U.S. vs Asian school system :: essays research papers

Two Systems into One In the past twenty years the United States school system has been accumulating quite a bit of criticism. Evidence shows that the United States has been lagging exponentially compared to almost all the industrialized countries. This specifically refers to Asian countries that are statistically blowing the U.S. out of the water. Recent survey results in the universal subject of math show us that the U.S. eighth graders have fallen behind, while the twelfth grade level showed only slight improvement (appositive). This means that the U.S. students are barely floating above water, where as, Asian students have built some sort of super boat (appositive). Yet we all recognize that not any one device is perfect, and are usually leaking water in the most unnoticeable spot. Before one realizes the problem, the boat is sinking. We would potentially look at these education systems as extremes of each other. Each education system being on the different side of the spectrum. Both systems having fa ults and advantages. Taking the positive aspects from both sides and merging them together, a harmonious education system could be established (verb phrase). The article â€Å"Japan’s School System† tells us that in an Asian classroom students will feel an incredible amount of pressure starting from grade school and up, while U.S. teachers are too afraid to raise the bar because of potential discouragement of the student. We examine evidence from the article â€Å"Strengths, weaknesses, and lessons of Japanese education†. A negative of the Asian school system, is the conformity that must be upheld. This achieves better education because it becomes the â€Å"thing to do†. When everybody is on the same curriculum there is no other choice but to follow the herd. While conformity creates better math students, it demises the aspect of creativity and individuality. The boat may float, but not posses any inspiration or differentiation from the others. The U.S. places a much bigger emphasis on creativity and choice. Thus providing students with opportunities that help them learn about them selves, and develop original ideas. An important characteristic that the U.S. education system lacks, is the idea of effort being directly correlated to success. In his article â€Å"Japan’s School System†, James Kilpatrick states that â€Å"The Japanese theory is that all children have the same potential for learning†. It is effort that separates successful students from the unsuccessful students. Though the American student may think that they work hard, we find that the Asian student is at a much greater level of pressure.

Family-Centered Program of Education Essay example -- Education

What happens when you take the children out of the spotlight and focus on children with their families? You will get a family-centered approach to education. The Family-Centered approach believes that family involvement matters for a young child’s cognitive and social development. Family-Centered Program theories and concepts support the early childhood classroom and the child’s family. This can happen only if parents and educators work together to encourage desired behaviors from pre-school-aged children in both the pre-school and the home setting. The first thing that needs to be looked at to understand a child’s development is attachment. Attachment is a lasting emotional relationship that begins at birth and is a lifelong process. The first attachment a child has sets the tone for development as well as provides the basis of all future relationships (Gonzalez-Mena, 2009). Attachment gives infants a sense of well-being which happens when an adult responds sensitively and appropriately to a baby’s needs. Attachment happens in both children and adults. For adults this can happen almost right away from some. Signs that a parent/adult is attached are giving the child a name, buying items that are for the child, recognizing the child as an individual. Babies take longer than adults to show attachment. You can see when a child is attached when a child shows an emotional bond with someone. Not all cultural attachments happen the same ways. Child care caregivers have many of the same qualities that good parents have, so this promotes attachment as well. An infant caregiver needs to be sensitive to each infants needs to respond appropriately. As with parents attachment grows out of sensitivity and once again a synchronous relationshi... ...rk together to encourage attachment, self-help skills, empowerment, pro-social, and self-esteem behaviors from pre-school-aged children in both the pre-school and the home setting. Works Cited Bartlett, K. (2010, September 21). Empowering children with choices. Retrieved from http://theattachedfamily.com/membersonly/?p=2600 Gonzalez-Mena, J. (2009). Child, family, and community, family-centered early care and education. Pearson College Div. Hussey-Gardner, B. (2003). Parenting to make a difference. Retrieved from http://www.parentingme.com/selfhelp.htm Preusse, K. (n.d.). Fostering prosocial behavior in young children. Retrieved from http://www.earlychildhoodnews.com/earlychildhood/article_view.aspx?ArticleID=566 Sheslow, D. (2008, November). Developing your child's self-esteem. Retrieved from http://kidshealth.org/parent/positive/talk/self_esteem.html

Behaviorally Anchored Rating Scale (Bars)

Question: What techniques discussed in this chapter did he seem to apply? Answer: The technique discussed in this chapter did Mr. Trump seem to apply is behaviorally anchored rating scale (BARS). It is an appraisal method that aims at combining the benefits of narrative critical incidents and quantified ratings by anchoring a quantified scale with specific narrative example of good or poor performance. There are five steps required to developing the BARS which the first one is write critical incidents.On this step, it is required to ask persons who know the job (jobholders and/or supervisors) to describe specific illustrations (critical incidents) of effective and ineffective job performance. The second step is develop performance dimensions which people group the incidents into five or ten dimensions and then define each of the dimension. The example of the dimension is salesmanship skills, skill in monetary transactions, bagging skills, human relation skills and so forth.The third step of developing BARS is reallocate incidents that verify these groupings and have another team of people who also know the job reallocate the original critical incidents. From the second step and the critical incidents, a cluster definition has been concluded and must reassign each incident to the cluster which is fits best. For example, 50 per cent to 80 per cent of this second team assigns it to the same cluster as did the first group. The next step is scaling the incident which the second group were rate the behavior described by the incident as to know how effective or inefficiently it represents performance on the dimension.The last step of developing BARS is developing a final instrument which chooses about six to seven of the incidents as the dimension’s behavioral anchors. However, there are some advantages when developing the behaviorally anchored rating scale. The first one is more accurate gauge which people know and do the job and its requirements better than a nyone develop the BARS and finally was producing a good gauge of job performance. Secondly is has a clearer standards. The critical incidents along the scale illustrate what to look for in terms of superior performance, average performance, and so on.Meaning that, they will know how good they are in term of performance. Third advantage is getting the feedback which the critical incidents make it easier to explain the ratings to appraisees. Next advantage is it has independent dimensions. Clustering the critical incidents into five or six performance dimensions should help to make the performance dimensions more independent of one another. Lastly, consistency is the advantage where the BARS-based evaluations seem to be relatively reliable, in that different raters’ appraisals of the same person tend to be similar.

Danger And Opportunity Essay

Albert Einstein said that unless we change our â€Å"modes of thinking† about political issues, we are headed toward â€Å"unparalleled catastrophe.† Do you agree or disagree with this statement?  I would have to say that such truer words have never been spoken before. If we as a global community continue to think in the same mindsets that we have in the past, then we will never be able to work together to accomplish goals such as eradication of diseases, homelessness, and other social problems. Not only will social problems continue to be rampant, but attitudes such as hatred and fear will continue to prevail, thus causing barriers to be raised and prevent joint cooperation and negotiations in order to solve social, economic, and political problems. According to Hauss, we as a global community, tend to view the political process in win-lose or zero-sum terms. It is because of this way of thinking that leads us to resort to violence as a way to solve disputes rather than talking them out in civil discourse. According to Einstein, we are drifting towards the unparalleled catastrophe of nuclear war. (Hauss, 2012) We continue to break ourselves down into groups normally based along nationality, religion, social status, and other categories instead of just being human. As we break ourselves up into these groupings, we tend to take upon ourselves a different identity instead of one common identity. With these different identities are different values and beliefs, which may not mesh with another group’s identity. This can and normally does lead to differences of opinions between groups, making it difficult, if not nearly impossible to find a common denominator. A good example would be the civil war that occurred after the death of then Yugoslavian president Marshal Josip Tito. Upon Tito’s death in May of 1980, Yugoslavia was thrown into chaos as the different ethnic groups wanted their share of the proverbial pie. This led to the civil war between the Serbian, Croatians, and the Bosnians which began with the Croatians and Slovenians declaring their independence in 1991, followed shortly by Macedonia. The civil war in the FRY (Former Republic of Yugoslavia) lasted until the Dayton Peace Accords were signed in November of 1995 by the leaders of Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, and the Former Republic of Yugoslavia. It is  because of differences in the way groups think, that if left unchanged, will lead to what Einstein describes because of the barriers we put up, making the ability for all groups to work together as one cohesive unit extremely difficult. REFERENCES Hauss, Charles, (2012) Comparative Politics: Domestic Responses to Global Challenges: Eighth Edition.

A Dirty Job Chapter 10

– Dag Hammarskjà ¶ld 10 DEATH TAKES A WALK Mornings, Charlie walked. At six, after an early breakfast, he would turn the care of Sophie over to Mrs. Korjev or Mrs. Ling (whoever’s turn it was) for the workday and walk – stroll really, pacing out the city with the sword-cane, which had become part of his daily regalia, wearing soft, black-leather walking shoes and an expensive, secondhand suit that had been retailored at his cleaner’s in Chinatown. Although he pretended to have a purpose, Charlie walked to give himself time to think, to try on the size of being Death, and to look at all the people out and about in the morning. He wondered if the girl at the flower stand, from whom he often bought a carnation for his lapel, had a soul, or would give hers up while he watched her die. He watched the guy in North Beach make cappuccinos with faces and fern leaves drawn in the foam, and wondered if a guy like that could actually function without a soul, or was his soul collecting dust in Charlie’s back ro om? There were a lot of people to see, and a lot of thinking to be done. Being out among the people of the city, when they were just starting to move, greeting the day, making ready, he started to feel not just the responsibility of his new role, but the power, and finally, the specialness. It didn’t matter that he had no idea what he was doing, or that he might have lost the love of his life for it to happen; he had been chosen. And realizing that, one day as he walked down California Street, down Nob Hill into the financial district, where he’d always felt inferior and out of touch with the world, as the brokers and bankers quickstepped around him, barking into their cell phones to Hong Kong or London or New York and never making eye contact, he started to not so much stroll, as strut. That day Charlie Asher climbed onto the California Street cable car for the first time since he was a kid, and hung off the bar, out over the street, holding out the sword-cane as if charging, with Hondas and Mercedes zooming along the street beside him, pas sing under his armpit just inches away. He got off at the end of the line, bought a Wall Street Journal from a machine, then walked to the nearest storm drain, spread out the Journal to protect his trousers against oil stains, then got down on his hands and knees and screamed into the drain grate, â€Å"I have been chosen, so don’t fuck with me!† When he stood up again, a dozen people were standing there, waiting for the light to change. Looking at him. â€Å"Had to be done,† Charlie said, not apologizing, just explaining. The bankers and the brokers, the executive assistants and the human-resource people and the woman on her way to serve up clam chowder in a sourdough bowl at the Boudin Bakery, all nodded, not sure exactly why, except that they worked in the financial district, and they all understood being fucked with, and in their souls if not in their minds, they knew that Charlie had been yelling in the right direction. He folded his paper, tucked it under his arm, then turned and crossed the street with them when the light changed. Sometimes Charlie walked whole blocks when he thought only of Rachel, and would become so engrossed in the memory of her eyes, her smile, her touch, that he ran straight into people. Other times people would bump into him, and not even lift his wallet or say â€Å"excuse me,† which might be a matter of course in New York, but in San Francisco meant that he was close to a soul vessel that needed to be retrieved. He found one, a bronze fireplace poker, set out by the curb with the trash on Russian Hill. Another time, he spotted a glowing vase displayed in the bay window of a Victorian in North Beach. He screwed up his courage and knocked on the door, and when a young woman answered, and came out on the porch to look for her visitor, and was bewildered because she didn’t see anyone there, Charlie slipped past her, grabbed the vase, and was out the side door before she came back in, his heart pounding like a war drum, adrenaline sizzling through his veins like a hormonal ti lt-a-whirl. As he headed back to the shop that particular morning, he realized, with no little sense of irony, that until he became Death, he’d never felt so alive. Every morning, Charlie tried to walk in a different direction. On Mondays he liked to go up into Chinatown just after dawn, when all the deliveries were being made – crates of produce, carrots, lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, melons, and a dozen varieties of cabbage, tended by Latinos in the Central Valley and consumed by Chinese in Chinatown, having passed through Anglo hands just long enough to extract the nourishing money. On Mondays the fishing companies delivered their fresh catches – usually strong Italian men whose families had been in the business for five generations, handing off their catch to inscrutable Chinese merchants whose ancestors had bought fish from the Italians off horse-drawn wagons a hundred years before. All sorts of live and recently live fish were moved across the sidewalk: snapper and halibut and mackerel, sea bass and ling cod and yellowtail, clawless Pacific lobster, Dungeness crab, ghastly monkfish, with their long saberlike teeth and a sin gle spine that jutted from their head, bracing a luminous lure they used to draw in prey, so deep in the ocean that the sun never shone. Charlie was fascinated by the creatures from the very deep sea, the big-eyed squid, cuttlefish, the blind sharks that located prey with electromagnetic impulses – creatures who never saw light. They made him think of what might be facing him from the Underworld, because even as he fell into a rhythm of finding names at his bedside, and soul vessels in all manner of places, and the appearance of the ravens and the shades subsided, he could feel them under the street whenever he passed a storm sewer. Sometimes he could hear them whispering to one another, hushing quickly in the rare moments when the street went quiet. To walk through Chinatown at dawn was to become part of a dangerous dance, because there were no back doors or alleys for loading, and all the wares went across the sidewalk, and although Charlie had enjoyed neither danger nor dancing up till now, he enjoyed playing dance partner to the thousand tiny Chinese grandmothers in black slippers or jelly-colored plastic shoes who scampered from merchant to merchant, squeezing and smelling and thumping, looking for the freshest and the best for their families, twanging orders and questions to the merchants in Mandarin, all the while just a second or a slip away from being run over by sides of beef, great racks of fresh duck, or hand trucks stacked high with crates of live turtles. Charlie was yet to retrieve a soul vessel on one of his Chinatown walks, but he stayed ready, because the swirl of time and motion forecast that one foggy morning someone’s granny was going to get knocked out of her moo shoes. One Monday, just for sport, Charlie grabbed an eggplant that a spectacularly wizened granny was going for, but instead of twisting it out of his hand with some mystic kung fu move as he expected, she looked him in the eye and shook her head – just a jog, barely perceptible really – it might have been a tic, but it was the most eloquent of gestures. Charlie read it as saying: O White Devil, you do not want to purloin that purple fruit, for I have four thousand years of ancestors and civilization on you; my grandparents built the railroads and dug the silver mines, and my parents survived the earthquake, the fire, and a society that outlawed even being Chinese; I am mother to a dozen, grandmother to a hundred, and great-grandmother to a legion; I have birthed babies and washed the dead; I am history and suffering and wisdom; I am a Buddha and a dragon; so get your fucking hand off my eggplant before you lose it. And Charlie let go. And she grinned, just a little. Three teeth. And he wondered if it ever did fall to him to retrieve the soul vessel of one of these crones of Chronos, if he’d even be able to lift it. And he grinned back. And asked for her phone number, which he gave to Ray. â€Å"She seemed nice,† Charlie told him. â€Å"Mature.† Sometimes Charlie’s walks took him through Japantown, where he passed the most enigmatic shop in the city, Invisible Shoe Repair. He really intended to stop in one day, but he was still coming to terms with giant ravens, adversaries from the Underworld, and being a Merchant of Death, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for invisible shoes, let alone invisible shoes that needed repair! He often tried to look past the Japanese characters into the shop window as he passed, but saw nothing, which, of course, didn’t mean a thing. He just wasn’t ready. But there was a pet shop in Japantown (House of Pleasant Fish and Gerbil), where he had originally gone to buy Sophie’s fish, and where he returned to replace the TV attorneys with six TV detectives, who also simultaneously took the big Ambien a week later. Charlie had been distraught to find his baby daughter drooling away in front of a bowl floating more dead detectives than a film noir festival, and after fl ushing all six at once and having to use the plunger to dislodge Magnum and Mannix, he vowed that next time he would find more resilient pals for his little girl. He was coming out of House of PFG one afternoon, with a Habitrail pod containing a pair of sturdy hamsters, when he ran into Lily, who was making her way to a coffeehouse up on Van Ness, where she was planning to meet her friend Abby for some latte-fueled speed brooding. â€Å"Hey, Lily, how are you doing?† Charlie was trying to appear matter-of-fact, but he found that the awkwardness between him and Lily over the last few months was not mitigated by her seeing him on the street carrying a plastic box full of rodents. â€Å"Nice gerbils,† Lily said. She wore a Catholic schoolgirl’s plaid skirt over black tights and Doc Martens, with a tight black PVC bustier that was squishing pale Lily-bits out the top, like a can of biscuit dough that’s been smacked on the edge of the counter. The hair color du jour was fuchsia, over violet eye shadow, which matched her violet, elbow-length lace gloves. She looked up and down the street and, when she didn’t see anyone she knew, fell into step next to Charlie. â€Å"They’re not gerbils, they’re hamsters,† Charlie said. â€Å"Asher, do you have something you’ve been keeping from me?† She tilted her head a little, but didn’t look at him when she asked, just kept her eyes forward, scanning the street for someone who might recognize her walking next to Charlie, thus forcing her to commit seppuku. â€Å"Jeez, Lily, these are for Sophie!† Charlie said. â€Å"Her fish died, so I’m bringing her some new pets. Besides, that whole gerbil thing is an urban myth – â€Å" â€Å"I meant that you’re Death,† Lily said. Charlie nearly dropped his hamsters. â€Å"Huh?† â€Å"It’s so wrong – † Lily continued, walking on after Charlie had stopped in his tracks, so now he had to scurry to catch up to her. â€Å"Just so wrong, that you would be chosen. Of all of life’s many disappointments, I’d have to say that this is the crowning disappointment.† â€Å"You’re sixteen,† Charlie said, still stumbling a little at the matter-of-fact way she was discussing this. â€Å"Oh, throw that in my face, Asher. I’m only sixteen for two more months, then what? In the blink of an eye my beauty becomes but a feast for worms, and I, a forgotten sigh in a sea of nothingness.† â€Å"Your birthday is in two months? Well, we’ll have to get you a nice cake,† Charlie said. â€Å"Don’t change the subject, Asher. I know all about you, and your Death persona.† Charlie stopped again and turned to look at her. This time, she stopped as well. â€Å"Lily, I know I’ve been acting a little strangely since Rachel died, and I’m sorry you got in trouble at school because of me, but it’s just been trying to deal with it all, with the baby, with the business. The stress of it all has – â€Å" â€Å"I have The Great Big Book of Death,† Lily said. She steadied Charlie’s hamsters when he lost his grip. â€Å"I know about the soul vessels, about the dark forces rising if you fuck up, all that stuff – all of it. I’ve known longer than you have, I think.† Charlie didn’t know what to say. He was feeling panic and relief at the same time – panic because Lily knew, but relief because at least someone knew, and believed it, and had actually seen the book. The book! â€Å"Lily, do you still have the book?† â€Å"It’s in the store. I hid it in the back of the glass cabinet where you keep the valuable stuff that no one will ever buy.† â€Å"No one ever looks in that cabinet.† â€Å"No kidding? I thought if you ever found it, I’d say it had always been there.† â€Å"I have to go.† He turned and started walking the other direction, but then realized that they had already been heading toward his neighborhood and turned around again. â€Å"Where are you going?† â€Å"To get some coffee.† â€Å"I’ll walk with you.† â€Å"You will not.† Lily looked around again, wary that someone might see them. â€Å"But, Lily, I’m Death. That should at least have given me some level of cool.† â€Å"Yeah, you’d think, but it turns out that you have managed to suck the cool out of being Death.† â€Å"Wow, that’s harsh.† â€Å"Welcome to my world, Asher.† â€Å"You can’t tell anyone about this, you know that?† â€Å"Like anyone cares what you do with your gerbils.† â€Å"Hamsters! That’s not – â€Å" â€Å"Chill, Asher.† Lily giggled. â€Å"I know what you mean. I’m not going to tell anyone – except Abby knows – but she doesn’t care. She says she’s met some guy who’s her dark lord. She’s in that stage where she thinks a dick is some kind of mystical magic wand.† Charlie adjusted his hamster box uncomfortably. â€Å"Girls go through a stage like that?† Why was he just hearing about this now? Even the hamsters looked uncomfortable. Lily turned on a heel and started up the street. â€Å"I’m not having this conversation with you.† Charlie stood there, watching her go, balancing the hamsters and his completely useless sword-cane while trying to dig his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. He needed to see that book, and he needed to see it sooner than the hour it would take him to get home. â€Å"Lily, wait!† he called. â€Å"I’m calling a cab, I’ll give you a ride.† She waved him off without looking and kept walking. As he was waiting for the cab company to answer, he heard it, the voice, and he realized that he was standing right over a storm drain. It had been over a month since he’d heard them, and he thought maybe they’d gone. â€Å"We’ll have her, too, Meat. She’s ours now.† He felt the fear rise in his throat like bile. He snapped the phone shut and ran after Lily, cane rattling and hamsters bouncing as he went. â€Å"Lily, wait! Wait!† She spun around quickly and her fuchsia wig only did the quarter turn instead of the half, so her face was covered with hair when she said, â€Å"One of those ice-cream cakes from Thirty-one Flavors, okay? After that, despair and nothingness.† â€Å"We’ll put that on the cake,† Charlie said. A Dirty Job Chapter 10 – Dag Hammarskjà ¶ld 10 DEATH TAKES A WALK Mornings, Charlie walked. At six, after an early breakfast, he would turn the care of Sophie over to Mrs. Korjev or Mrs. Ling (whoever’s turn it was) for the workday and walk – stroll really, pacing out the city with the sword-cane, which had become part of his daily regalia, wearing soft, black-leather walking shoes and an expensive, secondhand suit that had been retailored at his cleaner’s in Chinatown. Although he pretended to have a purpose, Charlie walked to give himself time to think, to try on the size of being Death, and to look at all the people out and about in the morning. He wondered if the girl at the flower stand, from whom he often bought a carnation for his lapel, had a soul, or would give hers up while he watched her die. He watched the guy in North Beach make cappuccinos with faces and fern leaves drawn in the foam, and wondered if a guy like that could actually function without a soul, or was his soul collecting dust in Charlie’s back ro om? There were a lot of people to see, and a lot of thinking to be done. Being out among the people of the city, when they were just starting to move, greeting the day, making ready, he started to feel not just the responsibility of his new role, but the power, and finally, the specialness. It didn’t matter that he had no idea what he was doing, or that he might have lost the love of his life for it to happen; he had been chosen. And realizing that, one day as he walked down California Street, down Nob Hill into the financial district, where he’d always felt inferior and out of touch with the world, as the brokers and bankers quickstepped around him, barking into their cell phones to Hong Kong or London or New York and never making eye contact, he started to not so much stroll, as strut. That day Charlie Asher climbed onto the California Street cable car for the first time since he was a kid, and hung off the bar, out over the street, holding out the sword-cane as if charging, with Hondas and Mercedes zooming along the street beside him, pas sing under his armpit just inches away. He got off at the end of the line, bought a Wall Street Journal from a machine, then walked to the nearest storm drain, spread out the Journal to protect his trousers against oil stains, then got down on his hands and knees and screamed into the drain grate, â€Å"I have been chosen, so don’t fuck with me!† When he stood up again, a dozen people were standing there, waiting for the light to change. Looking at him. â€Å"Had to be done,† Charlie said, not apologizing, just explaining. The bankers and the brokers, the executive assistants and the human-resource people and the woman on her way to serve up clam chowder in a sourdough bowl at the Boudin Bakery, all nodded, not sure exactly why, except that they worked in the financial district, and they all understood being fucked with, and in their souls if not in their minds, they knew that Charlie had been yelling in the right direction. He folded his paper, tucked it under his arm, then turned and crossed the street with them when the light changed. Sometimes Charlie walked whole blocks when he thought only of Rachel, and would become so engrossed in the memory of her eyes, her smile, her touch, that he ran straight into people. Other times people would bump into him, and not even lift his wallet or say â€Å"excuse me,† which might be a matter of course in New York, but in San Francisco meant that he was close to a soul vessel that needed to be retrieved. He found one, a bronze fireplace poker, set out by the curb with the trash on Russian Hill. Another time, he spotted a glowing vase displayed in the bay window of a Victorian in North Beach. He screwed up his courage and knocked on the door, and when a young woman answered, and came out on the porch to look for her visitor, and was bewildered because she didn’t see anyone there, Charlie slipped past her, grabbed the vase, and was out the side door before she came back in, his heart pounding like a war drum, adrenaline sizzling through his veins like a hormonal ti lt-a-whirl. As he headed back to the shop that particular morning, he realized, with no little sense of irony, that until he became Death, he’d never felt so alive. Every morning, Charlie tried to walk in a different direction. On Mondays he liked to go up into Chinatown just after dawn, when all the deliveries were being made – crates of produce, carrots, lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, melons, and a dozen varieties of cabbage, tended by Latinos in the Central Valley and consumed by Chinese in Chinatown, having passed through Anglo hands just long enough to extract the nourishing money. On Mondays the fishing companies delivered their fresh catches – usually strong Italian men whose families had been in the business for five generations, handing off their catch to inscrutable Chinese merchants whose ancestors had bought fish from the Italians off horse-drawn wagons a hundred years before. All sorts of live and recently live fish were moved across the sidewalk: snapper and halibut and mackerel, sea bass and ling cod and yellowtail, clawless Pacific lobster, Dungeness crab, ghastly monkfish, with their long saberlike teeth and a sin gle spine that jutted from their head, bracing a luminous lure they used to draw in prey, so deep in the ocean that the sun never shone. Charlie was fascinated by the creatures from the very deep sea, the big-eyed squid, cuttlefish, the blind sharks that located prey with electromagnetic impulses – creatures who never saw light. They made him think of what might be facing him from the Underworld, because even as he fell into a rhythm of finding names at his bedside, and soul vessels in all manner of places, and the appearance of the ravens and the shades subsided, he could feel them under the street whenever he passed a storm sewer. Sometimes he could hear them whispering to one another, hushing quickly in the rare moments when the street went quiet. To walk through Chinatown at dawn was to become part of a dangerous dance, because there were no back doors or alleys for loading, and all the wares went across the sidewalk, and although Charlie had enjoyed neither danger nor dancing up till now, he enjoyed playing dance partner to the thousand tiny Chinese grandmothers in black slippers or jelly-colored plastic shoes who scampered from merchant to merchant, squeezing and smelling and thumping, looking for the freshest and the best for their families, twanging orders and questions to the merchants in Mandarin, all the while just a second or a slip away from being run over by sides of beef, great racks of fresh duck, or hand trucks stacked high with crates of live turtles. Charlie was yet to retrieve a soul vessel on one of his Chinatown walks, but he stayed ready, because the swirl of time and motion forecast that one foggy morning someone’s granny was going to get knocked out of her moo shoes. One Monday, just for sport, Charlie grabbed an eggplant that a spectacularly wizened granny was going for, but instead of twisting it out of his hand with some mystic kung fu move as he expected, she looked him in the eye and shook her head – just a jog, barely perceptible really – it might have been a tic, but it was the most eloquent of gestures. Charlie read it as saying: O White Devil, you do not want to purloin that purple fruit, for I have four thousand years of ancestors and civilization on you; my grandparents built the railroads and dug the silver mines, and my parents survived the earthquake, the fire, and a society that outlawed even being Chinese; I am mother to a dozen, grandmother to a hundred, and great-grandmother to a legion; I have birthed babies and washed the dead; I am history and suffering and wisdom; I am a Buddha and a dragon; so get your fucking hand off my eggplant before you lose it. And Charlie let go. And she grinned, just a little. Three teeth. And he wondered if it ever did fall to him to retrieve the soul vessel of one of these crones of Chronos, if he’d even be able to lift it. And he grinned back. And asked for her phone number, which he gave to Ray. â€Å"She seemed nice,† Charlie told him. â€Å"Mature.† Sometimes Charlie’s walks took him through Japantown, where he passed the most enigmatic shop in the city, Invisible Shoe Repair. He really intended to stop in one day, but he was still coming to terms with giant ravens, adversaries from the Underworld, and being a Merchant of Death, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for invisible shoes, let alone invisible shoes that needed repair! He often tried to look past the Japanese characters into the shop window as he passed, but saw nothing, which, of course, didn’t mean a thing. He just wasn’t ready. But there was a pet shop in Japantown (House of Pleasant Fish and Gerbil), where he had originally gone to buy Sophie’s fish, and where he returned to replace the TV attorneys with six TV detectives, who also simultaneously took the big Ambien a week later. Charlie had been distraught to find his baby daughter drooling away in front of a bowl floating more dead detectives than a film noir festival, and after fl ushing all six at once and having to use the plunger to dislodge Magnum and Mannix, he vowed that next time he would find more resilient pals for his little girl. He was coming out of House of PFG one afternoon, with a Habitrail pod containing a pair of sturdy hamsters, when he ran into Lily, who was making her way to a coffeehouse up on Van Ness, where she was planning to meet her friend Abby for some latte-fueled speed brooding. â€Å"Hey, Lily, how are you doing?† Charlie was trying to appear matter-of-fact, but he found that the awkwardness between him and Lily over the last few months was not mitigated by her seeing him on the street carrying a plastic box full of rodents. â€Å"Nice gerbils,† Lily said. She wore a Catholic schoolgirl’s plaid skirt over black tights and Doc Martens, with a tight black PVC bustier that was squishing pale Lily-bits out the top, like a can of biscuit dough that’s been smacked on the edge of the counter. The hair color du jour was fuchsia, over violet eye shadow, which matched her violet, elbow-length lace gloves. She looked up and down the street and, when she didn’t see anyone she knew, fell into step next to Charlie. â€Å"They’re not gerbils, they’re hamsters,† Charlie said. â€Å"Asher, do you have something you’ve been keeping from me?† She tilted her head a little, but didn’t look at him when she asked, just kept her eyes forward, scanning the street for someone who might recognize her walking next to Charlie, thus forcing her to commit seppuku. â€Å"Jeez, Lily, these are for Sophie!† Charlie said. â€Å"Her fish died, so I’m bringing her some new pets. Besides, that whole gerbil thing is an urban myth – â€Å" â€Å"I meant that you’re Death,† Lily said. Charlie nearly dropped his hamsters. â€Å"Huh?† â€Å"It’s so wrong – † Lily continued, walking on after Charlie had stopped in his tracks, so now he had to scurry to catch up to her. â€Å"Just so wrong, that you would be chosen. Of all of life’s many disappointments, I’d have to say that this is the crowning disappointment.† â€Å"You’re sixteen,† Charlie said, still stumbling a little at the matter-of-fact way she was discussing this. â€Å"Oh, throw that in my face, Asher. I’m only sixteen for two more months, then what? In the blink of an eye my beauty becomes but a feast for worms, and I, a forgotten sigh in a sea of nothingness.† â€Å"Your birthday is in two months? Well, we’ll have to get you a nice cake,† Charlie said. â€Å"Don’t change the subject, Asher. I know all about you, and your Death persona.† Charlie stopped again and turned to look at her. This time, she stopped as well. â€Å"Lily, I know I’ve been acting a little strangely since Rachel died, and I’m sorry you got in trouble at school because of me, but it’s just been trying to deal with it all, with the baby, with the business. The stress of it all has – â€Å" â€Å"I have The Great Big Book of Death,† Lily said. She steadied Charlie’s hamsters when he lost his grip. â€Å"I know about the soul vessels, about the dark forces rising if you fuck up, all that stuff – all of it. I’ve known longer than you have, I think.† Charlie didn’t know what to say. He was feeling panic and relief at the same time – panic because Lily knew, but relief because at least someone knew, and believed it, and had actually seen the book. The book! â€Å"Lily, do you still have the book?† â€Å"It’s in the store. I hid it in the back of the glass cabinet where you keep the valuable stuff that no one will ever buy.† â€Å"No one ever looks in that cabinet.† â€Å"No kidding? I thought if you ever found it, I’d say it had always been there.† â€Å"I have to go.† He turned and started walking the other direction, but then realized that they had already been heading toward his neighborhood and turned around again. â€Å"Where are you going?† â€Å"To get some coffee.† â€Å"I’ll walk with you.† â€Å"You will not.† Lily looked around again, wary that someone might see them. â€Å"But, Lily, I’m Death. That should at least have given me some level of cool.† â€Å"Yeah, you’d think, but it turns out that you have managed to suck the cool out of being Death.† â€Å"Wow, that’s harsh.† â€Å"Welcome to my world, Asher.† â€Å"You can’t tell anyone about this, you know that?† â€Å"Like anyone cares what you do with your gerbils.† â€Å"Hamsters! That’s not – â€Å" â€Å"Chill, Asher.† Lily giggled. â€Å"I know what you mean. I’m not going to tell anyone – except Abby knows – but she doesn’t care. She says she’s met some guy who’s her dark lord. She’s in that stage where she thinks a dick is some kind of mystical magic wand.† Charlie adjusted his hamster box uncomfortably. â€Å"Girls go through a stage like that?† Why was he just hearing about this now? Even the hamsters looked uncomfortable. Lily turned on a heel and started up the street. â€Å"I’m not having this conversation with you.† Charlie stood there, watching her go, balancing the hamsters and his completely useless sword-cane while trying to dig his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. He needed to see that book, and he needed to see it sooner than the hour it would take him to get home. â€Å"Lily, wait!† he called. â€Å"I’m calling a cab, I’ll give you a ride.† She waved him off without looking and kept walking. As he was waiting for the cab company to answer, he heard it, the voice, and he realized that he was standing right over a storm drain. It had been over a month since he’d heard them, and he thought maybe they’d gone. â€Å"We’ll have her, too, Meat. She’s ours now.† He felt the fear rise in his throat like bile. He snapped the phone shut and ran after Lily, cane rattling and hamsters bouncing as he went. â€Å"Lily, wait! Wait!† She spun around quickly and her fuchsia wig only did the quarter turn instead of the half, so her face was covered with hair when she said, â€Å"One of those ice-cream cakes from Thirty-one Flavors, okay? After that, despair and nothingness.† â€Å"We’ll put that on the cake,† Charlie said.

Writer's choice Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words - 32

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Chromatographic and Hyphenated Methods Research Paper

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