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Floor Preparation Machines





floor preparation machines






    preparation
  • planning: the cognitive process of thinking about what you will do in the event of something happening; "his planning for retirement was hindered by several uncertainties"

  • Something done to get ready for an event or undertaking

  • A substance that is specially made up and usually sold, esp. a medicine or food

  • formulation: a substance prepared according to a formula; "the physician prescribed a commercial preparation of the medicine"

  • the activity of putting or setting in order in advance of some act or purpose; "preparations for the ceremony had begun"

  • The action or process of making ready or being made ready for use or consideration





    machines
  • (machine) any mechanical or electrical device that transmits or modifies energy to perform or assist in the performance of human tasks

  • (esp. in manufacturing) Make or operate on with a machine

  • (machine) an efficient person; "the boxer was a magnificent fighting machine"

  • (machine) a device for overcoming resistance at one point by applying force at some other point





    floor
  • shock: surprise greatly; knock someone's socks off; "I was floored when I heard that I was promoted"

  • The lower surface of a room, on which one may walk

  • A level area or space used or designed for a particular activity

  • the inside lower horizontal surface (as of a room, hallway, tent, or other structure); "they needed rugs to cover the bare floors"; "we spread our sleeping bags on the dry floor of the tent"

  • All the rooms or areas on the same level of a building; a story

  • a structure consisting of a room or set of rooms at a single position along a vertical scale; "what level is the office on?"











floor preparation machines - Case In




Case In Point: Complete Case Interview Preparation


Case In Point: Complete Case Interview Preparation



Cosentino demystifies the consulting case interview. He takes you inside a typical interview by exploring the various types of case questions and he shares with you a system that will help you answer today's most sophisticated case questions.

Here's what's new in the 7th edition: 7 additional strategy cases, 8 case starts, 3 human capital cases, 21 ways to cut costs, and advice for industry hires.

Cosentino demystifies the consulting case interview. He takes you inside a typical interview by exploring the various types of case questions and he shares with you a system that will help you answer today's most sophisticated case questions.

Here's what's new in the 7th edition: 7 additional strategy cases, 8 case starts, 3 human capital cases, 21 ways to cut costs, and advice for industry hires.










84% (6)





A Story About a Piano & a Car Crash




A Story About a Piano & a Car Crash






I got as far as Monte Carlo a week before the festival and was determined to take my modest production into Cannes to film a glamour model walking around the construction and the pre-festival bustle, but made the mistake of stopping in San Remo instead. Crazy little town, famous for a second-rate music festival, a kissing cousin to Atlantic City with a shabby casino in the shadows of Monaco's bluffs, and the weird hotel I scouted for a shoot was something straight out of 1950's Brooklyn, kitsch and rubbishy art, and the night manager pulls me aside after the first day of shooting and says:

"Look, this is me seven years ago, when I was younger than you, and I was tall and confident and in charge of a music business, and this is her."

He shows me a dozen pristine photographs of a striking young woman, beautiful and confident.

"She gets killed and leaves me with a son who can play the piano and in-laws who somehow blame me, perhaps for marrying above my head, and I carry these pictures around in that briefcase because without them I am dead, and then who is there for her son? Maybe I shrink into the small man holding these photographs, opening the hotel doors after midnight for the drunk guests who stumble in from the casino, and maybe I can't be bothered to read or write even a postcard or listen to any music. I don't have the machine, I have no discs, and I hear no melody when I am out on the street; just horns and tires and the police calling me to kill me with news about the end of this woman's smile. But I have enough left in me to tell her son to keep playing. Play, I beg him. He is not very good. But he plays. She is tone deaf, so it wouldn't have mattered to her."

We both look at the photographs. I tell him I was born and raised in Cannes, and I want to take the model in room 223 who looks remarkably like his wife to Cannes to have her walk around in the preparation for the festival, but that my wings are programmed always to fly toward beauty, and this stinking hotel with its crumpled nightwatchman holding onto his photos for dear life is better than anything I can find in Cannes, to which he says:

"I am not beautiful and neither is the crap in Cannes, so perhaps you are wasting your time and you should go back to somebody who smiles at you when you smile at them."

We don't go to Cannes. Sushi at the harbor in Monte Carlo is as close as we get before we drive back to Ostia. The nightwatchman gives me nothing to film, adds nothing to the set or the piece I am shooting except for the fact that he is watching me. And stories always feel secure with an audience like this, so a story creeps out of me in San Remo and flickers into being in front of the cameras.

When we leave early in the morning the nightwatchman brings me to a table and tells me to move a chair. I can't. The chairs are attached to the table, and the table is attached to the floor, and atop the table a reclining stone Buddha takes up all the space. Nobody would sit here, and couldn't if they wanted to. The nightwatchman treads the floor around the table legs. There is a spot, he says, and if you stand on it you will break through the flooring and fall into the city sewer. We smile at each other and he shrugs the classic slow shrug of his fatigued neighborhood.

"My son plays out of tune for my dead lover, and I watch my step so I am not washed out to sea with the tourists' merde. I am sorry you see me like this, because seven years ago I would have made you some music and we could have gone to laugh at the fools in Cannes, and we could have walked to the Californie with my wife like a swan among sparrows, and you could have told her your story of throwing the pots and pans from the third-floor balcony, and she would have smiled every second of it, because to her every sparrow was also a swan. And I don't know how much you know about swans, but they don't usually think that way."

On the road to Ostia I remember that a week before I was in Beirut, shooting a scuba diver and the oil spill, and before that filming a waitress in Rome who sings like Frank Sinatra, and before that a woman in her sixties who brought Arabic dance to RAI and the Italians who dances for four hours and es "Why do you stop!" when I collapse, exhausted. Why am I going back to Hollywood? Because of the lynx who lives with me on top of the hill above the city? For the coyotes? The hummingbirds and red-tailed hawks? To meet with producers on the deck and try to fool somebody into financing my plans?

What beautiful thing has come from Hollywood? What shattering idea? What sublime nuance, which charming tale? Is the place so putrid and shallow that I don't notice the dead wives and tables screwed in above the trapdoors to the sewage? Cannes thumbs its nose at Santa Monica. So what? Cannes is full of shallow fools chasing power and money.

Where is the eject button?











"In pumps...?"










[19:38] arwen Eiren looks over to adagio"me promise be a good girl and to listen to you and mara."

[19:41] Amara kneeled on the carpet, carefully resting her weight on both hands in preparation for her pushups. These she liked more than the situps. "Good to know you're happy, sweetheart. And even better to know you'll be a good girl, Arwen. No more bath tub chases yes?" She had every expectation that she'd be chasing the girl up and down Main Street for some other reason, but the knowledge that bathtime would not be a production was nice.

[19:42] arwen Eiren grins then nods"okays..."she giggles rmeembering the bath chase after her adventure.

[19:43] Adagio: just smiles a little bit turning back around wiping the last vestiges of her tears from her eyes. she'd break into a slight smiel seeing amara doing pushups. "Do those with teh real arm and we'll see how many you can do." she'd just laugh gently joining Amara on the floor after removing the jacket and necklace.

[19:48] arwen Eiren decides just to dance though she starts to yawn a little as she does

[19:50] Amara rolled her eyes at the challenge. "Don't get cocky with me. I'm working my right arm so it can be as fast as my natural one." She was all too happy to switch arms and show the clear difference between muscle and machine. "See? It's slower on my right. I can't work the arm this quickly, it doesn't respond that fast." Arm exercises, Amara was comfy with.

[19:52] Adagio: nods a little bit spotting the difference. "it's not tuned to be fast Amara. I don't need you destroying your arms every few fights. But Good you're working out anyway."

[19:55] Amara nodded, returning to her artificial limb. "I know it's not tuned to be fast, but it's odd when my natural reaction times are faster than my arm can manage." She glanced at Adagio's legs. "Adagio…Are you doing pushups at 100 miles per hour…in pumps?!"

[19:57] Adagio: just chuckles a little bit. "yes actually, it forces me to stabilize my lower body more when I workout with shoes on, besides, this was spur of the moment. and I hate saying this amara, but you'll have to get used to that arm being slower unless you want it weaker."

[20:02] Amara sighed. "I know I can't expect it to be any faster than it was designed to be, but a few seconds shaved off the processing time is good enough for me. For a while, I could only manage three or four on this arm before the area by my shoulder would go numb…like the phantom limb stuff." As if on cue, Amara started to feel her nerves falling asleep. She stopped, moving to her other arm before she sat on the floor. "Okay. One hour…that's enough for me."









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