently pushed her into the dock. Jets on the far side pushed back so she stopped within six inches and hovered there, the jets firing just as needed to keep her from drifting. Three hundred feet of steel and carbon fiber, probably over twelve hundred tons, parked as easily and somewhat more smoothly than a Mini Cooper at a strip mall. Bummer ran to the edge of the breakwater and let loose with machine-gun volley of yapping, which translated, â€Å"Bad boat, bad boat, bad boat, bad boat.† A barking fit from his bug-eyed companion was nothing out of the ordinary, and normally the Emperor would have let it pass with a calming word, but there was still half a submarine sandwich to be eaten, and something had to be very much amiss for Bummer to leave the scene of a sandwich. Now Lazarus sniffed the chill wind coming off the Bay and whimpered, and tossed his head, then looked back at the Emperor, which translated from dog to, â€Å"Smells undead, boss.† The Emperor didn't understand what his companions were saying to him, but he suspected. He just wasn't ready to hear it. It had only been a few hours since the two police inspectors had dropped him off at the St. Francis Yacht Club, where the members allowed him and the men the use of the outer showers, and one of the members had purchased this lovely sandwich and presented it to them in thanks for their service to the City. Only an hour since he'd actually managed to straighten his neck out, after spending the better part of a night upside-down in a barrel. And only now, after a walk along the waterfront and a good meal, was the pain in his knees and shoulders starting to subside. He wasn't ready to go back into battle. â€Å"I am a selfish old man,† he said to the men. â€Å"A coward, worried for my own comfort, when my people are threatened. I am afraid.† But even as he said it, he was rising on his creaky knees, pushing himself up on the walking stick he'd retrieved only this morning from the Yacht Club, where he'd left it for safekeeping. The handle was carved out of ivory into the shape of a polar bear, and it fit the Emperor's hand like it had been made for him, although it had been a gift from a nice young man named Asher, who owned the secondhand store in North Beach, but that's another story. He wished there had been a blade in it, like the cane young Asher carried. Alas, he would have to face the black ship with only a stick, a sandwich, and his intrepid furry companions. He puffed himself blowfish style and headed up the dock, Bummer and Lazarus following along behind him, ears lowered, trailing a two-part growling harmony. A few people had gathered along the fence at the breakwater, and were pointing to the great ship. It wasn't so unusual that one might bring his day to a full halt, but if you were in the middle of a run or a brisk walk and needed a reason for a pause, the black ship would certainly fire the imagination long enough for you to catch your breath. Once at the ship, the Emperor was unsure of what to do. There was really no reason beyond Bummer's behavior to justify boarding her. And this ship was not of his city, therefore he could not claim dominion over it. He could hear the attitude jets firing just under the water, sporadically, to keep the ship in place. It was only a step, albeit a long step, and he'd be standing on the deck at her prow. Perhaps, having made the leap, a further course of action would occur to him. He backed up on the dock to take a run at it, or as much of a run as his advanced age and boiler-tank bulk would allow him, but as he announced â€Å"two† on his count-down to launch, a tanned face surrounded by a tangle of blond dreadlocks popped up over the rail of the cockpit and a young man called, â€Å"Irie, mi crusty uncle, bringing us the jammin' grinds, yeah? I and I tanks ye colossal, but please to be waiting on the dock.† And the Emperor stopped. Bummer and Lazarus even stopped growling and sat and turned their heads in the manner of a doggie listening for a â€Å"food† word amid a recitation of The Iliad. The young man vaulted over the black cowling of the cockpit and landed on the lower deck, his bare feet barely making a thump. He was lean and muscular, tanned a caf au lait color, with a tattoo of a humpback whale on his right pectoral muscle. He wore board shorts, despite the chill Bay air, a gold ring in his nose, and a series of them chasing down the rim of each ear. His dreadlocks fanned out around his head and shoulders as if they might be sun serpents looking for a way to escape. He leapt the gap to the dock, dazzled a blindingly white grin, and snatched the remains of the sandwich out of the Emperor's hand. â€Å"Ah, Jah's love on ye, Uncle, bringing de rippin' grinds to I'n'I after so long at sea.† Bummer barked and growled. The Rasta-blond had their sandwich. â€Å"Ah, me doggie, dreadies,† said the Rasta. â€Å"Jah's blessings on ye.† He knelt and scratched Bummer behind the ears. The stranger smelled of coconut oil, weed, and the undead, and Bummer was going to bite him as soon as he was finished having his ears scratched. â€Å"I'n'I be Pelekekona Keohokalole. Call him Kona, for short. Pirate Captain and lion of the briny science, don't cha know?† â€Å"I am the Emperor of San Francisco, protector of Alcatraz, Sausalito, and Treasure Island,† said the Emperor, who couldn't bring himself to be impolite to the smiling stranger, despite the black ship. â€Å"Welcome to my city.† â€Å"Ah, many tanks, Bruddah. Much respek on you, yeah? But you can't be going on that Raven ship, no. She kill you, brah. Automatic-kine kill. Dead, dead, too. Not walkin' around dead like them below.† â€Å"It goes without saying,† said the Emperor. FOO DOG The rats had been up and moving for about an hour when Foo heard the key in the front door. He put the soldering iron he was using in the wire holder and was turning toward the door when she was on him. He felt his vertebrae crack as her legs wrapped around him and he went over backward. Something caught the back of his head and something wet and coppery was shoved into his mouth: tongue. Panic vibrated through him and he felt he might suffocate, but then the smell: a mix of sandalwood perfume, clove cigarettes, and caff latte. Amid the panic, he'd sprung a first-rate erection, which he thrust against his attacker in defense. She pushed away and twisted up a handful of his shirt-front as he gasped for breath. â€Å"Rawr!† she rawred. â€Å"I missed you,† said Foo. â€Å"Your suffering has only begun,† Abby said. She wore a red tartan miniskirt over a black leotard with a low swooping neckline, a spiked dog collar, and her lime-green Converse Chuck Taylors, which she sometimes referred to as her â€Å"forbidden love Chucks† for no reason that he could ever figure out. â€Å"You're kind of crushing my ribs.† â€Å"That is because I am nosssssss-feratu and my powers are legion and stuff! Trs cool, huh?† Foo realized then that she had actually done it-she had somehow managed to change herself into a vampire. Her nose, eyebrow, and lip rings were gone, the piercings healed. The spider tattoo on her neck was gone as well. â€Å"How?† he asked, immediately trying to calculate her odds of survival. He'd talked to her yesterday on the phone and he was sure she would have mentioned the transition if she'd made it already, so she was in her first twenty-four hours. She might still be one of the ones who went insane and self-destructed, and even though Abby was short neither on insanity or self-destruction, it didn't mean he shouldn't try to save her. She kissed him again, hard, and as nice as it felt, he was hyper aware of whether she had broken the skin on his lips, or hers. So far, so good. She pushed him back, but then caught the back of his head again so it didn't bang the floor. She actually seemed a little more considerate now that she was dead, although not that much quieter. â€Å"Be patient, my love ninja, I will use you like the delicious manga-haired man-whore that you are, but first we have to try out my powers. Let some of the rats out of their cages and I will command them with my vampire psychic thoughts. I'll see if I can get them to clean the kitchen.† Okay, maybe they weren't out of the insanity woods quite yet, Foo thought. He said, â€Å"Yes, and then we'll see if we can get bluebirds to tie a ribbon in your hair.† â€Å"Snark not, Foo! You must obey me! I am the Countess Abigail Von Normal, queen bitch of the night, and you are my groveling sex slave!† â€Å"Are you a countess or a queen? You said both.† â€Å"Shut up, grommet, before I suck you dry!† â€Å"Okay,† said Foo. A wise man picks his battles. â€Å"Not that way, Foo. I mean that I will dominate you and you will do my bidding!† â€Å"Which will be different from any other day, how?† â€Å"Cease your banality and nerdardious questions, Foo. You are totally harshing my heady power over the night.† â€Å"It sounds like you bought a flashlight.† â€Å"That's it. I am going to beat your ninja ass.† She leapt off of him and made the â€Å"crouching tiger, rip your heart out† kung-fu posture that everyone who has seen a martial arts movie knows. â€Å"Wait! Wait! Wait!† â€Å"‘Kay,† said Abby, relaxing to the much less dangerous â€Å"slouching tiger chillin' with a bag of Cheetos† stance, which is known by all who have ever snacked. â€Å"You need to feed, get your strength up first,† said Foo. â€Å"You're a vampire noob. You need to grow into your powers.† â€Å"Ha,† said Abby. â€Å"You speak like a mortal who can't possibly grasp the depth of the dark gift. I jumped over a car on the way here. And I totally ran faster than the F train. My Chucks are still warm with residual speediness. Go ahead, feel them. Lick them, if you must. Even now I can see this aura thing around you, which is like bright pink, and doesn't go with your fly hair and manly bulge.† Foo looked down. Yes, his bulge was betraying him. He said, â€Å"You should take it slow, Abby.† â€Å"Oh yeah, watch this!† In an instant she was across the loft at the kitchen counter, and in another instant she had shot back across the living room and hit the plywood covering the windows. There was nothing Foo could do. She might have lifted the couch, leapt up fifteen feet, and grabbed the open ceiling beams, or even turned to mist, if she'd figured out how to do that, but what she had decided to do to show her powers was blast through the quarter-inch plywood and land catlike on the street below. And that would have been badass, to be sure. What Abby didn't know was that while she'd been gone, the window guy had called, and he wouldn't be able to come out to fix the windows for two weeks, so Foo had replaced the quarter-inch plywood with three-quarter-inch plywood, and instead of it just being tacked at the corners with small nails, he had screwed it down with stainless-steel screws, so as not to leave any vapor gaps for the rats to make an escape. Foo cringed and covered his eyes. She was fast, and preternaturally strong, but ninety pounds of vampire is still only ninety pounds. Did she hit the plywood Wile E. Coyote style, then slide down? Wah-wah-wah. Oh no. She hit the plywood, which bent precipitously, then splintered a bit before springing back and rocketing her all the way across the loft to the back wall, and there, she made a petite Goth girl impression in the sheet rock before falling forward, flat on her face, and saying, â€Å"Fucksocks,† into the rug. â€Å"You okay?† asked Foo. â€Å"Broken,† said Abby into the rug. He knelt over her, afraid to turn her head to see what damage she might have done. â€Å"What's broken?† â€Å"Everything.† â€Å"I'll get you some blood out of the fridge. You should heal pretty fast.† â€Å"‘Kay,† said Abby, still face-down, not having moved since the initial impact. â€Å"Don't look at me, okay?† â€Å"No way,† said Foo, already in the kitchen. He took one of the plastic pouches of blood from the fridge and worked it back and forth. â€Å"Just a second. Don't move, Abs, you might have broken bones.† He quick-stepped into the bedroom, grabbed a capped syringe off the cabinet where he kept the chemicals, flipped off the cap, and injected the sedative into the bag. â€Å"Here you go, baby. Just drink this and you'll be fine.† Ten minutes later he heard someone coming up the stairs and realized that Abby had forgotten to lock the door. Jared bounded into the loft, stopped when he saw Foo kneeling over the prostrate Abby, who had a sizable pool of blood around her head, and began screaming. â€Å"Stop screaming!† barked Foo. â€Å"It's not her blood.† Jared stopped screaming. â€Å"What did you do to her?† â€Å"Nothing, she's fine. Would you move the maze off the bed and help me get her in there?† Sometime during the debacle, Abby's skirt had flipped up and Jared pointed at an oblong lump that ran across her bottom and partly down her leg under the black leotard. â€Å"What's that? Did she poop herself?† â€Å"No,† said Foo, wishing he didn't know what it was, but he had already checked for himself. â€Å"It's a tail.† â€Å"Whoa. Weird.† â€Å"Yeah,† said Foo.

Turnover Research Paper Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1000 words

Turnover - Research Paper Example = $ 2,059,200+ $ 187,200 = $ 2,246,400 The Administrative staff Turn Over Cost: 1- Administration turnover per year = 2 2- Number of Interviews to be conducted for one Administrative staff recruitment = 2* 3 = 6 3- Time taken in each interview = 45 min + 20 min = 65 min per interview 4- Total time required to be spent on Administrative staff turn over interviews = number of interviews * time of interview * hourly cost of interview = 6* [65/60] * $ 18 = $ 117 5- Total cost of Administration Staff for the University of Mellencamp = Hourly rate payment + Benefits + turn over cost = $ 2,059,200+ $ 187,200 + $ 117 = $ 2,246,517 Cost of Support Staff: Assumption: The working hours for an employee of the University of Mellencamp are 8 hours per day and the University works 5 days per week. e. Present Support Staff = 1200 f. Number of working hours in a week = 40 g. Therefore, working hours in a year of 52 weeks = 52*40 = 2080 hours h. So, cost of Support Staff to University of Mellencamp = Hours of work * Hourly rate* number of Support Staff = 2080 * $ 12 * 1200 = $ 29,952,000 (ii) Benefits to Support Staff = 2080 * $ 5* 1200 = $ 12,480,000 (iii) Cost of Support Staff = Payment of Hourly rate + Payment of benefits = $ 29,952,000 + $ 12,480,000= $ 42,432,000 The Support Staff Turn Over Cost for the University of Mellencamp 5- Support Staff turnover per year = 65 6- Number of Interviews to be conducted for one Support Staff recruitment = 65*2 = 130 7- Time taken in each interview = 45 min + 20 min = 65 min per interview 8- Total time required to be spent on Support Staff turn over interviews = number of interviews * time of interview * hourly cost of interview = 130* [65/60] * $ 18 = $ 2,535 5- Total...If more details of University courses being taught are made available it could help the decision making more viable. The above being the actual turnover position of the University of Mellencamp it is essential that the institution has to rethink on the points arrived as recommendations above. The activities of the institution will become cost effective only if radical changes are implemented with immediate effect.

Corporate Strategy Master Assignment Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 2000 words

Corporate Strategy Master - Assignment Example By July 2008 as a consequence, major banks and other financial institutions around the world had reported losses reaching $435 billion. The problem on sub-prime mortgages was exacerbated by the steady depreciation of the US dollar, whose value against the euro, for example, crossed the $1.48 threshold in November 2007 to settle at $1.50 (Phillips, 2007). While the US Federal Reserve showed no intention of intervening to strengthen the dollar, banks stopped issuing covered bonds and the London Interbank Offered Rate (Libor) hit a premium for treasury bills not seen since the dark days of the first oil crisis in 1987. The continued weakening of the US currency gave banks and financial institutions little incentive to sell dollars, completing the scenario for rising global inflation. Such a climate of uncertainty in the global economy, specifically in the banking sector, serves as backdrop for this paper as it examines the corporate strategies by which HSBC Holdings plc, one of the worl d's largest banking and financial services organisations, can emerge a winner through the use of appropriate models and tools of analysis. HSBC Holdings plc is the mother company of a wide array of banks and financial institutions that include the HSBC plc in UK; the Hong Kong Shanghai Banking Corp. Ltd. and Hang Seng Bank Ltd. in Hong Kong; HSBC Finance in France; the Household International and HSBC Bank USA NA in the US; HSBC Bank in Brazil; Grupo Financiero HSBC in Mexico; and the HSBC Private Banking Holding (Suisse) SA in UK, Hong Kong, Switzerland, Monaco, Luxembourg, Singapore and Channel Islands. The Group's corporate strategy finds expression in the marketing pitch attached to its logo that proclaims HSBC as "the world's local bank." This campaign to differentiate the HSBC brand was launched in 1999 and started to guide all banking operations in 2005. The strategy projects HSBC as a financing institution with an international pedigree and world-class expertise, which sophistication is nonetheless used for the full benefit of the smallest local clients and their communities. In effect, the HSBC based its strat egy not only on product leadership and operational excellence but also on customer intimacy, the three value disciplines that drive corporate strategy (Green, 2003). That sort of makes the Group a high-street bank that serves low-end clients as a matter of preference. The banking clientele composed of ordinary people is a market segment usually identified in an RFM analysis to formulate a firm's corporate strategy. RFM stands for recency, frequency and monetary value and is often conducted to analyse customer behaviours and define market segments. In essence, RFM analysis asks how recent and frequent are the transactions done for a particular

The Crowd at Mansion Night Club Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 500 words - 3

The Crowd at Mansion Night Club - Essay Example Most of the people outside the club are young people albeit above 18 years of age. Most of the young people are idling around and conversing in small tones in groups. Others stand near their parked cars in the crowded car park. Although the loud music from the club can be heard from the car park, some of the small groups standing on their cars have turned on loud music from their sporty and flashy cars. This causes a mixture of noise from the disco hall and music emanating from different cars in the car park. The evening sunset and cool temperature seem to complement the noisy music mixture. Heavily built guards heavily guard the entrance to the disco hall. The guards are armed with weapon detectors, which they use to inspect every person before entering the hall. The guards are so heavily built that they seem to occupy the whole entrance and it is not possible to simply push through the entrance. They also inspect the tickets before allowing people to get into the hall. The queue to the entrance is long and winds up at the far end. People on the queue have one thing in common. All people are wearing their best entertainment outfits most of which are brightly colored. Most of the women are dressed in the currently fashionable spaghetti tops and low-heeled shoes. Men, on the other hand, are dressed in straight jeans and sporty shoes. The disco arena is fully packed with people. Although most of the crowd is on the dancing arena, others have preferred relaxing on the well-arranged seats around the dancing area. The whole place is filled with disco lighting and the music is very loud. The crowd on the dancing arena sings along to their favorite tunes and they shout loudly whenever the emcee prompts them to do so. Most of the people in the crowd are dancing vigorously with the latest dancing style.