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• How to Pronounce As you’ll see, Larry followed through on his detailed plan quite effectively. Here is my observation: I joined the Zoom session at the start of the class (noon) to find numerous students already in attendance with Larry joining with them in small talk. He stated he wanted to wait a few minutes before starting his presentation. The session was being recorded for later viewing. At about 12:02, Larry started his presentation with approximately 18 students in attendance. He started by showing a VR game concept video his team had worked on approximately 6 years earlier. The clip lasted several minutes long and was an impressive demonstration. Larry was concerned that the video and the video’s sound might not work well on Zoom, but as he narrated over the video, his voice was clearly heard as were the sound effects from the video he was playing. During the clip, Larry gave a brief explanation of the character’s development as well as numerous interesting side-notes that gave students an idea of what is expected in the industry. After the video clip (which gave students a good example of a “finished” character that was developed for a game concept video) Larry then explained in detail the process for developing the character. He showed the students the numerous rough sketches that had been created as possible ideas for the character. Larry also displayed and explained how reference boards are used as inspiration for character ideas. He then talked about many of the sketches and why they had been suggested and why some had not been chosen. Throughout all of the class, Larry often mentioned time-constraints and budgetary-constraints that students would face on the job.
• How to Pronounce First, I love learning about different industries and commodities, how they developed over time, often over millennia, shaping world markets and modern political economies (e.g. cotton, gold, salt, cod, petroleum). “The Fish” provides a fascinating introduction to the world of bananas, a fruit that every American today knows and most of whom love on their breakfast cereal or as a mid-day, nutritious snack. Only, as I learned, bananas aren’t actually a fruit and little more than a century ago they were far from common, but rather quite exotic, a true luxury, displayed at the 1876 Centennial Exposition to crowds of gawking onlookers as if it came from another planet. Indeed, according to the author, a banana in 1900 was as unusual to the average American as an African cucumber is today. There’s a lot about the very familiar banana that I never knew. For instance, Cohen explains that the banana tree is actually the world’s largest herb, and thus its offspring, the banana, are technically berries. Even more fascinating, bananas grow from rhizomes, not seeds. In other words, cut appendages continue to grow, replicating the original. As Cohen describes it: “When you look at a banana, you’re looking at every banana, an infinite regression. There are no mutts, only the first fruit of a particular species and billions of copies. Every banana is a clone, in other words, a replica of an ur-banana that weighed on its stalk the first morning of man.” Believe it or not, the story of the banana gets even crazier. If you’ve ever wondered why old black-and-white films joked about slipping on a banana peel even though the banana peel that you’ve long known doesn’t feel particularly slippery, that’s because we have completely different bananas today. In the early nineteenth century, Americans were introduced to the “Big Mike,” a variety of banana that went extinct in 1965. It was bigger, tastier and more robust than the bananas we have today, according to Cohen, and their peels were far more slippery. The bananas we eat today are known as “Cavendish,” their primary benefit being immunity to the Panama disease that wiped out the Big Mike. Again, because bananas are all exact genetic copies, they are highly susceptible to rapid eradication from disease. Second, I’m a sucker for a great rags-to-riches story. The tale of Samuel Zemurray delivers that in spades. He arrived in America in 1891, a penniless Jew from what today is Moldova, and settled in the Deep South. (It may surprise many Americans but the South was far more hospitable to Jews for most our history. For instance, Jefferson Davis had two Jews in his Cabinet; Lincoln had none.) While still in his teens Zemurray recognized a business opportunity where other only saw trash: the ripe bananas that Boston Fruit discarded along the rail line in Mobile, Alabama before shipping off to Chicago and other northern metropolitan destinations. Zemurray was a natural entrepreneur; he had no particular affinity for bananas, it was just the opportunity at hand. “If he had settled in Chicago,” Cohen writes, “it would have been beef; if Pittsburgh, steel; if L.A., movies.” Zemurray quickly turned one man’s trash into cash, renting a boxcar to carry the castoff bananas along the slow rail route through the South, selling his cargo to local merchants at each Podunk rail stop until either his inventory ran out or spoiled. From such humble beginnings did a great international trading company eventually take root, Cuyamel Fruit, named after the river separating Honduras and Guatemala, the heartland of banana growing. By 1925, Cuyamel Fruit Company, the creation of an upstart Jewish immigrant banana jobber, had emerged as a serious threat to United Fruit, the undisputed king of the industry, a company that was led by Boston’s best, the sons of Brahmins. The threat was not because of Cuyamel’s size. In most ways United Fruit still dominated its aggressive rival (i.e. United Fruit was harvesting 40 million bunches a year with 150,000 employees and working capital of $27m, compared to Cuyamel’s 8 million bunches, 10,000 employees and $3m in working capital). The threat was that Cuyamel was a better run business and more innovative, leading the way with selective pruning, drainage, silting, staking and overhead irrigation. “U.F. was a conglomerate, a collection of firms bought up and slapped together,” Cohen writes. Cuyamel, by contrast, was a well-oiled machine, vertically integrated and led from the front by Zemurray, the ultimate owner-manager-worker. Cuyamel’s success was certainly no accident. It was the product of hard work, an obsessed owner-operator who understood his business at a visceral level, a skill earned over decades of hard, unglamorous work. Zemurray adhered to his own, classically American immigrant code of conduct: “get up first, work harder, get your hands in the dirt and the blood in your eyes.” Cohen describes his commitment and ultimate advantage this way: “Zemurray worked in the fields beside his engineers, planters, and machete men. He was deep in the muck, sweat covered, swinging a blade. He helped map the plantations, plant the rhizomes, clear the weeds, lay the track…unlike most of his competitors, he understood every part of the business, from the executive suite where the stock was manipulated to the ripening room where the green fruit turned yellow…By the time he was forty, he had served in every position from fruit jobber to boss. He worked on the docks, on the ships and railroads, in the fields and warehouses. He had ridden the mules. He had managed the fruit and money, the mercenaries and government men. He understood the meaning of every change in the weather, the significance of every date on the calendar.” Indeed, dedicated immigrants like Sam Zemurray have made America great. There’s nothing wrong with doing grunt work. In fact, it’s essential. United Fruit bought out Cuyamel in the early days of the stock market crash of 1929, when the former had a market share of 54% to the latter’s 14%. United Fruit’s profit was some $45m and its stock price $108. By 1932, profit was down to $6m and the stock languished at $10.25. “The company was caught in a death spiral,” according to Cohen. By January 1933, Zemurray used his massive stake and proxy votes to take over the company, claiming “I realized that the greatest mistake the United Fruit management had made was to assume it could run its activities in many tropical countries from an office on the 10th floor of a Boston office building.” The immigrant with dirt under his nails and a rumbled jacket knew the business better than the Ivy Leaguers with manicures and pinstriped suits. Indeed, the fish (Cuyamel Fruit) was swallowing the whale (United Fruit). Zemurray would run the company until 1951, arguably the most successful years of its history. In 1950, the company cleared $66m in profit. By 1960, profits would fall to just $2m. United Fruit collapsed, eventually restructuring and reinventing itself as Chiquita Brands, based in Cincinnati. When Zemurray started in the industry at the turn of the century, bananas were curiosities, a sidebar trade, something for the rich. By the time he retired, bananas were part of the daily American fabric, the interests of the industry consistent with that of political leadership in Washington. Indeed, some of the most illustrious and powerful men in government had close connections to United Fruit during the Zemurray era: CIA director Allen Dulles (member of the board of directors), secretary of state John Foster Dulles (U.F. legal counsel at Sullivan & Cromwell), New Deal fixer Tom Corcoran (paid lobbyist), UN Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge (large shareholder), among others. By the 1950s, Cohen writes, “it was hard to tell where the government ended and the company began.” At its height, Cohen says, United Fruit was “as ubiquitous as Google and as feared as Halliburton.” For anyone interested in business history, American politics in Central America or the development of the global fruit industry, “The Fish that Ate the Whale” is a book to own and savor. Read less
• How to Pronounce First, I love learning about different industries and commodities, how they developed over time, often over millennia, shaping world markets and modern political economies (e.g. cotton, gold, salt, cod, petroleum). “The Fish” provides a fascinating introduction to the world of bananas, a fruit that every American today knows and most of whom love on their breakfast cereal or as a mid-day, nutritious snack. Only, as I learned, bananas aren’t actually a fruit and little more than a century ago they were far from common, but rather quite exotic, a true luxury, displayed at the 1876 Centennial Exposition to crowds of gawking onlookers as if it came from another planet. Indeed, according to the author, a banana in 1900 was as unusual to the average American as an African cucumber is today. There’s a lot about the very familiar banana that I never knew. For instance, Cohen explains that the banana tree is actually the world’s largest herb, and thus its offspring, the banana, are technically berries. Even more fascinating, bananas grow from rhizomes, not seeds. In other words, cut appendages continue to grow, replicating the original. As Cohen describes it: “When you look at a banana, you’re looking at every banana, an infinite regression. There are no mutts, only the first fruit of a particular species and billions of copies. Every banana is a clone, in other words, a replica of an ur-banana that weighed on its stalk the first morning of man.” Believe it or not, the story of the banana gets even crazier. If you’ve ever wondered why old black-and-white films joked about slipping on a banana peel even though the banana peel that you’ve long known doesn’t feel particularly slippery, that’s because we have completely different bananas today. In the early nineteenth century, Americans were introduced to the “Big Mike,” a variety of banana that went extinct in 1965. It was bigger, tastier and more robust than the bananas we have today, according to Cohen, and their peels were far more slippery. The bananas we eat today are known as “Cavendish,” their primary benefit being immunity to the Panama disease that wiped out the Big Mike. Again, because bananas are all exact genetic copies, they are highly susceptible to rapid eradication from disease. Second, I’m a sucker for a great rags-to-riches story. The tale of Samuel Zemurray delivers that in spades. He arrived in America in 1891, a penniless Jew from what today is Moldova, and settled in the Deep South. (It may surprise many Americans but the South was far more hospitable to Jews for most our history. For instance, Jefferson Davis had two Jews in his Cabinet; Lincoln had none.) While still in his teens Zemurray recognized a business opportunity where other only saw trash: the ripe bananas that Boston Fruit discarded along the rail line in Mobile, Alabama before shipping off to Chicago and other northern metropolitan destinations. Zemurray was a natural entrepreneur; he had no particular affinity for bananas, it was just the opportunity at hand. “If he had settled in Chicago,” Cohen writes, “it would have been beef; if Pittsburgh, steel; if L.A., movies.” Zemurray quickly turned one man’s trash into cash, renting a boxcar to carry the castoff bananas along the slow rail route through the South, selling his cargo to local merchants at each Podunk rail stop until either his inventory ran out or spoiled. From such humble beginnings did a great international trading company eventually take root, Cuyamel Fruit, named after the river separating Honduras and Guatemala, the heartland of banana growing. By 1925, Cuyamel Fruit Company, the creation of an upstart Jewish immigrant banana jobber, had emerged as a serious threat to United Fruit, the undisputed king of the industry, a company that was led by Boston’s best, the sons of Brahmins. The threat was not because of Cuyamel’s size. In most ways United Fruit still dominated its aggressive rival (i.e. United Fruit was harvesting 40 million bunches a year with 150,000 employees and working capital of $27m, compared to Cuyamel’s 8 million bunches, 10,000 employees and $3m in working capital). The threat was that Cuyamel was a better run business and more innovative, leading the way with selective pruning, drainage, silting, staking and overhead irrigation. “U.F. was a conglomerate, a collection of firms bought up and slapped together,” Cohen writes. Cuyamel, by contrast, was a well-oiled machine, vertically integrated and led from the front by Zemurray, the ultimate owner-manager-worker. Cuyamel’s success was certainly no accident. It was the product of hard work, an obsessed owner-operator who understood his business at a visceral level, a skill earned over decades of hard, unglamorous work. Zemurray adhered to his own, classically American immigrant code of conduct: “get up first, work harder, get your hands in the dirt and the blood in your eyes.” Cohen describes his commitment and ultimate advantage this way: “Zemurray worked in the fields beside his engineers, planters, and machete men. He was deep in the muck, sweat covered, swinging a blade. He helped map the plantations, plant the rhizomes, clear the weeds, lay the track…unlike most of his competitors, he understood every part of the business, from the executive suite where the stock was manipulated to the ripening room where the green fruit turned yellow…By the time he was forty, he had served in every position from fruit jobber to boss. He worked on the docks, on the ships and railroads, in the fields and warehouses. He had ridden the mules. He had managed the fruit and money, the mercenaries and government men. He understood the meaning of every change in the weather, the significance of every date on the calendar.” Indeed, dedicated immigrants like Sam Zemurray have made America great. There’s nothing wrong with doing grunt work. In fact, it’s essential. United Fruit bought out Cuyamel in the early days of the stock market crash of 1929, when the former had a market share of 54% to the latter’s 14%. United Fruit’s profit was some $45m and its stock price $108. By 1932, profit was down to $6m and the stock languished at $10.25. “The company was caught in a death spiral,” according to Cohen. By January 1933, Zemurray used his massive stake and proxy votes to take over the company, claiming “I realized that the greatest mistake the United Fruit management had made was to assume it could run its activities in many tropical countries from an office on the 10th floor of a Boston office building.” The immigrant with dirt under his nails and a rumbled jacket knew the business better than the Ivy Leaguers with manicures and pinstriped suits. Indeed, the fish (Cuyamel Fruit) was swallowing the whale (United Fruit). Zemurray would run the company until 1951, arguably the most successful years of its history. In 1950, the company cleared $66m in profit. By 1960, profits would fall to just $2m. United Fruit collapsed, eventually restructuring and reinventing itself as Chiquita Brands, based in Cincinnati. When Zemurray started in the industry at the turn of the century, bananas were curiosities, a sidebar trade, something for the rich. By the time he retired, bananas were part of the daily American fabric, the interests of the industry consistent with that of political leadership in Washington. Indeed, some of the most illustrious and powerful men in government had close connections to United Fruit during the Zemurray era: CIA director Allen Dulles (member of the board of directors), secretary of state John Foster Dulles (U.F. legal counsel at Sullivan & Cromwell), New Deal fixer Tom Corcoran (paid lobbyist), UN Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge (large shareholder), among others. By the 1950s, Cohen writes, “it was hard to tell where the government ended and the company began.” At its height, Cohen says, United Fruit was “as ubiquitous as Google and as feared as Halliburton.” For anyone interested in business history, American politics in Central America or the development of the global fruit industry, “The Fish that Ate the Whale” is a book to own and savor. Read less
• How to Pronounce I was woken by an embarrassed giggle. “You’re not supposed to be awake. I must be really bad at this. Maybe I should try another time?” I looked toward the silhouette of a girl standing in front of the window, the curtains breathing softly behind her. I tried to stay calm but I could feel a twinge of panic as I addressed her form “Who are you? How did you get in my room?” “Ah, of course,” I heard her voice drip with a playful tone, “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Lilie, and I am a succubus.” My eyes had adjusted to the darkness now and I could see her full figure now. If this was a cosplay, it would be a really well done one. Her purple outfit seemed to accentuate her curves and the empty space between the criss-cross of fabric proudly displayed her cleavage and pale belly. Her thighs seemed to glow in the basking moonlight as the flesh was highlighted between her tiny bottom and stockings. Topping off her somewhat immodest dress were two tiny little horns that snuggled atop her red hair and the soft movement of her wings and tail behind her peeking out from the cutouts in her clothes. “I’m sure you’ve heard of us succubi,” Lilie continued as she slowly walked towards me, one leg in front of the other, crossing them slowly and deliberately as she inched forward, “As a succubus we have sex with humans as our nourishment, but we usually do so in their dreams, when they’re asleep. It seems I’ve screwed up this time.” She was inches in front of me now as she ran a finger from my waist up to my neck. “But I wonder how it’ll feel if my prey is conscious.” I felt myself pushed up against the wall as Lilie slowly ran a finger from my waist upward until it rested at my neck. I could almost feel a twinge of electricity at the path she traced. Lilie’s coy smile curled into a smug grin as she leaned up on her toes to bring her face closer to mine. I could hear my heart beat as I stared down at her face illuminated in the moonlight. Her batting eyelashes seemed to tease me. I swallowed to try and regain my composure but all I could hear was my pounding heart and smell the soft fragrance of some kind of fruit I couldn’t recognize. It felt like I was staring at her face for hours before either of us broke the silence. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid? If you are, why don’t you just try closing your eyes?” Lilie’s playful giggle seemed like a command and I could feel my eyelids descending as her face got closer and closer… It started with a warm softness pressed up against my lips. I could feel her tongue testing and caressing my lips-inviting them to open which I did with a bit of hesitation. I was surprised by the almost forcefulness of her tongue as it entered my mouth exploring every inch of mine, forcefully overwhelming me. I could feel myself blanking out as I tried to get a breath… Lilie let out a satisfied breath, licking her lips. Somehow after that exchange I was now lying on my bed with her seated atop me. Where she was sitting was no accident and she made sure to demonstrate that. “Mmm, yes,” Lilie whispered, licking her lips as she rocked back and forth grinding herself on me, “We succubi sometimes need an offering, just some bodily fluids from a human to start this process. It lets us get to intimately know someone’s thoughts so that we might transform into what they desire most. Now let’s see what is it that you desire.” I could feel myself getting harder and harder but Lilie made no effort to either stop or speed up, continuing her process of rubbing herself on my erection, occasionally twisting and gyrating her body in such a way that made me want to burst. “Yes, yes,” Lilie continued, smacking her lips a little, “I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re into now. And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I think I’m going to have my way with you n-” Lilie was no longer sitting upright on me but now on top of me. “Huh? Why can’t I move? What’s-” I could see Lilie’s look of surprise as she looked at her shoulders which were now completely smooth and devoid of arms. “My arms! Where are my arms?!” Lilie gave a startled scream and tried to push herself up but only succeeded in pressing her breasts against my chest as she squirmed and struggled. “I-is this what you’re into? Armless girls? Really?” In her attempts at getting up Lilie only succeeded in rolling herself off of me. I took this opportunity to move and be the one pinning her down now. “T-this is definitely a first for me, I didn’t expect something like this would happen at all!” Lilie let out a frustrated half groan, half moan. I watched as her shoulder moved a little as if she was trying to hide her face which was getting redder and redder with a blush. “Well, I guess I don’t mind it too much, as succubi are willing to go to any lengths to satisfy their...prey, but being armless like this, I feel so helpless and it’s honestly making me feel a bit weird...hey, stop staring at me like that! Do you like seeing an armless girl like this? Wait, you do! You do! Stop giving me that look, it’s as if I’m the one that’s the prey now!” The straps from her top had now fallen loose with nothing holding them up, her top was sliding off to reveal her breasts and one nipple was already almost out. “Well? Are you going to just keep staring at this armless succubus or are you actually going to do something about this helpless girl in front of you? You do know I still have my legs right?” As if to remind me, she pressed up her foot against my still stiff member and gave it a playful tease. As I bent down to pull her bottom off, I was stopped by her resting foot on my head. “Wait, before you do that, come up for a moment.” I stared at Lilie’s beautiful face nestled between two smooth armless shoulders. “Oh this is totally embarrassing since I don’t have arms and can’t do it myself but...before that, can you, um, can you kiss me again?” I didn’t need a second thought. Once again I felt myself her tongue wrap against mine, her armlessness evidently not changing her personality while kissing. As I felt my tongue melt into hers, Lilie had also wrapped her remaining limbs, her legs, around me, pulling me closer and closer into her. There was that same fiery passion as before that threatened to drag me in and consume me completely. I took a moment to catch my breath as I slowly lifted my lips from hers, a thin strand of saliva still hanging for a fraction of a second before falling away. We stared at each other in silence for a while as I listened to the soft sounds of Lilie’s breathing before she tightened her leg lock and leaned her small body closer to me as she whispered into my ear, “You better take responsibility for making me like this. Especially now that I’m totally helpless.” I could no longer feel Lilie’s legs wrapped around my waist as they too had now disappeared. Lilie looked smaller than ever as she wiggled on the bed with her clothes dangerously close to falling off her tiny frame. Pulling off her bottom was seamless as they slid off her smooth legless hips revealing her soft lower lips. I brushed aside her tail that she tried in vain to cover herself with and stared at my prize. It seemed to be swelling and pulsing as if it was crying out for me, and as I reached to bring my hand closer- “Come on! You’ve stared enough already! Do you know how embarrassing this is? Being limbless and revealed like this?” Lilie’s pussy seemed to twitch as she wiggled on the bed in frustration. “Fuck me already!” Lilie was silent as I prepared to enter her but she surprised me by suddenly shifting her weight so that I was plunged into her all at once. I heard a sharp uptake of air before Lilie let out a very satisfied breath that was almost a moan in pleasure. Lilie was warm, very warm, and being within her was like being in a fire that caressed and licked at me in waves of pleasure. It felt like I could feel her very heartbeat pounding and echoing through her as I was inside her. “C-come on, don’t just stand there, y-you’re fucking me remember?” Lilie stammered through her words a bit, “Use me like I’m the limbless fucktoy that I am now!” Indeed, Lilie’s tiny body was very reminiscent of a fucktoy, with no arms and legs but only her pussy adorning the end of her smooth and legless hips. I put my hands around her smooth shoulders and started moving. Each thrust seemed to reverberate pulses of pleasure between the two of us. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck me! More! Use me!” Lilie’s moans of pleasure echoed in my ears as I continued to user her soft supple body. Her tiny limbless body seemed hypnotic as it constantly drew me in and out of her. “W-wait,” Lilie managed to blurt out, “Do you think you could, um, pick me up?” To say she was light would be an understatement, but I was still surprised that I was now staring at the limbless succubus that was resting on my cock. “I’ve always wanted to try doing something like this, but I don’t have arms or legs right now so I can’t even put them around you. Do you think I can-? Hmmm, maybe…” I could see her starining her shoulders. She was trying to move her tiny wings so that they could reach me from behind her. It was a bit embarrassing feeling myself getting even harder inside her as I watched her struggle. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, as I put my arms around her, “I’ll just hold you enough for the both of us.” I squeezed her into a deep hug as I continued to fuck her. Lilie’s wings flapped energetically as I watched her face deep in ecstasy. Lilie’s tail was also whipping back and forth, and I couldn’t help but reach a hand around it, grabbing one of her remaining body parts. Lilie let out a yelp and I could feel her immediately tighten up, clamping down on me with such a force that I didn’t even have time to react before exploding inside her. “Hehe~” the limbless succubus whispered as she lay on top of me, “thanks for the meal~” ************************************************************************************************************* It was not the sun that woke me up, but the soft rustling of sheets next to me. I watched as Lilie tried to brush the hair from her face with a tiny arm stump. “You’re still here? I thought succubi were the demons of the night.” I yawned before brushing aside the lock of hair that was on her face. Lilie’s eyes slowly blinked a few times before focusing on me. “Well, maybe if someone wasn’t weird and liked amputee girls I could have actually left!” Lilie examined her tiny stumps, barely a few inches long. “Even after all that last night I haven’t even regrown my limbs up to the joints! Ugh! This is all your fault you know!” Lilie flopped onto me with the vantage granted by her tiny leg stumps. “Since this is all your fault, you better be responsible and feed me a lot more! Got it?”