Hotel Bed Research Articles

Toward New Feminist Aesthetics

Toward New Feminist Aesthetics

Woman with dyspnea and history of systemic lupus erythematosus

32-year-old woman with history of pleurisy and systemic lupus erythematosus presented to the emergency department with shortness of breath and pleuritic chest pain, acutely worse over one day after a six hour flight three days prior. She became dyspneic walking from her hotel bed to the bathroom. She endorsed 3 weeks of right lower leg cramping. She denied history of blood clots. She appeared tachypneic and speaking in short phrases upon arrival. A bedside ultrasound was performed, see Figures. Vitals: T: 98.3 F, HR: 130, BP: 142/88, RR: 24, oxygen saturation 97% on room air.

Blue Book: Touring Information for the Year 1916

Blue Book:Touring Information for the Year 1916 Bryan Head (bio) The book says past Platte River we'll find a diner. Then three general stores. Then a lake that's probably frozen. Important things. A hotel waits three miles into Denver with ice water ready at the door. Up four floors a room, a bed. Sheets pressed fresh enough to seem frozen. Back home, my wife gets dizzy in the heat. It sits thick, mosquito-wet on all the bedroom windows. My wife says she can't be there anymore, sweating until her hands shake, the warmth of our bodies at arm's length at all times. I love my wife. I showed her the ice trucked in to our home for her baths in the summer. I show her winter here in Denver. She sits right here beside me in the passenger seat. She feels the slates of cold air brush over the car. No steam on anyone's hair. No holes— fist-sized or bigger—in any of the walls, in fact no walls at all while on the road. [End Page 83] The book says five feet past the hotel bed, snowflakes petaled in the window. Fifty miles past the window a mountain capped in milk. I say Imagine: honey here in your tea, my hand on top of hers as the engine opens wide. Her eyes drift anywhere out the window, as I say I've made her her own breeze. I say look, the country moves through your hair like a comb. Look, all you need is the book, the book says, and good tires. We have the freedom to leave to anywhere, from anywhere. Step out. Look, step out into your new life. Just out there. Just out and over. Then out and over. [End Page 84] Bryan Head Bryan Head is a poet from Asheville, North Carolina. His poems have appeared in the New England Review, Georgia Review, Sonora Review, and elsewhere. He holds an mfa from the University of Maryland and teaches English at the Franklin School of Innovation in Asheville. Copyright © 2020 University of Nebraska Press

Effect of Social Media Use on Guests’ Post Purchase Evaluation and Loyalty in Four and Five Star Hotels Kenya: Quantitative Approach

Demand for quality hotel service has led to adoption of information and communication technologies. Lately, online social media has revolutionized communication, post purchase evaluation and the marketing of tourism industry. Despite the contribution of social media in hotel business, the extent of its use by hotels in Kenya for guests’ transactions has not been established. Moreover, the extent to which guests use social media for their hotel transactions remains unexplored. Guests’ post purchase evaluation and loyalty further influence hotel performance, yet information on them is not well documented. The purpose of this study therefore was to determine the mediating effect of social media use on guest’s post purchase evaluation and loyalty in 4 and 5 star hotels in Kenya. The population comprised of 3644 guests and 68 top managers in 4 and 5 star hotels in Nairobi and Mombasa where there is highest concentration of the hotels as well as hotel bed space of 3644 based on the year 2015 bed occupancy rate calculated at 40% and 31% for Nairobi and Mombasa respectively. Krejcie and Morgan formula was used to determine a sample of 362 guests and top managers. This study employed multi - stage random sampling technique. Both questionnaires and interview schedules were used to collect data. Quantitative analysis revealed that Social media use had partial mediating effect on the relationship between post purchase evaluation dimensions and guest loyalty i.e. Purchase importance (beta difference= 0.133), Service performance (beta difference= 0.034) and Information sharing (beta difference= 0.283). The study concluded that Social media use had a mediating effect on the relationship between guests’ post purchase evaluations and guests’ loyalty. The study recommended that stakeholders in the hotel industry should monitor and control social media use since it mediates the relationship.

The Catacombs

WORLDLITERATURETODAY.ORG 19 photo : eduard kries ( flickr . com / desierk 0 ) S uddenly, in the middle of life’s cozy stagnation , a letter from her sister arrived and she left off vacuuming the entryway floor. Her sister was a successful international surgeon. As she read the letter she at first felt a sting of envy so sharp that she had to sit down, then felt guilty. She really should be able to be happy for her sister, who had, after all, in the midst of her busy life, taken the trouble to write a real letter and send it from distant foreign lands all the way to isolated Finland! Her sister said she’d had a baby three years ago and last year had moved with her architect husband from New York to Paris to begin work as the chief physician at a hospital there. Mrs. Chief Physician complained about how hard it was to find reliable childcare in a new city. The last part of the letter was for some reason written in French. Unfortunately, she couldn’t understand a word of it. She pressed the letter against her chest and sighed. Perhaps she would go to the bookstore tomorrow to buy a French dictionary and try again. As she walked through her apartment, she cursed the furniture that knocked her in the shins and covered her legs with bruises. Then she apologized to the furniture. fiction The Catacombs by Pasi Ilmari Jääskeläinen Deciding to throw off life’s stagnation, a woman moves from Finland to Italy and takes up tossing coins in fountains. But just how much change can she make when she takes herself with her? 20 WLT JANUARY / FEBRUARY 2016 photo : billy rusakko She didn’t want to be ungrateful. Her furniture was, after all, awfully lovely and useful and existed entirely for her. The bowlegged sofa was particularly fine; she sometimes leaned over and whispered secrets to it and caressed its deep brown lacquered curves. Sometimes she scoffed at herself: What kind of person treats her furniture like friends? Then she would come to her own defense—it wasn’t as if she imagined they were living creatures; she just felt there was no need for a well-behaved person to be rude, even to inanimate objects. She remembered hearing that a person’s true nature came out when no one was watching. The letter troubled her. She didn’t often receive letters. When the mail came every morning, around 10 or 10:30 depending on the carrier and the day of the week, she had to make an effort to wait until the mail carrier had left before rushing to the door. She received mostly periodicals. She subscribed to about twenty—she enjoyed making telephone solicitors happy. A mountain of publications piled up on the entryway table—newspapers, comics, women’s magazines , newsletters, and even a couple of hunting and fishing magazines, although she hadn’t been fishing since she was a little girl. She only had time to read a few of them, but she saved them all. It would have felt wrong to throw them away without reading them; a lot of people had worked hard to produce them. She felt a pain in her ovaries and wondered whether she had cancer, or if her childlessness was causing psychosomatic symptoms. It couldn’t be a sexually transmitted disease, because she hadn’t had sex in fifteen years. Not even with herself. That sort of thing had always seemed dirty and pathetic to her. If you couldn’t get another person to touch you, then you could jolly well do without the whole business. She read classics of psychology and wondered whether she was what Freud would have called a hysteric. Then one night she couldn’t sleep and lay awake till morning, coming to the conclusion that she should leave her old life behind and start anew. She got dressed, withdrew her savings, traveled to Rome, flopped on a hotel bed, and got a good night’s sleep. Her first morning in the city she went on a guided tour, threw coins into a fountain, smiled at passersby, drank a cider...

Aviation Human Factors Related Industry News

Aviation Human Factors Related Industry News

Forecasting the City Hotel Market

City tourism is rapidly gaining in importance. With its fast pace of growth, the city tourism industry needs reliable forecasting models to get useful information on future development trends. But so far we have only a handful of studies that look into forecasting issues related to city tourism. We need to consider that dynamic demand for overnight stays impacts on occupancy rates and room prices and that these variables in turn influence investment in increasing bed capacities. To fill this gap in research, an econometric model of the hotel bed supply and the demand for overnight stays on a monthly basis has been developed for Vienna, Austria. Forecasts for 2013 and 2014 were carried out for overnight stays, bed supply, average daily rates, and, implicitly, also for occupancy rates. A scenario involving a level shift in tourism demand shows the sensitivity of the model.

THREE FOR JOHN CHEEVER

6 1 R T H R E E F O R J O H N C H E E V E R J O R D A N S M I T H 1. The Train Half-darkness, the suburbs, a scattering of jewels, The winter river a silver chain, the train A clasp, as if she ran the bracelet (coolly, Absently) around her wrist and then again. And now sleet pings like pearls on the glass. She watches the little commuter stations pass, As someone’s watching her: worn khakis, tweed, Loosened tie, got on at Ossining Between the prison and the yacht club, needs A drink, Sinatra singing Ring a Ding Ding, A better look at her legs, a cigarette. He knows no end to what he needs. Not yet. And her? He’s going to ask. Well, no, he’s not. He sees the way she runs the bracelet through Her fingers. He knows what she forgot On the hotel bed stand. He knows the rough Comforter, home’s bittersweet bedside light. He’s going there too, like her, in love, in flight. 6 2 Y 2. The Little Houses The little houses behind the railroad tracks, Frame houses, a porch, a few bare steps, Scaled paint around the window frames, and back, Behind the shed, a mower, trash in heaps. You think, I know those yellowed blinds, The torn one, the one that won’t unwind, No matter how hard it’s pulled on the first try. The babysitter lives here. Her father drinks. Her mother dead or gone. You’d almost cry, Dropping her o√ to dishes in the sink, The old man’s snores and whines. It’s like a song, Sad, but tiresome now, gone on so long. Well, that’s what you’ve become, the pitiless Coiner of soft phrases, the counterfeiter Of kindness, touching the shoulder of her dress, In benediction? No. She knows what’s bitter, What’s not. You hear the bolt shoot in the lock. She’s sold you short as any common stock. 6 3 R 3. Dogs in Winter I’m x-c skiing in the little park Between developments, my Springer lively, Unleashed, coursing from side to side, his bark An uninterrupted interrogative. I stop, listen. Jupiter. A woman’s calling. Jupiter. Of course snow’s falling (the weather changes when a god comes near), Suddenly. Tracks of my kick and glide Progress are lost behind me. Her voice veers Closer, something answers, and by my side, Coat thick with snow, my own dog shivers, sits. We’re waiting to see what comes out of it, This squall with its sharpening wind. Then, Jupiter, And from a stand of pines, a golden head, Big, shaggy, as dumb as a two-by-four, Retriever, in his mouth a chunk of bread Meant for the feeder. He’s god’s reverse, this birdDog chased by Leda, his name the flesh made word. ...

Imagine staying in a Shanghai hotel bedroom in 2050?

Will the future hotels of Shanghai emphasise a world of contemporary design, sustainability and technological innovations in order to deal with the growing pains of pollution, competition of urban land and decreasing availability of clean water, which will impact on the quality and price of accommodation in the city? This paper imagines what a hotel might look like in 2050 based upon nine drivers of change, whether it is new sciences such as claytronics, or programmable matter that integrate sight, sound and feel into original ideas, allowing users to interact with three-dimensional form. The applications of claytronics would be the reconfiguration of everything, so just imagine the future hotel bed that could change its degree of comfort from a hard to a soft mattress without too much effort, the possibilities are endless. Other drivers include robotics as an alternative to a human labour supply or the behaviours of Generation Y. The heart to the future is sustainable design and this paper discusses how the hotel will feature many of these changes in a future world in order to mitigate and adapt to a paradigm of scarcity of resources.

Exploitation and Innocence

Olvidadas: Forgotten Women-Photographs by Maya Goded California Museum of Photography Riverside, California January 15-April 16, 2010 exhibition Las Olvidadas: Forgotten Women, recently on display at the California Museum of Photography (CMP) in Riverside, presented three groups of work by contemporary Mexican photographer Maya Goded, spanning ten years of her photographic production. Guest curator Trisha Ziff worked collaboratively with CMP Director Colin Westerbeck to bring Goded's photographs to new audiences. As a whole, the exhibition depicted women commonly forgotten or ignored by much of contemporary society--sex workers, the families of Ciudad Juarez's disappeared, folk healers, and overweight ingenues. show included the series The Other Side, Nobody Heard Them Scream, and The Land of the Witches. Look at Me (2010), a nineteen-minute documentary that Goded considers a work in progress, marks her move from still photography to film. gelatin silver prints of The Other Side reveal the brutal reality of prostitutes who work in the La Merced district of Mexico City, a center for prostitution for over four-hundred years. Goded depicts women ranging from the very young to the very old in the act of soliciting, in the performance of sexual services, and in futile attempts to rest between clients. women often meet our gaze directly, without flinching. One of the most arresting examples of this unwavering regard is La Merced, Mexico City (1998). In this image, an older woman with white hair and a deeply lined face stands on a hotel bed with her hands akimbo, clad only in black panties and a silver necklace. She poses with her head thrown back, while her shoulders cave inward toward gently sloping breasts. In a world that often desexualizes the elderly and renders their erotic lives largely invisible, her near nudity is unusual. Her defiant display reads as both tough and vulnerable. In contrast, the only other older woman depicted by Goded appears fully clothed, her glance indirect and unreadable through oversized eyeglasses. [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] Violence, or its imminent appearance, predominates in The Other Side. A woman wearing only an ill-fitting white bra and a short, tight skirt sits on the edge of a hotel bed grasping her head in her hands. She glances at and through us, her face bruised and bloody. In perhaps the most pointed image from the series, the body of a very young woman with barely formed breasts lies on a morgue table, the entire length of her slender torso sutured from throat to belly. In the second series, Nobody Heard Them Scream, Goded moves from black-and-white photography to color digital prints. She makes visible the grief and despair of families whose daughters have disappeared along the United States-Mexico border near Juarez. Since the early 1990s, over four hundred women in their early teens and twenties have gone missing in the border region, and the overwhelming majority of these cases have never been solved. Goded establishes the exterior places comprising Juarez, such as a school playground once enjoyed by a murdered girl, as well as interior spaces of grief. …

My First Tornadoes, and: In the Hotel Bed

My First Tornadoes, and: In the Hotel Bed Maria Mazziotti Gillan (bio) My First Tornadoes Outside the window, the wind is an eerie sound,hissing like a snake ready to strike. The windreminds me of our first months in Kansas Citywhen the siren sounded to warn us of tornadoes approaching and all the children ran out of the streetinto their separate houses and the children and I rushedinto the basement and huddled in the corner, though Iwasn't sure which corner we were supposed to crouch inand I tried not to let the children see how afraid I was. The basement was not really a basement. It was mostlyabove ground with big windows. I wasn't sure it wouldcount as a safe place to hide. Natives of the area told me [End Page 123] about houses and schools blown to the ground and carslifted off the road and smashed like toys. Some nights when Dennis was teaching, the sirens would sound,and I'd take the children and go to our neighbors,two retired people who were both heavy drinkers and withwhom I shared nothing except our bedroom wall, a fact that always worried me, and thinking back, I realize I wastoo terrified of being alone to worry about whether theywelcomed the presence of a young woman and her twoyoung children. When we moved into the big stone housein Kansas City, the one with the huge pillars that ran all theway to the roof, I stopped being afraid, grew accustomedto the sirens and thought that the old house had withstoodyears of tornadoes and was unlikely to fall down now, with us in it, besides, I loved that house. It was my ideaof an upper middle-class house, the kind of houseI wished I had grown up in with its back stairway and itsbreakfast room and fireplace and its big bedrooms full oflight. I painted the kitchen bright yellow and painted smallblue chickens on the walls above the chair rail that ranaround the room and turned the glass-fronted cabinet into stained glass. Time falls away when I hear the soundthe wind makes, forty years vanish, and for a moment I amthat young woman again, happy with my husband, mychildren, my big old house, so much of life ahead of me,unable to see myself forty years later in this classroomsurrounded by the wind outside the windowand the students and the poems they write so bravethey set the room on fire. [End Page 124] In the Hotel Bed It's ten past midnight, my eyes unwilling to close,no matter how many times I count backwardfrom a hundred. The bed is a huge white lakeand I am the boat that rolls from side to sideas though pushing through deepand turbulent water. Worry swirls to the surface growing largeras the digital clock cuts off the minutes,the hours. The voices of the past refuseto be silent, shrill, accusatory. I hear my husband's voice on the phone, how shakyit has become, how thin, like his legs, no excessflesh on them, the long bones sharply defined,sticking out of his diaper; even the small sizeis too big for him now. In my mind my eyes travel to his tortured face,his body twisting and turning so I can't reachhis face to kiss him goodnight. Sometimeshis face reminds me of the tormented Christyou see in so many houses in South America, not like the white bread Christ whose torment seemsmanageable, but these images are bloody and closerto what it would have been like, the Crucifixion,not pleasant or angelic but horrible and cruel. I have seen more death than I wanted or could haveimagined. I want to remember only soothing, calm,beautiful things; instead I see my sister's twisted feet,my mother-in-law's raging face, my mother's eyes [End Page 125] when she died, my father's fury at what illnessand old age brought...

Diagnostic approach to drug-screening tests for fatal diabetic ketoacidosis: Forensic autopsy of a methamphetamine abuser

To diagnose the cause of death in autopsy cases, systematic examinations, such as macroscopic, pathological, biochemical, and toxicological are important. In this case report, drug examinations also gave very useful information to diagnose the cause of death, fatal diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA). A female methamphetamine abuser in her forties was found dead lying on a hotel bed. Diagnosing her cause of death was difficult only from the macroscopic findings because there was no fatal and/or serious injury or disease. On toxicological examination, acetone was detected at a high concentration (682 μg/mL in blood, 887 μg/mL in urine) using gas chromatography (GC). Using gas chromatography–mass spectrometry (GC–MS), methamphetamine was detected in the blood, urine, hair, and visceral organs; however, these concentrations were low. At the same time, GC–MS examination revealed a high glucose peak. From the results of the biochemical examination of urine, acetoacetic acid was 1940 μmol/L, β-hydroxybutyric acid was 14,720 μmol/L, and glucose was 4620 mg/dL. Histologically, Langerhans’ islets in the pancreas were fibrotic and atrophic, and no insulin-immunoreactive cells were observed. The subsequent police investigation also revealed that she had contracted diabetes mellitus type 1; therefore, we concluded that her cause of death was DKA, due to a lack of insulin injection.

Tourism dynamics: Cyprus' hotel value chain and profitability

AbstractIn response to the Cyprus Hotel Association's aim to test how Cyprus' year 2010 official strategy may affect tourist arrivals, hotel bed capacity and profitability, this study looks at Cyprus' hotel value chain within the island's tourism customer–supplier value chain. A system dynamics simulation model helps compute multiple strategic scenarios of what might happen to Cyprus' tourism over the next 40 years. The faithful reproduction of historical tourism and bed capacity data through a 40‐year time horizon shows the model's usefulness. The computed scenarios assess Cyprus' hotel value‐chain sensitivity to policy parameters, tourism growth and tourism seasonality, along with their potential effects on the hotel value chain and profitability. Copyright © 2003 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

In Another Tongue

The baby is screaming again. My baby. I hoist her off the narrow hotel bed again and try to cradle her as I rock my torso back and forth in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair. This baby does not cradle. She doesn't know how to cuddle, to be soothed in anyone's arms. She howls and arches away, squirms and flops, a sixteen-pound fish out of water. I'm not used to holding babies, and she's not used to being held, but when I try to put her down, she wails. My arms feel chafed, raw, and my wrists ache from the hours of straining to hang onto her. Huge tears pool in her eyes. These tears could break my heart. These screams could break my eardrums. God, I'm weary. Sometimes it startles me how beautiful this baby is despite the rash that inflames her face, the nick in the corner of her eye where her fingernail caught the skin, sores and scars up and down her arms from her incessant scratching. The beauty of her bright eyes and even features surprises me again and again, as does the sheer power of her small lungs. She has barely rested them in the two days since she was placed in my arms. Outside the window, many floors below, China is an abstraction. I am too lost in the foreign country of parenthood to focus on the birthplace of this baby. Despite Chinese language classes, when I go outside, indistinct words swirl around me, a womb-like roar. In contrast to the stifling heat out there, the hotel is cool and quiet, guards stationed at the doors of the lobby, marble-floored and thick-carpeted. My friend Sara used to write to me about squat toilets without stalls, Chinese women gaping openly at tampons and pale pubic hair. She told me about rats falling into her bathwater and people blowing their noses on bus floors. She described visiting a zoo containing nothing but a snake, some goldfish, and a housecat.

Allegory and Democratic Public Culture in the Postmodern Era

The man lies on the hotel bed, clad only in his underwear, as he watches the TV screen just beyond his feet. His right hand holds the remote control, which he uses to scan through the cable channels. To his left sits Abraham Lincoln, clothed in long-sleeved white shirt and black pants and reading a book. Lincoln's long, angular frame is just a bit stooped, and his brow is slightly furrowed, as if long accustomed to thinking on the edge of melancholy. Lincoln is mulling over a statement by Walter Benjamin: Allegories are, in the realm of thoughts, what ruins are in the realm of things (Benjamin 1977, 178).1 Seated to the man's right is a woman wearing the terry cloth bathrobe provided by the hotel. She leans slightly forward, legs crossed, as she reads the New York Times Magazine cover story about President Clinton. Listen to this, she says with a bemused smile. In the clutter around his desk in the Oval Office stands not a single bust of a favorite predecessor, but five: Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Truman and two of F.D.R., plus a statuette of Will Rogers for good measure. If governing is choosing, this collection is a metaphor for this President's trouble with choices, and he himself allows, That's the story of my Presidency, that desk' (Purdum 1996, 36). The man says nothing as he continues to watch the succession of images on the screen: a lizard flicks its tongue in the desert heat; a child in a stroller laughs as she holds a strawberry ice cream cone; a congressman in blue suit, white shirt, and red tie jabs his finger into the air as he talks earnestly; cars plastered with automotive product logos curl around a race track; Fred and Ginger swirl around the dance floor; soldiers wade ashore at Omaha Beach; the Space Shuttle lifts off; Groucho lifts his eyebrows; Regis smiles; mushrooms and peppers simmer in a pan. The succession of images could go on indefinitely. The tableau remains static. The composition is an allegory: a figurai presentation that organizes multiple interpretations regarding collective experience. It also contains and comments on other forms of itself: Clinton's desk is an ex-

Suicide Far from Home: The Concept of Transjurisdictional Suicide

A review of a series of eleven persons who committed suicide in a city long distances from home is presented, and the concept of transjurisdictional suicide is introduced. Those eleven cases suggest a high likelihood that the victim will be found in a hotel or motel bed by a hotel/motel employee within a day of check-in; the victim will be a white male who drove to the city and who lived in a hometown closely associated with an urban center which is within a day's drive and on an interstate route connecting the hometown to the city selected; the victim will be older than twenty-one years, married or never married but not divorced or widowed, and will not have been born in the state where death occurred; a suicide message will be found, and a specific reason for selecting a given city will not be apparent.

The American Villain on the Soviet Stage

T HE AMERICAN as a villain first appeared on the Soviet stage in the theatrical season 1946-1947. Previously, the American could be seen only sporadically and in minor roles. He was either a helpless, comic figure, as the bespectacled, childish, and naive lost soldier in Vsevolod Ivanov's Armored Train 14-69, whose face would light up with sympathy and understanding at the name of Lenin. Or he was an equally naive but conscientious war correspondent, as in Gladkov's and Arbuzov's The Immortal, whose thirst for sensationalism and detached curiosity would give way to genuine interest and participation in Soviet life under the impact of war experience at the Soviet front. In the comedy Mr. Perkins Goes to Moscow, a mildly satirical touch was added to the figures of the American business man and his secretary, who arrive in Moscow full of suspicion and mistrust, look under each hotel bed for hidden microphones, and finally discover that one can do business with Moscow.