Ready for New Challenges

Wealth Creation: Adding Value

2011-09-07T10:40:00.000-07:00

Ken opens his cupboard and finds evidence of mice. Ken sets out some mouse traps. The mice get killed in the traps. Ken throws the dead mice away.

Economic impact of Ken's mouse infestation: $3 of Ken's discretionary spending shifted from buying a bag of chips to buying a package of mouse traps.

Mike opens his cupboard and finds evidence of mice. Mike remembers his friend Spike, who has a pet snake, Goldie, that eats mice. Mike calls Spike and asks if Goldie would like to eat the mice from the cupboard. Spike says that he would pay $1 each for live mice to feed to Goldie, who eats three mice a week.

Mike borrows a live-capture trap, catches three mice, and puts them in his mom's disused aquarium with some bedding and food. Mike lets the mice do what comes naturally. As each litter of mice is weaned, Mike sells the parents to Spike as food for Goldie.

Spike tells his Goth friends about Mike's cut-rate feeder mice. They want mice of various sizes for their snakes of various sizes. Mike now has a market for mice, from newborns to adults.

Mike gets more disused aquariums from Freecycle and sets up a small feeder mouse business.

Economic impact of Mike's mouse infestation: Mike earns about $50 a month selling feeder mice. He has created wealth with careful mouse husbandry and a couple of disused aquariums.

Ken and Mike started with the same thing: a minor mouse infestation. But the outcome was very different for Mike than it was for Ken, because while Ken saw the mice purely as pests, Mike saw an opportunity.

Are Mike's gains ill-gotten? Did he cheat Ken out of something Ken was entitled to? Does it make sense, economically, socially, or morally, to take money from Mike and give it to Ken?

Or should we encourage the Kens of the world to think more like Mike, and find their own opportunities to create wealth?

Wealth Creation and the Buffalo of Hoboken

2011-08-01T15:14:00.000-07:00

It was 1843, and some guy in Hoboken, New Jersey, was stuck with a herd of scrawny buffalo. They weren't thick and meaty buffalo you could sell for meat. They weren't particularly lively and picturesque buffalo that you could sell to a circus. They were just a sad lot of buffalo that he was tired of having on his hands.

Enter a businessman, who bought the dilapidated creatures for $700. That was quite a tidy sum for the guy who had owned the buffalo. He went home happy.

The businessman had a publicity blitz in New York, all about a free exhibition buffalo hunt. Free! Fun for the entire family!

He expected about 16,000 people to show up. He got 24,000. They weren't particularly impressed with the buffalo. The cattle panicked and bolted through the fence into the freedom of the swamps.

Still, the people had an amusing day. And the businessman walked away $3400 richer.

What? He held a free buffalo exhibit. People showed up, paid him noting, watched the buffalo stampede into the distance, and went home. The guy not only didn't charge admission, he lost the entire $700 herd of buffalo. How did he manage to come out ahead?

It turns out that this was an exceptionally clever businessman. He launched his scheme in concert with the owners of the ferries that ran between New York and Hoboken. He'd provide the advertising and the buffalo, they'd give him half the profits from the thousands of people taking the round trip.

Okay, so the final tally is:

1. Guy who originally owned the herd of buffalo. $700 in the black. He's happy.

2. People who came to see the buffalo. They got an amusing outing for the cost of a ferry trip. They're happy.

3. Ferrymen. They came out $3400 ahead. They're happy.

4. The businessman. He came out $3400 ahead, and turned it into great publicity for his next stunt. He's happy.

Who was the winner here? I'd say, "Everybody." Except for maybe the buffalo, but even they were probably headed for the slaughterhouse anyway. Everybody came out ahead.

The businessman, if you haven't already guessed, was P.T. Barnum.

Barnum started out with the same asset that the original buffalo owner had: a scrawny bunch of buffalo. The original owner only managed to leverage the buffalo for $700. Barnum, however, recognized that the buffalo were worth more than just how much you could sell them for. He leveraged $6800 -- nearly ten times what he'd bought them for -- out of those animals -- for himself and the owners of the New York / Hoboken ferries.

And this, my friends, is how wealth creation works.

Vegan Vinnie, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Milk

2011-07-19T06:40:00.000-07:00

My stint teaching English in Korea introduced me to a lot of interesting people, in particular an intriguing fellow at the next desk in the teachers’ room. Let’s call him Vegan Vinnie.

Pictured: The Face of Wisdom

Vinnie was infamous for his tales of the woes of the animals that give us our food. Chickens, he told us, had their beaks cut off so they wouldn’t peck each other to death. Pigs were kept in pens so tiny that they couldn’t move and their legs atrophied and they just lay on the ground. And dairy cows were crammed together and tormented day and night to force them to produce more milk.

There he had made his fatal mistake. I had grown up in the heart of Pennsylvania dairy country. In fact, the rental property I’d vacated to move to Korea had been smack-dab in the middle of a dairy farm.

Pictured: Cow Hell

Alas for Vinnie. He had shot his ill-informed mouth off at somebody who knew – not from books or web sites but from real life – that at least the cow part of his story was loaded with fertilizer.

Pictured: Vinnie’s knowledge of dairy farming

I told Vinnie of my childhood experiences with dairy farms. How Farmer Cal would turn the cows out into the pastures every day, not only to allow the cows to roam and eat, but also to vacate their stalls so that those stalls could be kept clean and fresh. Yes, while the cows were out meandering in the meadow, Farmer Cal was mucking out manure. The cows got the better end of that deal.

I conceded Farmer Cal’s possible nefarious motive for cleaning those stalls – the manure was valuable fertilizer. But that put poor Vinnie into a moral dilemma: Should he hate Farmer Cal for his exploitation of the cows, or should he admire him for recycling?

But then, Farmer Cal had another selfish motive for turning those cows out into the bright, bucolic world. Fresh air, sunshine, plenty of fresh greens, and a modicum of pleasant exercise does for cows what it does for humans: It promotes health. Healthy cows mean lower vet bills and more milk.

All of this shocking information was frying Vinnie’s brain circuits.

Pictured: Vinnie’s brains after meeting somebody who had lived on a dairy farm

Vinnie then claimed the milking itself hurt the cows.

So I told Vinnie about how I often longed for my little house on the farm. As I lay on my bed I could watch the cows trot merrily by on the hillside from their favorite hang-out spot (the bit of field to one side of my house) along the hill behind my house, to the barn for milking time. They’d hardly do that willingly, I pointed out, if they were going to the barn to meet Torquemada.

But what about those horrible metal things they stick the cows’ head through?

I explained to Vinnie that the cows stuck their own heads through, since the water and feed were on the other side. The cows were stepping up to the bovine buffet. The purpose of the bars wasn’t to torment or trap the cows, but to provide each cow with her personal space – and to make sure she could reach the cow water fountain that each pair of cows shared. Yes, every cow had access to fresh, cool water at the touch of a snout.

Pictured: Cow dining at its finest

But what about those horrible mutant-octopus-from-Hell mechanical milking machines?

Well, first each cow would get an udder scrub-down with warm soapy water, and a rinse with warm, clear water. This not only cleaned the teats to keep the milk from being contaminated, but it was a massage to help the milk let down. The cow, if she was distracted from her dining enough to notice it at all, seemed to enjoy it. After the scrub-down, the milker was attached. The cow never seemed to respond to that one way or another. She just kept eating and drinking and pooping, as cows are wont to do.

Pictured: The Cow Torture & Child Terror Road Show

Vinnie, of course, refused to drop his old ideas of cow torment. He decided that my experience, from every dairy farm I’d ever been to in 45 years of life, consisted entirely of flukes. My experiences, he decided, were not at all representative of cow life overall. He remained a staunch vegan, devoted to relating his tales of animal horror.

But I became a skeptic of any claims by vegans about farm life – as did everybody who listened to the conversations. Vinnie’s scheme had backfired. Reality trumped hyperbole. And we could drink our milk guilt-free.

Lions and Tigers and Locks. Oh, my!

2011-07-18T19:26:00.000-07:00

“Ew! Now I've got a hand all full of tiger snot!”

Even as the words fell from her lips, Christina thought, “There's something you don't say every day.”

She stepped aside and rinsed her hand at the garden hose. “Do you have a cold, baby?” she asked Whoofers. Whoofers, for her part, just rubbed back and forth against the mesh of her enclosure. Christina reached through and stroked the tawny flanks as they passed by. Whoofers chuffed contentedly. “You can't beat this with a stick,” woman murmured.

Her daughter, instantly recognizable as such since they had the same broad hips, wide eyes, and way of carrying themselves, stepped away from her raking and crouched near the cage, pressing a palm up for the tiger to sniff, just as her mother had done. Whoofers obliged without a sneeze this time, then took a gentle, friendly, mostly-toothless nip at the heel of the teenager's hand.

“You get a love nip,” her mother lamented. “All I got was snot.”

The two chuckled quietly. Jenelle assessed the big cat. “I don't think she's sick. She looks fine. Maybe she just had some dust irritating her. After all, she's pretty old. She's entitled to a sneeze once in a while.”

Mother and daughter went back to work raking and weeding. They made their way around the sanctuary at a leisurely pace, savoring the company of the big cats and stopping to visit with favorites. Simba II, an elderly lion twitchy with feline distemper, won a laugh from the pair of volunteers when he leaped majestically onto his plywood perch only to skid and land on his side. He shook himself off as if to say, “I meant to do that,” and settled down, king of his little domain.

The pair waved at Jenna, one of the employees, as she came chugging past on a Gator, making the rounds with dosed snacks for the animals that needed noontime medication. Routine morning feeding was done in teams, one to lock down and feed the cats, the other to clean the enclosures while the animals were gated securely in the wooden houses fitted to the cages. There were no teams for medical feedings, since the cages were already clean. Jenna would lock the cats out of their houses, switch the food dishes through the hatches at the back, and raise the gates to give the cats free access.

Jenelle and Christina skirted Sabrina's enclosure, as they always did when Lewis, her owner, was napping with her. They envied him, curled up with the magnificent white tiger by her little private pool. As the official cat psychologist, Lewis had assured them that he had hand-raised Sabrina from a cub, that she viewed him as family, and that they needn't worry that they'd startle her and provoke an attack. Still, the two agreed, better safe than sorry. They'd seen the usually friendly Niakahn turn instantly from chuffing kitty to snarling beast at the mere sight of a tall, skinny man wearing a baseball cap. Hand-raised or not, Sabrina was, like Niakahn, a wild animal. They were taking no chances.

Chores were reversed when they got to Sasha's enclosure. Though Sasha was small, she was strong, and might yank the rake right out of Jenelle's hands. Christina, taller and stronger than her daughter, loved raking near Sasha because it felt like a game, with the human snatching cut grass from near the cage, and the lioness shooting a paw out the slim gap underneath to bat at the rake. Woman and teen piled clippings and weeds near the broad path. They'd gather it later in a Gator and take it to the dump pit, where it would be tossed in with the nasty gatherings from the morning's cage cleaning rounds.

A sudden noise caught their attention, and with almost balletic precision, two heads swung to check out the source of the sound – the bobcat cage, just beyond Sasha's enclosure. Two pairs of eyes opened wide at what they saw. Simba II was out again, darting back and forth just outside the bobcats' home, smacking at the heavy chicken wire separating him from the panicked cats inside. This had never happened when they were on duty before, but they knew the drill. Christina raised Richard, the Director, on the walkie-talkie. Jenelle sidled swiftly to the nearest fire extinguisher, careful not to lose sight of the wayward lion.

Christina glanced around. Some of the enclosures had vestibules that they could be comparatively safe inside, and she spotted one before remembering that they didn't have keys. Both inner and outer doors of the vestibules were kept tightly padlocked to prevent escapes. Simba II's enclosure, an older one, had no such vestibule. Christina and Jenelle always double-checked, sometimes triple-checked, the padlocks, no matter how many times they'd seen an employee or another volunteer check. Every time they passed a cage entrance, they'd give the lock a tug just to be on the safe side. They'd been told time and time again, “Never forget to double-check. Because the cats won't.” Just as they took no chances with Lewis and Sabrina, they took no chances with any cat's potential exit point.

It seemed to take forever for Richard to make his way down from the veterinary center with the tranquilizer gun and darts. He'd had to look Simba II up on a chart and mix the dose after he'd been alerted. The two drugs would interact in the dart and neutralize each other if mixed in advance. Though Christina knew that the Director was moving as quickly as he could, it still seemed as if he'd never arrive. The chicken wire was chosen to keep bobcats in, not lions out, and it couldn't keep the frantic bobcats safe forever. If Simba II broke through, his hunting instincts would dive him to pursue the smaller cats. Once he did that, not only would the bobcats lose their lives, Simba II would be branded as dangerous, and he'd have to be destroyed.

Lewis had evidently heard the commotion, because he appeared at Jenelle's side, a fire extinguisher in his hands. “It's best not to move if you don't have to, but if he takes off, keep an enclosure between you and him.”

Jenelle somehow nodded without seeming to move at all. Lewis slowly skirted around Samson's enclosure, positioning himself so he was sheltered, but ready to move in to help Richard if he was needed.

“Why did Jenna unlock Simba II's cage?” Christina whispered to her daughter.

“Maybe one of the cleaners left a bleach bottle again, the way somebody did at Shasta's cage a couple weeks ago.”

The why of it didn't matter at the moment. The lock hadn't latched fully, the ever-vigilant Simba II had knocked it loose, and if Richard didn't arrive soon with the tranquiler, the bobcats were goners.

Much to their relief, mother and daughter caught sight of Richard warily skirting along Serena's enclosure. When he got to the corner, he'd have a clear shot at the escaped lion. Fortunately, Simba II seemed more playful than aggressive, or he'd have already broken into the bobcat enclosure. Still more fortunately, the bobcats had his attention, so he didn't notice Richard's approach. The Director raised the rifle and fired.

Whether it was the noise of the gunshot or the sting of the dart that got his attention, Simba II was no longer focused on the bobcats. He swung around and charged Richard.

Christina held her breath. She and the other volunteers had been told to do what Richard was now doing. “Stand your ground,” had been pounded into them. If you ran, you'd be telling the animal, “Hi, I'm prey. Please eat me.” If you advanced, you'd be announcing that you were a threat. If you stood firm, looking at the cat but not making eye contact, you'd send a neutral message. The cat would stop and reassess the situation. Now Christina realized that she was about to find out if the instructions would really work with an angry lion. Through the rush of adrenaline, she also realized that Richard must be terrified.

Just ten feet short of the Director, Simba II stopped dead in his tracks. Man and lion stood frozen. It was as time had stopped. After an eternity, it became clear that Simba II wasn't just twitching from his distemper. He was getting wobbly on his feet. Slowly he sank to the ground, still watching Richard intently. Out of the corner of her eye, Christina could see Lewis slowly approaching the cat, fire extinguisher at the ready. Another eternity passed by before the lion's great head rested on the ground. Lewis and Richard approached carefully. Simba II was out cold.

Jenna finally appeared, looking ashen and sheepish at the same time, behind the wheel of the Gator. At some time during the standoff, she had fetched a sheet of plywood, which the three of them used as a makeshift ramp to roll the big cat into the back of the Gator. Christina and Jenelle just watched as the trio headed down to Simba II's enclosure. Glancing at each other, they made an unspoken agreement to just go home rather than witness the dressing-down Jenna was sure to get. Jenelle returned the fire extinguisher to its post, Christina gathered the rake and the pruning shears, and together they trudged, weak-kneed, back to the volunteer center.

Christina laughed a shaky laugh as they headed for the car. “And here I thought a love nip and some tiger snot were going to be our stories for today.”

Reaching over, Jenelle gave her mother's hand a squeeze. “Personally, I'm hoping that Simba II's little outing is the story of a lifetime.”

Badass Buster: Why a Silent Film Star was Ballsier Than Modern Action Stars

2011-07-17T08:06:00.000-07:00

If I told you that one of those quaint old silent film comedians could top a modern action star for all-out ballsiness, you wouldn't believe me. You'd scoff at the idea that the effete English guy with the derby hat – or even the hanging-off-the-clock dude with the glasses – was anything but a wimpy fop.

Actually, both Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd did a metric buttload (2.2 standard buttloads) of their own stunts, and both were pretty ballsy. Lloyd, for example, got right back to work doing hair-raising stunts as soon as he regained the vision he'd lost after a bomb he was holding blew off a third off his right hand.

He dangled from that clock with a chunk of his hand missing and while weighed down by his enormous steel balls.
Harold Lloyd definitely had enough balls to supply a score of ordinary men. But still, among film greats, the ballsy prize needs to go to the guy who wasn't Charlie Chaplin or Harold Lloyd: Buster Keaton.

Pictured: Jackie Chan's inspiration. Seriously.

Read the rest here: Six Ways Buster Keaton was Ballsier than Modern Action Stars.

War Hero Dead in Roller Coaster Tragedy. How Should We Respond?

2011-07-13T12:15:00.000-07:00

Nobody knows yet why U.S. Army Sgt. James Hackemer was thrown to his death from a roller coaster at Darien Lake Theme Park in New York. Speculation centers on the role his disability played. He had lost one leg above the knee, and another at the hip, to a roadside bomb in Iraq. His shocking death came shortly after he completed three years of grueling rehabilitation to return to life with his wife and young children.

As devastating as one person's death is, life is never without risk. Colleen Mangone of the International Association of Amusement Parks and Attractions notes that visitors in American amusement parks climb on rides 1.7 billion times per year, with three of those rides resulting in a fatal injury. That's one death per 567 million rides. For comparison, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration counts 1.13 motor vehicle deaths per 100 million miles.

Riders are so safe because the rides are designed to restrain passengers. When a limb is missing, however, it shifts the center of gravity, and might deprive the person of a vital contact point for the restraint system, with tragic results.

When calamity strikes, two equally beloved flocks start circling: lawyers and politicians. The first politician has already swooped in. U.S. Rep. Edward Markey (D-MA) is calling for federal regulation of fixed-site amusement parks. Though no lawyers have emerged from their aeries yet, the fear of them, coupled with the looming threat of regulation by bureaucrats who don't know a g-force from a g-string, might move park operators to avoid headaches by relegating people with disabilities to the kiddie trains.

There is a better option. People with severe disabilities can play murderball, climb mountains, and swim the English Channel. There is no reason to ban them from amusement park rides in the name of safety.

Engineers have designed supplemental restraint systems to keep the smaller bodies of children safe in cars. In a partnership with makers of adaptive equipment, they could also design supplemental restraint systems to keep people with disabilities safe on theme park rides.

When Sgt. Hackemer went home from rehabilitation, he told reporters, "I want to live my life to the fullest from here on out." Together, safety and adaptive experts could make that dream more achievable for people with disabilities.

Assignment: 350 - 400 words, "How to Ride a Bull."

2011-07-07T05:01:00.001-07:00

Don't. Don't even try. If you have to look online for how to ride a bull, you shouldn't even be within 100 yards of any bovine creature. Frankly, I wouldn't even trust you around pigs or large dogs. Run, don't walk, away from farms or ranches. Have friends restrain you if necessary. Avoid any sight, sound, or smell of bulls until this insane urge to ride a bull passes.

Put down your beer or other alcoholic beverage. Extinguish that joint. Whatever substance you're taking in that is making riding a bull seem like a good idea, just stop. Pour your intoxicant down the sink, flush it down the toilet, do whatever it takes to just get rid of it.

You might need to consider changing friends at this point in your life, if you want to have other points in your life during which you can look back on this phase and shudder in horror. If your friends are encouraging you to ride a bull, you need new friends. Period. Avoid friends you find in bars, frat houses, or crack dens. Go to a church, synagogue, library, or quilting bee. Go anyplace that gets you far from intoxicating substances and the cast of "Jackass."

Riding a bull is insane when it is being done by experienced rodeo riders. Those people are adrenaline junkies who don't have the sense to take up safer endeavors like bungee jumping, skydiving, or swimming with sharks. Bull riders have entire teams of people just as crazy as they are to lure the bull away before death ensues. What do you have? You're either alone, or with buddies who are egging you on because, wasted as they are, they still have more sense than to go near a bull.

Trust me. If you're suicidal there are far less painful ways to die than being trampled or gored by a bull. If you're not suicidal, you might as well be. Hospitalization might not be a bad idea at this point. A 72-hour stint in the psych ward beats weeks in traction, or the rest of eternity pushing up daisies while the bull that killed you grazes on your grave.

So, in summary: Don't. Just plain don't.

About Me

2011-06-28T21:17:00.001-07:00

A bit of this, a bit of that, and a bit of the other thing thrown in for good measure, and what you get is me. From the mundane matter of pulling together a scrumptious meal from mostly bare cupboards, to a trek through the mountains of Thailand, I've accumulated a unique hodgepodge of experiences.

I've seen the spectacular Stone Forest of southern China. I've heard the haunting overtones of throat singers in Mongolia. I've felt the sharp burn of stinging nettles in Wales. I've tasted the rich doppelbock beer of a German fest. I've smelled the spice of a lush hillside of Texas juniper.

The highlight of my vacation in North Carolina was helping two cetologists from the Smithsonian do a necropsy on a beached whale. I have actually had occasion to exclaim, “Ew! Now I've got a hand all full of tiger snot!” And I've pondered the mystery of the inexplicable placement of South Korean electric outlets.

My writing has been nearly as eclectic as my life. I've produced web content from aerobic septic tank treatments to zoological gardens. Dossiers, a telecommunications tariff, meeting minutes, a policy and procedures manual, over 200 sample letters to the editor for grassroots activists, and a seemingly unending torrent of reports, abstracts, and blog posts have poured forth from my nimble fingers.

The next challenge is always right around the bend, and I'm reaching out to meet it.

Freelance 101

2011-06-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

So at last I am, technically at least, a freelance writer. That is, I've been accepted at TextBroker and have been plying my trade there. It's heady at moments, as in when my first articles were accepted and my money began to accumulate. It's surrealistic at others, as in when I found myself scouring the web for information about the expected longevity of used propane storage tanks. It 's disillusioning at moments, as in when I go Googling for information but find naught but the penny-a-word missives of others like myself. But it is, most of all, a moment of transition. I have sold my work, the labor of my brain and fingers, in a way I had never done before. The identity of freelance writer is mine, for as long as I choose to keep it, for as long as I tappity-tap out pieces at TextBroker.

I find the experience intoxicating yet frustrating. Until I move up from my current four-star rating to the coveted five-star rating, my base fee is 1.5 cents per word, my labors are at slave wages. Hours of work may go into meticulous research and careful crafting of a 300-word piece that will add less than $5 to my coffers. I could, if I chose, set prices higher for specific customers, but that seems unwise at this early juncture.

So I savor the moment and await an epiphany. In the mean time, I will continue to set my fingers dancing to the tunes of the assortment of pipers willing to toss me a pittance in exchange for a few paragraphs about aerobic septic systems or embroidered promotional cotton baseball caps. I will explore the Land of the Freelance Writer. God willing, I will learn to navigate this new land, settle down, and find a home.

Current Resume

2011-04-04T08:59:00.000-07:00

Christina Dunigan

cdunigan@hotmail.com :: 814-418-2475

Fast learner who is always looking for ways to do things smarter, better, and more efficiently

Independent :: Resourceful :: Innovative

SUMMARY OF QUALIFICATIONS

Over ten years of flexibility, versatility, and initiative in a wide range of settings and situations
Demonstrated ability to identify needs and develop problem-solving and quality improvement strategies
Effective verbal and written communication skills in a variety of settings and formats
Proven experience in organizing time, space, materials, and information
Expertise in learning on the fly and cobbling together solutions with available resources

Professional Experience and Accomplishments

text broker
Freelance Writer 2011 - Present

Complete writing assignments, primarily web site content and blog posts, according to instructions and in a timely manner
Excellent customer ratings and feedback

LIFESTYLE SUPPORT SERVICES
Residential Service Worker 2011 - Present

Assist mentally disabled individuals in following daily routines and building life skills
Adhere to state regulations and agency policy, including completing all documentation
Participate in development and implementation of specialized behavioral plans

Community action partnership of Cambria County
Case Manager/Job Developer 2008 – 2011

Developed and implemented client-centered goal-focused program model
Created new orientation process for incoming clients to create more welcoming environment and encourage more active self-directed participation
Produced new Participant Handbook and related forms and processing procedures using Microsoft Publisher, Excel, and Word
Assessed incoming clients and guided them in developing Individual Development & Retention Plans
Tracked client eligibility for and participation in allowable activities, ensuring compliance with Guidelines; ensured accurate data entry in Commonwealth Workforce Data Systems and Excel
Assisted clients with placement in work experience sites and oversaw their participation
Managed Assets for Independence program, including client intake, ongoing monitoring, and quarterly and annual reports

footsteps psychological services
Therapeutic Support Staff (TSS) 2008

Followed through on service plans for children with behavioral issues
Helped families to develop routines and organize homes to facilitate desired behaviors

sogang university language program franchise academy
English Teacher 2003- 2008

Taught English as a Second Language to Korean children, preschool through middle school
Followed a variety of curricula, improvising or developing alternatives as needed
Developed games and activities to ensure grammar mastery and increase vocabulary learning threefold
Other duties including providing cultural experiences, assist with planning and execution of preschool graduation and semi-annual festivals

Additional Experience and Accomplishments

Attendant Care Service Coordinator, United Cerebral Palsy, 2002
*Supervised 20+ attendant care providers, ensuring compliance with regulations
*Service plan development and updates with clients and families
Career Planner, Bedford County Career Link, 2001-2002
*Assess and enroll clients; develop and follow through on employment planning
Prepress Assistant, Bedford Gazette, 2000-2001
*Selection and layout of editorial content for special sections and weekly mini-edition
*Typesetting, paste-up, color separations
Assistant Residence Supervisor, Denton State School, 1998-2000
*All aspects of residential care for 8 clients with mental retardation
Typesetter / Prepress Assistant, Denton Publishing Company, 1997-1998
*Typesetting and ancillary tasks
*Mastery of Quark XPress, Adobe Acrobat, Photoshop, process camera, Image Setter
Office Manager, Max-Tel Communications, 1997
*Navigated start-up company through public utility approval, including drafting tariff
*Coordinated resale of services; developed customer order processing procedures
*Recruited, hired, and supervised three customer service representatives; managed payroll
Research Writer, Life Dynamics Inc., 1994-1997
*Reviewed, analyzed, and abstracted a wide variety of documents; writing tasks as assigned
*Identified areas for further research; assisted in obtaining additional documentation
*Prepared dossiers on physicians or medical care facilities; assisted with litigation support
Clerical Support, Mark Heckman Appraisers, Mark Hillbert Appraisers, 1993-1994
*Typed, prepared, and ensured delivery of real estate appraisals
*Programmed macros to reduce typing time by 50%; trained appraisers in use of software
Treatment Specialist I / II, Keystone Service Systems, 1987-1993
*Oversaw clinical and documentation aspects of provision of residential rehabilitation services; client load increased from 13 to 67 during tenure
*Led focus groups and developed Policy & Procedures Manual for pilot program, reducing cost per client year from $30,000 to under $8,000
*Secretary and Consulting Team Member, Treatment & Ethics Committee
*Participated in task force to restructure Treatment & Ethics Committee to improve service planning for challenging situations
*Provided 1:1 and group training in record keeping, service planning, and suicide prevention
*Analyzed adverse client events; advocated for necessary changes in policies and procedures
Substitute Teacher/Teacher’s Aide, Department of Defense Educational Activities, 1985-1987
*Short-term and long-term substitute assignments
*Assisted in all aspects of classroom and activity planning and management
*Supervision of one to three parent volunteers in classroom and on field trips
CETA TRAINEE, Pennsylvania Department of Transportation, 1999
*All aspects of routine office responsibilities and additional duties as needed
*On own initiative, reorganized map room to reduce search time from hours to minutes

Education

Bachelor of Humanities, Pennsylvania State University, 1983