Teenage Drinking and Its Effects on the Development of Alcoholism Later

Teenage Drinking and Its Effects on the Development of Alcoholism Later Teenage drinking is something that goes on every day. No matter how many videos you show to kids about drinking they will still drink. Surveys show that the average teen seventeen and up spends $475.00 a year on liquor, mostly beer; that's more than books, soda, coffee, juice and milk combined. Most parents don't know about teenage drinking unless they catch their kids doing it. Parents usually say "oh, my my kid would never do that ", and they're the ones whose kids probably drink more that the average teen. One might ask, how do kids get alcohol? Alcohol is almost as easy to get as a carton of milk, except a teen has to get someone older like a friend, brother or even someone off of the street to purchase it. Another way underage teens get alcohol is a fake I.D. A lot of stores don't care, they just need to ask for an I.D. because they are being watched by security cameras. No matter what city your are in, one in every five stores will sell beer to a minor. If stores stop selling t o minors they would lose a lot of business. Looking at the surveys I took at Lincoln on this topic it can been seen what teens think about teenage drinking. The results were shocking! The first Question I asked was "Have you ever drank alcohol?" Of the students surveyed, 16% said no and 84% said yes. The second question was, "How often do you drink?" The results were on the average three to four drinks a week. The third question was, "How much do you usually drink?" The average number of beers was eight and the average number of shots was seven. The fourth question was, "Have you ever drank alcohol before driving and 68% said yes! One of the last questions I asked was, "What would you do if you killed someone drinking and driving?" The majority replied that they could not live with themselves. Just through talking to people and going to parties, I have seen most people drink to get drunk, not many people drink just a drink or two. Many students don't feel that drinking is a crime be cause they are not hurting any one unless they are driving drunk. Drinking is a crime and there are many penalties for the teen who chooses to break the law. For a first time offender a teen would be taken to jail , finger printed, and photographed. At the time of arrest, if drunk, one could be taken to detoxification (detox) ... ...His mother is a recovering alcoholic so he was familiar with what happened when he would lose control when he drank. His mother was very aware of the signs. His grades went down, he started skipping classes, he lied to his mother, he was hanging out with friends who drank a lot and were always in trouble. Fortunately, he was given a second chance and he is in a program that is helping him recover. Teen drinking and alcoholism can be treated if treatment is started early. There is no known cure for alcoholism, but alcoholics can lead productive lives with help. There are many organizations that can help alcoholics such as Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). and Rational Recovery Systems. There are also organizations that promote abstinence from drinking such as S.A.D.D. (Students Against Drunk Driving) and M.A.D.D. (Mothers Against Drunk Driving). It is important for parents to be aware of what their children are doing and who their friends are. Teenagers need to continue to be educated on the effects of alcohol and the dangerous situations it causes. Sources: #1. 1994 Monitoring the Future survey #2. Class notes Bibliography #1. 1994 Monitoring the Future survey #2. Class notes

My First Host Family :: Personal Narrative Studying Abroad Essays

My First Host Family The situation I was presented with was somewhat ironic. In preparation for my departure to Study Service Term in Costa Rica, I worried a great deal about my first host family. Would they be mean? Would I be able to understand their Spanish? Would I like their food? These were the main concerns for me then. At no time did I stop to consider that it might be difficult to leave my first host family, the thought never entered my head. After all, they were not really my family, why should it be hard? I was in a different country, thousands of miles away from the land of my birth, yet I had become so comfortable that it was hard to break away. So much of this place had left an impact on me that I didn’t want to consider leaving. These people took me, a total stranger, into their home, gave me food and shelter, and in only six short weeks made me feel like a genuine part of their family. I may not have understood before, but I was forced to deal with it now: this would be one of the longest nights of my life. Facing the inevitable, I said goodnight to my family as I did every other evening, and headed towards my room for the night. The hot sun had given way to the night, and crickets now sang in the infinite blackness outside my window. The curtains danced as cool, sweet breezes leaked effortlessly into my room, helping to calm my shaky soul. Yet I lay there for an eternity, eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of cracks in the ceiling as the wonders and worries of what was to come now swirled through my head. How would I make it for another six weeks? What would my next family be like? How could I possibly be as happy there as I was here? I finally fell asleep, but not the deep sleep that cleanses and offers comfort, rather a shallow trance tormented by visions and dreams, thoughts and emotions, fears and concerns. I traveled in and out of consciousness, seeking unsuccessfully to grasp something to hold onto, something stable in my life. The house was dark and motionless when my alarm jerked me out of slumber; my father, brother and sister had all left for the day already. I rose unrefreshed and headed for the bathroom, feeling as if I hadn’t slept at all.

Songs For a Colored Singer by Elizabeth Bishop Essay -- Colored Singer

"Songs For a Colored Singer" by Elizabeth Bishop   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  What is a song but a poem set to music? Take away the music from a good song and the rhythm of the words will create its own musical sound. â€Å"Songs For a Colored Singer†, a poem written by Elizabeth Bishop, is a song without the music. Bishop’s use of repetitive rhymes creates the lyrical, song like, structure to her poem. The voice of the song belongs to a black woman who encounters adversity throughout the poem. The sum of the elements, a black woman singing about hard times, equal one distinct style of music, namely the blues. Bishop divides the poem into four parts. Through each part the poem, Bishop uncovers different aspects of the colored woman. What Bishop reveals is the difficult situations which face underprivileged black citizens in America. Bishop’s poem has similarities to a song by Billie Holiday, and is linked to a Langston Hughes poem. By using the voice of a colored singer, Bishop exposes the inequality of early twentieth century African-Americans.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Bishop examines the life of a colored domestic woman and portrays the difficult existence through song. Part one of the poem portrays a melancholy domestic who is having trouble with her man, a classic situation for the blues. The use of simple rhymes and syllable structure in the first stanza forecasts the lyrical tone of the poem. To create a sense of flow, the first and third stanzas have identical rhyme patterns, and the second and fourth stanzas also mirror each other. The use of the same line at the end of the second and fourth stanzas, â€Å"Le Roy, you’re earning too much money now,† (Part 1. Lines 13 & 26), distinguishes this poem as a song. Rarely are lines repeated in poems, but the use of repetition is essential in songs, because of the need for a chorus. Part one of the poem brings to light the inequality among race and class. Due to the economic conditions of African-Americans, they find themselves working as domestics for much wealthie r Caucasians. The singer expresses the difficulty working as a domestic, as she witnesses firsthand the inequalities of the classes, â€Å"none of these things I can see belong to me† (P1 L3-4), she continues to describe in detail the differences between the colored and the whites, â€Å"they got a lot of closet space; we got a suit case.† (P1, L7-8) The circumstances of the colored singer establish... ... Bishop says â€Å"curious [†¦] fruit† (P4, L23). Holiday’s popular song predates the release of Bishop’s poem by seven years, 1939 and 1946 respectively. Bishop’s poem seems to have an influence on a famous poem written by Langston Hughes, â€Å"Dream Deferred.† In Hughes’ poem he eludes to years of African-American anger festering like a fruit, then exploding. The similar themes connect Bishop’s poem to Hughes’. Both poems foretell an eruption of anger coming from the African-American community.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Bishop creates a poem which sounds similar to a song. The bluesy feel created by the structure along with the melancholy contents, form a perfect blues song. The poem chronicles the chaotic events of a colored domestic, who represents the plight of the African-American. Her helpless situation is a result of the vicious poverty cycle which traps African-American’s in permanent despair. Bishop ends the poem by forecasting an African-American uprising. Bishop believes African-American’s can only take so much, soon they will explode. Through Bishop’s use of simple rhymes, repetition of words and changing syllabic functions, this poem reads less like a typical poem, and more like a blues song. Songs For a Colored Singer by Elizabeth Bishop Essay -- Colored Singer "Songs For a Colored Singer" by Elizabeth Bishop   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  What is a song but a poem set to music? Take away the music from a good song and the rhythm of the words will create its own musical sound. â€Å"Songs For a Colored Singer†, a poem written by Elizabeth Bishop, is a song without the music. Bishop’s use of repetitive rhymes creates the lyrical, song like, structure to her poem. The voice of the song belongs to a black woman who encounters adversity throughout the poem. The sum of the elements, a black woman singing about hard times, equal one distinct style of music, namely the blues. Bishop divides the poem into four parts. Through each part the poem, Bishop uncovers different aspects of the colored woman. What Bishop reveals is the difficult situations which face underprivileged black citizens in America. Bishop’s poem has similarities to a song by Billie Holiday, and is linked to a Langston Hughes poem. By using the voice of a colored singer, Bishop exposes the inequality of early twentieth century African-Americans.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Bishop examines the life of a colored domestic woman and portrays the difficult existence through song. Part one of the poem portrays a melancholy domestic who is having trouble with her man, a classic situation for the blues. The use of simple rhymes and syllable structure in the first stanza forecasts the lyrical tone of the poem. To create a sense of flow, the first and third stanzas have identical rhyme patterns, and the second and fourth stanzas also mirror each other. The use of the same line at the end of the second and fourth stanzas, â€Å"Le Roy, you’re earning too much money now,† (Part 1. Lines 13 & 26), distinguishes this poem as a song. Rarely are lines repeated in poems, but the use of repetition is essential in songs, because of the need for a chorus. Part one of the poem brings to light the inequality among race and class. Due to the economic conditions of African-Americans, they find themselves working as domestics for much wealthie r Caucasians. The singer expresses the difficulty working as a domestic, as she witnesses firsthand the inequalities of the classes, â€Å"none of these things I can see belong to me† (P1 L3-4), she continues to describe in detail the differences between the colored and the whites, â€Å"they got a lot of closet space; we got a suit case.† (P1, L7-8) The circumstances of the colored singer establish... ... Bishop says â€Å"curious [†¦] fruit† (P4, L23). Holiday’s popular song predates the release of Bishop’s poem by seven years, 1939 and 1946 respectively. Bishop’s poem seems to have an influence on a famous poem written by Langston Hughes, â€Å"Dream Deferred.† In Hughes’ poem he eludes to years of African-American anger festering like a fruit, then exploding. The similar themes connect Bishop’s poem to Hughes’. Both poems foretell an eruption of anger coming from the African-American community.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Bishop creates a poem which sounds similar to a song. The bluesy feel created by the structure along with the melancholy contents, form a perfect blues song. The poem chronicles the chaotic events of a colored domestic, who represents the plight of the African-American. Her helpless situation is a result of the vicious poverty cycle which traps African-American’s in permanent despair. Bishop ends the poem by forecasting an African-American uprising. Bishop believes African-American’s can only take so much, soon they will explode. Through Bishop’s use of simple rhymes, repetition of words and changing syllabic functions, this poem reads less like a typical poem, and more like a blues song.

Hrm 531 Training and Mentoring Program

Training & Mentoring Program Student HRM 531 April 4, 2011 Instructor Training and Mentoring The merger between InterClean and EnviroTech is fast approaching. Our two companies will soon be crossed trained in various functions and positions within the newly formed organization. We have individuals from both organizations who have strong sales and leadership skills. In addition, InterClean executives need to balance growth and sustained success both locally and worldwide. In order to do that, it is necessary to establish a training program for the newly formed sales team. Cascio (2005) explains that identifying content, design, types of learners and what it will do for InterClean are some of the targets to reach for. The real measure however, Cascio explains, lies in the results obtained, in this case how well we perform as a sales team (page 317). As we move forward in this memo, we will explain the importance of evaluating the value of the training program. Since this is a step-by-step process we will break the subjects into the following areas, assessment, training, capabilities, implementation and evaluation. Assessment of the Training Needs The goal of training assessment needs is to identify areas where the new sales team will need additional support. For instance, since this new sales team is a meld of experienced sales representatives from both organizations, each sales representative has his/her unique style and ability. The next few paragraphs will identify and talk about the training needs identified. Training – Orientation First, InterClean believes that an employee orientation is in order. Introducing our new sales associates to InterClean procedures and methods of operations and expectations will answer many pending questions. Although some of the newly formed team are from InterClean, it is important to have everyone in the sales team be included in the orientation training. Cascio (2005) believes that there are three major areas in which to focus when providing an orientation: Company Standards, Social Climate, and Technical Aspects (page 317). Specifically, job performance skills identified within the team include familiarization with InterClean standards and expectations. These standards and expectations, including company goals, are not the same as when InterClean began and it is imperative that all sales team members attend this training. This will allow employees understand company policies, goals and expectations. The topic of social climate allows for the team to understand the group dynamics and hopefully begin blending of customs, attitudes and behaviors. Training in technical aspects will give all sales team members an advantage as they will be fully prepared to answer questions about both products and services as well as demonstrate use. All team members are expected to complete the Orientation training since the dynamics of the company are changing. Training – Customer Service Customer Service training has been identified as one of the most crucial training areas within the InterClean sales team. There are several members of the new team who have excellent customer service skills. They will however, need to consider how to maintain consistent communication with the customer so that one sales associate will provide the same service as the next. Having a positive relationship with the customer will provide a solid foundation which will help the sales team focus on â€Å"helping the customer† vs. â€Å"selling to the customer. † This concept will help InterClean realize the 40% growth expected through the merger of the two companies. Cascio (2005) suggests that improving customer satisfaction, identifying customer needs, satisfaction and building better customer responsiveness is a paramount to improving the bottom line (page 292). All employees are expected to complete the Customer Service Training. Training – Team Building The new sales team will be learning to face challenges together and work as a cohesive, organized team. To reach this goal, it is imperative that the sales team, including management, undergo team building training. Providing training for everyone in the sales team, team members can learn behaviors that will help each other. For instance, asking for help is sometimes hard, yet working within a team it is imperative that we have that ability. We lean on each other for ideas, creativity, technical skills and input. It is so important to consider the ideas of others; brainstorming often fosters free thinking, ideas, and asking questions. (Cascio 2005 pg. 288) Training – Leadership & Record Keeping Training in leadership will be offered to the Vice President of Sales, Sales Manager and the Trainer/Outside Sales Representative. The training sessions for the three individuals will focus on team building and leadership. The VP of Sales and the Manager need additional training in record keeping. Organizational Capabilities InterClean has the resources to complete the above described training. The Vice President of HR has developed a strategy plan which will align the two companies with the most qualified individuals. This plan includes a detailed job analysis, skills assessment and a selection of the top members of the sales force. In addition, HR has developed a training program based on the training needs of InterClean. Statement of the Training Objectives Orientation Objectives †¢ Increase awareness of company goals, expectations and vision †¢ Employees will develop a sense of purpose and focus Provide employees with latest rules and regulations related to products and services †¢ Provide a record of training in company standards, expectations, method of operation and regulations related to products and services Customer Training Objectives †¢ Increase customer satisfaction through improved business relationships with the customer †¢ Increase repeat business through higher level of customer satisfaction †¢ Increase consistency between sale s associates so all customers receive identical core services †¢ Increase sales by 10% first year and 40% by end of second year Record Keeping Objectives Introduce methods related to maintaining accounts †¢ Increase record keeping accuracy Team Building Objectives †¢ Allow team to get to know each other †¢ Emphasize individual leadership and initiative †¢ Increase interdependence and thereby cooperation †¢ Give team members tools to help problem solve Method of Implementation The training program will be announced within the next seven days. The course will be outlined over a two-day period with follow up sessions available for product information and sales. Three sessions (Orientation, Customer Training and Team Building) will include the entire sales force, while Record Keeping training will include VP of Sales, Sales Manager and the Trainer (for a portion thereof). Methods of Instruction †¢ Seminar †¢ PowerPoint †¢ Group exercises †¢ Role Playing †¢ Guest speakers (product development, laws & regulations, EnviroTech) Instructors †¢ Janet Durham – leadership and previous sales skills †¢ Tom Jennings – Planning for global dominance †¢ Sally Lindley – Partnerships Training Location †¢ EnviroTech facility Duration of Training 2 full days, with 1 week breakout sessions tailored to mentor students Record Keeping (related to training) †¢ Sign in Sheets †¢ Copy of each presentation †¢ Duration of training †¢ Document of videos, speakers, etc †¢ Video tape training sessions where appropriate Evaluation of the Program’s Success Assess Potential Suc cess We will be able to assess the potential success of the training program through several avenues. One being a series of feedback from the attendees. In addition, pre-test to measure knowledge, skills and ability prior to training and post-tests to evaluate increase knowledge, skills and ability after training. As trainees venture into role-playing and practicing with the techniques, they will begin to discover potential pitfalls and relative improvements. Demonstration of techniques learned is crucial to success. Another measurable activity will be an increase in the number of sales. The overall success of the training program will be evident in the increase in profits. Reinforcements †¢ Rewards for reaching sales goals, both individual and group †¢ Promotion to senior levels, stability on the senior level is determined by consistently meeting goals. Conclusion As the training program evolves, so do the employees. With the strong leadership and sales skill present within the team, success is immanent. However, the success of the sales team is only as good as the training and support system provided by InterClean. In this memo we have outlined the training program we believe will assist the new team to take on the challenge of both product and service and provide the customer with everything they need. Reference Cascio, W. F. (2005). Managing Human Resources (7th ed. ). New York, NY: McGraw-Hill.

Fluke, or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings Chapter 21~22

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE I Lick the Body Electric The Maui sunset had set the sky on fire and everything in the bungalow had taken on the glowing pink tone of paradise – or hell, depending on where you were standing. Clay dismembered the bird and put the severed pieces on a platter to transport them to the grill. â€Å"You'll need something to bring those in on,† Clair said. Her dress was a purple hibiscus-flower print, and the orchid she wore in her hair looked like lavender dragonflies humping. She was dicing pickles into the macaroni salad. â€Å"What's wrong with this?† Clay held up the plate with the raw chicken. â€Å"You can't use the same plate. You'll get salmonella.† â€Å"Fine, fuck it,† Clay said, tossing the plate into the yard. The chicken parts bounced nicely, breading themselves with a light coating of sand, ants, and dried grass. â€Å"When did chicken become like plutonium anyway, for Christ's sake? You can't let it touch you or it's certain fucking death. And eggs and hamburgers kill you unless you cook them to the consistency of limestone! And if you turn on your fucking cell phone, the plane is going to plunge out of the sky in a ball of flames? And kids can't take a dump anymore but they have to have a helmet and pads on make them look like the Road Warrior. Right? Right? What the fuck happened to the world? When did everything get so goddamn deadly? Huh? I've been going to sea for thirty damned years, and nothing's killed me. I've swum with everything that can bite, sting, or eat you, and I've done every stupid thing at depth that any human can – and I'm still alive. Fuck, Clair, I was unconscious for an hour underwa ter less than a week ago, and it didn't kill me. Now you're going to tell me that I'm going to get whacked by a fucking chicken leg? Well, just fuck it then!† He didn't know where to go, so he came back in and slammed the screen door behind him, then opened it and slammed it again. â€Å"Goddamn it!† And he stood there, breathing hard. Not really looking at anything. Clair put down her knife and pickle, then wiped her hands. As she came toward Clay she pulled a large bobby pin from the back of her hair, and her long, thick locks cascaded down her back. She took Clay's right hand and kissed each of his fingertips, licked his thumb, then took his index finger in her mouth and made a show of removing it slowly and with maximum moisture. Clay looked at the floor, shaking. â€Å"Baby,† she said as she placed the bobby pin firmly between Clay's wet thumb and index finger, â€Å"I need you to go over to that wall and take this bobby pin and insert it ever so firmly into that electrical outlet over there.† Clay looked up at her at last. â€Å"Because,† she continued, â€Å"I know that you aren't mad at me and that you're just grieving for your friends, but I think you need to be reminded that you aren't invulnerable and that you can hurt even more than you do now. And I think it would be better if you did it yourself, because otherwise I'll have to brain you with your own iron skillet.† â€Å"That would be wrong,† Clay said. â€Å"It is a cruel world, baby.† Clay took her in his arms and buried his face in her hair and just stood there in the doorway for a long time. Amy had been missing for thirty-two hours. That morning a fisherman had found her kayak washing against some rocks on Molokai and had called the rental company in Maui. A life jacket was still strapped on the front of the boat, he said. The Coast Guard had stopped looking already. â€Å"Now, let me go,† Clair said. â€Å"I have to get that chicken out of the yard and rinse it off.† â€Å"I don't think we should eat that.† â€Å"Please. I'm going to cook it up for Kona. You're taking me out.† â€Å"I am?† â€Å"Of course.† â€Å"After I stick this in the outlet, right?† â€Å"You can grieve, Clay – that's as it should be – but you can't feel guilty for being alive.† â€Å"So, I don't have to stick this in the outlet?† â€Å"You used foul language at me, baby. I don't see any way around it.† â€Å"Oh, well, that's true. You go get Kona's chicken out of the yard. I'll do this.† On the second morning after Amy was lost at sea, Clay walked to the seaside, a rocky beach between some condos north of Lahaina – too short for morning runners, too shallow for a bathing crowd. He stood on an outcropping of rocks with the waves crashing around him and tried to let pure hatred run out of his heart. Clay Demodocus was a guy who liked things, and among the things he had liked the most was the sea, but this morning he held nothing but disdain for his old friend. The sapphire blue was indifferent, the waves elitist. She'd kill you without even learning your name. â€Å"You bitch,† Clay said, loud enough for the sea to hear. He spit into her face and walked back home. That old trickster Maui had been sitting on a rock nearby watching, and he laughed at Clay's hubris. Maui admired a man with more balls than brains, even a haole. He cast a small blessing at the photographer – just a trinket for the laugh, a trifling little mango of magic – and then he headed off to the great banyan tree to fog the film of Japanese tourists. Back in what was now only his office, Clay dug Amy's resume out of his files and made the call. He braced himself, trying to figure out how, exactly, he was going to tell these strangers that their daughter was missing and assumed to have drowned. He felt sad and alone, and his elbow hurt from the jolt of electricity he'd taken the night before. He didn't want to do this. He reached for the phone, then stopped and closed his eyes, as if he could make the whole thing go away, but on the back of his eyelids he saw the face of his mother as he had last seen her, looking up at him out of her barrel of brine, â€Å"Make the call, you pussy. If anyone knows how not to get bad news, it's you. Part of loyalty is following up, you sniveling coward. Don't be like your brothers.† Ah, sweet Mama, Clay thought. He dialed the phone – a number with a 716 area code, Tonawanda, New York. It rang three times, and the recorded operator came on, saying that the number he'd reached was not in service at this time. He checked it, then dialed the next number down, which also turned out not to be working. He called Tonawanda information for Amy's parents, and the operator told him there was no such listing. At a loss, he called Woods Hole Oceanographic Center, where Amy had gotten her master's. Clay knew one of her advisers, Marcus Loughten, an irascible Brit who had worked at Woods Hole for twenty years and was famous in the field for his work in underwater acoustics. Loughten answered on the third ring. â€Å"Loughten,† Loughten said.: â€Å"Marcus, this is Clay Demodocus. We worked together on –  » â€Å"Yes, Clay, I bloody know who you are. Calling from Hawaii, are you?† â€Å"Well, yes, I – ; â€Å"Probably, what, seventy-eight degrees with a breeze? It's seven below zero Fahrenheit here. I'm out installing bloody sound buoys in a monthlong blizzard to keep right whales from getting run over by supertankers.† â€Å"Right, the sound buoys. How are those working out?† â€Å"They're not.† â€Å"No? Why not?† â€Å"Well, right whales are stupid as shit, aren't they? It's not like a supertanker is quiet. If sound was going to deter them, then they'd be bloody well deterred by the engine noise, wouldn't they? They don't make the connection. Stupid shits.† â€Å"Oh, sorry to hear that. Uh, why keep doing it then?† â€Å"We have funding.† â€Å"Right. Look, Marcus, I need some information on one of your students who came out here to work with us. Amy Earhart? Would have been with you guys until fall of last year.† â€Å"No, I don't know that name.† â€Å"Sure you do, five-five, thin, pale, dark hair with kind of unnatural blue highlights, smart as a whip.† â€Å"Sorry, Clay. That doesn't fit any of my students.† Clay took a deep breath and trudged on. Biologists were notorious for treating their grad students as subhuman, but Clay was surprised that Loughten didn't remember Amy. She was cute, and if Clay could judge from a night of drinking he'd done with Loughten at a marine mammal conference in France, the Brit was more than a bit of a horndog. â€Å"Great ass, Marcus. You'd remember.† â€Å"I'm sure I would, but I don't.† Clay studied the resume. â€Å"What about Peter? Would he –  » â€Å"No, Clay, I know all of Peter's grad students as well. Did you call to confirm her references when you took her on?† â€Å"Well, no.† â€Å"Good work, then. Abscond with your Nikons, did she?† â€Å"No, she's missing at sea. I'm trying to contact her family.† â€Å"Sorry. Wish I could be of help. I'll check the records, just to be sure – in case I've had a ministroke that killed the part of the brain that remembers fine bottoms.† â€Å"Thanks.† â€Å"Good luck, Clay. My best to Quinn.† Clay cringed. It turned out he really wasn't up for bearing bad news. â€Å"Will do, Marcus. Good-bye.† Clay hung up and resumed staring at the phone. Well, he thought, I knew absolutely nothing about this woman that I thought I knew. Libby Quinn had already called (sobbing) to say that they should have some kind of joint service at the sanctuary for Nate and Amy, and that Clay should speak. What was he going to say about Amy? Dearly beloved, I think we all knew Amy as scientist, a colleague, a friend, a woman who showed up out of nowhere with a completely manufactured history, but I think, because she saved my life, that I came to know her better than anyone here, and I can tell you unequivocally, she was a smart aleck with a cute butt. Yeah, he'd need to work on that. Damn it, he missed them both. Clay decided to kill the day by editing video: time-eating busywork that supplied at least an imaginary escape from the real world. The afternoon found him going through the rebreather footage he'd taken on the day the whale had conked him, for the first time going past the point where he was unconscious, just to see if the camera picked up anything usable. Clay let the video run: minutes of blue water, the camera tossing around at the end of the wrist lanyard, then Amy's leg as she comes down to stop his descent. He cranked the audio. Hiss of ambient noise, then the bubbles from Amy's regulator, the slow hiss of his own breathing through the rebreather. As Amy starts to swim to the surface, the camera catches his fins hanging limply against a field of blue, then Amy's fins kicking in and out of the frame. Both their breathing is steady on the audio track. Clay looked at the time signature of the video. Fifteen minutes when the motion stops. Amy making her first decompression stop. On the audio he hears the chorus of distant singing humpbacks, a boat motor not too far off, and Amy's steady bubbles. Then the bubbles stop. The camera settles against his thigh and drifts, the lens up, catches light from the surface, then Amy's hand holding on to his buoyancy vest, reading the data off his dive computer. Her regulator is out of her mouth. On the audio there's only his breathing. The camera swings away. Ten minutes more pass. Clay listens for Amy's breathing to resume. The motion from her hooking into the rescue tank on the rebreather should move the camera, but there's just the same gentle drift. They move up. Clay guesses maybe to seventy-five feet. Amy is doing another decompression stop, doing it by the book, despite the emergency. Except he still can hear only one person breathing. She pulls him to more shallow depth. The frame lightens up, and the camera swings around, the wide angle showing Clay's unconscious form and Amy kicking, the regulator out of her mouth, looking at the surface. She hasn't used the bail-out tank on Clay's rebreather, and she hasn't taken a breath for, as far as Clay can tell, forty minutes. This can't be right. He listens, watching until the time signature shows sixty and the tape ends – the entire thing having been dubbed to the hard drive. He rewinds it on-screen, slowing down when the camera shows anything but blue, listening again. â€Å"No fucking way.† Clay backed away from the monitor, watching as the video ran out again and froze on the image of Amy holding him steady at twenty or so feet down, no regulator in her mouth. He ran out the door, calling, â€Å"Kona! Kona!† The surfer came shuffling out of his bungalow in a cloud of smoke. â€Å"Just tracking down navy spies, boss.† â€Å"Where did you guys put the rebreather? The day they took me to the hospital?† â€Å"She's in the storage shed.† Clay made a beeline for the bungalow they used to store dive and boat equipment. He waved Kona after him. â€Å"Come.† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Did you guys refill the oxygen or the bail-out tanks?† â€Å"We just rinsed it and put it in the case.† Clay pulled the big Pelican case off a stack of scuba tanks and popped the latches. The rebreather was snug in the foam padding. Clay wrenched it out onto the wooden floor and turned on the computer that was an integral part of it. He hit buttons on the display console and watched the gray liquid-crystal display cycle through the numbers. The last dive: Downtime had been seventy-five minutes, forty-three seconds. The oxygen cylinder was nearly full. The bail-out air supply was full. Full. It hadn't been touched. Somehow Amy had stayed underwater for an hour without an air supply. Clay turned to the surfer. â€Å"Do you remember anything that Nate showed you about what he was working on? I need details – I know in general.† Clay wasn't sure what he was looking for, but this had to mean something, and all he had to fall back on was Nate's research. The surfer scratched the dreadless side of his head. â€Å"Something about the whales singing binary.† â€Å"Come show me.† Clay stormed through the door and back to the office. â€Å"What you looking for?† â€Å"I don't know. Clues. Mysteries. Meaning.† â€Å"You gone lolo, you know?† CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Deep Below, Bernard Stirs About the time that Nathan Quinn had started to master his nausea in the whale ship's constant motion (four days on board), another force started working on his body. He felt an uneasiness come over him in waves, and for twenty or so seconds he would feel as if he needed to crawl out of his skin. Then it would pass and leave him feeling a little numb for a few seconds, only to start up again. Poynter and Poe were moving around the small cabin looking at different gobs and bumps of bioluminescence as if they were gleaning some meaning from them, but, try as he might, Nate couldn't figure out what they were monitoring. It would have helped to be able to get out of the seat and take a closer look, but Poynter had ordered him strapped in after he made his first break for the back orifice. He'd nearly made it, too. Had dived at it just like he'd seen the whaley boys do, except that only one arm had gone through, and he ended up stuck to the floor of the whale, his face against the rubbery skin, his hand trailing out in the cold ocean. â€Å"Well, that was phenomenally stupid,† said Poynter. â€Å"I think I've dislocated my shoulder,† Nate said. â€Å"I should leave you there. Maybe a remora or two will latch on to your hand and teach you a lesson.† â€Å"Or a cookie-cutter shark,† said Poe. â€Å"Nasty bastards.† The whaley boys turned in their seats and snickered, bobbing their heads and blowing the occasional raspberry, which could inflict considerable moisture off a four-inch-wide tongue. Evidently Quinn was a cetacean laugh riot. He'd always suspected that, actually. Poynter got down on his hands and knees and looked Nate in the eye. â€Å"While you're down there, I'd like you to think on what might have happened if you'd been successful at launching yourself through that orifice. First, we're at – Skippy, what's the depth?† Skippy chirped and clicked a number of times. â€Å"A hundred and fifty feet. Beyond the fact that you'd probably have blown out your eardrums almost immediately, you might think on how you were going to get to the surface on one breath of air. And should you have gotten to the surface, what were you going to do then? We're five hundred miles from the nearest land.† â€Å"I hadn't worked out the whole plan,† Nate said. â€Å"So, actually, I might be looking at success, right? You just wanted to test the outside water temperature?† â€Å"Sure,† said Nate, thinking it might be best to stay agreeable. â€Å"Can you feel your hand?† â€Å"It's a little chilly, but, yes.† â€Å"Oh, good.† And so they'd left him there a couple of hours, his hand and about six inches of his arm hanging out in the open sea as the whale ship swam along, and when they finally pulled him up, they put him in his seat and kept him restrained except to eat and go to the bathroom. He'd tried to relax and observe – learn what he could – but then a few minutes ago these waves of uneasiness had started hitting him. â€Å"He's got the sonic willies,† said Poe. Poynter looked away from Skippy's console. â€Å"It's the subsonics, Doc. You're feeling the sound waves even though you can't hear them. We've been communicating with the blue for about ten minutes now.† â€Å"You might have said something.† â€Å"I just did.† â€Å"Couple of hours you'll be in the blue, Doc. You can stand up again, walk around a little. Have some privacy.† â€Å"So you're communicating with it in low-frequency sound?† â€Å"Yep. Just like you thought, Doc, there was meaning in the call.† â€Å"Yeah, but I didn't think this, that there were guys, and guylike things, riding about inside whales. How in the hell can this be happening? How can I not know about this?† â€Å"So you're giving up on the being-dead strategy?† asked Poe. â€Å"What is it? Space aliens?† Poynter unbuttoned his shirt and showed some chest hair. â€Å"Do I look like a space alien?† â€Å"Well, no, but them.† Nate nodded toward the whaley boys. They looked at each other and snickered, a sort of wheezing laughter coming from their blowholes, paused, looked back at Nate, then snickered some more. â€Å"Maybe on their planet sentient life evolved from whales rather than apes,† Quinn continued. â€Å"I can see how they might have landed here, deployed these whale ships, and kept under the radar of human detection while they looked around. I mean, man obviously isn't the most peaceful of creatures.† â€Å"That work for you, Doc?† asked Poynter. â€Å"On their planet they developed an organically based technology, rather than one based on combustion and manipulation of minerals like ours.† â€Å"Oh, that is good,† said Poe. â€Å"He's on a roll,† said Poynter. â€Å"Unraveling the mystery, he is.† Skippy and Scooter nodded to each other and grinned. â€Å"So that's it? This ship is extraterrestrial?† Quinn felt the small victory rush that one gets from proving a hypothesis – even one as bizarre as space aliens riding in whale ships. â€Å"Sure,† said Poe, â€Å"that works for me. You, Cap?† â€Å"Yeah, moon men, that's what you guys are,† Poynter said to the whaley boys. â€Å"Meep,† said Scooter. And in a high, squeaky, little-girl voice, Skippy croaked, â€Å"Phone home.† The whaley boys gave each other a high four and collapsed into fits of hysterical wheezing. â€Å"What did he say?† Nate nearly snapped his neck trying to turn around against the restraints. â€Å"They can talk?† â€Å"Well, I guess, if you call that talking,† Poe said. He exchanged high fives with Poynter at the expense of the whaley boys, who paused in their own laughter to roll the whale ship in three quick spirals, which tossed the unsecured Poe and Poynter around the soft cabin like a couple of rag dolls. Poynter came up with a bloody lip from connecting with his own knee. Poe had barked his shin on one of the whaley boys' heads as he went over. Strapped in, Nate concentrated on not watching a rerun of his lunch of raw tuna and water. â€Å"Bastards!† said Poe. â€Å"That what you expected in your race of super-intelligent, space-faring extraterrestrials, Nate?† Poynter wiped blood from his lower lip and flung it at Scooter. Carl Linnaeus, an eighteenth-century Swedish doctor who specialized in the treatment of syphilis, is credited with inventing the modern system that is used for classifying plants and animals. Linnaeus is responsible for naming the humpback whale Megaptera novaeangliae, or â€Å"big wings of New England,† and later naming the blue whale Balaenoptera musculus, or â€Å"little mouse†: at 110 feet long, over a hundred tons, an animal whose tongue alone is larger than a full-grown African elephant – the largest animal to ever live on the planet. â€Å"Little mouse†? Some speculated that this ironic misnomer was perpetrated entirely to confuse Linnaeus's lab assistants, as in Run out and bring me back a â€Å"little mouse,† Sven. Others think that the pox had gone to Carl's head. Quinn was crouched over the back orifice, Skippy and Scooter holding him by either arm, Poynter and Poe crouched before him, saluting. He could feel the texture of the opening under his bare feet, like wet tire tread. â€Å"It's been a pleasure, Doc,† Poynter said. â€Å"Have a great trip.† â€Å"We'll see you back at base,† said Poe. â€Å"Now, just relax. You're barely going to contact water. Hold your nose and blow.† Quinn did. Poynter counted, â€Å"One, two –  » â€Å"Meep.† Nate was sucked out the orifice, felt a brief chill and some pressure pushing back against his ears, and found himself in a chamber only a little taller than that in the humpback, with a fairly amused woman. â€Å"You can stop blowing now,† she said. â€Å"Yet another phrase I didn't think I'd be hearing in this lifetime,† Nate said. He let go of his nostrils and took a deep breath. The air seemed fresher than in the humpback. â€Å"Welcome to my blue, Dr. Quinn, I'm Cielle Nu;ez. How do you feel?† â€Å"Pooped.† Quinn grinned. She was about his age, Hispanic with short dark hair peppered gray and wide brown eyes that caught the bioluminescence off the walls and reflected what looked like laughter. She was barefoot and wearing generic khakis like Poynter and Poe. He shook her hand. â€Å"Cute,† she said. â€Å"Come forward with me, Doctor. I'm sure it's been a while since you were able to stand up straight.† She led him down the corridor, which reminded Nate of when, as kids, he and his buddies had explored storm drains in Vancouver. It was tall enough to walk in, but not tall enough to stand in comfortably. â€Å"Actually, Cielle, I'm not a doctor. I have a Ph.D., but the doctor thing –  » â€Å"I understand. I'm captain of this rig, but if you call me ‘Captain, I'll ignore you.† â€Å"I wanted to hear the humpback sing before I left. You know, from the inside.† â€Å"You will. There'll be time.† The corridor started to widen as they moved forward, and Nate was actually able to walk normally, or as normally as one can walk when barefoot on whaleskin. This skin had a mottled appearance, whereas on the humpback it had been nearly solid gray. He noticed that on this ship there were wide veins of bioluminescence on the floor, casting a yellow light up upward that gave everything a sinister green glow. Nuà ±ez paused by what appeared to be portals on either side of them. â€Å"This is as good a place as any,† she said. â€Å"Now, turn sideways and take my hand.† Quinn did as he was asked. Her hand felt warm but dry. She was a small woman, but powerfully built, he could feel the strength in her grip. â€Å"Now, we're just going to walk as the ship moves. Don't stop until I say, or you'll fall on your ass.† â€Å"WHAT?† â€Å"Okay, Scooter, roll it.† â€Å"Scooter?† â€Å"All pilots are called Scooter or Skippy. They didn't tell you?† â€Å"They weren't very forthcoming with information.† â€Å"Humpback crews are a bunch of yahoos.† Nuà ±ez smiled. â€Å"You know the type, like navy fighter pilots topside? All ego and testosterone.† â€Å"I got more cretin than yahoo,† Nate said. â€Å"Well, with that particular bunch, yes.† The whole corridor started to move. â€Å"Here we go, step, step, step, that's good.† They were walking across the walls as the ship rolled. When they were standing on the ceiling, the roll stopped. â€Å"Nice, Scooter,† Nuà ±ez said, obviously communicating through some sort of hidden intercom. Then, to Nate, â€Å"He's so good.† â€Å"We were upside down to make the transfer?† â€Å"Exactly. You're a smart guy. Look, these are cabins. She touched a lighted node on the wall, and a skin portal folded back on itself. Again Nate was put in mind of the blowhole of a toothed whale, but it was so big, nearly four feet across, it was just†¦ unnatural. Lines of light pumped to life past the portal to reveal a small cabin, a bed – apparently made of the same skin as the rest of the interior – but also a table and a chair. Nate couldn't make out what material they might be made of, but it looked like plastic. â€Å"Bone,† Nu;ez said, noticing him noticing. â€Å"They're as much a part of the ship as the walls. All living tissue. There are shelves and cubbyholes for your stuff in the bulkheads, closed now. Obviously everything has to be stowed for little maneuvers like the one we just performed. The motion isn't as bad as on the humpbacks. You'll find you'll get used to it, and then you can move about just as if you were on land.† â€Å"You're right. I didn't even notice we were moving.† â€Å"That would be because we're not,† said Nu;ez. The sound of whaley-boy snickering wheezed down the corridor toward them. â€Å"You guys are supposed to be working,† Nu;ez said to the air. â€Å"Prepare to get under way.† She turned to Quinn. â€Å"Can I buy you a cup of joe? Maybe answer some of your questions?† â€Å"You're offering?† Quinn felt his heart jump with excitement. Information, without Poynter and Poe's goofing obfuscation? He was thrilled. â€Å"That would be fantastic.† â€Å"Don't pee all over yourself, Quinn. It's just coffee.† The corridor opened up into a large bridge. The head of the blue was huge compared to the humpback's. On either side of the entry a whaley boy stood grinning at them as they passed. They were both taller than Quinn, and unlike the Scooter and Skippy of the humpback, their skin was mottled and lighter in color. Nate paused and grinned back at them. â€Å"Let me guess – Skippy and Scooter?† â€Å"Actually, Bernard and Emily 7,† said Nu;ez. â€Å"You said they all were –  » â€Å"I said all pilots were named Skippy and Scooter.† She gestured to the front of the bridge, where two whaley boys sitting at control consoles were turning in their seats and grinning. Maybe, thought Nate, they always appeared to be grinning, much like dolphins. He'd made an amateur mistake, assuming that their facial expressions were the analog of human expressions. People often did that with dolphins, even though the animals had no facial muscles to facilitate expression. Even sad dolphins appeared to be smiling. â€Å"What are you two grinning at?† asked Nuà ±ez. â€Å"Let's get on the way.† The pilots frowned and turned back to their consoles. â€Å"Well, crap,† Nate said. â€Å"What?† â€Å"Nothing, just another theory shot in the ass.† â€Å"Yeah, this operation does that, doesn't it?† Nate felt something stirring in his back pocket and spun around to see a thin, fourteen-inch-long pink penis that was protruding from Bernard's genital slit. It waved at him. â€Å"Holy moly!† â€Å"Bernard!† Nuà ±ez snapped. â€Å"Put that away. That is not procedure.† Bernard's unit drooped noticeably from the scolding. He looked at it and chirped contritely. â€Å"Away!† Nuà ±ez barked. Bernard's willy snapped back up into his genital slit. â€Å"Sorry about that,† Nuà ±ez said to Nate. â€Å"I've never gotten used to that. It's really disconcerting when you're working with one of them and you ask them to hand you a screwdriver or something and his hands are already full. Coffee?† She led him to a small white table around which four bone chairs protruded from the floor. They looked like old-style Greek saddle chairs – no backs, organic curves, and the high gloss of living bone – but more Gaudi than Flintstone. Quinn sat while Nuà ±ez touched a node on the wall that opened a meter-wide portal that had concealed a sink, several canisters, and what looked like a percolator. Nate wondered about the electricity but forced himself to wait before asking. While Nuà ±ez prepared the coffee, Quinn looked around. The bridge was easily four times the size of the entire cabin in the humpback. Instead of riding in a minivan, it was like being in a good-size motor home – a very curvy, dimly lit motor home, but about that size. Blue light filtered in through the eyes, illuminating the pilots' faces, which shone like patent leather. Nate was starting to realize that even though everything was organic, living, the whale ship had the same sort of efficiency found on any nautical vessel: every spaced used, everything stowed against movement, everything functional. â€Å"If you need to use the head, it's back down the corridor, fourth hatch on the right.† Emily 7 clicked and squealed, and Nu;ez laughed. She had a warm laugh, not forced; it just rolled out of her smooth and easy. â€Å"Emily says it seems as if it would be more logical for the head to be in the head, but there goes logic.† â€Å"I gave up logic a few days ago.† â€Å"You don't have to give it up, just adjust. Anyway, facilities in the head are like everything on the ship – living – but I think you'll figure out the analogs pretty quickly. It's less complicated than an airliner bathroom.† Scooter chirped, and the great ship started to move, first in a fairly radical wave of motion, then smoothing out to a gentle roll. It was like being on a large sailing ship in medium seas. â€Å"Hey, a little more warning, Scooter, huh?† said Nu;ez. â€Å"I nearly dumped Nathan's coffee. Okay if I call you Nathan?† â€Å"Nate's good.† Moving with the roll of the ship, she made it back to the table and put down the two steaming mugs of coffee, then went back for a sugar bowl, spoons, and a can of condensed milk. Nate picked up the can and studied it. â€Å"This is the first thing from the outside that I've seen.† â€Å"Yeah, well, that's special request. You don't want to try whale milk in your coffee. It's like krill-flavored spray cheese.† â€Å"Yuck.† â€Å"That's what I'm saying.† â€Å"Cielle, if you don't mind my saying, you don't seem very military.† â€Å"Me? No, I wasn't. My husband and I had a sixty-foot sailboat. We got caught in a hurricane off of Costa Rica and sank. That's when they took me. My husband didn't make it.† â€Å"I'm sorry.† â€Å"It's okay. It was a long time ago. But, no, I've never been in the military.† â€Å"But the way you order the whaley boys around –  » â€Å"First, we need to clear up a misconception that you are obviously forming, Nate. I – we, the human beings on these ships – are not in charge. We're just – I don't know, like ambassadors or something. We sound like commanders because these guys would just goof off all day without someone telling them what to do, but we have no real authority. The Colonel gives the orders, and the whaley boys run the show.† Scooter and Skippy snickered like their counterparts on the humpback ship, Bernard and Emily 7 joined them – Bernard extending his prehensile willy like a party horn. â€Å"And whaley girls?† Nate nodded toward Emily 7, who grinned – it was a very big, very toothy grin, but a little coquettish in the way one might expect from, say, an ingenue with a bite that could sever an arm. â€Å"Just whaley boys. It's like the term ‘mankind, you know – alienate the female part of the race at all costs. It's the same here. Old-timers gave them the name.† â€Å"Who's the Colonel?† â€Å"He's in charge. We don't see him.† â€Å"Human, though?† â€Å"I'm told.† â€Å"You said you'd been here a long time. How long?† â€Å"Let me get you another cup, and I'll tell you what I can.† She turned. â€Å"Bernard, get that thing out of the coffeepot!†

Van Hoc Anh

The Nightingale and the Rose | | The Nightingale and the Rose – Oscar Wilde Note: please take time to read the actual story before reading this analysis. There can be multiple interpretations for any one text and everyone's opinions differ. This analysis is meant as a guide only. Links to text: on ZYLite online-literature. com A readable but tragic story at first glance, this particular story has deeper themes which mock people in society for being pretentious. A large part of the story is set in the garden with its animals and plants, and that sets the background for the ending. It is useful to take note of first impressions when reading a text. In this case the notable first impression is the concept of sacrificing a life for love. The nightingale went through suffering and sacrificed her life for the sake of love – the concept of true love. This is an allegory to the biblical concept of sacrificial love. The allegory is the first hint, further reading of the story reveals that the language used, parallels that used in the bible. The language is simple and friendly-reading for children, but yet note the nightingale's description of the lover and love, that she describes his hair and his lips as similar to beautiful plants like roses, and even says â€Å"his lips are sweet as honey†. For those who know, this is familiar language because it is derived from Song of Solomon in the bible. The statement which represents the theme of the story â€Å"†¦ for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. This is another statement that alludes to the language of the bible, this time from the book of Proverbs – that philosophy is referred to as â€Å"she†, and power is referred to as â€Å"he† (see below for more detailed references). What does Oscar Wilde want to convey from these hints in form of the story? Take a closer look at the statement – the nightingale claims love to be favoured over philosophy and power, but at the end Wilde uses symbolism to contradict this very statement. The rose represents love, but it was tragically thrown on the road to be rolled over by cart wheels. Sadly it is people in society who value philosophy and power more than they value love. (the student went back to valuing philosophy over love after his attempt failed, and the professor's daughter valued power in the shape of the Chamberlain's nephew) The ending of the story becomes a mockery of how society behaved at that time – that society claims to follow biblical doctrine, but only so on the surface. People in society were hypocritical enough to claim to follow Christian doctrine, but miss the meaning of true love. When practical considerations come in, a lot of people are self-interested and merely use speech to give the appearance that they possess good virtues. One last interesting note.. it is ironic that the student thinks that art has â€Å"no sincerity† and is â€Å"selfish† – but sadly that was how art was perceived in Victorian times. The field of knowledge was seen as a more worthwhile personal pursuit and it was in society's self-interest to study that to gain renown.

Definition of Nuclear Fission

In nuclear physics and nuclear chemistry, nuclear fission refers to either a nuclear reaction or a radioactive decay process in which the nucleus of an atom splits into smaller parts (lighter nuclei), often producing free neutrons and photons (in the form of gamma rays), and releasing a very large amount of energy, even by the energetic standards of radioactive decay. The two nuclei produced are most often of comparable but slightly different sizes, typically with a mass ratio of products of about 3 to 2, for common fissile isotopes. 1][2] Most fissions are binary fissions, but occasionally (2 to 4 times per 1000 events), three positively charged fragments are produced in a ternary fission. The smallest of these ranges in size from a proton to an argon nucleus. Fission as encountered in the modern world is usually a deliberately-produced manmade nuclear reaction induced by a neutron. It is less commonly encountered as a natural form of spontaneous radioactive decay (not requiring a n eutron), occuring especially in very high-mass-number isotopes. The unpredictable composition of the products (which vary in a broad probabilistic and somewhat chaotic manner) distinguishes fission from purely quantum-tunnelling processes such as proton emission, alpha decay and cluster decay, which give the same products every time. Fission of heavy elements is an exothermic reaction which can release large amounts of energy both as electromagnetic radiation and as kinetic energy of the fragments (heating the bulk material where fission takes place). In order for fission to produce energy, the total binding energy of the resulting elements must be greater than that of the starting element. Fission is a form of nuclear transmutation because the resulting fragments are not the same element as the original atom. Nuclear fission produces energy for nuclear power and to drive the explosion of nuclear weapons. Both uses are possible because certain substances called nuclear fuels undergo fission when struck by fission neutrons, and in turn emit neutrons when they break apart. This makes possible a self-sustaining chain reaction that releases energy at a controlled rate in a nuclear reactor or at a very rapid uncontrolled rate in a nuclear weapon. The amount of free energy contained in nuclear fuel is millions of times the amount of free energy contained in a similar mass of chemical fuel such as gasoline, making nuclear fission a very dense source of energy. The products of nuclear fission, however, are on average far more radioactive than the heavy elements which are normally fissioned as fuel, and remain so for significant amounts of time, giving rise to a nuclear waste problem. Concerns over nuclear waste accumulation and over the destructive potential of nuclear weapons may counterbalance the desirable qualities of fission as an energy source, and give rise to ongoing political debate over nuclear power.