The Relationship between pupil expenditure in high and low capacity school districts and community variables

Across the nation, the public, lawmakers and educators have become deeply concerned with finding ways to measure the effectiveness of schools and school systems. Politicians and educators have been struggling with developing useful yardsticks for school effectiveness that are honest, accurate and easily comprehended. The initial stages of this effort have often resulted in evaluations that assess, judge and even mete out consequences to schools who’ve been measured by a small set of benchmarks that often do not reflect the context of the individual school.Many states, including Rhode Island, have published annual state achievement results. People have used these results to rank order districts and schools on the basis of those results as if the schools were competing on a level playing field. While valid for certain purposes, these methods encourage the public to draw sometimes unfortunate conclusions about the value of a school or school system because the yardstick itself is not sensitive to differences in school contexts, to other information about school practices, or to achievement results which are not part of the formal state assessment program.In this study we will undertake the analysis from the financial perspective and study the relationship between pupil expenditure in high and low capacity school districts and community variables. A multiple regression model will be used in order to statistically evaluate the relationship (Information works, 01) 2- LITERATURE REVIEW A hypothesis (H) is an unproven statement or proposition about a factor or phenomenon that is of interest to the researcher. It may, for example, be a tentative statement about relationships between two or more variables as stipulated by the theoretical framework or the analytical model.Often, a hypothesis is a possible answer to the research question. Hypotheses go beyond research questions because they are statements of relationships or propositions rather than merely question to which answers are sought. Whereas research questions are interrogative, Hypotheses are declarative and can be tested empirically. An important role of a hypothesis is to suggest variables to be included in the research design (Malhotra, 77). A literature review will be undertaken in order to develop hypothesis which will be tested in the study.In our study we will use the same variables as Gaudet used in the study of performance of the MCAS tests. Using these variables we will test the relationship with the pupil expenditure in school districts. These include level of educational attainment of school districts, income level, percentage of households above the poverty line, its percentage of single-parent families, its percentage of non-English-speaking households, and its level of private school enrollment in school districts. 3- REASONS FOR CHOOSING THIS TOPICThe fundamental reason for choosing this topic is that having searched literature I found that very few works have been c onducted concerning the relationship between pupil expenditure in high and low capacity school districts and community variables. Since most of the studies have been focusing the students’ performances as the indicator of the success of the school systems. This fact has encouraged me to do this piece of work in order to contribute to the existing knowledge about this subject by adding a new point of view.Another reason is that most people who are involved in the evaluation of the school systems have poor background in finance, so it is so difficult for them to understand the pros and cons of the financial aspects of the school systems. In addition to that analysts and common people should understand the relationship between pupil expenditure in high and low capacity school districts and community variables. They should not only concentrate on educational tools but also address the community variables while designing the educational expenditure policies in order to improve the performance of the school system in the United States.

Tuttle Matt

The analysis regarding this case has led us Into Identifying the critical Issues of Tuttle Matt as, ; How to sustain the consistent business How to expand their brand reputation How to build comparative advantages Exhibit 1 : SOOT Analysts Internal External Strengths (ability to†¦ ) good location (near King Street and Spading Avenue) Open-concept kitchen High quality of ingredients and own secret recipes Weaknesses (inability to†¦ Inadequate financial investment Not much entrepreneurial experience Opportunities No restaurants were regionally focused In Tuscan style 0% returning rate of customers for dinner Exploit: Sustain and provide high quality of food Develop: Create a new customer base with aid from others working in the industry. ; Create more awareness towards the new menu they have designed.Threats Strong competitors: Alice Bazooka and Terrine CARS debarkation's: Attract new customers Keep the kitchen clean Address/Avoid: currently have the cash flow. Exhibit 2: Por ter's Five Forces Bargaining Power of Buyers: Mid level of power Customers are not very brand loyal, which means they will be resistant to try out new and unfamiliar gaming options ; Bargaining Power of Suppliers: Low level of power doesn't rely on suppliers in producing their product.Industry Rivalry: High level of power Over 200 competitors within industry Potential Competitors: Low barrier to entry for catering industry (relatively easy to start-up and no government restrictions ) ; Relatively low brand loyalty for 50% of the new competitors fails in the first two years Substitutes: ; Many substitutes for will increase competition within industry ; On the other hand, the industry is currently lacking of Tuscan style restaurants, which makes unique.

Fluke, or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings Chapter 7~9

CHAPTER SEVEN Sanctuary, Sanctuary, Cried the Humpback When a visitor first drives into the Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale Sanctuary – five baby blue shiplap buildings trimmed out in cobalt, crouching on the edge of the huge Maalaea Bay and overlooking the ruins of an ancient saltwater fish pond – his first reaction is usually â€Å"Hey, not much of a sanctuary. You could get maybe three whales in those buildings, tops.† Soon, however, he realizes that these buildings are simply the offices and visitor centers. The sanctuary itself covers the channels that run from Molokai to the Big Island of Hawaii, between Maui, Lanai, and Kahoolawe, as well as the north shores of Oahu and Kauai, in which there is plenty of room for a whole bunch of whales, which is why they are kept there. There were about a hundred people milling around outside the lecture hall when Nate and Amy pulled into the parking lot in the pickup. â€Å"Looks like a good turnout?† Amy said. She'd attended only one of the sanctuary's weekly lectures, and that one had been given by Gilbert Box, an ill-tempered biologist doing survey work under a grant for the International Whaling Commission, who droned through numbers and graphs until the ten people in attendance would have killed a whale themselves just to shut him up. â€Å"It's about average for us. Behavior always draws more than survey. We're the sexy ones,† Nate said with a grin. Amy snorted. â€Å"Oh, yeah, you guys are the Mae Wests of the nerd world.† â€Å"We're action nerds,† Nate said. â€Å"Adventure nerds. Nerds of romance.† â€Å"Nerds,† Amy said. Nate could see the skeletal Gilbert Box standing off to the side of the crowd under a straw hat whose brim was so wide it could have afforded shade for three additional people and behind a pair of enormous wraparound sunglasses suitable for welding or as a shield from nuclear flash. His gaunt face was still smeared with residue of the white zinc oxide he used for sun protection when out on the water. He wore a long-sleeved khaki shirt and trousers and leaned on a white sun umbrella that he was never seen without. It was a half hour before sunset, a warm breeze was coming off Maalaea Bay, and Gilbert Box looked like Death out for his after-dinner stroll before a busy night of e-mailing heart attacks and tumors to a few million lucky winners. Nate had given Box the nickname â€Å"the Count,† after the Sesame Street vampire with the obsessive-compulsive need to count things. (Nate had been too old for Sesame Street as a preschooler, but he'd watched it through grade ten while baby-sitting his younger brother, Sam.) People agreed that the Count was the perfect name for a survey guy with an aversion to water and sunlight, and the name had caught on even outside Nate and Clay's immediate sphere of influence. Panic rattled up Nate's spine. â€Å"They're going to know we're faking it. The Count will call us on it the first time I say something that we don't have the data to back up.† â€Å"How's he going to know? You had the data a week ago. Besides, what's this ‘we'? I'm just running the projector.† â€Å"Thanks.† â€Å"There's Tarwater,† Amy said. â€Å"Who are those women he's talking to?† â€Å"Probably just some whale huggers,† Nate said, pretending that all of his mental faculties were required for him to squeeze the pickup into the four adjacent empty parking spaces. The women Tarwater was talking to were Margaret Painborne, Ph.D., and Elizabeth  «Libby » Quinn, Ph.D. They worked together with a couple of very butch young women studying cow/calf behavior and social vocalizations. They were doing good work, Nate thought, even if it appeared to have a gender-based agenda. Margaret was in her late forties, short and round, with long gray hair that she kept perpetually tied back in a braid. Libby was almost a decade younger, long-legged and lean, blond hair going gray, cut short, and she had once, not too long ago, been Nathan Quinn's third wife. A second and totally different wave of anxiety swept over Quinn. This was the first time he'd encountered Libby since Amy joined the team. â€Å"They don't look like whale huggers,† Amy said. â€Å"They look like researchers.† â€Å"How is that?† â€Å"They look like action nerds.† Amy snorted again and crawled out of the truck. â€Å"That's not very professional,† Nate said, â€Å"that snorting-laugh thing you do.† But Amy had already walked off toward the lecture hall, a carousel of slides under her arm. Nate counted more than thirty researchers in the crowd as he walked up. And those were just the ones he was acquainted with. New people would be coming back and forth from the mainland all season – grad students, film crews, reporters, National Fisheries people, patrons – all hitchhiking on the very few research permits that were issued for the sanctuary. For some reason Amy made a beeline for Cliff Hyland and his navy watchdog, Tarwater, who was out of uniform in Dockers and a Tommy Bahama shirt, but still out of place because his clothes were ironed to razor creases – his Topsiders had been spit-shined, and he stood as if there were a cold length of rebar wired to his spine. â€Å"Hey, Amy,† Cliff said. â€Å"Sorry to hear about the break-in. Bad?† â€Å"We'll be all right,† Amy said. Nate strolled up behind Amy. â€Å"Hey, Cliff. Captain.† He nodded to each. â€Å"Sorry to hear about the break-in, Nate,† Cliff said again. â€Å"Hope you guys didn't lose anything important.† â€Å"We're fucked,† Nate said. And Tarwater smiled – for the first time ever, Nate thought. â€Å"We're fine.† Amy grinned and brandished her carousel of slides like a talisman of power. â€Å"I'm thinking about getting a job at Starbucks,† Nate said. â€Å"Hey, Cliff, what are you guys working on?† Amy asked, having somehow moved close enough into Cliff Hyland's personal space to have to look up at him with big, girly-blue eyes and the aspect of a fascinated child. Nate cringed. It was†¦ well, it was just not done. You didn't ask, not outright like that. â€Å"Just some stuff for the navy,† Cliff said, obviously wanting to back away from Amy, but knowing that if he did, somehow he'd lose face. Nate watched while Amy grated his friend's middle-aged irrelevance against his male ego merely by stepping a foot closer. There, too, was a reaction from Tarwater, as the younger man seemed to be irritated by the fact that Amy was paying attention to Cliff. Or maybe he was just irritated with Amy because she was irritating. Sometimes Nate had to remind himself not to think like a biologist. â€Å"You know, Cliff,† Amy said, â€Å"I was looking at a map the other day – and I want you to brace yourself, because this may come as a shock – but there's no coastline in Iowa. I mean, doesn't that get in the way of studying marine mammals?† â€Å"Sure, now you bring that up,† Cliff said. â€Å"Where were you ten years ago when I accepted the position?† â€Å"Middle school,† Amy said. â€Å"What's in the big case on your boat? Sonar array? You guys doing another LFA study?† Tarwater coughed. â€Å"Amy,† Nate interrupted, â€Å"we'd better get set up.† â€Å"Right,† Amy said. â€Å"Nice seeing you guys.† She moved on. Nate grinned, just for a second. â€Å"Sorry, you know how it is?† â€Å"Yeah.† Cliff Hyland smiled. â€Å"We've got two grad students working with us this season.† â€Å"But we left our grommets at home, to analyze data,† Tarwater added. Nate and Cliff looked at each other like two old broken-toothed lions long driven from the pride – tired, but secure in the knowledge that if they teamed up, they could eat the younger male alive. Cliff shrugged, almost imperceptibly, that small gesture communicating, Sorry, Nate, I know he's an asshole, but what am I going to do? It's funding. â€Å"I'd better go in,† Nate said, patting the notes in his shirt pocket. He passed a couple more acquaintances, saying hello as he went by, then inside the door ran right into a minor nightmare: Amy talking to his ex-wife, Libby, and her partner, Margaret. It had been like this: They'd met ten years ago, summer in Alaska, a remote lodge on Baranof Island on the Chatham Strait, where scientists were given access to a couple of rigid-hulled Zodiacs and all the canned beans, smoked salmon, and Russian vodka they could consume. Nate had come to observe the feeding behavior of his beloved humpbacks and record social sounds that might help him to interpret the song they sang when in Hawaii. Libby was doing biopsies on the population of resident (fish-eating) killer whales to prove that all the different pods were indeed part of one clan related by blood. He was two years divorced from his second wife. Libby, at thirty, was two months from finishing her doctoral dissertation in cetacean biology. Consequently, since high school she hadn't had time for anything but research – seasonal affairs with boat skippers, senior researchers, grad students, fishermen, and the occasional photographer or documentary filmmaker. She wasn't particular ly promiscuous, but there was a sea of men you were set adrift in if you were going to study whales, and if you didn't want to spend your life alone, you pulled into a convenient, if scruffy, port from time to time. The transience of the work drove a lot of women out of the field. On the other hand, Nate tried to solve the male side of the equation by marrying other whale researchers, reasoning that only someone who was equally obsessed, distracted, and single-minded would be able to tolerate those qualities in a mate. That sort of reasoning, of course, was testament to the victory of romanticism over reason, irony over rationality, and pure foolishness over common sense. The only thing that being married to another scientist had gotten Nate was a reprieve from being asked what he was thinking about while lying in bed in a postcoital cuddle. They knew what he was thinking about, because they were thinking about the same thing: whales. They were both lean and blond and weather-beaten, and one evening, as they were portaging gear from their respective Zodiacs, Libby unzipped her survival suit and tied the sleeves around her waist so she could move more freely. Nate said, â€Å"You look good in that.† No one, absolutely no one, looks good in a survival suit (unless a Day-Glo orange marshmallow man is your idea of a hot date), but Libby didn't even make the effort to roll her eyes. â€Å"I have vodka and a shower in my cabin,† she said. â€Å"I have a shower in my cabin, too,† Nate said. Libby just shook her head and trudged up the path to the lodge. Over her shoulder she called, â€Å"In five minutes there's going to be a naked woman in my shower. You got one of those?† â€Å"Oh,† said Nate. They were both still lean, but no longer blond. Nate was completely gray, and Libby was getting there. She smiled when he approached. â€Å"We heard about the break-in, Nate. I meant to call you.† â€Å"That's okay,† he said. â€Å"Not much you can do.† â€Å"That's what you think,† Amy said. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet as if she were going to explode or Tigger off across the room any second. â€Å"I think these might mitigate the loss a little,† Libby said. She slung her day pack off her shoulder, reached in, and came out with a handful of CDs in paper sleeves. â€Å"You forgot about these, I'll bet? You loaned them to us last season so we could pull off any social noises in the background.† â€Å"It's all the singer recordings from the last ten years,† Amy said. â€Å"Isn't that great!† Nate felt as if he might faint. To lose ten years' work, then reconcile the loss, only to have it handed back to him. He put his hand on Libby's shoulder to steady himself. â€Å"I don't know what to say. I thought you gave those back.† â€Å"We made copies.† Margaret stepped over to Quinn and in doing so got a foot between him and his ex-wife. â€Å"You said it would be okay. We were only using them for comparison to our own samples.† â€Å"No, it's okay,† Nate said. He almost patted her shoulder, but as he moved in that direction she flinched and he let his hand drop. â€Å"Thank you, Margaret.† Margaret had interposed herself completely between Nate and Libby, making a barrier of her own body (behavior she'd obviously picked up from her cow/calf studies – a humpback mother did the same thing when boats or amorous males approached her calf). Amy snatched the handful of CDs from Libby. â€Å"I'd better go through these. I can probably come up with a few relevant samples to play along with the slides if I hurry.† â€Å"I'll go with you,† Margaret said, eyeing Amy. â€Å"My handwriting on the catalog numbers leaves something to be desired.† And off they went toward the projection station in the middle of the hall, leaving Nate standing with Libby, wondering exactly what had just transpired. â€Å"She really does have an extraordinary ass, Nate,† Libby said as she watched Amy walk away. â€Å"Yep,† Nate said, not wanting to have this conversation. â€Å"She's very bright, too.† Sometime in the last week a tiny voice in his head had started asking, Could this get any weirder? In two minutes he'd gone from anxiety to embarrassment to anxiety to relief to gratitude to scoping chicks with his ex-wife. Oh, yes, little voice, it can always get weirder. â€Å"I think Margaret may be on a recruiting mission,† Libby said. â€Å"I hope she checked our budget before she left.† â€Å"Amy's working for free,† Nate said. Libby leaned up on tiptoes and whispered, â€Å"I believe that a starting position on the all-girl team has just opened up.† Then she kissed his cheek. â€Å"You knock 'em dead tonight, Nate.† And she was off after Amy and Margaret. Clay and Kona arrived just as Libby walked away, and, irritatingly, Kona was checking out Libby from behind. â€Å"Irie, Boss Nate. Who's the biscuit auntie suckin' face with ya?† (Like many authentic Hawaiians, Kona called any woman a generation older â€Å"auntie,† even if he was horning after her.) â€Å"You brought him here,† Nate said to Clay without turning to face him. â€Å"He's got to learn,† Clay said. â€Å"Libby seemed friendly.† â€Å"She's chasing Amy.† â€Å"Oh, she a blackheart thief that would take a man's Snowy Biscuit to have a punaani nosh. That Snowy Biscuit belong our tribe.† â€Å"Libby was Nate's third wife,† Clay volunteered, as if that would somehow immediately illuminate why the blackheart Libby was trying to steal the Snowy Biscuit from their tribe. â€Å"Truth?† Kona said, shaking his great gorgonation of dreadlocks in rag-doll confusion. â€Å"You married a lesbian?† â€Å"Whale willies,† said Clay, adding neither insight nor illumination. â€Å"I should go over my notes,† Nate said. CHAPTER EIGHT A Rippin' Talk â€Å"Biology,† said the pseudo Hawaiian, â€Å"dat bitch make sex puppets of everyone.† Clay had just told him the story. The story was this: Five years into her marriage to Nathan Quinn, Libby had gone for the summer to the Bering Sea to put satellite-tracking tags on female right whales. She had already begun working with Margaret Painborne, who was at the time trying to find out more about the mating and gestation behavior of right whales. The best way to do that was to keep constant tabs on the females. Now, sexing whales can be an incredibly difficult task, as their genitalia, for hydrodynamic reasons, are all internal. Without a biopsy or without being in the water with the animal (which means death in three minutes in the Bering Sea), about the only way to determine sex is to catch a female when she is with her calf or while the animals are mating. Libby and Margaret had decided to tag the animals while they were mating. Their base ship was an eighty-foot schooner loaned to the project by Scripps, but to do the actually tagging they used a nimble twelve-foot Zodiac with a forty-horse engine. They'd spotted a female trying to evade the advances of two giant males. The right whale is one of the few animals in the world that uses a washout strategy for mating. That is, the females mate with several males, but the one who can wash out the others' seed most efficiently will pass his genes on to the next generation. Consequently, the guy with the largest tackle often wins, and male right whales have the biggest tackle in the world, with testes that weigh up to a ton and ten-foot penises that are not only long but prehensile, able to reach around a female from the side and introduce themselves on the sly. Libby took the front of the boat, where she braced herself with a fifteen-foot fiberglass pole tipped with a barbed stainless point attached to the satellite unit. Margaret steered the outboard, maneuvering over frigid seven-foot seas, into the position where Libby could set the tag. Right whales are not particularly fast (whalers caught them in rowboats, for Christ's sake), but they are big and broad, and in the frenzy of a mating chase, a small Zodiac provides about as much protection from their thrashing, sixty-ton bodies as would wearing aluminum-foil armor to a joust. And noble Libby, action-girl nerd that she was, did look somewhat like a gallant knight in Day-Glo orange, her lance ready to strike as her trusty warhorse, Evinrude, powered her over the waves. And as they approached the big female, a male on either side of her, the two sandwiching her so she could not escape, she rolled over onto her back, presenting her genitals to the sky. At that she slowed, and Margaret steered between the two tails of the males so Libby could set the tag. The female stopped then and floated up under the Zodiac. Margaret powered down the motor so as not to rake the animal with the prop. â€Å"Shit!† Libby screamed. â€Å"Get us off! Get us off!† A swipe from the flukes of any of the animals would put them in the water, minutes from hypothermia and death. Libby had rolled her survival suit down so she could maneuver the harpoon. She'd be pulled under in seconds. Suddenly, out of the water on either side of them came two huge penises, the males searching for their mark, moving closer to the female, producing waves that knocked the two women into the floor of the boat. Above them the two pink towers curved around looking for their target, feeling the edges of the boat, running slime across the rubber, over the biologists, poking, beating about, and generally abusing the women. The female now had the Zodiac centered exactly over her genitals, using the rubber boat as an ad hoc diaphragm. Then the two giant whale willies encountered one another in the middle of the Zodiac, and each evidently thinking that the other had found his target and not wanting to be left out, they let loose with great gushing gouts of sticky whale semen, filling the boat, covering the equipment, the scientists, washing the gunwales, swamping the motor, generally leaving everything but the gal whale completely and disgustingly jizzed. Mission accomplished, off they swam t o strain a little postcoital krill out of the fray. Margaret suffered a concussion and a partially detached retina, Libby a dislocated shoulder and various scrapes and bruises, but the real trauma could not be assuaged with snaps, slings, and Betadine. Several weeks later Libby rejoined Nate, who was down at the Chatham Strait with Clay filming feeding behavior. She walked into his cabin, hugged him, then stepped back and said, â€Å"Nate, I don't think I want to be married anymore.† But what she really meant was â€Å"I'm done with penises forever, Nate, and pleasant as you are, I know that you are still attached to one. I've had my fill, so to speak. I'm moving on.† â€Å"Okay,† Nate said. He told Clay later that for hours he had been feeling hungry and kept telling himself that he should stop working and go eat, but after Libby showed up, then left, he realized that he hadn't been hungry at all. The emptiness inside was from feeling lonesome. And Nate had stayed relatively lonesome and mostly heartbroken since that day (although he didn't whine about it, he just wore it). Clay didn't tell Kona this part. Confessions made over whiskey and campfires were privileged communication. Loyalty. â€Å"So,† said Nate, â€Å"Since the song appears, in most cases, to actually draw the attention of other males, who often join up with the singer, it would seem that the song cannot be directly connected to mating activity, other than it happens in the mating season. And since no one has actually observed humpbacks mating, even this assumption could be in error. If, indeed, the song is the male attempting to define his territory, it would seem ineffective, since other males tend to join singers, even those escorting cow/calf pairs. The study recommends that more studies be done to find out if there is, as previously thought, any direct correlation between humpback song and mating activity. Thank you. I'll take your questions.† Hands went up. Here it came: the crystal gazers, the whale buggers, the hippies, the hunters, the tourists, the developers, the wackos, the researchers (God help us, the researchers), and the idly curious. Nate didn't mind the curious. They were the only ones without an agenda. Everyone else was looking for confirmations, not answers. Should he go to a researcher first? Get it out of the way? Might as well go right to the dark side. â€Å"Yes, Gilbert.† He pointed to the Count. The tall researcher had taken off his sunglasses but had pulled down the brim of his hat as if to conceal the glowing red coals of his eyes. Or maybe Nate was just imagining that. The Count said, â€Å"So with these small samplings – what was it, five instances of interactions among singers and others? – there's no real conclusion that you can reach about the relation to breeding or the robustness of the population? Correct?† Nate sighed. Fuckwad, he thought. He spoke to the strange faces in the audience, the nonprofessionals. â€Å"As you know, Dr. Box, samples for whale-behavior studies are usually very small. It's understood that we have to extrapolate more from the data with whales than with other animals who are more easily observed. Small samples are an accepted limitation of the field.† â€Å"So what you are saying,† Box continued, â€Å"is that you are trying to extrapolate the behavior of an animal that spends less than three percent of its time on the surface from observing its behavior on the surface. Isn't that akin to trying to extrapolate all of human civilization from looking at people's legs underwater at the beach? I mean, I don't see how you could possibly do it.† Nate looked around the room, hoping that one of the other behavior researchers might jump in, help him out, throw a bone to the podium, but apparently they were all finding the displays on the bulletin boards, the ceiling fans, or the wooden floor planks irresistibly interesting. â€Å"Lately we've been spending more and more time observing the animals under the water. Clay Demodocus has over six hundred hours of videotape of humpback behavior underwater. But it's only recently, with digital videotape and rebreather technology, that underwater observation has become practical to do to any extent. And we still have the problem of propulsion. No diver can swim fast enough to keep up with the humpbacks when they're traveling. I think all the researchers in this room understand the value of observing the animals in the water, and it goes without saying that any research without consideration of underwater behavior is incomplete. You understand that, I'm sure, Dr. Box.† There were a few stifled snickers around the room. Nathan Quinn smiled. The Count would not go into the water, under any circumstances. He was either terrified of it or allergic to it, but it was obvious from watching him on his boat that he wanted no contact whatsoever with the water. Still, if he was going to get his funding from the International Whaling Commission, he had to get out there and count whales. On the water, never in it. Quinn believed that Box did bad science, and because of that he had gone into consulting, the â€Å"dark side.† He performed studies and provided data for the highest bidder, and Nate had no doubt that the data was skewed to the agenda of the funding. Some nations in the IWC wanted to lift the moratorium on hunting whales, but first they had to prove that the populations had recovered enough to sustain hunting. Gilbert Box was getting them their numbers. Nate was happy to have embarrassed Box. He waited for the gaunt scientist to nod before he took the next question. â€Å"Yes, Margaret.† â€Å"Your study seems to focus on the perspective of the male animals, without consideration for the female's role in the behavior. Could you speak to that?† Jeez, what a surprise, thought Nate. â€Å"Well, I think there's good work being done on the cow/calf behavior, as well as on surface-active groups, which we assume is mating-related activity, but since my work concerns singers and as far as we know, all singers are males, I tend to observe more male behavior.† There, that should do it. â€Å"So you can't say definitively that the females are not the ones controlling the behavior?† â€Å"Margaret, as my research assistant has repeatedly pointed out to me, the only thing I can say definitively about humpbacks is that they are big and wet.† Everyone laughed. Quinn looked at Amy and she winked at him, then, when he looked back to Margaret, he saw Libby beside her, winking at him as well. But at least the tension among the researchers was broken, and Quinn noticed that Captain Tarwater and Jon Thomas Fuller and his entourage were no longer raising their hands to ask questions. Perhaps they realized that they weren't going to learn anything, and they certainly didn't want to try to pursue their own agendas in front of a crowd and be slapped down the way Gilbert Box had. Quinn took the questions from the nonscientists. â€Å"Could they just be saying hi?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"If they don't eat here, and it's not for mating, then why do they sing?† â€Å"That's a good question.† â€Å"Do you think they know that we've been contacted by aliens and are trying to contact the mother ship?† Ah, always good to hear from the wacko fringe, Nate thought. â€Å"No, I don't think that.† â€Å"Maybe they're using their sonar to find other whales.† â€Å"As far as we know, baleen whales, toothless whales like the humpbacks who strain their food from the sea through sheets of baleen, don't echolocate the way toothed whales do.† â€Å"Why do they jump all the time? Other whales don't jump like that.† â€Å"Some think that they are sloughing skin or trying to knock off parasites, but after years of watching them, I think that they just like making a splash – the sensation of air on their skin. The way you might like to dangle your feet in a fountain. I think they're just goofing off.† â€Å"I heard that someone broke into your office and destroyed all of your research. Who do you think would want to do that?† Nate paused. The woman who had asked the question was holding a reporter's steno pad. Maui Times, he guessed. She had stood to ask her question, as if she were attending a press conference rather than a casual lecture. â€Å"What you have to ask yourself,† said Nate, â€Å"is who could possibly care about research on singers?† â€Å"And who would that be?† â€Å"Me, a few people in this room, and perhaps a dozen or so researchers around the world. At least for now. Perhaps as we find out more, more people will be interested.† â€Å"So you're saying that someone in this room broke into your offices and destroyed all your research?† â€Å"No. As a biologist, one of the things you have to guard against is applying motives where there are none and reading more into a behavior than the data actually support. 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They were thirty-five or sixty-five, the color of mahogany, skinny and strong from living on boats, liquor, fish, and disappointment. They'd come here from a dozen coastal towns, some sailing from the mainland in small craft but forgetting to save enough courage for the trip home. Marooned. Man to man, boat to boat, year to year – salt and sun and drinking had left them dry enough to cough dust. If they lasted a hundred years – and some would – then one moonless night a great hooded wraith would swoop into the harbor and take them off to their own craggy island – uncharted and unseen more than once by any living man – and there they would keep the enchantment of the sea alive: lure lost sailors to the shore, suck out all of their fluids, and leave their desiccated husks crumbling on the rocks for the crabs and the black gulls. Thus were the sea hags born†¦ but that's another story. Today they were just razzing Clay for leading two girls down the dock. â€Å"Just like outboards, Clay, you gotta have two to make sure one's always running,† called Margie, who had once, after ten mai-tais, tried to go down on the wooden sea captain who guarded the doorway of the Pioneer Inn. Debbie, who had a secret source for little-boy pee that she put in the ears of the black-coral divers when they got ear infections, said, â€Å"You give that young one the first watch, Clay. Let her rest up a bit.† â€Å"Morning, ladies,† Clay tossed over his shoulder. He was grinning and blushing, his ears showing red even where they weren't sunburned. Fifty years old, he'd dived every sea, been attacked by sharks, survived malaria and Malaysian pirates, ridden in a titanium ball with a window five miles down into the Tonga Trench, and still he blushed. Clair, Clay's girlfriend of four years, a forty-year-old Japanese-Hawaiian schoolteacher who moved like she was doing the hula to a Sousa march (strange mix of regal order and island breeze), backhanded a hang-loose shaka at the cronettes and said, grinning, â€Å"She just along to pour buckets on his reels girls, keep him from burning up.† â€Å"Oh, you guys are so friggin' nautical,† said Amy, who was wrestling with a huge Pelican case that held the rebreather. The case slipped out of her grip and barked her shin before she caught it. â€Å"Ouch. Damn it. Oh yeah, everyone loves your salty friggin' charm.† A chorus of cackles from the charter booths wheezed into coughing fits. Back to the cats, the cauldrons, the coconut oil, the sacred Jimmy Buffett songs sung at midnight into the ear of drunken, white-bearded Hemingway wannabes to make that rum-soaked member rise from the dead just this one last time. The leathery bar girls turned back to their business as Kona passed by. â€Å"Irie, Sistah Amy. Give up ye burden,† said Kona, bounding down the dock to sweep the heavy rebreather out of Amy's grip and up onto his shoulder. Amy rubbed her arm. â€Å"Thanks. Where's Nate?† â€Å"He go to the fuel dock to get coffee for the whole tribe. A lion, him.† â€Å"Yeah, he's a good guy. You'll be going out with him today. I have to go along with Clay and Clair as a safety diver.† â€Å"Slippers off in the boat,† Clay said to Clair for the hundredth time. She rolled her eyes and kicked off her flip-flops before stepping down into the Always Confused. She offered Clay a hand, and he steadied her as if escorting a lady from the king's court to the ballroom floor. Kona handed the rebreather down to Clay. â€Å"I can safety-dive.† â€Å"You'll never be able to clear your ears. You can't pinch your nostrils shut with those nose rings in.† â€Å"They come out. Look, out they come.† He tossed the rings to Amy and she deftly sidestepped, letting them plop into the water. â€Å"Oops.† â€Å"Amy's a certified diver, kid. Sorry. You're with Nate today.† â€Å"He know that?† â€Å"Yeah, does he know that?† asked Clair. â€Å"He will soon. Get those lines, would you, Amy.† â€Å"I can drive the boat.† Kona was on the edge of pleading. â€Å"No one but me drives the boat,† said Clay. â€Å"I'm driving the boat,† corrected Clair. â€Å"You have to sleep with Clay to drive the boat,† said Amy. â€Å"You just do what Nate tells you,† Clay said. â€Å"You'll be fine.† â€Å"If I sleep with Amy can I drive the boat?† â€Å"Nobody drives the boat,† Clay said. â€Å"I drive the boat,† Clair said. â€Å"Nobody sleeps with Amy,† Amy said. â€Å"I sleep with Amy,† Clair said. And everyone stopped and looked at Clair. â€Å"Who wants cream?† asked Nate, arriving at that moment with a paper tray of coffee cups. â€Å"You can do your own sugar.† â€Å"That's what I'm saying,† said Clair. â€Å"Sisters are doing it for themselves.† And Nate hung there in space, holding a cup and a sugar packet, a wooden stir stick, a baffled expression. Clair grinned. â€Å"Kidding. Jeez, you guys.† Everyone breathed. Coffee was distributed, gear was loaded, Clay drove the Always Confused out of the harbor, pausing to wave to the Count and his crew, who were loading gear into a thirty-foot rigid-hull Zodiac normally used for parasailing. The Count pulled down the brim of his hat and stood in the bow of the Zodiac, his sun umbrella at port arms, looking like a skeletal statue of Washington crossing the Lethe. The crew waved, Gilbert Box scowled. â€Å"I like him,† Clay said. â€Å"He's predictable.† But Amy and Clair missed the comment. They were applying sunscreen and indulging in girl talk in the bow. â€Å"You can talk like such a floozy sometimes,† said Amy. â€Å"I wish I could be floozish.† Clair poked her in the leg with a long, red-lacquered fingernail. â€Å"Don't sell yourself short, pumpkin.† The ersatz Hawaiian stood on the bow rail like he was hanging ten off the twenty-two-foot Mako, waving to the Zodiac crew as they passed. â€Å"Irie, science dreadies! We be research jammin' now!† But when the Count ignored his greeting, Kona gave the traditional island response: â€Å"What, I owe you money?† â€Å"Settle, Kona,† Nate said. â€Å"And get down off of there.† Kona made his way back to the console. â€Å"Old white jacket givin' you the stink-eye. Why, he think you an agent of Babylon?† â€Å"He does bad science. People come to me to ask me about him, I tell them he does bad science.† â€Å"And we do the good science?† â€Å"We don't change our numbers to please the people who fund us. The Japanese want numbers that show recovery of the humpback population to levels where the IWC will let them start hunting them again. Gilbert tries to give them those numbers.† â€Å"Kill these humpies? No.† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"No. Why?† â€Å"To eat.† â€Å"No,† said the blond Rastaman, shaking his head as if to clear the evil from his ears – his dreads fanning out into nappy spokes. Quinn smiled to himself. The moratorium had been in effect since before Kona was born. As far as the kid knew, whales had been and always would be safe from hunters. Quinn knew better. â€Å"Eating whale is very traditional in Japan. It sort of has the ritual of our Thanksgiving. But it's dying out.† â€Å"Then it's all good.† â€Å"No. There are a lot of old men who want to bring back whale hunting as a tradition. The Japanese whaling industry is subsidized by the government. It's not even a viable business. They serve whale meat in the school-lunch program so kids will develop a taste for it.† â€Å"No. No one eats the whale.† â€Å"The IWC allows them to kill five hundred minke whales a year, but they kill more. And biologists have found whale meat from half a dozen endangered whale species in Japanese markets. They try to pass it off as minke whale, but the DNA doesn't lie.† â€Å"Minke? That devil in the white war paint killing our minke?† â€Å"We don't have any minkes here in Hawaii.† â€Å"Course not, the Count killing them. We going to chant down this evil fuckery.† Kona dug into his red, gold, and green fanny pack. Out came an extraordinarily complex network of plastic, brass, and stainless-steel tubing, which in seconds Kona had assembled into what Quinn thought was either a very small and elegant linear particle accelerator or, more likely, the most complex bong ever constructed. â€Å"Slow de boat, brah. I got to spark up for freedom. Chant down Babylon, go into battle for Jah's glory, mon. Slow de boat.† â€Å"Put that away.† Kona paused, his Bic lighter poised over the bowl. â€Å"Take de ship home to Zion, brah?† â€Å"No, we have work to do.† Nate slowed the boat and killed the motor. They were about a mile off Lahaina. â€Å"Chant down Babylon?† Kona raised the lighter. â€Å"No. Put that away. I'll show you how to drop the hydrophone.† Quinn checked the tape in the recorder on the console. â€Å"Save our minkes?† Kona waved the lighter, unlit, in circles over the bowl. â€Å"Did Clay show you how to take an ID photo?† Nate pulled the hydrophone and the coil of cord out of its case. â€Å"Ride Jah's herb into the mystic?† â€Å"No! Put that away and get the camera out of that cabinet in the bow.† Kona broke down the bong with a series of whirs and clicks and put it back in his fanny pack. â€Å"All right, brah, but when they have eated all your minkes, will not be Jah's fault.† An hour later, after listening, and moving, and listening again, they had found their singer. Kona stood balanced on the gunwale of the boat staring down in wonder at the big male, who was parked under the boat making a sound approximating that of a kidnap victim trying to scream through duct tape. Kona would look from the whale to Nate, grin, then look back to the whale again, the whole time perched and balanced on the gunwale like a gargoyle on the parapet of a building. Nate guessed that he would be able to hold that position for about two minutes before his knees locked permanently and he'd be forced to finish life in a toadish squat. Still, he envied Kona the enthusiasm of discovery, the fascination and excitement of being around these great animals for the first time. He envied him his youth and his strength. And, listening to the song in the headphones, the song that seemed so clearly to be a statement of mating and yet refused to give up any direct evidence that it was, Nate felt a profound irrelevance. Sexually, socially, intellectually, fiscally, scientifically irrelevant – a sack of borrowed atoms lumpily arranged in a Nate shape. No effect, purpose, or stability. He tried to listen more closely to what the whale was doing, to lose himself in analyzing what exactly was going on below, but that merely seemed to underscore the suspicion that not only was he getting old, he might be going crazy. This was the first time he'd been out since the â€Å"bite me† incident, and since then he had convinced himself that it must have been some sort of hallucination. Still, he cringed a bit every time the whale humped its tail to dive, expecting to see a message scrawled across the flukes. â€Å"He's making them up noises, boss.† Nate nodded. The kid was learning fast. â€Å"Get your camera ready, Kona. He'll breathe three, maybe four times before he dives, so be ready.† Abruptly the singing in the headphones stopped. Nate pulled up the hydrophone and started the engine. They waited. â€Å"He went that way, boss,† Kona said, pointing off to the starboard side. Nate turned the boat slowly in place and waited. They were looking in the direction in which Kona had seen the whale moving underwater when he surfaced behind them, not ten feet away from the boat, the blow making both of them jump, the spray wafting across them in a rainbow cloud. â€Å"Ho! Dat buggah up, boss!† â€Å"Thank you, Captain Obvious,† Nate said under his breath. He pulled down the throttle and came in behind the whale. On its next breath the whale rolled and slapped a long pectoral fin on the surface, soaking Kona and throwing heavy spray over the console. At least the kid had had the sense to use his body to shield the camera from the splash. â€Å"I love this whale!† Kona said, his Rastaspeak melting, leaving behind a middle-class Jersey accent. â€Å"I want to take this whale home and put him in a box with grass and rocks. Buy him squeaky toys.† â€Å"Get ready for your ID shot,† Nate instructed. â€Å"When we're done with him, can I keep him? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeze!† â€Å"Here he goes, Kona. Focus.† The whale humped, then fluked, and Kona fired off four quick frames with the motor drive. â€Å"You get it?† â€Å"Rippin' pics. Rippin'!† Kona put the camera down on the seat in front of the console and covered it with a towel. Nate pointed the boat toward the last fluke print, a twenty-foot lens of smooth water formed on the surface by the turbulence of the whale's tail. These lenses would hold on the surface sometimes for as long as two minutes, serving as windows through which the researchers could watch the whales. In the old whaling days the hunters believed that fluke prints had been caused by oil excreted by the whale. Nate cut the engine and let the boat coast over the fluke print. They could hear the whale song coming up from below and could feel the boat vibrating under their feet. Nate dropped the hydrophones, hit the ;record; button, and put on the headphones. Kona was recording the frame numbers and GPS coordinates in the notebook as Nate had taught him. A monkey can do my job, Nate thought. An hour's experience and this stoner is already doing it. This kid is younger, stronger, and faster than I am, and I'm not even sure that I'm smarter, as if that matters. I'm totally irrelevant. But maybe it did matter. Maybe it wasn't all about strength. Culture and language completely screwed up normal biological evolution. Why would we humans have developed such big brains if mating was always predicated on strength and size? Women must have chosen their mates based on intelligence as well. Perhaps early smart guys would say something like â€Å"There, right behind those rocks, there's a tasty sloth ripe for the spearing. Go get him, guys.† Then, after he'd sent the stronger, dumber guys running off a cliff after the imaginary sloth, he'd settle down with the best of the Cro-Magnon cuties to mix some genes. â€Å"That's right, bite my brow ridge. Bite it!† Nate smiled. Kona was looking over the side at the singer, whose tail was only twenty feet below the boat (although his head was forty feet deeper). He was only a couple of minutes into his song. He'd be down at least ten minutes more. â€Å"Kona, we need to get a DNA sample.† â€Å"How we do that?† Nate pulled a set of flippers out of the console and handed them and an empty coffee cup out to the surfer. â€Å"You're going to need to go get a semen sample.† The surfer gulped. Looked at the whale, looked at the cup, looked over the side at the whale again. â€Å"No lid?†

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Reading Response 2 - Essay Example ling is overcome, when it appears that it is a normal thing that happens daily, with people exchanging the old cars they do not want with other new ones, which is the business of Avis Rent-a-Car, a dealership company. However, the most unique element of the company is the mode of advertisements it places for the trade-ins, which almost always makes individuals ready to exchange their cars with those offered by this company, due to the luring nature of the advertisements. For the company, sexuality takes a center stage in the advertisement, while infidelity is the most apparent and common feature displayed by the advertisements. However, this exchange is aligned to the husband-wife infidelity, making anyone who gives out or receives a car from the company feel a bit uncomfortable about the exchange. The thesis of this reading revolves around the discomfort of car trade-ins, where giving up an old car that have served an individual well over the years for a used-new car is not a good idea. There are many comma splices, sentence fragments and run-ons, which affects the smooth flow of the reading, making it not enjoyable and even difficult to understand. There is a limited application of conjunctions and punctuations that would have made the reading enjoyable and comprehensible. However, the most admirable and worth appreciating thing about the reading is the fact personification has been applied so well in the reading, making the old cars elicit feelings in the reader, as they do to the car trade-in participants. The complains that the old cars wage against their owners for disposing them in exchange for other ones makes the reader feel the pain of betrayal and abandonment (Fish, 1). This feeling can easily be related with an experience I had of abandoning my friends when I had t o join college. This experience was one full of mixed feeling, since I enjoyed advancing with my studies and thus felt happy and excited to leave my locality to join college. There was also a

Network Security through the protocol Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1500 words

Network Security through the protocol - Essay Example DF is the flag Don't Fragment S is the first part of three-way TCP handshake (SYN, SYN, ACK) Seq is the sequence number Ack is the Acknowledgement TcpLen is the length of the TCP protocol TcpOption Provision for optional header fields MSS 1460 is the maximum segment size, or maximum IP datagram size that can be handled without using fragmentation. Both sides of the connection must agree on a value; if they are different, the lower value is used. As we have seen the dissection of the above packet we will directly get into packet analyses for the rest of the packets. Analyses of all the network packets: 08/16-15:27:17.820587 193.63.129.192:1843 -> 193.63.129.187:139 TCP TTL:128 TOS:0x0 ID:48195 IpLen:20 DgmLen:44 DF ******S* Seq: 0xF1908361 Ack: 0x0 Win: 0x2000 TcpLen: 24 TCP Options (1) => MSS: 1460 =+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+ At this packet the source address is sending information to the destination through TCP. Here the initial phase of the TCP is done. Sync is done in the TCP handshake. The sequence number is given in hexadecimal. Now the destination 193.63.129.187 would receive the packet and send an acknowledgement back to the source. 08/16-15:27:17.820656 193.63.129.187:139 -> 193.63.129.192:1843 TCP TTL:128 TOS:0x0 ID:2676 IpLen:20 DgmLen:44 DF ***A**S* Seq: 0x7CFB7BBA Ack: 0xF1908362 Win: 0x2238 TcpLen: 24 TCP Options (1) => MSS: 1460 =+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+ Here we see that the destination with port 139 has sent an acknowledgement back to the source 192.63.129.187 with an acknowledgement 0xF1908362. This Ack would be received by the 192.63.129.187. 08/16-15:27:17.820785 193.63.129.192:1843 -> 193.63.129.187:139 TCP TTL:128 TOS:0x0...Generally these packets can be easily sniffed using different packet sniffers like wireshark, snort, capsa etc., These packet analyzers are generally used so that it can used to analyze any kind of network problem, it can be used to detect the network intrusion attempts, it can gain information for effecting a network intrusion, to monitor the network usage, to debug client and server communication. Here let us analyze and decode the network packets. MSS 1460 is the maximum segment size, or maximum IP datagram size that can be handled without using fragmentation. Both sides of the connection must agree on a value; if they are different, the lower value is used. At this packet the source address is sending information to the destination through TCP. Here the initial phase of the TCP is done. Sync is done in the TCP handshake. The sequence number is given in hexadecimal. Now being familiar with all the packet information let us move forward where the actual data has been transmitted between the two IP address. In the above packet we can see the hex dump of the packet where there is a message sent to the destination here. This is where the Session Request is done. Similarly the above packet gathers the acknowledgement of the previous packets and sends it as the sequence to the destination address where the connection has been established.

The Importance of Being Earnest Criticizes the Victorian Society Essay Example for Free

The Importance of Being Earnest Criticizes the Victorian Society Essay In The Importance of Being Earnest, author Oscar Wilde criticizes the Victorian society. His characters represent the Victorian era and have twisted views on issues regarding intense emotions such as love and marriage. They do not fully appreciate these concepts and either disregard them or confuse them with emotions that lack depth. Wilde depicts his Victorian society as superficial and incapable of love that is not shallow. In his comedy, both women, Gwendolyn and Cecily, believe to be head over heels in love with a man named Ernest. The reason for their love is simply that the name Ernest is appealing to them. In fact, Cecily has achieved her lifetime goal. She states, â€Å"†¦It had always been a girlish dream of mine to love someone whose name was Ernest† (Wilde 159). Loving a caring or intelligent man was not a priority. The basis of her love was a name. Wilde illustrates the ridiculous nature of his Victorian characters and their ludicrous perceptions of love. Wilde’s characters do not seem to connect intimate emotions with the word â€Å"love. Though Cecily had never met Ernest, she developed a relationship between them entirely in her head. Upon meeting him for the first time, she begins to talk about the letters she received from him. When he tells her he has never written to her, since they have never met, she says, â€Å"†¦ I was forced to write letters for you I wrote always three times a week and sometimes oftener† (158) Cecily and Ernest are supposedly in love but the only thing they share are the letters Cecily wrote to herself in Ernest’s name. There is no real affection between them and the only thing holding their â€Å"relationship† together is her attraction to his name. In Wilde’s comedy, the concept of marriage is not seen as something to cherish but rather as inconvenient and bothersome. In an exchange between Algernon and his servant, Lane, Lane mentions that married couples often have an inferior quality of wine compared to bachelors. Algernon answers, â€Å"Is marriage so demoralizing as that? † (116). To Algernon, marriage is not at all important if it means sacrificing the quality of wine. Wilde is criticizing the priorities of the Victorian era as being irrational and impractical. Rather than being in a loving, satisfying marriage, the Victorian bachelor prefers to sip fancy wine. When Jack tells Algernon about his plans to propose to Gwendolyn, Algernon states that proposing is not romantic whatsoever and that nothing is romantic about a â€Å"definite proposal† (118). He even says, â€Å"Divorces are made in heaven† (118). Algernon’s contempt for marriage is obvious and feels that divorce is an excellent solution to the terribleness of marriage much like most of society today. Wilde depicts the Victorian society as superficial and hypocritical. His observations relate to modern society. People in this age look for certain qualities in their ideal partner, most of which are based on image. Instead of learning to love, one pushes aside his potential love of his life if they do not meet these shallow qualifications. The public is taught to toss aside anyone with any minor imperfection instead of seeing any amazing characteristics they may have. Celebrities are seen with their gorgeous partners and the public uses them as models of a perfect relationship. This is done without fully realizing that most of these â€Å"power couples† were matched up by publicists and do not share tender emotions for one another. Society is not taught how to love. This explains the 50 percent divorce rate. To Modern society, like Wilde’s Victorian society, divorce is holy.

Vampire Diaries The Awakening Book Report English Literature Essay

Vampire Diaries The Awakening Book Report English Literature Essay Lisa Jane Smith is an American author. She lives in California. Her books are young-adult literature, horror, science fiction/fantasy and romance. She has written three trilogies, two series and two companion novels. Her books are popular and the characters are unusually beautiful people, human and supernatural and most of them are young, or at least almost youthful. Plot: In the start, its a story about Elena, she is a popular high school student. She has returning home from France at the start of a new school year.  She begins in senior year at Robert E. Lee High School; she meets her best friends Bonnie, Meredith and Matt. A new boy in school, Stefan Salvatore catches the attention of all the girls. All the girls want his attention, but he didnt care, including Elena. This chocks Elena, because she never had been ignored by a boy before. Through the memories of Stefan, I got to know that Stefan is a vampire from Renaissance Florence, Italy. He had also lived since the late fifteenth century. Elena reminds Stefan of a girl named Katherine, because both look exactly likes each other. Katherine is a vampire, who Stefan has fallen in love with. Stefan hoped to marry Katherine, but the romance become complicated when Stefans Brother Damon Salvatore, appeared, because Katherine was romantically interested in Damon too. Damon and Stefan hated each other, because they both loved Katherine. One night Elena was at a school dance and upset because Caroline showed up with Stefan. But later she went off with Dick, Tyler, and Vicki to the church, but Tyler brings her out into the graveyard. He puts her down and tries gets on top of her, Elena screamed and try to get him off. Stefan appears and beats Tyler, and brings Elena back to her house. Later, they start to be friend and they fall in love, as the started to fall in love, three people have been killed. One day she wanted to visit Stefan and she goes to Stefans house, she didnt found him in his room, but she found him in the roof with blood on mouth, telling her to not be afraid. She falls off the roof and he catches her. He brings her up to his room and tells her everything. Setting: Mysticfalls, Virginia: The whole story happens in Mysticfalls, some of the place there in our time I think. Because they dont talk like people did in old time and the places seems to be modern. Like the high school they go on, they have allowed having cars on the schools parking place. I dont think they could in old time. Renaissance Florence, The late fifteenth century in Italy: The author hasnt described how it looks but its has a lot of effect on the content. Here is almost the story start, because Stefan and Damon fight over the Katherine. Both hoped to merry her and they hate each other bitterly. Graveyard: The situation happens on night; because the author says the moonlight cast shadows over the graveyard, and the place is dark. Many worn and leaning granite, many old stones from centuries past. I think because its night and dark Tyler dared to try on Elena and then Stefan come. After it Stefan and Elena become friends. Character analysis: Elena: Elena has pale golden hair. Also blond and she are slender and she has a sky blue eye. She is popular, a trendsetter. The high school senior and the girl that can have any boy she wants, and every girl wants to be. She is confident and brave, because when Stefan told her that he was vampire, she was not so scared. Stefan: He is mysterious. He had a lean, flat-muscled body. His hair is wavy and dark. He is just average height. He is good vampire because he only drinks animals blood, because of that he is weaker than Damon, because Damon drinks human blood. He seems to be or he is the only one who can resist Elena from suck the blood from Elena. Damon: He is sexy and dangerous. He has dark eyes, and dark beauty and grace and the sensuality that drew women to him but he is evil. He wants revenge against Stefan, who has betrayed him and he want Elena, because she looks like Katherine and because he know that this would hurt Stefan and make him angry. He drinks human blood that makes him strong. Theme: I think the author try to tell us that vampire doesnt always is evil, and that they do not always drink humans blood. Elena doesnt seem to be afraid when Stefan told her that he is vampire, but he wont hurt her, maybe that some girls trust the boy when they really love him. Love can make to people to hate each other bitterly. Even in family and brothers who loved each other before, and love triangle can turn to be really difficult when two boys love the same girl. Yes, I think she has achieved her intended purpose. She describe so much that you get her point, what she try to say. Your opinion: I really like this book. Its really exciting, theres always happened something exciting but there are many difficult words and not much action. I think part two its going to be better because the first part, also this book its just about the history of them and about the past. Not so much action. Recommendation: I would recommend this book or this book series to girls but some boys might like this. Because this books its about love triangle and its really girly. I think teenagers would like this book series, 14-18 years old girls or maybe boys.

Comparing F. Scott Fitzgerald and Jane Austen Essay example -- compari

Comparing F. Scott Fitzgerald and Jane Austen Undisputedly, F. Scott Fitzgerald is one of the world's great writers, with a unique style of writing recognisable to any learned reader. His use of similes and metaphors is distinguished, and the issues he presents to the reader and the way in which he conveys them are both effective and thought provoking. Fitzgerald makes many profound statements in his work, and his comments on society and values are subtle, yet unmistakable. Jane Austen too makes comments on society, however they are of different time periods and therefore have ideas distinct from each other. Undoubtedly Austen is a source of high culture also; on account of her characterisation, strong sense of satire, and contrast of ideals, Austen has certainly contributed to the society's remembrance of past worlds and elapsed social values. One of the contributing factors to Fitzgerald's writing was the era in which his plots, and indeed his own life, were set. His first novel, 'This Side Of Paradise', was published in 1920, a time when the younger generations, who had fought in the first world war, turned to wild and extravagant living to overcome the shock of death. After this novel, Fitzgerald became a celebrity, and fell into a wild, reckless lifestyle of parties and decadence. Many of the events from this early stage of his life appear in "The Great Gatsby', which was published in 1925. It is the issues presented in this novel that illustrate the main context of his work- adultery, depression, social facades, death, crime, self-deception, infatuation, and of course, the American Dream. Austen's works were written in a completely different timeframe where social attitudes towards women, ma... ...rtfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did.' Austen illustrates the trivial yet proud nature of this man by his choice of language- his loquacious, garrulous style ultimately makes the reader lose any respect they may have had for him in previous chapters, and his words do not serve to make him a believable, genuine character- the repeated use of personal pronouns such as 'I' and 'my' also futher this conclusion.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   Although these methods are contrasting, both are effectual, and indeed this can be said about both authors, whose different techniques and approaches to their work are each effective and certainly contributing influences on today's literature. Works Cited: Fitzgerald, F. Scott. This Side of Paradise. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1975. Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. New York: Macmillan, 1992.

James Prescott Joule :: biographies bio

- James Prescott Joule - - Born: 1818 Died 1889 - Joule's career in the sciences began quite early in his life. As early as 16, Prescott was under the tutelage of James Dalton. His experiments soon followed in a laboratory he built in his family's basement. By this time, many scientists had begun hypothesizing on the interrelationships between heat, electricity, and magnetism - and by the 1840's Joule had formulated not only the well known "Joule's Law" but also a principle for conservation of energy. In the 1850's, Joule worked together with another scientist to come up with the "Joule-Thomson effect". Possibly his most well-known experiment is his "Paddle wheel" experiment, which led to an understanding of the conversion of energy from one form to another. His experimentations were not limited to simply those bounded in the areas of physics. Joule was an inventor as well - his accomplishments included the "arc" welding process and a displacement pump. As with every scientist, there is a list of Joule's failures. He attempted to design a motor that would provide infinite power but after many failed attempts realized it was unobtainable. - Joule's Law - - 1840 - Simply stated, Joule's Law relates how heat is dissipated by a resistor. Joule's Law states that the heat given off is equal to the square of the current multiplied by the resistance of the resistor and the amount of time passed. This law also relates itself to Thermodynamics, stating that "at constant temperature the internal energy of an ideal gas is independent of volume."1 - Paddle Wheel Experiment - - 1849 - This experiment involved the dropping of weights from a specific height; these weights would churn the water inside of the bucket and increase the overall temperature of the water slightly. This relationship served as the foundation to the First Law of Thermodynamics: - Joule-Thomson Effect - Although relatively easy to grasp for anyone in Physics, this discovery was key in understanding the relationships between pressure of gas and its temperature. The Joule-Thomson Effect shows that an insulated gas will lower its temperature as the pressure is decreased without doing any work.

Implications of the Dinosaur Heart Discovery :: Anthropology Essays Paleontology Papers

Implications of the Dinosaur Heart Discovery The article from Science News, â€Å"Telltale Dino Heart Hints at Warm Blood†, by Tina Hesman and the Journal article it was based on from Science, †Cardiovascular Evidence for an Intermediate or Higher Metabolic Rate in an Ornithischian Dinosaur†, by Paul Fisher and others both offer a new perspective on the topic to be discussed, however there are some key differences between the two articles. How the two articles differ will be discussed later on in the paper. Both of the articles discuss the finding of a heart in a dinosaur that when studied challenges a common belief about dinosaurs hearts. Now here is some background information on the dinosaur that is causing this stir because of its heart. The dinosaur is a Thescelosaurus, which means wonderful lizard. The average length of the Thescelosaurus is three to four meters, nine to twelve feet, long with an average weight of three-hundred kilograms, or about six hundred and sixty two pounds. They lived from the Campanian age to Maastrichtian age which are the later stages of the Cretaceous period. Another distinguishing physical feature of Willo is the bird-hips that the dinosaur has instead of the lizard hip. They have primarily been found in Alberta, Saskatchewan, Colorado, Montana, South Dakota, and Wyoming. As far as their remains are concerned there is one complete skeleton, eight partial skeletons, elements, and teeth (Dinosauricon). Dinosaurs are often compared to and resemble modern day reptiles. Scientists will study how these modern day reptiles behave, look, act, and move to draw conclusions on how the dinosaurs would behave, look, act, and move. They also look at the intern make-up of the modern reptiles to predict how the dinosaurs internal make up would be. However, a recent discovery in South Dakota is stirring up some controversy (Hesman). While Mike Hammer was walking around a ranch in South Dakota he stumbled across a â€Å"big-eyed† dinosaur that he now refers to as Willo. The thing that caught his eye was the chest cavity of the dinosaur, upon further investigation he found a rock that was preserved in the curve of the dinosaur’s ribs, he was convinced that this rock was once a heart. Hammer then went on to take the dinosaur fossil in for a medical X-ray scan, this X-ray showed evidence that could change how we think about dinosaurs.

The Indigo Spell Chapter Eight

I THINK ADRIAN WOULD'VE gone hunting Ms. Terwilliger's sister with me then and there. Amberwood's curfew wouldn't allow it, and besides, it was something I wanted to do in daylight. To his credit, he did heal Marcus without them getting into a fistfight, so that was progress. Marcus lost a little of his animosity and tried to engage Adrian in conversation about what spirit could do. Adrian gave wary responses and looked relieved when Sabrina showed up to take Marcus away. He gave me a mysterious farewell, simply saying he'd text me soon about the â€Å"next stage.† I was too tired to ask for more details and headed back to my dorm to sleep off what had been a pretty crazy day. I was awakened at the crack of dawn by heavy pounding at my door. I squinted at the clock, grimacing when I saw that it was an hour earlier than I usually got up. I stayed in bed, hoping whoever it was would go away. If there was something really urgent happening, someone would've called me on my cell phone. The display showed no missed calls, however. Unfortunately, the knocking didn't stop. With a feeling of dread, I finally dragged myself up, half-afraid of what I'd find outside my door. It was Angeline. â€Å"Finally,† she said, inviting herself into my room. â€Å"I thought you'd never answer.† â€Å"Sorry,† I said, shutting the door behind her. â€Å"I was busy sleeping.† She walked right up to my bed and sat down like she owned it. I really didn't know her schedule, but she always struck me as a late riser. Apparently not today. She was dressed in a school uniform, with her brilliant red hair pulled back in what was, for her, a rather tidy ponytail. â€Å"I have a problem,† she said. My feeling of dread grew. I turned on my coffeemaker, which I always had ready with fresh grounds and water. Something told me I was going to need a cup to get through this. â€Å"What's going on?† I asked, settling into my desk chair. I made no attempt at even guessing. When it came to Angeline, her problems could range from throwing a desk in rage or accidentally spilling hydrochloric acid on another student. Both had happened recently. â€Å"I'm failing math,† she said. This was unwelcome but not unexpected news. Angeline's mountain community, while still educating its children, didn't quite match the standards of Amberwood's elite curriculum. She struggled in a number of her classes but had managed to scrape by so far. â€Å"I'm already in trouble in my Spanish class,† she added. â€Å"But that pinata I made got me some extra credit, so I'm hanging in there okay for now.† I'd heard about the pinata. It had been for her class's cultural day, and she'd been so thorough with her papier-mache that none of her classmates had been able to open it through normal means. Angeline had ended up beating it against a wall and had to be stopped by her teacher when she'd produced a lighter. â€Å"But if I slip there and in math, I could get expelled.† That dragged me away from the flammable pinata and back to the present. â€Å"Ugh,† I said, having no better way to articulate my thoughts. The problem with a school that had high standards was . . . well, it had high standards. Trouble in one class might be tolerated, but not two. And if Angeline got kicked out, we'd be down one level of security for Jill – not to mention the fact that I'd probably get blamed for it all. â€Å"Ms. Hayward told me I need to get a tutor. She says I either need to get better or at least show I'm trying.† That was promising, I supposed. Even if a tutor couldn't help, hopefully the school would be lenient with her good faith effort. â€Å"Okay,† I said. â€Å"We'll get you a tutor.† She frowned. â€Å"Why can't you do it? You're smart. You're good at math.† Why couldn't I? Well, first I had to stop an evil sorceress from sucking the youth and power from innocent girls. Then I had to crack the secrets and lies that the organization I'd been born into was telling me. Instead I said, â€Å"I'm busy.† â€Å"You have to do it. It'd be easy for you,† she protested. â€Å"Really busy,† I said. â€Å"I'm surprised Eddie can't do it.† His name brought a smile to her face. â€Å"He offered, but his grades are just average. I need someone really good.† â€Å"Then I'll get you someone really good. I just can't do it myself right now.† Angeline didn't like that answer, but at least she didn't flip over my desk. â€Å"Okay. Fine. Just hurry up.† â€Å"Yes, your majesty,† I muttered, watching her strut out of my room in a huff. At least Angeline's academic problems were something a little easier to deal with than the other supernatural intrigues occupying my time. Since I was already awake and had coffee, I decided there was no point in going back to sleep. I showered and dressed, then caught up on some extra homework while I waited for breakfast. When the serving time started in our cafeteria, I headed downstairs and lingered near the entrance. It only took about five minutes before my friend Kristin Sawyer came by. She always went running before class started and was usually one of the first in line for breakfast afterward. She was also in AP calculus with me. â€Å"Hey,† I said, falling in step with her. â€Å"Good run?† â€Å"Great run,† she said. There was still a little sweat on her dark skin. â€Å"A lot nicer now that the weather's cooler.† She eyed me curiously. â€Å"I don't usually see you here this early. I don't usually see you eat breakfast.† â€Å"It's the most important meal of the day, right?† I selected oatmeal and an apple. â€Å"Besides, I have a favor to ask you.† Kristin nearly dropped the plate of scrambled eggs one of the servers handed to her. Her brown eyes widened. â€Å"You have a favor to ask me?† While I wasn't responsible for my human friends in the same way I was the Moroi and dhampirs, I still had a tendency to look after them. I'd helped Kristin a number of times. â€Å"Yeah . . . my cousin Angeline needs a math tutor.† There was an expectant look on Kristin's face, like she was waiting for me to finish my story. Then understanding hit. â€Å"Who, me? No. No way.† â€Å"Oh, come on. It'd be easy.† I followed her to a table, having to hurry to catch up. I think she thought that if she walked quickly enough, she might be able to escape my request. â€Å"She's in remedial math. You could tutor her in your sleep.† Kristin sat down and gave me a long, level look. â€Å"Sydney, I saw your cousin punch a grown man and throw a speaker at someone. Do you really think I'm going to sign on for a job that makes her do work she doesn't want to do? What if she gets frustrated at what I'm telling her? How do I know she won't stab me with a compass?† â€Å"You don't,† I admitted. â€Å"But I think it's unlikely. Probably. She really wants to improve her grade. Otherwise, she could get kicked out.† â€Å"Sorry.† Kristin actually did look legitimately apologetic. â€Å"You know I'd do almost anything for you – but not this. You're going to have to find someone who's not afraid of her.† I thought about her words over and over as I headed off to history class. She was right. But the only people completely at ease around her were Eddie and Jill, and they were off the list as tutors. I wondered if maybe I should offer up money to someone when I went to calculus later. â€Å"Miss Melbourne.† Ms. Terwilliger was back in her classroom, no doubt to the relief of yesterday's sub. She waved me up to her messy desk and handed me a single sheet of paper. â€Å"Here's the list we discussed.† I scanned it. It contained the names of six girls as well as their addresses. These must be the ones she'd mentioned, girls with known magical aptitude but no coven or teacher to look out for them. All the addresses were in the Los Angeles metropolitan area. â€Å"I trust Mrs. Santos got you the other information you needed for your project?† â€Å"Yes.† Mrs. Santos had emailed me the historical neighborhoods she knew about, and I'd narrowed them down to a couple likely candidates. â€Å"I'll start working on the, uh, project this weekend.† Ms. Terwilliger arched an eyebrow. â€Å"Why are you putting it off? I've never known you to procrastinate on an assignment.† I was a little startled. â€Å"Well . . . normally I don't, ma'am. But this is going to take some extra time – travel time – and I don't have enough of it on school days.† â€Å"Ah,† she said, realization hitting her. â€Å"Well, then, you may use your independent study for it. That'll give you extra time. And I'll tell Mrs. Weathers you may be coming in after curfew. I'll make sure that she's accommodating. This project is of the utmost importance.† There was no protest I could make. â€Å"I'll start today, then.† As I was walking back to my desk, a voice said, â€Å"Jeez, Melbourne. Just when I thought that independent study you had with her couldn't get any easier . . . now you don't even have to show up for class?† I paused to give Trey a smile. He was Ms. Terwilliger's assistant during this class period, meaning he did a lot of filing and photocopying. â€Å"It's a very important assignment,† I said. â€Å"I guess. What is it?† â€Å"It'd bore you.† I did a double take as I looked him over. I didn't even have to grope for a change in conversation. â€Å"What happened to you?† His eyes were bloodshot, and the unkempt state of his black hair suggested he hadn't had a shower this morning. There was a sallow, almost sickly hue to his normally tan skin. He gave me a weak smile and lowered his voice. â€Å"Craig Lo's brother scored us some beer last night. It was from some microbrewery I guess that's good.† I groaned. â€Å"Trey, I thought you were better than that.† Trey managed as much of an indignant look as he could in his hungover state. â€Å"Hey, some of us like to have a little fun now and then. You should give it a shot sometime. I already tried to help you with Brayden, but you messed that up.† â€Å"I didn't mess anything up!† Brayden was a barista who worked with Trey, one who rivaled me when it came to a love of academia and random knowledge. Our brief relationship had been full of facts and low on passion. â€Å"He broke up with me.† â€Å"You wouldn't guess it. Did you know he writes all this lovesick poetry about you on his breaks?† I was taken aback. â€Å"He . . . he does?† The reason Brayden had broken up with me was because my various duties to my vampire family had constantly interfered with the two of us, forcing me to neglect him and cancel a lot. â€Å"I feel kind of bad he took it that hard. I'm surprised he'd have such a, I don't know, outburst of passion.† Trey snorted. â€Å"I don't know that it's that passionate. He's more concerned about form and sits around with books detailing iambic pentameter and sonnet analysis.† â€Å"Okay, that sounds more like him.† The bell was about to ring, so I had started to return to my seat when I noticed something on Trey's desk. â€Å"You're not done with that?† It was a big homework assignment we had for our chemistry class, involving a number of complicated acid and base problems. It was due in our next period, and it seemed unlikely Trey would finish in time since all he had on the paper so far was his name. â€Å"Yeah . . . I was going to finish it last night, but . . .† â€Å"Right. The beer. Having fun.† I didn't even bother to hide my disapproval. â€Å"That's a huge part of our grade.† â€Å"I know, I know.† He looked down at the papers with a sigh. â€Å"I'll finish as much as I can before then. Partial credit's better than no credit.† I studied him for a moment and then made a decision that went against many of my basic principles. I reached into my messenger bag and handed him my completed homework. â€Å"Here,† I said. He took the pages with a frown. â€Å"Here what?† â€Å"It's the assignment. Use my answers.† â€Å"I. . . .† His jaw dropped. â€Å"Do you know what you're doing?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"I don't think you do. You're giving me your homework.† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"And telling me to pass it off as my homework.† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"But I didn't actually do the work.† â€Å"Do you want them or not?† I asked in frustration. I started to take the papers back, but he pulled them close. â€Å"Oh, I want them,† he said. â€Å"I just want to know what you want in return. Because this doesn't really make up for getting me ostracized from my family and friends.† He kept his tone light, but I heard the edge of bitterness. There it was. No matter how friendly he and I were, our respective allegiances to the Warriors and the Alchemists would always be between us. Maybe it was a joke now . . . but someday it wouldn't be. â€Å"I need a favor,† I explained. â€Å"A small one, really. Has nothing to do with any of that . . . stuff.† Trey looked understandably wary. â€Å"Which is?† The bell rang, so I spoke quickly. â€Å"Angeline needs a math tutor or else she'll fail. And if she fails, she'll get kicked out of school. It wouldn't be hard for you at all. And it'd look good on your college applications.† â€Å"Your cousin's a little unstable,† he said. But he didn't say no, so I thought that was a good sign. â€Å"You used to think she was hot,† I reminded him. â€Å"Yeah, that was before. . . .† He didn't finish, but I knew. Before he found out she was a dhampir. The Warriors had the same taboos the Alchemists did about relationships between the races. â€Å"Okay,† I said. â€Å"I understand. I'll just take my homework and go.† I held out my hand, but he didn't give the papers back. â€Å"Wait, I'll do it. But if she injures me, I hope you'll feel really bad. Basketball season just started, and the team will fall apart if I'm sidelined because of her.† I grinned. â€Å"I'll be devastated.† Angeline was not so thrilled when I told her at lunch. She flushed with rage and looked like she was about ready to throw her tray across the cafeteria. â€Å"You expect me to work with that . . . that . . . vampire hunter?† she demanded. I wondered if she'd had another name in mind but had held back in some remarkable show of restraint. â€Å"Especially after what they tried to do to Sonya?† â€Å"Trey's not like the rest of them,† I said defensively. â€Å"He refused to kill her and even went through the trouble of getting me in to help her – which ended up severely messing up his life, I might add.† Eddie looked amused, despite the grim subject. â€Å"You should also add that he wants very, very badly to get back to that old life.† I pointed at Eddie with my fork. â€Å"Don't tell me you think Trey's a bad choice too.† â€Å"For tutoring?† He shook his head. â€Å"Nah, he's fine. I'm just saying you shouldn't be so quick to assume everything's happy and bright with him. It seems pretty likely his group's working against us.† â€Å"He's my friend,† I said, hoping my firm tone would put an end to the discussion. After a few more assurances, Eddie convinced Angeline to work with Trey, reminding her she needed to keep her grades up. Still, Eddie's words haunted me. I believed absolutely that Trey was my friend but again wondered when that rift between us would rear its ugly head. When Eddie and Angeline left to go to their afternoon classes, I asked Jill to hang back at the table for a minute. â€Å"What's Adrian doing right now?† â€Å"He's in his painting class,† she said promptly. â€Å"The bond must be running strong today, huh?† I asked. Sometimes her view of his mind and experiences was clearer than others. She shrugged. â€Å"No, but it's eleven on Tuesday.† â€Å"Right,† I said, feeling foolish. I knew everyone's schedules; it was necessary for my job. â€Å"I should've realized that. Do you think he'd be able to meet up with me after school?† â€Å"To go on that witch hunt? Yeah, he'd probably leave right now.† Jill knew what Adrian knew, so she'd also been briefed about my search for Veronica. While I'd learned to accept Jill's knowledge as part of confiding in Adrian, it was still a little shocking for me to hear these forbidden topics discussed openly. Seeing my stunned reaction, Jill smiled a little. â€Å"Don't worry,† she said. â€Å"I keep Adrian's secrets. And yours.† The bitterness in her voice also caught me off guard. â€Å"Are you mad at me?† I asked, puzzled. â€Å"You're not . . . you're not still upset about what happened between Adrian and me, are you? I thought you'd eased up on that.† Although Adrian's proclamation of loving me against the odds had been unsettling, his more relaxed attitude had come through in her until now. â€Å"Adrian has,† she said. â€Å"He doesn't see the danger of you running around with another guy.† I was lost. â€Å"Another guy? You don't mean . . . Marcus? That's crazy.† â€Å"Is it?† asked Jill. The bond was so strange at times. Jill was jealous on Adrian's behalf. â€Å"He's human, you're human. You've both got this rebel Alchemist thing going on. And I saw him. He's pretty cute. There's no telling what could happen.† â€Å"Well, I know what could happen: nothing,† I said. Even through a psychic bond, Marcus could win over girls. â€Å"I just met him. I don't even know if I can entirely trust him, and I certainly don't have any feelings for him. Look, I get that you want to help Adrian, but you can't be mad at me about what happened. You know why I turned him down – especially after Micah.† Micah was Eddie's human roommate, and even though she knew human-vampire relationships couldn't get serious, she'd still been surprised at just how complex and difficult the situation had been. â€Å"Yeah. . . .† She frowned, no doubt conflicted over Adrian's feelings and what she knew was true. â€Å"But maybe with Adrian, I don't know. Maybe things could be different. Or maybe there's at least a way to make them less painful for him.† I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. I didn't like to think of Adrian in pain, but what else could I do? What did either of them expect me to do? We all knew the rules. â€Å"I'm sorry,† I said, picking up my tray and standing. â€Å"I never asked for any of this. Adrian will get over me.† â€Å"Do you really want him to get over you?† she asked. â€Å"What? Why would you even ask something like that?† She didn't answer and instead made a great show of stirring around her mashed potatoes. When I realized she wasn't going to elaborate, I shook my head and walked off toward the exit. All the while, I could feel her watching me as that question echoed in my mind: Do you really want him to get over you?