Kinetics Lab Essay Example for Free

Kinetics Lab Essay How does the molar concentration of hydrochloric acid affect the rate of pressure in a gas releasing reaction? The aim of this experiment is to record how the change in molar concentration of hydrochloric acid affects the rate of the reaction. The following reaction will be tested: Na2CO3 10H2O + 2HCl 2NaCl + CO2 + 11H2O To measure the rate of the reaction an Explorer GLX with a pressure sensor will be used. The pressure will be measured every second for 90 seconds. Hypothesis: I believe that if the molar concentration of the hydrochloric acid is increased, than the rate of the pressure will also increase. This is due to the fact that first of all, the reaction is a gas releasing reaction, and therefore more pressure will be built up in the flask. Also the more concentrated one of the reactants is the more particles there will be, resulting in more collisions between the particles. Variables: Type of Variable Variable Range of Values/Method of Control Independent Variable Concentration of Hydrochloric Acid 0.50 molar, 0.75 molar, 1.0 molar Dependent Variable Rate of kPa Explorer GLX records every second Controlled Mass of Sodium Carbonate-Deca-Hydrate 0.50 grams Temperature of Reaction All reactions occur at 22à ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½C (room temperature) Total Time of Reaction 90 seconds in all trials Volume of Hydrochloric Acid 15cm3 in all trials Materials: * 250ml flask * 1-hole stopper with gas collection tube * 4.5 grams of sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate 0.5 for each trial (à ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½ 0.005g) * Explorer GLX with pressure sensor (à ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½1.75kPa) * Laptop with Data Studio * Stop watch (à ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½ 0.005s) * 135ml of hydrochloric acid 45ml of each concentration (à ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½1ml) * Balance Picture: Method: There will be three trials for each of the three different concentrations of hydrochloric acid. Using 9 weighing boats and the balance split the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate into 9 sets of 0.50g. 1) First, set up the data studio and GLX explorer on the laptop. Once the pressure sensor is plugged in the GLX a blank graph should show up. Under setup in data studio, change the rate of measurement to every 1 second. 2) Pour 15ml of 0.5molar hydrochloric acid into the 250ml flask. 3) Click the play button on the GLX explorer to start the measurements, and immediately drop the 0.50 grams of sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate into the hydrochloric acid; right after cover the flask with the one hole stopper. 4) There should be a stop watch on the data studio software, and after 90 seconds stop the measurements by pressing play on the GLX explorer. 5) Save the file as 0.5molar trial 1. 6) Clean out the flask and repeat steps 1 through 5 two more times, for trials 2 and 3. 7) After three trials are recorded and saved for 0.5molar hydrochloric acid. Repeat these steps for 0.75molar and 1molar hydrochloric acid. Overall, you will have a total of 9 different graphs on data studio. These graphs will later be interpreted by applying a tangent line to the beginning of each graph. This tangent line will show the rate of the reaction (sufficient relevant data). Results: The graphs from the GLX explorer are shown in the appendix at the end of the lab roport. A tangent line (slope line) was used on the beginning of the graphs to get the rate of the reaction. The slope of the tangent line would be the rate of the reaction at the point where the tangent line meets the curve. Table 1: The Rate of the Reaction Concerning the Concentration of the Hydrochloric Acid Concentration (moles) à ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½ 0.01m Qualitative Results: * The reaction released a lot of gas. I noticed this because at first the reaction was being done in a test tube and then the one-hole stopper popped off in the middle of the reaction, resulting in a switch to use a flask. * When the molarity of the hydrochloric acid was higher, there was a much louder fizzing noise, indicating a faster reaction. * For some cases no all the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate reacted fully. * Not all the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate which was added to the hydrochloric acid was crushed to powder. Graph: Calculations: Percentage Uncertainty: Concentration: (0.01/0.50) x 100% = 2.0% (0.01/0.75) x 100% = 1.3% (0.01/1.00) x 100% = 1.0% Average Rate of Reaction: (0.05/1.00) x 100% = 5.0% (0.05/1.30) x 100% = 3.8% (0.05/2.30) x 100% = 2.2% Total Percentage Uncertainty: 15.3% Percentage Error: Using sodium carbonate deca hydrate was a limitation to this experiment beacsue this made it extreamly hard to calculate the theoretical value of the reaction. Therefore, one cannot tell weather the lab had a systematic error and a random error. Conclusion: Overall, the hypothesis held correct. Clearly shown from the results, the rate of the reaction was much faster when the molar concentration of the reaction was greater. The rate of the reaction was measured using a pressure sensor, and as the rate of the pressure would indicate the rate of the reaction. For the one molar concentration of hydrochloric acid the rate of the reaction was about twice as fast as the half molar concentration. This can clearly be explained through kinetics. The more concentrated one of the reactants is the more particles there will be. Therefore, when there are more particles more collisions will occur and with more collisions the chances of the collisions being greater than the activation energy will also increase. Overall this increases the rate of the reaction. Evaluation: Overall, this experiment went very well; however, there were numerous limitations which affected the results. One very clear and important limitation is the fact that not all the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate was powder. During the experiment, 0.50 grams of sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate was collected for each trial of the experiment. However, not all the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate was powder, as there were some larger pieces. This changes the surface area of the reactant and that would have a greater affect on the results. For example, if one of the trials had 0.50 grams of sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate and there was a big piece of that substance, than the surface area of those 0.50 grams would be less than the surface area of the trial that had all powder substance. With a larger surface area there would be fewer collisions which would make the rate of the reaction slower. Directly affecting the results, this limitation would need to be improved. A realistic improvement to this experiment would be to simply use a bowl and crush all the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate to powder. Therefore, there would be no big pieces and the surface area would be relatively the same in each trial. Another limitation to this experiment would be the fact that the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate was poured into the test tube right before the one hole stopper was placed on the test tube. Therefore, there was a small time frame where gas was lost. This would affect the pressure in the test tube. One simple way to improve this limitation would be to use a special test tube. with this special test tube there should be a small hole on the side where another tube comes out and that is where the sodium carbonate-deca-hydrate would be placed in. Therefore, there would be minimal or no gas escaping and the results would not be affected by a drop in pressure.

Walt Whitman: Homoeroticism in Leaves of Grass Essay -- Poetry Analysi

Leaves of Grass is Walt Whitman’s life legacy and at the same time the most praised and condemned book of poetry. Although fearful of social scorn, there are several poems in Leaves of Grass that are more explicit in showing the homoerotic imagery, whereas there are several subtle – should I say â€Å"implicit† – images woven into the fabric of the book. It is not strange, then, that he created many different identities in order to remain safe. What Whitman faced in writing his poetry was the difficulty in describing and resonating manly and homosexual love. He was to find another voice of his, a rhetoric device, and his effort took two forms: simplified, and subverted word play. The first was to understand and render the experience in everyday terms, as in the poem Behold This Swarthy Face. Whitman puts emphasis on masculinity â€Å"in this swarthy face, these gray eyes† (149), and other words, too, are expressive enough to explain to the reader what kind of person is to be loved. What is not as subtle as in some other of Whitman’s poems is the idea in the second part of the poem: â€Å"And I on the crossing of the street or on the ship’s deck give a kiss in / return† (149) – the meeting of the two is to be recognized anywhere, be it on the street or on a ship's deck. When it comes to the second form, Davidson notices that â€Å"The other and far more prevalent form of presented homoerotic love was by means of terms of oppression, subversion† (54). Exemplar poem of this form is Not Heaving from My Ribb’d Breast Only. In it the lyrical subject is trapped in fears and must break out of suppression in order to be himself. In the end of the poem there is a sudden release: â€Å"O pulse of my life! / Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in... ...d Bergman, David. Choosing Our Fathers: Gender and Identity in Whitman, Ashbery and Richard Howard. American Literary History 1.2 (1989): 383-403. JSTOR. Web. 29 March 2012. Davidson, Edward H.. The Presence of Walt Whitman. Journal of Aesthetic Education 17.4 (1983): 41-63. JSTOR. Web. 29 March 2012. Herrman, Steven B.. Walt Whitman and the Homoerotic Imagination. Jung Journal: Culture & Psyche 1.2 (2007): 16-47. JSTOR. Web. 29 March 2012. Maslan, Mark. Whitman and His Doubles: Division and Union in Leaves of Grass and Its Critics. American Literary History 6.1 (1994): 119-139. JSTOR. Web. 29 March 2012. Metzer, David. Reclaiming Walt: Marc Blitzstein’s Whitman Settings. Journal of the American Musicological Society 48.2 (1995): 240-271. JSTOR. Web. 29 March 2012. Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass. Pennsylvania: the Pennsylvania State University, 2007. Print.

The Mystic World through Poe’s

The existence of literature is to express humanity and human emotions in or through words. People can feel true and actual human nature through literature. Give a better opening statement about the wonders of literature†¦ Furthermore, people can touch the mystic (not appropriate term) world that is beyond their imaginations by reading literary works. The Tell- Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe is a good example for people to look deeply into humanity (why is it a good example?). The short story was first published in James Russell Lowell’s The Pioneer in January, 1843, and it appeared again in The Broadway Journal on August 26, 1845. The story describes the emotions and thoughts of a mad man who killed the old man with the â€Å"evil eye†. The story is plain and simple, yet it is able to arouse and pique the reader’s interest because of the use of symbols and excellent prose.   By reading the story, we could see the dark side of humanity, and how it forms in the human mind The setting of the story covers a period of eight days. The most important action occurs each night around midnight. The location is in the old man’s house and the narrator is the caretaker. The whole story happened and revolved around the old man’s house.   The time frame and the location that Poe established for the story were simple, which further enhanced the shocking images of the characters and its mystery The characters of the story were the nameless and sexless narrator, the old man, and the police. The narrator is nameless and sexless because Poe used â€Å"I† and â€Å"me† to refer to the character. â€Å"Most readers assumed that the narrator is a male because of a male author using a first person point of view.† (give the article title or author and year format, not the URL Available: http:// www.poedecoder.com/essays/ttheart/#characters). However, I think the narrator is a male, because he is strong enough to kill the old man and also because he was able to live with an old man and be his caretaker in the19th century (substantiate more). Poe writes the story in the first person point of view and makes it easy for readers to understand every aspect of the narrator’s mind. Our imaginations are dragged through the narrator’s eyes and we hold our breath as we continue to read the   exciting plot of the murder. It seems that we are just right in the scene watching the narrator killing the old man! Symbols can be found in the story (what other symbols?). The major symbol is the heartbeat. The narrator believes that the sound of the heartbeat is from the old man’s heart, but it is actually from his own heart. The narrator’s fear of being caught by the police and his guilt of killing the old man make him hear the sound of the heartbeat steadily. The old man’s â€Å"eye of a vulture†- â€Å"a pale-blue eye† is the symbol of evil and represents the narrator’s fears. Every time the narrator gazed at the â€Å"evil eye†, his blood ran cold. I think it’s because that the eye reveals the narrator’s evil, dark, and ugly side of his mind so that he wants to kill the old man to get rid of the eye forever (sentence is running in circles). In this way, he can get rid of the fact that he is truly mad and his mind is ugly and evil (how?). The theme of The Tell- Tale Heart is that human nature is a delicate balance of light and dark or good and evil. Most people can keep their balance at most times (give more examples or situations). However, the balance of human nature can be destroyed and the dark side can be aroused by some indefinite (not appropriate term) reasons. Different people view things differently. The reasons that destroy the balance of people’s minds may be different (redundant) In The Tell- Tale Heart, the narrator’s evilness was awakened by the old man’s â€Å"vulture eye†- which really just revealed his own evil. The Tell- Tale Heart is one of my favorite short stories. I read the story for the first time during my first year in the university. When I finished the story, I was really touched and shocked by it. I love the story for its fine descriptions of human nature, the suspicious plot of a murder, and the mystic atmosphere of the story. Every time I read the story, I   imagine myself to be right there in the scene and   to be aware of the strange atmosphere of the story so I can observe a different side of humanity. I can be in another world for a while to experience fear and guilt.   Without a doubt , Poe really is a master at making people experience and explore man’s complexities and emotions. By his stories, one can know more about humanity and the evil that exists in human nature. Literature reveals real humanity and true lives of people. By reading these masterpieces, I understand more about people and experience different sides of the human minds, such as good and evil, or beauty and ugliness. After all, these different and opposite things do exist side by side in our real world and we all have to learn to realize and take them normally and correctly so that we can view our lives in the right and perspective point of view to fulfill our life (I can’t seem to understand what you mean in this paragraph). Works Cited Poe, Edgar Allan. â€Å"The Tell- Tale Heart†.  , 1843. List the cited materials like the url you gave, use proper format

Angels Demons Chapter 93-97

93 Langdon had no idea where he was going. Reflex was his only compass, driving him away from danger. His elbows and knees burned as he clambered beneath the pews. Still he clawed on. Somewhere a voice was telling him to move left. If you can get to the main aisle, you can dash for the exit. He knew it was impossible. There's a wall of flames blocking the main aisle! His mind hunting for options, Langdon scrambled blindly on. The footsteps closed faster now to his right. When it happened, Langdon was unprepared. He had guessed he had another ten feet of pews until he reached the front of the church. He had guessed wrong. Without warning, the cover above him ran out. He froze for an instant, half exposed at the front of the church. Rising in the recess to his left, gargantuan from this vantage point, was the very thing that had brought him here. He had entirely forgotten. Bernini's Ecstasy of St. Teresa rose up like some sort of pornographic still life†¦ the saint on her back, arched in pleasure, mouth open in a moan, and over her, an angel pointing his spear of fire. A bullet exploded in the pew over Langdon's head. He felt his body rise like a sprinter out of a gate. Fueled only by adrenaline, and barely conscious of his actions, he was suddenly running, hunched, head down, pounding across the front of the church to his right. As the bullets erupted behind him, Langdon dove yet again, sliding out of control across the marble floor before crashing in a heap against the railing of a niche on the right-hand wall. It was then that he saw her. A crumpled heap near the back of the church. Vittoria! Her bare legs were twisted beneath her, but Langdon sensed somehow that she was breathing. He had no time to help her. Immediately, the killer rounded the pews on the far left of the church and bore relentlessly down. Langdon knew in a heartbeat it was over. The killer raised the weapon, and Langdon did the only thing he could do. He rolled his body over the banister into the niche. As he hit the floor on the other side, the marble columns of the balustrade exploded in a storm of bullets. Langdon felt like a cornered animal as he scrambled deeper into the semicircular niche. Rising before him, the niche's sole contents seemed ironically apropos – a single sarcophagus. Mine perhaps, Langdon thought. Even the casket itself seemed fitting. It was a sctola – a small, unadorned, marble box. Burial on a budget. The casket was raised off the floor on two marble blocks, and Langdon eyed the opening beneath it, wondering if he could slide through. Footsteps echoed behind him. With no other option in sight, Langdon pressed himself to the floor and slithered toward the casket. Grabbing the two marble supports, one with each hand, he pulled like a breaststroker, dragging his torso into the opening beneath the tomb. The gun went off. Accompanying the roar of the gun, Langdon felt a sensation he had never felt in his life†¦ a bullet sailing past his flesh. There was a hiss of wind, like the backlash of a whip, as the bullet just missed him and exploded in the marble with a puff of dust. Blood surging, Langdon heaved his body the rest of the way beneath the casket. Scrambling across the marble floor, he pulled himself out from beneath the casket and to the other side. Dead end. Langdon was now face to face with the rear wall of the niche. He had no doubt that this tiny space behind the tomb would become his grave. And soon, he realized, as he saw the barrel of the gun appear in the opening beneath the sarcophagus. The Hassassin held the weapon parallel with the floor, pointing directly at Langdon's midsection. Impossible to miss. Langdon felt a trace of self-preservation grip his unconscious mind. He twisted his body onto his stomach, parallel with the casket. Facedown, he planted his hands flat on the floor, the glass cut from the archives pinching open with a stab. Ignoring the pain, he pushed. Driving his body upward in an awkward push-up, Langdon arched his stomach off the floor just as the gun went off. He could feel the shock wave of the bullets as they sailed beneath him and pulverized the porous travertine behind. Closing his eyes and straining against exhaustion, Langdon prayed for the thunder to stop. And then it did. The roar of gunfire was replaced with the cold click of an empty chamber. Langdon opened his eyes slowly, almost fearful his eyelids would make a sound. Fighting the trembling pain, he held his position, arched like a cat. He didn't even dare breathe. His eardrums numbed by gunfire, Langdon listened for any hint of the killer's departure. Silence. He thought of Vittoria and ached to help her. The sound that followed was deafening. Barely human. A guttural bellow of exertion. The sarcophagus over Langdon's head suddenly seemed to rise on its side. Langdon collapsed on the floor as hundreds of pounds teetered toward him. Gravity overcame friction, and the lid was the first to go, sliding off the tomb and crashing to the floor beside him. The casket came next, rolling off its supports and toppling upside down toward Langdon. As the box rolled, Langdon knew he would either be entombed in the hollow beneath it or crushed by one of the edges. Pulling in his legs and head, Langdon compacted his body and yanked his arms to his sides. Then he closed his eyes and awaited the sickening crush. When it came, the entire floor shook beneath him. The upper rim landed only millimeters from the top of his head, rattling his teeth in their sockets. His right arm, which Langdon had been certain would be crushed, miraculously still felt intact. He opened his eyes to see a shaft of light. The right rim of the casket had not fallen all the way to the floor and was still propped partially on its supports. Directly overhead, though, Langdon found himself staring quite literally into the face of death. The original occupant of the tomb was suspended above him, having adhered, as decaying bodies often did, to the bottom of the casket. The skeleton hovered a moment, like a tentative lover, and then with a sticky crackling, it succumbed to gravity and peeled away. The carcass rushed down to embrace him, raining putrid bones and dust into Langdon's eyes and mouth. Before Langdon could react, a blind arm was slithering through the opening beneath the casket, sifting through the carcass like a hungry python. It groped until it found Langdon's neck and clamped down. Langdon tried to fight back against the iron fist now crushing his larynx, but he found his left sleeve pinched beneath the edge of the coffin. He had only one arm free, and the fight was a losing battle. Langdon's legs bent in the only open space he had, his feet searching for the casket floor above him. He found it. Coiling, he planted his feet. Then, as the hand around his neck squeezed tighter, Langdon closed his eyes and extended his legs like a ram. The casket shifted, ever so slightly, but enough. With a raw grinding, the sarcophagus slid off the supports and landed on the floor. The casket rim crashed onto the killer's arm, and there was a muffled scream of pain. The hand released Langdon's neck, twisting and jerking away into the dark. When the killer finally pulled his arm free, the casket fell with a conclusive thud against the flat marble floor. Complete darkness. Again. And silence. There was no frustrated pounding outside the overturned sarcophagus. No prying to get in. Nothing. As Langdon lay in the dark amidst a pile of bones, he fought the closing darkness and turned his thoughts to her. Vittoria. Are you alive? If Langdon had known the truth – the horror to which Vittoria would soon awake – he would have wished for her sake that she were dead. 94 Sitting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati tried to comprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the candlelight, the camerlegno had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery that Mortati found himself trembling. The camerlegno spoke of kidnapped cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered cardinals. He spoke of the ancient Illuminati – a name that dredged up forgotten fears – and of their resurgence and vow of revenge against the church. With pain in his voice, the camerlegno spoke of his late Pope†¦ the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter, which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City. When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the room. Nobody could move. The camerlegno's words hung in the darkness. The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a television camera in back – an electronic presence no conclave in history had ever endured – but a presence demanded by the camerlegno. To the utter astonishment of the cardinals, the camerlegno had entered the Sistine Chapel with two BBC reporters – a man and a woman – and announced that they would be transmitting his solemn statement, live to the world. Now, speaking directly to the camera, the camerlegno stepped forward. â€Å"To the Illuminati,† he said, his voice deepening, â€Å"and to those of science, let me say this.† He paused. â€Å"You have won the war.† The silence spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could hear the desperate thumping of his own heart. â€Å"The wheels have been in motion for a long time,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science is the new God.† What is he saying? Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing this! â€Å"Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation†¦ these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.† A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel. â€Å"But science's victory,† the camerlegno added, his voice intensifying, â€Å"has cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.† Silence. â€Å"Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.† He paused. â€Å"Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science l ooks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God's world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning†¦ and all it finds is more questions.† Mortati watched in awe. The camerlegno was almost hypnotic now. He had a physical strength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never witnessed on a Vatican altar. The man's voice was wrought with conviction and sadness. â€Å"The ancient war between science and religion is over,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests – all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. Th ey are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from technology.† Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest's every utterance. The camerlegno spoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure. Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the modern language†¦ delivering the ancient message. In that moment, Mortati saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. In a world of apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the camerlegno, realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church's only hope. The camerlegno was talking more forcefully now. â€Å"Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species†¦ moving down a path of destruction.† The camerlegno paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the camera. â€Å"Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea. â€Å"To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the ch urch who points out the fallacy of this reasoning. â€Å"And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God!† The camerlegno had tears in his eyes now. â€Å"You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God's hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have we becom e so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us? â€Å"Whether or not you believe in God,† the camerlegno said, his voice deepening with deliberation, â€Å"you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith†¦ all faiths†¦ are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable†¦ With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this church as I do†¦ looking beyond the ritual of these walls†¦ they would see a modern miracle†¦ a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.† The camerlegno motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC camerawoman instinctively followed, panning the crowd. â€Å"Are we obsolete?† the camerlegno asked. â€Å"Are these men dino-saurs? Am I? Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose our way?† Mortati now realized that the camerlegno, whether consciously or not, was making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the church. Vatican City was no longer a building, it was people – people like the camerlegno who had spent their lives in the service of goodness. â€Å"Tonight we are perched on a precipice,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality†¦ the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.† The camerlegno lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in. â€Å"The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.† Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated, but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The camerlegno was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was entreating anyone, friend or foe, to see the light and stop this madness. Certainly someone listening would realize the insanity of this plot and come forward. The camerlegno knelt at the altar. â€Å"Pray with me.† The College of Cardinals dropped to their knees to join him in prayer. Outside in St. Peter's Square and around the globe†¦ a stunned world knelt with them. 95 The Hassassin lay his unconscious trophy in the rear of the van and took a moment to admire her sprawled body. She was not as beautiful as the women he bought, and yet she had an animal strength that excited him. Her body was radiant, dewy with perspiration. She smelled of musk. As the Hassasin stood there savoring his prize, he ignored the throb in his arm. The bruise from the falling sarcophagus, although painful, was insignificant†¦ well worth the compensation that lay before him. He took consolation in knowing the American who had done this to him was probably dead by now. Gazing down at his incapacitated prisoner, the Hassassin visualized what lay ahead. He ran a palm up beneath her shirt. Her breasts felt perfect beneath her bra. Yes, he smiled. You are more than worthy. Fighting the urge to take her right there, he closed the door and drove off into the night. There was no need to alert the press about this killing†¦ the flames would do that for him. At CERN, Sylvie sat stunned by the camerlegno's address. Never before had she felt so proud to be a Catholic and so ashamed to work at CERN. As she left the recreational wing, the mood in every single viewing room was dazed and somber. When she got back to Kohler's office, all seven phone lines were ringing. Media inquiries were never routed to Kohler's office, so the incoming calls could only be one thing. Geld. Money calls. Antimatter technology already had some takers. Inside the Vatican, Gunther Glick was walking on air as he followed the camerlegno from the Sistine Chapel. Glick and Macri had just made the live transmission of the decade. And what a transmission it had been. The camerlegno had been spellbinding. Now out in the hallway, the camerlegno turned to Glick and Macri. â€Å"I have asked the Swiss Guard to assemble photos for you – photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Holiness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns. Blackened tongues. But I would like you to broadcast them to the world.† Glick decided it must be perpetual Christmas inside Vatican City. He wants me to broadcast an exclusive photo of the dead Pope? â€Å"Are you sure?† Glick asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The camerlegno nodded. â€Å"The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter canister as it counts down.† Glick stared. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas! â€Å"The Illuminati are about to find out,† the camerlegno declared, â€Å"that they have grossly overplayed their hand.† 96 Like a recurring theme in some demonic symphony, the suffocating darkness had returned. No light. No air. No exit. Langdon lay trapped beneath the overturned sarcophagus and felt his mind careening dangerously close to the brink. Trying to drive his thoughts in any direction other than the crushing space around him, Langdon urged his mind toward some logical process†¦ mathematics, music, anything. But there was no room for calming thoughts. I can't move! I can't breathe! The pinched sleeve of his jacket had thankfully come free when the casket fell, leaving Langdon now with two mobile arms. Even so, as he pressed upward on the ceiling of his tiny cell, he found it immovable. Oddly, he wished his sleeve were still caught. At least it might create a crack for some air. As Langdon pushed against the roof above, his sleeve fell back to reveal the faint glow of an old friend. Mickey. The greenish cartoon face seemed mocking now. Langdon probed the blackness for any other sign of light, but the casket rim was flush against the floor. Goddamn Italian perfectionists, he cursed, now imperiled by the same artistic excellence he taught his students to revere†¦ impeccable edges, faultless parallels, and of course, use only of the most seamless and resilient Carrara marble. Precision can be suffocating. â€Å"Lift the damn thing,† he said aloud, pressing harder through the tangle of bones. The box shifted slightly. Setting his jaw, he heaved again. The box felt like a boulder, but this time it raised a quarter of an inch. A fleeting glimmer of light surrounded him, and then the casket thudded back down. Langdon lay panting in the dark. He tried to use his legs to lift as he had before, but now that the sarcophagus had fallen flat, there was no room even to straighten his knees. As the claustrophobic panic closed in, Langdon was overcome by images of the sarcophagus shrinking around him. Squeezed by delirium, he fought the illusion with every logical shred of intellect he had. â€Å"Sarcophagus,† he stated aloud, with as much academic sterility as he could muster. But even erudition seemed to be his enemy today. Sarcophagus is from the Greek â€Å"sarx† meaning â€Å"flesh,† and â€Å"phagein† meaning â€Å"to eat.† I'm trapped in a box literally designed to â€Å"eat flesh.† Images of flesh eaten from bone only served as a grim reminder that Langdon lay covered in human remains. The notion brought nausea and chills. But it also brought an idea. Fumbling blindly around the coffin, Langdon found a shard of bone. A rib maybe? He didn't care. All he wanted was a wedge. If he could lift the box, even a crack, and slide the bone fragment beneath the rim, then maybe enough air could†¦ Reaching across his body and wedging the tapered end of the bone into the crack between the floor and the coffin, Langdon reached up with his other hand and heaved skyward. The box did not move. Not even slightly. He tried again. For a moment, it seemed to tremble slightly, but that was all. With the fetid stench and lack of oxygen choking the strength from his body, Langdon realized he only had time for one more effort. He also knew he would need both arms. Regrouping, he placed the tapered edge of the bone against the crack, and shifting his body, he wedged the bone against his shoulder, pinning it in place. Careful not to dislodge it, he raised both hands above him. As the stifling confine began to smother him, he felt a welling of intensified panic. It was the second time today he had been trapped with no air. Hollering aloud, Langdon thrust upward in one explosive motion. The casket jostled off the floor for an instant. But long enough. The bone shard he had braced against his shoulder slipped outward into the widening crack. When the casket fell again, the bone shattered. But this time Langdon could see the casket was propped up. A tiny slit of light showed beneath the rim. Exhausted, Langdon collapsed. Hoping the strangling sensation in his throat would pass, he waited. But it only worsened as the seconds passed. Whatever air was coming through the slit seemed imperceptible. Langdon wondered if it would be enough to keep him alive. And if so, for how long? If he passed out, who would know he was even in there? With arms like lead, Langdon raised his watch again: 10:12 P.M. Fighting trembling fingers, he fumbled with the watch and made his final play. He twisted one of the tiny dials and pressed a button. As consciousness faded, and the walls squeezed closer, Langdon felt the old fears sweep over him. He tried to imagine, as he had so many times, that he was in an open field. The image he conjured, however, was no help. The nightmare that had haunted him since his youth came crashing back†¦ The flowers here are like paintings, the child thought, laughing as he ran across the meadow. He wished his parents had come along. But his parents were busy pitching camp. â€Å"Don't explore too far,† his mother had said. He had pretended not to hear as he bounded off into the woods. Now, traversing this glorious field, the boy came across a pile of fieldstones. He figured it must be the foundation of an old homestead. He would not go near it. He knew better. Besides, his eyes had been drawn to something else – a brilliant lady's slipper – the rarest and most beautiful flower in New Hampshire. He had only ever seen them in books. Excited, the boy moved toward the flower. He knelt down. The ground beneath him felt mulchy and hollow. He realized his flower had found an extra-fertile spot. It was growing from a patch of rotting wood. Thrilled by the thought of taking home his prize, the boy reached out†¦ fingers extending toward the stem. He never reached it. With a sickening crack, the earth gave way. In the three seconds of dizzying terror as he fell, the boy knew he would die. Plummeting downward, he braced for the bone-crushing collision. When it came, there was no pain. Only softness. And cold. He hit the deep liquid face first, plunging into a narrow blackness. Spinning disoriented somersaults, he groped the sheer walls thatenclosed him on all sides. Somehow, as if by instinct, he sputtered to the surface. Light. Faint. Above him. Miles above him, it seemed. His arms clawed at the water, searching the walls of the hollow for something to grab onto. Only smooth stone. He had fallen through an abandoned well covering. He screamed for help, but his cries reverberated in the tight shaft. He called out again and again. Above him, the tattered hole grew dim. Night fell. Time seemed to contort in the darkness. Numbness set in as he treaded water in the depths of the chasm, calling, crying out. He was tormented by visions of the walls collapsing in, burying him alive. His arms ached with fatigue. A few times he thought he heard voices. He shouted out, but his own voice was muted†¦ like a dream. As the night wore on, the shaft deepened. The walls inched quietly inward. The boy pressed out against the enclosure, pushing it away. Exhausted, he wanted to give up. And yet he felt the water buoy him, cooling his burning fears until he was numb. When the rescue team arrived, they found the boy barely conscious. He had been treading water for five hours. Two days later, the Boston Globe ran a front-page story called â€Å"The Little Swimmer That Could.† 97 The Hassassin smiled as he pulled his van into the mammoth stone structure overlooking the Tiber River. He carried his prize up and up†¦ spiraling higher in the stone tunnel, grateful his load was slender. He arrived at the door. The Church of Illumination, he gloated. The ancient Illuminati meeting room. Who would have imagined it to be here? Inside, he lay her on a plush divan. Then he expertly bound her arms behind her back and tied her feet. He knew that what he longed for would have to wait until his final task was finished. Water. Still, he thought, he had a moment for indulgence. Kneeling beside her, he ran his hand along her thigh. It was smooth. Higher. His dark fingers snaked beneath the cuff of her shorts. Higher. He stopped. Patience, he told himself, feeling aroused. There is work to be done. He walked for a moment out onto the chamber's high stone balcony. The evening breeze slowly cooled his ardor. Far below the Tiber raged. He raised his eyes to the dome of St. Peter's, three quarters of a mile away, naked under the glare of hundreds of press lights. â€Å"Your final hour,† he said aloud, picturing the thousands of Muslims slaughtered during the Crusades. â€Å"At midnight you will meet your God.† Behind him, the woman stirred. The Hassassin turned. He considered letting her wake up. Seeing terror in a woman's eyes was his ultimate aphrodisiac. He opted for prudence. It would be better if she remained unconscious while he was gone. Although she was tied and would never escape, the Hassassin did not want to return and find her exhausted from struggling. I want your strength preserved†¦ for me. Lifting her head slightly, he placed his palm beneath her neck and found the hollow directly beneath her skull. The crown/meridian pressure point was one he had used countless times. With crushing force, he drove his thumb into the soft cartilage and felt it depress. The woman slumped instantly. Twenty minutes, he thought. She would be a tantalizing end to a perfect day. After she had served him and died doing it, he would stand on the balcony and watch the midnight Vatican fireworks. Leaving his prize unconscious on the couch, the Hassassin went downstairs into a torchlit dungeon. The final task. He walked to the table and revered the sacred, metal forms that had been left there for him. Water. It was his last. Removing a torch from the wall as he had done three times already, he began heating the end. When the end of the object was white hot, he carried it to the cell. Inside, a single man stood in silence. Old and alone. â€Å"Cardinal Baggia,† the killer hissed. â€Å"Have you prayed yet?† The Italian's eyes were fearless. â€Å"Only for your soul.†

5 Ways Online Job Searching Can Waste Your Time

5 Ways Online Job Searching Can Waste Your Time The Internet has become a valuable tool for networking and hiring, but it has also paved the way for scams and traps and other time wasters. Here are five things to keep an eye out for in your online job search, to make sure you don’t derail yourself. After all, only about 1 in 5 online applicants end up getting an interview. Here’s what to avoid.Out-of-Date PostingsIf you keep running into a particular posting and it seems like it’s been out for a while, pay extra attention. It could be that they have rolling recruitment at that particular company and are hungry for talent at any time, but it could also be that this is an old posting someone forgot to take down- or worse, a recycled one.LinkedIn GluttonyYes, everyone who’s anyone is on LinkedIn. And yes, you’re probably six degrees or fewer from your biggest fish. But don’t just start connecting to people willy-nilly. And certainly don’t start spamming people you have never met- in pe rson or otherwise, or have no reasonable claim to know. Try making genuine connections with personal messages first, with people within your circle, or just beyond, and explain what you’re looking for. In most cases, you’ll get passed along to where you need to be without looking like you’re connecting for the sake of statistics, rather than genuine relationships.ScamsWe’ve all seen them. And we’ve all (probably, at one point or another) been desperate enough to fall for one. Even the best job search sites can sometimes fail to weed out a phony job posting. Keep your wits about you. If a job seems too good to be true (exorbitant pay, little to no experience needed), it probably is.Keyword CrazinessFormatting your resume with a ton of keywords to please the robots sifting through online applications will probably backfire. The technology is quite advanced and trained to look for contextualization. Stop treating your resume with SEO and address it, a nd your cover letter, as if a real person will be reading it. That might be the best way to ensure one actually will.Firing BlindIt may feel productive to blitz applications by the dozen, but chances are you’re not getting your materials in front of the right people. Do a bit of homework and find out who the hiring manager or supervisor is for your position, read up about them to the extent you can, then try and find a way to get your resume in front of that person- rather than their application bot.Taking time to avoid these pitfalls can really make a difference, not to mention minimize your job search time. Remember, work smart- not hard.5 Pitfalls Of Your Online Job Search

Keep Your Body In Top Condition With Our Health And Wellness Tips

Keep Your Body In Top Condition With Our Health And Wellness Tips Freedom comes in various ways to the college freshmen and continues to reign throughout college. Students daily face new decisions, assignments writing, difficulties and problems and can quickly let their health fall to the wayside. They find it difficult to maintain healthy lifestyles that afterwards negatively effects their mental health, effective studying process and regular sleep. However, with a few simple changes in your diet, sleep and exercise habits it will become easier to preserve a healthy living. Well-being of both your physical and mental health is guaranteed! Nutrition What you drink and eat has a direct impact on your overall wellness. Most college students cannot maintain a healthy diet because of busy schedules. However, without careful attitude to your eating habits, you can easily put on that freshman 15 or even more. Keep the following healthy eating tips in mind to avoid sickness, impaired mental function and lack of energy: Dont skip breakfast. Begin your day with a balanced, healthy meal. If you are short of time, just take a granola bar or some fruit with you and eat it on your way to college. Drink enough water. It is well-known that consuming water is essential for better concentration and keeping yourself from overeating. Thats why take a bottle of water with you to classes. Limit fast food. No doubt, junk food is tasty and easy to consume when you are short of time. However, make sure that eating fast food doesnt become your habit. Drink alcohol moderately. Students are notorious for binge drinking and partying. Consume alcohol beverages in moderation to avoid a lot of calories and hangovers. Dont fight stress by eating. When youre stressed before the exam or important event, it can be yummy to eat some cookies or chips. Instead of grabbing snacks, think about having a break or working out. Exercise Sport and exercise reduce stress, boost brain function, improve mood and quality of sleep. Fitting in exercise into the busy college schedule isnt easy, but consider the following tips to make it a part of your regular routine: Walk to class. Of course, taking a bus is much quicker, but walking to college allows you to burn some calories and just enjoy the nature before a busy day at college. Visit a gym. Most college campuses provide students with perfect sport facilities. Find out what your particular college offers and get active. Ride a bike. Biking will give you a few minutes of exercise before and after classes. Its fun and active. Work out with a friend. With someone else youll be more likely to exercise. Take advantage of such opportunity and you wont be bored for sure. Invest in some low cost home gym equipment. Youd be surprised at just how inexpensive many pieces of home gym exercise equipment are. Check out a website such as HomeFitnessTalk.com for some great home workout ideas! Sleep Are you getting enough sleep? If you are like most college students, probably not. Unfortunately, a lack of sleep causes stress, depression, high blood pressure and decreases productivity. Follow these tips to ensure you are resting enough. Dont study in bed. Try to divide your sleep space from work space as working in bed can make getting to sleep harder. Keep your room quiet and dark. If you want to get asleep, make your room cool and dark. Your body will prepare to the resting time much easier. Take naps. If you have some free time during the day, take a short nap. Youll be surprised how it can boost your energy level. Discuss bedtimes with your roommate. If you share a room with someone, discuss the sleeping times as each of you have own schedules. Your health and wellness depends on how you take care of yourself. Be sure to follow our simple tips to develop better habits for a healthy lifestyle. Be happy and energetic!

Community of Practice Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

Community of Practice - Essay Example panics lack access to health care services because of low personal income, poor geographic access to health providers and cultural factors that focuses on traditional methods in terms of healthcare. In terms of using family and community resources there is a great link between schools and Hispanic families and the community in terms of using the available resources of computers in accessing various health information (Koton, 2001). Religion is considered as the most outstanding aspect of the Jewish community. Hypertension is most prevalent in the Jewish society. Religion is regarded as a major community and family stressors in the access of healthcare services in dealing with such disease such as diabetes that is common in the Jewish society. Despite the Jewish territory being endowed with various natural resources, the constant conflicts within the region has contributed to low level of access of health services. In addition, the conflicts have further led to lack of employment for the population resulting into poverty (Green,