Articoli di riviste sul tema "Turn-taking interruption"

Abstract Interruptions during consumer decision making are ubiquitous. In seven studies, we examine the consequences of a brief interruption during a financial risk decision. We identify a fundamental feature inherent in an interruption’s temporal structure—a repeat exposure to the decision stimuli—and find that this re-exposure reduces decision stimuli’s subjective novelty. This reduced novelty in turn reduces decision makers’ apprehension and increases the amount of risk they take in a wide range of risky financial decision contexts. Consistent with our theoretical framework, this interruption effect disappears when a stimulus’s subjective novelty is restored after an interruption. We further find that these consequences are often unique to interruptions are often do not result from other interventions (e.g., time pressure and elongated thinking); this is because an interruption’s unique temporal structure (which results in a repeat exposure to the decision stimuli) underlies its consequences. Our findings shed light on how and when interruptions during decision making can influence risk taking.

This research is about the analysis irregularities of turn- taking on Me Before You movie. The objectives of this research were (1) to describe the types irregularities of turn- takings produced by characters in “Me Before You” movie. (2) to describe the reasons of interruption turn-takings happened in the movie. This research used a qualitative method to desribe and analyze the utterance. The technique of data collection were (1) watching the movie entitled Me Before You (2) identifying the problems in Me Before You movie (3) formulating the research problems (4) determining the objectives of the study (5) determining theories on context and turn-taking to analyze the data (6) collecting the data manually (7) transferring the chosen data into a data sheet (8) reporting the data. The technique of data analysis were (1) The analysis begun with the searching of the types of irregular turn-takings that are interruption and overlap (2) The reasons why interruption and overlaps emerged in the conversation of the movie are then categorized. The result of this research shows that there is 88.88% of interruption occurred in that movie and 11.11% is about overlapping occurrence. Keywords: irregularities, turn- taking, overlapping, interruption

The present research aims to investigate the key features of turn taking in Mata Najwa talk show about Ragu-ragu Perpu (doubtful of rules of law). In addition, the authors propose to describe the use of turn-taking features between speaker to listener in Mata Najwa talk show. Moreover, The authors utilize a qualitative research methodology by applying a descriptive analysis in the research. To collect the data, the authors select the specific types of turn-taking occured between. In analyzing the data, the authors implemented Jacob L. Mey analysis theory in which selected the types of turn-taking into several forms. For instance, taking the floor (starting up, taking over, interruption, and overlaps), holding the floor, and yielding the floor. The results indicated that the conversation between seven speakers during the talk show are dominated by interruptions and overlapping. It indicates that 24 utterences express the existance of interruptions, while 16 lucutors show the overlapping. Moreover, the speakers tend to use several strategies to hold the talk, including verbal fillers, silent pauses, and lexical repetitions. Within the context of Mata Najwa talk show program, the host of the Mata Najwa tends to apply greetings and questions in yielding the talk to the interlocutors. In conclusion, interruption and overlapping are the two features of turn-taking mostly occured during the conversation.

This research about spoken language which is discussed in discourse analysis. In this research, researcher only focused on turn-taking, especially in the overlap and interruption section. Reseacher used quantitative methods and Guttman scale in processing data obtained from conversation in a movie called Trolls. Researcher choose a movie because in general a movie always contains conversations as well as in that movie. In the movie, researcher only analyzed 2 characters, Princess Poppy and Branch. The purpose of this research was to determine how much turn-taking was used by Princess Poppy and Branch. The results of the analysis showed that the turn-taking by Princess Poppy was 157 while the Branch was 110. The researcher used a table to show the results based on the theory of turn-taking. We can see in table 1 and table 2 that the amount of overlap is more dominant than interruption. The result of the analysis showed frequency overlap Princess Poppy is 82% of the total 128 and interruption frequncy is 18% of the total 29 times. While in tabel 2 it shows that the number of overlap conducted by Branch was 81 with a frequency of 74% and 29 interruption with a frequency of 26%. Keywords: Discourse Analysis, Interruption, Overlap, Spoken Language, Turn-taking

Previous research from our laboratory which examined the impact of interruptions on performance in a collaborative communication task, found that interruptions from a synthetic agent, occurring either at fixed or random intervals, had a more deleterious effect on task performance than when interruption timing was determined by a human participant monitoring the communication task (Peters, Romigh, Bradley, & Raj, 2017). These results suggest that interruption times initiated by the human interrupters were more appropriate than the machine-generated ones; however, post-hoc analyses revealed no relation between interruption timing and language information prior to the human interruptions. Given these conflicting results and the demonstrated role of language information in other communication interactions, we aim to identify which spoken language components most motivate human interruption decisions, utilizing methods borrowed from the turn-taking literature (De Ruiter, Mitterer, & Enfield, 2006). Results indicate that listeners leverage prosodic and lexical information in making interruption decisions.

This article reports on two separate studies—Natalia (2019) and Subekti (2019)—on communication mechanism in political debates. Specifically these studies focus on turn taking strategies adopted in political debates by political figures during their campaign for presidency or in dealing with specific issues. Both studies adopted Stenstrom’s (1994) classification of turn taking strategies which include three main strategies: taking the turn, holding the turn, and yielding the turn, each of which was further specified into more specific strategies. The data were two Youtube videos: first, Trump and Clinton First Presidential Debate 2016 (36 minutes 22 seconds [Natalia, 2019]) and second, BBC World Debate “Why Poverty”November 30,2012 (47 minutes 16 seconds, [Subekti, 2019]). Employing descriptive qualitative, with the aim of analyzing turn taking strategies adopted in the debates, both studies found interesting points: first, Stenstrom’s three strategies appeared in the debates; second, taking the turn strategy was the dominant strategy, followed by holding the turn strategy and the least used one was yielding to turn; and third, interruption which was a specific type of taking the turn strategy seems to be most often used in the debater’s attempt to maintain the turn and present their points and thus dominate the debate.

Abstract This paper examines the Open Hand Prone ‘vertical palm’ as a resource for participants in conversation for displaying their treatment of a co-participant’s – or their own – turn/action as interruptive. Through this practice participants can manage turn-taking by making it relevant for the co-participant to stop talking. The data for this study consist of video-recorded conversations in English and Finnish from domestic and institutional settings, as well as broadcast talk. Using multimodal conversation analysis, this study shows that the gesture occurs in situations involving overlapping/competitive talk or incompatible embodied activities that somehow affect the progressivity of the ongoing talk. This paper complements previous research on gesture studies and interaction by investigating the function these gestures take in stopping/interrupting a co-participant’s turn-at-talk across multiple settings, and by studying how the gesture functions as a part of a practice which has direct social consequences on the local organization of turn-taking.

This study examined how interruptions (violations in turn taking) are perceived and whether perceptions of interrupters vary by sex of the interrupter, sex of the subject, and the topic (stereotypical male and female topics) of a conversation. Subjects listened to a 21/2-min. audiotape of a conversation and rated the conversants on masculinity, femininity, traditionality, assertiveness, and sociability. Subjects also responded, with ratings, to seven statements related to the conversation and the feelings of the conversants toward one another. Analysis indicated that sex of the subject significantly affects perceptions of the interruption. Regardless of the sex of the interrupter and the topic of the conversation, men had more positive attitudes toward the interrupting than the women. Both sexes rated same sex interrupters more negatively than those of the opposite sex.

ABSTRACTSimultaneous speech is neither necessary nor sufficient for the recognition of “interruption” by interlocutors. A peaker's “completion right” is vitiated by how long she has been speaking, how often she has spoken, the number of “points” made in a speaking turn, and the special rights of some speakers to speak about some topics. There are no absolute syntactical or acoustical criteria for recognizing an occurrence of “interruption” available either to those involved in a speech event nor to analysts. (Turn taking, California English conversation)

Abstract: Turn taking is simplest systematic for the organization of turn taking for conversation (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson (1974). In conversation, sometimes the participant violate the rules as they begin to talk, meanwhile the other speakers are still speaking, and none of words and sentences to say in turn. Therefore, the writer was interested to analyze the violation of conversation rules in turn taking in order to investigate kinds of violation of conversation rules in turn taking that happened in the second step class of CEC Mataram, especially in debating activity by using a descriptive qualitative design. Then, the data were collected through video-recording from the second step class members of CEC Mataram. They were about 65 students and one teacher. Based on finding of this study, the writer found out five violations, such as violation of pause, gaps, laps, overlaps, and interruption. The first highest violation was pause violation with 135 times (81.3%) implies that the speaker in debating activity was silence within the turn given. The second one was interruption with 15 times (9.1%) implies that the other speakers began to talk when a speaker was speaking. The third was overlaps with 7 times (4.2%) implies that the speaker spoke at same time. The fourth was gaps with 5 times (3.0%) implies that the speaker did not talk directly when other speaker were given a chance to turn when one speaker was replaced. The fifth was laps with 4 times (2.4%) implies than none options for next turn is used when speaker change, the participant did not indicate backchannel during the debating activity (0% of violation).

AbstractContributing to research on workplace interactions and turn-taking practices, this conversation analytic study examines how people take turns during multi-party workplace meetings. In particular, we analyze 12 hours of video-recordings of faculty meetings at a U.S. school district, and show how meeting participants use explicit apology (e.g. I’m sorry; I’m sorry to interrupt) for turn-taking. The apology carries out interactional work in two ways: 1) it acknowledges that a (possible) offense (i.e. interruption) has occurred, and 2) it indicates that the current speaker will self-select to take and keep the turn. The self-selector produces the apology mid-turn after the turn-initial overlap is resolved and before continuing with her turn. We first analyze cases in which the self-selector uses explicit apology after having begun her turn during the current speaker’s ongoing turn. In most of these cases, the self-selected turn is sequentially disjunctive in that it is not directly responsive to the immediately preceding turn. We then show how the self-selector uses explicit apology when she needs to compete with another self-selector to take the turn. The study findings have implications for the turn-taking organization in meeting interactions.

Attentive user interfaces are user interfaces that aim to support users' attentional capacities. By sensing users' attention for objects and people in their everyday environment and by treating user attention as a limited resource, these interfaces avoid today's ubiquitous patterns of interruption. Focusing upon attention as a central interaction channel allows development of more sociable methods of communication and repair with ubiquitous devices. Our methods are analogous to human turn-taking in group communication. Turn-taking improves the user's ability to conduct foreground processing of conversations. Attentive user interfaces bridge the gap between foreground and periphery of user activity in a similar fashion, allowing users to move smoothly in between. The authors present a framework for augmenting user attention through attentive user interfaces. We propose 5 key properties of attentive systems: to (1) sense attention, (2) reason about attention, (3) regulate interactions, (4) communicate attention and (5) augment attention. We conclude with a discussion of privacy considerations of attentive user interfaces.

AbstractThe aim of this essay is to investigate “moments of meeting” (Stern 2005) and rhythms of interruption in Pina Bausch’s piece “Kontakthof” (i.e., the version “Kontakthof with Ladies and Gentlemen over »65«”, 2007). Combining the perspective of microanalysis and a close reading of two significant scenes of the piece with a macroanalysis of dance aesthetics and questions of framing in theatre theory, contextualising “Kontakthof” within the history of “Tanztheater” (the 70s/80s in post-war Germany), the article shows how the composition and bodily articulation of movement interactions are constituted between the dancers and the audience. The “Ponyriding” scene is based on rhythms of transgression touching the boundaries both between male and female dancers and between performers and audience. A close reading of the “Tango-Scene” shows how the rhythms of moving together and the disbalances between interruption in the movements and gestures of a “tango” can be compared with performative processes of turn-taking in language interaction.

Das Ziel dieses Beitrags ist es, exemplarisch aufzuzeigen, wie die Gesprächsteilnehmer mit einer großen Erfahrung vor der Kamera den Sprecherwechsel in zwei unterschiedlichen Medienkulturen realisieren. Als Grundlage für diese Untersuchung dienen zwei lettische Sendungen des politischen Talkshowformates „Kas notiek Latvija?“, „Sastrēgumstunda“ und zwei deutsche politische Fernsehtalkshows „Hartaberfair“, „Maybrit Illner“. Für die Detailanalyse wurden Textbeispiele ausgewählt, die den Versuch das Rederecht zu verteidigen oder den Kampf um das Rederecht im Gespräch aufweisen. In diesen Gesprächspassagen wurde der Sprecherwechsel nicht nur auf der verbalen, sondern auch auf der nonverbalen und prosodischen Ebene analysiert. Die Untersuchungsergebnisse haben aufgezeigt, dass die Gesprächsteilnehmer mit einer großen Erfahrung vor der Kamera in beiden Ländern unterschiedliche Wege wählen, um den Sprecherwechsel zu realisieren. In den deutschen politischen Fernsehtalkshows sind zwischen dem Moderator und der Talkshow-Prominenz eindeutige Versuche der Unterbrechung und reale Unterbrechungen festzustellen. Die lettische Talkshow-Prominenz präferiert bei der Realisierung ihrer Turns ohne expressive Gestik zu kommunizieren und wenn eine Überlappung mit dem Moderator entsteht, zieht sie sich eher aus dem Gespräch ohne ihre eigene Konstruktion abzuschließen.How do professional speakers implement turn-taking in different media cultures? Conversational analysis of Latvian and German political talk showsThis paper aims to examine how professional speakers implement turn-taking in different media cultures. Two Latvian “Kas notiek Latvijā?”, “Sastrēgumstunda” and two German “Hartaberfair”, “Maybrit Illner” political talk shows were chosen and considered as the materials of the study. The text samples for detailed analysis are selected according to the following principle: during a discussion with other speakers, a professional speaker tries to take or hold the floor. In these samples, the turn-taking system is analyzed not only on a verbal but also on a nonverbal and prosodic level. Results show that professional speakers in Latvian political talk shows and in German political talk shows prefer different strategies to get the right to talk. Between moderators and professional German speakers, clear attempts of interruption and real interruptions are determined. Conversely, the professional Latvian speakers prefer to communicate without expressive gestures and, if there is an overlap with the moderator, they tend to withdraw from the conversation without completing their own construction.

This study aimed at inspiring EFL teachers to take a new attitude towards using teaching techniques as well as instructing cultural notes making them aware of the principles of critical pedagogy (CP) through instruction. In the same line, it tried to find out different techniques applied by teachers before and after the instruction. On the account of the dichotomy by which IRF (initiation, response and feedback) architecture is in contrast with the tenets of critical pedagogy encouraging multivocality of a classroom discourse, the teaching steps which can distinct these two architectures are still underexplored. To cover the purposes of the research, 20 EFL teachers teaching at institutes and universities were purposefully sampled to be interviewed and trained. Four sessions before and four sessions after instruction were video-recorded and taking benefit of conversation analysis methods, they were transcribed and the visible changes were dialogically discussed with the teachers using semi-structured interviews and stimulated recall sessions to find out the rationale. Adopting new techniques regarding both cultural notes and teaching techniques after instruction such as strategies in “turn taking”, “latched turns”, “more chances to create dialogue”, “fewer teacher echo and interruption”, “using L1”, “educational feedback”, applying referential questions”, promoting self-initiation”, “glocalizing cultural notes” and “less dependability on the coursebook” indicated that raising awareness among teachers considering the principles of CP, they can change both their attitudes and abilities from transmission-based pedagogy to place-based responsive pedagogy in which learners as a whole play an active role.

This study is set to investigate the purposes behind interruptions and the meanings of silences in conversations. The data are taken from three casual conversations among friends. To analyze the data, the recorded conversations are first transcribed based on Jefferson’s the Glossary of Transcript Symbols (Jefferson, 2004). The transcribed conversations are analyzed using turn-taking approach in Conversation Analysis. To interpret the results of analysis, inferential method is applied. As the findings, the writers find that speakers interrupt for two purposes: to complete turns and to cut them. To go deeper, speakers interrupt when they have shared knowledge and/or similar perspective on something. In terms of silence, the meanings behind it are highly dependent on what are uttered prior to or after the occurrence of silence. Silences can indicate topic switch, speaker’s wish to continue the same topic, and disagreement. In a conversation, silences lead to awkward situations among speakers and show troubles in conversation flows.

Paralinguistic behaviors, including speech rates and turn-taking behaviors, of boys who stutter and boys who do not stutter and their fathers were investigated. Subjects were 11 boys who stutter (mean age=5:1) and their fathers and 11 age-matched (±3 months) nonstuttering boys (mean age=5:1) and their fathers. Spontaneous conversational speech was obtained from each father and son during approximately 45 minutes of videotaped free play in a clinic setting. Measures of overall, articulatory, and dyadic speaking rates, interruptions, response time latencies, and disfluency characteristics were derived using the videotapes and computer-assisted analyses of the acoustic signal from each conversational sample. Two-factor repeated measures ANOVAs were performed on each of the paralinguistic variables for the 11 sets of age-matched father-son pairs. Fathers produced faster speaking rates, higher frequencies of interruptions and shorter response time latencies than sons. No significant differences were found in comparisons of the two groups of fathers or of the two groups of children for any of the paralinguistic behaviors. A significant positive correlation was found between the SSI scores of children who stutter and the dyadic speaking rates of these children and their fathers. Results partially extend those of Kelly and Conture (1992) for mothers and children, but some potentially important differences emerge between fathers' and mothers' (para)linguistic behaviors in interaction with their children.

Different turn-taking strategies of an agent influence the impression that people have of it and the behaviors that they display in response. To study these influences, we carried out several studies. In the first study, subjects listened as bystanders to computer-generated, unintelligible conversations between two speakers. In the second study, subjects talked to an artificial interviewer which was controlled by a human in a Wizard of Oz setting. Questionnaires with semantic differential scales concerning personality, emotion, social skill, and interviewing skills were used in both studies to assess the impressions that the subjects have of the agents that carried out different turn-taking strategies. In addition, in order to assess the effects of these strategies on the subjects' behavior, we measured several aspects in the subjects' speech, such as speaking rate and turn length. We found that different turn-taking strategies indeed influence the user's perception. Starting too early (interrupting the user) is mostly associated with negative and strong personality attributes and is perceived as less agreeable and more assertive. Leaving pauses between turns is perceived as more agreeable, less assertive, and creates the feeling of having more rapport. Finally, we found that turn-taking strategies also influence the subjects' speaking behavior.

Background Optimal handoffs are pivotal for patient safety, yet some of the underlying communication mechanisms which support effective handoffs remain to be understood. As handoffs are conversations between providers, understanding communication mechanisms is necessary to improve handoff protocol development. The objective of this study was to characterize communication variables influencing the efficiency of handoffs in the postanesthesia care unit. Methods We conducted a single-center, observational study of handoffs over a three-week period in June/July of 2017. We recorded 96 handoffs between the cardiac operating room and postanesthesia care unit. We defined and measured efficiency by dividing the count of unique, nonrepetitive pieces of information by duration of the handoff conversation. Furthermore, we calculated and measured two communication variables: turn-taking and noise. We utilized West and Zimmerman’s Syntactic Scale to analyze turn taking by segregating noise into three subcategories: environmental noise caused by equipment, environmental noise caused by staff, and third-party interruptions. Finally, we recorded and measured the frequency and duration of noise and turn-taking during the handoff events. Results Due to technical issues, we transcribed and analyzed a total of 85 observations. Providers passed an average of 31.68 unique pieces of information during each handoff with the average length being 1 min and 46 s. Overlaps was the most common type of turn-taking behavior. Activity noise was the most common type of noise. Activity noise took place an average of 3.64 times per handoff and lasted an average of 9.83 s. Turn-taking accounted for 15.6% of variance in handoff efficiency. Together, noise and turn-taking accounted for 25.2% of the variance in handoff efficiency. Conclusion Because turn-taking and noise account for over a quarter the variance in handoff efficiency, recommendations include providing quiet locations for handoffs to take place. Additionally, we recommend that receivers provide input in any handoff interventional studies as their involvement would decrease the need to interrupt or clarify information from the sender.

Over the years of research on gender and language, a growing interest has developed in the study of gender differences and differences in verbal interactions. However, TV talk-shows are a relatively less studied area of pragma-linguistics. TV talk shows are like everyday face-to-face talks except that they take place in an institutional setting. They include all the major features of conversations wherein turn-taking is a salient component of conversational interactions. Based on Holmes’ six universals about language and gender that stood against Lakoff’s Deficit Model, this study examined four episodes from four TV talk-shows in Bangladesh, two being hosted by men and two by women, to determine how differentially the hosts take turns to manage their verbal interactions in their talk shows. This study employs the conversation analysis approach developed by Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson to examine how the hosts’ turn-taking overlaps with guests’ speeches, and how the hosts’ practices of interruptions, based on gender, are shaped with distinct functions to manage their interactions in talk shows. Data analysis shows that the female hosts, aligned with Holmes’ universals, managed interactions by soft transitions, minimal turns with supportive overlaps, the strategy of co-construction, and nonlinguistic back channels whereas the male hosts’ interaction management patterns were fully opposite from each other’s: one took excessive turns mostly characterized by interruptive overlaps while the other, like the female hosts, made soft transitions and avoided interruptive turns. This study adds to gender and language studies contributing to emerging social perceptions that woman verbal interactions are characterized by solidarity and co-operation despite their social high standing.

Background: Compared to typically developing individuals, individuals with attention-deficit-hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) are on average more often exposed to stressful conditions (e.g., school failure, family conflicts, financial problems). We hypothesized that high exposure to stress relates to a more persistent and complex (i.e., multi-problem) form of ADHD, while low-stress exposure relates to remitting ADHD over the course of adolescence. Method: Longitudinal data (ages 11, 13, 16, and 19) came from the Tracking Adolescents’ Individual Life Survey (TRAILS). We selected children diagnosed with ADHD (n = 244; 167 males; 77 females) from the TRAILS clinical cohort and children who screened positive (n = 365; 250 males; 115 females) and negative (gender-matched: n = 1222; 831 males; 391 females) for ADHD from the TRAILS general population sample cohort (total n = 1587). Multivariate latent class growth analysis was applied to parent- and self-ratings of stress exposure, core ADHD problems (attention problems, hyperactivity/impulsivity), effortful control, emotion dysregulation (irritability, extreme reactivity, frustration), and internalizing problems (depression, anxiety, somatic complaints). Results: Seven distinct developmental courses in stress exposure and psychopathology were discerned, of which four related to ADHD. Two persistent ADHD courses of severely affected adolescents were associated with very high curvilinear stress exposure peaking in mid-adolescence: (1) Severe combined type with ongoing, severe emotional dysregulation, and (2) combined type with a high and increasing internalization of problems and elevated irritability; two partly remitting ADHD courses had low and declining stress exposure: (3) inattentive type, and (4) moderate combined type, both mostly without comorbid problems. Conclusions: High-stress exposure between childhood and young adulthood is strongly intertwined with a persistent course of ADHD and with comorbid problems taking the form of either severe and persistent emotion dysregulation (irritability, extreme reactivity, frustration) or elevated and increasing irritability, anxiety, and depression. Conversely, low and declining stress exposure is associated with remitting ADHD and decreasing internalizing and externalizing problems. Stress exposure is likely to be a facilitating and sustaining factor in these two persistent trajectories of ADHD with comorbid problems into young adulthood. Our findings suggest that a bidirectional, continuing, cycle of stressors leads to enhanced symptoms, in turn leading to more stressors, and so forth. Consideration of stressful conditions should, therefore, be an inherent part of the diagnosis and treatment of ADHD, to potentiate prevention and interruption of adverse trajectories.

Synchronizing behaviors in interactions, such as during turn-taking, are often impaired in children with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Therapies that focus on turn-taking generally lead to increased social skills, less interruptions, and silent pauses, however a positive non-demanding environment is therefore thought to be beneficial. Such an environment can be achieved by incorporating animals into therapy. Our study was guided by the following research questions: (1) How can we characterize the interaction between child and therapist during dolphin-assisted therapy, with regard to synchrony in verbalizations (turn-taking) and (2) does synchrony change over the course of six sessions of therapy? To answer these questions, we performed a cross-recurrence quantification analysis on behavioral data of five children, to give a detailed view of the interaction between therapist and child in the context of dolphin-assisted therapy. We were able to detect synchrony (i.e., adequate turn-taking) in all dyads, although not all children improved equally. The differences might be explained by a delayed reaction time of some children, and their level of language development.

We studied consultations between a doctor, emergency nurse practitioners (ENPs) and their patients in a minor accident and treatment service (MATS). In the conventional consultations, all three people were located at the main hospital. In the teleconsultations, the doctor was located in a hospital 6 km away from the MATS and used a videoconferencing link connected at 384 kbit/s. There were 30 patients in the conventional group and 30 in the telemedical group. The presenting problems were similar in the two groups. The mean duration of teleconsultations was 951 s and the mean duration of face-to-face consultations was 247 s. In doctor-nurse communication there was a higher rate of turn taking in teleconsultations than in face-to-face consultations; there were also more interruptions, more words and more 'backchannels' (e.g. 'mhm', 'uh-huh') per teleconsultation. In doctor-patient communication there was a higher rate of turn taking, more words, more interruptions and more backchannels per teleconsultation. In patient-nurse communication there was relatively little difference between the two modes of consulting the doctor. Telemedicine appeared to empower the patient to ask more questions of the doctor. It also seemed that the doctor took greater care in a teleconsultation to achieve coordination of beliefs with the patient than in a face-to-face consultation.

Types of manipulation, use of manipulative techniques and methods of protection from this kind of influence are a well-developed subject in modern psychology. In linguistics, however, this field of study deserves special attention as hidden manipulation can be traced practically in any speech act. The article contains practical analysis of speech strategies employed by the participants of a political dialogue. It is posited that turn taking in a dialogue is an epitome of strategical planning rather than a technical structuring mechanism. The convergence or disparity of the strategies used defines the cooperative or conflict nature of the dialogue as well as the successful implementation of the goals set by the speakers. Among the wide range of turn-transitions, interruptions of a partner deserve the closest attention as they demonstrate the speakers’ attempts to grab or hold the communicative initiative. In this case interruptions can be viewed as ways to manipulate both the dialogue partner and in case of TV broadcasts the public opinion. The findings of the research can be found useful by students majoring in journalism as well as by those who study diplomacy and international relations because the ability to recognize the hidden intentions of a communication partner is the best method to protect oneself from being manipulated.

Gendered expectations are imported from the larger culture to permeate small-group discussions, creating conversational inequalities. Conversational roles also emerge from the negotiated order of group interactions to reflect, reinforce, and occasionally challenge these cultural patterns. The authors provide a new examination of conversational overlaps and interruptions. They show how negotiated conversational roles lead a status distinction (gender) to shape conversational inequality. The authors use a mixed-effects logit model to analyze turn taking as it unfolds in task-group discussions, focusing on how previous behavior shapes current interaction. They then use these conversational roles to examine how locally produced interaction orders mediate the relationship between gender and interruptions. The authors find a more complex process than previous research has revealed. Gender influences the history of being interrupted early in an interaction, which changes the ongoing behavioral patterns to create a cumulative conversational disadvantage. The authors then discuss the implications of these group dynamics for interventions.

The purpose of the paper is to examine the dynamic relationships between language and power in The City (2008), which was written by the groundbreaking playwright Martin Crimp. In a systematic and intentional way, Crimp’s language resists the established conventional standards and challenges any typical expectations for dramatic discourse. Crimp deconstructs language and dismantles its authorial guidance. He employs stimulating and inventive dialogues through word games and language strategies and devices such as repetitions, interruptions, silences and pauses, denial, concealment, other enhancement, negation, formulation, topic-shift and turn-taking. Crimp exploits language through effective and energetic rhythm, structure and form in order to depict the ethical disasters of the contemporary world. The playwright breaks the traditional dramatic form, replacing it with his unique device where the language does not communicate meaning but acts as a means of articulating power through verbal strategies.

Although the question of whether women and men speak differently is a topic of hot debate, an overview of the extent towhich empirical studies provide robust support for a relationship between sex/gender and language is lacking. Therefore, the aim of the current scoping review is to synthesize recent studies from various theoretical perspectives on the relationship between sex/gender and language use in spoken face-to-face dyadic interactions. Fifteen empirical studies were systematically selected for review, and were discussed according to four different theoretical perspectives and associated methodologies. More than thirty relevant linguistic variables were identified (e.g., interruptions and intensifiers). Overall, few robust differences between women and men in the use of linguistic variables were observed across contexts, although women seem to be more engaged in supportive turn-taking than men. Importantly, gender identity salience, institutionalized roles, and social and contextual factors such as interactional setting or conversational goal seem to play a key role in the relationship between speaker’s sex/gender and language used in spoken interaction.

In discourse, Transition Relevance Place (TRP), which transpires when the speaker changes in turn-taking, indicates numerous issues about participants' relationships, intentions, and roles in that conversation. For example, silence has the power to signal various concerns, ranging from comfort to awkwardness. Overlapping might mean cooperation or challenge depending on the context. Besides, etiquette in a conversation is scrupulously observed in formal exchanges, and interrupting the speaker is considered a severe violation of etiquette in conversations. Interlocutors tend to obey the sequences of transition in conversations, and exceptions are functional as participants of a conversation perceive them as divergent from the expected flow. In this sense, TRP is rather observable in a register regarding the possible effects it might contribute to it. As an area of sociolinguistics, register defines language use proper to a particular function in a context. Therefore, this study will argue that in an American comedy sitcom, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, the interlocutors reconstruct the usual formal register by demolishing hierarchy through TRP.

The present research endeavours to shed light on the role that gender plays in the language classroom in the Greek context. As no systematic investigation has considered special aspects of gender and interaction in primary school classrooms, this study seeks to investigate how teachers and students position themselves within different discourses in EFL classroom interaction. The issues discussed include turn-taking and interruptions, praise and reprimand, class dominance, teacher attention and class participation in classroom interaction. Drawing on language and gender research, it was hypothesized that gender of the learner affects the learner’s language use and behaviour during EFL interaction. This study advances our understanding of gendered classroom interaction and highlights important ways in which students’ gender influences teacher-student, as well as student-student interaction. Moreover, this study sheds light on gender bias which occurs in the classroom and thus impedes teachers’ abilities to work successfully with all students. The Greek data revealed great similarity with findings of previous studies by supporting the assumption that: (a) teachers are biased in favour of boys, especially with respect to giving them more attention; (b) male students demand more teacher attention and more instructions from the teacher than their female peers; (c) female students are more likely to receive praise and positive comments, whereas male students are reprimanded by the teacher; (d) male students are more active in class participation, by taking more turns, volunteering and calling out.

In this paper, various interactional features of turn-constructional unit (TCU) continuation as realized in Korean conversation through post-predicate elements are analyzed from a conversation-analytic perspective. Formulated as increments, post-predicate elements serve as re-completers by expanding the host TCU after it has reached a possible point of completion, which is explicitly marked by the utterance-final verb predicate. In many contexts of TCU continuation, the host TCU tends to be allusively constructed (e.g., in the form of a verb predicate with unexpressed arguments) and saliently indexical of the speaker’s affective stance, and post-predicate elements, mostly taking the form of ‘insertables’, elaborate the host TCU. TCU continuation is often realized when the action of the allusive host TCU is ‘disjunctively’ executed, with the interactional import of being potentially interruptive of the current talk-in-progress. Such an intrusive deployment of the host TCU, which is implicated in the practice of foregrounding the speaker’s collusively motivated responsive stance (e.g., in a confirmation request), is demonstrably oriented to by the speaker, who produces a post-predicate element as a methodic way of mitigating the disjunctive initiation of the prior action. The recipient also orients himself/herself to the potentially topic-derailing import associated with such a disjunctive initiation of action by way of initiating repair and/or promptly resuming his/her talk. As such, the production of a post-predicate element itself, mostly as an insertable that is grammatically and semantically related to the host, may not be directly attributed to interactional contingencies per se; it is often sequentially occasioned by practices geared towards enlivening the sequence being wrapped up, initiating or continuing an assessment sequence by way of highlighting the speaker’s evaluative stance turn-initially, or building the current turn on the prior turn through turn-tying operations. The interactional feature of post-predicate elements ‘re-doing the completion point as a transition-relevance place’ is partially manifested in the way the prosodic contour of the final or whole component of the host TCU is repeated and matched by that of the post-predicate elements.

News interviews play an important role in the way the formation of opinions. The details of this type of interaction have been studied quite recently by a number of scholars. In this study observational categories for evasive conversational behaviour, as proposed by these researchers, are applied to interviewees differing in gender and political activity. Its main question is: do interviewees of different gender and political commitment differ in their evasive reactions to questions? The data consist of 32 10-minute clips from interviews broadcast on Dutch TV or radio in 2003, 2004 and 2005. In the analysis, four different types of evasion were distinguished: 1 Evasion by changing the discourse roles. Interviewees can avoid answering questions by adopting behaviour typical of the interviewer role, such as posing counter questions, listening actively instead of speaking, or changing the agenda of the interview. 2 Evasion by playing with the rules for turn taking, for example, by interrupting the interviewer. 3 Evasion by couching the answer in avoiding terms or by being polite and indirect. 4 Evasion by questioning the question (its relevance, appropriateness or formulation), questioning a presupposition or giving a non-answer. Not surprisingly, the results show that politicians are more evasive than non-politicians. Less predictably, however, they also show that males are more evasive than females. The effect of gender is not as strong as that of political activity. When comparing male and female politicians, it turns out that both groups are often evasive, but make use of different means. Female non-politicians use evasions remarkably infrequently.

The growing development nowadays on Mozambique is directly associated to the crescent industrialization and the increasing number of the population on enormous cities of the Nation, what needs more electrical energy and produce more garbage; uncontrolled and putting it in a challenge to face this scenario. Maputo City is facing huge problem with the Town Massive Garbage (TMG), without the structure to treat it, which deposited in the open dumpsite out of normal conditions, contributing for many diseases and environment impact, when it is burnt or it burns spontaneously, the subterranean water body is contaminated with leachate (methane); and proximately 72% of population or citizens have not electrical energy. The intention of this task is principally to turn the Town Massive Garbage into electrical energy in Maputo City the capital of the country, taking on the different technologies according to the garbage’s conditions and increase the capacity of energy which is approximately to 20% on the Country and to reduce the impact of environment from the landfill and, the number of landfill and dumpsites, working and attempting to achieve the sustainable development goals. The country has been recording constant interruptions of power supply due to increased energy demand resulting from the development of their Citizen, construction of new industrial, hotel and Office building together with housing. The motivations is to apply garbage as other innocuous source of power or energy, knowing that in the country mainly hydropower and solar, wind, biomass in a small quantity, coal, fuel are vanishing; reduce the impact of environment, global warm and ailments caused by it. The methodologies used to achieve the objectives are thermodynamics, heat transfer expressions and the COCO-OPEN simulation methodology to predate the energy generate from the composition and quantity of MSW. The results illustrates the possibility to enforce Town massive Garbage as source of energy or power, clearly taking in account the track conditions, as the heating value of it is nearly equal to the coal value which has been used to generate energy in many plants around the world. Municipal solid waste should be the future source of electricity to many developing countries if they create the structure to deal with it, treating, separating in different categories, controllin

Language is an indispensable instrument whereby we organize and build our social ties in our communities, and society at large. Human language is critically interwoven into the processes whereby human beings communicate, build knowledge, transmit information, and determine the identity of both the addresser and the addressee in any communicational exchange. We could hypothetically assert that if there is unmistakably one thing without which man as a species can hardly live in the social realm, it is language par excellence. In an admittedly multi-layered and inherently complex sociolinguistic configuration, the individual speaker’s linguistic choice, the different roles he or she plays, be they in a position of addresser or addressee, and the various situations where the speech takes place do serve as markers reflecting one’s identity and communication styles. In this respect, factors such as sex, age, level of education, occupation, race, and geographical origin can virtually be reflected via one’s speech. This article sets out to analyze (1) the influential role of speech, (2) gender and identity, (3) dominance/difference, and (4) cross-gender oral communication in the Moroccan context using a homogenous convenience sample of Moroccan participants. This study falls within the scope of gender studies. Its major aim is to demonstrate the roles that mixed-gendered interlocutors can play in order to maintain effective communication. Therefore, their perceptions regarding interruptions, conversation dominance, turn-taking and choice of topics in conversations are analyzed. Different research instruments have been implemented to collect data including recordings of real-life conversational speech, classroom observation, and interviews. The findings indicate that gender-based differences permeate the conversational styles of both men and women across cultures and with divergent degrees of strength and expression. It has also been shown that although communication breakdown is a source of frustration, it remains a common phenomenon in social interactions. Therefore, overcoming difficulties in maintaining effective communication between members of different genders is dependent on the interlocutors’ belief that accepting difference in language and communication styles can make cross-gender communication a satisfactory social experience. This study is expected to raise awareness regarding the socialization processes the two sex groups have gone through which shape in substantial ways the way they speak, behave and interact among each other.

Background. Treatment of blood malignancies is often accompanied by the hematological toxicity. Thrombocytopenia is one of the most common phenomena, which can be caused by pseudothrombocytopenia, production deficiency or increased destruction of platelets, their pathological distribution or aggregation. Objective. To determine the features of hematological toxicity in the treatment of malignant blood diseases. Materials and methods. Analysis of literature data and recommendations on this topic. Results and discussion. Diagnosis of thrombocytopenia involves a detailed study of a peripheral blood smear to assess the morphology of all cells, as well as additional studies (determination of lactate dehydrogenase, D-dimer, fibrinogen, etc.; aspiration and bone marrow biopsy; virological and bacteriological studies; clinical examination). The main causes of thrombocytopenia in cancer patients are chemotherapy (ChT) and radiation therapy (RT), however, the diagnosis should take into account all possible nosological options. The assessment should be performed if the platelet count is <100,000/μl. The normal lifespan of platelets is 8-10 days, so after many types of ChT thrombocytopenia develops about 7th days after treatment, reaches a maximum of 14th days and ends in 28-35th days. After RT thrombocytopenia usually starts in 7-10th days after its termination and is present during 30-60 days. Before treating thrombocytopenia, the need for ChT should be re-evaluated and the risk of bleeding assessed, and the ChT regimen should be changed if possible. If the risk of bleeding is high or the platelet count is critically low, platelet transfusion is prescribed, however, it has recently been found that absolute platelet count is not a predictor of bleeding risk in this patient population (PLADO study). In addition, platelet transfusion is limited in resources and costly, and is accompanied by the risk of side effects (acute lung damage due to transfusion, fever, bacterial sepsis, development of transfusion intolerance). This became the basis for the search for alternative treatment options. Recombinant interleukin-11 (oprelvekin) reduces the need for platelet transfusion from 96 to 70 % of patients on ChT. However, although this drug is FDA-approved, it is characterized by a large number of side effects. In turn, thrombopoietin receptor agonists (subcutaneous romiplostin, oral eltrombopag) bind to the corresponding receptors and increase the number of platelets in the blood. The effectiveness of treatment is within 70 %. Emaplag (“Yuria-Pharm”) is the first and only eltrombopag in Ukraine. Emaplag is indicated for the treatment of thrombocytopenia caused by ChT in patients with solid tumors, patients with platelet counts <50×109/L, and in cases where the physician decides to increase platelet count. With regard to anemias, their main causes in cancer patients are the factors of the underlying disease (bone marrow infiltration, infectious processes), the impact of ChT or RT, other causes (malnutrition, bleeding, renal dysfunction). Examination of patients with anemia should include history taking, evaluation of blood smear and iron metabolism, exclusion of occult gastrointestinal bleeding and renal failure, Coombs’ test, determination of endogenous erythropoietin. Treatment options for ChT-induced anemia include blood transfusions and the use of erythropoietins (epoetins α and β, darbepoetin) with or without iron supplements (oral or intravenous). The advantages of using erythropoietin include reducing the need for transfusion of erythrocyte mass, a gradual increase in hemoglobin, increasing quality of life. However, erythropoietins are not recommended for use in cancer patients who do not receive ChT or receive RT, because in these cases, their use is associated with an increased mortality risk. Because in some patient groups erythropoietins accelerate tumor growth or reduce survival, the patient must give a written informed consent for their use. Given these data, it is advisable to prescribe intravenous iron, as it allows not only to quickly increase hemoglobin and improve quality of life, but also to reduce the dosage of erythropoietins. Iron carboxymaltose if the most modern parenteral iron preparation. It is characterized by low toxicity and high stability. Conclusions. 1. Thromboconcentrate transfusion is a fast and effective way to correct thrombocytopenia, which has a number of disadvantages. 2. Thrombopoietin receptor agonists (eltrombopag) make it possible to increase the effectiveness of treatment without interrupting the planned therapy. 3. In the presence of anemia, all possible causes should be corrected before prescribing erythropoietins. 4. If the anemia is caused by ChT, the patient needs to take erythropoietins. 5. Addition of intravenous iron preparations to erythropoietin therapy significantly increases the effectiveness of treatment.

Seven spot ladybird beetle, (Coccinella septempunctata) is a widely distributed natural enemy of soft-bodied insect pests especially aphids worldwide. Both the adult and larvae of this coccinellid beetle are voracious feeders and serve as a commercially available biological control agent around the globe. Different techniques are adopted to enhance the mass rearing and storage of this natural enemy by taking advantage of its natural ability to withstand under extremely low temperatures and entering diapause under unfavorable low temperature conditions. The key objective of this study was to develop a cost effective technique for enhancing the storage life and predatory potential of the larvae of C. septempunctata through cold storage in conjunction with the use of nuclear techniques, gamma radiations. Results showed that the host eating potential of larvae was enhanced as the cold storage duration was increased. Gamma irradiation further enhanced the feeding potential of larvae that were kept under cold storage. Different irradiation doses also affected the development time of C. septempuntata larvae significantly. Without cold storage, the lower radiation doses (10 and 25 GY) prolonged the developmental time as compared to un-irradiated larvae. Furthermore, the higher dose of radiation (50GY) increased the developmental time after removal from cold storage. This study first time paves the way to use radiation in conjunction with cold storage as an effective technique in implementation of different biological control approaches as a part of any IPM programs.Key wordGamma irradiations; cold storage, Coccinella septempunctata larvae; predatory potential; integrated pest management programme.INTRODUCTIONNuclear techniques such as gamma radiations have a vast application in different programmes of biological control including continuous supply of sterilized host and improved rearing techniques (Greany and Carpenter, 2000; Cai et al., 2017). Similarly irradiation can be used for sentinel-host eggs and larvae for monitoring survival and distribution of parasitoids (Jordão-paranhos et al., 2003; Hendrichs et al., 2009; Tunçbilek et al., 2009; Zapater et al., 2009; Van Lenteren, 2012). Also, at the production level, such technique may facilitate the management of host rearing, improve quality and expedite transport of product (Fatima et al., 2009; Hamed et al., 2009; Wang et al., 2009). Gamma irradiations can also be used to stop insect’s development to enhance host suitability for their use in different mass rearing programs (Celmer-Warda, 2004; Hendrichs et al., 2009; Seth et al., 2009). Development and survival of all insects have a direct connection with temperatures which in turn affect the physical, functional and behavioral adaptations (Ramløy, 2000). Many insects living in moderate regions can survive at low temperature by process of diapause. A temperature between 0 to 10oC may cause some insects to become sluggish and they only become active when the temperature is suitable. Such insects show greater adaptations to flexible temperature regimes for better survival. Many studies have reported this concept of cold-hardiness in insects in general (Bale, 2002; Danks, 2006) and specifically in coccinellid beetles over past years (Watanabe, 2002; Koch et al., 2004; Pervez and Omkar, 2006; Labrie et al., 2008; Berkvens et al., 2010). Using this cold hardiness phenomenon, many coccinellids have been studied for the effect of cold storage such as Coccinella undecimpunctata (Abdel‐Salam and Abdel‐Baky, 2000), Coleomegilla maculata (Gagné and Coderre, 2001) and Harmonia axyridis (Watanabe, 2002). This natural phenomenon, therefore, can be a helpful tool in developing low temperature stockpiling for improving mass-rearing procedures (Mousapour et al., 2014). It may provide a significant output in terms of providing natural enemies as and when required during pest infestation peaks (Venkatesan et al., 2000). Use of irradiation in conjunction with cold storage proves to be an effective technique in implementation of different biological control approaches as a part of any IPM programme. A study reported that the pupate of house fly, Musca domestica irradiated at dose of 500 Gy and can stored up to 2 months at 6°C for future use for a parasitoid wasp Spalangia endius rearing (Zapater et al., 2009). Similarly, when irradiated at 20 GY, parasitic wasps Cotesia flavipes were stored safely up to two months without deterioration of their parasitic potential (Fatima et al., 2009). Similarly, bio-control program of sugarcane shoot borer Chilo infescatellus proved successful through the use of irradiation combined with cold storage of its egg and larval parasitoids Trichogramma chilonis and C. flavipes (Fatima et al., 2009). Less mobile life stages such as larvae are of significance in any IPM strategy because they remain on target site for more time period as compared to adults. Therefore, use of predatory larvae is very promising in different biological control approaches because of their immediate attack on pests and more resistance to unfavorable environmental conditions than delicate egg stage. In addition, with their augmentation into fields, larval stage shows their presence for longer time than adult stage and their feeding potential is also satisfactory as that of adults. For the best utilization of these predators in the field and maximum impact of 3rd and 4th larval instars on prey, we should encourage late 2nd second instar larvae of predatory beetles in the fields as these instars have more feeding capacity due to increased size and ability to handle larger preys.In spite of higher significance, there is little information available about the effect of cold storage on the survival of larval instars of different ladybird beetles and its effect on their predatory potential. Very few studies report the use of cold storage for non-diapausing larval stage like for Semiadalia undecimnotata and only one study reported the short-term storage (up to two weeks) of 2nd and 3rd instar coccinellid, C. maculate, without any loss in feeding voracity of larvae after storage (Gagné and Coderre, 2001). The survival of 3rd and 4th larval instars of C. undecimpunctata for 7 days after storage at 5oC was reported in a study but the survival rate declined after 15-60 days of storage (Abdel‐Salam and Abdel‐Baky, 2000). As C. septempunctata is considered one of the voracious predators (Afroz, 2001; Jandial and Malik, 2006; Bilashini and Singh, 2009; Xia et al., 2018) and diapause is a prominent feature of this beetle and it may undergo facultative diapause under suitable laboratory conditions (Suleman, 2015). No information is available to date about the combined effect of cold storage and irradiation on the larval instars of this species.OBJECTIVES The objective of this study was to devise a cost effective technique for the cold storage and its effect on the subsequent predatory potential of the seven spotted ladybird beetle larvae in conjunction with the use of gamma radiations. Hypothesis of the study was that an optimum length of low temperature treatment for storage purpose would not affect the predation capacity of C. septempunctata larvae and their developmental parameters including survival and pupation will remain unaffected. Furthermore, use of gamma irradiation will have some additional effects on survival and feeding capacity of irradiated C. septempunctata larvae. Such techniques can be utilized in different biocontrol programs where short term storage is required. So these larvae can be successfully imparted in different IPM programs against sucking complex of insect pests as a component of biological control strategyMATERIALS AND METHODSPlant materials: Collection and rearing of C. septempunctata: Adult C. septempunctata were collected from the wheat crop (in NIAB vicinity and farm area) in the month of March during late winter and early in spring season 2016-2017. They were kept in plastic jars and were fed with brassica aphids. Under controlled laboratory conditions (25+2oC, 16h: 8h L:D and 65+5% R.H.), eggs of C. septempuctata were obtained and after hatching, larvae were also given brassica aphids as dietary source. Larvae of second instar were selected for this experiment (as the first instar is generally very weak and vulnerable to mortality under low temperatures). As the larvae approached second instar, they were separated for the experimentation. Irradiation of larvae at different doses: Irradiation of larvae was carried out by the irradiation source 137CS at Radiation laboratory, and the larvae were then brought back to the IPM laboratory, Plant Protection Division, Nuclear Institute for Agriculture and Biology (NIAB) Faisalabad. Radiation doses of 10 GY (Grey), 25 GY and 50 GY were used to treat the second instar larvae. There were three replicates for each treatment and five larvae per replicate were used. Control treatment was left un-irradiated.Cold storage of irradiated larvae: In present work, second instar C. septempunctata larvae were studied for storage at low temperature of 8oC. The larvae were kept at 8oC for 0, I and II weeks where week 0 depicts no cold treatment and this set of larvae was left under laboratory conditions for feeding and to complete their development. For larvae that were kept under cold storage for one week at 8°C, the term week I was devised. Similarly, week II denotes the larvae that remained under cold conditions (8°C) for two continuous weeks. Larvae were removed from cold storage in their respective week i.e., after week I and week II and were left under laboratory conditions to complete their development by feeding on aphids. Data collection: For recording the predatory potential of C. septempunctata larvae, 100 aphids were provided per larva per replicate on a daily basis until pupation as this number was more than their feeding capacity to make sure that they were not starved (personal observation). Observations were recorded for survival rate, developmental time and feeding potential. Data analysis: Data were statistically analysed by Statistical Software SPSS (Version 16.0). The data were subjected to normality check through the One-sample Kolmogorov-Smirnov test. Non normal data were transformed to normal data which were then used for all parametric variance tests. One-way and two-way analyses of variance were used. For comparison between variables, LSD test at α 0.05 was applied.RESULTSFeeding potential of irradiated larvae after removal from cold storage: Results showed an increase in the feeding potential of C. septempunctata larvae with increased cold storage duration. The feeding potential was significantly higher for the larvae that spent maximum length of time (week II) under cold storage conditions followed by week I and week 0. Gamma irradiations further enhanced the feeding potential of larvae that were kept under cold storage. When larvae were irradiated at 10 GY, the eating capacity of larvae increased significantly with the duration of cold storage. Similarly, larvae that were irradiated at 25 GY, showed increase in feeding potential on aphids as the time period of cold storage increased. The feeding potential of larvae that were irradiated at 50 GY, was again significantly increased with increase of cold storage duration. When different radiation doses were compared to week 0 of storage, there was a significant difference in feeding potential and larvae irradiated at 50 GY consumed the maximum numbers of aphids when no cold storage was done followed by larvae irradiated at 10 and 25 GY. With the other treatment, where larvae were kept under cold storage for one week (week I) the larvae irradiated at 50GY again showed the highest feeding potential. The feeding potential of irradiated larvae was again significantly higher than the un-irradiated larvae that were kept for two weeks (week II) under cold storage (table 1).Two-way ANOVA was performed to check the interaction between the different radiation doses and different lengths of storage durations for feeding potential of C. septempunctata larvae on aphids. The feeding potential of larvae irradiated at different doses and subjected to variable durations of cold storage were significantly different for both the radiation doses and cold storage intervals. Furthermore, the interaction between the radiation doses and storage duration was also significant meaning that the larvae irradiated at different doses with different length of cold storage were having significant variations in feeding levels (table 2).Developmental time of irradiated larvae after removal from cold storage: Significant difference was found in the development time of the larvae of C. septempunctata when irradiated at different doses at week 0 (without cold storage). The larvae irradiated at 10 GY took the maximum time for development and with the increase in irradiation dosage, from 25 to 50 GY, the time of development was shortened. The larvae irradiated at 50 GY had the same development time as the un-irradiated ones. When, the irradiated larvae were subjected to cold storage of one week duration (week I), their development time after removal from storage condition varied significantly. The larvae irradiated at 25 GY took the maximum time for development followed by larvae irradiated at 50 GY and 10 GY. There was an indication that the development time was extended for irradiated larvae as compared to un-irradiated larvae.Results also depicted a significant difference in the time taken by irradiated larvae to complete their development after taken out from cold storage of two weeks duration (week II). As the storage time of irradiated larvae increased, the development time was prolonged. Results showed that the larvae that were irradiated at 25 and 50 GY, took the maximum time to complete their development. With the prolonged duration of cold storage up to two weeks (week II), this difference of development time was less evident at lower doses (10 GY). The larvae irradiated at 10 GY showed a significant difference in their developmental duration after being taken out of cold storage conditions of the week 0, I and II. There was no difference in the developmental duration of larvae that were un-irradiated and subjected to different regimes of storage. Un-irradiated larvae were least affected by the duration of storage. With the increase in the storage time, a decrease in the developmental time was recorded. Larvae that were irradiated at 10 GY, took the maximum period to complete their development when no cold storage was done (week 0) followed by week I and II of cold storage. When the larvae irradiated at 25 GY were compared for their development time, there was again significant difference for week 0, I and II of storage duration. Maximum time was taken by the larvae for their complete development when removed from cold storage after one week (week I). With the increase in storage duration the time taken by larvae to complete their development after removal from cold storage reduced.When the larvae were removed after different lengths of cold storage duration i.e., week 0, week I and week II, there was a significant difference in the developmental time afterwards. Results have shown that the higher dose of radiation, increased the developmental time after removal from cold storage. The larvae irradiated at 50 GY took the longest time to complete their development after removal from cold storage (week I and week II) as compared the larvae that were not kept under cold storage conditions (week 0) (table 3).Interaction between the different radiation doses and different lengths of storage durations for development time of larvae were checked by two-way ANOVA. The development time of larvae irradiated at different doses and subjected to variable durations of cold storage were significantly different for both the doses and cold storage intervals. Furthermore, the interaction between the radiation doses and storage duration was also significant meaning that the larvae irradiated at different doses with different length of cold storage were having significant variations in development times (table 4). DISCUSSIONThe present research work indicates the possibility of keeping the larval instars of C. septempunctata under cold storage conditions of 8oC for a short duration of around 14 days without affecting its further development and feeding potential. Furthermore, irradiation can enhance the feeding potential and increase the development time of larval instars. This in turn could be a useful technique in mass rearing and field release programmes for biological control through larval instars. Usually temperature range of 8-10oC is an optimal selection of low temperature for storage as reported earlier for eggs two spotted ladybird beetle, Adalia bipunctata and the eggs of C. septempunctata (Hamalainen and Markkula, 1977), Trichogramma species (Jalali and Singh, 1992) and fairyfly, Gonatocerus ashmeadi (Hymenoptra; Mymaridae) (Leopold and Chen, 2007). However, a study reported more than 80% survival rate for the coccinellid beetle, Harmonia axyridis for up to 150 days at moderately low temperature of 3-6oC (Ruan et al., 2012). So there is great flexibility in coccinellid adults and larvae for tolerating low temperature conditions. After removal from cold storage, larvae showed better feeding potential with consumption of more aphids when compared to normal larvae that were not placed under low temperature conditions. This indicates that when the adult or immature insect stages are subjected to low temperature environment, they tend to reduce their metabolic activity for keeping them alive on the reserves of their body fats and sustain themselves for a substantial length of time under such cold environment. Hereafter, the larval instars that were in cold storage were behaving as if starved for a certain length of time and showed more hunger. This behavior of improved or higher feeding potential of stored larvae has been reported previously (Chapman, 1998). Hence, the feeding potential of C. septempunctata larvae significantly increased after cold storage. Gagné and Coderre (2001) reported higher predatory efficacy in larvae of C. maculata when stored at the same temperature as in the present study i.e., 8oC. Similarly, Ruan et al. (2012) showed that the multicolored Asian ladybug, H. axyridis, when stored under cold conditions, had more eating capacity towards aphids Aphis craccivora Koch than the individuals that were not stored. Such studies indicate that the higher feeding potential in insects after being subjected to low temperature environmental conditions could be due to the maintenance of their metabolism rate to a certain level while utilizing their energy reserves to the maximum extent (Watanabe, 2002).The individuals coming out from cold storage are therefore capable of consuming more pray as they were in a condition of starvation and they have to regain their energy loss through enhanced consumption. Furthermore, the starvation in C. septempunctata has previously been reported to affect their feeding potential (Suleman et al., 2017). In the present study, the larval development was delayed after returning to normal laboratory conditions. Cold storage affects the life cycle of many insects other than coccinellids. The cold storage of green bug aphid parasitoid, Lysiphlebus testaceipes Cresson (Hymenoptra; Braconidae) mummies increased the life cycle 3-4 times. Nevertheless, in current study the development process of stored larvae resumed quickly after taking them out and larvae completed their development up to adult stage. Similar kinds of results were reported for resumption of larval development after removal from cold storage conditions. Such studies only report satisfactory survival rates and development for a short duration of cold storage but as the length of storage is increased, it could become harmful to certain insects. Gagné and Coderre (2001) reported that cold storage for longer period (three weeks) proved fatal for almost 40% of larvae of C. maculata. Furthermore, in the same study, the feeding potential of C. maculata larvae was also affected beyond two weeks of cold storage due to the loss of mobility after a long storage period. Many studies have reported that longer durations of low temperature conditions can either damage the metabolic pathways of body cells or may increase the levels of toxins within the bodies of insects. Also, low temperature exposure for longer duration may cause specific interruptions in the insect body especially neuro-hormones responsible for insect development, which could be dangerous or even life threatening.Chen et al. (2004) also reported that the biological qualities of parasitized Bemisia tabaci pupae on population quality of Encarsia formosa were affected negatively with increase in cold storage duration. Similarly, the egg hatchability of green lacewing Chrysoperla carnea Stephen was lost completely beyond 18 days of cold storage (Sohail et al., 2019). However, in the present study the cold storage was done for maximum two weeks and it is to be regarded as a short term storage hence the survival rate was satisfactory. Longer periods of cold storage for larvae are not considered safe due to their vulnerable state as compared to adults which are hardier. Also 2nd instar larvae used in the present study for cold storage for being bigger in size and physical stronger than 1st instar. Abdel‐Salam and Abdel‐Baky (2000) reported that in C. undecimpunctata the cold storage of 3rd and 4th larval instars was higher and considered safer than early larval instars. The same study showed sharp decline in survival rate after two weeks and there was no survival beyond 30-60 days of cold storage. The present study showed that short term storage of the larvae of C. septempunctata could be done without any loss of their feeding potential or development so the quality of predator remained unaffected. Similar kind of work for many other insects had been reported previously where cold storage technique proved useful without deteriorating the fitness of stored insects. For example, the flight ability of reared codling moth Cydia pomonella Linnaeus remained unaffected after removal from cold storage (Matveev et al., 2017). Moreover, a sturdy reported that pupae of a parasitoid wasp Trichogramma nerudai (Hymenoptera; Trichogrammatidae) could be safely put in cold storage for above than 50 days (Tezze and Botto, 2004). Similarly, a technique of cold storage of non-diapausing eggs of black fly Simulium ornaturm Meigen was developed at 1oC. Another study reported safe storage of a predatory bug insidious flower bug Orius insidiosus for more than 10 days at 8°C (Bueno et al., 2014).In present study without cold storage, the lower doses of 10 and 25 GY prolonged the developmental time as compared to un-irradiated larvae and higher doses of irradiations in conjunction with cold storage again significantly prolonged the developmental time of larvae when returned to the laboratory conditions. Salem et al. (2014) also reported that Gamma irradiations significantly increased the duration of developmental stages (larvae and pupae) in cutworm, Agrotis ipsilon (Hufnagel). In another study, where endoparasitic wasps Glyptapanteles liparidis were evaluated with irradiated and non-irradiated gypsy moth Lymantria dispar larvae for oviposition, it was found that non-irradiated larvae had a shorter time to reach the adult stage as compared to irradiated larvae (Novotny et al., 2003). Both for higher doses with cold storage and lower doses without cold storage extended the larval duration of C. septempunctata. In another study when the parasitoid wasp Habrobracon hebetor was irradiated at the dose of 10 GY, it resulted in prolonged longevity (Genchev et al., 2008). In the same study, when another parasitoid Ventruria canescens was irradiated at lower doses of 4GY and 3 GY, it resulted in increased emergence from the host larvae, while gamma irradiations at the dose of 1 GY and 2 GY significantly stimulated the rate of parasitism (Genchev et al., 2008). The current study also indicated higher rates of predation in the form of increased feeding potential of larvae as a result of irradiations at lower doses.CONCLUSIONThe outcome of the current study shows that storage of 2nd instar C. septempunctata at low temperature of 8oC for a short duration of about 14 days is completely safe and could have broader application in different biocontrol programs. Such flexibility in storage duration can also assist in different mass rearing techniques and commercial uses. The combination of gamma radiation with low temperature cold storage could be a useful tool in developing different biological pest management programs against sucking insect pests. Incidence of periodic occurrence of both the target insect pests with their predatory ladybird beetles in synchrony is an important aspect that could be further strengthened by cold storage techniques. Therefore, short or long term bulk cold storage of useful commercial biocontrol agents and then reactivating them at appropriate time of pest infestation is a simple but an advantageous method in mass rearing programs. Increased feeding capacity of stored larvae is another edge and hence such larvae may prove more beneficial as compared to unstored larvae. Both cold storage and improved feeding of the C. septempuctata larvae can be utilized for implementation of IPM for many sucking insect pests of various crops, fruits and vegetables. Due to some constraints this study could not be continued beyond two weeks but for future directions, higher doses and longer duration periods could further elaborate the understanding and better application of such useful techniques in future IPM programmes on a wider scale. Also, some other predatory coccinellid beetle species can be tested with similar doses and cold storage treatments to see how effective this technique is on other species as well.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We acknowledge the Sugarcane Research and Development Board for providing a research grant (No. SRDB/P/4/16) to carry out this research work. 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This article investigates touch in the social organization of digital classroom activities as small groups of primary school pupils animate a story by using a shared iPad. Such a socio-material setting foregrounds haptic resources for action and requires coordination of hand movements on and around the screen. The groups in our data treat the animation as a product that takes its shape through the individual members operating the device one at a time. Our analysis focuses on how the haptic practice of blocking a peer’s hand is deployed to manage competition for a turn at using the tablet and to resolve the problem of its simultaneous manual operation by two or more participants. The blocks we describe are non-intensive human-to-human touches with varying duration whereby one participant prevents another from accessing the screen by sweeping the latter’s hand aside or grabbing and holding it. We show through a multimodal analysis how blocks accomplish the social action of claiming a turn for the blocker by investigating how they emerge sequentially, how participants operating the tablet anticipate peer interruption with ready-to-block hand movements, and how blocks are complied with or resisted. In our conclusion, we consider to what extent the young children in our data treat blocks as morally problematic and socially controlling actions, and how digital technologies shape educational practices.

The objectives of this research are to investigate the formulaic expressions. It is supposed to be very important to have more progress of the capability of English speaking. It is therefore necessary to have the formulaic expressions as a cover term which is typically used to refer to “multi-word collocations” which are stored and retrieved holistically and with conventionalized forms and meanings.This study, using English corpora as data, explores the nature of formulaic expressions by systematically examining its composition patterns. Formulaic expressions are a fix expressions used in conversation and the convention of turn taking varies between cultures and languages; therefore, learners of a foreign language may find it difficult to say in their expression naturally. A movie film, Ally McBeal, is chosen as material because it allows constant reference to the context; however, it is suggested that a film should be carefully chosen according to the aim of teaching.The main question of this study is: what kinds of formulaic expressions are found in Ally McBeal movie serial? This study also tries to find how these functions are realizedAfter analyzing the data, it is was found that there are 11 formulaic expressions. They are: greeting-greeting, statement-apologizing, statement- thanking, promises/threats-response, controlling-response, request-response, preclosing/closing-response, interruption-response, compliment-response, advice- response, and offer-responseThe results summarized above have some important implications for strategy instruction in the area of formulaic expressions usage. Learners need to distinguish the formulaic expression indicate the same context. Cognitive strategies involving the practice of formulaic expressions forms need to be incorporated.

Eye gaze plays an important role in communication but understanding of its actual function or functions and the methods used to elucidate this have varied considerably. This systematized review was undertaken to summarize both the proposed functions of eye gaze in conversations of healthy adults and the methodological approaches employed. The eligibility criteria were restricted to a healthy adult population and excluded studies that manipulated eye gaze behavior. A total of 29 articles—quantitative, qualitative and mixed methods were returned, with a wide range of methodological designs. The main areas of variability related to number of conversants, their familiarity and status, conversation topic, data collection tools—video and eye tracking—and definitions of eye gaze. The findings confirm that eye gaze facilitates turn yielding, plays a role in speech monitoring, prevents and repairs conversation breakdowns and facilitates intentional and unintentional speech interruptions. These findings were remarkably consistent given the variability in methods across the 29 articles. However, in relation to turn initiation, the results were less consistent, requiring further investigation. This review provides a starting point for future studies to make informed decisions about study methods for examining eye gaze and selecting variables of interest.

Cities have long been important sites of collective memory. In this paper, I highlight the ritual and memorial functions of cities by focusing on Gibellina, a Sicilian town destroyed by earthquake, and the subsequent struggle among its community to articulate a sense of spatial belonging with its remains. By examining the productive relationships between art, landscape and collective memory, I consider how memorial objects in Gibellina have become integral to the reimagining of place, and, in some cases, to forgetting. To address the relationship between memorial objects and the articulation of communities from this unique vantage point, a significant part of my analysis compares memorial initiatives both in and around the old site on which Gibellina once stood. More specifically, my paper compares the aesthetic similarities between the Italian artist Alberto Burri’s design for a large concrete overlay of the city’s remains, and the Berlin Holocaust Memorial by the American architect Peter Eisenman. To reveal the distinctiveness of Burri’s design in relation to Eisenman’s work and the rich commentaries that have been produced in its name, and therefore to highlight the specificity of their relationship, I extend my comparison to more recent attempts at rebuilding Gibellina in the image of a “frontier city of art” (“Museum Network Belicina”).Broadly speaking, this paper is framed by a series of observations concerning the role that landscape plays in the construction or naturalization of collective identity, and by a further attempt at mapping the bonds that tend to be shared among members of particular communities in any given circumstance. To organize my thoughts in this area, I follow W. J. T. Mitchell’s interpretation of landscape as “a medium of exchange,” in other words, as an artistic practice that galvanizes nature for the purpose of naturalizing culture and its relations of power (5). While the terms of landscape art may in turn be described as “complicated,” “mutual” and marked by “ambivalence,” as Mitchell himself suggests, I would further argue that the artist’s sought-after result will, in almost every case, be to unify the visual and the discursive fields through an ideological operation that engenders, reinforces, and, perhaps also mystifies the constituents of community in general (9). From this perspective, landscape represents a crucial if unavoidable materialization both of community and collective memory.Conflicting viewpoints about this formation are undoubtedly present in the literature. For instance, in describing the effects of this operation, Mitchell, to use one example, will suggest that landscape as a mode of creation unfolds in ways that are similar to that of a dream, or that the materialization of landscape art is in accordance with the promise of “emancipation” that dreams inscribe into imaginaries (12). During the course of investigating and overturning the premise of Mitchell’s claim through a number of writers and commentators, I conclude my paper by turning to a famous work on the inoperative community by Jean-Luc Nancy. This work is especially useful for bringing clarity for understanding what is lost in the efforts by Gibellina’s residents to reconstruct a new city adjacent to the old, and therefore to emancipate themselves from their destructive past. By emphasizing the significance of acknowledging death for the regeneration and durability of communities and their material urban life, I suggest that the wishes of Gibellina’s residents have resulted in an environment for memory and memorialization despite apparent wishes to the contrary. In my reference to Nancy’s metaphor of ‘inoperativity’, therefore, I suggest that the community to emerge from Gibellina’s disaster is, in a sense, yet to come.Figure 1. The “Cretto di Burri” by Alberto Burri (1984-1989). Creative Commons.The old city of Gibellina was a township of Arabic and Medieval origins located southwest of Palermo in the heart of Sicily’s Belice valley. In January 1968, the region experienced a series of earthquakes as it had before. This time, however, the strongest among them provoked a rupture that within moments led to the complete destruction of towns and villages, and to the death of nearly 400 inhabitants. “From a seismological point of view,” as Susan Hough and Roger Bilham write, the towns and villages of the Belice valley were at this time “disasters in the making” (87). Maligned by a particular configuration of geological fault lines, the fragile structures along the surface of the valley were almost certain to be destroyed at some point in their lifetime. In 1968, after the largest disaster in recent history, the surviving inhabitants of the dilapidated urban centres were moved to the squalor conditions of displacement camps, in which many lived without permanent housing into the 1970s. While some of the smaller communities opted to rebuild, a number of the larger townships made the decision to move altogether. In 1971, a new settlement was created in Gibellina’s name, just eighteen kilometres west of the ruin.Since that time, I claim that a pattern of memory and forgetting has developed in the space between the ‘old’ and the ‘new’. For instance, the old city of Gibellina underwent a dramatic refurbishment in the 1980s when an internationally renowned Italian sculptor, Alberto Burri, was invited by the city to build a large concrete structure directly on top of the city’s remains. As depicted in Figure One, the artist moulded the destroyed buildings into blocks of smooth concrete surfaces. Standing roughly at human scale, Burri divided these stone slabs, or stelae, in such a way as to retain the lineaments of Gibellina’s medieval streets. Although unfinished and abandoned by the artist due to lack of funds, the tomb of this destroyed city has since become both an artistic oddity and a permanent fixture on the Sicilian landscape. As Elisebha Fabienne and Platzer write,if an ancient inhabitant of Gibellina walks in the inside of the Cretto, he is able to recognise the topic position of his house, but he is also forced by the Verfremdung [alienting effect] of the topical elements to distance himself from the past, to infer new information. (75)According to this assessment, the work’s intrinsic merit appears to be in Burri’s effort to forge a link between a shared memory of the city’s past, and the potential for that memory to fortify the imagination towards a future. In spatial terms, the merit of the work lies in preserving the skeletal imprint of the urban landscape in order to retain a semblance of this once vibrant and living community. Andrea Simitch and Val Warke appear to corroborate this hypothesis. They suggest that while Burri’s structure includes a specific imprint or reference point of the city’s remains, “embedded within the masses that construct the ghosted streets is the physical detritus of imagined narratives” (61). In other words, Simitch and Warke maintain that by using the archival or preserving function to communicate a ritual practice, Burri’s Cretto is intended to infuse the forgotten urban space of old Gibellina with a promise that it will eventually be found and therefore remembered. This promise is met, in turn, by the invitation for visitors to stroll through the hallowed interior of Gibellina as they would any other city. In this sense, the Cretto invites a plurality of narratives and meanings depending on the visitor at hand. In the absence of guidance or interruption, the hope appears to be that visitors will gain an experience of the place that is both familiar and disturbing.But there is a hidden dimension to this promise that the authors above do not explore in sufficient detail. For instance, Nigel Clark analyzes the way in which Burri has insisted upon “confronting us with the stark absence of life where once there was vitality,” a confrontation by the artist that is materialized by “cavernous wounds” (83). On this basis, by interpreting the promise of memory that others have discussed in terms of a warning about the longevity or durability of the built environment, Clark writes that Burri’s Cretto represents “an assertion of the forces of earth that have not been eclipsed by other forms of endangerment” (83). The implication of this particular forewarning is that “the precariousness of human settlement” is guaranteed by a non-human world that insists upon the relentless force of erasure (83). On the other hand, I would argue that Clark’s insistence upon situating the Cretto in relation to the natural forces of destruction ultimately represents a narrowing of perspective on Burri’s work. Significantly, by citing Burri’s choice of supposedly abstracted shapes made from lifeless concrete, Clark reduces the geographical intervention of the artist to “a paradigm of modernist austerity” (82). From Clark’s perspective, the overture to Modernism is meant to highlight Burri’s attempt at pairing the scale and proportion of the work with an effort to convey a sense of purity through abstraction. However, while some interpretations of Burri’s Cretto may be dependent upon its allusion to such Modernist formalism, it should also be recognized that the specific concerns raised by Gibellina go significantly beyond these equivocations.In fact, one crucial element of Burri’s artistic process that is not recognized by Clark is his investment in the American land art movement, which at the time of Burri’s design for Gibellina was led by Michael Heizer, Robert Smithson and other prominent artists in the United States. Burri’s debt to this movement can be detected by his gradual shift towards landscape throughout his career, and by his eventual break from the enclosed and constrained space of the gallery. On this basis, the crumbling city design at Gibellina obliterates the boundaries as to what constitutes a work of art in relation to the land it occupies, and this, in turn, throws into question the specific criteria that we use to assess its value or artistic merit. In an important way, land art and landscape in general forces us to rethink the relationship between art and community in unparalleled ways. To put it another way, if Clark’s overriding concern for that which lies beneath the surface allows us to consider the importance of relationships between memory, forgetting, and erasure, I argue that Burri’s concern with the surface and the ground make it clear that projects such as the Gibellina Cretto might be better paired with memorial sites that deal in architecture.Figure 2. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe / Berlin Holocaust Memorial, by Peter Eisenman. Photograph courtesy of the author.A useful comparison in this regard is Peter Eisenman’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in downtown Berlin. For one, not only is Eisenman’s site composed of a similar exterior of concrete stelae, those concrete blocks resembling gravestones, but it has also been routinely scorned for the same reasons that Clark raised against Burri as mentioned above. To put it another way, while visitors may be struck by the memorial’s haunting and inspirational configuration of voids, some notable commentators, including the venerable James E. Young, have insinuated that the site signifies a restoration of the monument, derived as it is from a modernist architecture in which recuperation and amnesia are at play with each other (184-224). A more sympathetic reading of Eisenman’s memorial might point to the uniquely architectural vision he held for cultural memory. With Adrian Parr for instance, we find that the traumatic memory of the Holocaust can be effectively transposed through the virtual content of the imagination as personified by visitors to Eisenman’s memorial. That is, by attending to the atrocities of the past, Parr claims that we need not be exhausted by the overwhelming sense of destruction that the memorial site brings to the literal surface. Rather, we might benefit more from considering the event of destruction as but one aspect of the spatial experience of the place to which it is dedicated—an experience that must be open-ended by design. By using the topographical lens that Parr, taking several pages from Gilles Deleuze, describes as “intensive,” I argue that Eisenman’s design is unique for its explicit encouragement to be both creative and present simultaneously (158).On this account, Parr makes the compelling assertion that memorial culture facilitates an epistemic rupture or “break,” that that it reveals an opportunity to restore the potential for using the place occupied by memory as a starting point for effecting social change (3). Parr writes that “memorial culture is utopian memory thinking”—a defining slogan, to be sure, but one with which the author hopes will re-establish the link between memory and the force of life, and, in the process, to recognize the energetic resources that remain concealed by the traditional narratives of memorialization (3). Stefano Corbo corroborates Parr’s assertion by pointing to Eisenman’s efforts in the 1980s to supplement formal concerns with archaeological perspectives, and therefore to develop a theory whereby architecture presages a “deep structure,” in which the artistry or attempt at formal innovation ultimately rests on “a process of invention” itself (41). To accomplish this aim, a specific reference should be made to an early period in Eisenman’s career, in which the architect turned to conceptual issues as opposed to the demands of materiality, and more significantly, to a critical rethinking of site-specific engagement (Bedard). Included in this turn was a willingness on Eisenman’s part to explore the layered and textured history of cities, as well as the linguistic or deconstructive relationships that exist between the ground and the trace.The interdisciplinary complexity of Eisenman’s approach is one that responds to the dominance of architectural form, and it therefore mirrors, as Corbo writes, a delicate interplay between “presence and absence, permanence and loss” (44). The city of Berlin with its cultural memory thus evinces a sort of tectonic rupture and collision upon its surfaces, but a rupture that both runs parallel and opposite to the natural disaster that engulfed Gibellina in 1968. Returning to Parr’s demand that we begin to (re)assert the power of virtual and imaginative space, I argue that Eisenman’s memorial design may be better appreciated for its ability to situate the city itself in relation to competing terms of artistic practice. That is, if Eisenman’s efforts indicate a softening “of the boundary between architecture and the landscape,” to quote Tomà Berlanda, the Holocaust Memorial might in turn be a productive counterpoint in the task of working through the specificity of Burri’s design and the meaning with which it has since been attached (2).Burri’s Cretto raises a number of questions for this hypothesis, as with the Cretto we find a displacement of the constitutive process that writers such as W.J.T. Mitchell describe above in relation to the generative potential of community. Undoubtedly, the imperative to unify is present in the Cretto’s aesthetic presentation, as the concrete surfaces maintain the capacity to reflect the light of the sun against a wide green earth that stretches beyond the visitor’s horizon. On the other hand, while Mitchell, along with Parr and other commentators might opt to insist upon a deeper correlation between the unifying function of the landscape and the forces of life, intensity, or desire, I would only reiterate that Burri’s design is ultimately based on establishing a meaningful relationship with death, not life, and he is consequently focused on the much less spectacular mission of providing solutions as to what the remains should become in the aftermath of total destruction. If there is an intensity to speak of here, it is a maligned intensity, and an intensity that can only be established through relation.Figure 3. The “Porta del Belice” by Pietro Consagra (2014). Wiki Commons.If Burri’s Cretto were measured by the criteria that are variously described by Mitchell and others, the effects that the landscape produces would have necessarily to account for an expression of desire for emancipation from death. However, in a significant departure from Eisenman’s Holocaust Memorial, Burri’s design by itself is marked by a throughout absence of any expression of desire for emancipation as such. Indeed, finding such a promised emancipatory narrative would require one to cast their gaze away from the Cretto altogether, and towards a nearby urban center that has supposedly triumphed over the very need for a memory culture at all. This urban center is none other than Gibellina Nuova. As a point in fact, the settlers of Gibellina Nuova did insist upon emancipating themselves from their destructive past. In 1971, the city planners and governors of Gibellina Nuova made efforts to attract contemporary Italian artists and architects, to design and build a series of commemorative structures, and ultimately to make the settlement into a “città di frontiera dell’arte”—a frontier city of art (“Museum Network Belicina”). With the potential for rejuvenation just a stone’s throw away from the original city, the former inhabitants appear to have become immediately invested in the sort of utopian potential that would make its architectural wonders capable of transgressing the line that perennially divides art from community and from the living world. Rivalled only by the refurbishment of Marfa, Texas, which in the last twenty years has become a shrine to minimalist sculpture, the edifices at Gibellina Nuova have been authored by some of Italy’s better-known mid-century artists and architects, including Ludovico Quaroni, Vitorrio Gregotti, and, most notably, Pietro Consagra, whose ‘Porta del Belice’ (Figure Two) has become the most iconic urban fixture of the new urban designs. With the hopes of becoming a sort of “open-air museum” in which to attract international visitors, the city is now in possession of an exceedingly large number of public memorials and avant-garde buildings in various states of decay and disrepair (Bileddo). Predictably, this museological distinction has become a curse in many ways. Some commentators have argued that the obsession among city planners to create a “laboratory of art and architecture” has led in fact to an urban center of monstrous proportions: a city space that can only be described as “elliptical and spinning” (Bileddo). Whereas Gibellina Nuova was supposed to represent a rebalancing of the forces of life in relation to the funereal themes of the Cretto, the robust initiatives of the 1980s have instead produced an egregious lack of cohesiveness, a severed link to Sicilian culture, and a stark erasure of the distinctive traditions of the Belice valley.On the other hand, this experiment in urban design has been reduced to a venerable time capsule of 1970s Italian sculpture, an archive that persists but in constant disrepair. More significantly, however, the city’s failure to deliver on its many promises raises important questions about the ritual and memorial functions of urban space in general, of what specific relationships need to be forged between the history of a place and its architectural presentation, and the ways in which memorials come to reflect, privilege or convoke particular values over those of others. As Elisebha Fabienne Platzer writes, “Gibellina portrays its future in order to forget,” as “its faith in contemporary art is precisely a reaction to death,” or, more specifically, to its effacement (73). If the various pastiche designs of the city’s buildings and ritual edifices fail to stand the measure of time, I claim that it is not simply because they are gaudy reminders of a time best forgotten, but rather because they signify the restless hunt for resolution among inhabitants of this still-unsettled community.Whereas Burri’s Cretto activates a process of mourning and working-through that proves to be unresolvable and yet necessary, the city of Gibellina Nuova operates instead by neutralizing and dividing this process. Taken as a whole, the irreparable relationship between the two sites offers competing images of the relation between place and community. From the time of its division by earthquake if not sooner, the inhabitants of Gibellina became an “inoperative” community in the same way that the philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy has famously described. In the specific hopes of uncovering the motives of Burri and those of the designers and architects of Gibellina Nuova, I argue that Nancy uses the terms of inoperability as a makeshift solution for the persistent rootedness of communities in an atomized metaphysics for which the relationality between subjects is an abiding problem. Nancy defines community on the basis of its relational content alone, and for this reason he is able to make the claim that death itself should be a necessary moment of its articulation. Nancy writes that “community has not taken place,” as beyond “what society has crushed or lost, it is something that happens to us in the form of a question, waiting, event or imperative” (11).Though Nancy is attempting to provide his own interpretation of the impervious dialectic between Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft, between “community” and “society,” the substance of his assertion can be brought into a critical reading of Gibellina’s abiding problem of its formations of collective memory in the aftermath of destruction. For instance, it might be argued that if we leave the experience of loss aside, we can perhaps begin to acknowledge that communities are transformed through complex interactions for which their inert physicality provides but one important indication. While “old” Gibellina was not lost in a day, Gibellina Nuova was not created in an instant. For Nancy, it would rather be the case that “death is indissociable from community, and that it is through death that the community reveals itself” (14). Given this claim, while Gibellina Nuova has undoubtedly been shaped and reconstituted by the architecture of the future and the desire to forget, it could equally be argued that this very architecture shares in a reciprocal exchange with the Cretto, a circuit of memory that inadvertently houses an archive of the city’s destructive past. As the community comes into being through resistance, entropy, possibility and reparation, the city landscape provides some clues regarding the trace of this activity as left upon its ground.ReferencesBedard, Jean-Francois, ed. Cities of Artificial Excavation: The Work of Peter Eisenman, 1978-1988. New York: Rizzoli Publishing, 1994.Berlanda, Tomà. Architectural Topographies: A Graphic Lexicon of How Buildings Touch the Ground. New York: Routledge, 2014.Bileddo, Marco. “Back in Sicily / The Three Dogs Gibellina.” Eodoto108 Magazine. 30 July 2014. Bilham, Roger G., and Susan Elizabeth Hough. After the Earth Quakes: Elastic Rebound on an Urban Planet. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.Clark, Nigel. Inhuman Nature: Sociable Life on a Dynamic Planet. Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications, 2010.Corbo, Stefano. From Formalism to Weak Form: The Architecture and Philosophy of Peter Eisenman. Farnham: Ashgate, 2014.Mitchell, W.J. Thomas. Landscape and Power. University of Chicago Press, 2002.Museum Network Belicina. Nancy, Jean-Luc. Inoperative Community. Trans. Christopher Fynsk. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991.Parr, Adrian. Deleuze and Memorial Culture: Desire, Singular Memory and the Politics of Trauma. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2008.Platzer, Elisbha Fabienne. “Semiotics of Spaces: City and Landart.” Seni/able Spaces: Space, Art and the Environment. Edward Huijbens and Ólafur Jónsson, eds. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007.Simitch, Andrea, and Val Warke. The Language of Architecture: 26 Principles Every Architect Should Know. Rockport Publishers Incorporated, 2014.Young, James E. At Memory’s Edge: After-Images of the Holocaust in Contemporary Art and Architecture. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002.

While the television cooking genre has evolved in numerous ways to withstand competition and become a constant feature in television programming (Collins and College), it has been argued that audience demand for televisual cooking has always been high because of the daily importance of cooking (Hamada, “Multimedia Integration”). Early cooking shows were characterised by an instructional discourse, before quickly embracing an entertainment focus; modern cooking shows take on a more competitive, out of the kitchen focus (Collins and College). The genre has continued to evolve, with celebrity chefs and ordinary people embracing transmedia affordances to return to the instructional focus of the early cooking shows. While the television cooking show is recognised for its broad cultural impacts related to gender (Ouellette and Hay), cultural capital (Ibrahim; Oren), television formatting (Oren), and even communication itself (Matwick and Matwick), its role in the widespread adoption of television captions is significantly underexplored. Even the fact that a cooking show was the first ever program captioned on American television is almost completely unremarked within cooking show histories and literature.A Brief History of Captioning WorldwideWhen captions were first introduced on US television in the early 1970s, programmers were guided by the general principle to make the captioned program “accessible to every deaf viewer regardless of reading ability” (Jensema, McCann and Ramsey 284). However, there were no exact rules regarding captioning quality and captions did not reflect verbatim what was said onscreen. According to Jensema, McCann and Ramsey (285), less than verbatim captioning continued for many years because “deaf people were so delighted to have captions that they accepted almost anything thrown on the screen” (see also Newell 266 for a discussion of the UK context).While the benefits of captions for people who are D/deaf or hard of hearing were immediate, its commercial applications also became apparent. When the moral argument that people who were D/deaf or hard of hearing had a right to access television via captions proved unsuccessful in the fight for legislation, advocates lobbied the US Congress about the mainstream commercial benefits such as in education and the benefits for people learning English as a second language (Downey). Activist efforts and hard-won legal battles meant D/deaf and hard of hearing viewers can now expect closed captions on almost all television content. With legislation in place to determine the provision of captions, attention began to focus on their quality. D/deaf viewers are no longer just delighted to accept anything thrown on the screen and have begun to demand verbatim captioning. At the same time, market-based incentives are capturing the attention of television executives seeking to make money, and the widespread availability of verbatim captions has been recognised for its multimedia—and therefore commercial—applications. These include its capacity for information retrieval (Miura et al.; Agnihotri et al.) and for creative repurposing of television content (Blankinship et al.). Captions and transcripts have been identified as being of particular importance to augmenting the information provided in cooking shows (Miura et al.; Oh et al.).Early Captions in the US: Julia Child’s The French ChefJulia Child is indicative of the early period of the cooking genre (Collins and College)—she has been described as “the epitome of the TV chef” (ray 53) and is often credited for making cooking accessible to American audiences through her onscreen focus on normalising techniques that she promised could be mastered at home (ray). She is still recognised for her mastery of the genre, and for her capacity to entertain in a way that stood out from her contemporaries (Collins and College; ray).Julia Child’s The French Chef originally aired on the US publicly-funded Public Broadcasting System (PBS) affiliate WBGH from 1963–1973. The captioning of television also began in the 1960s, with educators creating the captions themselves, mainly for educational use in deaf schools (Downey 70). However, there soon came calls for public television to also be made accessible for the deaf and hard of hearing—the debate focused on equality and pushed for recognition that deaf people were culturally diverse (Downey 70).The PBS therefore began a trial of captioning programs (Downey 71). These would be “open captions”—characters which were positioned on the screen as part of the normal image for all viewers to see (Downey 71). The trial was designed to determine both the number of D/deaf and hard of hearing people viewing the program, as well as to test if non-D/deaf and hard of hearing viewers would watch a program which had captions (Downey 71). The French Chef was selected for captioning by WBGH because it was their most popular television show in the early 1970s and in 1972 eight episodes of The French Chef were aired using open—albeit inconsistent—captions (Downey 71; Jensema et al. 284).There were concerns from some broadcasters that openly captioned programs would drive away the “hearing majority” (Downey 71). However, there was no explicit study carried out in 1972 on the viewers of The French Chef to determine if this was the case because WBGH ran out of funds to research this further (Downey 71). Nevertheless, Jensema, McCann and Ramsey (284) note that WBGH did begin to re-broadcast ABC World News Tonight in the 1970s with open captions and that this was the only regularly captioned show at the time.Due to changes in technology and fears that not everyone wanted to see captions onscreen, television’s focus shifted from open captions to closed captioning in the 1980s. Captions became encoded, with viewers needing a decoder to be able to access them. However, the high cost of the decoders meant that many could not afford to buy them and adoption of the technology was slow (Youngblood and Lysaght 243; Downey 71). In 1979, the US government had set up the National Captioning Institute (NCI) with a mandate to develop and sell these decoders, and provide captioning services to the networks. This was initially government-funded but was designed to eventually be self-sufficient (Downey 73).PBS, ABC and NBC (but not CBS) had agreed to a trial (Downey 73). However, there was a reluctance on the part of broadcasters to pay to caption content when there was not enough evidence that the demand was high (Downey 73—74). The argument for the provision of captioned content therefore began to focus on the rights of all citizens to be able to access a public service. A complaint was lodged claiming that the Los Angeles station KCET, which was a PBS affiliate, did not provide captioned content that was available elsewhere (Downey 74). When Los Angeles PBS station KCET refused to air captioned episodes of The French Chef, the Greater Los Angeles Council on Deafness (GLAD) picketed the station until the decision was reversed. GLAD then focused on legislation and used the Rehabilitation Act to argue that television was federally assisted and, by not providing captioned content, broadcasters were in violation of the Act (Downey 74).GLAD also used the 1934 Communications Act in their argument. This Act had firstly established the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) and then assigned them the right to grant and renew broadcast licenses as long as those broadcasters served the ‘‘public interest, convenience, and necessity’’ (Michalik, cited in Downey 74). The FCC could, argued GLAD, therefore refuse to renew the licenses of broadcasters who did not air captioned content. However, rather than this argument working in their favour, the FCC instead changed its own procedures to avoid such legal actions in the future (Downey 75). As a result, although some stations began to voluntarily caption more content, it was not until 1996 that it became a legally mandated requirement with the introduction of the Telecommunications Act (Youngblood and Lysaght 244)—too late for The French Chef.My Kitchen Rules: Captioning BreachWhereas The French Chef presented instructional cooking programming from a kitchen set, more recently the food genre has moved away from the staged domestic kitchen set as an instructional space to use real-life domestic kitchens and more competitive multi-bench spaces. The Australian program MKR straddles this shift in the cooking genre with the first half of each season occurring in domestic settings and the second half in Iron Chef style studio competition (see Oren for a discussion of the influence of Iron Chef on contemporary cooking shows).All broadcast channels in Australia are mandated to caption 100 per cent of programs aired between 6am and midnight. However, the 2013 MKR Grand Final broadcast by Channel Seven Brisbane Pty Ltd and Channel Seven Melbourne Pty Ltd (Seven) failed to transmit 10 minutes of captions some 30 minutes into the 2-hour program. The ACMA received two complaints relating to this. The first complaint, received on 27 April 2013, the same evening as the program was broadcast, noted ‘[the D/deaf community] … should not have to miss out’ (ACMA, Report No. 3046 3). The second complaint, received on 30 April 2013, identified the crucial nature of the missing segment and its effect on viewers’ overall enjoyment of the program (ACMA, Report No. 3046 3).Seven explained that the relevant segment (approximately 10 per cent of the program) was missing from the captioning file, but that it had not appeared to be missing when Seven completed its usual captioning checks prior to broadcast (ACMA, Report No. 3046 4). The ACMA found that Seven had breached the conditions of their commercial television broadcasting licence by “failing to provide a captioning service for the program” (ACMA, Report No. 3046 12). The interruption of captioning was serious enough to constitute a breach due, in part, to the nature and characteristic of the program:the viewer is engaged in the momentum of the competitive process by being provided with an understanding of each of the competition stages; how the judges, guests and contestants interact; and their commentaries of the food and the cooking processes during those stages. (ACMA, Report No. 3046 6)These interactions have become a crucial part of the cooking genre, a genre often described as offering a way to acquire cultural capital via instructions in both cooking and ideological food preferences (Oren 31). Further, in relation to the uncaptioned MKR segment, ACMA acknowledged it would have been difficult to follow both the cooking process and the exchanges taking place between contestants (ACMA, Report No. 3046 8). ACMA considered these exchanges crucial to ‘a viewer’s understanding of, and secondly to their engagement with the different inter-related stages of the program’ (ACMA, Report No. 3046 7).An additional complaint was made with regards to the same program broadcast on Prime Television (Northern) Pty Ltd (Prime), a Seven Network affiliate. The complaint stated that the lack of captions was “Not good enough in prime time and for a show that is non-live in nature” (ACMA, Report No. 3124 3). Despite the fact that the ACMA found that “the fault arose from the affiliate, Seven, rather than from the licensee [Prime]”, Prime was also found to also have breached their licence conditions by failing to provide a captioning service (ACMA, Report No. 3124 12).The following year, Seven launched captions for their online catch-up television platform. Although this was a result of discussions with a complainant over the broader lack of captioned online television content, it was also a step that re-established Seven’s credentials as a leader in commercial television access. The 2015 season of MKR also featured their first partially-deaf contestant, Emilie Biggar.Mainstreaming Captions — Inter-Platform CooperationOver time, cooking shows on television have evolved from an informative style (The French Chef) to become more entertaining in their approach (MKR). As Oren identifies, this has seen a shift in the food genre “away from the traditional, instructional format and towards professionalism and competition” (Oren 25). The affordances of television itself as a visual medium has also been recognised as crucial in the popularity of this genre and its more recent transmedia turn. That is, following Joshua Meyrowitz’s medium theory regarding how different media can afford us different messages, televised cooking shows offer audiences stylised knowledge about food and cooking beyond the traditional cookbook (Oren; ray). In addition, cooking shows are taking their product beyond just television and increasing their inter-platform cooperation (Oren)—for example, MKR has a comprehensive companion website that viewers can visit to watch whole episodes, obtain full recipes, and view shopping lists. While this can be viewed as a modern take on Julia Child’s cookbook success, it must also be considered in the context of the increasing focus on multimedia approaches to cooking instructions (Hamada et al., Multimedia Integration; Cooking Navi; Oh et al.). Audiences today are more likely to attempt a recipe if they have seen it on television, and will use transmedia to download the recipe. As Oren explains:foodism’s ascent to popular culture provides the backdrop and motivation for the current explosion of food-themed formats that encourages audiences’ investment in their own expertise as critics, diners, foodies and even wanna-be professional chefs. FoodTV, in turn, feeds back into a web-powered, gastro-culture and critique-economy where appraisal outranks delight. (Oren 33)This explosion in popularity of the web-powered gastro culture Oren refers to has led to an increase in appetite for step by step, easy to access instructions. These are being delivered using captions. As a result of the legislation and activism described throughout this paper, captions are more widely available and, in many cases, now describe what is said onscreen verbatim. In addition, the mainstream commercial benefits and uses of captions are being explored. Captions have therefore moved from a specialist assistive technology for people who are D/deaf or hard of hearing to become recognised as an important resource for creative television viewers regardless of their hearing (Blankinship et al.). With captions becoming more accessible, accurate, financially viable, and mainstreamed, their potential as an additional television resource is of interest. As outlined above, within the cooking show genre—especially with its current multimedia turn and the demand for captioned recipe instructions (Hamada et al., “Multimedia Integration”, “Cooking Navi”; Oh et al.)—this is particularly pertinent.Hamada et al. identify captions as a useful technology to use in the increasingly popular educational, yet entertaining, cooking show genre as the required information—ingredient lists, instructions, recipes—is in high demand (Hamada et al., “Multimedia Integration” 658). They note that cooking shows often present information out of order, making them difficult to follow, particularly if a recipe must be sourced later from a website (Hamada et al., “Multimedia Integration” 658-59; Oh et al.). Each step in a recipe must be navigated and coordinated, particularly if multiple recipes are being completed at the same times (Hamada, et al., Cooking Navi) as is often the case on cooking shows such as MKR. Using captions as part of a software program to index cooking videos facilitates a number of search affordances for people wishing to replicate the recipe themselves. As Kyeong-Jin et al. explain:if food and recipe information are published as linked data with the scheme, it enables to search food recipe and annotate certain recipe by communities (sic). In addition, because of characteristics of linked data, information on food recipes can be connected to additional data source such as products for ingredients, and recipe websites can support users’ decision making in the cooking domain. (Oh et al. 2)The advantages of such a software program are many. For the audience there is easy access to desired information. For the number of commercial entities involved, this consumer desire facilitates endless marketing opportunities including product placement, increased ratings, and software development. Interesting, all of this falls outside the “usual” parameters of captions as purely an assistive device for a few, and facilitates the mainstreaming—and perhaps beginnings of acceptance—of captions.ConclusionCaptions are a vital accessibility feature for television viewers who are D/deaf or hard of hearing, not just from an informative or entertainment perspective but also to facilitate social inclusion for this culturally diverse group. The availability and quality of television captions has moved through three stages. These can be broadly summarised as early yet inconsistent captions, captions becoming more widely available and accurate—often as a direct result of activism and legislation—but not yet fully verbatim, and verbatim captions as adopted within mainstream software applications. This paper has situated these stages within the television cooking genre, a genre often remarked for its appeal towards inclusion and cultural capital.If television facilitates social inclusion, then food television offers vital cultural capital. While Julia Child’s The French Chef offered the first example of television captions via open captions in 1972, a lack of funding means we do not know how viewers (both hearing and not) actually received the program. However, at the time, captions that would be considered unacceptable today were received favourably (Jensema, McCann and Ramsey; Newell)—anything was deemed better than nothing. Increasingly, as the focus shifted to closed captioning and the cooking genre embraced a more competitive approach, viewers who required captions were no longer happy with missing or inconsistent captioning quality. The was particularly significant in Australia in 2013 when several viewers complained to ACMA that captions were missing from the finale of MKR. These captions provided more than vital cooking instructions—their lack prevented viewers from understanding conflict within the program. Following this breach, Seven became the only Australian commercial television station to offer captions on their web based catch-up platform. While this may have gone a long way to rehabilitate Seven amongst D/deaf and hard of hearing audiences, there is the potential too for commercial benefits. Caption technology is now being mainstreamed for use in cooking software applications developed from televised cooking shows. These allow viewers—both D/deaf and hearing—to access information in a completely new, and inclusive, way.ReferencesAgnihotri, Lalitha, et al. “Summarization of Video Programs Based on Closed Captions.” 4315 (2001): 599–607.Australian Communications and Media Authority (ACMA). Investigation Report No. 3046. 2013. 26 Apr. 2017 <http://www.acma.gov.au/~/media/Diversity%20Localism%20and%20Accessibility/Investigation%20reports/Word%20document/3046%20My%20Kitchen%20Rules%20Grand%20Final%20docx.docx>.———. Investigation Report No. 3124. 2014. 26 Apr. 2017 <http://www.acma.gov.au/~/media/Diversity%20Localism%20and%20Accessibility/Investigation%20reports/Word%20document/3124%20NEN%20My%20Kitchen%20Rules%20docx.docx>.Blankinship, E., et al. “Closed Caption, Open Source.” BT Technology Journal 22.4 (2004): 151–59.Collins, Kathleen, and John Jay College. “TV Cooking Shows: The Evolution of a Genre”. Flow: A Critical Forum on Television and Media Culture (7 May 2008). 14 May 2017 <http://www.flowjournal.org/2008/05/tv-cooking-shows-the-evolution-of-a-genre/>.Downey, Greg. “Constructing Closed-Captioning in the Public Interest: From Minority Media Accessibility to Mainstream Educational Technology.” The Journal of Policy, Regulation and Strategy for Telecommunications, Information and Media 9.2/3 (2007): 69–82. DOI: 10.1108/14636690710734670.Hamada, Reiko, et al. “Multimedia Integration for Cooking Video Indexing.” Advances in Multimedia Information Processing-PCM 2004 (2005): 657–64.Hamada, Reiko, et al. “Cooking Navi: Assistant for Daily Cooking in Kitchen.” Proceedings of the 13th Annual ACM International Conference on Multimedia. ACM.Ibrahim, Yasmin. “Food Porn and the Invitation to Gaze: Ephemeral Consumption and the Digital Spectacle.” International Journal of E-Politics (IJEP) 6.3 (2015): 1–12.Jensema, Carl J., Ralph McCann, and Scott Ramsey. “Closed-Captioned Television Presentation Speed and Vocabulary.” American Annals of the Deaf 141.4 (1996): 284–292.Matwick, Kelsi, and Keri Matwick. “Inquiry in Television Cooking Shows.” Discourse & Communication 9.3 (2015): 313–30.Meyrowitz, Joshua. No Sense of Place: The Impact of Electronic Media on Social Behavior. New York: Oxford University Press, 1985.Miura, K., et al. “Automatic Generation of a Multimedia Encyclopedia from TV Programs by Using Closed Captions and Detecting Principal Video Objects.” Eighth IEEE International Symposium on Multimedia (2006): 873–80.Newell, A.F. “Teletext for the Deaf.” Electronics and Power 28.3 (1982): 263–66.Oh, K.J. et al. “Automatic Indexing of Cooking Video by Using Caption-Recipe Alignment.” 2014 International Conference on Behavioral, Economic, and Socio-Cultural Computing (BESC2014) (2014): 1–6.Oren, Tasha. “On the Line: Format, Cooking and Competition as Television Values.” Critical Studies in Television: The International Journal of Television Studies 8.2 (2013): 20–35.Ouellette, Laurie, and James Hay. “Makeover Television, Governmentality and the Good Citizen.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 22.4 (2008): 471–84.ray, krishnendu. “Domesticating Cuisine: Food and Aesthetics on American Television.” Gastronomica 7.1 (2007): 50–63.Youngblood, Norman E., and Ryan Lysaght. “Accessibility and Use of Online Video Captions by Local Television News Websites.” Electronic News 9.4 (2015): 242–256.

The German anatomist and artist Gunther von Hagens’s exhibition Body Worlds has toured Europe, Asia and the US several times, provoking both interest and dismay, fascination and disgust. This “original exhibition of real human bodies” features whole cadavers as well as specific body parts and it is organized thematically around specific bodily functions such as the respiratory system, blood circulation, skeletal materials and brain and nervous system. In each segment of the exhibition these themes are illustrated using parts of the body, presented in glass cases that are associated with each function. Next to these cases are the full body cadavers—the so-called “plastinates”. The Body Worlds exhibition is all about perception-in-motion: it is about circumnavigating bodies, stopping in front of a plastinate and in-corporating it, leaning over an arm or reaching towards a face, pointing towards a discrete blood vessel, drawing an abstract line between two organs. Experiencing here is above all a matter of reaching-towards and incorporeally touching bodies (Manning, Politics of Touch). These bodies are dead, still, motionless, “frozen in time between death and decay” (von Hagens, Body Worlds). Dead and still eerily animate, just as the surface of a freeze-frame photograph would seem to capture spatially a movement in its unfolding becoming, plastinates do not simply appear as dead matter used to represent vitality, but rather [...] as persons who managed to survive together with their bodies. What “inner quality” makes them appear alive? In what way is someone present, when what is conserved is not opinions (in writing), actions (in stories) or voice (on tape) but the body? (Hirschauer 41—42) Through the corporeal transformation—the plastination process—that these bodies have gone through, and the designed space of the exhibition—a space that makes possible both innovative and restrictive movements—these seemingly dead bodies come alive. There is a movement within these bodies, a movement that resonates with-in the exhibition space and mobilises visitors.Two ways of thinking movement in relation to stillness come out of this. The first one is concerned with the ordering and designing of space by means of visual cues, things or texts. This relates to stillness and slowness as suggestive, imposed and enforced upon bodies so that the possibilities of movement are reduced due to the way an environment is designed. Think for example of the way that an escalator moulds movements and speeds, or how signs such as “No walking on the grass” suggest a given pattern of walking. The second one is concerned with how movement is linked up with and implies continuous change. If a body’s movement and exaltation is reduced or slowed down, does the body then become immobile and still? Take ice, water and steam: these states give expression to three different attributes or conditions of what is considered to be one and the same chemical body. But in the transformation from one to the other, there is also an incorporeal transformation related to the possibilities of movement and change—between motion and rest—of what a body can do (Deleuze, Spinoza).Slowing Down Ever since the first exhibition Body Worlds has been under attack from critics, ethicists, journalists and religious groups, who claim that the public exhibition of dead bodies should, for various reasons, be banned. In 2004, in response to such criticism, the Californian Science Centre commissioned an ethical review of the exhibition before taking the decision on whether and how to host Body Worlds. One of the more interesting points in this review was the proposition that “the exhibition is powerful, and guests need time to acclimate themselves” (6). As a consequence, it was suggested that the Science Center arrange an entrance that would “slow people down and foster a reverential and respectful mood” (5). The exhibition space was to be organized in such a way that skeletons, historical contexts and images would be placed in the beginning of the exhibition, the whole body plastinates should only be introduced later in the exhibition. Before my first visit to the exhibition, I wasn’t sure how I would react when confronted with these dead bodies. To be perfectly honest, the moments before entering, I panicked. Crossing the asphalt between the Manchester Museum of Science and the exhibition hall, I felt dizzy; heart pounding in my chest and a sensation of nausea spreading throughout my body. Ascending a staircase that would take me to the entrance, located on the third floor in the exhibition hall, I thought I had detected an odour—rotten flesh or foul meat mixed with chemicals. Upon entering I was greeted by a young man to whom I presented my ticket. Without knowing in advance that this first room had been structured in such a way as to “slow people down”, I immediately felt relieved as I realized that the previously detected smell must have been psychosomatic: the room was perfectly odourless and the atmosphere was calm and tempered. Dimmed lights and pointed spotlights filled the space with an inviting and warm ambience. Images and texts on death and anatomical art were spread over the walls and in the back corners of the room two skeletons had been placed. Two glass cases containing bones and tendons had been placed in the middle of the room and next to these a case with a whole body, positioned upright in ‘anatomically correct’ position with arms, hands and legs down. There was nothing gruesome or spectacular about this room; I had visited anatomical collections, such as that of the Hunterian Museum in London or Medical Museion in Copenhagen, which in comparison far surpassed the alleged gruesomeness and voyeurism. And so I realized that the room had effectively slowed me down as my initial state of exaltation had been altered and stalled by the relative familiarity of images, texts and bare bones, all presented in a tempered and respectful way.Visitors are slowed down, but they are not still. There is no degree zero of movement, only different relations of speeds and slowness. Here I think it is useful to think of movement and change as it is expressed in Henri Bergson’s writings on temporality. Bergson frequently argued that the problem of Western metaphysics had been to spatialise movement, as in the famous example with Zeno’s arrow that—given that we think of movement as spatial—never reaches the tree towards which it has been shot. Bergson however did not refute the importance and practical dimensions of thinking through immobility; rather, immobility is the “prerequisite for our action” (Creative Mind 120). The problem occurs when we think away movement on behalf of that which we think of as still or immobile.We need immobility, and the more we succeed in imagining movement as coinciding with the immobilities of the points of space through which it passes, the better we think we understand it. To tell the truth, there never is real immobility, if we understand by that an absence of movement. Movement is reality itself (Bergson, Creative Mind 119).This notion of movement as primary, and immobility as secondary, gives expression to the proposition that immobility, solids and stillness are not given but have to be achieved. This can be done in several ways: external forces that act upon a body and transform it, as when water crystallizes into ice; certain therapeutic practices—yoga or relaxation exercises—that focus and concentrate attention and perception; spatial and architectural designs such as museums, art galleries or churches that induce and invoke certain moods and slow people down. Obviously there are other kinds of situations when bodies become excited and start moving more rapidly. Such situations could be, to name a few, when water starts to boil; when people use drugs like nicotine or caffeine in order to heighten alertness; or when bodies occupy spaces where movement is amplified by means of increased sensual stimuli, for example in the extreme conditions that characterize a natural catastrophe or a war.Speeding Up After the Body Worlds visitor had been slowed down and acclimatised in and through the first room, the full body plastinates were introduced. These bodies laid bare muscles, tissues, nerves, brain, heart, kidneys, and lungs. Some of these were “exploded views” of the body—in these, the body and its parts have been separated and drawn out from the position that they occupy in the living body, in some cases resulting in two discrete plastinates—e.g. one skeleton and one muscle-plastinate—that come from the same anatomical body. Congruent with the renaissance anatomical art of Vesalius, all plastinates are positioned in lifelike poses (Benthien, Skin). Some are placed inside a protective glass case while others are either standing, lying on the ground or hanging from the ceiling.As the exhibition unfolds, the plastinates themselves wipe away the calmness and stillness intended with the spatial design. Whereas a skeleton seems mute and dumb these plastinates come alive as visitors circle and navigate between them. Most visitors would merely point and whisper, some would reach towards and lean over a plastinate. Others however noticed that jumping up and down created a resonating effect in the plastinates so that a plastinate’s hand, leg or arm moved. At times the rooms were literally filled with hordes of excited and energized school children. Then the exhibition space was overtaken with laughter, loud voices, running feet, comments about the gruesome von Hagens and repeated remarks on the plastinates’ genitalia. The former mood of respectfulness and reverence has been replaced by the fascinating and idiosyncratic presence of animated and still, plastinated bodies. Animated and still? So what is a plastinate?Movement and Form Through plastination, the body undergoes a radical and irreversible transformation which turns the organic body into an “inorganic organism”, a hybrid of plastic and flesh (Hirschauer 36). Before this happens however the living body has to face another phase of transition by which it turns into a dead cadaver. From the point of view of an individual body that lives, breathes and evolves, this transformation implies turning into a decomposing and rotting piece of flesh, tissue and bones. Any corpse will sooner or later turn into something else, ashes, dust or earth. This process can be slowed down using various techniques and chemicals such as mummification or formaldehyde, but this will merely slow down the process of decomposition, and not terminate it.The plastination technique is rather different in several respects. Firstly the specimen is soaked in acetone and the liquids in the corpse—water and fat—are displaced. This displacement prepares the specimen for the next step in the process which is the forced vacuum impregnation. Here the specimen is placed in a polymer mixture with silicone rubber or epoxy resin. This process is undertaken in vacuum which allows for the plastic to enter each and every cell of the specimen, thus replacing the acetone (von Hagens, Body Worlds). Later on, when this transformation has finished, the specimen is modelled according to a concept, a “gestalt plastinate”, such as “the runner”, “the badminton player” or “the skin man”. The concept expresses a dynamic and life-like pose—referred to as the gestalt—that exceeds the individual parts of which it is formed. This would suggest that form is in itself immobility and that perception is what is needed to make form mobile; as gestalt the plastinated body is spatially immobilised, yet it gives birth to a body that comes alive in perception-movement. Once again I think that Bergson could help us to think through this relation, a relation that is conceived here as a difference between form-as-stillness and formation-as-movement:Life is an evolution. We concentrate a period of this evolution in a stable view which we call a form, and, when the change has become considerable enough to overcome the fortunate inertia of our perception, we say that the body has changed its form. But in reality the body is changing form at every moment; or rather, there is no form, since form is immobile and the reality is movement. What is real is the continual change of form; form is only a snapshot view of a transition (Bergson, Creative Evolution 328, emphasis in original).In other words there is a form that is relative to human perception, but there is “underneath” this form nothing but a continuous formation or becoming as Bergson would have it. For our purposes the formation of the gestalt plastinate is an achievement that makes perceptible the possibility of divergent or co-existent durations; the plastinate belongs to a temporal rhythm that even though it coincides with ours is not identical to it.Movement and Trans-formation So what kind of a strange entity is it that emerges out of this transformation, through which organic materials are partly replaced with plastic? Compared with a living body or a mourned cadaver, it is first and foremost an entity that no longer is subject to the continuous evolution of time. In this sense the plastinate is similar to cryogenetical bodies (Doyle, Wetwares), or to Ötzi the ice man (Spindler, Man in the ice)—bodies that resist the temporal logic according to which things are in constant motion. The processes of composition and decomposition that every living organism undergoes at every instant have been radically interrupted.However, plastinates are not forever fixed, motionless and eternally enduring objects. As Walter points out, plastinated cadavers are expected to “remain stable” for approximately 4000 years (606). Thus, the plastinate has become solidified and stabilized according to a different pattern of duration than that of the decaying human body. There is a tension here between permanence and change, between bodies that endure and a body that decomposes. Maybe as when summer, which is full of life and energy, turns into winter, which is still and seemingly without life. It reminds us of Nietzsche's Zarathustra and the winter doctrine: When the water is spanned by planks, when bridges and railings leap over the river, verily those are believed who say, “everything is in flux. . .” But when the winter comes . . . , then verily, not only the blockheads say, “Does not everything stand still?” “At bottom everything stands still.”—that is truly a winter doctrine (Bennett and Connolly 150). So we encounter the paradox of how to accommodate motion within stillness and stillness within motion: if everything is in continuous movement, how can there be stillness and regularity (and vice versa)? An interesting example of such temporal interruption is described by Giorgio Agamben who invokes an example with a tick that was kept alive, in a state of hibernation, for 18 years without nourishment (47). During those years this tick had ceased to exist in time, it existed only in extended space. There are of course differences between the tick and von Hagens’s plastinates—one difference being that the plastinates are not only dead but also plastic and inorganic—but the analogy points us to the idea of producing the conditions of possibility for eternal, timeless (and, by implication, motionless) bodies. If movement and change are thought of as spatial, as in Zeno’s paradox, here they have become temporal: movement happens in and because of time and not in space. The technique of plastination and the plastinates themselves emerge as processes of a-temporalisation and re-spatialisation of the body. The body is displaced—pulled out of time and history—and becomes a Cartesian body located entirely in the coordinates of extended space. As Ian Hacking suggests, plastinates are “Cartesian, extended, occupying space. Plastinated organs and corpses are odourless: like the Cartesian body, they can be seen but not smelt” (15).Interestingly, Body Worlds purports to show the inner workings of the human body. However, what visitors experience is not the working but the being. They do not see what the body does, its activities over time; rather, they see what it is, in space. Conversely, von Hagens wishes to “make us aware of our physical nature, our nature within us” (Kuppers 127), but the nature that we become aware of is not the messy, smelly and fluid nature of bodily interiors. Rather we encounter the still nature of Zarathustra’s winter landscape, a landscape in which the passage of time has come to a halt. As Walter concludes “the Body Worlds experience is primarily visual, spatial, static and odourless” (619).Still in Constant MotionAnd yet...Body Worlds moves us. If not for the fact that these plastinates and their creator strike us as gruesome, horrific and controversial, then because these bodies that we encounter touch us and we them. The sensation of movement, in and through the exhibition, is about this tension between being struck, touched or moved by a body that is radically foreign and yet strangely familiar to us. The resonant and reverberating movement that connects us with it is expressed through that (in)ability to accommodate motion in stillness, and stillness in motion. For whereas the plastinates are immobilised in space, they move in time and in experience. As Nigel Thrift puts it The body is in constant motion. Even at rest, the body is never still. As bodies move they trace out a path from one location to another. These paths constantly intersect with those of others in a complex web of biographies. These others are not just human bodies but also all other objects that can be described as trajectories in time-space: animals, machines, trees, dwellings, and so on (Thrift 8).This understanding of the body as being in constant motion stretches beyond the idea of a body that literally moves in physical space; it stresses the processual intertwining of subjects and objects through space-times that are enduring and evolving. The paradoxical nature of the relation between bodies in motion and bodies at rest is obviously far from exhausted through the brief exemplification that I have tried to provide here. Therefore I must end here and let someone else, better suited for this task, explain what it is that I wish to have said. We are hardly conscious of anything metaphorical when we say of one picture or of a story that it is dead, and of another that it has life. To explain just what we mean when we say this, is not easy. Yet the consciousness that one thing is limp, that another one has the heavy inertness of inanimate things, while another seems to move from within arises spontaneously. There must be something in the object that instigates it (Dewey 182). References Agamben, Giorgio. The Open. Trans. Kevin Attell. Stanford: Stanford U P, 2004.Bennett, Jane, and William Connolly. “Contesting Nature/Culture.” Journal of Nietzsche Studies 24 (2002) 148-163.Benthien, Claudia. Skin: On the Cultural Border Between Self and the World. Trans. Thomas Dunlap. New York: Columbia U P, 2002. California Science Center. “Summary of Ethical Review.” 10 Jan. 2009.Bergson, Henri. The Creative Mind. Trans. Mabelle Andison. Mineola: Dover, 2007. –––. Creative Evolution. Trans. Arthur Mitchell. New York: Cosimo Classics, 2005Deleuze, Gilles. Spinoza: Practical Philosophy. Trans. Robert Hurley. San Francisco: City Lights, 1988.Dewey, John. Art as Experience. New York: Perigee, 2005.Doyle, Richard. Wetwares. Minnesota: Minnesota U P, 2003.Hacking, Ian. “The Cartesian Body.” Biosocieties 1 (2006) 13-15.Hirschauer, Stefan. “Animated Corpses: Communicating with Post Mortals in an Anatomical Exhibition.” Body & Society 12.4 (2006) 25-52.Kuppers, Petra. “Visions of Anatomy: Exhibitions and Dense Bodies.” differences 15.3 (2004) 123-156.Manning, Erin. Politics of Touch: Sense, Movement, Sovereignty. Minnesota: Minnesota UP, 2007. Spindler, Konrad. The Man in the Ice. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1994.Thrift, Nigel. Spatial Formations. London: Sage, 1996.Von Hagens, Gunther, and Angelina Whalley. Body Worlds: The Original Exhibition of Real Human Bodies. Heidelberg: Institute for Plastination, 2008.Walter, Tony. “Plastination for Display: A New Way to Dispose of the Dead.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 10.3 (2004) 603-627.

Tämä osaraportti esittelee Jyväskylän yliopiston yhteistyössä Terveyden ja hyvinvoinnin laitoksen (THL) kanssa toteuttaman Varhaiskasvatus ja koronapandemia -hankkeen kyselytutkimuksen perusteella noin viisivuotiaiden lasten hoito- ja varhaiskasvatusjärjestelyitä vuoden 2020 aikana. Hanketta rahoittaa Jyväskylän yliopiston osalta Opetus ja kulttuuriministeriö. THL:n osalta rahoitus perustuu lisämäärärahaan, jonka eduskunta myönsi THL:lle koronaepidemian yhteiskunnallisten vaikutusten tutkimukseen. Kysely ajoittui vuosien 2020–2021 vaihteeseen, ja sen kohderyhmänä olivat 1.10.2014–30.9.2015 välisenä aikana syntyneiden lasten vanhemmat. Kyselyssä tarkasteltiin lasten hoito- ja varhaiskasvatusjärjestelyitä kolmessa aikapisteessä: tammikuussa 2020 ennen koronapoikkeusaikaa, huhtikuussa 2020 koronapoikkeusaikana sekä vastaushetkellä eli 16.11.2020–15.1.2021 välisenä aikana. Kuvailevien tunnuslukujen ja suorien jakaumien esittelyn lisäksi aineistoa analysoitiin ristiintaulukoinnin ja χ2 -riippumattomuustestin avulla. Sekä tammikuussa 2020 että vastaushetkellä enemmistö lapsista osallistui varhaiskasvatukseen kunnallisessa päiväkodissa viitenä päivänä viikossa. Useimmilla lapsista hoitojärjestelyt olivat samat tai lähes samat tammikuussa kuin vastaushetkellä. Erona saattoi olla esimerkiksi hoitopaikan muutos johtuen muutosta tai esiopetuksen aloittamisesta. Kevään 2020 aikana Suomessa vallitsivat poikkeusolot ja hallitus suositteli vanhempia hoitamaan varhaiskasvatusikäisen lapsensa kotona 16.3.–13.5. välisenä aikana, mikäli se oli mahdollista. Varhaiskasvatuspaikat pidettiin kuitenkin auki, millä pyrittiin muun muassa takaamaan yhteiskunnan toiminnan kannalta kriittisillä aloilla työskentelevien vanhempien työssäkäynti. Hallituksen kotihoitosuositus näkyi tutkimuksessamme siten, että enemmistö lapsista jäi väliaikaisesti lyhyt- tai pitkäaikaiselle tauolle varhaiskasvatuksesta kevään 2020 poikkeusolojen aikana. Yhtäjaksoisen tauon pituus vaihteli suuresti yhdestä neljäänkymmeneen viikkoon keskiarvon ollessa hieman yli 10 viikkoa. Kolmanneksella lapsista ei hoitojärjestelyissä tehty minkäänlaisia muutoksia kevään 2020 poikkeusolojen aikana. Tyypillisin melko tai erittäin tärkeäksi koettu syy varhaiskasvatuksessa jatkamiselle ilman taukoa poikkeusolojen aikaan oli vanhemman työ tai opiskelu. Muita tärkeäksi raportoituja seikkoja olivat varhaiskasvatuspaikan pysyminen auki, lapsen kasvun ja oppimisen tukeminen, vanhemman oma halu lapsen käymiseen varhaiskasvatuksessa tavalliseen tapaan ja lapsen tarve aktiiviseen toimintaan. Varhaiskasvatuksesta tilapäiselle tauolle jäämisen melko tai erittäin tärkeäksi syyksi raportointiin useimmin hallituksen antama suositus lapsen jäämisestä kotiin. Muita tyypillisiä syitä lapsen tauolle jäämiseen olivat vanhemman halu pitää lapsi turvassa kotona sekä varhaiskasvatuksesta annettu suositus lapsen kotiin jäämisestä. Useat eri tekijät olivat yhteydessä siihen, jäikö lapsi tauolle varhaiskasvatuksesta vai jatkoiko hän siellä ilman taukoa. Päiväkodista jäätiin perhepäivähoitoa useammin tauolle. Sen sijaan palveluntarjoajien (kunnallinen vs. yksityinen) välillä ei ollut eroa siinä, kuinka moni palvelun piirissä olevista lapsista jäi tauolle. Lapset, joilla oli sisaruksia, jäivät useammin tauolle kuin lapset, joilla ei ollut sisaruksia. Vanhemman koulutus ja työ olivat yhteydessä lapsen tauolle jäämiseen siten, että ylemmän korkeakoulututkinnon suorittaneiden vanhempien lapset jäivät muita useammin tauolle. Sen sijaan ammattikoulututkinnon suorittaneiden vanhempien lapsille oli muita tyypillisempää jatkaa varhaiskasvatuksessa ilman taukoa. Lisäksi työttömien ja enimmäkseen tai ainoastaan etänä työskentelevien vanhempien lapset jäivät useammin tauolle kuin työpaikallaan työskentelevien vanhempien lapset. Kunnan koronavirustartuntojen ilmaantuvuus oli yhteydessä lapsen jäämiseen tauolle varhaiskasvatuksesta siten, että ilmaantuvuusluvun ollessa 25 tai yli, jäivät lapset muita useammin tauolle varhaiskasvatuksesta. Sen sijaan 10–24 ilmaantuvuusluvun kunnissa jatkettiin muita useammin varhaiskasvatuksessa ilman taukoa. Alle 10 ilmaantuvuusluku ei ollut tilastollisesti merkitsevästi yhteydessä siihen, jäikö lapsi tauolle varhaiskasvatuksesta vai ei. Myöskään vanhemman arvio omasta ja lapsensa terveydentilasta tai lapsen tuentarpeisuus eivät olleet yhteydessä siihen, jäikö lapsi tauolle varhaiskasvatuksesta vai ei. Kaikkiaan tutkimuksen kohdelapsilla oli vuoden 2020 aikana 10 erilaista hoitopolkua, kun tarkastelussa huomioitiin tammikuun ja vastaushetken osalta ainoastaan se, oliko lapsi varhaiskasvatuksen piirissä vai ei ja huhtikuun osalta varhaiskasvatuksesta tauolle jääminen, varhaiskasvatuksessa jatkaminen tai kotihoidossa oleminen. Yleisin hoitopolku oli osallistua varhaiskasvatukseen tammikuussa, jäädä sieltä tauolle poikkeusolojen aikaan ja osallistua jälleen varhaiskasvatukseen vastaushetkellä.showless Based on the survey results of the Early Childhood Education and Care and the COVID-19 Pandemic project, implemented by the University of Jyväskylä in cooperation with the Finnish Institute for Health and Welfare (THL), this sub-report describes the childcare and early childhood education and care (ECEC) arrangements for approximately five-year-old children in 2020. The project funding for the University of Jyväskylä comes from the Ministry of Education and Culture. For THL, the funding is based on a supplementary appropriation granted by the Parliament of Finland for research on the social impacts of the coronavirus epidemic. The survey was carried out at the turn of 2020 and 2021, and its target group comprised parents of children born between 1 October 2014 and 30 September 2015. The survey focused on the arrangement of childcare and participation in ECEC at three different points of time: in January 2020 before the exceptional circumstances due to the coronavirus pandemic, in April 2020 during the pandemic, and at the time of responding to the survey, that is, between 16 November 2020 and 15 January 2021. In addition to presenting descriptive statistics and frequency distributions, the data were analysed using cross-tabulation and the Chi-square test of independence. Both in January 2020 and at the time of responding, most of the children participated in ECEC at a municipal ECEC centre five days a week. For most of them, the care arrangements were similar or nearly similar in January and at the time of responding. Possible changes in ECEC setting could be related to, for example, relocation or the start of pre-primary education. Because of Finland’s lockdown in spring 2020, the Finnish Government recommended that parents look after their children of ECEC age at home between 16 March and 13 May, if possible. However, the early childhood education and care settings remained open to, for example, ensure that parents employed in fields critical for the operation of society could continue to work. The home-care recommendation of the Government was visible in our survey so that the majority of children had a temporary, short- or long-term break from ECEC services during the lockdown of spring 2020. The length of an uninterrupted break varied considerably – from 1 to 40 weeks, the average being slightly over 10 weeks. No changes were made to the care arrangements of a third of the children during the spring 2020 lockdown. Various reasons were reported as fairly or very important for continuing in ECEC without a break during the lockdown. The most typical of these reasons was parents’ work or studies. Other reasons reported as important were that the ECEC setting remained open, parents wanted to support the child’s growth and learning, parents wanted the child to attend ECEC as usual, and children were keen to participate in various activities. The respondents mostly reported the Government’s recommendation for children to stay at home as a fairly or very important reason for taking a temporary break from ECEC. Other typical reasons for temporary breaks were parents’ desire to keep their children safe at home, as well as the recommendation by ECEC providers for children to stay at home. Various factors determined whether a child would have a break from ECEC or continue uninterrupted. Breaks from ECEC centres were more common than those from family day care. Between municipal and private service providers, instead, there were no differences in this respect. Children with siblings remained at home more often than those with no siblings. Parents’ education and work had an impact on children interrupting ECEC: the children of parents with a higher university degree remained more often in home care. Children whose parents had completed a vocational qualification, instead, more typically continued in ECEC with no break. In addition, the children of unemployed parents and parents working mainly or only remotely more often had a break from ECEC than children whose parents worked at the workplace. The incidence of COVID-19 infections in a municipality was connected to children’s breaks from ECEC: when the incidence rate was 25 or higher per 100,000 persons, children more often had a break. In municipalities with an incidence rate of 10–24, instead, children more often continued in ECEC without a break. An incidence rate lower than 10 had no statistical significance in this respect. Furthermore, the parents’ estimate of their own health, their child’s health, or of the child’s support needs was not related to whether or not the child continued uninterrupted in ECEC. Altogether, the children included in the survey had 10 different childcare pathways during 2020. In the analysis for January and the time of responding, we only considered whether a child participated in ECEC, and for April whether ECEC was interrupted/continued or whether the child was looked after at home. The most common childcare pathway was to participate in ECEC in January, take a break during the lockdown, and again participate in ECEC at the time of responding.

Newspapers and the 7:15 Showing Cinemagoing involves planning. Even in the most impromptu instances, one has to consider meeting places, line-ups and competing responsibilities. One arranges child care, postpones household chores, or rushes to finish meals. One must organise transportation and think about routes, traffic, parking or public transit. And during the course of making plans for a trip to the cinema, whether alone or in the company of others, typically one turns to locate a recent newspaper. Consulting its printed page lets us ascertain locations, a selection of film titles and their corresponding show times. In preparing to feed a cinema craving, we burrow through a newspaper to an entertainment section, finding a tableau of information and promotional appeals. Such sections compile the mini-posters of movie advertisements, with their truncated credits, as well as various reviews and entertainment news. We see names of shopping malls doubling as names of theatres. We read celebrity gossip that may or may not pertain to the film selected for that occasion. We informally rank viewing priorities ranging from essential theatrical experiences to those that can wait for the videotape release. We attempt to assess our own mood and the taste of our filmgoing companions, matching up what we suppose are appropriate selections. Certainly, other media vie to supplant the newspaper's role in cinemagoing; many now access on-line sources and telephone services that offer the crucial details about start times. Nonetheless, as a campaign by the Newspaper Association of America in Variety aimed to remind film marketers, 80% of cinemagoers refer to newspaper listings for times and locations before heading out. The accuracy of that association's statistics notwithstanding, for the moment, the local daily or weekly newspaper has a secure place in the routines of cinematic life. A basic impetus for the newspaper's role is its presentation of a schedule of show times. Whatever the venue -- published, phone or on-line -- it strikes me as especially telling that schedules are part of the ordinariness of cinemagoing. To be sure, there are those who decide what film to see on site. Anecdotally, I have had several people comment recently that they no longer decide what movie to see, but where to see a (any) movie. Regardless, the schedule, coupled with the theatre's location, figures as a point of coordination for travel through community space to a site of film consumption. The choice of show time is governed by countless demands of everyday life. How often has the timing of a film -- not the film itself, the theatre at which it's playing, nor one's financial situation --determined one's attendance? How familiar is the assessment that show times are such that one cannot make it, that the film begins a bit too earlier, that it will run too late for whatever reason, and that other tasks intervene to take precedence? I want to make several observations related to the scheduling of film exhibition. Most generally, it makes manifest that cinemagoing involves an exercise in the application of cinema knowledge -- that is, minute, everyday facilities and familiarities that help orchestrate the ordinariness of cultural life. Such knowledge informs what Michel de Certeau characterises as "the procedures of everyday creativity" (xiv). Far from random, the unexceptional decisions and actions involved with cinemagoing bear an ordering and a predictability. Novelty in audience activity appears, but it is alongside fairly exact expectations about the event. The schedule of start times is essential to the routinisation of filmgoing. Displaying a Fordist logic of streamlining commodity distribution and the time management of consumption, audiences circulate through a machine that shapes their constituency, providing a set time for seating, departure, snack purchases and socialising. Even with the staggered times offered by multiplex cinemas, schedules still lay down a fixed template around which other activities have to be arrayed by the patron. As audiences move to and through the theatre, the schedule endeavours to regulate practice, making us the subjects of a temporal grid, a city context, a cinema space, as well as of the film itself. To be sure, one can arrive late and leave early, confounding the schedule's disciplining force. Most importantly, with or without such forms of evasion, it channels the actions of audiences in ways that consideration of the gaze cannot address. Taking account of the scheduling of cinema culture, and its implication of adjunct procedures of everyday life, points to dimensions of subjectivity neglected by dominant theories of spectatorship. To be the subject of a cinema schedule is to understand one assemblage of the parameters of everyday creativity. It would be foolish to see cinema audiences as cattle, herded and processed alone, in some crude Gustave LeBon fashion. It would be equally foolish not to recognise the manner in which film distribution and exhibition operates precisely by constructing images of the activity of people as demographic clusters and generalised cultural consumers. The ordinary tactics of filmgoing are supplemental to, and run alongside, a set of industrial structures and practices. While there is a correlation between a culture industry's imagined audience and the life that ensues around its offerings, we cannot neglect that, as attention to film scheduling alerts us, audiences are subjects of an institutional apparatus, brought into being for the reproduction of an industrial edifice. Streamline Audiences In this, film is no different from any culture industry. Film exhibition and distribution relies on an understanding of both the market and the product or service being sold at any given point in time. Operations respond to economic conditions, competing companies, and alternative activities. Economic rationality in this strategic process, however, only explains so much. This is especially true for an industry that must continually predict, and arguably give shape to, the "mood" and predilections of disparate and distant audiences. Producers, distributors and exhibitors assess which films will "work", to whom they will be marketed, as well as establish the very terms of success. Without a doubt, much of the film industry's attentions act to reduce this uncertainty; here, one need only think of the various forms of textual continuity (genre films, star performances, etc.) and the economies of mass advertising as ways to ensure box office receipts. Yet, at the core of the operations of film exhibition remains a number of flexible assumptions about audience activity, taste and desire. These assumptions emerge from a variety of sources to form a brand of temporary industry "commonsense", and as such are harbingers of an industrial logic. Ien Ang has usefully pursued this view in her comparative analysis of three national television structures and their operating assumptions about audiences. Broadcasters streamline and discipline audiences as part of their organisational procedures, with the consequence of shaping ideas about consumers as well as assuring the reproduction of the industrial structure itself. She writes, "institutional knowledge is driven toward making the audience visible in such a way that it helps the institutions to increase their power to get their relationship with the audience under control, and this can only be done by symbolically constructing 'television audience' as an objectified category of others that can be controlled, that is, contained in the interest of a predetermined institutional goal" (7). Ang demonstrates, in particular, how various industrially sanctioned programming strategies (programme strips, "hammocking" new shows between successful ones, and counter-programming to a competitor's strengths) and modes of audience measurement grow out of, and invariably support, those institutional goals. And, most crucially, her approach is not an effort to ascertain the empirical certainty of "actual" audiences; instead, it charts the discursive terrain in which the abstract concept of audience becomes material for the continuation of industry practices. Ang's work tenders special insight to film culture. In fact, television scholarship has taken full advantage of exploring the routine nature of that medium, the best of which deploys its findings to lay bare configurations of power in domestic contexts. One aspect has been television time and schedules. For example, David Morley points to the role of television in structuring everyday life, discussing a range of research that emphasises the temporal dimension. Alerting us to the non- necessary determination of television's temporal structure, he comments that we "need to maintain a sensitivity to these micro-levels of division and differentiation while we attend to the macro-questions of the media's own role in the social structuring of time" (265). As such, the negotiation of temporal structures implies that schedules are not monolithic impositions of order. Indeed, as Morley puts it, they "must be seen as both entering into already constructed, historically specific divisions of space and time, and also as transforming those pre-existing division" (266). Television's temporal grid has been address by others as well. Paddy Scannell characterises scheduling and continuity techniques, which link programmes, as a standardisation of use, making radio and television predictable, 'user friendly' media (9). John Caughie refers to the organization of flow as a way to talk about the national particularities of British and American television (49-50). All, while making their own contributions, appeal to a detailing of viewing context as part of any study of audience, consumption or experience; uncovering the practices of television programmers as they attempt to apprehend and create viewing conditions for their audiences is a first step in this detailing. Why has a similar conceptual framework not been applied with the same rigour to film? Certainly the history of film and television's association with different, at times divergent, disciplinary formations helps us appreciate such theoretical disparities. I would like to mention one less conspicuous explanation. It occurs to me that one frequently sees a collapse in the distinction between the everyday and the domestic; in much scholarship, the latter term appears as a powerful trope of the former. The consequence has been the absenting of a myriad of other -- if you will, non-domestic -- manifestations of everyday-ness, unfortunately encouraging a rather literal understanding of the everyday. The impression is that the abstractions of the everyday are reduced to daily occurrences. Simply put, my minor appeal is for the extension of this vein of television scholarship to out-of-home technologies and cultural forms, that is, other sites and locations of the everyday. In so doing, we pay attention to extra-textual structures of cinematic life; other regimes of knowledge, power, subjectivity and practice appear. Film audiences require a discussion about the ordinary, the calculated and the casual practices of cinematic engagement. Such a discussion would chart institutional knowledge, identifying operating strategies and recognising the creativity and multidimensionality of cinemagoing. What are the discursive parameters in which the film industry imagines cinema audiences? What are the related implications for the structures in which the practice of cinemagoing occurs? Vectors of Exhibition Time One set of those structures of audience and industry practice involves the temporal dimension of film exhibition. In what follows, I want to speculate on three vectors of the temporality of cinema spaces (meaning that I will not address issues of diegetic time). Note further that my observations emerge from a close study of industrial discourse in the U.S. and Canada. I would be interested to hear how they are manifest in other continental contexts. First, the running times of films encourage turnovers of the audience during the course of a single day at each screen. The special event of lengthy anomalies has helped mark the epic, and the historic, from standard fare. As discussed above, show times coordinate cinemagoing and regulate leisure time. Knowing the codes of screenings means participating in an extension of the industrial model of labour and service management. Running times incorporate more texts than the feature presentation alone. Besides the history of double features, there are now advertisements, trailers for coming attractions, trailers for films now playing in neighbouring auditoriums, promotional shorts demonstrating new sound systems, public service announcements, reminders to turn off cell phones and pagers, and the exhibitor's own signature clips. A growing focal point for filmgoing, these introductory texts received a boost in 1990, when the Motion Picture Association of America changed its standards for the length of trailers, boosting it from 90 seconds to a full two minutes (Brookman). This intertextuality needs to be supplemented by a consideration of inter- media appeals. For example, advertisements for television began appearing in theatres in the 1990s. And many lobbies of multiplex cinemas now offer a range of media forms, including video previews, magazines, arcades and virtual reality games. Implied here is that motion pictures are not the only media audiences experience in cinemas and that there is an explicit attempt to integrate a cinema's texts with those at other sites and locations. Thus, an exhibitor's schedule accommodates an intertextual strip, offering a limited parallel to Raymond Williams's concept of "flow", which he characterised by stating -- quite erroneously -- "in all communication systems before broadcasting the essential items were discrete" (86-7). Certainly, the flow between trailers, advertisements and feature presentations is not identical to that of the endless, ongoing text of television. There are not the same possibilities for "interruption" that Williams emphasises with respect to broadcasting flow. Further, in theatrical exhibition, there is an end-time, a time at which there is a public acknowledgement of the completion of the projected performance, one that necessitates vacating the cinema. This end-time is a moment at which the "rental" of the space has come due; and it harkens a return to the street, to the negotiation of city space, to modes of public transit and the mobile privatisation of cars. Nonetheless, a schedule constructs a temporal boundary in which audiences encounter a range of texts and media in what might be seen as limited flow. Second, the ephemerality of audiences -- moving to the cinema, consuming its texts, then passing the seat on to someone else -- is matched by the ephemerality of the features themselves. Distributors' demand for increasing numbers of screens necessary for massive, saturation openings has meant that films now replace one another more rapidly than in the past. Films that may have run for months now expect weeks, with fewer exceptions. Wider openings and shorter runs have created a cinemagoing culture characterised by flux. The acceleration of the turnover of films has been made possible by the expansion of various secondary markets for distribution, most importantly videotape, splintering where we might find audiences and multiplying viewing contexts. Speeding up the popular in this fashion means that the influence of individual texts can only be truly gauged via cross-media scrutiny. Short theatrical runs are not axiomatically designed for cinemagoers anymore; they can also be intended to attract the attention of video renters, purchasers and retailers. Independent video distributors, especially, "view theatrical release as a marketing expense, not a profit center" (Hindes & Roman 16). In this respect, we might think of such theatrical runs as "trailers" or "loss leaders" for the video release, with selected locations for a film's release potentially providing visibility, even prestige, in certain city markets or neighbourhoods. Distributors are able to count on some promotion through popular consumer- guide reviews, usually accompanying theatrical release as opposed to the passing critical attention given to video release. Consequently, this shapes the kinds of uses an assessment of the current cinema is put to; acknowledging that new releases function as a resource for cinema knowledge highlights the way audiences choose between and determine big screen and small screen films. Taken in this manner, popular audiences see the current cinema as largely a rough catalogue to future cultural consumption. Third, motion picture release is part of the structure of memories and activities over the course of a year. New films appear in an informal and ever-fluctuating structure of seasons. The concepts of summer movies and Christmas films, or the opening weekends that are marked by a holiday, sets up a fit between cinemagoing and other activities -- family gatherings, celebrations, etc. Further, this fit is presumably resonant for both the industry and popular audiences alike, though certainly for different reasons. The concentration of new films around visible holiday periods results in a temporally defined dearth of cinemas; an inordinate focus upon three periods in the year in the U.S. and Canada -- the last weekend in May, June/July/August and December -- creates seasonal shortages of screens (Rice-Barker 20). In fact, the boom in theatre construction through the latter half of the 1990s was, in part, to deal with those short-term shortages and not some year-round inadequate seating. Configurations of releasing colour a calendar with the tactical manoeuvres of distributors and exhibitors. Releasing provides a particular shape to the "current cinema", a term I employ to refer to a temporally designated slate of cinematic texts characterised most prominently by their newness. Television arranges programmes to capitalise on flow, to carry forward audiences and to counter-programme competitors' simultaneous offerings. Similarly, distributors jostle with each other, with their films and with certain key dates, for the limited weekends available, hoping to match a competitor's film intended for one audience with one intended for another. Industry reporter Leonard Klady sketched some of the contemporary truisms of releasing based upon the experience of 1997. He remarks upon the success of moving Liar, Liar (Tom Shadyac, 1997) to a March opening and the early May openings of Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (Jay Roach, 1997) and Breakdown (Jonathan Mostow, 1997), generally seen as not desirable times of the year for premieres. He cautions against opening two films the same weekend, and thus competing with yourself, using the example of Fox's Soul Food (George Tillman, Jr., 1997) and The Edge (Lee Tamahori, 1997). While distributors seek out weekends clear of films that would threaten to overshadow their own, Klady points to the exception of two hits opening on the same date of December 19, 1997 -- Tomorrow Never Dies (Roger Spottiswoode, 1997) and Titanic (James Cameron, 1997). Though but a single opinion, Klady's observations are a peek into a conventional strain of strategising among distributors and exhibitors. Such planning for the timing and appearance of films is akin to the programming decisions of network executives. And I would hazard to say that digital cinema, reportedly -- though unlikely -- just on the horizon and in which texts will be beamed to cinemas via satellite rather than circulated in prints, will only augment this comparison; releasing will become that much more like programming, or at least will be conceptualised as such. To summarize, the first vector of exhibition temporality is the scheduling and running time; the second is the theatrical run; the third is the idea of seasons and the "programming" of openings. These are just some of the forces streamlining filmgoers; the temporal structuring of screenings, runs and film seasons provides a material contour to the abstraction of audience. Here, what I have delineated are components of an industrial logic about popular and public entertainment, one that offers a certain controlled knowledge about and for cinemagoing audiences. Shifting Conceptual Frameworks A note of caution is in order. I emphatically resist an interpretation that we are witnessing the becoming-film of television and the becoming-tv of film. Underneath the "inversion" argument is a weak brand of technological determinism, as though each asserts its own essential qualities. Such a pat declaration seems more in line with the mythos of convergence, and its quasi-Darwinian "natural" collapse of technologies. Instead, my point here is quite the opposite, that there is nothing essential or unique about the scheduling or flow of television; indeed, one does not have to look far to find examples of less schedule-dependent television. What I want to highlight is that application of any term of distinction -- event/flow, gaze/glance, public/private, and so on -- has more to do with our thinking, with the core discursive arrangements that have made film and television, and their audiences, available to us as knowable and different. So, using empirical evidence to slide one term over to the other is a strategy intended to supplement and destabilise the manner in which we draw conclusions, and even pose questions, of each. What this proposes is, again following the contributions of Ien Ang, that we need to see cinemagoing in its institutional formation, rather than some stable technological, textual or experiential apparatus. The activity is not only a function of a constraining industrial practice or of wildly creative patrons, but of a complex inter-determination between the two. Cinemagoing is an organisational entity harbouring, reviving and constituting knowledge and commonsense about film commodities, audiences and everyday life. An event of cinema begins well before the dimming of an auditorium's lights. The moment a newspaper is consulted, with its local representation of an internationally circulating current cinema, its listings belie a scheduling, an orderliness, to the possible projections in a given location. As audiences are formed as subjects of the current cinema, we are also agents in the continuation of a set of institutions as well. References Ang, Ien. Desperately Seeking the Audience. New York: Routledge, 1991. Brookman, Faye. "Trailers: The Big Business of Drawing Crowds." Variety 13 June 1990: 48. Caughie, John. "Playing at Being American: Games and Tactics." Logics of Television: Essays in Cultural Criticism. Ed. Patricia Mellencamp. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1990. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Steve Rendall. Berkeley: U of California P, 1984. Hindes, Andrew, and Monica Roman. "Video Titles Do Pitstops on Screens." Variety 16-22 Sep. 1996: 11+. Klady, Leonard. "Hitting and Missing the Market: Studios Show Savvy -- or Just Luck -- with Pic Release Strategies." Variety 19-25 Jan. 1998: 18. Morley, David. Television, Audiences and Cultural Studies. New York: Routledge, 1992. Newspaper Association of America. "Before They See It Here..." Advertisement. Variety 22-28 Nov. 1999: 38. Rice-Barker, Leo. "Industry Banks on New Technology, Expanded Slates." Playback 6 May 1996: 19-20. Scannell, Paddy. Radio, Television and Modern Life. Oxford: Blackwell, 1996. Williams, Raymond. Television: Technology and Cultural Form. New York: Schocken, 1975. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Charles Acland. "Matinees, Summers and Opening Weekends: Cinemagoing Audiences as Institutional Subjects." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.1 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/cinema.php>. Chicago style: Charles Acland, "Matinees, Summers and Opening Weekends: Cinemagoing Audiences as Institutional Subjects," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 1 (2000), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/cinema.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Charles Acland. (2000) Matinees, Summers and Opening Weekends: Cinemagoing Audiences as Institutional Subjects. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(1). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/cinema.php> ([your date of access]).

If we consider learning as a meaning-making process where people construct shared knowledge, it becomes a social dialogical activity in which knowledge is the result of an active process of articulation and reflection within a context (Jonassen et al.). An important element of this belief is that conversation is at the core of learning because knowledge is language-mediated. Within this context, what makes a conversation worthwhile and meaningful is how it is structured, how it is managed by the participants, and most importantly, how it is understood. In particular, conversation is essential in learning situations where the main goal is to generate a new understanding of the world (Bruner). Thus, if conversations can be seen as support for learning processes, the question then becomes how synchronous textual spaces mediate conversation and how chat affects learning. Experienced Teachers Learning in a Collaborative Virtual Environment We studied two different groups of experienced teachers from Kindergarten to Grade 12 (K-12) attending a Master of Education course entitled "Curriculum and Instruction". They communicated through a collaborative virtual environment (CVE) designed to enhance teachers' professional development: TAPPED IN™ (TI). We recorded their on-line conversations over six weeks. The teachers met twice a week for a two hour session and the data collected consisted of approximately 350-400 pages of text from transcripts. The following concerns, gleaned from an ongoing analysis of on-line conversations are of interest for this paper: The first concern has to do with the ability of teachers to concentrate on a task while managing multiple simultaneous conversations. The question is how to maintain the focus on the purpose of the goal oriented task. The second concern is related to the technical characteristics of a CVE and the teachers' feelings of being lost, too slow, or not understanding the point of the discussion. The question is how to deal with this confusion when the aim is to construct meanings from online discussion? The third concern is related the preceding points. It is concerned with the importance of a leader coaching and guiding experienced teachers online. We examined these three concerns, using TI during the teachers' on line discussions. Our primary goal in the analysis was to determine i) whether the teachers could conduct their learning activities through TI and ii) how goal-oriented conversations might be affected by the constraints of TI. The following examples come from a personal recorder. Messages are numbered in order to show their position in the session and to show the distance between the messages sent. Implications of Multitasking in Learning Sessions In CVEs, participants have the possibility of performing several tasks simultaneously (Holmevik). This is especially true when participants hold more than one conversation at a time. Participants can talk to one person or to the whole group while also chatting privately with people in the same CVE's room, in the same CVE or even in other CVEs. But the possibility of being able to participate in multiple conversations becomes potentially confusing and disorienting for teachers wanting to achieve a specific task. Let us give an example of how a main task (e.g. to share notes of pedagogical projects -- task 1) fragments into different tasks (e.g. learning a command -- how to create a note -- task 2; and socialise, express feelings and play with cows -- task 3). (Note that the students are in fact experienced teachers and a teacher is leading the session. The goal of the on-line session is to read and discuss the different educational projects that the students should have written in virtual notes.) The goal of the task became difficult to accomplish for teachers who were suddenly involved in more than one task at a time. In order to understand what is going on in this situation, participants had to accomplish extra work. They needed to filter messages and rank them to make the main objective of the session clear. In a goal-oriented session such as this, it is extremely important to keep track of the task as well as to concentrate on one activity at time. This entails a necessity to understand current threads in order to contribute to the object of interest for them as individuals and as a group member. Implications of Multi Threads and Floor-Taking in Goal-Oriented Conversations Perseverance with each message creates a parallelism that can become extremely disorienting to participants who intend to produce new understandings and not just maintain an awareness during on-line conversations. The larger the number of participants in a conversation, the more likely it is for fragmentation to occur. The jumbled and quickly scrolling screen can be quite disconcerting. Yet as mentioned by Mynatt et al., even between two participants, multi-threading is common due to the overlapping composition of conversational turns. Participants write simultaneously and the host computer sends the messages out sequentially. Under these conditions, competing conversational threads emerge continuously. It becomes difficult to know who actually holds the floor at the time. Here is an example showing a teacher -- student 2 -- looking for attention and trying to read and understand others' answers to his questions: Student 2 did not read message 26 sent from the teacher with care. In fact, the teacher did explain that there is a part in the assignment where students have to meet in order to exchange ideas about individual projects. Yet although S2's question was answered, S2 still did not understand. A possible reason is that S2 could have been focussed on writing the next question. Again, the teacher answered the question asked in message 29. However, S2 still did not understand in spite of S15 and S6 confirming that the teacher had already covered the question. Student 2 finally understood when the teacher addressed him directly and repeated what the other students had said before. In order to be heard, the students repeated their questions until they had the answer from the teacher. With more than a handful of participants, this attention seeking strategy may make on-line conversations confusing. Goal-oriented conversations then easily degenerate, as mentioned by Colomb and Simutis. These authors point out that one of the most common problems in using CMC is keeping students on task. Even experienced teachers do not escape from the possibility of converting from an instrumental discussion to a social one due to different misunderstanding between interlocutors. To be able to 'send' a message is not equivalent to claiming the 'floor'. An important extra task that teachers have to do in CVEs before sending a message is to think about how it meets the goal of the discussion. Looking for coherence and understanding is a must in learning situations and this becomes a great challenge in online learning sessions. On the other hand, different modalities of communication in CVEs may add richness and depth to online conversations when participants can anticipate constraints. Consider another group of teachers. They are discussing readings, and make great use of multiple modalities, such as gestures, to reframe misunderstandings. These gestures provide back channel information and other visual signs. Here is one example of what a group of teachers does in order to avoid embarrassing situations. As Mynatt et al. express, "the availability of multiple modalities gives complexity to the interactional rhythm, because people have choices about what modality to use at any particular moment and for any set of conversation partners" (138). Given these pros and cons of CVEs, the challenge of holding an on-line educational discussion requires the teachers to reestablish the context and control the underlying the sense of the conversation. This challenge could be also regarded as an exigency of the medium that 'invites' teachers to structure their conversations in order to encourage meaningful discussions. Importance of a Teacher of Teachers The problems mentioned earlier may be solved more easily when there is a leader at hand. Since these difficulties mainly arise at the start of learning the communication environment, it might be proposed that a leader is most critical in this phase. A comparison of two groups' interactions with and without a leader supports the intuition that a leader is crucial for keeping the learning on track even though the participants are experienced teachers. In this example, the task that the group performed was the same: "learning to attach an icon to their ellipses representing their presence in the system". Table 1. Data related to groups with and without a teacher Groups Learners Icons attached Messages produced Time employed 1. Without leader 12 0 549 56 min 8 sec 2. With leader 9 4 644 1h 27min 52 sec Fig. 1 Comparing flow and categories of the messages sent by the groups These frequencies confirm that teachers without a leader have more problems than the group with a leader. The number of successful icons attached by the groups (0 and 4 icons) demonstrates this claim. What happens is that the number of messages related to 'Task' decrease and those related to 'Relation' increase when there is no leader present -- a result which would be unsurprising among most people who have worked in 'real' classrooms. Messages produced and coded as 'Playing' and 'Feedback' also show a considerable difference between groups. Finally, categories such as 'Whisper' and 'Artifact' present in comparison to the others minimal differences between groups. A leader is a must for the smooth development of on-line conversation. The leader is a sort of mediator between the pedagogical task of the on-line conversation and what appears on the screen. The leader's task is to show which threads are important to follow or not and how messages should be read on the screen. Like an orchestra conductor, the leader coordinates tasks and makes sense of individual actions which are part of a common product and the quality of the on-going conversation. Discussion This ongoing research has demonstrated three important concerns surrounding experienced teachers' professional use of CVE. First, teachers chatting online have to anticipate the lack of assurance "that what gets sent gets read" and that gaining the floor in a CVE is "that one's message draws a response and in some way affect the direction of a current thread" (Colomb and Simutis). Teachers have to learn to negotiate turn-taking sequences behind the screen. When chatting, a person's intention to speak is not signalled. Overlapping and interruptions do not exist and non-verbal communication requires knowledge of gesture commands. Negotiating turns in online conversations is concerned with how people express information and what they express. In educational discussion, turns are generally taken when messages either present a good formulation of ideas, express controversial thinking, raise an issue that allows someone else to participate, or provide knowledge on the topic at hand. Second, teachers should learn to collaborate in online conversations. It is essential to be aware that people are writing a text while they discuss. The quality of the conversation will depend on one hand, how teachers manage the discussion and, on the other hand, the opinions they elaborate together. Third, teachers need leaders in online discussions. A leader has to be able to anticipate the text that the participants are writing. The leader has the responsibility of meeting pedagogical goals with a participant's messages. The leader has to show the coherence or incoherence of the discussion and raise issues that improve the level of the written interaction. These issues are extremely important in a context where people learn through conversations. As Laurillard has mentioned, "academic knowledge relies heavily on symbolic representation as the medium through which it is known. ... Students have to learn to handle the representations system as well as the ideas they represent" (27). Therefore, it is necessary that learners know and think about the rules of online discussion in order to adapt technical commands and effects to their needs. But these rules are in contrast to what participants expect from online conversations. Teachers want to perform their tasks with support of a computer program; they do not want to learn the computer program per se. CMC in learning activities must be based, not on visionary claims about technology as an all-purpose tool for automatic teaching/learning, but on specific accounts of how and why the technology affects the user's achievement of specific goals. Acknowledgements This study has been supported by a grant from the Swedish Transport & Communication Research Board. We wish to express our gratitude to Judi Fusco, who, in several ways, has been a bridge between the TI community and us. We also want to thank the teachers, CharlesE and FlorenceE, for having the courage of letting Tessy 'sit in' on the sessions. The 'expert' session was lead by TerryG, whom we also want to thank for her generosity. Susan Wildermuth came to us in the final spurt, and we owe her much for the reliability check, structuring of ideas, and hints about related research. Finally, all students struggling with TI are thanked for their willingness to participate in this study. References Cherny, L. Conversation and Community. Chat in a Virtual World. California: CSCLI Ed, 1999. Colomb, and Simutis. "Visible Conversations and Academic Inquiry: CMC in a Culturally Diverse Classroom." Computer-Mediated Communication: Linguistic, Social and Cross-Cultural Perspectives. Ed. Susan Herring. Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1996. 203-24. Bruner, Jerome. Acts of Meanings. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1990. Holmevik, J., and C. Haynes. MOOniversity. A Student's Guide to Online Learning Environments. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2000. Jonassen, D., et al. "Constructivism and Computer-Mediated Communication." Distance Education 9.2 (1992): 7-25. Laurrillard, Diana. Rethinking University Teaching: A Framework for the Effective Use of Educational Technology. London: Routledge, 1994. Mynatt, E. D., et al. "Network Communities: Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed." Computer Supported Cooperative Work: The Journal of Collaborative Computing 7.1-2 (1998): 123-56. Schlager, M., J. Fusco, and P. Schank. "Evolution of an On-line Education Community of Practice." Building Virtual Communities: Learning and Change in Cyberspace. Ed. K. Ann Renninger and W. Shumar. NY: Cambridge UP, 2000. Wærn, Yvonne. "Absent Minds -- On Teacher Professional Development." Journal of Courseware Studies 22 (1999): 441-55. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Teresa Cerratto, Yvonne Wærn. "Chatting to Learn and Learning to Chat in Collaborative Virtual Environments." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.4 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/learning.php>. Chicago style: Teresa Cerratto, Yvonne Wærn, "Chatting to Learn and Learning to Chat in Collaborative Virtual Environments," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 4 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/learning.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Teresa Cerratto, Yvonne Wærn. (2000) Chatting to learn and learning to chat in collaborative virtual environments. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(4). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/learning.php> ([your date of access]).

Public life is usually understood to be whatever we do or say in our formal and professional relationships. At the workplace, at the doctor’s office or at the café, we need to make a good impression and we cannot say everything we think or do anything we want. We need to appear a certain way to be liked, get ahead, or simply stay out of trouble. The distinction between private and public presupposes that we invest efforts in maintaining a public “persona” whereas at home we can “be ourselves.” A closer examination, however, reveals that we also have a persona within the circle of our immediate family and close friends. We often censor ourselves with the people closest to us, in order to be seen by our loved-ones as caring partners, devoted children or loyal friends. Can we ever relax and really be ourselves without maintaining a persona? Even in our most private moments, at home alone, we are under the pressure of a private persona, a self-image we want to maintain even when nobody else is looking. We also want to impress ourselves, so to speak, to feel and think about and interact with people in a manner that reflects the way we think we are, or should be, in our social world. On occasion, we explicitly endorse certain values or character traits that we see as guiding our social interactions as well as our private thoughts and emotions. Naturally, most of us probably think that who we are, as reflected from our actions and reactions, thoughts and emotions, matches quite well our private persona. But when we consider those around us, especially those we know well enough to know what they think about themselves, we often notice patterns of behaviour that are in tension with their private persona. We could say that they have a false, or at least a partially blind, self-image. The philosopher and psychoanalyst Jonathan Lear provides a good example to think about these tensions in one’s private persona. In A Case for Irony, he describes a woman who displays prototypical femininity in some of her mannerisms, gestures and her style of clothing, and self-consciously comports herself according to traditional gender roles. Yet, Lear notices that she also exhibits “boyish” behaviour without realising it, a behaviour that further demonstrates that she cares about being “boyish” (42-71). Consider other examples such as: a proud anti-authoritarian whose gestures and reactions reveal that he evaluates people according to their social hierarchy; or a person who fiercely defends her independence in close relationships and yet remains financially dependent; or the delicate flower that cannot hurt a fly with a killer instinct. Around us, many people hold onto a self-image that captures only a part of their social ways of being and ignores other parts that are apparently in tension with it. We ascribe to one another the ability to turn a blind eye to what is there to see. In such cases, it appears that some patterns of social interaction fit well with what we may call one’s endorsed private persona whereas other identifiable patterns do not. Those, in turn, seem to fit a hidden private persona, certain values or character traits that the person does not acknowledge having. In other words, one’s private persona may include an endorsed aspect that is in tension with its hidden aspect. In this paper, I critically examine Jonathan Lear’s suggestion as to how to understand and deal with such tensions. In particular, I examine how one’s private persona may get caught up in such tensions in the first place. Endorsed Private Persona Our roles in our relationships and group-belongings comprise what philosophers call our practical identities, such as being a spouse, a parent, a friend, a child, a teacher or a member of the neighbourhood cat-rescue organisation. These practical identities do not just impose on us duties and obligations and appropriate ways of interaction dictated by our social niche. They are also, as the philosopher Christine Korsgaard says in The Sources of Normativity, “description[s] under which [we] value [ourselves], description[s] under which [we] find [our lives] to be worth living and [our] actions worth undertaking” (101). Our social roles present us sometimes with dilemmas, challenges and moments of choice. When we face an important decision in our lives, such as leaving a boyfriend or getting married, telling or not telling a friend that her husband is cheating on her, we may explicitly ask ourselves: do I want to be the kind of person that pursues this course of action? Am I this kind of partner, this kind of friend? It is not just about what others would think of me, it is about what I will think of me: will I be able to live with myself if I make this choice? These are typical moments in which we encounter our endorsed private persona, and reflect upon certain values that we attempt to cultivate through our choices. We also describe ourselves and identify with certain social styles, character traits, or virtues that guide some of our social gestures and actions. We care about being confident or modest, polite or direct communicators, courageous or risk averse, feminine or masculine, light travellers or collectors of objects. These labels do not just comprise the way people see us or how we want them to see us. They describe how we see and want to see ourselves and thus form a part of our endorsed private persona. We often self-consciously attempt to sustain and cultivate behaviours that would fit our endorsed personal style and qualify us as cool or elegant or nerdy, daring or cautious. We also encounter our endorsed private persona when we assess our spontaneous behaviours, in particular our emotional reactions. Those are moments when we face criticism or self-criticism about our emotions. Emotions may be criticised on the ground that they do not fit the circumstances (e.g. fear of a tiny spider), or that they are exaggerated in intensity (e.g. rage about a minor offence), or that they are ungraceful and reflect badly on us, or that they show we are immoral (e.g. envy of a friend or anger at a child), or excessively touchy (e.g. taking offence by a joke), and so forth. Our practices of criticism demonstrate that although we often forgive or accept emotions as episodes we cannot help but undergo, they nevertheless show something about us, about what kind of a person we are. We take such criticisms to heart when they reveal, on reflection, that our emotion is incompatible with our private persona, with our being someone rational, or moral, or with a hippy’s temperament. At times, we embrace the criticism, make it our own, and use it to control our emotion, with varied degrees of success. Our endorsed private persona includes values, virtues, character traits, and styles of social interactions that cut across practical identities. They are ways of inhabiting our various roles and relationships. Many of our spontaneous behaviours, our gestures and emotional reactions, fit with the way we want to be in the social world. Other people may characterise us similarly to how we characterise ourselves and use the same labels to do so, such as “courageous” or “cautious.” It is the fact that we self-consciously care about fitting those labels that makes them a part of our endorsed private persona. A Hidden Private Persona? Our spontaneous reactions, our passing thoughts and emotions, and our non-reflective actions or gestures, often fit well with the way we see and want to see ourselves. Those are the spontaneous behaviours we notice, endorse, or just accept as forgivable or understandable. They reflect who we think we are and what we self-consciously care about. And yet, many such spontaneous behaviours do not fit so well with the endorsed aspect of our private persona. We do not normally pay much attention to those behaviours. We are quite skilled in ignoring them so they typically do not manage to shake our self-image. They are more like background “noise” for our general self-aware comportment in our social interactions. Even in the privacy of our own mind, of the spontaneous emotions and thoughts that strike us without anyone else knowing, we tend to comply with our own endorsed private persona and ignore those passing thoughts that are incompatible with it. And when such behaviours cannot be easily ignored, such as certain emotional reactions, we may be able to control them, to some extent, in reference to our endorsed cares and concerns. But are the spontaneous emotions and gestures that we ignore or reject nothing more than background noise? Do they follow no other positive rhyme or reason? Do they affirm nothing about us in their own right? Lear says that often, the background noise is not just an aggregate of unacknowledged or un-reflected upon emotions and gestures (46). Reflecting on his experience as a psychoanalyst, he claims that this ignored portion of our social lives is often well unified under another social label or “pretence” that the person does not acknowledge or explicitly identify with, even if certain aspects of that person’s behaviour suggest that she actually cares about fitting that hidden “label” (46-51). Although Lear calls these hidden labels “practical identities,” the example of “boyish” and “feminine” demonstrates that he is talking about personal styles, character traits or virtues, such as “self-sacrificing” or “selfish” or “needy.” When we shut off and ignore what we see as mere background noise, Lear says, we effectively shut off a vibrant and unified part of ourselves (64). Lear notices that subjects who are not aware that a certain label unifies aspects of their patterns of social interaction, self-consciously describe themselves with another counter-label, which is the exact inverse of the hidden label (46-47). Lear’s patient is consciously feminine and also exhibits “boyish” behaviour without realising it. Consider also the married man who also exhibits single-life behaviour, or the self-sacrificing family member who actually also cares about what she sees as her selfish needs. These inversions or tensions occur within larger categories: married life; womanhood; self-concern; adulthood, and so forth. The people in these examples inhabit those social categories in ways they find contradictory. How can I be both married and lead a single’s lifestyle? How can I be both a feminine woman and a boyish woman at the same time? As Lear sees things, once his patient acknowledges that she lives in such a tension, she should reassess her ways of organising her behaviours under such rubrics (59-60). The feminine-boyish woman should examine the behaviours that she classifies under the two conflicting labels and ask: “What does any of this has to do with being a woman?” (59). In other words, Lear expects or hopes his patients ask what are, in effect, philosophical questions: what does it mean to be a woman—for me? How do I fit in this category, “woman?” Such negotiation can help people reach some kind of integration whose general purpose is self-acceptance. Perhaps some apparently conflicting identities may serve to qualify one another into reconciliation. Some may be gradually let go. New identities may arise, through reflection, and regroup, so to speak, the behaviours that until then were grouped separately and in opposition. Alternatively, one may accept both sides of the contrariety as parts of oneself that can be given their own time and place for expression. Persona in a World Full of Clichés In her comments on Lear, Korsgaard remarks that the categories of womanhood that trouble Lear’s patient are “most banal” (“Irony” 81). Indeed, Lear’s example—as well as the examples I suggested so far for such tensions—manifests social clichés. His patients exhibit behaviours describable by two poles of society’s stereotypes, prejudices and unqualified moralisms, as if a woman must be either “feminine” or “boyish,” as if love relationships are either “for life” or “dalliances,” as if one is either “loyal” or a “free-spirit,” or either good and “self-sacrificing,” or bad and “selfish” etc. Society offers us many clichés to label ourselves with and some of them may infect our private persona. How did Lear’s patient get caught in opposing clichés? Lear seems to claim that all such people need is some philosophical therapy that would liberate them from this one glitch of their private persona into a superficial dichotomy, inherited from the social world. Are things that simple? Are all the rejected spontaneous behaviours that do not sit well with our endorsed private persona unified by just one social label that comprises what Lear calls our “core fantasy” (e.g. 46; 57)? Our spontaneous behaviours, whether or not we acknowledge or endorse them, give rise to quite a few identifiable patterns, which in turn organise our emotional life. The tensions Lear speaks about are only one such identifiable structuration. That people’s spontaneous emotions and gestures follow various patterns is familiar from ordinary experience. Although we cannot exactly predict the reactions of those we know well, although they may surprise us, we are usually able to make sense of their reaction in light of their past reactions. Our various mannerisms, gestures and emotional reactions lend themselves to groupings in various patterns of reactions. On the one hand, these patterns do not follow a clear rule (or we would be able to predict each other’s emotions much more easily and reliably). And on the other hand, each identifiable pattern brings to light some common aspect in which the behaviours of a pattern are similar to one another. Some reactions resemble one another straightforwardly, like the irritation I feel often with the same rude waiter. This does not mean that each time I see the same rude waiter I will get irritated but, rather, that when I do get irritated, it is partly because of the similarity of the situation now to certain past irritations. Other reactions, as Freud noticed, resemble one another symbolically, such as the resentment one may feel toward one’s female boss here and now symbolising the resentment he has (secretly) harboured for many years toward his mother. As Freud claims, this symbolic connection is also a causal connection and the current resentment is partly caused by the old resentment. Some reactions may be the inverse of one another as in cases of mixed feelings, such as the joy for and the envy of the same friend who achieved something that we wanted for ourselves. Ambivalence, as Freud repeatedly discovered in his case studies, pervades many of our emotional reactions. In Emotions and the Limits of Reason, I propose that our spontaneous emotional life is stitched together through imaginative connections. That is, every reaction of ours is similar to, or symbolic of, the inverse of, or somehow imaginatively relates to, many other reactions from our past. The emotional imaginative network thus gives rise to many traceable patterns. And for each pattern one could, in principle, articulate the respects in which the reactions that follow it connect with one another imaginatively, through similarities and symbols or inversions etc. When we articulate thematic threads that run through such patterns, we can identify various cares and concerns that emerge from our emotional-imaginative network about people and things, ideas, virtues and styles of social interaction. If we are able to identify patterns of both the reactions we endorse and the reactions we normally ignore, the cares and concerns that emerge from our imaginative-emotional network would include those we ordinarily endorse as well as those that we normally fail to recognise. The similarities and other imaginative connections among our various spontaneous reactions do not come at first instance with “subtitles” or with a list of the respects in which they hold. Yet, given that these respects can be articulated in language, these similarities make implicit use of familiar labels. And some of these labels are clichés; they are prejudiced and stereotyped models for being a woman or a parent or good etc. Sometimes, an imaginative emotional network can also give rise to inversions among various patterns such that one group of patterns falls under one social label and another group of patterns under the contrary social label. Such a person may endorse one label and ignore the counter-label. As Freud remarks, “the unconscious [is] the precise contrary of the conscious”(“Notes” 180). Consciously, we do not like to appear contradictory. But, to paraphrase another Freudian maxim, the unconscious knows no contradiction or negation. Imaginatively speaking, this person occupies two—apparently conflicting—positive prototypes of womanhood or adulthood etc., one through her endorsed private persona and another without acknowledgment. But there is no reason to suppose that inversion is the only kind of unity available nor that overcoming it is a once and for all effort, as Lear suggests. Our private persona may inhabit more than one such clichéd couple of apparently conflicting stereotypes that may or may not cause emotional turmoil at various stages in life. On the picture I propose, we may dig ourselves out of one cliché about our private persona and then find ourselves in another. Alternatively, the same cliché may return to haunt us. The solutions we may find to our personalised Socratic question in Lear’s clinic—such as “what is a woman?” or, “what is a sacrifice?”—do not comprise the final word, not for society and not for oneself. Living with Yourself There is no graduation from therapy or immunisation to clichéd inversions or to the pathologies they may cause at some stage in our lives. Perhaps what one can acquire is an attentive attitude to one’s spontaneous behaviours, including those that are not compatible with one’s endorsed private persona. The skill involves the capacity to “listen” to one’s emotions and passing thoughts, to notice one’s non-reflective gestures and ways of interacting and let them inform one’s endorsed cares and concerns and valued styles, character traits and virtues. The goal is not to unify one’s private persona and reach some ideal peace where one is exactly what one wants to be. The goal is, rather, to attend to the spontaneous interruptions of one’s endorsed private persona and at times be prepared to doubt or negotiate the way one sees and wants to see oneself. References Breuer J. and S. Freud. Studies on Hysteria [1893-1895]. S.E. vol. 2. Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud [1966]. Trans. James Strachey. London: The Hogarth Press, 1995. Freud, Sigmund. Notes upon a Case of Obsessional Neurosis [1909]. S.E. vol. 10, 155-249. Freud, Sigmund. “The Unconscious [1915].” S.E. vol. 14, 166-215. Greenspan, Patricia. “A Case of Mixed Feelings: Ambivalence and the Logic of Emotion.” Explaining Emotions. Ed. Amélie Rorty. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980. 223-250. Korsgaard, Christine M. The Sources of Normativity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Korsgaard, Christine M. “Self Constitution and Irony.” A Case for Irony. Ed. J. Lear. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011. 75-83. Lear, Jonathan. A Case for Irony. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011. Morag, Talia. Emotions and the Limits of Reason: The Role of the Imagination in Explaining Pathological Emotions. PhD Thesis. University of Sydney, 2013. Rorty, Amélie. “Explaining Emotions.” Ed. Amélie Rorty. Explaining Emotions. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980. 103-126. Sartre, J. P. Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology [1943]. Trans. Hazel E. Barnes. NY: Philosophical Library, 1984.

In this paper we explore the rise of anti-gambling apps in the context of the massive expansion of gambling in new spheres of life (online and offline) and an acceleration in strategies of anticipatory and individualised management of harm caused by gambling. These apps, and the techniques and forms of labour they demand, are examples of and a mechanism through which a mode of governance premised on ‘self-care’ and ‘self-control’ is articulated and put into practice. To support this argument, we explore two government initiatives in the Australian context. Quit Pokies, a mobile app project between the Moreland City Council, North East Primary Care Partnership and the Victorian Local Governance Association, is an example of an emerging service paradigm of ‘self-care’ that uses online and mobile platforms with geo-location to deliver real time health and support interventions. A similar mobile app, Gambling Terminator, was launched by the NSW government in late 2012. Both apps work on the premise that interrupting a gaming session through a trigger, described by Quit Pokies’ creator as a “tap on the shoulder” provides gamblers the opportunity to take a reflexive stance and cut short their gambling practice in the course of play. We critically examine these apps as self-disciplining techniques of contemporary neo-liberalism directed towards anticipating and reducing the personal harm and social risk associated with gambling. We analyse the material and discursive elements, and new forms of user labour, through which this consumable media is framed and assembled. We argue that understanding the role of these apps, and mobile media more generally, in generating new techniques and technologies of the self, is important for identifying emerging modes of governance and their implications at a time when gambling is going through an immense period of cultural normalisation in online and offline environments. The Australian context is particularly germane for the way gambling permeates everyday spaces of sociality and leisure, and the potential of gambling interventions to interrupt and re-configure these spaces and institute a new kind of subject-state relation. Gambling in Australia Though a global phenomenon, the growth and expansion of gambling manifests distinctly in Australia because of its long cultural and historical attachment to games of chance. Australians are among the biggest betters and losers in the world (Ziolkowski), mainly on Electronic Gaming Machines (EGM) or pokies. As of 2013, according to The World Count of Gaming Machine (Ziolkowski), there were 198,150 EGMs in the country, of which 197,274 were slot machines, with the rest being electronic table games of roulette, blackjack and poker. There are 118 persons per machine in Australia. New South Wales is the jurisdiction with most EGMs (95,799), followed by Queensland (46,680) and Victoria (28,758) (Ziolkowski). Gambling is significant in Australian cultural history and average Australian households spend at least some money on different forms of gambling, from pokies to scratch cards, every year (Worthington et al.). In 1985, long-time gambling researcher Geoffrey Caldwell stated thatAustralians seem to take a pride in the belief that we are a nation of gamblers. Thus we do not appear to be ashamed of our gambling instincts, habits and practices. Gambling is regarded by most Australians as a normal, everyday practice in contrast to the view that gambling is a sinful activity which weakens the moral fibre of the individual and the community. (Caldwell 18) The omnipresence of gambling opportunities in most Australian states has been further facilitated by the availability of online and mobile gambling and gambling-like spaces. Social casino apps, for instance, are widely popular in Australia. The slots social casino app Slotomania was the most downloaded product in the iTunes store in 2012 (Metherell). In response to the high rate of different forms of gambling in Australia, a range of disparate interest groups have identified the expansion of gambling as a concerning trend. Health researchers have pointed out that online gamblers have a higher risk of experiencing problems with gambling (at 30%) compared to 15% in offline bettors (Hastings). The incidence of gambling problems is also disproportionately high in specific vulnerable demographics, including university students (Cervini), young adults prone to substance abuse problems (Hayatbakhsh et al.), migrants (Tanasornnarong et al.; Scull & Woolcock; Ohtsuka & Ohtsuka), pensioners (Hing & Breen), female players (Lee), Aboriginal communities (Young et al.; McMillen & Donnelly) and individuals experiencing homelessness (Holsworth et al.). While there is general recognition of the personal and public health impacts of gambling in Australia, there is a contradiction in the approach to gambling at a governance level. On one hand, its expansion is promoted and even encouraged by the federal and state governments, as gambling is an enormous source of revenue, as evidenced, for example, by the construction of the new Crown casino in Barangaroo in Sydney (Markham & Young). Campaigns trying to limit the use of poker machines, which are associated with concerns over problem gambling and addiction, are deemed by the gambling lobby as un-Australian. Paradoxically, efforts to restrict gambling or control gambling winnings have also been described as un-Australian, such as in the Australian Taxation Office’s campaign against MONA’s founder, David Walsh, whose immense art collection was acquired with the funds from a gambling scheme (Global Mail). On the other hand, people experiencing problems with gambling are often categorised as addicts and the ultimate blame (and responsibility) is attributed to the individual. In Australia, attitudes towards people who are arguably addicted to gambling are different than those towards individuals afflicted by alcohol or drug abuse (Jean). While “Australians tend to be sympathetic towards people with alcohol and other drug addictions who seek help,” unless it is seen as one of the more socially acceptable forms of occasional, controlled gambling (such as sports betting, gambling on the Melbourne Cup or celebrating ANZAC Day with Two-Up), gambling is framed as an individual “problem” and “moral failing” (Jean). The expansion of gambling is the backdrop to another development in health care and public health discourse, which have for some time now been devoted to the ideal of what Lupton has called the “digitally engaged patient” (Lupton). Technologies are central to the delivery of this model of health service provision that puts the patient at the centre of, and responsible for, their own health and medical care. Lupton has pointed out how this discourse, while appearing new, is in fact the latest version of the 1970s emphasis on the ‘patient as consumer’, an idea given an extra injection by the massive development and availability of digital and interactive web-based and mobile platforms, many of these directed towards the provision of health and health-related information and services. What this means for patients is that, rather than relying solely on professional medical expertise and care, the patient is encouraged to take on some of this medical/health work to conduct practices of ‘self-care’ (Lupton). The Discourse of ‘Self-Management’ and ‘Self-Care’ The model of ‘self-care’ and ‘self-management’ by ‘empowering’ digital technology has now become a dominant discourse within health and medicine, and is increasingly deployed across a range of related sectors such as welfare services. In recent research conducted on homelessness and mobile media, for example, government department staff involved in the reform of welfare services referred to ‘self-management’ as the new service paradigm that underpins their digital reform strategy. Echoing ideas and language similar to the “digitally engaged patient”, customers of Centrelink, Medicare and other ‘human services’ are being encouraged (through planned strategic initiatives aimed at shifting targeted customer groups online) to transact with government services digitally and manage their own personal profiles and health information. One departmental staff member described this in terms of an “opportunity cost”, the savings in time otherwise spent standing in long queues in service centres (Humphry). Rather than view these examples as isolated incidents taking place within or across sectors or disciplines, these are better understood as features of an emerging ‘discursive formation’ , a term Foucault used to describe the way in which particular institutions and/or the state establish a regime of truth, or an accepted social reality and which gives definition to a new historical episteme and subject: in this case that of the self-disciplined and “digitally engaged medical/health patient”. As Foucault explained, once this subject has become fully integrated into and across the social field, it is no longer easy to excavate, since it lies below the surface of articulation and is held together through everyday actions, habits and institutional routines and techniques that appear to be universal, necessary and/normal. The way in which this citizen subject becomes a universal model and norm, however, is not a straightforward or linear story and since we are in the midst of its rise, is not a story with a foretold conclusion. Nevertheless, across a range of different fields of governance: medicine; health and welfare, we can see signs of this emerging figure of the self-caring “digitally engaged patient” constituted from a range of different techniques and practices of self-governance. In Australia, this figure is at the centre of a concerted strategy of service digitisation involving a number of cross sector initiatives such as Australia’s National EHealth Strategy (2008), the National Digital Economy Strategy (2011) and the Australian Public Service Mobile Roadmap (2013). This figure of the self-caring “digitally engaged” patient, aligns well and is entirely compatible with neo-liberal formulations of the individual and the reduced role of the state as a provider of welfare and care. Berry refers to Foucault’s definition of neoliberalism as outlined in his lectures to the College de France as a “particular form of post-welfare state politics in which the state essentially outsources the responsibility of the ‘well-being' of the population” (65). In the case of gambling, the neoliberal defined state enables the wedding of two seemingly contradictory stances: promoting gambling as a major source of revenue and capitalisation on the one hand, and identifying and treating gambling addiction as an individual pursuit and potential risk on the other. Risk avoidance strategies are focused on particular groups of people who are targeted for self-treatment to avoid the harm of gambling addiction, which is similarly framed as individual rather than socially and systematically produced. What unites and makes possible this alignment of neoliberalism and the new “digitally engaged subject/patient” is first and foremost, the construction of a subject in a chronic state of ill health. This figure is positioned as terminal from the start. They are ‘sick’, a ‘patient’, an ‘addict’: in need of immediate and continuous treatment. Secondly, this neoliberal patient/addict is enabled (we could even go so far as to say ‘empowered’) by digital technology, especially smartphones and the apps available through these devices in the form of a myriad of applications for intervening and treating ones afflictions. These apps range fromself-tracking programs such as mood regulators through to social media interventions. Anti-Pokie Apps and the Neoliberal Gambler We now turn to two examples which illustrate this alignment between neoliberalism and the new “digitally engaged subject/patient” in relation to gambling. Anti-gambling apps function to both replace or ‘take the place’ of institutions and individuals actively involved in the treatment of problem gambling and re-engineer this service through the logics of ‘self-care’ and ‘self-management’. Here, we depart somewhat from Foucault’s model of disciplinary power summed up in the institution (with the prison exemplifying this disciplinary logic) and move towards Deleuze’s understanding of power as exerted by the State not through enclosures but through diffuse and rhizomatic information flows and technologies (Deleuze). At the same time, we retain Foucault’s attention to the role and agency of the user in this power-dynamic, identifiable in the technics of self-regulation and in his ideas on governmentality. We now turn to analyse these apps more closely, and explore the way in which these articulate and perform these disciplinary logics. The app Quit Pokies was a joint venture of the North East Primary Care Partnership, the Victorian Local Governance Association and the Moreland City Council, launched in early 2014. The idea of the rational, self-reflexive and agentic user is evident in the description of the app by app developer Susan Rennie who described it this way: What they need is for someone to tap them on the shoulder and tell them to get out of there… I thought the phone could be that tap on the shoulder. The “tap on the shoulder” feature uses geolocation and works by emitting a sound alert when the user enters a gaming venue. It also provides information about each user’s losses at that venue. This “tap on the shoulder” is both an alert and a reprimand from past gambling sessions. Through the Responsible Gambling Fund, the NSW government also launched an anti-pokie app in 2013, Gambling Terminator, including a similar feature. The app runs on Apple and Android smartphone platforms, and when a person is inside a gambling venue in New South Wales it: sends reminder messages that interrupt gaming-machine play and gives you a chance to re-think your choices. It also provides instant access to live phone and online counselling services which operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week. (Google Play Store) Yet an approach that tries to prevent harm by anticipating the harm that will come from gambling at the point of entering a venue, also eliminates the chance of potential negotiations and encounters a user might have during a visit to the pub and how this experience will unfold. It reduces the “tap on the shoulder”, which may involve a far wider set of interactions and affects, to a software operation and it frames the pub or the club (which under some conditions functions as hubs for socialization and community building) as dangerous places that should be avoided. This has the potential to lead to further stigmatisation of gamblers, their isolation and their exclusion from everyday spaces. Moreland Mayor, Councillor Tapinos captures the implicit framing of self-care as a private act in his explanation of the app as a method for problem gamblers to avoid being stigmatised by, for example, publicly attending group meetings. Yet, curiously, the app has the potential to create a new kind of public stigmatisation through potentially drawing other peoples’ attention to users’ gambling play (as the alarm is triggered) generating embarrassment and humiliation at being “caught out” in an act framed as aberrant and literally, “alarming”. Both Quit Pokies and Gambling Terminator require their users to perform ‘acts’ of physical and affective labour aimed at behaviour change and developing the skills of self-control. After downloading Quit Pokies on the iPhone and launching the app, the user is presented an initial request: “Before you set up this app. please write a list of the pokies venues that you regularly use because the app will ask you to identify these venues so it can send you alerts if you spend time in these locations. It will also use your set up location to identify other venues you might use so we recommend that you set up the App in the location where you spend most time. Congratulation on choosing Quit Pokies.”Self-performed processes include installation, setting up, updating the app software, programming in gambling venues to be detected by the smartphone’s inbuilt GPS, monitoring and responding to the program’s alerts and engaging in alternate “legitimate” forms of leisure such as going to the movies or the library, having coffee with a friend or browsing Facebook. These self-performed labours can be understood as ‘technologies of the self’, a term used by Foucault to describe the way in which social members are obliged to regulate and police their ‘selves’ through a range of different techniques. While Foucault traces the origins of ‘technologies of the self’ to the Greco-Roman texts with their emphasis on “care of oneself” as one of the duties of citizenry, he notes the shift to “self-knowledge” under Christianity around the 8th century, where it became bound up in ideals of self-renunciation and truth. Quit Pokies and Gambling Terminator may signal a recuperation of the ideal of self-care, over confession and disclosure. These apps institute a set of bodily activities and obligations directed to the user’s health and wellbeing, aided through activities of self-examination such as charting your recovery through a Recovery Diary and implementing a number of suggested “Strategies for Change” such as “writing a list” and “learning about ways to manage your money better”. Writing is central to the acts of self-examination. As Jeremy Prangnell, gambling counsellor from Mission Australia for Wollongong and Shellharbour regions explained the app is “like an electronic diary, which is a really common tool for people who are trying to change their behaviour” (Thompson). The labours required by users are also implicated in the functionality and performance of the platform itself suggesting the way in which ‘technologies of the self’ simultaneously function as a form of platform work: user labour that supports and sustains the operation of digital systems and is central to the performance and continuation of digital capitalism in general (Humphry, Demanding Media). In addition to the acts of labour performed on the self and platform, bodies are themselves potentially mobilised (and put into new circuits of consumption and production), as a result of triggers to nudge users away from gambling venues, towards a range of other cultural practices in alternative social spaces considered to be more legitimate.Conclusion Whether or not these technological interventions are effective or successful is yet to be tested. Indeed, the lack of recent activity in the community forums and preponderance of issues reported on installation and use suggests otherwise, pointing to a need for more empirical research into these developments. Regardless, what we’ve tried to identify is the way in which apps such as these embody a new kind of subject-state relation that emphasises self-control of gambling harm and hastens the divestment of institutional and social responsibility at a time when gambling is going through an immense period of expansion in many respects backed by and sanctioned by the state. Patterns of smartphone take up in the mainstream population and the rise of the so called ‘mobile only population’ (ACMA) provide support for this new subject and service paradigm and are often cited as the rationale for digital service reform (APSMR). Media convergence feeds into these dynamics: service delivery becomes the new frontier for the merging of previously separate media distribution systems (Dwyer). Letters, customer service centres, face-to-face meetings and web sites, are combined and in some instances replaced, with online and mobile media platforms, accessible from multiple and mobile devices. These changes are not, however, simply the migration of services to a digital medium with little effective change to the service itself. Health and medical services are re-invented through their technological re-assemblage, bringing into play new meanings, practices and negotiations among the state, industry and neoliberal subjects (in the case of problem gambling apps, a new subjectivity, the ‘neoliberal addict’). These new assemblages are as much about bringing forth a new kind of subject and mode of governance, as they are a solution to problem gambling. This figure of the self-treating “gambler addict” can be seen to be a template for, and prototype of, a more generalised and universalised self-governing citizen: one that no longer needs or makes demands on the state but who can help themselves and manage their own harm. Paradoxically, there is the potential for new risks and harms to the very same users that accompanies this shift: their outright exclusion as a result of deprivation from basic and assumed digital access and literacy, the further stigmatisation of gamblers, the elimination of opportunities for proximal support and their exclusion from everyday spaces. References Albarrán-Torres, César. “Gambling-Machines and the Automation of Desire.” Platform: Journal of Media and Communication 5.1 (2013). Australian Communications and Media Authority. “Australians Cut the Cord.” Research Snapshots. Sydney: ACMA (2013) Berry, David. Critical Theory and the Digital. Broadway, New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2014 Berry, David. 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