Добірка наукової літератури з теми "Montana Meth Project"

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to explore the persistent negative reputation of two particular types of drug users, the so-called heroin junkie and the meth head. The visual portrayal of both kinds of users in the media has been consistent in the last decades. Inspired by films and anti-drug campaigns, stereotypical ideas about heroin and meth users dominate the visual portrayals. Existing research has already shown that this standardised picture is not applicable uniformly. Nevertheless, the important role of the visual element for constituting beliefs about drug use and users is lacking in the current drug research. Therefore, this work focusses on the visual element of the drug discourse. Design/methodology/approach On the basis of the British movie Trainspotting, and the two American campaigns Faces of Meth and Montana Meth Project the visual representation of heroin and meth users is discussed. With the help of a visual discourse analysis this research discloses the particularities of every image. Findings The current visual portrayal of heroin and meth users stigmatises them as deviant and unhealthy. This single-sided perspective labels all users, without acknowledging different patterns of use. Counterexamples obtained through existing research do not support this uniformly applied stereotypical representation. The persistent negative reputation mediates inaccurate knowledge about drug use, with harmful consequences for the users, and harm-reduction work. Originality/value Drug research has not been focussing enough on the visual element of the drug discourse. This research intends to close the existing gap and emphasise the possible harmful consequences produced by such visuality.

Abstract:Tropical tropical montane cloud forests (TMCFs) cover a small portion of the Earth, yet they are significant biodiversity hotspots and centres of endemism, and they provide important hydrological and biogeochemical functions that affect human livelihoods. Given their fundamental sensitivity to climate, TMCFs also serve as an early warning system for climate change impacts. This paper outlines a new international initiative, CloudNet, that aims to promote integrated research across TMCFs, and introduces a special issue that reviews emerging themes and topics in the ecology of TMCFs, highlighting knowledge gaps and suggesting new directions for research. CloudNet is helping coordinate several new research projects and protocols: (1) a global repository of TMCF data and meta-analyses across multiple sites; (2) a multi-site study of plant functional traits across TMCFs; (3) a multi-site study of decomposition processes across TMCFs; (4) a protocol for standardizing climate data collection across TMCFs. These studies are intended to evaluate the extent to which general patterns emerge, accounting for biogeographic, phylogenetic and environmental differences among sites. Common data collection across TMCFs should also allow better integration across disciplines, such as linking nutrient limitation, seed production and propagule recruitment, and enable cross-site comparisons of how TMCFs respond to drivers of global change, including rising cloud bases, increasing temperatures, altered disturbance regimes, biological invasions and extinction, and changing human land use.

This paper investigates natural acid rock drainage in two streams draining either side of Mt Evans, Montana. Bedrock consists of pyrrhotite-bearing schist intruded by granitic dykes and plutons of Late Cretaceous to Tertiary age. The headwaters of both streams are moderately acidic (pH < 5.0) and carry elevated loads of dissolved sulfate, aluminum and other trace metals (Cd, Co, Cu, Mn, Zn) as well as rare earth elements (REEs). Copious aluminum precipitates inferred to be hydrobasaluminite coat boulders of both streams as pH rises > 5, with adsorption of copper and REEs. Concentrations and loads of dissolved sulfate and trace elements are anomalously high in a small tributary that is sourced by meltwater from a rock glacier. The S-isotope composition of dissolved sulfate in both watersheds is similar to that of pyrrhotite in the meta-sediments, but not molybdenite in late porphyry dykes. Calculations of sulfate flux (i.e. sulfate load divided by surface area) indicate a relatively fast rate of sulfide oxidation in the study area, possibly due to exposure of fresh bedrock in the steep and recently glaciated field area. Overall, the geochemistry of the site suggests the possible presence of a metamorphosed sedimentary–exhalative deposit, a possibility that is unlikely to be tested by drilling given the proximity of the site to a federal wilderness area.Supplementary material: All analytical data related to this project, additional maps and photographs, and selected results from geochemical modelling are available at https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.c.5649850Thematic collection: This article is part of the Hydrochemistry related to exploration and environmental issues collection available at: https://www.lyellcollection.org/cc/hydrochemistry-related-to-exploration-and-environmental-issues

Objective: The objectives of this report were to characterize the regional and state differences in prescription methamphetamine and amphetamine distribution in the US. Methods: Prescription methamphetamine and amphetamine distribution was obtained from the Drug Enforcement Administration for 2019. Results: Total per capita drug weight distribution of amphetamine was 4,000 times higher than methamphetamine. Regionally, total per capita drug weight for methamphetamine was highest in the West (32.2% of total distribution) and lowest in the Northeast (17.4%). The total per capita drug weight for amphetamine was highest in the South (37.0% of total distribution) and lowest in the Northeast (19.4%). Distribution of methamphetamine was 16.1% while amphetamine was 54.0% of its production quota. Conclusion: Overall, prescription amphetamine distribution was common while prescription methamphetamine distribution was rare. The patterns observed in distribution are likely the result of stigmatization, differences in accessibility, and the efforts of initiatives such as the Montana Meth Project.

Esta breve comunicação, tem como proposta apresentar aos leitores, um dos mais importantes sítios arqueológicos a céu aberto ao longo do Vale do São Francisco o Sítio Arqueológico Cemitério Caixa d’Água, localizado no município de Buritizeiro, norte do Estado de Minas Gerais. O projeto de pesquisa é financiado pela Fundação de Amaparo à Pesquisa do Estado de Minas Gerais - FAPEMIG, e tem como objetivo principal entender o padrão de aldeamento pré-histórico do sítio arqueológico. Foi montado uma malha superfial de amostragens, o material coletado será submetido a análises físico-químicas, químicas e mineralógica (classificação dos solos, fracionamento, cor dos solos, mineralogia, entre outras); químicas (pH, Zn, Cu, Ca, Cr, P, Pb e C orgânico Total ), além disso, a caracterização do ambiente físico. Os resultados obtidos poderão elucidar alguns dos principais enigmas arqueológicos do sítio, como por exemplo, os vários momentos de ocupação pré-histórica que ocorreram no sítio arqueológico Cemitério Caixa d’Água.Palavras-chave: Sítio arqueológico, FAPEMIG, solos, geoquímica ABSTRACT: THE CAIXA D’ÁGUA CEMETERY SITE GEOARCHAEOLOGICAL ASPECTS: SÃO FRANCISCO VALLEY- MINAS GERAIS/BRAZIL. This brief communication, has a proposal to present to readers, one of the most important archaeological sites in the open along the São Francisco Valley Cemetery the archaeological site Caixa d’ água, located in the municipality of Buritizeiro, north of Minas Gerais. The research project is funded by the Fundação de Amaparo a Pesquisa do Estado de Minas Gerais - FAPEMIG, and has as main objective to understand the pattern of village's prehistoric archaeological site. Will be mounted, a mesh surface samples (geocoding, geoprocessing, soil, surface geochemistry, etc.). The collected material will be subjected to physical and chemical analyzes (soil classification, division, color of soil and others); chemical (pH, Zn, Cu, Ca, Cr, P, Pb, and total organic carbon), mineralogical analysis of soils, in addition, the characterization of the physical environment. The results may explain some of the major puzzles of the archaeological site, for example, the various moments of prehistoric archaeological site that occurred in the Caixa d’ água cemetery.Keywords: Archeological site, FAPEMIG, soil, geochemistry

This paper is concerned with time. Specifically, this paper is concerned with the way in which a human-centered model of time can be shifted, as a result of the digital encounter, toward a conception of a highly differentiated and thickening model of duration. I propose that this thickening of duration, or multitemporality, comes about through the intersection of the differentiated structures of narrative and database. My central concern is therefore to provide a description and explanation of the way in which an anthropocentric model of duration, in other words, a model of time that privileges the human experience, can be challenged by theorising the intersection of the non-linear temporality of the database and the linear temporality of narrative. My paper will work this proposed theory of multitemporality through a case study of the 2007 interactive work T_Visionarium II (see http://www.icinema.unsw.edu.au/projects/prj_tvis_II.html for images). This work was produced by the iCinema Centre for Interactive Cinema Research at the University of New South Wales. The project was co-directed by Dennis Del Favero, Jeffrey Shaw, Peter Weibel and Neil Brown. Through the investigation of the concept of multitemporality, I propose a concept of thickening duration within T_Visionarium II as actual duration comes into contact with virtual duration and as the linear structure of narrative comes into contact with the nonlinear structure of the database. Being concerned with time, I am also concerned with the processes of the aesthetic event of new media. Events, as they occur in time, link together in order to form a process. This process, following A. N. Whitehead, leads to various levels of adaptation that are primarily brought about through interconnections and concrescence. Through my extrapolation of Whitehead’s process philosophy, which I present in the later sections of this paper, I am able to grapple with questions of process. Specifically, I use Whitehead to present the ecology of occasions throughout the duration of the digital encounter and also to indicate the way in which we may begin to conceptualise the interconnection of the differentiated structures of narrative and database. T_Visionarium II has recordings taken from over thirty hours of Australian television, encoded by a content recognition algorithm, and stored in its database (Del Favero, 1). These media images are made visible on the machine’s substrate and are subject to the viewer-user’s navigation. Once the viewer-user selects a particular moving image from those displayed, the surrounding clips cluster around this image, due to the tag ascribed to them by the content recognition algorithm, in a hierarchy of relationality; those with the strongest relationship to the thematic and visual characteristics of the selected media clip cluster around the clip while those with weaker relationships shift away from this clip, behind the viewer. After the reassembly of the audio and visual information is completed, the clips either loop in a short repetitious duration, based on the temporal length of the specific shot, or can be played in a linear fashion. Also, windows may be dragged on top of one another, which causes the television clips from each window to be combined into one window and played back to back. This function allows the viewer-user to select and create a linear narrative. The viewer-user thus navigates through the moving images—in doing so, navigating through the time of the images, and forming lines of relations between images and times where perhaps none existed before. In this way, a type of ecology of the various media images and an ecology of temporality is produced in which the interrelationship between media images, temporalities and also that of the viewer-user to the environment is brought to the fore. T_Visionarium II presents a time that is out of joint. Its presentation of multiple durations of televisual information fractures the medium’s imaging of the world into multiple, largely incoherent, durations. The televisual images within each “window” are quite obviously from different historical periods in time. For instance, images from re-runs of soap operas may be actualised, as well as historical documentary footage, along with a near current news story or a relatively recent Hollywood blockbuster. These media images, from different time periods, when presented and recombined within the immersive environment—a purpose built structure that the iCinema artists and technicians call the Advanced Visualisation and Interaction Environment—allow the viewer to re-experience the actual time of these events as a simultaneity of out-of-joint durations. Here, I propose that the digital encounter within the immersive environment has prompted an adaptation to the way the viewer-user experiences time vis-à-vis the machine. This adaptation is brought about as the viewer-user experiences multitemporal actual durations through the multiple durations displayed in the windows of T_Visionarium II. The model of multitemporality presented here is a result of the viewer-user’s ability to access video streams from different time periods simultaneously. The time of T_Visionarium II also seems out of joint as the particular duration of a particular window tends toward rendering the episode incoherent. This is due to the way the television segments are edited. On average each television clip is four and a half seconds long. Each image is edited in terms of individual shots; any particular image has its start and end point when the original television image changes shot. This may occur in mid narrative stream, or may only capture a small movement, which is deprived of its link with the movement of the next shot. In this way the time of the duration of each shot seems to be flowing toward its extension in the next intended shot. However, the arrangement of the television images into discrete shots disallows this flow. The resulting temporal loop makes time seem trapped in the short four and a half second duration of each shot. In this way, linear television time has been adapted into an experience that is quite different. In order to think the connection between the narrative images of T_Visionarium II we must avoid thinking of these images as compartmentalised sets. If we think of each media image as an event within duration, rather than a compartmentalised image, we are able to see that each actual occasion of interaction contains a trace of the past and future media images. Moments are contemporaneous with those “just-past” and those which are “just-future”. Here, the traces of “just-past” and “just-future” are imbued within the conscious present so as to become meaningful. Also, these interrelationships are made visible on the substrate of T_Visionarium II. The past video clips linger upon the projection screen and affect the narrativity of every other clip. The television images become like a montage, with every clip transferring signification to the others. In this way, the television images of T_Visionarium II are to be read as pregnant with the trace of images past and future; the duration of a particular television image forms a nexus with the duration of the images “just-past” and “just-future”. Also, the television images contain a trace of the temporality of the database. Each television image is potentially linked to every other image archived within the database. Through this link to the potentiality of the database, each media image links to the virtual. The virtual realm that I am discussing here is not the perceived “virtuality” of “cyberspace” or “virtual reality”. I use the term “virtual” as Henri Bergson does and as Gilles Deleuze furthers this usage; that is, to signify the incorporeal structures of the potential of the future and the traces of the past that direct the actualisation of the present moment (Bergson, 196; Deleuze, 45). For the purposes of my argument, we may say that the virtual exists as an ontological but incorporeal structure that contains potential events. In this way, the virtual contains events that await actualisation. Deleuze’s virtual also contains past events that may be made actual as memory-images. As Dorothea Olkowski points out, the past and future can no longer be thought of as successive points on a time line; they rather exist as virtual structures that are contemporary with the actual present (Olkowski, 163). The virtual structures may be called upon by the actual present based on their usefulness, and, because of this, may direct the route of actualisation (Olkowski, 110). Each image of T_Visionarium II links to the virtual in that any selection may trigger various other narrative directions. If we think of each virtual narrative instance, that is each potential narrative instance and every past narrative instance, as existing on separate planes of potential, then we may say that each of T_Visionarium II’s television images contains traces of various planes of the virtual, of which one will be actualised. The duration of any one television image is thus made thick with the traces of the potential images that it may trigger. The duration of the narrative event of any television image is contemporaneous with the duration of the database. As a result, any particular narrative instance may be understood to contain sections of the duration of past and future television images. The moving image of the narrative links to the potential of the database and also links to the potential of the virtual. As a consequence, the experience of time that emerges from the narrative of the moving image is one which is imbued with the multiple levels of duration that may be triggered from the database and displayed on the substrate of T_Visionarium II. The duration of any moving image is thus imbued with those narrative instances that came before it, those that could potentially come after it, and those that are simultaneous with it. In addition to the model of multitemporality that is presented by the simultaneously distributed video streams of T_Visionarium II, a further model of duration may be cited when we consider the mesh of database and narrative. The highly differentiated durative passages of the digital encounter are constituted on one side by the temporality of T_Visionarium II’s database and on the other by the narrative image of the machine’s substrate. The latter opens itself to experience as anthropocentric lived time, while the former does not open itself to actual human experience, other than our imaginings. The database, as an actual entity, occupies a different section of duration, but it is also present in those narrative durations that it relates to; thus forming a concrescence between the narrative sections of duration and the database sections of duration. This constitutes a multitemporal duration between anthropocentric time and machine time; the duration of the actual occasion thickens so as to include both the lived time of the subject and the machine time of the database. The outcome of this is a differentiated duration that is experienced as the convergence of machine time and lived time. It is as if, following Manuel DeLanda’s work on manifolds and degrees of freedom, each level of duration exists on a different manifold of duration (DeLanda, 27). The particular direction that the passage of the narrative of interaction takes is directed by the degrees of freedom of each manifold. If we think of duration as thick, and, as argued above, each moment pregnant with instances “just-past” and potentialities of “just-future”, we can gain a picture of these different manifolds of duration. We can picture past actual occasions and future potential occasions, following on from Deleuze’s and Brian Massumi’s concepts of the virtual, existing as a cloud of the virtual that surrounds the present actual occasion (Deleuze and Parnet; Massumi). In other words, the manifold of any particular present actual occasion is surrounded on all sides by manifolds of virtual occasions. These structures can be understood to intermingle and adapt to one another in such a way that they provide the potential for new experiences within the digital encounter. Duration has thus thickened from a concept that only includes the manifold of actual occasions to one that includes the manifolds of the virtual. As well as the structures of the virtual, the duration of the non-linear database can be conceptualised as existing on separate manifolds of duration that surround the actual narrative event. Both narrative duration and database duration must be theorised as separate and, at the same time, in constant collision with one another. These two conceptions of duration are contemporaneous; they exist side by side without either one being wholly contained by the other. Turning from Bergson’s, Deleuze’s and Massumi’s concepts of the virtual and the actual to Whitehead’s notion of process, we can begin to think about the processes of adaptation that are brought about by this process of concrescence. Deleuze, Bergson and Massumi have provided a means to think about the virtual and the actual in duration, and here Whitehead provides a means to think about the process of adaptation as an interconnection of the enduring objects of the virtual and actual. We may think of database and narrative structures as similar to Whitehead’s concept of actual occasions. As Whitehead states, each actual occasion has its own distinct duration, but also each actual occasion lies in many durations (125). Following Whitehead, any one actual occasion may be present in several other actual occasions. For Whitehead, the essence of any actual entity is that each entity is a prehending thing; it has a definite connection with each item in the universe and that connection makes a positive contribution to the constitution of the event (109). In the case of narrative and database, both substances prehend the other, they form a definite bond, and this makes a positive contribution to the constitution of the narrative-database event. If we think of the material and machinic of the digital encounter as two distinct enduring objects, different in character but not contrary, it may then be said that both are able to qualify the same actual occasion. I use the term “enduring object” in the Whiteheadian sense as a characteristic or stable pattern that is inherited in the historic route of actual occasions (199). In other words, an enduring object can be said to be an object, which may be either an atomic material body or an incorporeal structure that, through its intersection with other enduring objects, gives satisfaction to the presiding situation. Thus, the enduring object of the database and the enduring object of the pattern of actual experience intersect to satisfy the presiding occasion of the digital encounter. The intermingling of the machinic duration and the actual narrative duration within T_Visionarium II is a fluid process that constitutes the particular nexus of actual occasions. The information from both enduring objects flows through their intersection. Whitehead, using a cup and saucer as metaphors for eternal objects, describes the way in which two enduring objects come together. He states, “it is as though the cup and saucer were at one instant identical and then, later on, resumed their distinct existence” (199). If we think of database and narrative in such a fashion, we can begin to conceptualise the multitemporality of T_Visionarium II. In T_Visionarium II, data flows mutually from the actualised narrative of interaction to the database structure and from the database to the narrative. The nexus of actual occasions is thus constituted by the intermingling of the two eternal objects; they, in essence, become, or adapt into, one enduring object. On the other hand, both structures remain separate. The narrativity of the work is able to exist solely in the particular narrative regime, as the database is able to exist solely in its coded regime. The nexus of actual occasions, that is the temporal passage of interaction within T_Visionarium II, is brought to satisfaction by this assemblage and de-assemblage of narrative and database. The narrativity of the work exists in its own realm of duration, as its own eternal object, which is able to form a nexus of narrative actual occasions. Also, the database structure inhabits its own machinic duration, which is able to form a nexus of information flows. In this way, the database can be thought of as in time, as affected by the changing nature of process through time. The time that has been described in this paper is a time of fibrous duration. In a culture of new media, time can no longer be thought of as a linear structure that houses human experience and memory. The structure of time has become thick and fibrous with the introduction of a machinic non-linear temporal logic. Deleuze has been used to show that each actual occasion of duration can be thought of as surrounded by virtual, potential occasions. In order to further this, Whitehead has been used to show that each of these occasions connects with every other event in duration. In this Whiteheadian and Deleuzian model, adaptation occurs as the events of duration, whether actual or virtual, interconnect, respond to one another and coalesce. The differentiated experiences of narrative duration and database duration mesh, in order that these two Whiteheadian enduring objects may adapt into another separate enduring object. This is the multitemporal experience of the digital encounter. If we view the digital encounter with new media, such as T_Visionarium II, through a multitemporal paradigm, we are then provided with a particular method with which to conceptualise other processes of adaptation. If we view differentiated sections of duration as existing upon separate manifolds, but also, at the same time, as containing traces of their surrounding durations, we can see that each section of duration imposes something of itself upon those that surround it. Each section of duration, whether virtual or actual, is morphogenic; in other words, it may adapt in various ways. The parameters of this morphogenesis are set by the degrees of freedom found within any particular duration. As each section of duration imposes itself on others, it transfers its degrees of freedom. Following on from this, the passage of evolution, or adaptation, is directed by the degrees of freedom of every level of duration, whether actual or virtual. The database duration that surrounds the narrative duration of T_Visionarium II directs the passage of narrative evolution as it imposes degrees of freedom in respect of the possible narrative images that it may trigger. Adaptation occurs as the dynamic mesh between the differentiated structures of narrative duration and database duration. References Bergson, Henri. Matter and Memory. London: George, Allen and Unwin, 1950. Del Favero, Dennis, Neil Brown, Jeffrey Shaw, and Peter Weibel. T_Visionarium II. Sydney: iCinema Centre for Interactive Cinema Research, UNSW, 2006. DeLanda, Manuel. Intensive Science and Virtual Philosophy. Transversals: New Directions in Philosophy. Ed. Keith Ansell Pearson. London: Continuum, 2002. Deleuze, Gilles. Cinema 2: The Time Image. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Robert Galeta. London: Continuum, 1985. ———, and Claire Parnet. “The Actual and the Virtual.” Dialogues 2. Ed. Eliot Ross Albert. London and New York: Continuum, 1987. Massumi, Brian. “Parables for the Virtual.” Post-Contemporary Interventions. Eds. Stanley Fish and Fredric Jameson. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2002. Olkowski, Dorothea. Gilles Deleuze and the Ruin of Representation. Berkley: University of California Press, 1998. Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. New York: The Free Press, 1978. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Barker, Tim. "Adapting a Model of Duration: The Multitemporality of T_Visionarium II." M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/14-barker.php>. APA Style Barker, T. (May 2007) "Adapting a Model of Duration: The Multitemporality of T_Visionarium II," M/C Journal, 10(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/14-barker.php>.

‘Artists are replicants who have found the secret of their obsolescence.’ (Brian Massumi) The critical reception to British writer Iain Sinclair’s most recent novel Dining on Stones (or, the Middle Ground) frequently focused on the British writer’s predilection for intertextual quotation and allusion, and more specifically, on his proclivity for integrating material from his own backlist. A survey of Dining on Stones reveals the following textual duplication: an entire short story, “View from My Window”, which was published in 2003; excerpts from a 2002 collection of poetry and prose, White Goods; material from his 1999 collaboration with artist Rachel Lichtenstein, Rodinsky’s Room; a paragraph lifted from Dark Lanthorns: Rodinsky’s A to Z, also from 1999; and scenes from 1971’s The Kodak Mantra Diaries. Moreover, the name of the narrator, Andrew Norton, is copied from an earlier Sinclair work, Slow Chocolate Autopsy. Of the six aforementioned inter-texts, only Rodinsky’s Room has had wide commercial release. The remainder are small press publications, often limited edition, difficult to find and read, which leads to the charge that Sinclair is relying on the inaccessibility of earlier texts to obscure his acts of autoplagiarism in the mass market Dining on Stones. Whatever Sinclair’s motives, his textual methodology locates a point of departure for an interrogation of textual doubling within the context of late era capitalism. At first approximation, Dining on Stones appears to belong to a postmodern literature which treats a text’s confluence, or dissonance of innumerable signifiers and systems of signification as axiomatic and intra-textually draws attention to this circumstance. Thematically, the heteroglot narrative of Dining on Stones frequently returns to the duplication of textual material. The book’s primary narrator is haunted by doubles, not least because Andrew Norton periodically functions as a textual doppelganger for Sinclair. Norton’s biography constitutes a cut-up of episodes copied from Sinclair’s personal history and experience as it is presented in his non-fiction and quasi-autobiographical poetry and prose like Lights Out for the Territory and London Orbital. Like his creator, Norton is ontologically troubled by a fetch, or two, who may or may not be the products of his writer’s imagination. He claims that someone is ‘stealing my material. He impersonated me with a flair I couldn’t hope to equal, this thief. Trickster.’ (218) A ‘disturbing’ encounter with ‘Grays’, an uncannily familiar short story by another writer Marina Fountain, reveals a second textual poacher copying Norton’s work. She hadn’t written it without help, obviously. The tone was masculine, sure of itself, its pretensions; grammatically suspect, lexicologically challenged, topographically slapdash. A slash-and-burn stylist. But haunted: by missing fathers – Bram Stoker, S. Freud and Joseph Conrad. Clunky hints… about writing and stalking, literary bloodsucking, gender, disguise. … But it was the Conrad aspect that pricked me. Fountain had somehow got wind of my researched (incomplete, unpublished) essay on Conrad in Hackney. Her exaggerated prose, its shotgun sarcasm, jump-cuts, psychotic syntax, was an offensive parody of a manner of composition I’d left behind. (167) When ‘Grays’ is later reprinted in full in the novel (141-65), it is a renamed double of a previous Sinclair piece, ‘In Train for the Estuary’ (Sinclair, White Goods, 57-75). This doubling is replicated with another Sinclair story ‘View from My Window’ also being attributed to Fountain (313-341). Neither the style, nor the content of Sinclair’s previous works have been discarded: they have been reproduced and incorporated in Dining on Stones’ retrospective of Sinclair’s earlier work. Thus, Norton’s review of Fountain’s writing as ‘a manner of composition I’d left behind’ doubles as Sinclair’s self-conscious recognition of the text as an artefact produced from diverse inter-texts – including his own. In contrast to Sinclair’s dialogic doubling, Fountain’s double is of a monologic disposition. It is mechanical ‘echopraxis,’ a neologism coined in Dining on Stones which is defined as the ‘mindless repetition of another person’s moves and gestures.’ (192) Its mercenary dimension, enacted without regard for the integrity of the inter-text, is underscored with the epithet ‘slash-and-burn stylist.’ The monologic double possesses the text, drains it of its vitality. It entails necrosis, mortification. Fountain’s appropriation of Norton’s story is close to Fredric Jameson’s characterisation of pastiche which, he says, shuts down communication between texts (202). For Jameson, pastiche is the exemplary postmodern literary ‘style’. It is inert, static, a textual aporia. Jameson’s verdict is harsh: pastiche is cannibalism, text devouring text with an appetite that corresponds to the cupidity of consumer culture. Textual cannibalism vanquishes dialogism. It is the negation of the textual Other because cannibalism is only possible when the Other no longer exists. So how does Sinclair distinguish his doubling of his own text from Fountain’s monologic doubling as it is depicted in the novel’s narrative? A clue can be detected in one of the stories stolen by Fountain. ‘In Train for the Estuary’ is a re-writing of Dracula, and takes its cue from Karl Marx’s famous analogy between capitalism and vampirism: ‘capital is dead labour, which, vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labour, and lives the more, the more labour it sucks.’ (342) Sinclair’s vampire doubles as an academic (or is it the other way round?) who obsessively and compulsively stalks her quarry/object of study, Joseph Conrad. First, she had learnt Polish. Then she tracked down the letters and initiated the slow, painstaking, much-revised process of translation. She travelled. Validated herself. Being alone in an unknown city, visiting libraries, enduring and enjoying bureaucratic obfuscation, sitting in bars, going to the cinema, allowed her to try on a new identity. She initiated correspondence with people she never met. She lied. She stole from Conrad. (Sinclair, White Goods, 58) The woman’s identity is leeched from the work of Conrad. Sinclair describes unethical activity in appropriating text: lying, stealing, sucking the blood from the corpus of Conrad. A compulsive need to maintain the ‘validation’ of this poached identity emerges, manifesting itself as addiction. The addict is an extreme embodiment of the (ir)rationality of consumption: consumed by the need to consume. The woman’s lust for text is commensurate with the twin desires—blood and real estate—of her precursor, Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Sinclair’s narrative of addiction doubles as a meta-critique on the compulsive desire to reproduce text and image that characterizes postmodern textualities as well as the apparatuses that produce them. The textual doubling in Dining on Stones, which is published by the multinational Penguin, seems to enact a reterritorialisation of a deterritorialised minor literature. However, Sinclair’s allegorical rewriting of the vampire legend and its subsequent inclusion in the mainstream novel’s narrative, reveal that capitalism’s doubles are simulacra in the Aristotelian sense because they are copies for which there is no original. The ostensible ‘original’ is the product of different material conditions and thus cannot be duplicated by the machinery of capitalism. The capitalist reproduction of text produced within an alternative cultural economy is an uncanny double (with an infinite capacity to be doubled over and over again) whose existence, like that of Sinclair’s academic in White Goods, is parasitical. The capitalist simulacrum necessitates that the original be destroyed, or at the very least, theorised out of existence so that restrictions based on its own premise of individual property rights can be circumvented. Postmodernism’s attendant theory is an over-determined repetition of poststructuralist tenets such as the instability of texts, the polysemous signifier and the impossibility of self as empirical subject. Images and meaning are no longer anchored, and free to be reproduced. Paradoxically, this proliferation of signification has the effect of constricting the originary text, compressing it under the burden of competing meanings, so that it is almost undetectable. Writes Brian Massumi (doubling Jean Baudrillard), ‘postmodernism stutters. In the absence of any gravitational pull to ground them, images accelerate and tend to run together. They become interchangeable. Any term can be substituted for any other: utter indetermination.’ The postmodern project’s effacement of the centred subject and the self has as its consequence, according to Jameson, a ‘waning of affect’ which is superseded ‘by a peculiar kind of euphoria.’ (200) The euphoria to which Jameson refers is not that of the poststructuralist textasy. Instead, it is postmodernism’s return to the idealism of Hegelian dialects, a euphoria achieved from the fusion of contradictions. Postmodernism’s doubles are a utopian attempt to synthesize antinomy and unity in a simultaneity that assimilates the fragmentation of modernity and the modern subject, with the cohesion of the commodity and its closed system of cultural logic. As such, the postmodern double is a rejection of modernist engagements with technical reproducibility. Modernism’s literary assemblages are, in Victor Shlovsky’s words, the laying bare of the device, an exposition of the seams through techniques such as collage, bricolage and montage. These linguistic (and at times visual) conjunctures of disparate elements do not attempt to elide material and thematic disjuncture. As Walter Benjamin stresses, this type of textual methodology has the potential, through the disruption of spatial and temporal logic and the creation of anachrony, to rupture the linear representations and formations of order favoured by capitalist political economies (Benjamin, ‘On the concept of history’). Postmodernism, which doubles (following Jameson’s formulation) as the cultural logic of late capitalism, reiterates that texts can be undone, and then reassembled, rearticulated anew, rendered useful to a commodity culture over and over again. Consequently, postmodernism’s copies are analogous, at the level of cultural production, to capitalism’s ceaseless appropriation of discourse, practice, and production. This is the alchemical project of capitalism. It strives to transform everything that it has doubled into the gold of the commodity. The inherent dangers of unrestrained reproduction are for Jameson exemplified in the treatment of Van Gogh’s Pair of Shoes (1885): If this copiously reproduced image is not to sink to the level of sheer decoration, it requires us to reconstruct some initial situation out of which the finished work emerges. Unless that situation—which has vanished into the past—is somehow mentally restored, the painting will remain an inert object, a reified end-product, and be unable to be grasped as a symbolic act in its own right, as praxis and as production. (194) Jameson’s reading of Van Gogh’s shoes reminds us of the fate of Alberto Korda’s 1960 photograph of revolutionary Che Guevara. Appropriated by the media, inscribed on T-shirts, mugs, even door mats, Che’s portrait is an emblem of the degradation Jameson describes. Like Van Gogh’s painting, Korda’s photograph was once a ‘symbolic act in its own right, as praxis and as production,’ saturated with the potential and spirit of revolution. Over time, the iconic image has leaked meaning. The signifying chain that anchored it to its original significance is broken each time it is reproduced and decontextualised through the process of commodification, until Che’s image is unrecognisable, a mere ornament. Refuting Benjamin’s concerns in ‘The Work of Art in its Age of Technical Reproducibility’ postmodern theory argues that technologies enabling reproducibility have led to a democratisation of text and textual production, and by extension, have liberated the multitude from a hierarchy of value that privileges the singular. Mass reproduction and the accompanying pressure for texts to be accessible results in altered attitudes regarding the preservation of intellectual property rights and ‘fair use’. In an economy of signs where use-value has become synonymous with exchange-value, then the text which has no exchange value due to it being ‘freely’ available—‘free’ in its double sense, as something exempt from restriction, or cost—can be copied without economic or ethical restraint, without permission. The quotation marks can be scrapped. According to postmodern logic, the double is a transposition with a legitimacy equalling, even rivalling the original. Clearly, Jameson’s lament that postmodernism represents ‘the end of the distinctive individual brushstroke (as symbolized by the emergent primacy of mechanical reproduction)’ cannot escape an association with elitism because technical reproducibility indubitably enables greater access. However, the utility of technologies of reproduction to the capitalist empire of structures and signs cannot be underestimated. It enables the ceaseless reproduction of ideologemes inscribed with the logic of capitalism; in other words, it enables capitalism to reproduce itself relentlessly. Postmodern cultural production is self-aware; it acknowledges its role as commodity and reproduces the ideology of the commodity form in its material form. In this manner, it functions as an ideologeme. Sinclair’s doubles cannot be understood according to the schema of postmodernism because he subverts postmodernism’s political and aesthetic symbiosis with capitalism. Moreover, the double in Sinclair travels beyond rehearsing a self-conscious hyphology (Barthes, 39). He defies postmodernism’s occultation of the author through his reiteration of the author’s authority over their own work. In contrast to the reductive manner postmodern texts duplicate other texts, Sinclair’s texts propose a typology of the double which advocates a dialogic duplication. Sinclair’s doubling refuses postmodernism’s return to the idealism of Hegelian dialects, and its synthesis of contradictions in the service of its unified material and aesthetic program: the commodification of literature. Consequently, Dining on Stones’ textual doubling is a critique of the epistemic shift to the monologic double which Jameson claims typifies a large portion of contemporary textual duplication. References Barthes, Roland. “Theory of the Text.” Untying the Text: A Post-Structuralist Reader. Ed. Robert Young. Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1981. Benjamin, Walter. “On the Concept of History.” Selected Writings: Volume 4, 1938-1940. Trans. by Edmund Jephcott. Eds. Michael W.Jennings & Howard Eiland. Cambridge, Mass. & London, England: Belknap Press, 2003. ––– . “The Work of Art in the Age of Technical Reproducibility.” Selected Writings: Volume 3, 1935-1938. Trans. by Edmund Jephcott. Eds. Michael W.Jennings & Howard Eiland. Cambridge, Mass. & London, England: Belknap Press, 2003. Jameson, Fredric. “Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism.” The Jameson Reader. Eds. Michael Hardt and Kathi Weeks. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000. Massumi, Brian. “Realer than Real: The Simulacrum According to Deleuze and Guattari.” 12 May 2005. http://www.anu.edu.au/HRC/first_and_last/works/realer.htm>. Marx, Karl. Capital, Volume 1. Trans. by Ben Fowkes. Vintage Books edition. New York: Random House, 1976. Sinclair, Iain. Dark Lanthorns: Rodinsky’s A-Z. ––– . Dining on Stones. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2004. ––– . Lights Out for the Territory. London: Granta 1997. ––– . London Orbital. London: Granta, 2002. ––– . Rodinsky’s Room. London: Granta, 1998. ––– . View from My Window. Tonbridge: Worple Press, 2003. ––– . White Goods. Uppingham: Goldmark, 2002. Sinclair, Iain, and Dave McKean. Slow Chocolate Autopsy. London: Phoenix, 1997. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Seale, Kirsten. "Doubling: Capitalism and Textual Duplication." M/C Journal 8.3 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0507/08-seale.php>. APA Style Seale, K. (Jul. 2005) "Doubling: Capitalism and Textual Duplication," M/C Journal, 8(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0507/08-seale.php>.

Introduction This paper offers a survey of familiar popular music performers and songwriters who reference coffee in their work. It examines three areas of discourse: the psychoactive effects of caffeine, coffee and courtship rituals, and the politics of coffee consumption. I claim that coffee carries a cultural and musicological significance comparable to that of the chemical stimulants and consumer goods more readily associated with popular music. Songs about coffee may not be as potent as those featuring drugs and alcohol (Primack; Schapiro), or as common as those referencing commodities like clothes and cars (Englis; McCracken), but they do feature across a wide range of genres, some of which enjoy archetypal associations with this beverage. m.o.m.m.y. Needs c.o.f.f.e.e.: The Psychoactive Effect of Coffee The act of performing and listening to popular music involves psychological elements comparable to the overwhelming sensory experience of drug taking: altered perceptions, repetitive grooves, improvisation, self-expression, and psychological empathy—such as that between musician and audience (Curry). Most popular music genres are, as a result, culturally and sociologically identified with the consumption of at least one mind-altering substance (Lyttle; Primack; Schapiro). While the analysis of lyrics referring to this theme has hitherto focused on illegal drugs and alcoholic beverages (Cooper), coffee and its psychoactive ingredient caffeine have been almost entirely overlooked (Summer). The most recent study of drugs in popular music, for example, defined substance use as “tobacco, alcohol, marijuana, cocaine and other stimulants, heroin and other opiates, hallucinogens, inhalants, prescription drugs, over-the-counter drugs, and nonspecific substances” (Primack 172), thereby ignoring a chemical stimulant consumed by 90 per cent of adult Americans every day (Lovett). The wide availability of coffee and the comparatively mild effect of caffeine means that its consumption rarely causes harm. One researcher has described it as a ubiquitous and unobtrusive “generalised public activity […] ‘invisible’ to analysts seeking distinctive social events” (Cooper 92). Coffee may provide only a relatively mild “buzz”—but it is now accepted that caffeine is an addictive substance (Juliano) and, due to its universal legality, coffee is also the world’s most extensively traded and enthusiastically consumed psychoactive consumer product (Juliano 1). The musical genre of jazz has a longstanding relationship with marijuana and narcotics (Curry; Singer; Tolson; Winick). Unsurprisingly, given its Round Midnight connotations, jazz standards also celebrate the restorative impact of coffee. Exemplary compositions include Burke/Webster’s insomniac torch song Black Coffee, which provided hits for Sarah Vaughan (1949), Ella Fitzgerald (1953), and Peggy Lee (1960); and Frank Sinatra’s recordings of Hilliard/Dick’s The Coffee Song (1946, 1960), which satirised the coffee surplus in Brazil at a time when this nation enjoyed a near monopoly on production. Sinatra joked that this ubiquitous drink was that country’s only means of liquid refreshment, in a refrain that has since become a headline writer’s phrasal template: “There’s an Awful Lot of Coffee in Vietnam,” “An Awful Lot of Coffee in the Bin,” and “There’s an Awful Lot of Taxes in Brazil.” Ethnographer Aaron Fox has shown how country music gives expression to the lived social experience of blue-collar and agrarian workers (Real 29). Coffee’s role in energising working class America (Cooper) is featured in such recordings as Dolly Parton’s Nine To Five (1980), which describes her morning routine using a memorable “kitchen/cup of ambition” rhyme, and Don't Forget the Coffee Billy Joe (1973) by Tom T. Hall which laments the hardship of unemployment, hunger, cold, and lack of healthcare. Country music’s “tired truck driver” is the most enduring blue-collar trope celebrating coffee’s analeptic powers. Versions include Truck Drivin' Man by Buck Owens (1964), host of the country TV show Hee Haw and pioneer of the Bakersfield sound, and Driving My Life Away from pop-country crossover star Eddie Rabbitt (1980). Both feature characteristically gendered stereotypes of male truck drivers pushing on through the night with the help of a truck stop waitress who has fuelled them with caffeine. Johnny Cash’s A Cup of Coffee (1966), recorded at the nadir of his addiction to pills and alcohol, has an incoherent improvised lyric on this subject; while Jerry Reed even prescribed amphetamines to keep drivers awake in Caffein [sic], Nicotine, Benzedrine (And Wish Me Luck) (1980). Doye O’Dell’s Diesel Smoke, Dangerous Curves (1952) is the archetypal “truck drivin’ country” song and the most exciting track of its type. It subsequently became a hit for the doyen of the subgenre, Red Simpson (1966). An exhausted driver, having spent the night with a woman whose name he cannot now recall, is fighting fatigue and wrestling his hot-rod low-loader around hairpin mountain curves in an attempt to rendezvous with a pretty truck stop waitress. The song’s palpable energy comes from its frenetic guitar picking and the danger implicit in trailing a heavy load downhill while falling asleep at the wheel. Tommy Faile’s Phantom 309, a hit for Red Sovine (1967) that was later covered by Tom Waits (Big Joe and the Phantom 309, 1975), elevates the “tired truck driver” narrative to gothic literary form. Reflecting country music’s moral code of citizenship and its culture of performative storytelling (Fox, Real 23), it tells of a drenched and exhausted young hitchhiker picked up by Big Joe—the driver of a handsome eighteen-wheeler. On arriving at a truck stop, Joe drops the traveller off, giving him money for a restorative coffee. The diner falls silent as the hitchhiker orders up his “cup of mud”. Big Joe, it transpires, is a phantom trucker. After running off the road to avoid a school bus, his distinctive ghost rig now only reappears to rescue stranded travellers. Punk rock, a genre closely associated with recreational amphetamines (McNeil 76, 87), also features a number of caffeine-as-stimulant songs. Californian punk band, Descendents, identified caffeine as their drug of choice in two 1996 releases, Coffee Mug and Kids on Coffee. These songs describe chugging the drink with much the same relish and energy that others might pull at the neck of a beer bottle, and vividly compare the effects of the drug to the intense rush of speed. The host of “New Music News” (a segment of MTV’s 120 Minutes) references this correlation in 1986 while introducing the band’s video—in which they literally bounce off the walls: “You know, while everybody is cracking down on crack, what about that most respectable of toxic substances or stimulants, the good old cup of coffee? That is the preferred high, actually, of California’s own Descendents—it is also the subject of their brand new video” (“New Music News”). Descendents’s Sessions EP (1997) featured an overflowing cup of coffee on the sleeve, while punk’s caffeine-as-amphetamine trope is also promulgated by Hellbender (Caffeinated 1996), Lagwagon (Mr. Coffee 1997), and Regatta 69 (Addicted to Coffee 2005). Coffee in the Morning and Kisses in the Night: Coffee and Courtship Coffee as romantic metaphor in song corroborates the findings of early researchers who examined courtship rituals in popular music. Donald Horton’s 1957 study found that hit songs codified the socially constructed self-image and limited life expectations of young people during the 1950s by depicting conservative, idealised, and traditional relationship scenarios. He summarised these as initial courtship, honeymoon period, uncertainty, and parting (570-4). Eleven years after this landmark analysis, James Carey replicated Horton’s method. His results revealed that pop lyrics had become more realistic and less bound by convention during the 1960s. They incorporated a wider variety of discourse including the temporariness of romantic commitment, the importance of individual autonomy in relationships, more liberal attitudes, and increasingly unconventional courtship behaviours (725). Socially conservative coffee songs include Coffee in the Morning and Kisses in the Night by The Boswell Sisters (1933) in which the protagonist swears fidelity to her partner on condition that this desire is expressed strictly in the appropriate social context of marriage. It encapsulates the restrictions Horton identified on courtship discourse in popular song prior to the arrival of rock and roll. The Henderson/DeSylva/Brown composition You're the Cream in My Coffee, recorded by Annette Hanshaw (1928) and by Nat King Cole (1946), also celebrates the social ideal of monogamous devotion. The persistence of such idealised traditional themes continued into the 1960s. American pop singer Don Cherry had a hit with Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye (1962) that used coffee as a metaphor for undying and everlasting love. Otis Redding’s version of Butler/Thomas/Walker’s Cigarettes and Coffee (1966)—arguably soul music’s exemplary romantic coffee song—carries a similar message as a couple proclaim their devotion in a late night conversation over coffee. Like much of the Stax catalogue, Cigarettes and Coffee, has a distinctly “down home” feel and timbre. The lovers are simply content with each other; they don’t need “cream” or “sugar.” Horton found 1950s blues and R&B lyrics much more sexually explicit than pop songs (567). Dawson (1994) subsequently characterised black popular music as a distinct public sphere, and Squires (2002) argued that it displayed elements of what she defined as “enclave” and “counterpublic” traits. Lawson (2010) has argued that marginalised and/or subversive blues artists offered a form of countercultural resistance against prevailing social norms. Indeed, several blues and R&B coffee songs disregard established courtship ideals and associate the product with non-normative and even transgressive relationship circumstances—including infidelity, divorce, and domestic violence. Lightnin’ Hopkins’s Coffee Blues (1950) references child neglect and spousal abuse, while the narrative of Muddy Waters’s scorching Iodine in my Coffee (1952) tells of an attempted poisoning by his Waters’s partner. In 40 Cups of Coffee (1953) Ella Mae Morse is waiting for her husband to return home, fuelling her anger and anxiety with caffeine. This song does eventually comply with traditional courtship ideals: when her lover eventually returns home at five in the morning, he is greeted with a relieved kiss. In Keep That Coffee Hot (1955), Scatman Crothers supplies a counterpoint to Morse’s late-night-abandonment narrative, asking his partner to keep his favourite drink warm during his adulterous absence. Brook Benton’s Another Cup of Coffee (1964) expresses acute feelings of regret and loneliness after a failed relationship. More obliquely, in Coffee Blues (1966) Mississippi John Hurt sings affectionately about his favourite brand, a “lovin’ spoonful” of Maxwell House. In this, he bequeathed the moniker of folk-rock band The Lovin’ Spoonful, whose hits included Do You Believe in Magic (1965) and Summer in the City (1966). However, an alternative reading of Hurt’s lyric suggests that this particular phrase is a metaphorical device proclaiming the author’s sexual potency. Hurt’s “lovin’ spoonful” may actually be a portion of his seminal emission. In the 1950s, Horton identified country as particularly “doleful” (570), and coffee provides a common metaphor for failed romance in a genre dominated by “metanarratives of loss and desire” (Fox, Jukebox 54). Claude Gray’s I'll Have Another Cup of Coffee (Then I’ll Go) (1961) tells of a protagonist delivering child support payments according to his divorce lawyer’s instructions. The couple share late night coffee as their children sleep through the conversation. This song was subsequently recorded by seventeen-year-old Bob Marley (One Cup of Coffee, 1962) under the pseudonym Bobby Martell, a decade prior to his breakthrough as an international reggae star. Marley’s youngest son Damian has also performed the track while, interestingly in the context of this discussion, his older sibling Rohan co-founded Marley Coffee, an organic farm in the Jamaican Blue Mountains. Following Carey’s demonstration of mainstream pop’s increasingly realistic depiction of courtship behaviours during the 1960s, songwriters continued to draw on coffee as a metaphor for failed romance. In Carly Simon’s You’re So Vain (1972), she dreams of clouds in her coffee while contemplating an ostentatious ex-lover. Squeeze’s Black Coffee In Bed (1982) uses a coffee stain metaphor to describe the end of what appears to be yet another dead-end relationship for the protagonist. Sarah Harmer’s Coffee Stain (1998) expands on this device by reworking the familiar “lipstick on your collar” trope, while Sexsmith & Kerr’s duet Raindrops in my Coffee (2005) superimposes teardrops in coffee and raindrops on the pavement with compelling effect. Kate Bush’s Coffee Homeground (1978) provides the most extreme narrative of relationship breakdown: the true story of Cora Henrietta Crippin’s poisoning. Researchers who replicated Horton’s and Carey’s methodology in the late 1970s (Bridges; Denisoff) were surprised to find their results dominated by traditional courtship ideals. The new liberal values unearthed by Carey in the late 1960s simply failed to materialise in subsequent decades. In this context, it is interesting to observe how romantic coffee songs in contemporary soul and jazz continue to disavow the post-1960s trend towards realistic social narratives, adopting instead a conspicuously consumerist outlook accompanied by smooth musical timbres. This phenomenon possibly betrays the influence of contemporary coffee advertising. From the 1980s, television commercials have sought to establish coffee as a desirable high end product, enjoyed by bohemian lovers in a conspicuously up-market environment (Werder). All Saints’s Black Coffee (2000) and Lebrado’s Coffee (2006) identify strongly with the culture industry’s image of coffee as a luxurious beverage whose consumption signifies prominent social status. All Saints’s promotional video is set in a opulent location (although its visuals emphasise the lyric’s romantic disharmony), while Natalie Cole’s Coffee Time (2008) might have been itself written as a commercial. Busting Up a Starbucks: The Politics of Coffee Politics and coffee meet most palpably at the coffee shop. This conjunction has a well-documented history beginning with the establishment of coffee houses in Europe and the birth of the public sphere (Habermas; Love; Pincus). The first popular songs to reference coffee shops include Jaybird Coleman’s Coffee Grinder Blues (1930), which boasts of skills that precede the contemporary notion of a barista by four decades; and Let's Have Another Cup of Coffee (1932) from Irving Berlin’s depression-era musical Face The Music, where the protagonists decide to stay in a restaurant drinking coffee and eating pie until the economy improves. Coffee in a Cardboard Cup (1971) from the Broadway musical 70 Girls 70 is an unambiguous condemnation of consumerism, however, it was written, recorded and produced a generation before Starbucks’ aggressive expansion and rapid dominance of the coffee house market during the 1990s. The growth of this company caused significant criticism and protest against what seemed to be a ruthless homogenising force that sought to overwhelm local competition (Holt; Thomson). In response, Starbucks has sought to be defined as a more responsive and interactive brand that encourages “glocalisation” (de Larios; Thompson). Koller, however, has characterised glocalisation as the manipulative fabrication of an “imagined community”—whose heterogeneity is in fact maintained by the aesthetics and purchasing choices of consumers who make distinctive and conscious anti-brand statements (114). Neat Capitalism is a more useful concept here, one that intercedes between corporate ideology and postmodern cultural logic, where such notions as community relations and customer satisfaction are deliberately and perhaps somewhat cynically conflated with the goal of profit maximisation (Rojek). As the world’s largest chain of coffee houses with over 19,400 stores in March 2012 (Loxcel), Starbucks is an exemplar of this phenomenon. Their apparent commitment to environmental stewardship, community relations, and ethical sourcing is outlined in the company’s annual “Global Responsibility Report” (Vimac). It is also demonstrated in their engagement with charitable and environmental non-governmental organisations such as Fairtrade and Co-operative for Assistance and Relief Everywhere (CARE). By emphasising this, Starbucks are able to interpellate (that is, “call forth”, “summon”, or “hail” in Althusserian terms) those consumers who value environmental protection, social justice and ethical business practices (Rojek 117). Bob Dylan and Sheryl Crow provide interesting case studies of the persuasive cultural influence evoked by Neat Capitalism. Dylan’s 1962 song Talkin’ New York satirised his formative experiences as an impoverished performer in Greenwich Village’s coffee houses. In 1995, however, his decision to distribute the Bob Dylan: Live At The Gaslight 1962 CD exclusively via Starbucks generated significant media controversy. Prominent commentators expressed their disapproval (Wilson Harris) and HMV Canada withdrew Dylan’s product from their shelves (Lynskey). Despite this, the success of this and other projects resulted in the launch of Starbucks’s in-house record company, Hear Music, which released entirely new recordings from major artists such as Ray Charles, Paul McCartney, Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon and Elvis Costello—although the company has recently announced a restructuring of their involvement in this venture (O’Neil). Sheryl Crow disparaged her former life as a waitress in Coffee Shop (1995), a song recorded for her second album. “Yes, I was a waitress. I was a waitress not so long ago; then I won a Grammy” she affirmed in a YouTube clip of a live performance from the same year. More recently, however, Crow has become an avowed self-proclaimed “Starbucks groupie” (Tickle), releasing an Artist’s Choice (2003) compilation album exclusively via Hear Music and performing at the company’s 2010 Annual Shareholders’s Meeting. Songs voicing more unequivocal dissatisfaction with Starbucks’s particular variant of Neat Capitalism include Busting Up a Starbucks (Mike Doughty, 2005), and Starbucks Takes All My Money (KJ-52, 2008). The most successful of these is undoubtedly Ron Sexsmith’s Jazz at the Bookstore (2006). Sexsmith bemoans the irony of intense original blues artists such as Leadbelly being drowned out by the cacophony of coffee grinding machines while customers queue up to purchase expensive coffees whose names they can’t pronounce. In this, he juxtaposes the progressive patina of corporate culture against the circumstances of African-American labour conditions in the deep South, the shocking incongruity of which eventually cause the old bluesman to turn in his grave. Fredric Jameson may have good reason to lament the depthless a-historical pastiche of postmodern popular culture, but this is no “nostalgia film”: Sexsmith articulates an artfully framed set of subtle, sensitive, and carefully contextualised observations. Songs about coffee also intersect with politics via lyrics that play on the mid-brown colour of the beverage, by employing it as a metaphor for the sociological meta-narratives of acculturation and assimilation. First popularised in Israel Zangwill’s 1905 stage play, The Melting Pot, this term is more commonly associated with Americanisation rather than miscegenation in the United States—a nuanced distinction that British band Blue Mink failed to grasp with their memorable invocation of “coffee-coloured people” in Melting Pot (1969). Re-titled in the US as People Are Together (Mickey Murray, 1970) the song was considered too extreme for mainstream radio airplay (Thompson). Ike and Tina Turner’s Black Coffee (1972) provided a more accomplished articulation of coffee as a signifier of racial identity; first by associating it with the history of slavery and the post-Civil Rights discourse of African-American autonomy, then by celebrating its role as an energising force for African-American workers seeking economic self-determination. Anyone familiar with the re-casting of black popular music in an industry dominated by Caucasian interests and aesthetics (Cashmore; Garofalo) will be unsurprised to find British super-group Humble Pie’s (1973) version of this song more recognisable. Conclusion Coffee-flavoured popular songs celebrate the stimulant effects of caffeine, provide metaphors for courtship rituals, and offer critiques of Neat Capitalism. Harold Love and Guthrie Ramsey have each argued (from different perspectives) that the cultural micro-narratives of small social groups allow us to identify important “ethnographic truths” (Ramsey 22). Aesthetically satisfying and intellectually stimulating coffee songs are found where these micro-narratives intersect with the ethnographic truths of coffee culture. 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Graphic images of meth addicts have swept across Montana in television, radio and print ads as part of the state's latest anti-drug campaign, the Montana Meth Project. From a labeling perspective, the negative portrayal of meth addicts in these ads has significant implications for meth addicts in terms of their reintegration. The unintended population of drug addicts potentially affected by public service campaigns has failed to gain attention in the literature despite the implications suggested by labeling theory. This poses a significant gap in our knowledge and understanding, which this study addresses through the voice of recovering meth addicts. This study explored the significance of the campaign with regard to the worldview of recovering meth addicts and the implications of this worldview with regard to their reintegration. In particular, the study examined 1) addict perceptions of the campaign's impact on community 2) addict perceptions of the campaign's personal impact 3) addict perceptions of the significance of social bonds 4) the implications of these perspectives from the theoretical standpoint of Labeling and Social Bond theory. In-depth interviews were conducted among a sample of twenty recovering meth addicts at a treatment facility in Grenadier, Montana as well as one active meth user. This form of data collection was chosen due to the exploratory nature of the study as well the significance of perception suggested by the Symbolic-Interaction perspective (Cooley 1902). The study revealed that the Montana Meth Project does have a significant impact on the worldview of the participants. When the participants believe the campaign has a positive impact on the community - creating awareness, understanding and acceptance - the campaign is viewed as a tool in their reintegration. However, as the bulk of the findings suggest, when the participants believe the campaign has a negative impact - stereotypes, labeling, stigmatization and differential treatment - the campaign is viewed as a barrier to their reintegration. With such a negative reaction in the worldview of the participants, the mainstream world including family, friends and the community did not appear to be at the forefront of their reintegration. Rather, a subculture of recovering addicts acts as the source of positive social bonds and the most significant in the reintegration of the participants. The findings of this study demonstrate the impact anti- drug campaigns, and particularly scare campaigns using a public service approach, can have on the unintended audience of drug addicts.

Este trabalho apresenta a experiência de utilização da realidade virtual (VR) como ferramenta de ensino e aprendizagem na disciplina de Instalações e Equipamentos da Edificação 1 (IEE1). Essa é uma componente de 64h, obrigatória e que acontece de forma presencial semestralmente para os alunos do 5º semestre do curso de Graduação em Arquitetura e Urbanismo da Universidade Federal da (UFC). Em 2023.1 a disciplina foi ministrada por uma docente, teve o auxílio de um monitor e contou com 30 alunos matriculados. A ementa da matéria inclui compreender as relações e interferências das instalações hidrossanitárias no espaço arquitetônico, ensinar noções básicas de dimensionamento das instalações de água pluvial e entender as premissas para projetos de combate a incêndio e instalações de gás predial. Sua metodologia ´é composta por aulas expositivas e teóricas, desenvolvimento de exercícios em sala de aula, visita a canteiro de obras, avaliações individuais e pela primeira vez utilizou tecnologias de realidade virtual para visualização de projetos de instalações. A proposta de utilização de VR teve como objetivo entender os benefícios do uso dessa tecnologia na disciplina de IEE1 e está associada a pesquisa em andamento do uso de Realidade Expandidas para o ensino de Arquitetura, Urbanismo e Design desenvolvida pelo Laboratório de Experiências Digitais(LED) da UFC. Para a disciplina, foi identificada a possibilidade de utilização de plataformas BIM juntamente com softwares e equipamentos de VR para visualização de diferentes tipos e complexidades de instalações prediais de forma interativa e imersiva. De acordo com o BIMExcellence, essa atividade envolveu os usos de BIM para Modelagem de Sistemas Hidráulicos (1200) e Simulação de Realidade Virtual (4240). Traçados os objetivos a serem explorados, foram escolhidas as datas e horários para realização de experiências práticas de realidade virtual dentro do cronograma da disciplina. O planejamento incluiu duas atividades para toda a turma durante o semestre letivo, uma no início e uma no final, abordando níveis de complexidades diferentes. Para alcançar esse objetivo, a docente e o monitor buscaram as ferramentas disponíveis, equipamentos e softwares, montaram as atividades e aplicaram em sala de aula. A primeira atividade aconteceu em 10 de maio de 2023, aproximadamente um mês após o início das aulas teóricas, quando os alunos já possuíam noções básicas de instalações. Essa primeira atividade tinha o objetivo de promover a imersão em um modelo federado de um apartamento que incluía as modelagens dos projetos de arquitetura, estrutura, água fria, água quente, esgoto, águas pluviais e gás. Esse modelo foi desenvolvido no software Revit® importado para o Unity Reflect Review® que permitiu a colaboração multiusuário e acesso através dos Óculos de Realidade Virtual Meta Quest 2®. A atividade aconteceu em sala de aula e utilizou 4 óculos de realidade virtual, 4 notebooks para os espelhamentos do movimento dos alunos dentro do ambiente virtual e um projetor para o acompanhamento por parte dos alunos. Todos os alunos que manifestaram interesse em participar da atividade imergiram no mesmo projeto. Para isso, a turma foi dividida em grupos conforme a disponibilidade de equipamentos. A proposta foi proporcionar interação dos alunos no ambiente virtual, identificar os componentes de cada tipo de instalação, observar as soluções projetuais, entender a complexidade de instalações prediais e decisões tomadas para compatibilização, verificar as acomodações das instalações no espaço arquitetônico e saber se essa tecnologia poderia melhorar a sua aprendizagem. A segunda atividade aconteceu em 21 de junho de 2023, quando os alunos já tinham tido todas as aulas teóricas da disciplina. Foi utilizada a modelagem de um edifício completo desenvolvida no software AltoQi Builder® e disponibilizada para UFC pelos representantes da AltoQi® em formato IFC. Para montagem do modelo federado, foi utilizado o Navisworks Manage® e, para visualização, novamente foi utilizado o Unity Reflect Review®. Dessa vez, utilizou-se apenas 2 óculos e 2 notebooks e a experiência aconteceu no auditório do Departamento de Arquitetura, Urbanismo e Design (DAUD-UFC). Para coletar as impressões dos alunos sobre as atividades desenvolvidas, foram utilizados questionários disponibilizados via Google Forms® ao final das atividades e realizadas reuniões de avaliações entre a docente e o monitor da disciplina. Constatou-se que 93% dos alunos que participaram da 1ª experiência gostaram e manifestaram interesse em manter essa ferramenta no ensino da disciplina. Por outro lado, 50% dos alunos sinalizaram que tiveram algum tipo de vertigem ou incômodo com a tecnologia. Além disso, muitos sugeriram ampliar os tipos de aplicações, como o aumento da escala dos projetos, dos detalhes e tipos de instalações, bem como sugeriram o uso de programas com melhor tempo de resposta. Na segunda experiência, os dados foram semelhantes, porém os alunos não demonstraram o mesmo entusiasmo da primeira aplicação, uma vez que já não era mais uma novidade, e demais disciplinas do departamento também estavam aplicando a ferramenta. Diante disso, constatamos que o uso de Realidade Virtual com plataformas BIM demonstra ser uma ótima possibilidade de ferramenta de ensino de instalações prediais, uma vez que permite trazer de forma imersiva e completa todas as partes de uma construção. Todavia existem contrapontos, como: alto custo, oferta de equipamento para atender as turmas com muitos alunos e limitações de funcionalidades e de compatibilidade dos softwares. Essa pesquisa está sendo continuada para a turma 2023.2, na qual se explorará novas possibilidades de uso das Realidades Expandidas para visualização e concepção de projetos.