Language Theory And Automata

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• exposé - matière potentielle : the hypothesis
• mémoire
• exposé - matière potentielle : s
• exposé
• cours - matière potentielle : overview
• expression écrite

8/31/11 1 CS240 Language Theory And Automata Fall 2011 Introduction •  You are about to embark on the study of a fascinating and important subject: the theory of computation –  Fundamental mathematical properties of computer hardware, software, and certain applications of these –  Seek to determine •  What can and cannot be computed •  How quickly something can be computed •  How much memory is needed to compute something •  Which type of computational model can be used Obvious connections with engineering practice, but also purely philosophical aspects Why study this stuff? • Theoretical computer science has many fascinating big ideas, but also many small and sometimes dull details –  The more

• strings from alphabet σ - σ
• practice with formal definitions of computation
• uncountable sets
• finite subset
• mathematical notation
• definitions
• elements
• statement
• theory
• computer

Sujets

• Mémoire
• Exposé
• Overview
• Computer
• Mathematics
• Theory
• Computation
• Définition

Informations

• Publié par: orzi
• Nombre de lectures: 17
• Langue: English

Extrait

CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN
Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr.
Ernestine Gilbreth Carey


The hilarious, heartwarming classic about America’s best-loved family.


CHAPTER 1
Whistles and Shaving Bristles

Dad was a tall man with a large head, jowls, and a Herbert Hoover collar.
He was no longer slim; he had passed the two-hundred-pound mark during
his early thirties, and left it so far behind that there were times when he had
to resort to railway baggage scales to ascertain his displacement. But he
carried himself with the self-assurance of a successful gentleman who was
proud of his wife proud of his family, and proud of his business
accomplishments.
Dad had enough gall to be divided into three parts, and the ability and
poise to backstop the front he placed before the world. He'd walk into a
factory like the Zeiss works in Germany or the Pierce Arrow plant in this
country and announce that he could speed up production by one-fourth. He'd
do it too.
One reason he had so many children--there were twelve of us -- was that
he was convinced anything he and Mother teamed up on was sure to be a
success.
Dad always practiced what he preached, and it was just about impossible
to tell where his scientific management company ended and his family life
began. His office was always full of children, and he often took two or three
of us, and sometimes all twelve, on business trips. Frequently, we'd tag
along at his side, pencils and notebooks in our hands, when Dad toured a
factory, which had hired him as an efficiency expert.
On the other hand our house at Montclair, New Jersey, was a sort of
school for scientific management and the elimination of wasted motions-or
“motion study,” as Dad and Mother named it.
Dad took moving pictures of us children washing dishes, so that he could
figure out how we could reduce our motions and thus hurry through the task.
Irregular jobs, such as painting the back porch or removing a stump from the front lawn, were awarded on a low-bid basis. Each child who wanted extra
pocket money submitted a sealed bid saying what he would do the job for.
The lowest bidder got the contract.
Dad installed process and work charts in the bathrooms. Every child old
enough to write - and Dad expected his offspring to start writing at a tender
age - was required to initial the charts in the morning after he had brushed
his teeth, taken a bath combed his hair, and made his bed. At night each
child had to weigh himself, plot the figure on a graph, and initial the process
charts again after he had done his homework washed his hands and face, and
brushed his teeth Mother wanted to have a place on the charts for saying
prayers, but Dad said as far as he was concerned prayers were voluntary.
It was regimentation, all right. But bear in mind the trouble most parents
have in getting just one child off to school, and multiply it by twelve. Some
regimentation was necessary to prevent bedlam. Of course there were times
when a child would initial the charts without actually having fulfilled the
requirements. However, Dad had a gimlet eye and a terrible swift sword.
The combined effect was that truth usually went marching on.
Yes, at home or on the job, Dad was always the efficiency expert. He
buttoned his vest from the bottom up; instead of from the top down, because
the bottom-to-top process took him only three seconds, while the top to
bottom took seven. He even used two shaving brushes to lather his face
because he found that by so doing he could cut seventeen seconds of his
shaving time. For a while he tried shaving with two razors, but he finally
gave that up.
“I can save forty-four seconds,” he grumbled, “but I wasted two minutes
this morning putting this bandage on my throat.”
It wasn't the slashed throat that really bothered him. It was the two
minutes.
Some people used to say that Dad had so many children he couldn't keep
track of them, Dad himself used to tell a story about one time when Mother
went off to fill a lecture engagement and left him in charge at home. When
Mother retuned, she asked him if everything had run smoothly.
“Didn't have any trouble except with that one over there,” he replied. “But
a spanking brought him into line.”
Mother could handle any crisis without losing her composure.
“That’s not one of ours, dear,” she said. “He belongs next door.”
None of us remember it and maybe it never happened. Dad wasn't above
stretching the truth because there was nothing he liked better than a joke,
particularly if it were on him and even more particularly if it were on Mother. This much is certain though. There were two red-haired children
who lived next door, and the Gilbreth’s all are blondes or red heads.
Although he was a strict taskmaster within his home, Dad tolerated no
criticism of the family from outsiders. Once a neighbor complained that a
Gilbreth had called the neighbor's boy a son of an unprintable word.
“What are the facts of the matter?” Dad asked blandly. And then walked
away while the neighbor registered a double take
But Dad hated unprintable words, and the fact that he had stood up for his
son didn't prevent him from holding a full-dress court of inquiry once he got
home, and administering the called-for punishment.
Dad was happiest in a crowd, especially a crowd of kids. Whereas he was,
you'd see a string of them trailing him - and the ones with plenty of freckles
were pretty sure to be Gilbreths.
He had a way with children and knew how to keep them on their toes. He
had a respect for them, too, and didn't mind showing it.
He believed that most adults stopped thinking the day they left school-and
some even before that. “A child, on the other hand, stays impressionable and
eager to learn. Catch one young enough,” Dad insisted, “and there's no limit
to what you can teach.”
Really, it was love of children more than anything else that made him
want a pack of his own. Even with a dozen, he wasn’t fully satisfied.
Sometimes he'd look us over and say to Mother:
“Never you mind, Lillie. You did the best you could.”

We children used to suspect, though, that one reason he had wanted a large
family was to assure himself of an appreciative audience, even within the
confines of the home. With us around, he could always be sure of a full
house, packed to the galleries.
Whenever Dad returned from a trip-even if he had been gone only a day--
he whistled the family “assembly call” as he turned in at the sidewalk of our
large, brown home in Montclair. The call was a tune he had composed. He
whistled it loud and shrill, by doubling his tongue behind his front teeth. It
took considerable effort and Dad, who never exercised if he could help it,
usually ended up puffing with exhaustion.
The call was important. It meant drop everything and come running--or
risk dire consequences. At the first note Gilbreth children came dashing
from all corners of the house and yard. Neighborhood dogs, barking
hellishly, converged for blocks around. Heads popped out of the windows of
near-by houses. Dad gave the whistle often. He gave it when he had an important family
announcement that he wanted to be sure everyone would hear. He gave it
when he was bored and wanted some excitement with his children. He gave
it when he had invited a friend home and wanted both to introduce the friend
to the whole family and to show the friend how quickly the family could
assemble. On such occasions, Dad would click a stopwatch, which he
always carried in his vest pocket.
Like most of Dad's ideas, the assembly calls, while something more than
nuisance made sense. This was demonstrated in particular one day when a
bonfire of leaves in the driveway got out of control and spread to the side of
the house. Dad whistled, and the house was evacuated in fourteen seconds--
eight seconds off the all-time record. That occasion also was memorable
because of the remarks of a frank neighbor, who watched the blaze from his
yard. During the height of the excitement the neighbor's wife came to the
front door and called to her husband:
“What’s going on?”
The Gilbreths' house is on fire,” he replied, “thank God!”
“Shall I call the fire department?” she shouted.
“What's the matter, are you crazy?” the husband answered incredulously.
Anyway, the fire was put out quickly and there was no need to ask the fire
department for help.
Dad whistled assembly when be wanted to find out who had been using
his razor or who had spilled ink on his desk. He whistled it when he had
special jobs to assign or errands to be run. Mostly, though, he sounded the
assembly call when he was about to distribute some wonderful surprises,
with the biggest and best going to the one who reached him first.
So when we heard him whistle, we never knew whether to expect good
news or bad, rags or riches. But we did know for sure we'd better get there in
a hurry.
Sometimes as we all came running to the front door, he'