Cari Coleman's Quite Short Stories Et Cetera Blog

Definition of a Hub As the Center of a Wheel

2010-10-01T15:25:00.001-07:00

Definition of a Hub As the Center of a Wheel
By Cari Coleman, eHow Contributor
updated: October 1, 2010

Hubs give the axle something around which to turn, facilitating movement.
The term "hub" has a surprising number of definitions, a testament to its usefulness and importance in the English language. And its first definition---as the centerpiece of a wheel---is almost as important to language as the wheel is to technology.
Definition
1. In relation to wheels, Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary defines "hub" as the central part of a circular object, such as fan, propeller or wheel. It is the central point or housing through which an axle passes to create movement and is the point where the spokes or blades converge. (The centerpiece, the nave.)
Etymology
2. The word "hub" is likely an alteration, over time, of the word "hubbe" or "hob," meaning lump or projection (usually of a protective nature). This protective quality is significant---the hob of a fireplace was a projection in its back or side used to keep food warm but protect it from potentially scorching flames. Hobnails in shoes or boots protected the soles.
History
3. Originally the jargon of wheelwrights, the term "hub" was coined around 1511, but only gained wide usage after the bicycle became popular around the 1820s. Hubs were first utilized in chariots and carriages, consisting of a wooden hub shell, bearings and a fixed axle. The first bicycles were built along similar lines and have not changed much in basic design.
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References
• Etymology Online: hub
• Merriam-Webster Online: hub
• Encyclopedia Britannia Online: Bicycles: Wheels
Photo Credit
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What Does "Fate Personified" Mean?

2010-10-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

What Does Fate Personified Mean?
By Cari Coleman, eHow Contributor
updated: September 26, 2010

Imaginging death as "The Grim Reaper" is perhaps the best known personification.
The phrase "Fate personified" refers to someone or something that exemplifies the abstract concept of "Fate," forming a definite picture in the mind. This makes the concept easier for the brain to comprehend and apply.
Etymology
1. The word "Fate" comes from the Latin term "fatum," meaning "sentence spoken by the gods, one's destiny or lot." The term "personify" comes from the French verb "personnifier," meaning "to personify or embody".
Definition
2. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines "Fate" as a determining agent or cause by which events happen as they must---as an inevitable outcome. It defines "personification" as the act of assigning human attributes to abstract ideas, animals or objects. Thus, "Fate personified" refers to Fate---that inexorable force---humanized.
Usage
3. The phrase "Fate personified" can utilize an entire person as the example, as in the sentence: "She is Fate personified." It can also utilize an aspect (attribute) of a person, as in the sentence: "The look upon her face was Fate personified."
Incarnations
4. Some of the most well known Western examples of the incarnations of "Fate" are goddesses. In Greek myth, they are called "The Moirai" (Fates). They are: Clotho (the Spinner of life's thread), Lachesis (the Allotter of the thread's length) and Atropos (the Inflexible One who cuts the thread at the moment of death). Their Norse equivalents are called the Nornir (Norns). The three most well known are Urd (Past), Verdandi (Present) and Skuld (Future).

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References
• Merriam-Webster Online: Fate
• Merriam-Webster Online: Personify
• Etymology Online: fate
• Etymology Online: personify
• Encylopedia Britannica Online: Fate
Resources
• Encyclopedia Britannica Online: Personification
Photo Credit
death mask image by paulo cruz from Fotolia.com

Read more: What Does Fate Personified Mean? | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/facts_7234073_fate-personified-mean_.html#ixzz119D8FU1m

The Definition of Relative Potency

2010-10-01T15:22:00.001-07:00

The Definition of Relative Potency
By Cari Coleman, eHow Contributor
updated: September 4, 2010

For almost every ailment, there is a corresponding medicine.
The term "relative potency" is utilized primarily in the fields of pharmacology and toxicology. It is essentially synonymous with "potency." In fact, in many glossaries, the term "relative potency" is not even used.
Potency
1. The National Institutes of Health defines "potency" as the comparison of the chemical activity of a test compound to that of a standard (reference) compound about which much is already known.
Relative Potency
2. According to the St. John's University pharmacological glossary, "relative potency" refers to a comparison of the required quantities of two drugs---an already standard (reference) drug and a newer test drug---to produce the same defined effect. The necessary quantity of the reference drug is divided by the necessary quantity of the test drug to arrive at the ratio of potency.

Once compared via dose-response analysis, if a lesser amount of one compound is needed than the other to produce the same effect, the first is said to have a higher potency.
Significance
3. Such analyses are important in helping doctors determine effective and safe approximate dosages of a plethora of medicines. The dosage can be carefully tailored later to the particular system of the individual.
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References
• St. John's University Glossary of Pharmacological Terms: Relative Potency
• St. John's University Glossary of Pharmacological Terms: Potency
• National Institute of Health: Toxicology Glossary - P
• Abstract - Archives of Environmental Contamination and Toxicology: Relative Potency
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Why is light from a low pressure sodium lamp unpleasant?

2010-04-15T19:59:00.000-07:00

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Why is light from a low pressure sodium vapor lamp unpleasant?

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by Cari Coleman on February 21st, 2010

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Professionally Researched. (What's this?)

Low pressure sodium (LPS) lamps give off a very distinctive, low bandwidth yellow glow sometimes considered unpleasant. However, that very coloration makes them highly efficient and remarkably useful.

The Yellow-Light Road

LPS lamps glow yellow because sodium atoms emit light on one dominant yellow spectral line. The light is monochromatic---single colored---consisting almost entirely of yellow wavelengths. Other colors from the electromagnetic spectrum are not present in sufficient quantities to be detectable.

History

The first LPS lamp was patented by Arthur H. Compton of Westinghouse Electric in 1919. Noting the high luminosity of heated sodium, he sought to develop a workable device that could contain it. However, due to its highly corrosive nature, an effective, commercial model wasn't manufactured until 1932.

Efficiency

LPS lamps are the most efficient electrically powered light source available, providing approximately two hundred lumens per watt of power. They are so efficient because the yellow color of the light is at a wavelength in the range where the eye is most responsive.

Safety Yellow

Yellow LPS light is also the safest to drive under: its monochromatic nature makes distinction of other colors nearly impossible. This reduces glare, increases perception of contrast and makes it easier for that light to penetrate fog and rain with little dispersion---image blurring caused by air moisture acting like tiny prisms, breaking light up into disruptive multi-colored images.

Curious Fact

Yellow and black are the colors that show up best under LPS lamps. They also contrast each other best in nature. That is why many creatures have evolved yellow and black patterning, and why many essential road signs are painted those colors.

Source:

Museum of Electric Lamp Technology

Smithsonian: Sodium-Vapor Street and Highway Lighting

Definition of Oscillator

2010-02-21T15:17:00.000-08:00

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

Oscillation refers to motion that is back and forth, not circular.

Merriam-Webster defines an oscillator as a mechanism--electronic, mechanical or natural--that repeatedly fluctuates back and forth between two states, limits or points based on changes in energy to produce an output wave form or signal for a purpose.

Etymology

Oscillator comes from the Latin term "oscillare," meaning to swing or rock.

The Basic Oscillator

The simplest type is mechanical, called a simple harmonic oscillator. It consists of an object attached to a linear spring that moves back and forth.

When static, the object is at equilibrium, but possesses potential---positional or conditional---energy. When displaced, the object's energy converts to kinetic---motion---energy, and the opposing restoring force of elasticity triggers an attempted return to equilibrium. However, momentum acquired during motion creates inertia, causing the object to overshoot equilibrium and increase the intensity of the elasticity. This constant interplay between elasticity and inertia produces the oscillating wave forms.

The Electronic Oscillator

An electronic oscillator is a circuit that produces a repetitive signal by utilizing a very sensitive amplifier whose output is attached to an electronic filter---or to a quartz crystal---which is fed back to the input of the amplifier at the same rate, creating a feedback loop that produces positive feedback, allowing the signal to regenerate and sustain itself.

Basic Function

All oscillators, regardless of type, are devices that utilize a controlled back-and-forth movement of energy to generate a continuous wave form---or signal---for a purpose. Most often, these signals act like timers or pacemakers, allowing a mechanism to operate properly and stably.

Types

Some mechanical oscillators include: pendulums, swings and stringed instruments. Electronic ones include: alternating current circuits or crystal oscillators--the latter utilized in clocks, computers, radios and mobile phones. The best known biological oscillator is the circadian oscillator, which regulates daily rhythms in the body using light.

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References

Resources

Oscillator Definition

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Why is it Important to Understand the Integumentary System?

2010-02-16T19:04:00.000-08:00

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

The top epidermal layer of skin is only as thick as a single sheet of paper.

The integumentary system defends an animal's bodily integrity---wholeness---from damage. It consists of the skin, hair, nails, claws, hooves, horns, feathers, scales, sweat glands and nerves. It is an indispensable companion on life's journey; it is a friend worth knowing well.

Semi-Living Armor

The integumentary system is semi-living armor. It is derived from numerous layers of dead cells---keratinocytes---toughened by waterproofing keratin proteins into a strong barrier. The closer to the surface, the more keratinized and stronger they are.

The Basic Protective Layers: In Brief

This armor is divided into several basic layers. Briefly, these are: the epidermal outer layer of various types of keratinocytes, the lower dermal layer of blood vessels, connective tissues and nerves, and the innermost layer of subcutaneous tissues that store fat, retain heat and deflect internal injury.

Guardian Against Invasion

The skin is the largest part of the integumentary system. Selectively permeable, it absorbs only water and certain nutrients. All other organisms, chemicals and radiation are kept out, unless the skin is punctured or a harmful substance gains entry via another opening.

Upholder of Homeostasis

Preserving the internal conditions necessary for life---homeostasis---is a major task of the integumentary system. Regulating blood flow to the sweat glands maintains this equilibrium. When warmth is needed, blood vessels narrow, curtailing sweating and retaining heat. If cooling is necessary, blood vessels widen, increasing sweating to cool the body via evaporation of perspiration.

Other homeostatic processes regulated by the integumentary system include water retention, nutrient absorption and synthesis, and disposal of certain wastes.

Tactile Window to the World

Essential information about touch, pressure, pain, heat and cold is received by receptors housed within the dermis. Without them, our understanding of our surroundings would be severely limited and we would be far less aware of our world and more susceptible to injury.

Solitary Soldier

Understanding the integumentary system reminds us of its advantages, limitations and tremendous value. It is the only one we get, and is truly worth knowing and nurturing.

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Definition of a Spectrometer

2010-02-10T21:24:00.000-08:00

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

The electromagnetic spectrum is a vast continuum of ever-lengthening waves. Only a fraction is visible to the eye.

Merriam-Webster defines a spectrometer as an instrument that studies how matter interacts with light, measuring a substance's electromagnetic radiation and separating it into its unique color spectrum for analysis.

Etymology

Spectrometer combines the Latin "spectrum"---meaning image or apparition---and the Latin "metrum," or the Greek "metron," both meaning measure.

Spectra

Every substance's molecules emit a unique pattern of light when sufficiently heated. Determined by its atomic makeup, it reveals itself as a band of lines called a line spectrum. Analysis of this spectrum reveals important information about a substance's composition and structure. It is utilized in chemistry, astronomy, medicine and physics.

The Basic Spectrometer

It is housed in a container that blocks all light except that being studied. Light enters through a slit, passing through a collimating lens, turning the light into a beam of parallel light rays. The rays then refract through a prism or grooved mirror---called a grating---that splits the light into its unique spectrum. Another lens focuses the light onto the exit slit, one color at a time. A circular scale records the angle of the prism, which is rotated slowly to reveal the entire spectrum and determine the light's wavelengths.

Types

Each type of spectrometer examines a small portion of the vast electromagnetic spectrum. These are: spectroscopes, which provide visual observation of spectra via telescope; spectrographs, which provide pictographic viewing of spectra via a photographic plate and spectrophotometers, which allow viewing of the visible spectrum by measuring the brightness of each of its colors.

Remembering the Electromagnetic Spectrum

The electromagnetic spectrum consists of Gama rays, X-rays, Ultra-Violet rays, Visible light, Infrared rays, Microwaves and Radio waves. An easy way to remember this is the mnemonic sentence: Grant eXpects Unanimous Votes In Movie Reviews.

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References

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What is the Definition of a Renewable Resource?

2010-01-29T15:26:00.000-08:00

(At www.answerbag.com)

Question

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What is the definition of a renewable resource?

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by Contributing Writer [ Cari Coleman] on December 16th, 2009

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Professionally Researched. (What's this?)

Merriam-Webster Online defines a renewable resource as a useful thing replaceable naturally over time via ecological cycles or sensible management.

Etymology

The term "renewable" comes from the prefix "re," meaning "again," and "newen," the Middle English word for "revive." The word "resource" originally comes from the Latin word "resurgere," to rise again.

Types

World Book Online notes that of the two types of renewable resources--renewable energies and material goods--some are inexhaustible, like solar energy and wind power. Others must be carefully managed, as they replenish more slowly--things like food/product animals and plants, topsoil, forests and fresh water.

Conserving "Renewables"

Whether renewable or not, careful management of every resource is essential to meet ever-increasing demands and to maintain a decent quality of life for all. Creation is slow; destruction is fast.

Warning

The National Resource Defense Council warns that if drastic measures aren't taken in the next 10 years to preserve our natural resources and reduce consumption, the damage to the Earth will be irreparable.

Curious Fact

Many scientists consider water an inexhaustible renewable resource, because the Earth has always retained precisely the same amount of water as it began with.

Source:

Merriam-Webster Online

World Book Encyclopedia Online

The National Resources Defense Council

Resource:

U.S. Department of Energy

The We Campaign

What is a Singing Bowl?

2010-01-29T15:11:00.000-08:00

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What is a singing bowl?

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by Contributing Writer 3 days ago [Cari Coleman]

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Professionally Researched. (What's this?)

A singing bowl is actually a reversed standing bell made from metal alloys--usually bronze--or crystal. Today, singing bowls are used in religious rituals, meditation practices, alternative therapies and as music to calm and focus the mind.

History

Few facts are known about the original uses of the singing bowl due to lack of written records. However, detailed representations in paintings and statues date back to about the eighth century B.C.E. Traditionally they were made in Tibet, Nepal, Japan, China, Korea, Bhutan and India.

Playing a Singing Bowl

Playing a singing bowl consists of tapping the side of the bowl with a mallet--called a Puja--and slowly rubbing the mallet along the rim, before the sound ceases, to prolong the "singing" tone. Quality instruments produce several harmonic overtones---natural resonances---at the same time. These tones are a unique property of the composition of the bowl. And, like fine wine, they improve with age.

The Teachings of the Singing Bowl

According to a transcribed interview with Lama Lobsang Leshe, a Tibetan monk born in Lhasa, Tibet, the song of a singing bowl is more than a mere sound or music. The song is a teaching--a transmission of information via vibrational energy about broadness and emptiness (the essence of the Buddha). The sound of the bowl is the sound of the Void, and each different sound is a different teaching.

Interpretations of Singing Bowl Songs

The tones of the singing bowl mimic the "Aum" or "Om" sound utilized in Buddhist meditations as a representation of the name of god and the sound of the universe. Scientists have discovered that these tones also mimic the alpha and theta waves in the brain--which may explain their soothing effect.

Curious Fact

Apparently there is a reason behind all of the secrecy surrounding these special bowls. Oral legends tell that the secrets of sound, if revealed, could confer so much power that they must remain hidden. Therefore, discussion of the bowls was strictly forbidden. Given the vibrational nature of the universe revealed by quantum science, perhaps this was indeed a wise precaution.

Source:

manufacturer description of singing bowls

transcribed interview with Lama Lobsang Leshe

artisian reference section

More Information:

Singing Bowls: A Practical Handbook of Instruction and Use ; Eva Jansen ; 2001

About Biorhythm

2010-01-29T14:45:00.000-08:00

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

Composed of energy, the body vibrates at various frequencies and is governed by numerous bioelectric cycles.

Miriam Webster Online defines biorhythm as an inborn, rhythmic biological process, function or cycle, including the mechanisms responsible for them.

Biological Rhythm

Biological rhythm and biorhythm aren't synonymous. A biological rhythm is a natural, cyclical process recurring to an organism on a determinable basis in response to stimuli---usually light, temperature or gravity. Chronobiology is the scientific study of these rhythms.

Biorhythm

Conversely, biorhythm is an empirically unsubstantiated theory of bioelectrical phasing. Supposedly three important bioelectric cycles exist that when charted can predict optimal and minimal performance/stress days for anyone. Called "critical" or "switch point" days, they are anticipated to determine whether to perform or avoid activities.

The three main cycles are: a twenty-three-day physical cycle determining strength and vitality, a twenty-eight-day emotional cycle determining emotional outlook and empathy level and a thirty-three-day intellectual cycle determining capacity to reason, analyze and create.

Calculating a Biorhythm Chart

A chart is calculated using a birth date, the number of days in a cycle and the number of days since birth (t) as of the "target day" in question.

Reading the Chart

Cycles oscillate between positive---above baseline---and negative---below baseline---phases. When in the positive range, activities in that arena are supposedly easier. When in the negative range, activities are more difficult. "Critical" days are established when the waveform crosses the zero line on the ascent or decent.

Conclusions

Though not empirically valid, it is a fun form of divination. You can calculate your own chart using a freeware or online calculator like the one at: http://www.facade.com/biorhythm/.

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References

Resources

Facade.com biorhythm calculator

Photo Credit

Image by Flickr.com, courtesy of mikael altemark

Definition of Client Motivational Interviewing

2010-01-11T09:40:00.000-08:00

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

Any change in routine--real or imagined--can be frightening and confusing.

Motivational Interviewing (MI) is a form of counseling that is more goal-directed yet less confrontational than conventional methods.

MI Defined

MI developers Dr. Stephen Rollnick and Dr. William R. Miller define it as a counseling style that promotes behavior modification by gently directing clients to examine their ambivalence toward the process of change.

Spirit of MI

MI is a partnership between counselor and client to ease the client's fears of change and help him to help himself. The counselor uses empathetic listening, mirroring and guiding questions to coax the client away from negative, self-defeating statements to more positive, self-motivating "change talk."

The Four Guiding Principles of MI

1) Express Empathy: Demonstrate genuine, non-judgmental understanding of the client's perspective to promote rapport and forward momentum.

2) Support Self-Efficacy: Recognize the client's autonomy and responsibility for change, help her realize change is possible and assist her to move toward it confidently.

3) Roll with Resistance: Resistance to change is normal; don't challenge or reinforce it. Make it a springboard to further explore deep-seated issues.

4) Develop Discrepancy: Help clients see the difference between their core values and their daily behavior to appreciate the usefulness of change.

The Interaction Techniques of MI

The acronym OARS illustrates the main techniques of MI, used to create the forward momentum to change.

1) Open-Ended Questions: Ask open-ended questions that cannot be answered with a simple "yes" or "no." Work to elicit rapport, elaboration and exploration.

2) Affirmations: Express statements that acknowledge the client's strengths and effort. Point out strengths where the client has seen only failure--re-frame--and be genuine. Reinforce the client's capacity to create change.

3) Reflective Listening: Listen carefully to the client; note deep, unstated fears beneath the problem behavior. Just remember that MI is a directive approach. Reinforce positive, self-motivating statements--especially change and commitment talk--and give less attention to negative statements.

4) Summaries: Summaries are a form of reflective listening where you reflect/mirror (but don't parrot) back what the client has been saying in order to build rapport, focus on essential points or change direction in a session.

Main Uses

Motivational Interviewing is primarily used in individual or group counseling sessions to combat all types of addictions and promote positive change and healing.

Motivational Interviewing
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What are the Zeno Paradoxes?

2010-01-08T22:41:00.000-08:00

http://www.ehow.com/facts_5845627_zeno-paradoxes_.html

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

Paradoxes puzzle us, shifting the confines of reality and enhancing its colors.

Merriam-Webster Online defines a paradox as a statement contrary to popular opinion, or an argument that utilizes seemingly acceptable premises and valid deductions to come to a contradictory conclusion.

Etymology

"Paradox" is derived from the Greek "paradoxon," meaning "contrary to expectation." It comes from combining the prefix "para-," meaning "contrary to," and the word "doxa," meaning "opinion."

Purpose of Zeno's Paradoxes

Zeno's Paradoxes are a group of about nine surviving arguments devised by the Greek philosopher Zeno of Elea to support the tenets of his beleaguered teacher, Parmenides. Parmenides denied the prevailing belief in plurality---that reality was made up of many substances---in favor of unity---that reality is permanent and unchanging.

Execution of the Paradoxes

The arguments utilized a strategy called "reductio ad absurdum"---proof by contradiction. Zeno sought to disprove the criticisms of Parmenides' opponents. He demonstrated that, if their arguments were indeed true, then they led to even more absurd conclusions than Parmenides' own when thought through logically and completely.

The Arguments: In Brief

The surviving arguments can be divided so:

A. The Paradoxes of Plurality

1) The Argument from Denseness
2) The Argument from Finite Size
3) The Argument from Complete Divisibility

B. The Paradoxes of Motion

1) The Dichotomy
2) Achilles and the Tortoise
3) The Arrow
4) The Stadium

C. The Other Paradoxes

1) The Paradox of Place
2) The Grain of Millet

Curious Fact

These paradoxes---though refutable even in ancient times and essentially "solved" by 19th century advances in mathematics---still pose intriguing problems to philosophers and quantum physicists today. And they remain excellent fodder for storytellers such as Lewis Carroll, Jorge Luis Borges and Ursula K. Le Guin.

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References

Resources

"Early Greek Philosophy," 3rd edition; John Burnet; 1920

Photo Credit

Image by Flickr.com, courtesy of Peter Gnas

What is Subzero?

2010-01-08T22:35:00.000-08:00

http://www.ehow.com/facts_5798724_subzero_.html

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

Subzero temperatures can stop the play of mortals and gods alike.

Dictionaries define subzero as any temperature below the zero point on a scale--i.e. negative temperatures.

Etymology

Subzero combines the Latin prefix "sub-" and the Italian word "zero". "Sub-" means under. "Zero" originates from the Arabic "sifr"---cipher---taken from the Sanskrit "sunya-m," meaning "empty place."

Temperature Vs. Heat

Temperature indicates the amount of motion of an object's molecules. Faster motion creates higher temperature. Heat is energy, ever transferring itself from hotter objects to colder ones, until they are the same temperature--equilibrium.

Significance of the Zero Point

At the zero point, water has lost so much heat energy and its molecules have slowed so much that it shifts from liquid to solid. On the Celsius scale, zero degrees is this point. On the Fahrenheit scale, however, zero degrees has no real significance other than that it is 31 degrees colder than the freezing point of water.

Lowest of the Low

Though all temperatures below the zero point are considered subzero, the lowest theoretically possible temperature is referred to as Absolute Zero. At this temperature---a rather brisk --273.15 degrees Celsius, or --459.67 degrees Fahrenheit---all heat energy in any substance is lost and all molecule motion ceases.

Curious Fact

At the South Pole--the coldest place on Earth--temperatures almost never rise above subzero. It is so cold and dry, in fact, that it is essentially a desert. Less than two inches of snow actually fall per year.

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References

Resources

South Pole and Antarctica

Photo Credit

Image by Flickr.com, courtesy of Ralph Hockens

Literary Criticism Vs. Literary Theory

2010-01-08T22:19:00.000-08:00

http://www.ehow.com/facts_5785883_literary-criticism-vs_-literary-theory.html

Contributor

By Cari Coleman
eHow Contributing Writer

Reading, absorbing and critiquing helps us refine our vision of the world.

The difference between the terms "literary theory" and "literary criticism" is so minor that they are used interchangeably. However, they are distinct at their core.

Definitions

Miriam-Webster Online defines theory as a set of general principles that characterize a body of fact or art. Criticism is the art of analyzing a work, including writings expressing those analyses.

The Distinction: Guiding Principles Vs. Critic Opinions

Literary theory then, is the lens or framework through which a critic views a work, coloring how they perceive it and what literary features they focus on. Literary criticism is the act of analysis--and the evaluations critics produce--critiquing a work according to favored theories.

Basic Categories

World Book Online divides literary criticism into four basic categories---all backed by their guiding theories:

1) Formal Criticism: analyzes the form and structure of works.
2) Rhetorical: examines the techniques that affect an audience.
3) Expressive: scrutinizes the ways authors express their ideas and motives.
4) Mimetic: studies how writers portray reality.

Schools of Thought

Various schools of thought concerning literary theory and critique have distinguished themselves from the throng. Refer to the Purdue Online Writing Lab (OWL) and your reluctantly purchased Literary Theory text for detailed explanations.

• Moral Criticism
• Dramatic-
• Formalism
• New-
• Neo-Aristotelian-
• Psychoanalytic-
• Jungian-
• Marxist-
• Reader-Response-
• Structuralism
• Semiotics
• Post-Structuralism
• Deconstruction
• New Historicism
• Cultural Studies
• Post-Colonial-
• Feminist-
• Gender/Queer Studies

Curious Fact

Image by Flickr.com, courtesy of Steve Snodgrass

There is no greater prison than a narrow mind.
Literary theorist Michel Foucault compared schools and other public institutions to "Panopticons"---normalizing prisons. Brainchild of Jeremy Bentham, a Panopticon prison had no bars---only windows---and an omni-present central guard tower. Unceasing observation produced self-policing, normalizing behavior. Even curiouser, Mr. Bentham's body is kept on display at the University College of London per his request.

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References

Photo Credit

Image by Flickr.com, courtesy of Lauren Nelson
Image by Flickr.com, courtesy of Steve Snodgrass

Cari Coleman's Resume

2009-12-15T16:45:00.000-08:00

Cari Coleman, MA

6165 N. Winthrop Ave. #101 * Artist in Residence Bldg. 1 * Chicago, IL 60660

(847) 875.7221 * ccoleman333@gmail.com

Summary

Master’s in English forged appreciation for complexity and thrill of lifelong learning process
Visceral empathy for student concerns galvanized passion to be their advocate and provide comprehensive outreach
“Real world” experiences crystallized importance of clear, concise communication to boost efficiency and marketability
Penchant for active listening and constructive feedback coupled with excellent communication and interpersonal skills enhanced effectiveness as a facilitator
Methodical in all work activities and capable of working well independently or within a team

Experience

DEMAND STUDIOS, Contractor, Virtual 2009 – Present

Developed presentation entitled “Be Your Own Adventure: Forging Your Pathway to Success." Designed to help clients uncover their most suitable career and life choices
Published articles for Studio websites such as www.e-how.com, www.answerbag.com and others

MyFOOTPATH, LLC, College Advisor, Chicago, IL 2009

Advised callers of various school options to acquire desired degree
Always sent follow-up call/e-mail with options if no key schools available, constantly adding to database of further contacts: national boards, associations, 800 numbers, admissions offices and online options etc.

RICHARD DAY RESEARCH, Interviewer/Transcriber, Evanston, IL 2007 -- 2008

Trained 15+ new interviewers on software and databases, on company policies and procedures and on new market research studies
Conducted/transcribed/edited 2000+ successful market research interviews with corporate professionals, dramatically improving consistency of content for web publication and monthly reports to Fidelity Investments

THE WRIGHT INSTITUTE FOR LIFELONG LEARNING, Appointment Setter, Chicago, IL 2006

Coordinated Vision to Management (V2M) meetings, including cold-calling, document prep and setup
Discovered sheer necessity of genuine belief in the value of chosen product

BARNES & NOBLE BOOKSELLERS, Bookseller, Vernon Hills, IL 2002 – 2004

Trained 40+ booksellers on BookMaster database, sales P.O.O.F. strategy and special order filing system
Increased personal sales 7% due to repeat customers by always working to make their day

UNIT FOR CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE, Layout Editor, Normal, IL 1998 -- 2000

Developed newsletters, brochures, manuals and chap books for universities, non-profit organizations and authors
Led campus tours and participated in orientations during “Preview Weeks” at Illinois State University

Education

Microsoft Excel/Access Refresher Course, Chicago, IL 2009
ABCs of Proposal Writing, Chicago, IL 2009
M.A., Illinois State University, Normal, IL 2001 – English Studies
B.A., Illinois State University, Normal, IL 1998 – English, Cum Laude
Study Abroad, Edith Cowan University, Western Australia 1997 – English

Personal Interests

Reading everything from fiction to quantum physics, researching alternative healing modalities, discussing sustainability and green issues, writing short stories, singing and trying exotic foods

Vox

2009-11-15T00:19:00.000-08:00

I thirst for your music. As a parched throat sighs at the first drops of soothing water, my ears rejoice at the first syllables that pass your lips as you begin to speak. Their rich, deep timbre traces serpentine pathways along my skin, bringing every nerve to rapt attention. Spiced wine in winter could not warm me better. Your words are drenched in male resonance, deliciously weighted, like the press of a lover’s body against mine. It’s driving me mad. Wondrously, frighteningly, beautifully mad. Exquisite.

Would that I could return the favor—perhaps with a song. Let my voice, my words touch you, tease you, tempt you, in kind. But though my voice is fine and better than fine, my touch is still better. Gifted with piano fingers long-boned and supple, I can play a willing back with as much skill, coaxing music from the bellows within as sweet—if not more. Spoken or sung, moaned or murmured, all is music to me. How low can you go, below middle C? Hmm? I would give much to find out.

My curiosity quakes within me; I long to touch you, to know you. To know the sound of your pleasure, the taste of your darknesses. To know the scent of your body, the blaze in your impassioned brown eyes. To know the feel of your weight upon me, and the delicious scratching of your mustache upon my softest skin. What is the ransom for such knowledge? With what coin or riches, with what most precious thing must I pay? Do tell. For I would pay; and pay again; and pay still once more: it’s the third time that counts. Then would I sing my Siren Song for you, its melody haunting and hungry, a darkly sweet spell woven within the words to bring you to me...

Oldie but Goodie: Redevelopment Brochure (Front)

2009-11-14T23:39:00.000-08:00

This is an old brochure I created, but it is still in use.

Oldie but Goodie: Redevelopment Brochure (Back)

2009-11-14T23:35:00.000-08:00

This is an old brochure I created, but it is still in use.

Sinclair Lewis Days

2009-11-14T23:30:00.000-08:00

Sinclair Lewis Days p. 2

2009-11-14T23:26:00.001-08:00

Mirrors and Moments

2009-10-18T22:41:00.000-07:00

2009

My Grandmother’s ornate wall mirror—gilded in gold and filigree thick as cake icing—is a thing of magic: gazing at it, one cannot help but think of Snow White’s stepmother and her poisoned apple, of Alice and the mad Cheshire cat, or of Auryn-clad Atreu and the Magic Mirror Gate that showed him his true self. But as I stand before it now, those thoughts have flown from me; I see only my own reflection within the polished glass. Yet the magic remains. For in it I have seen something real—something wondrous. Myself, as the Woman I wish to become. As yet there have been only glimpses. Some small gesture will reveal her hiding place: the set of the mouth, the tilt of the head, a vivid flare of light behind the eyes. Shining hair frames the face just so, and the soul whispers, “See Me. I am here, within.” I think the Creator reveals Her Feminine Guise to me in those brief, beautiful moments, gazing out at me through my own eyes. For we are One. Faith in Her is faith in myself. And that is true magic.

I am grateful for such moments, brief though they are. They help me to see myself as I truly am: beautiful without as well as within. And as I stand here, naked in the candlelight before the great silvery oval of my Grandmother’s mirror, that is precisely what I see. My body is not hour-glass perfect, but my skin is supple, my breasts and hips appreciably round and ample. My feet are shapely, the toes brightly polished. My legs are strong, eager for the pulse of the dance, or of the chase. The triangle of hair between my legs is unsculped, but not ungainly: its short, soft curls shine as brightly as the oft-complimented hair upon my head. My bum is larger than I like; however, my lover enjoys it, so it stays as is. My navel curves daintily inward, and is probably the only dainty thing about me. Thank goodness. My breasts, as I have said, are large, the areolas full and pink, nipples proud in the coolness of the autumn night. Eminently suckable, my lover often tells me. My neck is long, and very, very sensitive. My lips are not full, but they are soft, and are more often curved in a smile than not. My nose is no button, but its dimensions have given me my singing voice, so we have called a truce. Hazel are the color of my eyes that sparkle so in my Grandmother’s mirror. And my hair is a rich brown, formed from glossy strands of black, brown, red, and blonde. And when I am old and the ink runs out, I know that my hair will turn a rich, glittering silver to put even my Grandmother’s magic mirror to shame.

All this and more I have seen in my Grandmother’s mirror, and I am gratified. I have grazed my fingertips across its solid coolness and felt its truth. I am beautiful enough.

Symphony of Existence

2009-10-18T22:36:00.000-07:00

2007

Out of the nothingness of the Void there suddenly came a wondrous Singing. Two notes—soft, clear, insistent—grew in strength and purpose amid the emptiness, forcing it back, ever back, and away. The two notes grew into voices, and the voices spun outward in great oscillations of joy. What a glory to Live!

Together, the voices melded into a thing rich and fluid and full of Power: Music. Their duet was a song, a dance, and also a seeking; together they reached out to connect and spread their joy, and in so doing, Melody and Harmony Sang the Universe into existence.

Altering their tune slightly—and slowing its energetic pace—they cloaked their energies in the density of flesh to accomplish their task. They fashioned immense, cavernous bodies for themselves, swathed in multi-colored, armored scales to shield them from the ravages of the Void. To maneuver through the inky emptiness they shaped sail-like wings and rudder tails. They created great maws to sing with, and huge bellow-like lungs to support their Song of Life. And in their bellies they put the makings of fire. With these and their strong, nimble, taloned fingers, together they would forge the world.

Finely robed in shining rainbow vestments, they began. Quickening their tune again they sang of love and passion; together with their Song they soared and plunged and whirled and lunged in hungered, lusty rhythms. Their bodies came together in a great rush of rainbow wings, limbs twining about each other in grand braidings of desire. And then: Bliss! They Sang out their mutual pleasure as it washed over them in delicious, pulsing, exultant waves; it traveled from their cores outward, ever outward, and is still traveling, and will travel, always. And evermore.

Exhausted but jubilant, they slept in each others’ embrace for a long, long, sweet while. And when they finally woke, Melody’s belly was heavy with the weight of the world she would soon give birth to. Not long after, Melody bore the world, and in the afterbirth were the stars of the sky, as well as the moon and all manner of glittering, luminescent, celestial things.

And the egg that was the world was a curious, glistening, molten thing: alive and full to bursting like a seed yet layered and ever-growing like a pearl. And as Melody and Harmony watched, the world grew, and grew and grew—layer upon layer upon layer of rich, molten lava she brought forth from her depths to form a grand, tough, nutrient-rich crust. And when the world was done with growing outward, her fine crust completed and cooling, she called out to her parents to come down and speak with her.

“Mother, Father, who am I?” she asked.

“My dear, sweet child,” Melody said, “your name is Gaia.”

Álainn (Beautiful)

2009-10-18T22:24:00.000-07:00

2000

"Beauty is a witch, against whose charms faith melteth into blood.” – Shakespeare

He is beautiful. I don’t mean gorgeous, sexy, hunk-o-licious, or even delectable. I mean beautiful. He is beautiful because everything about him sparkles. His body, his spirit, his smile, everything. The man shines from the inside out, and it makes me cry. I watch him from behind an open, hopefully upright Bradbury paperback and half-mast eyes. He sits a few tables away, engrossed in something he is writing. He does not look up from his notebook. We are at a campus coffee house, studying.

His hair is such a dazzling blue-black it seems perpetually wet; he always looks and smells as if just from the shower. The fresh-water lakes of Fraser Island are the only other place I’ve seen the shimmering, liquicent blue of his eyes. Such eyes. They glow from within—as the sea does when phosphorescent deep-sea creatures surface to congregate and mate. His skin reminds me not of marble, ivory, or pearl. Nothing nearly so hard, cold, or collectible. Glazed white chocolate seems more fitting: edible, tasty, energizing. Not a drop of vinegar in him—only salt and sweetness. And his smile—that dazzling, self-effacing, little boy grin—reveals an exuberance and gentleness as rare and precious as Truth.

His name means, “High Mountain,” or “Inspired.” Inspiring. I don’t know his last name, or at least, I never seem able to remember it. But, people like him don’t need last names. Michelangelo’s David didn’t need a last name to be remembered. One word, two syllables, and everyone knows what you are talking about. Perfect. And, being surnameless, as well as beautiful like David, he deserves to be painted or sculpted. Had I the skill, I’d be more than happy to paint him. Anywhere he’d like. Or perhaps it would be more fun to sculpt him. All that cool, moist clay...

No doubt I would have as much fun as She had when making man and woman. I’d sculpt him with as much care and precision as Michelangelo and Madame Tussuad combined, making sure to part the lips just slightly so as to be able to breathe Life into my creation as She did. (It’s a little known fact that as She gave the first man and woman Life, She also gave them tongue. She loves us all, you see.

Unlike Her, however, I’d be inclined to breathe Life into my creation before finishing; I’d like to hear the delicious sharp little intakes of breath, the soft moans, and the deep-throated growls as I traced with feather fingers the fullness of the mouth, the gentle curve of a buttock, the silken solidness of an inner thigh, the fuzzy softness of a testicle, and the quiet strength of an embarrassingly ticklish instep. I’d like to watch the lids close over those fresh-water eyes—darkened now by warm undercurrents of pleasure—and feel his reserve melt beneath my ministrations. And, like Her, I’d have no reservations whatever about giving him tongue—or anything else of me he wanted for that matter. And for the finishing touch, I’d set and purify him in the Beltane fires, see him perfected in a ruddy glaze of glistening sweat, blazing eyes, dancing feet, and throbbing heart. The King Stag awakened to the pulse of the Beltane Drum, awakened to the pulse of Life, awakened to the pulse of the Goddess, who on this Night of all nights looks out at Him through my eyes. Beautiful.

All at once, my musings are interrupted by the sound of metal scrapping against cement. The man looks up abruptly from his writing. That dazzling grin once again escapes his lips, revealing pearly whites, precious Truth. He is not looking anywhere near me. He stands to acknowledge the presence and shake the hand of the man come to greet him. No…not to shake his hand. To embrace and kiss this other man. Suddenly, his sparkle refracts into slivers of brilliance, paining me behind my eyes, in my heart. Inaccessible. Totally inaccessible. Like his namesake. The scrapes begin to ache. All over. I struggle to close both heart and eyes, to turn away, to hide my thoughts. I think that is what is making me cry this time, but I may just be kidding myself.

“The beautiful are never desolate, but some one always loves them.” –Bailey

Where Angels Should Fear to Tread

2009-10-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

1997

*** This is a work of adult "Forever Knight" fan fiction, not intended for people under the age of 18. You've been warned. All Forever Knight characters are the property of Tri-Star Television. Not me. ***

LaCroix observed the girl across the room as she watched him, though her quick, fitful glances and constant panning of the room with her eyes suggested that she was *trying* to be subtle about it. He pretended to be unaware of her probing eyes until he’d decided exactly what to do with her. LaCroix glanced at her with the quickness and precision of a flash photograph, taking in all necessary information in a split-second. She did not notice this—she was after all, only mortal.

Shiny, shoulder-length satin-black hair, curled under to frame the heart-shaped face—one of those ghastly angular cuts women preferred today. LaCroix sighed. He so missed long hair. Done up in intricate twists and braids, with pearl pins and ribbons, golden combs and jewels, rivulets of luscious curls, dazzling ringlets, or let loose and full, adorned only with wildflowers. How he had enjoyed running his fingers through such luxurious locks before he drank…

It seemed to LaCroix that the present times had lost much more than would ever be gained—despite the various nasty wars and little uprisings which popped up now and again to tantalize him…A pity. But enough reminiscing! His thoughts returned to the girl.

Pleasant green eyes, interested in their surroundings. And in him, LaCroix reminded himself, chucking softly. Quite a dangerous endeavor for just about anyone—especially a mortal. Her lashes were long and thick, framing her eyes, making them appear larger than they were. Her nose was small, almost pixie-like. Medium-sized but well-defined lips were pursed in thought, and the girl’s chin rested in her left hand, propped up by a crooked index-finger and thumb. The nails of her hands were free of polish, a natural and youthful pink, with long, graceful white tips.

She had a petite but strong looking frame, and wore a long black leather coat, a rich dark green blouse and a good deal of intricate sterling-silver jewelry: earrings, necklace, and a lovely ring adorned with Celtic knots and a simple garnet at its center, which shone black, then deep crimson in the flickering lights of The Raven.

Of all her adornments though, her necklace intrigued him most. It was on a short, thick chain, almost a choker. The charm hanging from the chain was comprised of two intertwining wyverns, one silver, the other black. Each was biting the other’s tail, and together they formed an intricately woven circle. The folded wings of each wyvern, one set on either side, framed the circle nicely, adding the final touch of elegance to the necklace. Interesting, thought LaCroix. A strange trinket for such a slip of a girl. It rested lightly on her breast bone just below the cleft at her throat, where her pulse beat steady and strong. LaCroix liked that even better.

From the leg which poked out from beneath the table, LaCroix could also see that she wore graceful knee-high leather boots, with fold-down front flaps and slightly pointed toes. A pretty little thing, but she does not belong here, he thought. She’d obviously tried to dress the part, but she just wasn’t the type to frequent The Raven. The girl wanted something--something involving him. Tonight was certainly going to be… entertaining. Well, it was getting close to dinnertime anyway…

LaCroix sensed the girl’s slight movement as she prepared to rise from her chair. She was mustering up the courage to confront him. A lamb entering a wolf’s den. As he took another sip from his wine glass LaCroix debated if he should “notice” her yet. He decided against it, because to do so might frighten her off. He didn’t want his meal scampering away—not when it was practically offered up to him on a silver platter. Even a hunter like himself enjoyed a little room service now and then. So, as the girl approached him, LaCroix pretended to be lost in thought as he mechanically sipped his drink.

He heard her rather loud mortal footsteps stop near his table and felt the vibration as her fingers lightly pressed against the polished wood of the table. She leaned in to speak. “Excuse me,” the girl whispered tentatively, “May I ask you a question?” LaCroix’s cat-like gaze oriented on his prey, staring directly into her eyes. The girl’s eye-lids lifted slightly, revealing more of the white orb beyond the green iris. The pupils narrowed, and the breath caught in her throat for an instant. Already she was nervous. Wonderful! Smart girl this one! thought LaCroix cheerfully. “I’m sorry…what did you say?” he asked, though he knew perfectly well. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

“I just…wanted to ask you a question.”

“Certainly. Sit down and ask your question.” He gestured to the chair opposite him and leaned forward, steepling his fingers and then slowly interlocking them to await her query.

The girl slipped gracefully into the proffered chair and sat looking at him for a moment. She licked her lips and then cleared her throat softly.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering….are you….are you the guy with that late-night radio show on Cerk…the NightCrawler?”

A pang of annoyance flared through him. He should have expected her to ask something stupid like that. Ah, well. What else can you expect from a mortal? LaCroix smiled anyway, allowing it reach his eyes as he envisioned sinking his teeth into the soft, warm flesh of her neck. “Yes…as a matter of fact I am.”

The girl’s eyes lit up and she smiled brightly back at him, revealing a mouth of almost perfect teeth.

“I thought I recognized your voice, she said softly but emphatically. “It’s a difficult one to forget.”

“Oh? And how did you get interested in my little program?”

“Well, since you asked, I was working late one evening—I’m a writer you see—and I needed something to listen to, to break the deafening silence and to help me chase off my writer’s block. So I turned on the radio and picked a station out of the blue and just listened for a while. Then I got up to grab a quick cup of coffee, and then you came on. Your voice stopped me in my tracks. Literally. I forgot all about the coffee and sat back down to listen, to drink in the sound of your voice. I’ve been hooked ever since. I must say, you’ve been a great help in alleviating my writer’s block!”

“Well…one does what one can,” LaCroix purred amusedly.

She laughed.

“And do you like the show’s content as well?”

“Oh yes. I find it very thought-provoking, but it always makes me a little sad.”

“The truth is often painful, my dear.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. But you’re so cynical. I find that very sad, yet I’m drawn to what you say, because of it’s core of truth.”

“Experience, you will find my dear, is an exacting and harsh teacher, which settles for nothing less than the bitter truth.”

The girl nodded slightly, and closed her eyes for a moment as if formalizing his statement in her mind for future reference.

“And how did you come to find me here, at The Raven?” LaCroix asked, to further the conversation and hopefully hurry it along. He was getting hungry.

“Oh, total chance. I was walking by the other night with some friends, and I heard music I liked, so we ambled in. Then, between songs, I heard you talking to someone. Nicholas I think was the name you used. Then you two started arguing, so I figured I’d better stop eavesdropping, because it wasn’t any of my business. So my friends and I had a few drinks and left. But I just kept wondering if it had actually been you, so I came back tonight to find out.”

“Hmm.” Very wise of you, on that first point my dear girl, LaCroix thought. On the second however…

“So, how do you do it? That voice of yours. Is it just natural or did you craft it for the show?”

Craft it? He’d never thought of it quite that way, but supposed it wasn’t all together false. “Well, I’ve had years of practice, and have learned many ways to…grab people’s attention.”

Again she laughed. The tinkling of silver bells.

“Years of practice? She mocked good-humoredly. When did you start…when you were four? You don’t look old at all!”

LaCroix honored her with a wry smile. “And how old do I look?”

“About…hmm…early to middle forties I’d say.”

He chuckled, the sound almost imperceptible to her ears. “And that is not old in your estimation?”

“Not really. I like a face with a little character in it. Men my age are still a little too soft and smooth-faced. Like clay. You need a little crinkle here and there for texture.”

“And you think my face has character, do you?”

“Oh, that’s easy to see. Your face and voice match nicely. You can learn a lot about a person from their voice, and the face fills in some of the gaps.”

“And what do these…attributes…of mine tell you? What do you see?”

“Well, it’s in the eyes and mouth mostly. In your eyes I can see great intelligence and knowledge, as well as contentment. It’s obvious you’re very self-assured—happy where you are in life. Yet your eyes betray a desire for something you can’t satisfy.”

“You are very perceptive.” LaCroix said on cue. He had long ago learned to read the expressions and mannerisms of both his kind and mortals, and thought little of her cursory probing.

“There is an air or worldliness about you,” she said continuing. “You must have led a very eventful life so far. Perhaps that’s why you’re so cynical. Also, the lines of your mouth suggest that you don’t smile very often. Not whole-heartedly anyway--with your eyes and teeth. That’s the trademark of a real, heart-felt smile. Showing your teeth and letting the mirth drift to your eyes! You seem to me a more thoughtful, mournful person--introverted. I bet in real life you are the strong, silent type. Am I right?”

“When you have lived as I have, my dear,” LaCroix began, not bothering to answer her question, “for as long as I have, you realize that there are few things in life on which it is worthwhile to waste a ‘whole-hearted smile’.” Then, for effect and a bit of fun, LaCroix gave the girl a glimpse--just for a split-second--of what was really behind his eyes--Hunger.

She blanched. Realizing that she had perhaps gone too far, the girl abruptly changed the subject.
“So…tell me. Do you broadcast the NightCrawler show live, or is it pre-recorded?”

“Oh, always live, of course.”

“But it’s on so late! How do you do the show every night? Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“Let’s just say I am a night person.”

“I see,” she said. The girl glanced at her watch. “Well, I suppose I’d better stop blabbing at you and let you get to the station. I don’t want you to be late for your own show! Your loyal listeners would have me for breakfast! Plus, I don’t want to miss a word of it!” She grinned secretively at him, her eyes twinkling merrily.

You have no idea how close to the truth you are, my girl! But you will be my dinner, not their breakfast. “No need to fret, my dear. I have plenty of time. I do the show right here at The Raven.”

“Here?” She glanced around her at the dimly lit room, filled with small tables, black-clad people, smoke and a myriad of noises—music, talk, laughter, and the occasional pleased growl.

“Where?”

“In a little room in the back. It is much quieter there, I assure you...perfect atmosphere for my show.” He smiled slightly.

“Am I to assume then, that you own this club?”

“Indeed I do. Do you like it?”

“Oh yes! I must admit, it is a bit more darkly elegant than the clubs I’m used to, but the music here is a decided improvement.”

“Hmm.” was all he said.

Suddenly the girl was all smiles and big eyes. “May I see it? The room where you do the show I mean. Just for a second?”

On a silver platter…She is making this entirely too easy, thought LaCroix. Ah, well. Waste not want not. “Certainly. If you would like.”

LaCroix rose and walked around the table, extended his hand and drew the girl up gently from her chair. Her hand was firm and warm, her grip strong—for a mortal woman. He broke the contact and spoke. “Follow me.” he said softly. LaCroix noted with pleasure that her fingers, after he released her hand, slowly coiled inward, as though to capture forever the sensation of his touch.

As he began to lead the girl away, a member of his staff noticed LaCroix’s movement and began to walk toward him, most likely to ask him something woefully unimportant at the moment.

Their eyes met for an instant and he projected the thought: Later. The man nodded slightly in acquiescence and altered his trajectory to chat with a co-worker across the room.

LaCroix and the girl walked together though corridors packed with people, people talking, people kissing, and one couple, making a rather noisy and fitful spectacle of themselves, meshed together against a pillar near the wall. LaCroix walked up to them and waited a moment before acting. As he’d hoped, the girl (who was facing him) noticed his presence, her impassioned eyes focusing on him and acknowledging him in the same instant. Her abrupt halting in motion alerted the man fondling her, and he half turned to meet LaCroix’s pleased but slightly reproachful gaze.

Now Vachon, LaCroix projected, you know the rules. Take your dinner to a room. We must not frighten our livelihood away. He pointed wordlessly in the direction of suitable accommodations and walked onward. LaCroix and the girl passed through several more common rooms before reaching their final destination—the Studio.

“Here it is,” LaCroix said and gestured her ahead of him. “The Lair of the NightCrawler.” He switched on the light so she could see. He did not need it.

The girl surveyed the little room. Through the single thick-paned window red, green and blue light from beyond the parallel corridor splashed in periodically, casting Technicolor shadows across the walls. A huge reel-to-reel machine and Cart was along one wall, filing cabinets topped with pigeon-hole shelves were along another, and pressed up against the third available wall was a desk with a sound-mixing board and play-back racks around it, forming a U-shaped workspace. A microphone was mounted to the base of the desk--not unlike a podium.

“Wow! This is a pretty high-tech setup!” Her fingers lightly brushed the sound mixing board. “Must have cost a fortune!”

“It did, believe me. But I have the means to afford it.”
The girl turned around to face him and smiled wryly. “Lucky devil!” she said and laughed.
Enough. It is time to dine.

“What horrible manners I have! I have not even asked you your name.”

“Ah,” she said dismissively. “No problem. My name is Lisa Carlson.” She extended her hand to shake his. “And you, NightCrawler that you are?”

LaCroix took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he grasped it lightly and gently pulled it upward to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and said, “My name is Lucien.”

Lisa looked surprised, then pleased. She pulled her hand away slowly. “Lucien…” she said, as if swirling the name around in her mouth like fine wine. “That’s lovely. Musical in fact.” Lisa smiled. “Dare I ask for your last name?”

“LaCroix,” he proffered before she could make up her mind. “Lucien LaCroix.”

He noticed that Lisa’s pupils dilated significantly. This girl obviously likes French. All the better to seduce you with my dear...

“Je pense que vous etes belle.”

“What did you say?” Her eyes and face were pleasantly perplexed, the brow wrinkling charmingly.

“I told you that I think you are very beautiful.”

Her face was a kaleidoscope of expressions for a moment. Surprise. Disbelief. Pleasure.

“Thank you.” she whispered, and lowered her head, embarrassed.

Ripe for the plucking, he thought and took her chin in his hand and raised it so she was forced to look him directly in the eyes.

“Je ne rents pas, jen ai vu de trop.”

“I am not one to lie,” he translated. “I have seen too much.”

Her eyes grew moist, and she said faintly, “No more French, please…I…I can’t understand what you’re saying.” A tear fell from her eye, rolling down her cheek onto his fingers.

“As you wish,” he said and started to pull her toward him, slowly.

LaCroix felt her start to pull away and wondered offhandedly how much more coaxing he was going to have to do before getting his meal. Then she let up a little. As he descended towards her mouth with his own, he felt her stiffen, willing herself to stand and accept his kiss, rather than flee, as she obviously wanted to. Finally, their lips met. It took a few moments, but Lisa finally opened up to him. Her closeness and the smell of her blood--which emanated from her like perfume--intensified his hunger, and he had to control himself to keep from spearing his tongue into her mouth that he might taste her.

This he did slowly, letting her accept his intrusion before pressing further. When he felt her arms circle around him, her fingers traveling up his back to his neck, finally stopping to caress his close cropped hair, he knew he had her. She was his. He broke off the kiss to look into her eyes. They were fully dilated now. Lisa was hungry now as well—in her fashion. Perfect.

“It’s so strange,” said Lisa when she had gained her breath. “Your touch is cold, yet you electrify me.”

“Those with the coldest hands,” LaCroix whispered in his best NightCrawler voice, “often have the fiercest of hearts.” The sound of his voice seemed to open a door inside her, and Lisa accepted his next kiss with ardor, returning it with a passion that signaled to LaCroix that things could get a little more…intense.

More to my liking! he thought, and began to remove her leather coat. When that had slipped to the floor, LaCroix broke away again and began to deftly unbutton her forest green blouse. He unbuttoned it only enough to reveal her neck and shoulders, peeling it away from her skin as if unwrapping a precious, fragile gift. He then proceeded in a fiery line from her lips, to her cheek then her ear, neck, throat and then returned to her neck. Once there, he lightly nipped at her skin, to see how she would react.

To his delight, she responded with an intake of breath, which was exhaled in a pleasantly deep-throated growl. Taking that as a cue to continue, LaCroix finished unbuttoning Lisa’s blouse and draped it on top of her coat in a gleaming puddle of green silk. He then led Lisa to his elegant black leather swivel chair by the microphone, where he gently sat her down and removed her boots, socks and pants—slowly and sensually so Lisa felt every caress of his fingers as he did this.

Underneath her silk and leather, Lisa wore a simple cotton bra and panties, unadorned save the fact that the panties were of a high cut, revealing much of her creamy thighs, and a single small red satin rose, stitched into the brassiere between her breasts.

Simple, quaint, and a trifle boring, but a little variety never hurts, LaCroix thought as he looked at the undergarments which caressed her near-naked form. All leather and no cotton makes LaCroix a dull vampire. He stood Lisa up, making short work of those as well and soon she stood naked before him. Very pretty. A nymph in the prime of her youth. He was really going to enjoy himself tonight. But then, he always did.

He kissed her again, slowly, hungrily until she was forced to break away, breathless. When she had regained it, she looked up at him, her eyes flickering over his face as if searching it, memorizing it for all time. Lisa looked him up and down, this man she hardly knew, clad entirely in black and perfectly suited to that fickle, elegant color. Her next words completely surprised him.

“You are very beautiful, Lucien.” LaCroix could not remember the last time any woman had called him beautiful, only once or twice in centuries long since past. Now the word seemed strange to him, golden in its antiquity.

“Thank you Lisa,” he said in his deepest, richest tones, emulating the emotion he could not let himself feel. He would not, for he was a hunter, a vampire, and a vampire’s heart must be cold. LaCroix kissed her again, letting the Hunger rise up in him like a dark, thick wave, yet holding The Beast at bay for a few moments longer…just a few more moments.

LaCroix scooped Lisa up into his arms, nudged the chair away, and lightly deposited her upon the desk beside the mounted microphone. He felt her grasp his shirt, attempting to pull it over his head. He gently pushed her arms away and kissed her deeply, his arms encircling her back, his fingers tracing lazy lines along the soft warm skin. As he pressed in closer to her, his body and clothes lightly brushed her inner thighs, and as he knew she would, Lisa forgot about the shirt entirely. It wouldn’t do for him to remove his clothes. He had no need to, and besides, he had a show to do in a few minutes. LaCroix continued to kiss her, more urgently now, for his Hunger would soon get the better of him. He kissed her lips and then her chin, and moved his tongue over her throat and neck. Next he moved to her breasts, which he suckled, first one, until the nipple became hard beneath his tongue and Lisa moaned softly, then the other, until he could wait no more.

LaCroix kissed her one final time, bruising and biting her lips. Then he nuzzled her neck, feeling her soft hair on his face and smelling the enticing scent of her blood. Finally The Beast was upon him, and LaCroix felt The Change. His eyes glowed red and his fangs extended, sharp and white and deadly. The Beast roared with triumph and he yanked Lisa’s head aside, exposing her neck for the kill. LaCroix bit down and tasted salt and sweat before his fangs pierced the tender flesh and the blood—the fresh, warm blood—began to gush forth into his mouth. Ecstasy rocked him with such force that he barely heard Lisa’s shriek of pain and terror as it changed in pitch from that to a deeper, more resonant howl of intense pleasure. He did however, feel her legs wrap staunchly about him, as well as her fingers as they gripped his head until they were white-knuckled, pressing him closer, closer to her body and to the center of her pleasure, which was now the punctures in her neck.

Suddenly, LaCroix and Lisa were in rapport, and each felt the other’s thoughts and shared each other’s memories. Pleasure became a live thing: dark and warm and pulsing, thick with power and full of a whispering that was akin to music. The throbbing of their hearts quickened and synchronized, becoming a single, deafening pulse like the frantic beating of many wings, the sound filling their ears and minds. Pleasure and Pain, Male and Female, Life and Death became one in those brief, exquisite moments, and Hunter and Hunted were equal as they never were before and never would be again. Finally Lisa became aware that her lifeblood was slipping away, being drained from her and received by her lover. Yet somehow she did not mind this. Lisa knew distantly that she should be angry, furious in fact, for she was about to die. But she was not.

LaCroix withdrew his fangs from her neck when he felt her body go completely limp, and was just a little surprised that Lisa was not yet dead. She looked back at him, not with fear or hatred, but in absolute wonderment. Lisa tried to touch his face with her hand, but could not. She no longer had the strength. Instead she asked the only thing that would come to her failing mind,

“Did you…enjoy…yourself?”

“Yes, very much.” LaCroix replied, for there was no point in lying to her, dying as she was.

“Good…” she breathed. Then all her remaining life flowed into her eyes, and they gleamed--two luminous pools of emerald—and just as shining and priceless. Suddenly, the light from behind her eyes winked out, and she went silent and still.

LaCroix gazed at Lisa awhile longer, licked his lips and smiled—whole-heartedly. He laid her body against him a moment, but only to remove the beautiful necklace of wyverns from her throat and the garnet ring from her finger. He put the trinkets on the desk and the lifted Lisa’s now heavy body from it, placing it carefully on the floor. He knelt beside her, closing her eyes with his hand, and draped her long black coat over her like a shroud. Then LaCroix walked calmly and gracefully to his black swivel chair, glanced at his watch and then picked up the necklace once again. He gazed at it for a few minutes, watching it dangle and sway slightly from his fingers. This will make a lovely present for Jannette, when our paths cross again… The ring he would keep for himself.

LaCroix laughed softly, flipped the “On Air” light and control switch, turned on the sound board and the microphone, and began to speak into the silence. Now he was the NightCrawler.

“Bonsoir, mes amis. Je suis moi, the NightCrawler. Tonight we shall discuss one of humanity’s most notorious emotions…Curiosity. It has often been said that curiosity kills the cat…and so it does….”