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searching as long as the girls might need their help.
Around 2:00 p.m., after scouting nearly six miles, they came to a ridge with a steep, deep ravine about fifty feet below. It was covered almost entirely with heavy brush, and the boys thought it might be a good hiding place.
The scouts half-slid, half-stumbled down the steep bank, clutching at chaparral and wild oats to stay on their feet. As they reached the gully floor, <PERSON> came around a bend in the gully wall and froze.
He saw <PERSON>'s feet and then her blood-specked legs and the rope tight around her neck, only a couple of inches around.
The other scouts looked on in horror, their stomachs reeling and unpredictable. They knew the other girls' bodies might be close by, but the ravine was so choked with shrubbery and undergrowth that a search might take too long—too long when they knew they had to get word back to the police.
Another patrol of five scouts was close behind and quickly arrived at the scene, agreeing to stand watch while <PERSON>'s group went for help. The boys ran as fast as they could, walking only when they needed to catch their breath. They finally came to a highway and flagged down an oil worker with a car who drove them to the contact point, where they caught a ride into town to the Inglewood police station. <PERSON> and his friends were breathless and wild-eyed as they reported their find.
IT WAS EERILY quiet as the teams of investigators surveyed the scene. The silence was punctuated only by mumbled expressions of disbelief, the click and whine of the police cameras and the sounds of brush beneath the men's boots. The men, many of them seasoned professionals with years of experience at crime scenes, had never seen anything like it. Most were rendered speechless when they saw those girls. Strangled and mercilessly violated from what appeared to be multiple, repeated sexual assaults. Adding to the horror was the fact that none of the investigators could tell if the assaults had been pre- or post-mortem. They must have silently prayed for the latter.
When they lifted <PERSON>'s body, they found a little bag under her tortured corpse. It was the type of bag drugstores used for prescription medicines. An officer carefully collected it.
As the men started to move the bodies from the ravine, most removed their shoes to keep from sliding on the wild oats and dry grass. One of the men wondered aloud if the killer maybe told the girls to take off their shoes for the same reason. He could have explained that he didn't want them to slide too far down the ravine but done so knowing they couldn't escape as easily with their shoes off. The other men shook their heads in continued horror.
Just up from where they found <PERSON>'s body, closer to the entrance to the ravine, an investigator found the thermos of milk and <PERSON>'s <PERSON> book.
About a half mile away, another investigator stumbled on
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a hand on his arm. They stood quietly, silently wondering when—if—things like birthdays would ever matter again.
ON SATURDAY AFTER the first day in court, <PERSON> pleaded with his jailers to see his wife. "She can help me. I know she can. I want to talk to her." The guards ignored <PERSON>'s pleas and distracted him with offers of more cigarettes.
THE JURY
California Superior Court, Los Angeles, California
Monday, August 9, 1937
JURY SELECTION RESUMED on Monday—a full day—and on Tuesday, <PERSON> continued the voir dire process by hitting potential jurors hard with previews of the case—nooses pulled tight, bloody clothing, violent sexual attacks, mutilated bodies, the little shoes in a row. He calmly instructed them. As a juror, you must dispassionately weigh the evidence and determine whether the defendant <PERSON> committed these acts. We will ask you to review the evidence in detail. You will have to relive the crime over and over again.
Suddenly, juror <PERSON>, a retired rancher, rose to his feet and cried out. "I feel that I can't stand this. I'm sure I could not stand it if I had to sit here two or three weeks and hear the details of such a horrible crime."
The judge quickly took control. He seated an alternate in Mr. <PERSON>'s place and asked everyone to please concentrate anew. <PERSON> picked up where he left off and with even more intensity. The remaining jurors seemed to be bracing themselves.
Then the day got even stranger.
<PERSON> laughed out loud in court as one of the prospective jurors expounded at length about his personal theory of the doctrine of reasonable doubt. Then <PERSON> asked a bailiff for paper and pencil and began taking voluminous notes, leaning forward and back, holding his forehead as he wrote. Everyone was disturbed by his strange behavior and after the morning session, reporters asked again for jailhouse interviews with <PERSON>, with no success. <PERSON> and <PERSON> always kept <PERSON> away from the press, describing how it was impossible to talk to him. "After we talk to him five minutes he goes so completely up in the air it is hours before he calms down," <PERSON> explained.
But after court adjourned at 4:30 that day, <PERSON> and <PERSON> finally granted reporters access to the accused. Flanked by his attorneys, <PERSON> proceeded to repudiate his confession a fourth time.
"I didn't do it. I couldn't do such a thing. This is a terrible thing for an innocent man to have to face. The right man will come along some day and really confess to those crimes after I'm dead and gone and then it will be too late to save me. My foster mother took me out of an orphanage when I was four years old and she raised me. She knows I never had anything wrong with me that would make me do that terrible thing.
"Those poor children! I felt terrible when I first heard they were missing. If I had done it you don't think I would have gone out
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dietary changes can they make?
It is true that Asians in particular are vulnerable to coronary disease and diabetes, and have a tendency to abdominal obesity. Try the following tips.
•Fried foods should be avoided.
•Eat low-fat yoghurt, semi-skimmed or skimmed milk and reduced fat cheeses instead of full-fat versions.
•Try casseroling, boiling, grilling, steaming, poaching or microwave cooking instead of adding fat or oil. Some vegetables, such as fenugreek (methi), aubergines and karelas, soak up more oil in during cooking.
•Try to make minced meat dishes and dhals without fat and avoid using oil in the cooking.
•Remove visible fat from meats.
•Do not spread fat on chapattis and do not add oil or ghee to the chapatti dough.
•Reduce deep fried snacks, e.g. chevdon, sev, samosas, puris, pakoras and chips.
•Switch from creamy salad dressing to low-fat yoghurt based dressing.
There is an excellent information sheet on this website: www.heartuk.org.uk (number 03).
We have a full social life and I am often out during the week at business lunches. How can I avoid fatty foods when I am out?
If you are going to family or friends, tell your host that you have been told to lose weight and what you need to do about it. They will understand and because they will now know that you don't eat fatty foods or sweet desserts, any embarrassment will be avoided.
The following tips apply to eating in restaurants.
•Avoid the cocktails (tomato juice and mineral water are just as fashionable these days).
•Avoid fried appetisers or cream soups – select minestrone or gazpacho soups.
•Choose a fresh fruit starter such as melon.
•Look for the grilled fish or poultry and ask for any sauces to be left off.
•Grilled Dover sole and a salad are a good standby.
•Remove the skin from poultry and don't eat fatty meat.
•Take a salad with vinegar and oil instead of mayonnaise.
•At a salad bar, avoid cream dressings, cheese, olives, bacon bits and croûtons.
•Have fresh vegetables such as spinach or carrots. Ask for sauces or butter to be left off vegetables or put 'on the side'.
•Order baked or boiled new potatoes in their skins.
•At Oriental restaurants, have a stir-fry of chicken or fish and vegetables. Steamed rice is better than fried. Resist sweet 'n sour dishes and banana or apple fritters.
•In Italian restaurants, avoid creamy sauces.
•In Indian restaurants, have plain tandoori or tikka with a salad and steamed or boiled rice, rather than those dishes which come in thick sauces. Indian cooking involves a lot of fat and sometimes coconut so, in general, menu options should be very carefully selected. Ask if you are not sure how certain dishes are cooked.
•Dessert can be fresh fruit or sorbet – try to avoid cream.
•Enjoy a glass of wine and perhaps finish with black coffee (decaffeinated if you are prone to palpitations – see Chapter 6).
Some restaurants now have items marked as being low in fat. Airlines also often offer this when meal options are presented.
If you are
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they make you feel drowsy.
Is it a disaster if I forget to collect my prescription and run out of tablets?
You must try not to run out of your tablets as you may get rebound chest pain. Your chemist will give you some until you get your prescription renewed: it is dangerous to stop beta-blockers suddenly (see question above about stopping tablets suddenly).
My doctor prescribed beta-blockers some time ago and now has put me on nitrates as well. Is this safe?
Yes, the combination is very effective. For example, you may be given atenolol plus isosorbide mononitrate.
Calcium antagonists
What are calcium antagonists (calcium blockers)?
Calcium is an ion (an electrically charged particle) which increases the tone of muscles and strengthens the contraction of the muscle. The muscle in the wall of the artery depends on calcium for its tone, so if the movement of calcium into the muscle cell is 'antagonised' or 'blocked', the muscle will relax. As the muscle relaxes the artery becomes bigger, blood flow increases and the demands on the heart decrease.
Do calcium antagonists act in the same way as nitrates?
In a way, yes. They both increase the size of arteries but by different mechanisms. In combination they may have an additive effect, so you may be prescribed both.
Can I take calcium antagonists with beta-blockers?
Only some calcium antagonists. Verapamil must never be taken with a beta-blocker because of the danger of slowing the heart too dramatically. Diltiazem is used cautiously by some hospitals. Amlodipine, felodipine and nifedipine are quite safe and effective in combination with beta-blockers. Never mix your medications without first checking with your doctor or pharmacist.
I have not got on well with verapamil so my doctor plans to change my medication to nifedipine. Are there differences between the various types of calcium antagonists?
There are several calcium antagonists on the market and they have some differences which are important. Verapamil and diltiazem slow the heart rate as well as widening blood vessels, so they are a good alternative to beta-blockers, if beta-blockers are not suitable for you (for instance if you have asthma) or they are giving you unacceptable side effects. The calcium antagonists amlodipine, felodipine and nifedipine do not slow your heart rate and are often used in combination with beta-blockers.
Will I experience any side effects with calcium antagonists?
There are plenty of calcium antagonists on the market, so if you are prescribed one that does not suit you, tell your doctor so that your medication can be changed. Two common effects you are likely to experience are headaches and flushing, because these medications open up the arteries.
Another common side effect is swollen ankles and this does not respond to water tablets (diuretics; see the section Treatment in Chapter 5). Ankle swelling may improve as the dose is decreased but often the tablets have to be discontinued. Verapamil and diltiazem are less likely to lead to swollen ankles.
Constipation can be a problem if you are taking verapamil (and more so the older you get). High-fibre
|
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we have no idea where
our roots went so suddenly.
II. _Architecture in Ruins_
Third floor of the doll factory,
ferns suck carbon
and sharper chemicals from air
near the women working.
They're hunched over tables
of warped wood.
Half of everyone is painting
eyes and lashes on porcelain heads, the rest
are threading hands to sleeves.
Outside in the courtyard
a smattering of doves rise.
Have you ever wanted to
kiss a stranger's hands?
III. _Gardens Without Bats or Moss_
<PERSON> writes to <PERSON> that in his painting he wants to suggest
the idea of suffering—without ever explaining what kind.
IV. _In Stone Archways_
The light is spilt green milk, which is languorous
as the red monkey <PERSON> painted
by the brown body of <PERSON>
the Javanese. At the Chinese Market
I buy two red teacups and a can
of coconut milk. I think—
<PERSON> wouldn't know
how <PERSON> loved that monkey
and sang to him late at night.
Everywhere the sea screams
at me. A great pink slab of octopus arm,
beside it, babies seasoned in orange spices.
Such symmetry! Surely they swam
through the night like thirsty
flowers. I think you had it right
when you said love is the mathematics
of distance. Split like a clam on ice,
I feel raw, half-eaten. I rot
in the cold blue of the ego,
the crushed velvet of <PERSON>'s chair.
### PREPARING FOR SLEEP
_—after <PERSON>_
Water snakes fall from her mouth like a knot of silk
loosed. Fire is no companion here, the voice says
to her, the small moon a pot of boiling milk
that keeps pouring into her dress. At night before bed
he fills a glass of water, unbuttons his shabby coat.
Against the plaster in the corner, the portrait
of <PERSON> salutes. _Le Douanier_ wanders alone
through _Le Jardin des Plantes_ , Paris. Listening for the hoof
of water in the thick, dark stems, the form
by which thirst hauls itself from the ground. On the roof
of his flat, he paints in the herbarium. Lying
on the pink divan where he can't stare enough
at the jungle that arranges its foliage against the day
so naturally. It plays for him, is never quite the same:
bromeliads uncurl, strange beasts pad in with moonlit eyes,
a spoonbill tiptoes past and is arrested into frame.
The paintbrush renders. Poverty fatigues. But between
parallel lives he finds he's deeply happy, unashamed
of his eccentricities and need to paint things
to which no one attaches belief.
The dark woman returns each night to his dreams
with a mandolin, stretched against dunes and fast asleep.
|
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_one_ at all.
I was in Belfast, you were hospitalized and
tested. I kept dreaming of doctors with enormous hands
abusing flowers.
And of a sericulture room, dimly lit
where the single
long filaments of silkworms
were drawn from empty cocoons
by machines—
My entomology professor once said:
_On the cephalothorax of the brown recluse
there is a pattern like a violin_.
Forgive me this old habit. There is a danger
in making suffering beautiful.
This is what I realized that night in that divided city.
After playing the wretched hostel piano, I wrote:
_Dear N_ ,
_I want to cut off my hair
and tie it into brushes
so I can paint the city of Belfast
in its true humanity_.
_All day long I passed an artist's studio
where the clay arms and hands of women
were displayed in the window_.
_Small hands to hold such a city_.
_Love_ ,
_K_
### GRANDFATHER OUTSIDE
_There are sadnesses which cast in one's soul the shadows of monasteries_.
—E. M. Cioran
We arrived too late for the sundial.
The monks were bats circling
stone paths: we watched
the glow of their lamps in the garden
as they pulled the onions
for our meal. That night I dreamt
you and I were walking
underwater. Orange jellyfish
rose like suns. We couldn't speak.
So slowly, we moved together
against the tide. Until you
disappeared into a submarine wood
not unlike the one bordering
the monastery
that long night in Romania.
Near midnight, the monks sang
through blue corridors of incense
as if tuning the dark
to the low note of their devotion.
The halos of each painted saint
glowed like winter wheat.
They said they kept their mass
through the dead of night
so that <PERSON>, crying falcon,
plummeting alone
through Gethsemane
would be caught by the threads
of a net so loyal it stretched
backwards through time. I never knew
that days were held together by singing.
Or that those who suffered
could be attended to
long after they had gone.
Now, one year after your death
the radio crackles Rachmaninoff—
a nocturne that won't end.
Alone in the sacristy, I found the ankle
bone of <PERSON>. Displayed
in a carved foot of wood. I could
imagine his ghost walking those
grounds. Wild in the garden, baptizing
piles of raw beets as they split in the sun.
Maybe tonight he'll bless me.
With a simple gift, one a ghost could
give. Something like snow falling
over the morning you died. Emptying
yourself into the exhausted
arms of a hospital bed.
### OF THE BEACHCOMBERS UNDER AIRPLANE'S X
We wander up among sea oats with birds of paradise eyes. The
|
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|
in China as <PERSON> and in Japan as <PERSON>, is particularly venerated in these two countries. <PERSON> is often assimilated to <PERSON>, who is venerated in Tibet as the Consort of Avalokiteshvara (see p. 89).
A <PERSON> can be said to be one who has come from Heaven to earth in order to reveal the path that leads from earth to Heaven (i.e. the achieving of Nirvāna from the starting-point of samsāra—the achieving of the Absolute from the starting-point of the relative). A <PERSON>, for his part, is a helping, compassionate, salvific, and Nirvanic presence within samsāra itself. His role may be compared to the Christian doctrine of the Holy Spirit as an ever-present Helper in this world.
In a certain sense, it could be said that the grace of the <PERSON> is static or intrinsic, and the grace of the <PERSON> dynamic or extrinsic. <PERSON> has given a metaphysical exposition of the relationship of the <PERSON> and the Bodhisattva as follows: The three fundamental attributes of the Divine Nature—the three fundamental hypostases of Unity—are Absoluity, Infinity, and Perfection. These may be symbolized geometrically as Center, Radii, and Circumference. In Christian terms, the Father is the Absolute (the Center), the Holy Spirit is the Infinite (the Radii), and the Son is the Perfect (the Circumference—the Incarnation of God in the world). In Buddhist terms, Nirvāna is the Absolute (the Center), the Bodhisattva is the Infinite (the Radii), and the <PERSON> is the Perfect (the Circumference—in this case, the presence of Nirvāna in samsāra). In both cases, the Infinite is the Radii emerging from the Center and returning to it. This symbolical way of looking at things enables us to see, firstly, the respective functions of the <PERSON> and the Bodhisattva, and also the analogy between the functions of the Holy Spirit and the Bodhisattva.
Bodhisattva Kshitigarbha, <PERSON> period, Japan
### The Bodhisattva's Undertaking
I take upon myself... the deeds of all beings, even those in the hells, in the other worlds, and in the realms of punishment.... I take their suffering upon me,... I bear it, I do not draw back from it, I do not tremble at it, I have no fear of it,... I do not lose heart.... I must bear the burden of all beings, for I have vowed to save all things living, to bring them safe through the forest of birth, age, disease, birth, and re-birth. I think not of my own salvation, but strive to bestow on all beings the royalty of supreme wisdom. So I take upon myself all the sorrows of all beings. I resolve to bear every torment in every purgatory of the universe. For it is better that I alone should suffer than that the multitude of living beings should suffer. I give myself in exchange. I redeem the universe from the forest of purgatory, from the womb of flesh, from the realm of death. I agree to suffer as a ransom for all beings, and for the sake of all beings. Truly I will not abandon them. For I have
|
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|
table on the preceding page, the union of the "Subject" with the "Object", of the Invoker with the Invoked, of the Lover (masculine) with the Beloved (feminine) results in Ānanda or "Bliss". In Buddhist tantra this spiritual union is called Mahāsukha ("the Great Bliss"). This is symbolized in Tibetan art by the tantric statue of Yab-Yum (literally "father-mother"), which portrays the loving union of the masculine and the feminine principles.
The mantra Om Mani Padme Hum
("O Thou Jewel in the Lotus, hail!")
His Holiness the 13th Dalai Lama, lama tulku of Avalokiteshvara
Take heed of the lives of the saints, the law of karma, the miseries of worldly existence..., the certainty of death, and the uncertainty of the time of death. Weigh these things in your minds, and devote yourselves to the study and practice of Remembrance.
Milarepa
### iv. <PERSON> and <PERSON>
In order to understand the roles of the Panchen Lama and <PERSON>, it is necessary to take into account the "celestial principles" (i.e., the <PERSON> or Bodhisattva) which they represent. These are respectively <PERSON> and Avalokiteshvara. (See the tables on pp. 72-73.)
<PERSON> is the <PERSON> (or Aspect of the one and universal <PERSON>) who presides over the "Western Paradise" (i.e. the state entered by those who achieve salvation through the invocation of the Name of Amitābha).
Avalokiteshvara (known as "<PERSON>" in Tibetan) is the Bodhisattva who represents one of the main qualities of Amitābha, namely Mercy or Compassion. <PERSON> is said to emerge from the forehead of <PERSON>.
A lama tulku is a human being who has the function of incarnating a "celestial principle". (The various lama tulkus are sometimes, perhaps misleadingly, referred to as "Living Buddhas".) The Panchen Lama, whose traditional residence is in Shigatse, is the lama tulku who incarnates Amitābha (the Buddha of the "Western Paradise"). The Dalai Lama, whose traditional residence is in Lhasa, is the lama tulku who incarnates Avalokiteshvara (the Bodhisattva of Mercy or Compassion).
Since <PERSON> is hierarchically inferior to <PERSON>, <PERSON> is hierarchically inferior to <PERSON>. But this does not detract from the importance in practice of <PERSON>, who has the specific function of "Protector of Tibet". He fulfills this function, not merely by being both temporal ruler and supreme religious authority, but also by exercising what is known in the Buddhist world as an "activity of presence". As lama tulku of <PERSON> or <PERSON> (the Bodhisattva of Compassion), the Dalai Lama is the incarnation of this "celestial principle", and through him, it radiates, protectively, over the Tibetan people and their religion. It is this "activity of presence" that is the essential role of the Dalai Lama.
The office of lama tulku of <PERSON> is transmitted from one Dalai Lama to the next by means of a certain traditional process which is described by <PERSON> in his book Seven Years in Tibet.
If <PERSON> possesses the providential function of Protector of Tibet, it may be asked why it was possible for him
|
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|
* Smoked cheeses (like mozzarella, Gouda, and Cheddar)
* Taleggio
WISCONSIN BRICK CHEESE
A Wisconsin made washed rind cow's milk cheese with excellent melting properties. It was originally developed by Swiss born cheese maker <PERSON> in 1877 while working in a Limburger cheese factory in New York. He created Brick to be a less "smelly" cheese by using lower amounts of bacterial rub during the aging process. He then brought the process to Wisconsin, where he taught his method to many other cheese makers. There are a now a number of Wisconsin cheese companies that produce this cheese, among them Zimmerman Cheese, Widmer's (probably the closest in method to the original Jossi version), and Klondike Cheese, as well as many others. <PERSON>, of Zimmerman Cheese, suggested to me that a more available and affordable cheese, with similar buttery flavor properties is Muenster. Brick cheese has a close association with Detroit-style deep-pan pizzas. It also has a wonderful buttery texture and flavor and it melts beautifully. However, it is not easy to find at retail markets, and there are many other cheeses that make good substitutions. The cheese that performs most like brick cheese in terms of buttery flavor and creaminess is Muenster, but combining mozzarella and Cheddar, or fontina and provolone, are also excellent swap-outs. In some of the following recipes, specific alternatives are suggested.
PORTIONING AND PANNING THE DOUGH
You can use virtually any shape or size pan to make the pizzas in this book. After making the dough, you'll simply need to weigh out the appropriate portion for the pan you're using (see this page). You can do this either by putting the portioned dough into the pan before the final rise in the fridge or on the following day, after the bulk dough has gone through this final rest and has fully risen in the refrigerator (a cold fermentation technique known as retarding the dough). Both are valid options.
The advantage of portioning the dough before the overnight retarding is that it saves a step the following day, when you begin "dimpling," or pressing out the dough with your finger tips to fill the pan; it also saves about an hour of rising time. The disadvantage is that the pan may take up too much space in your refrigerator, in which case the bowl or container method is better. On the other hand, the disadvantage of the dough in bulk is that when you divide and weigh it for panning, the gluten tightens up, making it more difficult to spread the dough in the pan, adding about an hour of additional resting time to the process (which has been factored into the recipe instructions). Yet this method does save refrigerator space and allows you to retard more dough than you need for one pizza. The dough also will hold very nicely in the refrigerator for 3 or 4 days for subsequent bakes, or can be frozen for up to 3 months.
Dimpling
There are many ways to fill a pan with dough. In theory, you
|
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to making world-class bread from flour, water, salt, and yeast is to draw out the natural sweetness trapped in the complex carbohydrates. This takes time.
In all fermentation processes, from beer making to bread baking, the flavors emerge slowly from the ingredients, coaxed out by the brewmaster or winemaker through an understanding of the relationship between time, temperature, biological processes, and ingredients. The key biological process is the effect of enzymes on the proteins and, more important, on the starches. Enzymes, in effect, break apart the molecules by acting like little wedges, freeing up the simple sugars trapped in the complex carbohydrates. This takes at least five to seven hours to properly accomplish, making it possible to make and bake the dough on the same day, but only under a watchful eye and patient hand.
If you are a home cook, the best way to take advantage of the role that enzymes play in fermentation is to use the refrigerator as a primary tool. The fundamental fermentation activity of yeast is to convert the simple sugars liberated by the enzymes into alcohol and carbon dioxide. The carbon dioxide is what raises, or leavens, the dough, and the alcohol is baked off in the oven, leaving a residual, but not primary, flavor in the finished product. The goal for bakers is to let enzyme activity draw out the maximum natural sugar trapped in the starchy carbohydrates while controlling the amount of sugar converted by the yeast. By putting the dough in the refrigerator soon after it is mixed and letting it ferment overnight, the goal is achieved since the cool temperature slows yeast activity while the enzymes continue to break down the starches. Thus, less sugar is converted to carbon dioxide and alcohol, leaving more of it available to our palates as flavor.
I learned this delayed-fermentation technique from Parisian baker <PERSON>, and I have found that it evokes the maximum flavor potential inherent in the flour. The color of the crust also benefits from this technique because, like the flavor, it is related to the amount of sugar released by the flour while it ferments. It is the caramelizing of these sugars that creates the rich golden color we admire visually. Although flavor is always paramount, we eat first with our eyes, and a golden crusts looks and tastes better. The final plus of using the refrigerator for fermentation is that it allows you more flexibility in your schedule: you can take up to three days to bake off your pizzas. I am not kidding when I say that the one trick of chilling your pizza dough will improve any recipe that you are currently using.
In every recipe, regardless of the type of dough, the guiding principle is to use a method that will deliver the best flavor and the best appearance. To that end, oil, sugar, honey, or milk is sometimes added to doughs for texture or to balance out some of the hardness of the gluten proteins. Fats and sugars create softness because they are hydroscopic, that is,
|
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follows is slapstick, <PERSON>,
it takes him five minutes
to fall into a car
Meanwhile there is music being made
Giving the ultimate gift: your own
poisoned pill
to another's hand
just before atrocity
It's always sad to leave the earth
Don't forget your little shoes
Don't forget to tie them tight
Somehow, the plane takes off, though the pilot
is reading a how-to book on suicide
and the passengers, led by the flight attendant, chant
as if on a weekend singalong
"I salute you, old ocean"
You need to adjust the drum machine
There is a child behind a door
and the door closes
and the door opens
onto a balcony, onto a lake
No need to make this into tragedy
C'est pas triste
Actors don't like to make appearances
They prefer disappearances
I fear I am not in my perfect mind
Of course the song is never finished:
One Plus One
Somehow, the plane lands
the film is delivered (the toughest thing in cinema
is carrying the cans)
and the Idiot dies — it's in the back
that the light stabs darkness
What happens next is from long ago
King Lear
1987
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Fathers and daughters, daughters and fathers —
blood on the sheets, blood on the tracks
of desire.
The famous writer and his daughter,
speaking their lines, then flying away —
love, and be silent.
A violent silence —
the silence of <PERSON>,
who says nothing. No thing. O
what dear daughter? After Chernobyl
the rediscovery
of the ancestor's text — fragments I have shored,
quotations on the Wall. Le roi Lire.
While in the woods,
the Fool with a head like <PERSON>'s, sprouting
video cables, twists his speech
out of the sidelong corners
of his mouth. <PERSON> <PERSON>.
Evangelists. And always the image,
distant and true,
in the time of resurrection.
<PERSON> on the beach at daybreak,
his long gun held on guard,
<PERSON>'s body on a rock behind him,
waiting
as the dawn bleeds
over the waves of Lac Léman.
And in me too the wave rises...
<PERSON>, when he galloped in India
So here we are, she tells him, against death.
Why, then, she lives.
Nouvelle vague
New Wave
1990
I wanted this to be a narrative.
So finally <PERSON> went all the way:
every line in the script
a quotation from somewhere else.
Every blessed line.
Love doesn't die.
It's people who die.
Love just goes away.
The gardener on his John Deere tractor
orates in ornate poetry.
A garden, like prose,
is never finished.
Certain gardens are described as retreats
when they should be called attacks.
OK, so there is a narrative. About a man
who dies, and is reborn,
and dies, and is reborn.
For the first time
we have the chance
to say things
for the last time.
French syntax is incorruptible.
The long horizontal
tracking shot
outside the windows of the house
each room
lit by a gold warm lamp.
Memory is the only paradise
we
|
892ccc74-3bd3-bb00-a27a-72c427c944e9
|
['61b44cfc-33b2-8259-0421-fbeb28c79cde']
|
as any
equation in geometry, her father
with a tired face tries to explain.
Sweet as an apple in a still life bowl:
her mother's face, and the slow
wearing away of contempt in the background,
family life on a regular
schedule of trains. Her own name,
<PERSON>, in which we can also read
<PERSON>: who is there to love
but the absent father, the present mother,
immaculate, the lucid light
on the ruins of her balcony?
TAKE TWO
Absolutely lucid light, on the ruins
of your balcony, Lac Léman,
a voice singing la la la
like the <PERSON>' song.
And the slow repeated argument,
no voices raised, the scenes of Contempt
play only in the background, on TV.
In front of the TV set, an apple.
Sweet as an apple in a bowl, in a painting,
<PERSON> or <PERSON>, so sweet you could eat it
or slice it open, as if it were <PERSON>'s eye,
implant a pupil, roll it round. Silence, I said,
silence. Listen to <PERSON>.
Or dance to the final symphony,
pulling your punches, tossing your hair.
<PERSON>, there are four kinds of triangle,
and the sides are never equal. He walks with you
on a street in Geneva; he says goodbye.
You cut the top off an egg
as if it were the whole of Europe.
You admire your mother's dark dress.
Your name is an anagram of Love.
Je vous salue, <PERSON>
Hail Mary
1985
It's not a blessing, it's a command
as rude and abrupt
as a fuck you in the face of God.
My belly bulges like a basketball
to the cut-throat visitation
of hoodlum angels. Annunciation
between the gas pumps. Only
the sad-sack professor gets to get out of here,
rationalising paradise. While <PERSON>
carpenter and taxi-driver
only goes where he is told to go,
with no direction home.
I must learn to write
if I want to forget. What we're speaking of,
the Word, is always ahead of us.
I am the victim of time,
which takes its own sweet time to consume me
as I twist the bed-sheets in agony
under the sun-shattered sky,
under the blessing of rain,
while God like a cloud of anger
fills my room.
Détective
Detective
1985
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie
Princess, don't you know
the Prince is dead
and history keeps repeating itself
in a long stutter
in a long stutter, like a technical knock out
recorded on Agfa cassette
advertised in neon on the roof
of a grand Parisian hotel
— for all great cities,
Lord, are accursed
We're not in some small French film
where the actors believe
that talking is thinking
This is a big money production
with actors and stars
This is a big money deal
and he who dies in a tempest
pays all debts
The shootings are, as always,
accidental
To be a witness means
to be a martyr
Soft and Hard:
Soft Talk on a Hard Subject between Two Friends
<PERSON> and <PERSON>
1985
This is hard
|
8fb0cc2b-41b1-4a40-5d90-ee98144d42ff
|
['61de9224-f543-06c6-c5da-cf7c19ccc905']
|
you're in a hurry, use shredded chicken from another recipe or from a supermarket deli roasted chicken.
Important to remember: It's okay to pick up bone-in chicken pieces to eat with your hands. Enjoy as finger-licking good. Use a fork for the rice.
Note that the recipe requires long-grain rice. Short-grain or parboiled—quick-cooking—rice will be gummy and it won't brown properly.
**Makes 6 servings**
**4 tablespoons vegetable oil**
**12 pieces chicken (legs, thighs, wings, breast quarters), or 18 drummettes, or 2 cups shredded cooked chicken**
**1½ cups coarsely chopped tomatoes**
**1 clove garlic**
**11/3 cups long-grain white rice**
**¼ cup chopped white onion**
**3 tablespoons tomato sauce**
**2 teaspoonsTex-Mex Holy Trinity**
**1 teaspoon salt**
In a large skillet with a lid over medium heat, heat 2 tablespoons of the oil until it shimmers. Add the chicken pieces. Cover and cook for about 20 minutes, turning occasionally, to brown all sides. Remove the chicken and its juices to a shallow pan and keep warm. Omit this step if using shredded cooked chicken.
In a blender jar or work bowl of a food processor, combine the tomatoes, garlic, and ¼ cup water. Process for 20 seconds, or until smooth. Set aside.
After the chicken is brown, in the same large skillet over medium heat, combine the remaining 2 tablespoons oil and the rice. Cook, stirring every minute, until the rice turns a light golden yellow, about 5 minutes.
To the rice in the skillet, carefully stir in the processed tomato mixture, the onion, 2½ cups water, the tomato sauce, Holy Trinity, and salt. Stir well to combine.
If using bone-in chicken, crowd the pieces in a single layer over the rice.
Return the skillet to high heat. Bring the liquid to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes.
Set aside off the heat, covered, for 5 minutes to finish cooking.
If using shredded chicken, stir the chicken into the rice to heat through just before serving.
# _Chiles Relleños_
# **STUFFED POBLANO PEPPERS**
Because _Chiles Relleños_ are a lot of work, they are special-occasion dishes when made in home kitchens. The peppers must be blistered in oil, filled, battered, and fried. I offer hands-on _Chile Relleño_ lessons at my restaurant and students have a blast.
Large, dark green poblano peppers may be stuffed with a variety of fillings. Besides Monterey Jack cheese, one of the more popular at the restaurants is Rio Grande Ground Beef. Other fillings often requested include Beef Fajitashere, Tampico Shrimp, and _Pollo Guisado_.
**Makes 6 servings**
**_Special Equipment_**
**2 flat nonstick spatulas for handling the chiles in the skillet**
**6 large (6-inch) poblano peppers**
**4 cups vegetable oil**
**3 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese; or 6 tablespoons cheese plus 3 cupsRio Grande Ground Beef, Beef Fajitashere, _Pollo Guisado_, or Tampico Shrimp**
**1 cup all-purpose flour**
**12 large eggs, yolks and whites separated (see"How to Separate Eggs")**
**_Salsita_ (here; optional)**
Rinse the poblano peppers, pat dry with a paper towel, and set aside.
In a large deep skillet over medium-high heat, heat the oil to 350°F.
|
3c035e4d-2c1e-aacc-45dd-9d4b2ad971b7
|
['61de9224-f543-06c6-c5da-cf7c19ccc905']
|
Ranch Quail
Hidalgo Roja: _Carnitas_ (Slow-Fried Pork) with _Salsa Hidalgo Roja_
Hidalgo Verde: _Carnitas_ with _Salsa de Crema Verde_
Homestyle Tacos
hot chocolate
_Huchinango a la Veracruzana_ (Red Snapper Veracruz)
_Huevos Rancheros_ (Eggs with Ranchera Sauce)
I
ice cream
ingredients
J
jalapeño, roasting
K
Kineña: Beef or Chicken Fajita with Chili Gravy
King Ranch
Knorr chicken bouillon
L
Laguna Madre: Crab with _Salsa de Jaiba_
Laurenzo, <PERSON>
lime
Limeade
Little Sauce
M
main course. _See also_ Mexican breakfast; soups and stews
_Carne Asada_ (Grilled Steak)
Chihuahua: White Cheese, _Pollo Guisado_ , or Rio Grande Ground Beef with _Salsa Ranchera_
_Chiles Relleños_ (Stuffed Poblano Peppers)
Crystal City: Spinach with _Salsa Verde_
<PERSON>: Beef with Chili Gravy
_Frontera_ Beef (or Chicken) Fajitas
_Frontera Cabrito:_ Mesquite-Roasted Baby Goat
Guadalajara: Chicken with _Salsa Casera_
Hebronville: Grilled South Texas Ranch Quail
Hidalgo Roja: _Carnitas_ (Slow-Fried Pork) with _Salsa Hidalgo Roja_
Hidalgo Verde: _Carnitas_ with _Salsa de Crema Verde_
_Huchinango a la Veracruzana_ (Red Snapper Veracruz)
Kineña: Beef or Chicken Fajita with Chili Gravy
Laguna Madre: Crab with _Salsa de Jaiba_
McAllen: Chicken with Chili Gravy
Mexico City: Chicken with _Salsa Verde_
Monterrey: Chicken, Beef, or Cheese with _Salsa Española_
Morelia: White Cheese with _Salsa Roja_
Puebla: Stewed Chicken Breast with _Mole Poblano_
Refugio: Cheese Enchiladas with Chili Gravy
Rio Grande Ground Beef or Cheese and Onions with Chili Gravy or _Salsa Roja_
Rio Grande Valley _Arroz con Pollo_ (Chicken with Rice)
Rockport: Mesquite Grilled Shrimp
San Miguel: Chicken with _Salsa Suiza_
Sarita: _Calabacitas_ and _Maiz_ with _Salsa de Crema_
Tampico: Shrimp with _Salsa Veracruzana_
Mango Margarita
margaritas
Enchilada Queen Perfect Margarita by the <PERSON>
Enchilada Queen Perfect Margarita by the Pitcher
Mango Margarita
The Perfect Margarita
Perfect Margarita by the <PERSON>
Ruby Red Margarita by the <PERSON>
Ruby Red Margarita by the <PERSON>
_María galletas_ tea biscuits or cookies
_masa_ (dough)
_Masa_ for Tamales
_masa harina_
McAllen, John
McAllen: Chicken with Chili Gravy
McAllen Ranch
melissas.com
mesquite
_Frontera Cabrito:_ Mesquite-Roasted Baby Goat
Rockport: Mesquite Grilled Shrimp
mexgrocer.com
Mexican breakfast
_Chilaquiles con Salsa Verde_ (Crispy Tortilla Pieces with Green Sauce)
_Frontera Gorditas_
_Huevos Rancheros_ (Eggs with Ranchera Sauce)
"Mexican Breakfast" Potatoes
_Migas con Huevos a la Mexicana_ (Scrambled Eggs with Crispy Tortillas, Onions, and Peppers)
tamales for
Mexican Cinnamon Sugar
Mexican fruit juice drinks. _See also_ beverages
Mexican Hot Chocolate
Mexican oregano
Mexican vanilla
Mexican Vanilla Ice Cream
Mexico City: Chicken with _Salsa Verde_
Mex-Mex enchiladas
Chihuahua: White Cheese, _Pollo Guisado_ , or Rio Grande Ground Beef with _Salsa Ranchera_
Guadalajara: Chicken with _Salsa Casera_
Hidalgo Roja: _Carnitas_ (Slow-Fried Pork) with _Salsa Hidalgo Roja_
Hidalgo Verde: _Carnitas_ with _Salsa de Crema Verde_
Mexico City: Chicken with _Salsa Verde_
Monterrey: Chicken, Beef, or Cheese with _Salsa Española_
Morelia: White Cheese with _Salsa Roja_
Puebla: Stewed Chicken Breast with _Salsa Mole Poblano_
San Miguel: Chicken with _Salsa Suiza_
Tampico: Shrimp with _Salsa Veracruzana_
microwaving corn
_Migas con Huevos a la Mexicana_ (Scrambled Eggs with Crispy Tortillas, Onions, and Peppers)
mole
_Mole Poblano_
_Mole Pueblo_
Monterey Jack cheese
Monterrey: Chicken, Beef, or Cheese with _Salsa Española_
Montes, Luis
Morelia: White
|
706e725b-03d8-df92-d883-e34fea9db076
|
['61fe0b03-926b-2580-006e-d04a1c3d7b55']
|
of America Special Papers_ 401: 155–170.
Bookman, R., <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 2014. "Possible Connection between Large Volcanic Eruptions and Level Rise Episodes in the Dead Sea Basin." _Quaternary Science Reviews_ 89: 123–128.
Boose, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 2007. "Ensuring Reliable Datasets for Environmental Models and Forecasts." _Ecological Informatics_ 2: 237–247.
Borell, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. 1934. "Mammals of the Ruby Mountains Region of Northeastern Nevada." _Journal of Mammalogy_ 15: 12–44.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> _Collected Fictions._ New York: Penguin.
——. 1999. _Selected Non-fictions._ New York: Viking.
<PERSON>, L., <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 2009. "Cell 'Circadian' Cycle: New Role for Mammalian Core Clock Genes." _Cell Cycle_ 8: 832–837.
<PERSON>, A. 2008. "Error Cascades in the Biological Sciences: The Unwanted Consequences of Using Bad Taxonomy in Ecology." _Ambio_ 37: 114–118.
Bowers, S., <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. 2012. "Declarative Rules for Inferring Fine-Grained Data Provenance from Scientific Workflow Execution Traces." Pages 82–96 in _Provenance and Annotation of Data and Processes,_ edited by <PERSON> and <PERSON>. Berlin: Springer.
<PERSON>, G. C. 2005. _Memory Practices in the Sciences._ Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Box, G.E.P., and <PERSON>. 1987. _Empirical Model Building and Response Surfaces._ New York: John Wiley and Sons.
Brown, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. 1989. "Macroecology—The Division of Food and Space among Species on Continents." _Science_ 243: 1145–1150.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. 2007. "Regional Decline of Coral Cover in the Indo-Pacific: Timing, Extent, and Subregional Comparisons." _PLOS ONE_ 2: e711.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. "Data Management Principles, Implementation and Administration." Pages 25–47 in _Ecological Data: Design, Management, Processing,_ edited by <PERSON> and <PERSON>. Oxford: Blackwell Science.
<PERSON>, S. 2015. "Solving Reproducibility." _Science_ 348: 1403.
Buckland, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. 2005. "Monitoring Change in Biodiversity through Composite Indices." _Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences,_ 360: 243–254.
Bunce, R.G.H., <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 2008. "A Standardized Procedure for Surveillance and Monitoring European Habitats and Provision of Spatial Data." _Landscape Ecology_ 23: 11–25.
Burans, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 1989. "Comparative Trial of Erythromycin and Sulphatrimethoprim in the Treatment of Tetracycline-Resistant _Vibrio cholerae_ O1." _Transactions of the Royal Society, Tropical Medicine and Hygiene,_ 83: 836–838.
<PERSON>, T., <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 1993. "Treatment of Acute Bacterial Diarrhea: A Multicenter International Trial Comparing Placebo with Fleroxacin Given as a Single Dose or Once Daily for 3 days." _American Journal of Medicine_ 94: 187S–194S.
Button, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 2013. "Power Failure: Why Small Sample Size Undermines the Reliability of Neuroscience." _Nature Reviews Neuroscience_ 14: 365–376.
Cabello, J., <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, et al. 2012. "The Ecosystem Functioning Dimension in Conservation: Insights from Remote Sensing." _Biodiversity and Conservation_ 21: 3287–3305.
Cahill, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. 2002. "Separate
|
74d72e87-17b5-6d5c-fe17-940e5d37c505
|
['61fe0b03-926b-2580-006e-d04a1c3d7b55']
|
Measurements in the subsequent five years were made using barometers, with variable results. In 1841–1842, a re-survey of coastal cities and fortifications of Palestine was done using triangulation, with the preceding year's Ordnance Survey map of Jerusalem as the starting point. By triangulating lines from Acre to the Sea of Galilee via Safed and from Jaffa to the Dead Sea via Jerusalem, the level of the Dead Sea was estimated at 426.4 m below sea level (fig. 3.5).
FIG. 3.4. Measurements of the surface level (meters below sea level) of the Dead Sea (1837–1848), compared with current estimates by <PERSON>. Labels in gray indicate approximate values from ranges or estimates provided by the cited authors, whereas labels in black indicate exact values as given by the cited authors. Data compiled by the author; figure drafted by <PERSON> and re-drawn by <PERSON>.
Two additional re-surveys were completed in the late 1840s. An 1845 topographic profile from Jaffa through Jerusalem to the Dead Sea identified the level of the Dead Sea as 439.27 m below sea level. An 1848 expedition estimated the level at 1,234.59 feet (401.24 m) based on multiple barometric measurements.
### **CAN PHYSICAL OR HUMAN GEOGRAPHY EVER REVEAL EXACT LOCATIONS?**
Accurate mapping—of sea level, city monuments, or the spread of yellow fever, among many other examples—requires accurate locations. If "location" is simply positional information on a particular oblate spheroid orbiting the sun, accurate and increasingly precise locations should be easy to determine using global positioning system. However, case studies of mapping have revealed that obtaining accurate locational information with repeated surveys is quite difficult and yields different and often incompatible results with each re-survey.
FIG. 3.5. <PERSON> "Rough Sketch of a Portion of the Triangulation of the Southern District of Syria" (1842). Image from Universität Erfurt, Forschungsbibliothek Gotha (FBG SPK 547_112553079), and used with permission.
Some of these differences certainly arise from the way the questions are posed and from the cultural or religious perspectives that the investigators bring to their investigations. But others are independent of the researchers' state of mind. Cities are constantly being re-developed and re-made during the intervals between surveys. And, in the case of the Dead Sea, its measured level has changed through time, declining by more than 10 m in the last 15 years of the twentieth century alone. Similarly, the measured production of poultry populations changed due to different vaccination standards at locations upholding different regulations (see Chapter 10), and the presence of different cholera serogroups was detected in human populations using different antibiotics (see Chapter 12). Contemporary re-surveyors and experimentalists probably assume that better equipment leads to more precise measurements, but such precision does not necessarily translate into more accurate measurements or greater ability to re-visit precise localities, as the re-measurements of Jerusalem and the Dead Sea have clearly illustrated.
### **NOTES**
. From the Latin stem _locāre,_ meaning to place or to hire, from which we derive "locus," "locate," and "location."
. Understood to be, variously, Western Palestine, Judea, the geographic area where <PERSON> lived and died, and
|
438c1cf3-85ea-c533-a3c1-537c17d66045
|
['624ab402-a0ef-ade3-a419-9c135783e337']
|
el derecho de asilo en sagrado a los gitanos.
A un año de la redada, solo quedaba por resolver esa cuestión. <PERSON> había derogado el derecho, por su cuenta, en el texto de 1745, pero sabía que las justicias no se atrevían a profanar un templo ni en el caso de que el refugiado fuera un delincuente. Con su soberbia habitual, el ministro arremetía contra los pusilánimes: «si los jueces eclesiásticos procedieren contra las justicias seculares, a fin de que sean restituidos a las iglesias, se valgan de los recursos de fuerza establecidos por <PERSON>». Pero como estos «recursos» no existían y el regalismo provocaba muchos sustos, <PERSON> hubo de valerse de su buen amigo el cardenal <PERSON>, secretario de Estado del Papa, para obtener expresamente de Benedicto xiv la exclusión de los gitanos del asilo eclesiástico. Tras conocer en abril de 1748 la licencia papal —hasta el papa se sumó al plan—, el obispo <PERSON> y el marqués <PERSON> lograron con suma facilidad la anuencia de <PERSON> al decreto de «extinción» del 31 de julio de 1749, un día tan negro en la historia de los gitanos como cuando fueron asesinados en masa varios miles en Auschwitz.
Unos 9000 gitanos (tanto hombres como mujeres), según <PERSON>, sufrieron deportación y presidio durante años a consecuencia de la gran redada, una cifra que se eleva por encima de los 12 000 si contamos los que ya estaban encarcelados. Muchas autoridades locales se asombraron al ver a la tropa apresar a familias que, en muchos casos, eran las que ellos mismos habían empadronado a raíz de las disposiciones de 1746. Pero había sido necesaria esa información, que obraba en manos del marqués, para que pudiera distribuir los soldados necesarios en proporción al número de gitanos. Por si hubiera escrúpulos, junto a las instrucciones militares de Ensenada venía la orden firmada por el obispo gobernador con disposiciones tan terribles como las destinadas a los niños mayores de siete años, que serían separados de sus madres para ser enviados a los arsenales. El historiador <PERSON> ha publicado recientemente la lista de los miles de apresados que ha podido documentar, uno por uno, pues cada víctima, individualizada, exige restitución y respeto.
Las reacciones de los gitanos fueron todas las imaginables. En Orihuela se presentaron pacíficamente ante la tropa, dejándose llevar al presidio de Alicante, lamentándose de cómo les trataba el rey; en Granada o en Sevilla, por el contrario, hubo resistencia, huidas y muertos, aunque en el sur los gitanos tuvieron muchos valedores. En Ciudad Rodrigo, el intendente se dolía en 1750 de la situación de las «pobres gitanas y su estado lastimoso», pues estaban sin camas y sin ninguna ayuda «por haberse olvidado enteramente de ellas la Tesorería». Algunos encontraron protección del alcalde o de los notables de sus pueblos, incluso del cura; otros pagaron a un escribano la redacción de una petición al rey solicitando que interviniera contra la injusticia. Muchos fueron escondidos incluso en casas de nobles, otros se hicieron pasar por payos, hubo niños disfrazados de niñas
|
572f59ba-a064-ea38-8c33-dfb50eac30dc
|
['624ab402-a0ef-ade3-a419-9c135783e337']
|
Había sido secretario de <PERSON> en Breda, luego trabajó a las órdenes de <PERSON> en Aquisgrán y finalmente se instaló con <PERSON> en Londres. Tras la marcha de <PERSON> a Madrid, <PERSON> empezó a escribir con mucha frecuencia a <PERSON> y luego ya a <PERSON>, trasladándoles las quejas sobre la tensión en el Caribe que el gobierno inglés continuaba presentando como prueba de la política agresiva de Ensenada. Cada día aparecía un nuevo motivo de tensión, falso o verdadero, y <PERSON> lo transmitía con toda diligencia.
Los asuntos de Honduras, el palo de Campeche, los rumores sobre un previsible choque armado entre barcos ingleses y españoles fueron la comidilla de la Corte en las fiestas del último Corpus de ópera y falúas reales dirigidas por <PERSON> y <PERSON>, el 20 de junio, que cerraba la temporada en Aranjuez. Se sabía que todo el espionaje estaba movilizado en el Madrid neutral, que <PERSON> escribía con más frecuencia y que también lo hacía <PERSON>. También había agitación entre los italianos, la nube de recadistas, espías y diplomáticos encargados de mantener las relaciones entre la madre <PERSON> y los dos hijos, el duque <PERSON> en Parma y el rey <PERSON> en Nápoles, y sus cortes. La situación era de enorme expectación y todos los rumores señalaban que <PERSON> habría perdido el favor de la reina —recordemos que le pidió ayuda a <PERSON> el 15 de junio para que le apoyara ante ella— y que temía las reacciones de <PERSON> si <PERSON> y <PERSON> le exageraban los riesgos de la situación, que es lo que estaba pasando.
Así las cosas, <PERSON> jugó su mejor baza y escribió una carta a su gobierno en la que dijo que iban las órdenes de ataque redactadas por <PERSON> contra los barcos ingleses que protegían a los cortadores del palo, que, de creer al exministro <PERSON> en sus memorias, también habría pasado al rey por medio de <PERSON>. Solo faltaba esperar la respuesta de Su Majestad británica, que <PERSON> y <PERSON> ya sabían que iba a ser muy dura, pues al aumento de la presión que notaba <PERSON> en la embajada de Londres sobre agresiones de barcos españoles se sumaron las noticias que afectaban a barcos franceses, contra los que <PERSON> iba a enviar barcos de guerra «para disciplinarlos y ponerles en estado de defenderse contra los franceses». El 10 de julio, el ministro <PERSON> aseguró a <PERSON> que «se ha comprobado la noticia de que la pequeña escuadra de Toulon, en lugar de ir a <PERSON>, ha partido para las Indias Occidentales», lo que hacía aumentar las dudas sobre una posible alianza secreta propiciada por Ensenada para atacar conjuntamente a los ingleses en las costas de Centroamérica. El peligro era tal real que el 18 de julio Abreu escribió a <PERSON> —un destinatario poco habitual— que «al fin llegó de París el comisario de Francia diputado de la Compañía de Indias Orientales y en lugar de traer la oliva de la paz viene con nuevas dificultades que no se sabe a qué
|
d5f65cc5-a8fe-2bb6-7224-c4b872e4c137
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['625b0d47-932a-08ab-da39-2239aaa51529']
|
to use my MP40, as it needs both hands to hold on. But already we've been spotted. Something thuds into the wall. I fall, rather than climb down, surrounded by flying fragments of brick.
I've been ordered to take up a position overlooking Długa Street. The ruins of the burnt out houses are still hot. The naked walls stick high up with gaps where the windows used to be. I kneel down with my machine pistol by one of them, in what probably used to be an entrance to a shop, and look carefully out onto the street. Nothing moves. I really don't feel very well. There is a hum in my head, something is rattling in my damaged ear and my crushed finger, full of dirt and without a dressing, has swollen to twice its normal size. But worst of all by far is the thirst, which is relentless and dominates everything else.
My spirits are lifted by the sound of someone calling me from behind. Maybe they're bringing something to drink. I leave '<PERSON>' on his own and crawl out behind the back wall. Some of my more enterprising friends have dug a hole into a cellar of a burnt out building and are pulling out bottles of Vichy mineral water. The flames didn't reach the cellar but everything inside has been thoroughly cooked. We all grab a bottle, break the neck on the nearest brick and sample the contents. It's a disgusting bitter liquid, tepid to boot, and not bearing the slightest resemblance to water. Somebody suggests we try adding some old raspberry syrup, thick with sugar of which there is also a large supply. I pour away a third of the bottle, fill it up with the syrup and with some difficulty swallow it down. In all honesty, I've not drunk anything quite so disgusting in my entire life. Nearby, someone who quenched his thirst over-enthusiastically noisily returns what he had just drunk.
I return to my position and resume the constant battle with sleep. The Germans do their bit to save us from boredom as already we hear a rumbling and three Stuka's arrive, flying low above our heads. My position is completely exposed to the open sky, allowing me to observe the aircraft circling over the ruins looking for a target. They each have just one bomb slung underneath, but of a large calibre.
The nearest German positions fire white rockets into the air. These aren't just to identify themselves, as one of them lands vertically onto the edifice of Simon's Passage on the other side of the street. A pillar of white smoke rises up into the still air where it landed. This is what the <PERSON> were waiting for. The first one breaks away from formation and starts diving onto the building. I've never seen an enemy aircraft in action this close before. Simon's Passage is not more than 30 metres away from me. It is possible to see every detail, every rivet on the aircraft, even some letters stencilled in yellow on the
|
9f51a3cc-b6a1-b7fb-a461-3ad7c63f1f4f
|
['625b0d47-932a-08ab-da39-2239aaa51529']
|
room is full of bodies lying on the floor. I sit down in a vacant space and lean against my machine pistol. I feel numb and detached. Somebody tells me that someone got badly wounded on top of me. 'Yeah? Sounds bad...' I gaze vacantly in front of me. Two girl medics move around in complete darkness. 'Why are there sparks flying from their dressings?' goes through my head as I fall into a daze again.
Suddenly there's a flash and an incredible bang. The smell cordite. I hear nothing and feel sharp pain on the left side of my head. What's happened? Immediately I come to my senses and become aware of my surroundings. A voice calling out reaches me as if from a great distance. 'What happened, did somebody fire?' In that moment it becomes clear. I run my hand over the machine pistol. The bolt is pulled back. I discover why it only let off one shot. The cartridge is jammed in the firing mechanism. I discover a small hole in the edge of my helmet and start to feel faint again. Three centimetres to one side and I'd have had a bullet in my brain. I curse myself for not making my weapon safe, but was barely conscious when, as I sat down against the wall, I leaned against my machine pistol. My left ear hurts like hell and I can't hear a thing.
I return to the gap where the battle still rages. A few moments ago '<PERSON>' caught a bullet in the hand jumping across the open gateway. He's now sitting on the other side of the gap while his friends are calling to him to jump back. It's not a large gap but as he runs across there's a flash of tracer fire and the poor guy falls. The Germans see him lying on the ground and fire into him continuously. The fire is too heavy and we watch helplessly from about 4 metres away. In any case we can't help him now. He's been hit so many times the Germans must know for sure he's only a corpse, but despite this they keep firing with tracer rounds. The uniform on the fallen boy starts burning. I can't watch this conscious barbarism on a fallen comrade and occupy myself firing at the German machine-gun nest carefully this time, as my ammunition is starting to run out.
It starts to get light. What happened to the attack? Why aren't we moving forward? Judging by the number of my friends left we must have taken heavy casualties, but where are the others? The reply comes shortly in the form of an order passed from mouth to mouth: 'Attack has failed in all sections. Occupy your present positions.'
We occupy slightly stronger positions. In the light of day the corridor, so hellish at night time, looks quite different. Grenades no longer fall from goodness only knows where. I help a machine gunner up to the top of the rubble with his weapon and carry the boxes of ammunition
|
ac498c68-76ef-6566-bba9-84ce94b1e6ad
|
['62f6e074-1be8-eab1-0f7d-41b7795fe88f']
|
* once, ch 4, sc in next ch-3 loop, 5 dc in next ch-5 loop, ch 2, with wrong sides together, place previous motif behind current motif, matching corners, sl st in corner ch-4 sp of previous motif, ch 1, 2 dc in same ch-5 loop from current motif, st in 3rd dc from corner ch-4 loop of previous motif, work 3 more dc in same ch-5 loop of current motif, sc in next ch-3 loop, ch 1, sl st in next ch-4 loop of previous motif, ch 2, sc in next ch-3 loop of current motif, 3 dc in next ch-5 loop, sl st in 3rd dc from corner ch-4 loop of previous motif, 2 dc in same ch-5 loop of current motif, ch 1, sl st in corner ch-4 loop of previous motif, ch 2, 5 dc in same ch-5 loop of current motif, sl st in first sc to join—5 sl st joins on one side of motif. Fasten off.
### Left Half Motif
Ch 5, sl st in first ch to form a ring.
**Row 1 (RS):** Ch 4 (counts as dc, ch 1), (dc, ch 1) 5 times in ring, dc in ring, turn—7 dc, 6 ch-1 sps.
**Row 2 (WS):** Ch 6 (count as a tr, ch 2), (3-Dc Cl in, ch 1) in each of next 2 ch-1 sps, (3–Dc Cl, ch 5) in next ch-1 sp, (3-Dc Cl, ch 3) in each of next 2 ch-1 sps, 3-Dc Cl in last ch-1 sp, ch 2, tr in 3rd ch of ch-4 tch, turn—6 Cl, 4 ch-3 sps, 1 ch-5, 2 ch-2 sp.
**Row 3 (RS):** Ch 6 (counts as tr, ch 2), 5 dc in next ch-2 sp, sc in next ch-3 sp, ch 4, sc in next ch-3 sp, 5 dc in next ch-5 sp, ch 2, joining to left-hand side of assembled Front or Back, with wrong sides together, place Full Motif behind Half Motif, matching corners, sl st in corner ch-4 sp of Full Motif, ch 1, 2 dc in same ch-5 sp of Half Motif, sl st in 3rd dc from corner ch-4 sp of Full Motif, work 3 more dc in same ch-5 sp of Half Motif, sc in next ch-3 sp of Half Motif, ch 1, sl st in next ch-4 sp of Full Motif, ch 2, sc in next ch-3 sp of Half Motif, 3 dc in next ch-5 sp, sl st in 3rd dc from corner ch-4 sp of Full Motif, 2 dc in same ch-5 sp of Half Motif, ch 1, sl st in corner ch-4 sp of Full Motif, ch 1, tr in 4th ch of beg ch-6—5 sl st joins on one side of motif. Fasten off.
### Right Half Motif
Work same as Left Half Motif through Rnd 2.
**Rnd 3 (RS):** Ch 4 (counts as tr), joining to right-hand side of assembled Front or Back, with wrong sides together, place Full Motif behind Half Motif, matching corners, sl st in corner ch-4 sp of Full Motif, ch 1, 2 dc in
|
003abf7c-89f0-07ab-17d3-ff9ed197d473
|
['62f6e074-1be8-eab1-0f7d-41b7795fe88f']
|
of the first column] behind work. Working through both layers at the same time (and beginning and ending with the corner sts of Robot Square), 1 sl st into each of the 27 sts across, rotate work 90 degrees clockwise, work 5 sc sts along side edge of JUST THE CONNECTING BAR. Fasten off. Set aside to be worked on after completing 2nd bar.
Repeat Rows 1-5 for next Horizontal Connecting Bar.
Ch 1, turn as if to work another row (RS is now facing you), position top edge of the CC3 "James" Robot Square (this is the middle square of the first column) behind work with WS together. When you work across any edge of the RobotSquare, you must work the first and last sts into corner sts (this is the center of the 3 sc sts). Working through both layers at the same time, 1 sl st into each of the 27 sts across, rotate work 90 degrees clockwise, work 5 sc sts along side edge of JUST THE CONNECTING BAR, rotate work 90 degrees clockwise. With WS together, place the bottom edge of the CC2 "Beep" Robot Square (this is the top square of the first column) behind work. Working through both layers at the same time (and beginning and ending with the corner sts of Robot Square), 1 sl st into each of the 27 sts across, rotate work 90 degrees clockwise, work 5 sc sts along side edge of JUST THE CONNECTING BAR. Fasten off.
##### Columns 2-4
Repeat this process for each of the remaining 3 columns of squares.
#### Vertical Connecting Bars
**_Note:_** _Pay close attention to the layout chart as you work through the following directions_.
With CC1 and larger hook, ch 107.
ROW 1: Starting with 2nd ch from hook, and working in the bottom of the chain, 1 sc into each of the next 106 sts—106 sts.
ROWS 2-5: Ch 1, turn, 1 sc into each st across—106 sts.
Ch 1, turn as if to work another row (RS is now facing you), position the left edge of the last column [this is the rightmost column] behind work with WS together. When you work across any side edge of the RobotSquare, you must work the first and last sts into corner sts (this is the center of the 3 sc sts—the SAME st that was the first or last st you worked into when attaching the Horizonatal Connecting Bars). Working through both layers at the same time, [1 sl st into each of the 32 sts across Robot Square, work 5 sl sts through Horizontal Bar and Vertical Bar] twice, continuing to work through both layers, 1 sl st into each of the 32 sts across Robot Square, rotate work 90 degrees clockwise, make 5 sc sts working into the side edge of JUST THE VERTICAL CONNECTING BAR. With WS together, place the right edge of the next column of Robot Squares behind work (see layout diagram). Working through both layers at the same time (and beginning and ending with the corner
|
d1782976-1f76-7e30-8e86-d21d02a41f70
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['642f7b14-39ee-04df-174d-2c3af5dbc693']
|
autumn dead and throw the leaves up toward the mountains. <PERSON> caught a little sigh of appreciation. "But we're bargaining, aren't we? Wouldn't I be a fool to do this for you without some personal gain?"
<PERSON> would have caught his shoulder and pulled him around if it weren't for his height: she would only be emphasizing the difference and giving him a kind of power. "If you insist on playing the rebellion for your own benefit then we will all go into the Cold Cellar together. Is that how you want this to end?"
He looked at her over his shoulder, eyes narrow above the silver marten-skin. The great storm of leaves blew across the sky behind him, troubling birds. "I miss the man who would rise to that argument. I miss <PERSON> the philosopher-duke, moved by grand selfless ideas; he was a good man to be. But that man—I hesitate to call him a duke at all, knowing what I do now—led his people into starvation. That man watched his neighbor and student, his boorish venal ill-read goat of a friend, grow wealthy and fat by being very selfish indeed. Can you imagine how that felt? To counsel a man out of boyhood, only to see him surpass you? To see his people prosper while yours wept and ate their rags?"
The wind fell off. <PERSON> spoke softly, to show respect for the confidence <PERSON> offered. "Perhaps it means you counseled him well."
The marten-skin mantle tricked her. For one instant she saw not a man but a rabid fox, his eyes sharp with wit, hot with rage. And she sensed the things he might have said, an arsenal of plain pointed words to remind her that she faced an equal, a mind that would not be turned by flattery or indirection.
But part of that cunning was restraint. <PERSON> did not lash out.
"No," he said. "It was my turn to learn a lesson from <PERSON>. No philosophy will feed my daughters. No common good will buy grain for my serfs."
The cold made her shiver, but <PERSON> held his eyes and offered terms. "I can arrange for some of the money to vanish. How much will you need?"
"I don't want money. I want a promise—better: a contract." He lifted himself from the rail to turn back toward her, and again something in the motion of leaf and wind fed <PERSON> an illusion, as if <PERSON> were unwrapping the man from the marten-skin, or concealing the fox. "Play the others as you must. Lead <PERSON> and <PERSON> around by their dreams of dynasty. Feed the <PERSON> with blood and poison to keep their teeth from your neck. All this I understand: revolution is a filthy business, and prices must be paid. But Duchy Lyxaxu is not your coin. Do you understand? My home is mine. When it comes time to sacrifice—spend another."
A deeper cold moved along her spine, like the ghost of an obsidian blade. <PERSON> saw too much. "They will all ask me this. Who would
|
3d2bfaba-36e0-166a-9129-567f36ceda3c
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['642f7b14-39ee-04df-174d-2c3af5dbc693']
|
But perhaps it would be best to delay the inspection until tomorrow morning. I'll take the night to visit Duke <PERSON> and get a sense of his disposition. You can put scouts ashore."
The lieutenant's flush receded, revealing a ladder of shaving nicks. He was very young, younger than <PERSON>, as young as <PERSON>. "Your Excellence," he said, remembering the honorific at last. "Very good."
<PERSON> pressed her lips together and tried not to scream. The inspection had been a trap, of course, a key element of the plan. But it had been a trap meant to save lives. They couldn't get the wealth off these ships while the marines were still aboard.
Duke <PERSON>, tacitly experienced in piracy, had warned her it wouldn't work. He'd been right.
She took a launch ashore at sunset, <PERSON> rowing—guard enough, she'd insisted—until they got halfway to shore and her nerves overwhelmed her. "Go sit in the prow," she snapped, and took up the oars herself.
Duke <PERSON> and a lightly armed honor guard met them dockside. Salutations were curt and tense, as they'd agreed, though <PERSON> suspected <PERSON> hardly needed to act. He stared in undisguised alarm at Purity Cartone.
"One of the Clarified," she explained, following his gaze. "My bodyguard."
<PERSON>, his wrists freshly rope-burned by recent acts of seamanship, frowned. "Some <PERSON> order? I've never heard of them." His gaze flickered to her, back to <PERSON>. "Is he well? He seems... remote."
"Don't worry," <PERSON> said, not daring to make even the little sign they'd agreed on to mean a complication. <PERSON> saw too much. "He's loyal."
Maybe <PERSON> would understand. Maybe he would have some way to pry the remora from her side before the sun set and <PERSON> realized what she had planned.
But no: they were still at dinner when the transports began to explode.
* * *
THE mines had come from Oriati Mbo—from Segu, specifically, naval weapons meant for blockade against a Masquerade invasion, smuggled out by Syndicate Eyota privateers and then brought to Aurdwynn. Oriati chemists had never matched their Falcresti rivals, never replicated the vicious Navy Burn or the whispered breeding factors of the Metademe.
But they could, given a large enough casing, make a prodigious bang.
The mines had been tethered to the harbor floor at the last low tide, their lift bladders and wooden casings straining for the surface. Now Unuxekome's divers, women hand-picked from loyal pearl and spear families, oiled and nose-clipped and racing the sunset, only—only!—had to cut the right mines free, the mines beneath the anchored transports.
<PERSON> had studied the designs, particularly the firing mechanisms, the spring-and-spike systems that would spark detonation when the mine pressed up against a ship hull. She believed they would work. Masquerade torpedoes were more complex and temperamental, and—allegedly—they worked.
Maybe it would have been easier to board the transports. But <PERSON> wanted no part of a plan that required a successful attack on a shipload of marines. Even outnumbered, they could hold the transports until their water ran out. Ormsment and
|
c313771d-83fb-415e-e3e7-041b9c65ec3f
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['6475a610-5a42-e9f4-6fb5-195d271e9cf0']
|
take him out on fine days for a breath of fresh air.
The essence of <PERSON>'s tale is revealed in the previous passage. <PERSON>'s salvation comes about through hard work. He pumps water, makes baskets, and builds a wheelchair for his adopted father so that he can take him for walks. He even gets up at five o'clock in the morning to make sure everything is done.
The good part of <PERSON>'s split self has finally gained ascendance and now guides his behavior. His positive side, symbolically represented by the Blue Fairy and her insect ambassador, the cricket, has won out over the negative tendencies that previously dominated his life. The puppet relinquishes his shiftless ways once and for all and becomes the good son, an industrious child willing to work hard to support those he cares for and who care for him.
But the story is not over. Though <PERSON> has renounced his old ways, he still is a puppet. His dream of becoming a real boy has yet to be realized. One night he falls onto his bed exhausted and dreams of the Blue Fairy. In the dream, the fairy kisses him and says, "Well done, <PERSON>! As you have been so good, I will forgive you for all the bad things you have done in the past. Try to behave like this in the future and you will always be happy."
When <PERSON> wakes, he is astonished to find that he has turned into a real boy. He dresses and runs excitedly to <PERSON>, who has also undergone a magical transformation: "<PERSON> found <PERSON> as well and as young as when he first began his profession of carving." The story ends on an exultant note as the two join hands and rejoice. Everyone's fondest dream has come true: <PERSON> has become a human being, the Blue Fairy sees her ne'er-do-well protégé abandon his former ways, and <PERSON> inherits a live son.
THE BAD, THE GOOD, AND THE WOOD
But where is the witch in the story? Is it the coachman who rules the Land of Fools and trades <PERSON> to the circus master for a handful of gold? Is it the circus master who whips <PERSON> and sells him when he can no longer perform tricks? Or is it the sinister drum-maker who tries to drown <PERSON>? Each certainly is wicked in his own right. On the other hand, none of these characters are really witches in the true sense of the word. None of them were out to destroy <PERSON>, except perhaps for the drum-maker—and he thought he was slaughtering a donkey. So where is the witch?
"He's over there," said <PERSON>, pointing to a puppet leaning against a chair with its head on one side, its arms dangling, and its legs crooked and bent. The discarded "other Pinocchio," embodying, as it were, the bad part of the self, lies lifeless in a corner of <PERSON>'s workshop, having been reduced to an inanimate piece of wood. On the other side of the room stands a "bright and intelligent
|
48d5374e-b09b-1af4-bea9-8314f9697e5f
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['6475a610-5a42-e9f4-6fb5-195d271e9cf0']
|
parting of the thorny hedge that surrounds the castle to a symbolic opening of the vagina.
While no one will deny that children are sexual beings, and that some fairy tales may tap sexual longings, sex is far from the most pressing concern in the lives of the very young. Children worry more about pleasing their parents, making and keeping friends, and doing well in school than they do about sex. Children worry about their standing in the family, and about whether they are loved as much as their siblings. They wonder whether there is anything they might say or do that could lead to their being abandoned. Many of the concerns that occupy the minds of the very young have less to do with sex than with thoughts and impulses that affect their relationships with significant figures in their lives.
_The Self Perspective: Pursuing Goodness_
A psychological perspective that provides a powerful alternative to the psychoanalytic point of view focuses on the child's burgeoning sense of self. Instead of emphasizing sexual matters, self theory focuses on aspects of the personality that threaten to undermine a child's intimate connection to others, particularly parents and peers. Much of what takes place in a fairy tale, accordingly, mirrors the struggles that children wage against forces in the self that hamper their ability to establish and sustain meaningful relationships.
Within this perspective, _Hansel and <PERSON>_ , for instance, is thought to address age-old issues having to do with _gluttony_. Even after <PERSON> and his sister descend on the witch's house and eat their fill, they continue to devour greedily what's left of the cottage: "<PERSON>, who liked the taste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and <PERSON> pushed out the whole of a sugar window pane." One of the great challenges of childhood is knowing when enough is enough.
Consider _Snow White_ , the ultimate paean to _vanity_. The story graphically demonstrates what happens when concerns over appearances interfere with more important matters. Not only is the evil queen preoccupied with her looks, but <PERSON> almost loses her life when she lusts after the pretty laces offered to her by her disguised stepmother. And _Cinderella_ , when one looks beyond the pretty gown and the prince, is essentially a story about _envy_.
Every major fairy tale is unique in that it addresses a specific failing or unhealthy predisposition in the self. As soon as we move beyond "Once upon a time," we discover that fairy tales are about vanity, gluttony, envy, lust, deceit, greed, or sloth—the "seven deadly sins of childhood." Though a particular fairy tale may address more than one "sin," one typically occupies center stage.
So even though _Hansel and Gretel_ contains elements of deceit, it is primarily a story about food and overeating. It is true that the parents lie to the children, telling them that they will return to fetch them after leaving them in the woods, but food and sustenance are the themes that drive the plot. The children are abandoned because the family is
|
c78f329f-8fda-a205-225c-8c39bfa89520
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['6475bea4-74e2-0800-2af8-190a55758f77']
|
'Well, how about that?' I asked <PERSON>, who kept in regular touch with <PERSON> until he died in a plane crash in 1969.
<PERSON>, not a man worried about shouting 'bullshit!' very loudly right in your face, didn't miss a beat. 'Yeah he did, yeah. He fought <PERSON>. They was fights in the smokers. So what?'
So what, indeed. That was the way things were, apparently. Smokers, informal bouts organised in small clubs, usually featured amateurs and winners received either small cash prizes or trophies. It was considered a good learning experience, away from the scrutiny of the media, where boxers could learn the tricks of the trade. But beating up on your brother was, to say the least, an unconventional way to do it.
The night he looked across the ring in the Garden at <PERSON>, <PERSON> might have reflected on those smoke-filled nights and how far he'd come. There was no title at stake, just the chance, the obligation, even, to retire a legend. And, with all the clinical detachment he might have brought to punching brother <PERSON> in the nose back in Massachusetts, he set about destroying what was left of <PERSON> on Friday 26 October 1951. Anyone who was ringside would have had to work hard not to cry when <PERSON> delivered the last of many rights he crashed on to <PERSON>'s old head in the eighth round. <PERSON> was virtually out when the goodnight punch landed, having shipped an equally concussive left seconds before. Hands down, head lolling, he took the shot and his noble frame flew through the ropes, landing on the apron. He was slain, eyes dead, spirit broken, as the lights above bathed his worn skin. He did not move until assisted by the officials whose pens and notebooks he had disturbed. It was to be his farewell position in a sport he had graced with power, skill and dignity since the night in Bacon's Arena, Chicago, in 1934 when he dropped <PERSON> with a left hook. Then <PERSON> did to <PERSON> what <PERSON> had just done to him, and put him through the ropes on to the lap of the local commissioner. It was <PERSON>'s last fight too. <PERSON> knew all the emotions of the fight game, from top to bottom, from start to finish. He identified as much with <PERSON>, an obscure Norwegian whose real name was <PERSON>, as he did with <PERSON>, whose real name was <PERSON>.
But <PERSON>'s exit was one fans could at least accept as real. Their eyes did not deceive them this time. It was shudderingly final. There would be no more comebacks for <PERSON>, not in the boxing ring anyway. The lights went out on an era when <PERSON> knocked <PERSON> out of boxing, literally.
<PERSON>'s reign would be distinguished, yet it never captured the imagination as did that of the Brown Bomber. The heavyweight division in the fifties would be marked by <PERSON>'s indomitable determination and disregard for niceties, his departure, unbeaten, leaving another chasm for lesser men to
|
79724f83-a58f-28ee-ac5c-e1ea3978da06
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['6475bea4-74e2-0800-2af8-190a55758f77']
|
their cards were contrary to the viewpoint of practically all those who witnessed the contest, especially the members of the commission, it was felt that disciplinary action was required'.
<PERSON> scored the rounds 6–4–2 for <PERSON>, <PERSON> gave it to him 6–5–1, while <PERSON> saw it 7–4–1 for <PERSON>. Twelve of thirteen fight writers polled at ringside gave it to <PERSON>.
The Garden crowd, their intelligence serially abused now, again bellowed 'Fix!' into the New York night. The talk at Toots Shor's later was similarly sceptical. There was no proof that <PERSON> had been involved in his second fix in two years. Nor in the return with <PERSON>, when the champion looked seriously underdone. The referee <PERSON> gave it to <PERSON> 5–3–2, while <PERSON> and <PERSON> both saw it 7–3 for him. There were no arguments from <PERSON> or his handlers – but a lot of crowing from the Frenchman's corner. He would never get his hands on the title, nor even have the opportunity to do so (although his points loss over fifteen rounds to <PERSON> the following year in Philadelphia was for something called the Pennsylvania State world middleweight title). But he felt vindicated at last in beating <PERSON>, and he had an unusually passionate Associated Press writer trumpeting his case the next day in a report that departed from the dry style that normally constricts wire-service writing:
<PERSON> officially has evened his score with <PERSON>. Now the scrappy little Frenchman wants the middleweight champion to put his title on the line. <PERSON>, a 5ft 6-and-a-half-inch bundle of perpetual motion, poured it on the slowed-up Bronx Bull last night to win a unanimous 10-round decision in MSG. That squared accounts for the 25-year-old Parisian, who licked <PERSON> in the Garden last March but lost the decision. The verdict, one of the rankest in years, resulted in the suspension of the two officials who voted <PERSON>.
Indeed it did. But not 'indefinitely', as Mr <PERSON> ruled. <PERSON>, who'd boxed in the twenties and briefly managed a football team at Rockaway Beach, New York, where he was born, continued as referee and judge for many years.
<PERSON>, too, returned. But, in 1958, he surprised many people when he told the _Saturday Evening Post_ boxing had 'fallen into moral turpitude and physical derogation'. <PERSON>, who'd been an official since 1921 and refereed more than a hundred world title fights, many of them at the Garden, resigned. He was an optometrist.
It didn't make the _New York Times –_ or even the _Tecumseh Countywide News_ and _Shawnee Sun_ in <PERSON> home town of Pottawatomie, probably – but, on Wednesday 29 August 1951, <PERSON>, who would go on to take one great leap for mankind, flew his first mission as a pilot in the US Navy. Six months after learning to fly.
He rode shotgun for a photo reconnaisance plane over Songjin as the Korean War struggled into the American consciousness. America didn't want to read about Korea. It was a
|
b9468070-a2a4-4bec-7ee6-c01d1c1bedd1
|
['64ee188e-942f-7773-775a-59daee82287e']
|
pay your bills, and there's more here." He dropped the paper onto the pile. "You have a lot of work to do."
"I guess I didn't get the money management genes." She teetered back and forth in a cute, girlish way.
"<PERSON>, it isn't about genes. It's about good habits, saving, and making smart decisions each and every day. It's called being an adult." He didn't want to scold her, but his frustrations were getting the better of him. His emotions continued to swell, making him sweat.
<PERSON> sighed, crossing her arms over the table.
<PERSON> got up and walked around to her side, massaging her shoulders. "Don't be that way. Don't get yourself into a snit."
"This isn't fair. I'm too beautiful to have to work all the time. When you're beautiful, <PERSON> is supposed to look after you. No one told me life was going to be this hard. Oh, where is Daddy when I need him?" She let out a pathetic whine and moved closer to <PERSON>.
"Yes, babe, that's a sweet story we read to young girls. A fairy tale." He patted her back before stepping away.
"But it's real. I've found you."
"Well, I'd like us to have financial equality." He felt flushed.
"Together, we can pay it off. This'll bring us together." She looked up at him, her eyes a little wet. "We can do it as a family."
"Yes, I'll help you. But we need to get things in order first. Can we continue?" He pushed up his sleeves.
"Of course, honey." She nodded.
<PERSON> walked back to his side of the table and sat down. "Now, you have forty thousand owed to the student loans collection agency," he said, staring at one of the bills.
"Can we stop this? Can you just do what we both know you'll do, and pay this off? Then we can start over again?"
"No. No, I can't do that. That's over a hundred thousand dollars, <PERSON>. We need to work in steps." <PERSON> slapped the table as he looked up from the papers, feeling aghast and fed up. He wished he could be alone for a while so he could think things through.
"But you have money." She lifted a hand and rubbed together a dainty finger and thumb.
"Damn it! We need to be smart." <PERSON> felt fatigued. He had a sudden yearning for fresh air.
"I need a man to get this taken care of for me." She pointed firmly at the thick pile on the table.
"That's not smart!" <PERSON> looked away. His scalp prickled as the little hairs stood up on his neck.
"But that's how true love works. When we're married I'll use your credit cards." She put her arms under her breasts, gathering and pushing them up.
"Look, I'm starting to get angry now. I want to be with someone who is smart." His face reddened and his heart began to race.
"Smart!" <PERSON> rose from her chair, suddenly seething. "Smart? Don't you want to be in love, married, and
|
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women of today, who lived off men's labors. He began to pace in a tight circle.
"What the—?"
<PERSON>'s stance wavered. He saw the students' blank faces and felt he'd let them down. "Are there any women here who are builders or hard laborers?"
"Ohhh," someone moaned.
No one raised a hand.
"There are loads of female writers and doctors! You sound like an ass!" <PERSON> tossed her hand with a downward thrust, as if tossing a ball.
"I'm not saying women haven't assisted our civilization, but men built America."
"If it weren't for women, there'd be no men!"
"You're right. Look—if a woman spends time to create, she can be a great inventor or something. All I'm saying is that women often prioritize relationships ahead of all else." He rubbed his brow to ease a growing headache.
"That's sexist bullshit!"
"Hold on a minute. Just stay with me." His eyes tightened. He scrubbed one hand over his sweat-beaded forehead, and then flicked off the projector. "I'm not a woman-hater," he said, managing a grin. He remembered how hard his father had worked to provide for <PERSON> and the rest of the family. Dad worked on the Interstate Highway system as a cement laborer, building a luxury most people today take for granted. God, he loved his dad.
<PERSON> carefully controlled his voice. "I'll conduct some further research and make some changes to this lecture. I promise to add more examples of women who helped to build our civilization. Thank you."
He hoped the tenure committee would never hear about today's trial run. The lecture had ended with a thud. He would need to change the script, if only to protect his shot at tenure. He imagined holding the official denial letter in his hands.
On her way out, <PERSON> waved and called, "Great lecture, Prof!"
<PERSON> waved back.
As he walked out of the hall, another student stopped him. "Sorry, but I'm dropping your class."
"I'm sorry to hear that," <PERSON> said.
A written complaint, or even of such, would thwart the image that he wished to present to the department chair - a dedicated professor wreathed in outstanding achievements and true distinction. <PERSON>'s heart was pounding. The response from the students rang inside his head.
∞∞∞
When he walked through the door to his Burlingame condo, his body finally relaxed. As he lowered his butt onto his favorite chair, the phone rang.
He answered it. "Hello."
"Hi. It's <PERSON>." Her quiet voice warmed him.
"I just got back from the lecture, and—um, it didn't go as I expected." His tone was low. "One student called me a misogynist," he sighed, leaning back in the chair.
"I'm sorry to hear that. You'll fix things, sweetie," she said.
He scratched his forehead. "Some of my bullet points and statements rubbed a few students the wrong way."
"Can you repair the lecture? Like, make it better?" Her voice signaled sweetness and support.
"I'm already working on some changes here and there. I'm concerned, because I'm up for tenure, you know? How are you?"
|
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have thoughtful written discussions of the book as it unfolds. And these are supposed to be more than simple "loved it" or "hated it" conversations. Maggie always offers students a thought-provoking topic to invite their best thinking, coaches them on how to write steadily and silently, makes use of the students' ideas in subsequent discussions, and collects the papers when the lesson is done.
As kids complete Chapter 9, Maggie invites groups to in engage in another series of written discussions. Each student gets out a full-size piece of paper and puts their initials—their personal "check-in"—in the left-hand margin. <PERSON> provides a very focused topic: <PERSON> attitudes toward sex, as they are being revealed in this pivotal chapter. She sets kids writing, allows about one minute each, and tells kids when to pass their notes. The whole thing takes about five minutes. Figure 5.1 on the previous page shows one of the four discussion sheets that one group created.
This quick conversation illustrates a pattern we often see in write-arounds: the deepening of thinking through discussion. The early comments here are general and not well grounded in the book's themes. But when <PERSON> checks in, and pushes off from the previous comments, the thinking gets closer to the meat of the book, and then CB arguably hits it out of the park. Four heads are often better than one—but not instantly.
Figure 5.1
_"It's the opposite of the typical whole-class discussion where a few volunteer and the majority sleep."_
With the fourth pass, kids receive back the letter they started, with the other three kids' comments added. At this point, <PERSON> asks everyone to read that page and then circle "the one most interesting sentence" that anyone wrote on the topic. Then she invites groups to continue their conversation aloud, using the circled sentences as discussion starters. After groups have talked for another three or four minutes, <PERSON> calls everyone back for a whole-class discussion. Hands fly up. It's the opposite of the typical whole-class discussion where a few volunteer and the majority sleep. Here, it seems like everyone—even the usually shy kids—wants to throw in an idea, to join in the wider conversation. And that's because everyone has had a chance to think, rehearse, and try out his or her ideas with others, before being asked to risk wider disclosure.
LAUNCHING LESSON:
The New Mexico state curriculum guide requires that middle school kids learn about the rule of law, how laws are made, and—like all states—the U.S. Constitution. So when <PERSON> was teaching sixth grade in Santa Fe, he developed a lesson for this unit around the issue of outlawing "dangerous dogs."
_"The most effective teachers begin units with the most lively, relevant, even gut-wrenching aspects of a required topic—and then work kids back to the core concepts."_
**Smokey:** Whenever you are starting a unit about ideas that seem abstract or distant from the kids (such as the legal system), you need to hook them with something up close and personal. I have always been struck by the study done
|
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['6599c41d-dca6-c578-e616-4467fbdede8e']
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keep time for you.
Finally, what are you going to write about? See this list I have projected here? You may have lots of things that you remember about the play that you can't wait to talk about. If that's the case, go for it. But if you need a little reminder or a topic to give you a quick start on your letter-writing, you can use one of these topics. I will leave them up.
• What you liked about the play
• What you thought about the people in <PERSON>'s family
• How you liked the acting, scenery, or costumes
• What facts you learned about <PERSON>
• What questions you still have
• Anything else that comes to mind as you think back on the performance yesterday
This will be something fun and different. Everyone gets to talk—you don't have to raise your hand. And just so you know, I will be collecting these when we are done to see what you've talked about.
Ready? Let's write letters!
As kids write, <PERSON> circulates through the room, looking over shoulders and gauging kids' progress. About every minute and a half, she instructs kids to finish the sentence they are currently working on, and then tells them to exchange papers. Then, their job is to read what their buddy has written, and respond, right under wherever their partner left off writing, keeping the conversation going. She reminds kids that they can respond, comment, connect, compare, debate a point, or shift to another play-related topic. "Just keep the conversation going," she encourages.
Copyright © <PERSON>. All rights reserved.
One pair of kids wrote this:
<PERSON> was shown sewing during the play.
Here you might think that <PERSON> has gone completely off the rails, until you look up and notice that he is answering <PERSON>'s questions one by one. We suspect that his final agreement that, yes, the play should have included <PERSON>'s fatal shooting may not be wholehearted.
Figure 4.2
Most importantly, if you had walked into the room while kids were writing these notes back and forth, you would have been struck by the fact _that every single kid in the room_ was either writing or reading about the play for about eight solid minutes. Every kid—no sleepers, no slackers.
This reminds us: If you want engagement, you can have it. You just have to use the classroom structures that trigger active learning instead of stifling it, as lectures can. Written conversations make it easy for everyone, bold or shy, to participate.
GENERAL INSTRUCTIONS FOR "LIVE" DIALOGUE JOURNALS
Below are the instructions as we tell them to kids:
• Sit next to your chosen or assigned partner. Get in a good position for both writing and talking, and be sure you can still see any materials I project on the screen _. This might include the instructions for this activity, a list of possible letter-starter phrases, or text or an image that is the subject of the writing._
• Everyone please get a full-size blank piece of
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|
LXIV parte 2ª)
" **estar hecho una uva** ": estar borracho (cap. XLV, parte 1ª)
" **estar picado el molino** ": es frase metafórica que significa "estar preparado y en la mejor disposición para seguir haciendo algo que ya se ha iniciado". Se refiere a <PERSON>, que el momento en que mejor muelen es cuando está picada la piedra (cap. LXXI, parte 2ª)
" **estar ya duro el alcacel para zampoñas** ": es frase que se aplica para indicar que a alguna persona ha dejado pasar la edad adecuada para aprender o realizar alguna cosa. Alcacel o alcacer es la cebada verde y en hierba, con cuyas cañas solían hacer los muchachos unas flautas, y al endurecerse ya no se podía usar para este fin. Zampoña es un tipo de flauta rústica (cap. LXXIII, parte 2ª)
**estercolar** : echar estiércol en las tierras para abono (cap. XII, parte 2ª)
**estevado** : que tiene las piernas torcidas en arco, curvándose hacia fuera por las rodillas (cap. I, parte 2ª)
" **estigio lago** ": se refiere a la laguna estigia, o río Estige, que era uno de los cuatro ríos del infierno mitológico y a lo perteneciente a ella. Estigio significa infernal. <PERSON> era la diosa infernal, de la que tomó nombre el río (cap. LXIX, parte 2ª)
**estocada** : golpe que se tira de punta con la espada o estoque. Herida recibida de este modo (cap. XIX, parte 2ª)
**estotra** : esta otra (cap. XVIII, parte 1ª)
**estrado** : conjuno de alfombras, muebles, cojines, etc. que servía para adornar el lugar en el que las señoras recibían las visitas (cap. X, parte 2ª)
**estrambote** : conjunto de versos o copla añadida al fin de una composición poética, especialmente en los sonetos, para mayor expresión, lucimiento y gracejo (cap. XXXVIII, parte 2ª)
**estripaterrones** : gañán, trabajador del campo (cap. L, parte 2ª)
**estropajos** : palabra que dice <PERSON> al querer repetir "antropófagos". Estropajo es una porción de esparto machacado que se usa para fregar (cap. <PERSON>, parte 2ª)
**estuviésedes** : estuvieseis (cap. XII, parte 1ª)
**ético** : hético, héctico, consumido (cap. IX, parte 1ª)
**excetar** : exceptuar (cap. LVIII, parte 2ª)
**exentar** : eximir (prólogo, parte 1ª)
" **exhalaciones secas** ": se refiere a los fuegos fatuos, que son pequeñas llamas que parecen vagar por el aire , a corta distancia de la tierra, y que son producidas por los gases emanados por sustancias animales o vegetales en putrefacción (cap. XXXIV, parte 2ª)
## **F**
**fablar** : hablar (cap. XXI, parte 1ª)
**facción** : acción de guerra (prólogo, parte 2ª)
**facer** : hacer (cap. VIII, parte 1ª)
**facienda** : hacienda (cap. XXVI, parte 1ª)
**facineroso** : delincuente habitual; hombre perverso (cap. XLVII, parte 1ª)
**fación** : facción, acción de guerra (cap. LI, parte 1ª)
**faciones** : facciones, rasgos o líneas de la cara (cap. I, parte 2ª)
**fadas** : hadas (cap. L, parte 1ª)
**faldellín** : falda corta (cap. XXIII, parte 2ª)
**faldriquera** : faltriquera, bolsillo de las prendas de vestir; bolsillo que se ataban las mujeres a la cintura y
|
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viernes (cap. XL, parte 1ª)
**jumentil** : referente a los jumentos o asnos (cap. XXXIII, parte 2ª)
**jumento** : asno (cap. X, parte 2ª)
**juridición** : jurisdicción, terreno (cap. XVII, parte 2ª)
**jurisperito** : el entendido en derecho civil y canónico, aunque no se ejercite en el foro (cap. XLII, parte 2ª)
**justa** : certamen, competición, torneo (cap. LII, parte 1ª)
" **juxta illud, si quis suadente diabolo, etc**.": en latín "si alguien incitado por el diablo...etc." Son palabras del Concilio de Trento para indicar que una persona quedaba excomulgada si ponía mano sobre un fraile o religioso (cap. XIX, parte 1ª)
## **L**
" **La del alba sería** ": se refiere a la "hora" del alba, palabra con que termina el capítulo anterior (cap. IV, parte 1ª)
" **la discreción era mocosa** ": mocosa tiene aquí el significado de niña o chica joven y la frase indica que la discreción era ligera o inestable (cap. XXXVIII, parte 2ª)
" **la hora de agora** ": en este momento (cap. I, parte 2ª)
" **la Mancha** ": región geográfica de España situada en el sureste de la meseta, y que comprende parte de las provincias de Albacete, Ciudad Real, Cuenca y Toledo (cap. I, parte 1ª)
" **la Peña de Francia** ": es una sierra ubicada entre las provincias de Salamanca y Cáceres y que pertenece a la cordillera central. Culmina en el llamado pico de la Peña de Francia, en cuya cumbre está el Monasterio de la Peña de Francia, en el término municipal de La Alberca, pueblo de la provincia de Salamanca. En la iglesia del monasterio está la venerada imagen de la Virgen de la Peña (cap. XXII, parte 2ª)
" **la pierna quebrada y en casa** ": hace referencia a un antiguo dicho, según el cual la mujer casada había de estar "con la pata quebrada, y en casa", significando que había de atender sólo a los cuidados domésticos (cap. XXXIV, parte 2ª)
" **la primavera sigue al verano, el verano al estío**...." Esta frase es algo sorprendente, y viene escrita de dos modos distintos en diferentes ediciones del Quijote. En unas pone: "la primavera sigue al verano, el verano al estío, etc..." En otras, y parecería hoy lo más lógico, pone "a la primavera sigue el verano, al verano el estío, etc." <PERSON> dice en su estudio del Quijote que la Academia corrigió el texto que originalmente decía "la primavera sigue al verano..." y que en su opinión no se debería haber corregido porque Cervantes invirtió voluntariamente el orden para hacer más risible la situación.
Aún así, hoy sorprende la diferencia entre verano y estío, ya que hoy son sinónimos, pero antiguamente se decía verano a lo que hoy llamamos primavera, y se decía primavera al principio del verano.
<PERSON> dice a este respecto que "verano, según su etimología es la Primavera; pero regularmente se toma por el tiempo de estío ù en que hace calor"
El diccionario de Roque Barcia dice: "verano: (anticuado) primavera"
<PERSON> no recoge la palabra "verano" como
|
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['67a69cb7-f418-213e-eafb-5b6357a16216']
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Why are atheists instead a small minority in America? Why are we reviled and pushed out of politics and public conversation?
It's because the advances of science are never described as being successful primarily because science assumes there is no god. Imagine a newspaper article that described a breakthrough in the creation of a smallpox vaccine:
A group of atheists, working under the always successful assumption that there is no god and that the natural world operates without any supernatural help, found today that smallpox is in fact created by microscopic entities called viruses. Now that this evidence is in, the scientists can work on the creation of a vaccine using weakened viruses to strengthen the body's immune system. Another victory for the atheistic world view.
Don't you see? Everything that works in the world, everything that humanity has created works because we assume there is no god. Cars work because we assume that no god will help run them if there's no gasoline or engine. Diseases are cured because we assume that god has nothing to do with them; so scientists look for other causes. Buildings stand because we build them strongly, knowing that the hand of god won't hold them up.
Imagine building a car with no engine, and assuming it's going to run on "god power." What irony! After centuries of priests and shamans praying for signs and praying that a god or gods interfere with human lives, the only thing that has worked in the real world is to assume that god doesn't exist! To assume there is no god is to get off on the right foot every single time.
Let's imagine a situation where a child is badly injured. The child's deeply religious parents, assuming there is a god who works miracles, pray over the child in their home and do not take her to the hospital. The child dies. In this case, aren't the parents guilty of a crime? Don't we all, deep down, know that it's criminal to pretend there is a real god in certain situations? That injured child should have been taken to a hospital, where the doctors, who would assume that there is no god (through their actions if not their beliefs) would hopefully be able to repair her body and keep her alive. If there is a god, why does he demand that we deny him in order to make anything work?
Why don't we begin to define atheism as a religion? Not only that, but let's define everything that works as atheistic. Atheistic car mechanics, atheistic doctors, atheistic custodial workers. We could go on and on. Not a single profession in the entire world achieves results by assuming there is a god. That is, except for the religious profession, which exists only to perpetuate its religious beliefs.
But, you might say, don't many religious professionals do a lot to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and all that? Don't religious people often do good things because of religion? Sure, but why do they have to do it? Because they
|
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you and go." This may have been intended to address the issue of late converts getting into the same heaven as lifelong believers, but it's a good piece of advice for other situations. Work for what you were promised and don't worry about what your coworkers are getting.
That being said, I have no illusions. <PERSON> wasn't born of a virgin, didn't walk on water, didn't rise from the dead, and didn't do anything else supernatural. These bits of biography were almost certainly borrowed from various earlier religions and mythologies. But if <PERSON> really existed and really said some of the things that are written in the New Testament, then most of his nonreligious ideas were good, if not original. He wasn't the first, for example, to command people to treat their neighbors as they would want to be treated. And he is very tiresome when he talks constantly about the kingdom of heaven, or when he implies, as he does, in John 15:6, that whoever doesn't believe in him and his sometimes egotistical rantings will burn in hell.
In fact, no less an intellect than <PERSON> has pointed out, in his best-selling book, God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything, that in some ways <PERSON> was far more vicious than the tyrant god of the Old Testament. Whereas god would command his followers to slaughter babies and destroy whole towns, he was at least content to have the torture and murder committed in his name confined to a short span of time. <PERSON> condemned nonbelievers, those who rejected him, to hell for eternity.
So, isn't he more of a condemner than a savior? If so, why is he so celebrated? Aren't those who slavishly follow him doing so primarily out of fear? As the Christian author <PERSON> has pointed out, if <PERSON> really did say what he supposedly said (and there's no way of knowing: the many gospels written about him were all written decades—or centuries—after his death by unknown authors, and many, perhaps most, of those written accounts were destroyed), then he was either crazy or the son of god.
If that's the case, then I have to make the same assumption about <PERSON> that I would make about anybody else who claimed to be the son of god: the man was crazy.
I agree with <PERSON>, who produced a version of the New Testament ("The Jefferson Bible") in which he removed the miracles. All of the miraculous "son of god" nonsense took away from a pretty decent message about how to treat one's fellow human beings.
It's much worse for Islam. Take the "miracles" out of Islam, and you're left with a religion where the "true prophet" <PERSON> thought nothing of slaughtering his fellow human beings in warfare and had no trouble treating women, even pre-pubescent girls, as sexual playthings and third-class citizens. And, oh yes, he approved the enslavement of non-Muslims by Muslims. He also condemned nonbelievers to hell, so <PERSON> got to commit violence in this world and the next—and feel righteous about
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less confidence. At the lecture after that, he did not play. I watched him. He looked towards the piano, surely thought of trying again, but remained in his seat. It had worked best when it was spontaneous.
I wrote the story as an interior monologue in three parts, one for each lecture. The thoughts ranged in emotion from whim and insouciance to arrogance and vanity to defeat. It began with the words "I will play" and ended with "I will listen." It was of no great interest, and hardly had I finished it than I read it over, thought "Hmmm" and tore it up. But I remember thinking that I had captured the modulation of emotions nicely.
The majority of my plays and stories were aborted after a few pages. In my head, airborne, my ideas were full of grace and power, like a soaring albatross. When they landed on the page — quite aside from the fact that they seemed to have the commensurate awkwardness of a big bird on foot — I could no longer enjoy their company. For what was written was over. I had to move on. I might have to endure thoughts of <PERSON>, might have to suffer my loneliness until I could think of another fiction. This is as close as I can come to an explanation of why I started to write: not for the sake of writing, but for the sake of company.
I decided to spend the summer between my second and third year in Greece, for an airfare equivalent in actuarial terms to one of my parents' fingers. I'd heard the country was cheap and beautiful, and <PERSON> wasn't going to be in Roetown. She was heading home. Things were going so-so with <PERSON> and she was confused as to what she was doing at university. She wasn't sure she would return to Ellis. We said goodbye on the street. We hugged — the first and only time I felt her breasts against mine — and I kissed her on both cheeks, the way the French and aspiring lovers do. She gave me her mother's address. (It used to jump out at me when I flipped through my address book. Now it's an overgrown tombstone at the back of a garden.)
I was better prepared for Greece than I had been for Portugal. I read up on the country, I bought a good practical guidebook, my backpack weighed in at six kilos, I felt I was better at assessing situations, at bargaining; in short, the prospect of sunset was less terrifying. Still, like the last time, I left Canada feeling depressed, lonely and nervous. I knew no one, no one knew me, where was I going? why was I doing this? — round and round.
Blue and white are the colours of Greece, blue of sea, white of marble, set in an air that has a certain glow. It was in the midst of these simple elements, three days after landing in Athens, that I rediscovered the pleasure of travelling. The temple
|
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why.
After a while I made good use of the lifebuoy. I lifted it out of the water and put the oar through its hole. I worked it down until the ring was hugging me. Now it was only with my legs that I had to hold on. If <PERSON> appeared, it would be more awkward to drop from the oar, but one terror at a time, Pacific before tiger.
CHAPTER 41
The elements allowed me to go on living. The lifeboat did not sink. <PERSON> kept out of sight. The sharks prowled but did not lunge. The waves splashed me but did not pull me off.
I watched the ship as it disappeared with much burbling and belching. Lights flickered and went out. I looked about for my family, for survivors, for another lifeboat, for anything that might bring me hope. There was nothing. Only rain, marauding waves of black ocean and the flotsam of tragedy.
The darkness melted away from the sky. The rain stopped.
I could not stay in the position I was in forever. I was cold. My neck was sore from holding up my head and from all the craning I had been doing. My back hurt from leaning against the lifebuoy. And I needed to be higher up if I were to see other lifeboats.
I inched my way along the oar till my feet were against the bow of the boat. I had to proceed with extreme caution. My guess was that <PERSON> was on the floor of the lifeboat beneath the tarpaulin, his back to me, facing the zebra, which he had no doubt killed by now. Of the five senses, tigers rely the most on their sight. Their eyesight is very keen, especially in detecting motion. Their hearing is good. Their smell is average. I mean compared to other animals, of course. Next to <PERSON>, I was deaf, blind and nose-dead. But at the moment he could not see me, and in my wet condition could probably not smell me, and what with the whistling of the wind and the hissing of the sea as waves broke, if I were careful, he would not hear me. I had a chance so long as he did not sense me. If he did, he would kill me right away. Could he burst through the tarpaulin, I wondered.
Fear and reason fought over the answer. Fear said Yes. He was a fierce, 450-pound carnivore. Each of his claws was as sharp as a knife. Reason said No. The tarpaulin was sturdy canvas, not a Japanese paper wall. I had landed upon it from a height. <PERSON> could shred it with his claws with a little time and effort, but he couldn't pop through it like a jack-in-the-box. And he had not seen me. Since he had not seen me, he had no reason to claw his way through it.
I slid along the oar. I brought both my legs to one side of the oar and placed my feet
|
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<PERSON>, the British secretary for war and colonies, claiming in <PERSON>'s case that he had sold the allotment 'at a high premium to a gentleman for commercial purposes'. <PERSON> denied this, claiming that <PERSON>, having bought another allotment in the Crown sales, had 'let' the allotment at issue, having first paid for it. But the explanation – which was totally untrue – failed to satisfy <PERSON>'s successor, Viscount <PERSON>, and the purchaser, Captain <PERSON> (later a victim of <PERSON>'s failure), wrote to <PERSON> that the transfer of the allotment from <PERSON> was a 'final sale of the property, and not let, as described by the late governor'. <PERSON> backed up his claim by providing the secretary of state with copies of legal documents, including the articles of agreement. The journalist Dr <PERSON> claimed <PERSON> had paid £1500 for the land. Another report said £1200. Either way, it was a spectacular return for <PERSON>, who had paid just £315 for it, probably on a ten per cent deposit, the previous year.
Fortunately for <PERSON>, <PERSON> had by now died and he was able to blame the late governor for the mix-up, describing it to <PERSON> as an 'unintentional error' on <PERSON>'s part. This did not excuse <PERSON>'s behaviour; he had done nothing to correct the impression the property had been let until <PERSON> came forward. In all, at least twelve of <PERSON>'s officers had breached <PERSON>' regulations – the usual suspects, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON> (a member of the Legislative Council since October 1841); notables Chief Justice <PERSON>, attorney-general <PERSON>, surveyor-general <PERSON> (<PERSON>'s replacement), acting deputy postmaster-general <PERSON> (<PERSON>'s replacement), <PERSON> (land claims commissioner) and <PERSON> (chief protector of aborigines); and Messrs <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
<PERSON>, kept abreast of this jobbery by <PERSON> and others, was savagely critical of the offending officials in a dispatch to the new governor-in-waiting, <PERSON>, in June 1843. <PERSON>, no longer acting surveyor-general, came in for the harshest criticism. 'Mr <PERSON>, whose duty, as surveyor-general, it was to prevent such irregularities, profited by them more extensively than any other public officer,' the secretary of state wrote.
<PERSON> ordered FitzRoy to distinguish between the 'clear' and 'doubtful' cases of jobbery and act accordingly – the clear cases being those where officers had acted in the spirit, if not the letter, of the regulations (the Crown was to confirm the officers' titles) and the doubtful ones where <PERSON> was unable to decide (the properties were to be auctioned). <PERSON> ruled that <PERSON> and <PERSON> came into the doubtful class.
The New Zealand government, by accident or design, had fuelled the speculative property market by restricting the number of allotments put to auction in the 19 April 1841 Crown sales. Although plenty of land had been surveyed, just 116 lots were available to cater for between 800 and 900 applications. The effect was three-fold:
♦ The government sold some 35 acres 1 rood 7 perches (14.3 ha) for a staggering £21,499, or an average of £609 an acre. With the sale
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deposit which <PERSON> is said to have used to add to her extensive antique collection.
<PERSON> retained his bloodstock interests after <PERSON> demise and has been living comfortably ever since, though with a fortune a fraction of the $50 million-plus attributed to him in the 1987 (pre-crash) _Rich_ _List._ He has lost none of the eccentricity that marked his involvement in politics in the 1970s and 1980s. Described as an 'aging hippie' (by virtue of the ponytail he sported in his post-corporate days), in 1999 he launched an oddball political party, NMP (short for New Millennium Party), offering a three-year membership for 5c. NMP, if elected, promised to abolish the Inland Revenue Department, ban genetic engineering, and make New Zealand wholly organic by 2010. Phillips also sought in 1999 to acquire McCashin's Brewery in Nelson but a deal never eventuated.
Judge and <PERSON> are two of the wackier bubble boys identified with the bull market of the 1980s. But they at least had some business history behind them, even if their commercial judgment proved to be severely flawed. The same cannot be said for the promoters of Energycorp Investments and Epicorp Investments, two of dozens of minor bubble companies to fail after the crash.
Energycorp, run by several prominent accountants and former associates of the wealthy businessman <PERSON> (born 1934), had managed to get a $15.5 million loan from the Bank of New Zealand, yet after the company failed only $4 million was recovered from its assets, which had a book value of $35 million. By 1989 three of the directors – <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON> – either were bankrupt or had reached compromise deals with creditors for debts and personal guarantees of $55.7 million, $22.2 million and $16.7 million respectively. <PERSON> (born 1955), adjudged bankrupt in 1989 on a credit-card debt, fled to the United States where he was later jailed for four years and eight months for fraud and conspiracy to defraud. He had been found guilty by the US District Court on eleven charges after his investment company, Madison Company of New York, fraudulently obtained $US1.3 million from private investors.
Tales of directors' high living at the expense of shareholders and creditors probably did more to damage confidence in the New Zealand Stock Exchange after 1987 than the company failures themselves. They provided ammunition for politicians suspicious of the sharemarket – people like Alliance party leader <PERSON>, who called it the 'Wild West without a sheriff' – to press for regulation of takeovers, greater corporate governance and prosecutions for insider trading. In the fury and angst that followed the crash, insider trading was made a civil offence under the 1988 Securities Amendment Act – a knee-jerk reaction to a problem more mythical than real. Governance was addressed in the 1993 Companies Act, but minority shareholders had to wait until 2001 before a Takeovers Code – one that would stop two-tier takeovers like Lion Corporation's controversial acquisition of L.D. Nathan & Co in 1988 – was finally introduced. As this book was going to
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pontoon boat, wearing our life jackets, and then my father rowed my mother and my sister and me around the cove in the green rowboat my grandparents kept at their dock. We sang "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" as a round (not typically a part-singing family, we must have been carried away by the novelty of being on the water). I got to try my hand at rowing.
When it was time for us to go home, my grandfather said he would stay at the lake a little longer, because he wanted to take the rowboat out and run some fishing lines. My grandmother said she would stay with him. This complicated things, because my grandmother had driven us to the dock in her car—my grandfather had gone out earlier, in his truck—but not to worry: We could drive <PERSON>'s car back to our house, and the two of them would come by and pick it up later, on the way back to Monument Road. Simple enough. I was excited to ride home in my grandmother's silver Ford, because it had a keypad lock, four numbered buttons in a horizontal row above the door handle, and I had never seen another car with a lock like that, and it was fun to tap in the combination.
That night, my mother woke up and noticed that the silver Ford was still in our driveway. But that wasn't anything to worry over. My grandparents had probably just decided to go straight home after a long day on the water. We'd all been tired. My grandfather had looked especially tired, my mother thought. They would come for the car in the morning.
In the morning the car was still in the driveway.
Well—it was Sunday, Mother's Day, a day to sleep in. Still no reason to worry. Just to be safe, my mother called Monument Road.
No answer.
It would be just like my grandfather, we all agreed, to have lit out on some trip without telling anyone. My parents decided to drive over to Monument to check whether anyone had been home.
We were sure it would come out all right. This was a temporary confusion, one we'd laugh about later—how dire the misunderstanding had felt, how harmless it had turned out to be.
My parents didn't know how long they'd be gone, so they dropped my sister and me off at our other grandmother's house, on Berkshire, a block away from home. Our other grandmother, <PERSON>, my father's mother, was at that time very sick with cancer. She had become, in her illness, deeply religious, religious in a way I, without knowing many details, understood to be intense and ultra-evangelical, and that morning she was being looked after by someone from her church, a woman whose name I can't remember. <PERSON>? I don't remember seeing <PERSON>, though we must have, we would have gone back to her room to say hello, but all I remember is sitting at the counter in her kitchen and looking at a copy of The Ponca City News
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sheltered Jewish refugees. At eighteen, as soon as he could, he joined the Royal Navy and went to war against his own brothers-in-law.
The world is very large. The life of a monarch encompasses many things. After <PERSON> married him he began finding himself in new countries, odd, uncomfortable places, meeting chieftains and suchlike. Damnable odd fellows! Accept this sword, made from a great whale's tooth. We present you with this bow, this hide, this dish of ants. Remember their names, remember the modes of address. Blessedly the younger generation are now as capable of hying off to God knows where as he was once, in the Stone Age, which takes off some of the strain. Soon his grandson and the <PERSON> girl will leave for the Yukon Territory—imagine, a royal tour of the Yukon! Snow and ice and not a dram of good scotch in the place. Securing the allegiance of those very important royal subjects, polar bears at the end of the earth!
Well, they'll have enough to keep them busy. No shortage of ninnies who want to bask a minute in the aura. Never a lack of locals to placate. So often the royal couple's duty is to make others feel important. Easy enough when your importance has never been in doubt. But he has been homeless in the finest castles in Europe; he has nurtured the small flame of his own prestige through terrible nights. The map he read by it never showed him these decades of vague, agreeable service. It helps, of course, to know he is doing his duty. But duty, around the small grain of his mortification, is a pearl that never quite closes. Give him the playing field, the decks of his old ships: places where he could trust reason and ruthlessness and where—quasi-orphan that he was—he knew whom he needed to impress. Hold your nerve. Prove your worth. Privation, like war and sport, is clarifying. It is only when you get to the top of the pile that they blame you for knowing which way is up.
Her Daughter-in-Law Who Is Dead
When <PERSON> turned eighteen her parents bought her a flat in London, so she moved to London and lived there. She lived with three friends whom she charged eighteen pounds a week. She painted the walls in pastels. She organized the cleaning schedule. She hung a sign on her bedroom door that said CHIEF CHICK. She had recently taken a cooking course where she learned to make chocolate roulades and borscht, and she sometimes made a roulade for her friends, but her favorite foods to eat at home were Harvest Crunch bran cereal and store-bought chocolates. She worried that she was getting plump, but then she always worried about that. She liked practical jokes. She dated schoolboys, or she dated recently graduated Etonians who were now junior officers in the guards, or she dated heirs of minor noble titles who had finished up at Oxford and were spending the year traveling. Sometimes she did their laundry. She drove a Honda Civic
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was failure. The expectation was a hole in one every time he teed off. Not even <PERSON> could do that. <PERSON> rotated his left arm in a wide arc, then his right arm. After that he dropped to the floor and did fifty push-ups.
Waiting for the shot caused <PERSON>'s muscles to stiffen up. The total focus and concentration made him feel edgy. He stayed alert and depended on the blues to pull him into the psychological zone he needed to occupy before pulling the trigger. Every sniper had his trick for finding that zone. <PERSON> found it with <PERSON>'s help and the blues.
So far it had been a normal job and normal conditions. The aborted shot came with the territory; <PERSON> could deal with it. Sometimes they would set up in the field and wait three or four days for the target to appear. Then they got one shot, what in the trade they called the JFK special, the headshot that seals the deal. Pack up and leave the scene. In a few seconds the downtime is logged into the past as forgotten history.
Something different was playing in <PERSON>'s mind. <PERSON> looked up from his position at his friend. <PERSON>'s restlessness, his constant high-alert mode, was obvious, for instance in the way small things like a noise in the outside corridor spooked him.
"Something's bothering you, <PERSON>. It ain't the wind. It ain't the possibility of rain."
<PERSON> slowly moved his binoculars clockwise, scanning the buildings and the road below. "The first time we set up, the target didn't show. An abort makes me uneasy. An abort is a whisper from deeper voices that somethin's wrong."
"What else is the whisper saying, <PERSON>?"
"They never tell you straight out. But they give little hints. Like, <PERSON>, you keep your eye out for what's out of place. Look for what doesn't fit in the picture. Is there anything or anyone who breaks the pattern of what you should be finding?" <PERSON> scanned the scene, finding vans, police cars, and a chopper that flew overhead; people in the windows of apartments, offices, and shops.
"Anything stick out that shouldn't?" asked <PERSON>.
Despite the long hours of waiting, a mission could roll faster than a dog with a back full of fleas. It made them both uneasy.
<PERSON> lowered the binoculars; he had a ritual to perform. He touched them with his mojo bag, gently rubbing it down the barrel of the lens in neat, measured strokes. He muttered some words his father had taught him. Ever since <PERSON> had known him, <PERSON> had had his touch of magic, a pinch of good-luck thing, and <PERSON> never complained or made fun of it. Only this time, the ritual had gone on longer than before. That troubled <PERSON>, who liked everything to be in place exactly as it always had been.
"Not yet," said <PERSON>. "But I'm lookin' hard. What you look for is partly inside your head and partly something on the ground."
"I'm looking, too, but I don't see anything
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['683c26ec-043f-9cd2-a49d-3185c7a7bb58']
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was that he'd lose face if his farang friend packed up and left after a long line of chits had been burned to get him the room. And <PERSON>'s failed hit hadn't been resolved. He was still running around Bangkok pretending to be a victim.
"I came to Pattaya so I'd be out of the way until the General and you decided what to do with <PERSON>. I didn't want to come here in the first place. But I did what you asked. I knew it was important to you and the General. Now things are changed. <PERSON>'s going to know I'm here. The newspapers will make certain of that. Besides, I've got another case waiting in Bangkok, a farang husband in love with someone other than his wife, and the wife says it's an emergency. The client has paid the fee in advance. <PERSON> has told me she's desperate. Would the General want me to lose business?"
The problem with a guilt card is that it can be trumped by another guilt card.
"The General will understand."
<PERSON> started throwing clothes into his suitcase. He looked up as he held a Hawaiian shirt, black with vertical rows of yellow pig heads. "Before we go, can we have a look at <PERSON>'s room?"
"Don't get involved, <PERSON>. Let's go back to Bangkok and let the local police finish their job." Colonel <PERSON> knew that <PERSON> wasn't likely to follow his advice.
"I am involved. The local cops still think I killed her."
"They've changed their minds."
"Maybe they'll change them again."
The Colonel said his goodbyes to the Pattaya police and watched them take the elevator down to the lobby. They'd seemed surprised when he hadn't gotten into the elevator with them. He waied them and waited until the door closed, then pushed the up button and waited with the hotel manager, whom he'd asked to stay behind.
The manager let them into Nongluck's suite. The first thing <PERSON> noticed inside room 1542 was the cloying smell: a mix of perfume, soap, and powder. The scent of a woman. On the table was a wine bottle. Beside it was a corkscrew with the cork screwed deep, the metal tip sticking out at the bottom. A glass with two fingers of wine was next to the bottle. Beside the French wine were some playing cards wrapped with a rubber band. "Doesn't look like she was playing with a full deck," said <PERSON>, reaching for the minideck on the table.
"Don't touch them," said Colonel <PERSON>. The cards looked fairly new. <PERSON> was right; it was only a few cards. <PERSON> pulled off the rubber band and turned over the first card: the ace of hearts. He worked through the eight of diamonds, the six of clubs and the six of spades. The last four cards were the queen of hearts, the six of hearts, the five of hearts, and the nine of spades. He slipped the rubber band back on the cards, looked away and palmed the cards, slipping them in his pocket.
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592a7d6c-f9fa-0977-5663-7ce056001fbf
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['686de6ee-8bee-e41e-f82b-055f2b81032c']
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sides up. Stitch in place ¼˝ from the edges of the bottom piece.
2. Fold the outside pocket in half wrong sides together to create a 5˝ × 6˝ piece with the folded edge at the top. Press. Apply the optional appliqué to the pocket front, centering it carefully. With the pocket wrong sides together, topstitch along the folded edge.
3. Center the pocket on the outer bag, lining up the raw edges of the pocket on the raw edge of the bag bottom. Baste the pocket's sides in place ¼˝ from the edges.
4. Place the webbing straps on the bag, beginning and ending at the raw edge of the bag bottom on each side and covering the raw edges of the pocket. Be careful not to twist the straps. The outside edges of the straps will be about 6¼˝ from each side. Stitch the straps to the bag, stopping ⅝˝ from the bag's top edge.
5. With right sides together, stitch the bag together at the sides. Press the seams open.
6. Create box corners on the bag's bottom by folding the bag at a corner, matching up the side seams and bottom fold to create a triangle. Use a ruler to find where the point measures 4˝ across. Mark a line and sew on the line. Trim the excess fabric. Repeat with the other corner.
7. Turn the bag right side out. Pin the remaining piece of webbing around the bag, covering the raw edges of the bag bottom by at least ¼˝. Stitch in place along both the top and bottom edges of the webbing, overlapping the ends and topstitching.
**LINING**
1. Measure and mark 11½˝ from both 20˝ edges of the lining piece for placement of the interior pockets. Using a nonpermanent fabric marker, draw a line across the lining piece from side to side at the marks.
2. Fold the short sides and top of an interior pocket over ¼˝. Press. Topstitch around these 3 edges. Repeat for the second interior pocket, folding down the top edge more if desired.
3. Place the pocket wrong side up on the right side of the lining, with the raw edge at the marked line. Stitch in place using a ¼˝ seam allowance. Fold the pocket so the right side is up. Press. Topstitch the side and bottom edges. Create the pocket divisions as desired, using a nonpermanent marker to mark the divisions. Stitch along the marked straight lines from top to bottom of the pocket piece. Repeat for the other side of the lining.
4. With right sides together, stitch the lining together at the sides, leaving a 4˝ opening for turning. Press the seams open. Box the corners following the directions for the outer bag.
**ASSEMBLY**
1. With the bag right side out and the lining wrong side out, place the bag inside the lining. Pin and sew around the top edges, being careful to keep the straps away from the seams.
2. Turn the bag inside out through the opening in the lining. Press the bag's
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323d9b4a-d2e5-ea63-b462-3e5d727f1dfb
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['686de6ee-8bee-e41e-f82b-055f2b81032c']
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light gray front, back, and side pieces. Press toward the light gray.
5. Sew the top to the front, leaving open ¼˝ at the beginning and end of the seam. Backstitch at both ends. Press the seam open.
6. Sew the front, sides, and back together, leaving open ¼˝ at the top edge of all the seams. Backstitch at the opening. Press the seams open.
7. Sew the 1½˝ charcoal strips end to end and press. Sew the charcoal strip to the bottom of the pieced band. Trim the excess. Press toward the bottom charcoal band.
Lining
1. Sew the lining pieces the same as the cover. Leave ¼˝ open at the top edge of the seams and where the top is sewn to the front. Note that the pieces should be arranged and sewn mirror image to the cover pieces.
2. Set up a place where you can use the-basting spray adhesive, preferably outside. Read and follow the manufacturer's instructions.
3. Spray the wrong side of the cover. Place it right side down and place the batting pieces on it, preferably under the seam allowances if possible. Smooth to assure good adhesion.
4. Spray the wrong side of the lining. Matching the front and top seams first, smooth the rest of the lining onto the batting.
5. Using an erasable marker, mark the upper light gray sections ¼˝ from the pieced band seam. Then mark every ½˝.
6. On the top piece, mark ¼˝ from the top/front seam; then mark every ½˝.
7. Quilt every line, going in opposite directions.
8. Stitch in-the-ditch in both pieced band seams.
9. Quilt the charcoal band ¼˝ from the seam, then another line ¼˝ from the first. Remove the markings and press well.
10. Sew the side to the front, being particularly careful to match the pieced band seams.
11. Match the top to the back and sew. The ¼˝ openings in the seam allowances should make this easier.
12. Match and sew the side pieces to the top piece. This may require a little adjustment of the seam allowances at the corners.
13. Use the purchased bias tape to cover the raw seams inside.
14. Sew the binding strips together with diagonal seams. Trim the seam allowance ¼˝ and press open. Press in half lengthwise, with the wrong sides together.
15. With raw edges even, pin and sew the binding to the cover. Overlap or seam the ends.
16. Bring the folded edge to the inside and stitch it in place.
17. Press well, including the side and top seams, to create sharp edges and corners.
THAT'S HOT SWAP
_Hot Drink_ **POUCHES**
Made by <PERSON>
**Finished size:** 3½˝ × 5˝
Quick and easy is always a great way to swap, and these pouches are the answer. Stitch these up in less than an hour, and you're set. The coffee version has narrow pockets for those tubes of instant coffee or water drinks. The tea version has a bigger pouch for tea bags.
**Artist: <PERSON>**
Meet this artist on page
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3d27ea02-8fed-e8d2-edcb-fbe22144a3e8
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['69205c2c-4544-7132-9631-15a216fb0468']
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wonder we feel cranky when we're even slightly dehydrated. The minimum amount of water you should drink daily is eight eight-ounce glasses. It's best not to count beverages such as tea, coffee, or soda as part of that amount. They have a diuretic effect on the body, causing you to urinate more frequently and, in doing so, lose water more rapidly than normal. People with a larger body mass, and athletic people, may need additional water.
Ideally, drink half your body weight in ounces. For example, if you weigh 140 pounds, then strive to drink 70 ounces of water. If taste is an issue, add a few drops of fresh lemon or lime juice or a few tablespoons of other natural juice to the water. Many clients tell me they forget to drink water. My advice is to fill a container with the amount of water you need to drink for the day and take it from there.
Water quality is extremely important. Most tap water is heavily chlorinated or has other chemicals meant to keep it free of microorganisms. Distilled water is likely to be the safest. Spring water would be a good choice too. Filtered water may improve taste, but not all filters remove contaminants.
_12. Be Moderate and Avoid Extremes_
Remember the 90–10 rule: implement the nutritional guidelines 90 percent of the time and allow yourself 10 percent flexibility. My dear teacher Dr. <PERSON> often said, "If you say 'do not' or 'cannot' too many times, it will tie you in knots." Follow the guidelines most of the time, and they will become a part of who you are. But don't go crazy. Eat ice cream once in a while; have a frozen pizza. Just don't let that become the norm.
Guidelines for Re-creating the Mind-Body Connection with Food
Awareness comes on all levels. Food awareness is important in reconnecting the body-mind. If you've ever tried to feed a young child, you know that it's a struggle to get him to eat when he's not hungry. Certain food, situations, emotions, environments, or circumstances can create a disconnect between the body and the mind and soul when it comes to eating. The reason that so many people struggle with eating is that, while it's a necessary act for survival, it is also tied to our upbringing, emotions, and relationships. Perhaps for you, food, in the past, meant a loving gesture from someone in a loving relationship with you. Or maybe not eating was a way for you to protest rules set by a parent or authority figure, by going on a "food strike." Or maybe you experienced food, or lack of it, as a source of punishment.
Through eating awareness we can disarm an emotional or Pavlovian response, by letting go of the triggers and tuning in to our bodies for signals of comfort and discomfort. The shift that must take place is a shift from eating to live, or survive, to nourishing the temple that houses our soul. Eating is a pleasurable, sacred act. It should be respected
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c9ed2918-ec0f-aade-493d-1e24c31c8d07
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['69205c2c-4544-7132-9631-15a216fb0468']
|
spokes of the wheel and make your wheel whole is to observe the choices you make in each moment. You will feel in your body whether a decision is right or wrong for you. If it's wrong, your heart will beat faster, you will get a sinking feeling in your stomach, or your inner voice will tell you not to do it. This applies to any decision you need to make, from deciding whether to eat a piece of cake to deciding whether to spend money. Always pause and notice how your body feels. Your body has an innate intelligence beyond what you can imagine.
In the beginning, you may resist making correct choices because you're accustomed to overriding this natural intelligence. But with practice, you will begin to live a karmic life. It's a responsible life, one that doesn't leave a lot of room for error.
So what is the payoff? The payoff is your inner peace. The payoff is knowing that you're doing the right thing rather than merely the easy thing. Anyone can do what is easy, and most of us do. But few people consistently do what is right.
When you begin to live this way, things naturally run smoothly for you. The universe has a way of rewarding karmically correct behavior. The rewards come because you are acting in accordance with universal laws. And when you live according to universal laws, the road opens wide and few obstacles lie ahead.
On Being Gentle, Humble, Loving, and Kind
You are on a beautiful path, one that will take you not only to health and healing but also to a more meaningful life. Something brought you to this path and urged you to try it out. It's normal to be excited and enthusiastic and sometimes a bit zealous. But know that not everyone is on this path yet, and some may never be. Changes and self-improvement take us to higher heights and different dimensions. At times these roads can seem lonely. We want so much for our loved ones to join us on this journey to wellness and a life of expanded awareness. You may even feel disconnected from the ones you love as you begin to heal. Know that this is normal. There doesn't have to be disconnect. You can approach your loved ones with compassion and kindness. A sense of arrogance may try to take over as you heal — your ego and mind may think you're better or more advanced than others around you. But let your heart open up instead, and be an example for the people in your life. Let the light of your expanded awareness shine for others to see. In time, they will be attracted to the light and will wonder what you're doing differently. With a smile you can explain how you're now living and what you are doing. But do it with humility.
Celebrate the new you and your commitment to wholeness. I wish you the best on your journey and many blessings for years to come.
<PERSON>
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74013ba2-d28b-d1d6-9623-416a02555114
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['6961b5e1-a3dd-9170-2cbb-50c9df12b2b1']
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the Dominican Republic for me for this event."
To really drill it in, the producers brought in a live three-person panel—a laid-off plant manager, a Realtor, and a former intern for Lehman Brothers—to heap on derision. And after a commercial, the American public was invited to follow suit, via Twitter and Facebook. "We welcome you back. I'm <PERSON>. People all over the country are watching with amazement, as are we, by the way. Some of them are commenting to us. . . . Let's go to the one that says '<PERSON>' on it. It says 'The arrogance of those people is amazing. They spend as much in a week as many of us earn in a year. It doesn't bother them a bit.'"
"I don't think that they feel bad," added <PERSON> as she signed off at the end of the show. "I think that they feel like things will get better. They look at it as if they are living in the moment right now, they worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. And they are optimistic. It might have slowed down the party a little bit, but the party on Wall Street, according to people that I talked to, is not over."
Technically, she was right. We had parties locked in throughout the fall, commitments to advertisers and attendees we needed to follow through on: a Wall Street Smoke in Miami; an October 14 party in Chicago, hosted by Bears star linebacker <PERSON>, who had just appeared in a _Trader Monthly_ fashion spread; the official _Dealmaker_ UK launch party in London; an October 30 party on a one-hundred-foot megayacht at the Fort Lauderdale Boat Show, sponsored by a Costa Rican real estate development; and our trifecta of "30 Under 30" bashes, drawing turnouts larger than ever, in New York, Chicago, and London.
Spiritually, though, they now felt dirty. For four years, people had told me what a great job I had, lording over these events. As in having people at your house, though, the host never had fun. Every event was stress-filled, as I troubleshot problems, mollifying high-maintenance sponsors and babysitting entitled attendees. The real thrill came from being at the center of seemingly the most important phenomenon of the decade, and building something amazing and unprecedented within it. The glowing media coverage stemmed from the fact that everyone thought of Wall Street as the engine of prosperity, putting an SUV in every driveway, an organic hen in every pot.
Now that the game had been revealed as a corrosive fraud— painfully obvious in retrospect, yet ignored by the regulators, the general public, and the supposedly vigilant media like us—these same events effectively honored those blamed for millions of bankruptcies and layoffs. The torrent of public hate wasn't entirely fair: I knew hundreds of hardworking financial types who had nothing to do with the meltdown, and were in fact victims themselves, losing their jobs as their nest eggs, in bank stock, melted away. But like most stereotypes, there was also an inescapable, underlying truth to it.
So why was I
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cafe, where he insisted I try a Kombucha, a fermented tea energy drink. He urged me to try the grape version; bottles of the cherry variety, he explained, tend to explode. "You won't like it at first," he warned, correctly, of the vinegary brew.
Then we were off touring more of the third floor of the storied _San Francisco Chronicle_ building. <PERSON> looked over the shoulder of someone sitting in an open area among long rows of desks, plying a big-screen Mac, and then joined a discussion at a tall table between a group of graphic artists and marketing staffers. There are conference rooms—21 of them, all glass-enclosed, all named after notable squares, like Tahrir (Cairo), St. Peter's (Vatican City), and Old Market (Nottingham, where the legendary <PERSON> may or may not have hung out). In one darkened room a handful of engineers worked on integrating a large project with Starbucks, which invested $25 million in Square and now uses it to process all credit and debit transactions in its U.S. stores.
"We encourage people to stay out in the open because we believe in serendipity—and people walking by each other teaching new things," said <PERSON> with a slight wave of his hand. "But every now and then you need to focus as one team."
This philosophical entrepreneur evokes a little bit of another technology wizard with mystical leanings. But <PERSON> is nerdier than <PERSON> (he is a programmer first, an impresario second), his ego seemingly in check. Like <PERSON>, <PERSON> is a disrupter on an epic scale and a repeat offender. Twitter, the microblogging service he cofounded in 2006, has turned more than 500 million people worldwide into broadcasters of messages capable of starting revolutions. And by accepting e-payments with Square, more than two million businesses are upending the financial services industry; in 2013, Square exceeded $500 million in revenue.
Those companies have made <PERSON> a billionaire. His stake in Twitter, after the 2013 IPO, was worth more than $1 billion. In that same year, his share of Square, based on funding valuations, also neared a billion.
Before he cocreated two of hottest tech companies on the planet, <PERSON> gave little sign of brilliant focus. He wrote dispatch software for ambulances and cop cars, dropped out of college (twice), took up botanical drawing, became a certified masseur and, later, dabbled in fashion design. More recently he has made noises about becoming mayor of New York City. His mother sometimes despaired he would ever find himself.
But he knew better. The side trips are part of the road map; his discursiveness is the obverse of intense discipline. <PERSON> is a serial wanderer, mentally and physically, because it helps him concentrate: "The best thinking time is just walking." He has worn a trench between Square, his previous apartment around the corner, and the offices of Twitter, a few blocks away. Before he starts his day, he runs three to five miles. He likes to take new recruits on tours of San Francisco.
Management by wandering around was made famous thirty years
|
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differences in size and shape, we note the microhabitat preferences of the two species: out in the shallow water a ways for the Western, just out of the water's reach for the Least.
It makes all the sense in the world. The slightly smaller and shorter-billed Least is less suited for foraging in standing water, so it retreats to the sandbars and mudflats where food is more readily procured. Yes, it makes sense, but let's not sell ourselves short: In learning to ID the Least Sandpiper, we have engaged the scientific discipline of physiological ecology, the study of an organism's anatomical adaptations to its environment.
# **20 WATCH BIRDS FLY**
# American Kestrel
# _Falco sparverius_
A MEDIUM-SIZE BIRD FLIES BY. It's decently long-tailed, but we can't really say much else about it. Is this a small hawk of some sort? A pigeon or dove? A cuckoo, even? Suddenly, the bird pulls up and does something remarkable: Its wings suddenly stiff, it's simply _hovering in midair_. To a birder unfamiliar with this behavior, it's a pinch-me-I'm-dreaming moment. How can the bird do this? Why doesn't it fall to the ground? Do the laws of physics even allow this?
To the birder who knows the species, there can be no doubting its identity. As if on cue, the bird suddenly drops to the ground—not because it's finally stalled out, but, rather, volitionally. A moment later the bird flies back up with a meadow vole, which it detected indirectly via an ultraviolet signal emitted by the prey item's urine. The bird flies up to a pole, flips its tail in a smooth motion, and proceeds to pluck the vole apart.
The bird is an American Kestrel, the smallest falcon in the United States and Canada, and we were 100 percent certain of its ID the moment it began hovering, or kiting, as the behavior is often termed. Other hoverers include hummingbirds, kingfishers, and the uncommon Rough-legged Hawk, but they do it their own way. A great many bird species are distinctive in flight, and that suggests a strategy for getting better at bird ID: When a bird inconveniently flies off, don't despair! Instead, pay attention to its flight style. A starling in flight looks nothing like a blackbird; many waterfowl are readily identified in flight; the flight of a dove is perfectly level, that of a woodpecker smoothly sinusoidal; identically plumaged crows and ravens strike different profiles on the wing; and seafaring "tubenoses" can be recognized at tremendous distances by birders familiar with how they fly. Birds in flight are marvelous to behold—and oftentimes much easier to ID than you might think.
# **21 LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION**
# Tufted Titmouse
# _Baeolophus bicolor_
AN OBVIOUS STARTING POINT in bird ID is an assessment of what a bird looks like: its colors and patterns, its size and shape. Just as important is a consideration of what the bird is doing: how it feeds, how it flies, etc. But all those things are, in many instances, an exercise in putting the cart before the horse. That's
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or "rare bird committees," for the understandable reason that their deliberations focus primarily on rare birds.
BRCs are staffed by volunteers and usually, although not always, sponsored and supervised by state and provincial ornithological societies (§153). They vote to accept or reject individual records—basically, the sum total of all the documentation pertaining to the occurrence of a rare bird. The bird itself is not a record. In the case of our presumptive Western Wood-Pewee, the record is defined as the body of evidence—your smartphone recording, the hundreds of photos, and, valuably, anybody's field notes and sketches—supporting the ID.
Was it or wasn't it? Look for the committee's report in the next volume of your state or provincial ornithological society's journal.
# **155 THINGS BIRDERS DO: LISTING**
# Ruffed Grouse
# _Bonasa umbellus_
THE BIRD EXPLODES from the forest floor, causing you to jump back and gasp loudly. Flushing grouse have a way of doing that to birders. You judge that it put back down just 100 feet away, but you've lost the bird in the dense woods. Should you go after it? Nah. What's the point? The ID is certain. You got the bird, species #155 for the year. A couple years ago, a Ruffed Grouse in this same forest preserve was your "lifer," your first encounter with the species; that bird was #163 on your life list, an enumeration of all the birds you've seen.
You know that stuff without having to consult a ledger or other accounting of your birding history. When you went out this autumn morning, cool and sunny, you knew your list was at 154. For sure, a large part of your intention was to spend time in the autumn woods, ablaze now in yellows and oranges. But another was to get a year bird. You hadn't added to your year list in 19 days. Many birders have that sort of trivia at their fingertips.
Not all birders are "listers." A few are quite defiant on that point. But most are—because keeping a list is, in essence, a reflection on and celebration of who you are and what you've accomplished as a birder. Many birders are, honestly, pretty haphazard about listing; they keep a life list and that's about it. Others go all-out: They keep county lists, state lists, year lists, even total tick lists. (Add up all your county lists, and you have your total tick list for a particular state or province.)
Is listing bad? Some people say so. But most birders go back to the idea that the listing impulse is rooted in a spirit of reflection about nature. A couple years ago, recall, you chanced upon a very special bird, #163, on a lovely autumn morning like this one. It was, it still is, it forever shall be, a part of who you are and what you're all about.
# **156 THINGS BIRDERS DO: CHASING**
# Loggerhead Shrike
# _Lanius ludovicianus_
"I HOPE YOU HAD A NICE WEEKEND?"
"Yes, indeed," you assure your roommate. "<PERSON> and his boyfriend and I successfully chased the
|
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BUENA
(Micromeria Douglasii)
Of quite a different sort, but equally refreshing and easy to decoct, is the woodland drink called "Indian lemonade," made from the crimson, berry-like fruits of certain species of Sumac. East of the Rockies there are three species abundant, distinguished by compact, terminal, cone-like panicles of white flowers and pinnate leaves that turn all glorious in the autumn in tones of orange and red. They are Rhus typhina, L. (Staghorn Sumac), R. glabra, L. (Smooth Sumac), and R. copallina, L. (Dwarf Sumac). The first is sometimes a small tree; the others are shrubs. In the Rocky Mountain region and westward Rhus trilobata, Nutt., is frequent—the Squaw-bush, as it is called, because the branches are extensively used by the Indian women in basketry; and on the Pacific coast, Rhus ovata, Wats., and R. integrifolia, B. & H., stout shrubs or small trees, occur. The last two have leathery, entire leaves quite unlike those of the eastern species, and the white or pinkish flowers are borne in tight little clusters. The berries of all these sumacs are crimson and clothed with a hairy stickiness that is pleasantly acid and communicates a lemon-like taste to water in which the fruit has been soaked for a few minutes. These plants—particularly the western species—are often found growing on hot, waterless hillsides, and their fruits offer a grateful refreshment to the thirsty traveler, whether sucked in the mouth until bared of their acid coating, or steeped in water to serve as a woodland lemonade. The three far western species are com-monly known as Lemonade-berry, and R. integrifolia is also sometimes called "mahogany" because of its hard wood, dark red at the heart. The Spanish people call it mangle, a name they give to some other sumacs as well.
SUMAC
(Rhus glabra)
LEMONADE-BERRY
(Rhus integrifolia)
The berries of the Manzanita, a Pacific coast shrub that was described in an earlier chapter, make an exceptionally agreeable cider. This is one of the harmless beverages of Indian invention, and I cannot, perhaps, do better than to quote the method that <PERSON> describes in his treatise on the "Plants Used by the Indians of Mendocino Co., California." Ripe berries, carefully selected to exclude any that are worm-eaten, are scalded for a few minutes or until the seeds are soft, and then crushed with a potato masher. To a quart of this pulp an equal quantity of water is added, and the mass is then poured over a layer of dry pine needles or straw placed in a shallow sieve basket and allowed to drain into a vessel beneath; or sometimes the mass is allowed to stand an hour or so before straining. When cool, the cider, which is both spicy and acid, is ready for use without the addition of sugar. A better quality of cider is said to result if the pulp alone is used. The dried berries, in the latter case, are pounded to a coarse powder, and then by clever manipulation and tossing in a flat basket—a process at which
|
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tends to improve the appetite. For the best results the bark should be collected in the autumn or early spring and at least a year before being used. A small piece of the bark put into a glass of cold water and allowed to soak over night makes a useful tonic, drunk first thing in the morning. For a laxative, hot water should be poured upon the bark in the proportion of a teacupful to a level teaspoonful of the finely broken bark, set away to cool, and drunk just before bed-time. Country people have told me that the fresh bark boiled several hours is equally efficacious. The gathering of Cascara sagrada for the medical trade is an important minor industry in the Pacific Northwest, the bark of the Purshiana or arboreal form being the kind preferred. There is a considerable European demand for it, as well as from American chemists.
Another of the famous Pacific Coast remedies is Yerba Santa, whose Spanish name (meaning "holy herb") also betrays its connection with the California Mission days, when the Padres not only instructed Indians but now and then learned something from them. An American common name for the plant—Consumptive's Weed—indicates one of its popular uses. It has, in fact, been esteemed for generations in California as an expectorant, a blood purifier, and a tonic—a standby in all bronchial and respiratory troubles. Botanically it is Eriodictyon glutinosum, Benth., and is a shrubby plant, three to seven feet high, with dark green, resinous leaves (shaped somewhat like those of the peach) glutinous and shining on the upper side and whitish underneath, the flowers tubular, clustered and usually purple but sometimes white. It is abundant on dry hillsides and among the chaparral throughout much of California and southward into Mexico. A bitter tea is made of the dried leaves and taken freely; or it may be prepared by boiling with sugar, if it is desired to disguise the bitterness. The pounded leaves have also been used as a poultice, bound upon sores.
YERBA SANTA
(Eriodictyon glutinosum)
The civilized drug Grindelia is derived from certain species of a botanic genus of that name belonging to the Sunflower family and occurring rather abundantly on the plains and dry hillsides west of the Mississippi. They are coarse, sticky plants, characterized by white, gummy exudations upon the buds and flower heads (these latter are conspicuously yellow-rayed) and are popularly called, on that account, Gum-plants. The California Indians are credited with being the pioneers in discovering the remedial secret of these plants, the species most used by them being apparently Grindelia robusta, Nutt. A decoction of the leaves and flowering tops collected during the early period of bloom is a mild stomachic, and is taken to purify the blood, as well as to relieve throat and lung troubles.
The Indian is also to be thanked for our knowledge of Yerba Mansa (or more correctly, Yerba del Manso, "the herb of the tamed Indian"), common in wet, alkaline soil throughout much of the South-west—a low-growing perennial, carpeting the ground with
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with discipline and preventing the need to yell at your kids.
Just when I felt like I was in a rut or feeling frustrated I knew it was time to reach out to some parents and find another book to read. In doing so you will find you are not alone and will quickly get back on track. However, the most important part of reading any of these "manuals" is that the baby's father and any caretakers (i.e., grandparents) also need to either read the books or get briefed on the principles, because if there is not consistent parenting, your child will be confused and you will all be frustrated.25
Finding the Right Doctor
Teens might not find their perfect doctor right out of the gate. "This is the art of practicing health care. Not everyone can interact effectively with a teen," says <PERSON>. "You have to be comfortable as a provider. It starts with being open, honest, nonjudgmental, and not acting like a teen. You don't want to be an imposter. You want to be genuine." <PERSON>'s fifteen years of experience caring for adolescents has shown her the importance of teens having an obstetrician who is fluent in adolescent health and well-being. "I have provided care to a diverse population of teens, in a multitude of settings and am passionate about adolescent health care. While every child deserves the best care, teens often have unique health care needs that are not like that of a child nor an adult. It's important to have clinicians who are dedicated and skilled in caring for today's youth, because they are our future."26
<PERSON>'s experience has taught her to trust in teens' intuition and ability to read a situation. If, during a meet and greet or phone screen with a potential provider, a teen doesn't experience strong eye contact, authentic and empathetic questions, and a clear indication in the conversation that the provider cares and wants to be involved in the care of the teen and his or her child, the teen should move on to the next provider on the list. And keep interviewing until he or she identifies a provider he or she can have a long-term and strong relationship with. Teens should also feel that they have a voice and aren't being parented or talked down to. "It's not dictating what they should do, but giving them the credit to make good decisions about their health care. When a provider assists them by giving them the pros and cons—teens will make a good choice," says <PERSON>
"For pediatric care, you can interview doctors. You want to go to a practice with a spectrum of providers, so you can find one that is the best fit for you," says Dr. <PERSON> Find a provider you connect with and think you can work well together. You should feel like your doctor has an appreciation of your life circumstances and can work to create a treatment plan that accommodates these circumstances.
Meet and Greet Questions
You've identified a list of potential providers by doing a
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I didn't want to be on a downward spiral. It was always on my mind to change, I just couldn't." He largely communicates with his daughter via Facetime, photographs, and texts.
Although it's scary to believe you could be pregnant, early detection and action can allow you the time and resources to better care for yourself and baby during your pregnancy. If you're feeling any, or several, of these symptoms, taking an at-home pregnancy test could help confirm your suspicions or quell your worries entirely.
Demystifying At-Home Pregnancy Tests
At-home pregnancy tests come in two variations, digital and nondigital, and can be highly accurate if used correctly and at the right time. Timing and usage are key here—take the test too early or don't follow the directions and you might not receive an accurate reading. Most tests on the market can be found over the counter at popular drugstores, pharmacies, grocery stores, and even discount dollar stores. They will range in cost based on where you make your purchase and also what type of test you choose. Digital tests tend to cost a bit more since they have a few more bells and whistles (they'll digitally say "yes" or "no," "pregnant" or "not pregnant" for example), while nondigital tests work by showing lines, pluses, and minuses. The benefit of a digital test can be that clear "yes" or "no," "pregnant" or "not pregnant" reading. There is no deciphering if there really is a line, two lines, a plus, or minus. The test will literally tell you if you're pregnant or not. The choice is ultimately yours and based on your budget and personal taste.
At-home pregnancy tests work by measuring the amount of human chorionic gonadotropin (HCG) found in a urine sample. HCG increases with time, which means the earlier you take the test, the harder it is for the test to detect the HCG.12 If you are very early in your pregnancy and the HCG level is below twenty-five to fifty mIU/mL, the test will be negative.13 Although some home pregnancy tests claim to be extremely sensitive and able to detect HCG before a missed period, teens typically do not have regular or consistent timing for their periods and this early reading benefit could ultimately end up providing a false negative. For the most accurate results and better peace of mind, wait until after the first day of your missed period or even up to a week after you miss your period to take an at-home test.
In her video educating viewers on the best practices for at-home pregnancy tests, health director of Parents magazine <PERSON> shared that false positives are pretty rare and that getting a positive is usually an indication of pregnancy.14 If you've taken a test (or two or three) and it's come back positive, it's time to contact your health care provider and make an appointment to confirm your pregnancy. A health care provider will also be able to discuss your options with you if you are unsure about what to do and provide prenatal care
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Paris' but a genuine ski resort in Haute-Savoie (Tr.).
### Chapter 2
This situation is almost ideally realized by a city like Berlin. Moreover, almost all science-fiction novels have as their theme the situation of a rational and 'affluent' Great City _threatened_ with destruction from without or within by some great hostile force.
### Chapter 3
Tables appearing in the original French have been removed at the author's request (Tr.).
<PERSON>, _The Affluent Society_ , Penguin in association with <PERSON>, Harmondsworth, 1962, p. 210.
There is in this sense an absolute difference between waste in our 'affluent societies', a waste that is a _nuisance integrated into the economic system_ , which is a functional wastage not productive of collective value, and the destructive prodigality engaged in by all the so-called 'societies of scarcity' in their festivals and sacrifices, this latter being waste 'by excess', in which the destruction of goods was a source of collective symbolic values. Breaking up old cars that have gone out of fashion or burning coffee in locomotives is in no sense festive. It is a deliberate, systematic destruction for strategic ends. So too is military expenditure (perhaps only advertising . . . ). The economic system cannot transcend itself in an act of festive waste, caught up as it is in its own alleged 'rationality'. It can only devour its excess of wealth as it were shamefully, practising a calculated destructiveness that is complementary to its productivity calculations.
### Chapter 4
The term 'inequality' is inappropriate. The equality/inequality opposition, ideologically linked to the system of modern democratic values, only fully covers economic disparities and cannot figure in a structural analysis.
Or the 'Great Society', recently imported into France.
On this point, see Chapter 7 in relation to 'lowest common culture' and 'lowest common multiples'.
It is, of course, in its functioning as a system of social differentiation (2 above) that consumption takes on this unlimited dimension. As a system of communication and exchange (1 above), where it may be compared to language, a _finite_ range of goods and services (like the finite material of linguistic signs) can very well suffice, as we see in primitive societies. Language _[la langue]_ does not proliferate because there is no _ambivalence_ of the sign at that level, that ambivalence being grounded in social hierarchy and simultaneous double determination. By contrast, a certain level of _parole_ and style does give rise again to distinctive proliferation.
On this point, see Chapter 5, section 'Consumption as the Emergence and Control of New Productive Forces'.
This is the 'reserve army' of needs.
This growing differentiation does not necessarily signify _a growing distance from the top to the bottom_ of the scale, a 'greater overall imbalance', but _increasing discrimination_ , an increase in the quantity of distinctive signs _within_ a hierarchy whose extremes have moved closer together. Relative 'democratization' and homogenization are accompanied by a related intensification in status competition.
In this sense, the distinction between 'real' and 'artificial' needs is also
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read in its class grammar, in its class inflections, in the contradictions with its own social situation which the individual or group directs through its discourse of objects. A correct sociological analysis must be exercised in the concrete syntax of object ensembles (equivalent to a story and liable to interpretation in terms of social destiny, just like the story of a dream in terms of unconscious conflicts) and in the lapses, incoherencies and contradictions of this discourse, which is never reconciled with itself (possible only in an ideally stable society—a near impossibility in our societies). On the contrary, this discourse always expresses in this very syntax a neurosis of mobility, of inertia or of social regression. And finally, the object of sociological analysis lies in the ultimately disparate or contradictory relationship of this discourse of objects to other social conducts (professional, economic, cultural). That is to say that it must avoid a "phenomenological" reading (the "pictures" of objects brought back to characteristics or social types), and the merely formal reconstitution of a code of objects, which is never spoken as such in any case (although it hides a strict social logic), but is always restored and manipulated according to a logic peculiar to each social situation.
Thus objects, their syntax, and their rhetoric refer to social objectives and to a social logic. They speak to us not so much of the user and of technical practices, as of social pretension and resignation, of social mobility and inertia, of acculturation and enculturation, of stratification and of social classification. Through objects, each individual and each group searches out his-her place in an order, all the while trying to jostle this order according to a personal trajectory. Through objects a stratified society speaks and, if like the mass media, objects seem to speak to everyone (there are no longer by right any caste objects), it is in order to keep everyone in a certain place. In short, under the rubric of objects, under the seal of private property, it is always a continual social process of value which leads the way. And everywhere and always, objects, in addition to utensils, are the terms and the avowal of the social process of value.
3. THE DIFFERENTIAL PRACTICE OF OBJECTS
For all these reasons, because social stratification, mobility and aspirations are the keys to a sociological investigation of the "world" of objects, we would prefer to focus on the configuration of these latter in the rising, mobile, or "advanceable" classes that have a critical and uncertain status, in the so-called middle classes, the floating hinge of a stratified society, classes on the way to integration or acculturation, that is to say, which escape the destiny of social exclusion of the industrial proletariat or that of rural isolation, without however enjoying the advantage of inheriting an already acquired social situation. What interests us is the practice (and the psychological aspects ratifying it) that objects play in these social categories.
_Mobility and Social Inertia_
It is known that an essential problem in these mobile strata is the disparity between
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which was what I heard Mom saying on the phone one time to one of her nurse friends. I figured I could always apologize to <PERSON> later for ditching her.
The doctor scribbled something else onto his clipboard, and then he patted me on the shoulder and said that he was proud of me for facing up to my fears. I didn't really know what fears he was talking about, but by then I just wanted to get out of there in one piece.
After whispering about me in the corner of his office with Mom, the doctor finally let us go. On the way home Mom made me sit up front with her. I griped about it because I wanted to stretch out in the back seat with <PERSON> and take a nap, but Mom held firm. As we pulled onto our street she said she had something to tell me, and then she hugged me real tight against her shoulder. I tried to squirm away, but Mom was pretty strong for a girl. I wondered for a second if she might have been able to haul <PERSON>'s body out into the woods all by herself. But I didn't see why she'd need to if she could have gotten Pastor <PERSON> to help her.
"Pastor <PERSON> and I are getting married. He asked me just the other night after you went to bed. Isn't it wonderful?"
I broke free of her finally and asked her whether he'd come and live with us, or whether we'd have to move in with him. She said she didn't know yet. She said that his apartment was too small for all three of us, and that he'd either move in with us or we'd buy a new house.
All of a sudden I got really down in the dumps. I didn't want to let on to Mom how I was feeling, because I was afraid she'd turn right around and drive me back to the doctor's office.
"We aren't going to move too far away from the shrine, are we?"
"Is that all you have to say?"
"I was just wondering. You don't have to get so worked up about it."
"We both have to stay here in Millridge, at least for now. This is where our jobs are." Then she asked me what I thought about having Pastor <PERSON> for a dad. I said I didn't really know him all that well except for church.
"Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden? I thought you'd be thrilled. You're always talking about how cool Pastor <PERSON> is and how much you like him."
"When are you getting married?"
She almost ran our car into a fire hydrant, and for the first time in a while she let out a few swear words.
"We haven't decided yet."
"What are you waiting for?"
"Weddings take a lot of planning, even second weddings."
She parked the car on the street in front of our house. She still couldn't park in the garage because it was
|
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claims that all these people you see honoring Our Blessed Mother are nothing but a bunch of dummies for believing in such hocus-pocus."
I felt a little scare roll around inside me. I still wasn't completely sure that <PERSON> did stuff like this—show up on concrete I mean.
"You didn't, did you?" I asked. "I mean smear her face on."
<PERSON> blinked at me a few times, like I'd just insulted him or something. But I think he was just putting me on, because right away he started smiling real sweet and relaxed again.
"Of course not, <PERSON>. And nobody else did either. She's the real thing. You can take that to the bank."
"But how do you really know for sure? Did you see her face land on the concrete?"
<PERSON> lifted his arms up and shook his head a little.
"Slow down, <PERSON>. You said yourself that you were the first one to spot her."
I felt my belly tighten up, because I couldn't really prove that I'd been the first one. Plenty of drunks slept down there along Main Street when the weather got warm. Maybe one of them had stumbled on to her and hadn't told anybody yet. For a second I wondered if I could get in any trouble for it. Then I pointed at a bar across the street with the front screen door propped wide open, so that you could see the drunks lined up on swivel stools inside smoking and drinking.
"How come she picked the lousy part of town to show up in? Why couldn't she have found some place nicer and more important, like up by the county jail, for instance? Why couldn't she have appeared down in Pittsburgh even, where more people could get to see her? And why didn't she make a little announcement first to tell people she was coming? That would have cleared up a lot of the mix-up, it seems to me. And why does she just sit there on the concrete staring at us? Why doesn't she say something?"
<PERSON> must have liked me asking so many questions, because he patted me real gentle on the shoulder and said how I was "a curious little fellow." Then he waved his hand toward some stony-faced kids in baggy suits being pushed along toward the steps by their parents.
"<PERSON> seems to be whipping up a lot of interest already, even here in these rather humble surroundings. And you said yourself that she healed that little homeless fellow without having to say a single word. Maybe she's smarter than we give her credit for. And as smart as she is, she picked you to be the one to discover her. Doesn't that make you feel good?"
"I guess, although some kids are calling me a publicity hound. I think they're just jealous, though."
I glanced down and spotted <PERSON> sniffing the ground where some old people had just tramped over. It hit me that <PERSON> must have had a good life now that she was invisible and didn't
|
4cc95748-7dd8-4655-0df4-487bff060875
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['6b4ee2b3-1659-7cc1-0b68-7fe93e6f9486']
|
lot more—I mean a lot more—to the sport than strength and endurance.
In terms of the sport, had <PERSON> not developed into one of the better fighters in history, perhaps the expansion of the UFC would have stalled. Perhaps no one would have properly filled the role of <PERSON> nemesis. Maybe many fans would have turned their back on the sport, irritated by a champion who didn't deliver the goods that they wanted.
What did <PERSON> lose? Well, his reputation, certainly, was severely tarnished. But, guess what: he never would have had a reputation worth tarnishing in the first place had he not ascended to the top of the mountain. Anyway, unsurprisingly, as of early 2015 <PERSON> was back in the broadcasting game, hired as an MMA analyst by ESPN. The guy can talk about the game better than anyone in the world, and he has the career to back it up.
In short, I don't judge <PERSON> for a fucking second. I don't discount a single thing that he achieved. The man is still a hero in my book. And, as a PED user myself, to question any of it, of course, would be the pot calling the kettle black.
On the other hand, many people who engage in the PED debate are, I think, lacking a fundamental understanding of what it means to be a professional combatant. What MMA in its current form can be best compared to is a warrior contest called "pankration," which emerged in ancient Greece something like three to four thousand years ago. Pankration, like MMA, was a form of total hand-to-hand combat. It involved boxing and wrestling techniques along with leg strikes and joint locks. The fight was terminated by the judge, or ended when the losing fighter submitted, was knocked out, or died. The origin of pankration preceded Roman gladiator fighting, which differed in that it allowed weapons. But the premise was more or less the same for both: glory for the winner; shame, injury, or death for the loser.
There was a famous fighter ("pankratiast") named <PERSON> who won the 55th Olympiad in 568 BC despite dying during the contest! He was choked by his opponent, but, right before passing from asphyxiation, he snapped his opponent's big toe in half (or so the story goes). The opponent submitted from the pain. The judge raised <PERSON>'s arm to declare him the winner, only then discovering that he was holding the arm of a corpse.
Now imagine a young pankratiast from the Greek highlands whose only hope for success and prosperity was to compete in this deadly sport. His alternative would be to live a goatherder's life—a monotonous eternity of drudgery and poverty. And maybe this poor young man has a wife and an infant child who depend on him for food and shelter. Well, one day, a medicine man offers the pankratiast a special potion that will help him train harder, prepare more frequently, and recover from injuries more readily than he has in the past.
"Take this," suggests the medicine
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['6b4ee2b3-1659-7cc1-0b68-7fe93e6f9486']
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Ride motorcycle gathering. I did my best to hold it together, but by evening I was sweating and vomiting. A friend came and picked me up and we headed to a tattoo shop. On the drive, he gave me a handful of Vicodin, which I scarfed down in the hope of staving off further withdrawal.
I didn't get home until about noon the following day, and I was in absolutely horrible shape. I went straight to my medicine cabinet and popped twelve milligrams of Suboxone. However, something went wrong. I think either the Buprenorphine or the Naloxone contained within the Suboxone reacted with the Vicodin in my system and caused what is known as a "precipitated withdrawal." This means I went into severe withdrawal in a matter of minutes. First I had diarrhea. Then I started vomiting. Then my vomit turned bloody. Then I began seizing uncontrollably. I was in pure agony, and truly thought I was going to die. I lay on the floor of my bathroom for hours and hours until my system began to recover and I was able to drag myself to bed.
So, as you can imagine, a few weeks before my date with <PERSON>, when I reduced my daily dosage to just two milligrams, I began to lose control. I knew I was in bad shape, but I felt that my dependence on this drug was not only a personal failure but would cause the end of my fighting career. I fought through the misery and, one night, while out driving on the highway, I took the remainder of my Suboxone prescription and threw it out the window.
Not a day later, I started to lose my mind. The withdrawal was merciless—sweating, pain, vomiting, panic attacks, hyperventilation. I did not sleep for four days straight. Worst of all, I turned to alcohol for relief. I discovered that if I quickly guzzled two bottles of wine I would fall into a stupor for a few hours. My nearly yearlong sobriety was officially over. I was desperate for sleep, but it wouldn't come. I began to have crazy thoughts and wondered if going cold turkey would be the end of me.
I called <PERSON> for help. He had been sober for a good twenty years at the time, and had been a guiding voice for me as I dealt with my issues of alcohol and drug abuse. By the time he arrived at my house later that day, I was on the verge of a psychotic episode. <PERSON> later told me what transpired, but I only remember intermittent blips of it. <PERSON> gave me two Valium pills and got me to my feet to try and walk it off. As we walked through the neighborhood, I started frothing and yelling about some guy who had repeatedly made sexual advances on <PERSON>. I told <PERSON> we needed to go find this guy's house so that I could beat his ass. It took all he had to convince me otherwise and drag me back to
|
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found her thick neck and shoulders repulsive. At this moment, when she leaned against the mantelpiece with her drink in her hand, finding himself without the right to question her about the frequency of <PERSON> visits, he thought her jaw was too square and masculine. He saw it would be safer to marry her. Often, when she had said, '<PERSON>, what should I do without you? I should never be able to manage my affairs without you,' he had recognized her strong-boned beauty and thought how a sculptor might do something about it. Even at these moments, when he had found the idea of marrying <PERSON> a soothing one, the panic returned that she might refuse. The thought was not to be borne. He recalled the two old women and thought, after all, it would not be the decent thing to leave them alone.
'<PERSON>, you have wiped the oven with the floor cloth.'
'How could I of wiped the oven with the floor cloth, when the floor cloth's looking you in the face over there . . . ?'
He left at seven, and on the way home pulled up at a telephone kiosk. He wanted to talk secretly to <PERSON> and tell <PERSON> a little bit about <PERSON> offensive behaviour, and to put himself right with <PERSON>, feeling now as if <PERSON>'s eye had been invisibly upon him all the afternoon. He was never comfortable when he did not feel all right about <PERSON>.
But there was no answer from <PERSON>'s number. Soon <PERSON> was eating cold lamb and beetroot opposite <PERSON> and next to his mother.
He laid his bald head on his hands and said, 'Oh, stop nagging each other, you two women.' And they stopped their quarrel for a little space.
Towards half past seven on Sunday evening, <PERSON> was seated in <PERSON> flat in Bayswater. He said, 'I've got a pile of homework to do. Maths papers.'
'Never mind that now,' she said. 'Come and have supper.'
He had been smoking a pipe. He tapped it out and worked himself stiffly and hugely out of the deep upholstered chair.
'<PERSON> papers,' he said. 'Preliminary tests.'
'<PERSON>,' she said at supper, 'the Interior Spiral will be meeting on Tuesday at eight-thirty to discuss our evidence with regard to <PERSON>. We must present a united front if it comes to a court case as I suspect it will. Now, whom can we trust?'
'Well, you can trust me, for one,' said <PERSON>, 'but I must say I won't be able to give any evidence in court.'
'What!' said <PERSON>, holding the cold peas in the serving-spoon suspended.
'I can't come to court.'
She tipped the peas on to his plate and still stared at him. 'You must,' she said. 'I'm counting on you.'
'It will be too near the end of term,' he said.
'Why,' she said, 'have we got to quarrel every time we meet, <PERSON>?' She started to eat.
'There is no quarrel,' he said, sprinkling pepper on his salad.
|
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['6bc2563e-455d-bd9a-2eff-3a6028de5e31']
|
length was bandaged whole,
And he looked again at the narrow benches
And said, 'Who are you all?'
'Who are you all?' cried <PERSON>,
'And what were the ailments
That brought you to lie in this dormitory
All bound in hellish cerements?'
'I am No Man,' said one, 'but I was a miller.
For several centuries I stood and ground
The daily grind, and was getting tired of it
Just when I met with my true friend,
Who being a miller of high ability
Turned the course of a whole river
To turn my mill, and still in my dreams I glorify
<PERSON> and enjoy him forever.'
'I was a soldier,' said another; 'now I am No Man;
Served in all the big wars in every land
From Gaul to Brazil. Was working my ticket
Just when I met up with my true friend.
Now he was a soldier could take on an army
With catapult, cutlass or cartridge, and never
Came but he killed, and still I glorify
<PERSON> and enjoy him forever.'
'I was a scholar,' another said, 'early Dispontium
Was my special department, and I had come to the end,
As I had thought, of research on Dispontine manners
Just when I met my true and learned friend,
Who pointed out a significant point when he
In course of research was of course the first to discover
The Dispontii ate cross-legged, therefore I glorify
<PERSON> and enjoy him forever.'
'I was one', said the next, 'who gathered impressions,
And now I am No Man, but there was a day
When I sat on the steps of cultural buildings
And watched the people passing by;
So bored, I almost would have done something about it.
But another sat beside me, and silent together
We communed with each other, so I glorify
<PERSON> and enjoy him forever.'
'I knew the Industry inside-out
And now am No Man,' said another,
'But still I remember things were tight
Until I took up with a business partner.
He was a brilliant man, definitely.
Take his sales record. Look at the clever
Way he shoved those shares around. I glorify
<PERSON> and enjoy him forever.'
'Now one and all,' cried <PERSON>,
'In <PERSON> name
I say he is a feverish poet
In the middle year of his time.'
Then each one cried, 'You false witness',
And each sat up to testify
In <PERSON> name,
And each one said, 'You lie.'
'You lie, you lie', cried each to each,
And each to each arose,
And they had fallen all on all
And felled them with bitter blows.
They ripped them bandages from bone,
They ripped them bone and hair:
They were not done till everyone
Lay level in a smear.
The bones lay loose on the white zinc floor
In <PERSON> name,
All in the convalescent ward
Of No-Man's sanatorium.
All in the convalescent ward
Of No-Man's sanatorium
A bell rang and the night came in
And settled
|
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|
these recognition criteria have emerged as a result of ongoing debates between diverse Aboriginal peoples, various governmental interests, legal advisors, and the general public. As a result, many Aboriginal people do see justification behind at least some of the recognition criteria. The ideas about what it means to be Inuit therefore are in many ways more pervasive than earlier definitions and ideas that were summarily dismissed by Inuit as being products of outsider interference. The requirement that Inuit adapt themselves to the criteria of recognition outlined by the federal and provincial governments in the land claims process can, as this chapter has shown, nonetheless result in limited and limiting possibilities for Inuit to control their own livelihoods.
Commercial Rights and Contradictions
When they initiated their land claim in the 1970s, Labrador Inuit had ambitions that encompassed much more than subsistence harvesting rights; their ambitions centred on the ability to determine and sustain their own economic, social, and political futures. The Inuit did succeed in convincing the federal government of the need to acknowledge the role of the commercial fishery in their lives, and they negotiated the right to benefit from this industry. The inclusion of these rights was a first in Inuit land claims agreements, and the LIA heralded this success as a breakthrough (<PERSON> 2008, pers comm.). Subsistence fishing is restricted by many of the same rules as those for wildlife, but commercial fishing is given added consideration. The final agreement provides the NG with the right to specific proportions of commercial fishing and processing licences for any additional allocations of certain species that the Department of Fisheries and Oceans (dfo) may make in the future. In addition, Section 13.12 of the final agreement specifies that the minister of the dfo must take into account the history of Inuit commercial fishing of Arctic char, Atlantic salmon, and scallop when issuing further licences. Priority is also given to Inuit for some opportunities related to aquaculture.
The success of the LIA negotiators in having these commercial fishing rights included in the final agreement illustrates the cracks within the federal and provincial template of "Aboriginalness." If the history of Inuit participation in the commercial char, salmon, and scallop fisheries is recognized, why is the historical Inuit participation in other industries not recognized? These inconsistencies reveal the arbitrary nature of the land claims template for recognition and suggest that it is simply the state's desire for control that underlies the use of such precise definitions in negotiating Inuit rights.
Conclusion
Northern Labrador has endured a long history of outside interests and governments attempting to control Inuit economic activities, either by using ideas of modernization to influence Inuit to cease their harvesting activities, or by using ideas of cultural essentialism to require that Inuit adhere to a simplified and economically restrictive version of themselves. Beginning with the Moravian Mission's efforts to shield Inuit from the effects of full participation in global trading networks, and continuing through years of changing government policy on the ideal role of harvesting in Inuit livelihoods, these ideas have played a
|
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['6c172bce-e3f0-37a0-2baf-aca188f7d0b1']
|
0.047 | 0.372 | 4.231 | 0.389
| | | | | | | | |
Postville | | | | | | | |
|
Mean | 2.640 | 3.770 | 4.200 | 6.20 | 1.450 | 4.890 | 5.23 | 19.11 | 2.36
Std dev. | 3.348 | 1.019 | 9.145 | 1.417 | 5.258 | 13.61 | 2.66 | 25.223 | 3.324
St. error | 0.449 | 0.956 | 1.116 | 1,316 | 0.673 | 1.746 | 0.405 | 3.313 | 0.435
| | | | | | | | |
Hopedale | | | | | | | |
|
Mean | 2.630 | 1.760 | 6.900 | 0.950 | <PHONE_NUMBER> | 0.05 | 1.740 | 43.99 | 1.810
Std dev. | 4.389 | 4.811 | 2.325 | 3.086 | 4.761 | 0.215 | 3.965 | 56.769 | 4.267
St. error | 0.425 | 0.833 | 1.055 | 0.287 | 0.879 | 0.048 | 0.317 | 6.866 | 0.385
| | | | | | | | |
Nain | | | | | | | |
|
Mean | 1.870 | 1.050 | 1,770 | 10.220 | 6.68 | 0.48 | 0.71 | 47.310 | 2.780
Std dev. | 4.221 | 2.354 | 3.932 | 25.713 | 11.922 | 3.902 | 2.127 | 61.156 | 4.828
St. error | 0.285 | 0.158 | 2.65 | 1.566 | 0.835 | 0.264 | 0.150 | 4.389 | 0.350
| | | | | | | | |
ULM | | | | | | | |
|
Mean | 1.380 | 1.540 | 0.160 | 0.100 | 0.110 | 0.000 | 6.120 | 1.350 | <PHONE_NUMBER>
Std dev. | 2.604 | 0.324 | 0.098 | 1.334 | 1.455 | 1.455 | 2.088 | 5.638 | 1.673
St. error | 0.239 | 0.301 | 0.900 | 0.128 | 0.140 | 0.190 | 0.358 | 0.597 | 0.151
| | | | | | | | |
Table 4. Means, Standard Deviations and Standard Error Measurements of Selected Species by Community.
While the study was designed to interview all households in each community, household selection within each community was determined on a random basis from a map in which all households were assigned a unique number. This allowed the final households interviewed to be treated as a randomly drawn sample. As a result, various inferential statistical techniques could be utilized in analysis. Of particular use were 95 per cent confidence intervals for determining deviation from true population averages. These intervals can then be used to construct error box charts, which can be used to determine which means are statistically different from each other for each species. Graph 11 shows such an error box plot for eider eggs. The vertical axis to the left scales the mean harvest level for the species by community. In the graph, it is denoted
|
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|
because that makes it easier for us to communicate with them. While it may seem that using technology makes it easier to manage projects, files, and communication, our attention spans have decreased, and the nonstop barrage of digital distractions has squashed our productivity. This chapter will help you understand what causes these distractions and how to best optimize your time so that you can become more productive and happy at work.
**Self-Assessment: How Digitally Distracted Am I?**
I hate to break it to you, but there's a good chance that you're addicted to your devices. And like most addicts, you may not even be aware of it. A lot of us think that technology is enhancing our productivity, but we're completely unaware of the hours we're wasting reading random news websites and messaging our friends on social media. This brief quiz will give you an idea of how distracted you are. Put a check mark next to each statement that rings true for you.
1. I turn to a device first when reviewing a new project with a team member.
2. I manage all my projects using a device.
3. I think in-person meetings are a complete waste of my time.
4. I avoid making phone calls and prefer to text instead.
5. I spend more time looking at my phone during meetings than contributing to the discussion.
6. I find myself waiting for the next phone notification.
7. I'm an expert multitasker who uses multiple devices at once to accomplish work.
8. I would rather give a webinar or other virtual presentation than give one in real life.
9. I have multiple windows or apps open when I'm doing work.
10. I sometimes view my coworkers as distractions instead of assets.
**Total______________**
After you've finished taking the assessment, add up all the check marks. If you have seven or more, you may be underperforming at work. If you score below five, you're more in control of the tech you're currently using, and it hasn't negatively affected your productivity. In fact, it might even be helping it!
# Three Actions to Optimize Productivity
Technology undermines our productivity in significant—and insidious—ways. Following are three ideas on how to curb that problem.
## Action One: Procrastinate Less
When we want to avoid unpleasant tasks or at least delay the inevitable, we often turn to our phone and play a game or read a news article. When we lack structure, are anxious, or feel unsure of ourselves, we often change tasks from whatever is stressing us out to something more entertaining. It's easy to fall into the procrastination trap, and it's getting easier by the day, with an amazing number of apps and websites that we can turn to any time we'd like to disappear from work and take ourselves to a new reality. By procrastinating, we're not just losing our productive time. We're also losing our personal time because, after all, that's when we need to make up the work we should have done during work hours. The absence of personal time quickly turns
|
4acdfa91-51a9-8808-4a4b-a23491cb9c76
|
['6c70bf22-0e75-4c6d-de5c-adf1bbba3077']
|
happy employee. Happy employees are more likely to refer new candidates to you, brag about you online, work harder, and remain with you even through the hardest times. My friend <PERSON>, author of _The Happiness Advantage_ , found that happy employees have an average of 31 percent higher productivity, have 37 percent higher sales, and are three times more creative. I know it sounds a little cliché, but when one of your employees is happy, that emotion will spread throughout your team and the rest of your organization.
# How to Create Happy Employees
1. Have a serious conversation about work-life balance to show employees that you care about their personal lives and not just their work performance.
2. Do a random act of kindness, like ordering lunch for everyone on a day other than Friday, to show that you care about them.
3. Spend time with your employees, get to know them better, and ask how you can create a better work experience for them.
## Create a Sense of Belonging
As humans we have a natural need to be accepted by others, and in the workplace those "others" are our team members. When I was growing up I never fit in, and I had trouble making friends. Without a sense of belonging and with no close friends, I had trouble performing academically, and I wasn't happy. In college I joined a fraternity, which gave me an immediate sense of camaraderie and acceptance because everyone went through the same grueling six weeks of pledging. I didn't have to worry about my social life because it was already established for me after the older fraternity brothers accepted me. That helped me focus a lot more of my time and energy on excelling in my internships and classes, and the results were extremely positive.
In the workplace your employees want to feel that they belong to the team, which is why so many leaders hire for cultural fit in the first place. They want someone who will fit in from day one. When employees have a sense of belonging, their guard comes down and their performance goes up. Belongingness is often overlooked at work because we're so focused on our goals that we don't pay enough attention to how those around us feel.
To create a sense of belonging, you need to make your employees feel they're part of a community every single day—one that helps fulfill their aspirations, supports their well-being, and makes them feel respected. A study by professors at UCLA found that threats to belonging result in an experience that's similar to physical pain. And that's just the beginning. Other studies have found that not belonging or feeling a lack of acceptance can also lead to depression, reduced problem-solving skills, and a decrease in on-the-job effectiveness.
"The interactions that my team has outside of the office are the most important for engagement and retention," says <PERSON>, customer experience manager at Verizon. "Our bond is created during happy hours, team barbeques, and at the ping pong table, not over
|
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|
miles over open ocean on their autumn flights, relying on their fat reserves and tail winds to carry them all the way from Canada's maritime provinces to South America. As a whole, species follow established patterns of migration, and birds are surprisingly faithful to both their migration rest stops and summer nesting places.
Cerulean warblers usually nest south of Lake Erie, though some travel to Ontario east of the Georgian Bay. Although they appear to be extending their range north and east from centers in West Virginia, eastern Kentucky, and southern Ohio, they are in trouble because they will nest only in deep riverside woods and are very sensitive to fragmentation of breeding habitat. Watchers usually have to crane their necks to see these beautiful creatures, but during migration the birds may literally be at their feet.
A handsome male Cape May warbler shows off his rich chestnut cheeks contrasted in yellow. As with most warblers, the male is much showier than the female, who, in this case, is duller and lacks the chestnut coloring. Since this species nests in spruces, members fly well north of Lake Erie to raise their young and are attracted by outbreaks of spruce budworm. Ironically, one can see a Cape May at Cape May, New Jersey, only during migration.
Birdwatchers try for a big day on the elevated boardwalk at Magee Marsh west of Port Clinton on the south shore of Erie's western basin. This and Point Pelee National Park on the north shore are two of the best birding locations in North America. Here on the boardwalk and in the neighboring marsh, birders can hope to see a hundred species of birds in a day, including perhaps twenty-five warbler species.
<PERSON> estimated in _North with the Spring_ that the season advances about fifteen miles a day from its beginnings in the far south to its blossoming in the so-called temperate regions. However, most birds' progress is not such a steady one. <PERSON> was right about the importance of "fair winds from the southward." Birds rest, eat, and stage until they can catch a promising warm front from the south, and then they move in waves. There are several reasons for this. First, such a front promises birds a healthy hatch of insects, the fast food they will need to restore shrinking fat reserves. Second, a tail wind increases birds' air-to-ground speed and allows them to cover more distance on less fuel. Clear nights also help. Passerines usually fly at night for several reasons: night flight frees the daylight hours for foraging; because the cool air helps dissipate body heat, there is usually less air turbulence then, and they can navigate by the stars (among other methods). They are also safer from predators at night.
Spring migration lasts for at least four months, activity at the western end of Lake Erie usually two to three weeks ahead of that at the other end to the northeast. Conversely, it is two weeks later in autumn. In early March the first wave of raptors, especially
|
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|
is fraught with danger for individual birds, it bestows a reproductive edge on species. North America offers burgeoning insect populations in spring and summer, and many birds, especially shorebirds, may fly clear up to the Arctic tundra to breed. This is the concentrated protein young birds need to grow and develop. There is also less competition from other birds up north than there is in the tropics and semi-tropics, and the midnight sun provides longer foraging hours. Migrating may be dangerous, but in the game of avian evolution, the payoff is worth the risks.
Rose-breasted grosbeaks are common residents in the Lake Erie area. The flashy costume of this male contrasts with the drab brown of his mate, who looks rather like a large sparrow. These grosbeaks winter from the West Indies and Mexico to northwestern South America and, along with many other songbirds, are termed "neotropical migrants." Much concern has recently been expressed about these birds' fates in relation to the clearing of subtropical and tropical forests.
A true jewel of spring and summer forests, this male scarlet tanager is another common migrant in the Lake Erie region. Females, immatures, and adult males in winter are dull green above with dark wings and yellow underparts. While the rose-breasted grosbeak's song has been likened to "a robin who has taken singing lessons," the poor scarlet tanager sounds like one with a sore throat.
Black-throated green warblers are some of the more common migratory warblers in this area. Note this male's yellow face, black throat, and dull green crown. Females have a less impressive black cravat. Nesters are more common in Pennsylvania, the Adirondacks in northern New York, and Ontario east of Georgian Bay than right around Lake Erie. This is because they prefer coniferous or mixed coniferous and deciduous forests in their summer range.
A small bird is not a windup toy that leaves its wintering ground and motors on to its nesting range on automatic pilot. True, many aspects of bird migration—such as general direction and distance to be flown—are programmed genetically. For example, many first-year birds make the southward journey from their birthplaces in the north without prior experience or even the company of their parents. However, if a fledgling is to live long enough to reproduce, its behavior must be flexible enough to cope with geographical barriers and shifts in wind, temperature, and other aspects of our changeable and often dangerous weather. To survive, it must learn to make decisions, and on each of these its life may truly depend. Migration is strenuous and exacting work.
What combinations of environment, instinct, and strategy bring these showers of colorful passerines to Lake Erie, and when and where can birders find them? First, birds must be able to locate food, and quickly. Some of the earlier migrants, such as yellow-rumped and palm warblers, can subsist on last year's remaining fruits and berries until the first big hatch of insects emerges. Others, like thrushes, may probe for worms until insects appear. Most May sojourners, however, have followed the hatch north, one that
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The fact that a ringleader had been editor of the White Citizens Council newspaper and that others were associated with the WCC gave the lie to the council's claim that its tactics were peaceful and lawful. For quite a few it was Citizens Council by day, Klan after dark.
Due in part to the climate of intimidation surrounding the Klan trial, white moderates who had rarely opened their mouths before were now chilled into frozen silence. Supremacists believed that their success in stemming further black advances in Montgomery resulted from their silencing of racial moderates. Actually the glacial racial progress, slower even than before the bus boycott, had much to do with acrimony among black leaders, not able to preserve the fragile unity of the bus boycott. <PERSON>'s frequent absences did not help matters. Race relations reached a low ebb with the failure of school desegregation around the time he moved back to Atlanta at the end of the 1950s.
Although supremacists succeeded after the boycott in unifying the white community in cowardly quiescence, they never hardened them behind everlasting segregation—though in the early months of 1956 it looked like they were making headway. Why did their momentum stall? For one thing, despite its ability to induce mass hysteria, the fast-growing Citizens Council movement did not have leadership comparable to the MIA's at either top or grass roots. During the boycott <PERSON> and his colleagues managed—barely, at times—to keep egos and ambitions under control and harnessed toward common aims. The WCC, and its Klan underground, revealed itself as a muscular front without a strong back to hold it up and keep it accountable to an anxious constituency. Jealousies, rivalries, and turf battles, and the lack of any but a rear vision, tore holes in supremacist armor and kept it from sustaining its mobilization.
Did the black movement's empowerment by black church culture have a lot to do with this contrast? Was white resistance too secular, despite pious platitudes obligatory in a highly religious culture, for its own good? Fuller use of fundamentalist Christian symbols, done with integrity, might have inhibited its means and undermined its ends. To be sure, the Klan made mileage with cross burnings and other rituals that condemned black Christians as the Antichrist; to bomb a heathenish black church was a blow for the avenging white <PERSON>.
During the bus boycott both racial communities mobilized with fierce determination, blacks fueled more by anger, whites by fear. But only the black community effectively organized. For these organizing miracles, to which white blunders contributed, the women leaders and black churches deserved the lion's share of credit.
IN EARLY FEBRUARY 1957 <PERSON> wired the Atlanta conferees asking them to reconvene on Valentine's Day in New Orleans at New Zion Baptist Church. Its pastor, <PERSON>, helped lead the New Orleans bus desegregation campaign. Ninety-seven activists from thirty-four cities created the Southern Leaders Conference and elected <PERSON> president. More than a coordinating body, the new association emerged as a regionwide equivalent to the MIA: a top-down organization of black leaders, mostly ministers,
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son-of-a-bitch, that's why she had you a bitch. And if you so bad, git up outta that seat.' I rode four blocks, then I went to the front door and backed off the bus, and I was jest hoping he'd git up. I was going to cut his head slamp off, but he didn't sey nothing.
"<PERSON> started this thang, and now they can't finish it. They didn't have a bitter need to 'rest Miss <PERSON>. All they had to do was talk to 'er lack she was a lady, but they had to be so big and take her to jail. Dey bit the lump off and us making 'em chew it. I know ole <PERSON>, ole dog, wish he could spit.
"But <PERSON> fix 'em," she rapped on, "all colored folks ain't like they use to be. They ain't scared no more. Guns don't scare us. These white folks jest keep messing up. Dey gona have a war if they keep on. We be jest forced to kill 'em all 'cause if they hurt Rev. <PERSON>, I don't mine dying, but I sho Lord am taking a white bastard with 'em. If I don't have my razor with me, I'll use a stick.
"You can do anything for 'em, but jest don't set beside 'em. Now you know it ain't no harm in that. I don't wont they no good men 'cause a white man can't do nothing fur me. Give me a black man any day. And I never worry 'bout any no good white bitch taking a man o' mine. She ain't woman 'nough to take 'em."
If the bus boycott ended, she told <PERSON>, "I'm gona walk that mile still. If they git another dime from me, I won't know it. Well this is my stop. Let's hold out and pray, and I know we'll get what we wont."
<PERSON> recorded similar angry sentiments at a car-pool dispatch station where protesters were waiting for rides to work.
"I'll crawl on my knees 'fo I git back on dem buses," a domestic worker exclaimed to a friend. "Look at dem red bastards over der watching us"—she pointed to the cops—"Ain't nobody scared of dem."
"I ain't 'bout to get on dem buses," another woman said. "Des white folks gona mess right 'round here and git killed. I don't mind dying but I sho take one of dem with me. God done got fed up wid des white folks. We kin stand hard time betterin dey kin 'cause us use to it and dey ain't."
If "dat son-of-a-bitch I work fur" threatened to fire her for not riding the bus, the first domestic said sternly, furrowing her brow, "I beat her skinny ass and tell 'er keep de money 'cause I ain't hongry. Did you see 'em when they put dat boy in jail?" referring to <PERSON>.
"Dey jest trying to skere us back on dem buses," the other replied, "but I'll be damn if I get on one. I'll walk twenty miles 'fo I ride 'em. Dey trying
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['6d0b42f8-344a-96da-129b-a4a5418f2685']
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. Ibid., 1:34–35; a crucial line is missing from the 1677 edition and an erroneous word inserted. For the correct text, see the 1599 edition, folio Fv; is there no end of difficulties with chrysopoetic texts?
. <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, _Three Hours After Marriage,_ ed. <PERSON>, Augustan Reprint Society, no. 91–92 (Los Angeles: Clark Memorial Library, 1961), p. 171.
. <PERSON>, "The Dissociation of Chloride of Gold," _Journal of the Chemical Society_ 67 (1895): 881–904.
. <PERSON> mentions "the _Aqua pugilum_ [water of the fighters] aenigmatically describ'd by _<PERSON>"_ and its ability to "elevate" gold in his _Origine of Formes and Qualities_ (1666), in _Works of Robert Boyle,_ 5:424.
. The presence of ammonium salts in the "water of the fighters" further helps the gold salt to sublime successfully.
. Besides <PERSON>, another successful interpreter _of Von dem grossen <PERSON>_ revealed his cleverness by publishing a highly practical exposition of the process while masquerading as <PERSON> himself! See _Offenbahrung der verborgenen Handgriffe_ (originally published 1624), in _Chymische Schrifften,_ 2:319–38. This same or another "pseudo-Valentine" produced the last work to join the <PERSON> corpus, the _Letztes Testament_ (first published 1626), which also contains a exposition of the _Keys._
. <PERSON>, _Practica cum duodecim clavibus_ in <PERSON>, _Tripus aureus,_ pp. 7–76; reprinted in _Musaeum hermeticum,_ pp. 377–432.
. <PERSON>, _Von dem grossen Stein,_ 1:72.
. A later reader, perhaps recognizing the crucial place of this impressive achievement in the process, chose its emblem (the rooster and fox) over all others for the place of honor in the background to a "portrait" of <PERSON> prepared later in the seventeenth century and shown in figure 6.1.
. For more on <PERSON>'s life and ideas, see <PERSON>, _Gehennical Fire._
. These materials are now edited, translated, and annotated in <PERSON>, _Alchemical Laboratory Notebooks and Correspondence;_ a close analysis of some of their contents along with further information about <PERSON>'s scientific interactions (including those with <PERSON>) and context in London appears in Newman and Principe, _Alchemy Tried in the Fire._
. <PERSON>, _Gehennical Fire,_ pp. 228–39; for a study of the larger role of chymistry in the development of particulate matter theories, see <PERSON>, _Atoms and Alchemy._
. <PERSON>, _Alchemical Laboratory Notebooks and Correspondence,_ pp. 228–60; <PERSON> and <PERSON>, _Alchemy Tried in the Fire,_ pp. 188–97.
. On the mercuralist school, see <PERSON>, _Philosophical Principles of Universal Chemistry,_ trans. <PERSON> (London, 1730), pp. 401–16, and <PERSON>, "Diversity in Alchemy: The Case of Gaston 'Claveus' DuClo, a Scholastic Mercurialist Chrysopoeian," in _Reading the Book of Nature: The Other Side of the Scientific Revolution,_ ed. <PERSON> and <PERSON> (Kirksville, MO: Sixteenth Century Press, 1998), pp. 181–200.
. <PERSON>, _Aspiring Adept,_ pp. 153–55.
. <PERSON> [<PERSON>], _Introitus apertus ad occlusum regis palatium,_ in _Musaeum hermeticum,_ pp. 647–99, quoting from pp. 658–59.
. <PERSON>, _Alchemical Laboratory Notebooks and Correspondence,_ pp. 12–31, quoting from pp. 22–23; <PERSON>, _Correspondence,_ 1:90–103.
. <PERSON>, _Aspiring Adept,_ pp. 158–79; <PERSON>, "<PERSON>'s _Clavis_ as Starkey's _Key."_
. <PERSON>,
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['6d0b42f8-344a-96da-129b-a4a5418f2685']
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(fig. 6.8; compare with 6.3). He shifted the wolf to the left in front of the king, and put Saturn on the right, now straddling a small oven, in front of the queen. These minor alterations to the engraving significantly change its meaning! Now the image depicts the purification of _both gold and silver—_ gold purified with stibnite as before, but now also silver purified with lead, by a process known as cupellation. In cupellation, impure silver is melted with lead in a shallow dish made of bone ash, called a cupel. A stream of air is blown across the molten mixture, causing the lead and all the base metals alloyed with the silver to oxidize, whereupon they are either absorbed by the cupel or blown away. Pure silver is left behind. In <PERSON>'s engraving, Saturn is no longer the wolf 's sire, but lead; the queen is no longer a yet-unidentified material to be combined in the future step with purified gold, but silver. <PERSON> apparently believed he had correctly deciphered the meaning of the queen and decided to encode it into a reengraved emblem as a "gift" to his readers.
An early owner of the book from which figure 6.7 is reproduced came to a different conclusion, which he scribbled on the woodcut. Above the queen's head he wrote the symbol for metallic antimony prepared using iron, the so-called martial regulus. These differing interpretations show how intelligent readers could draw conflicting conclusions from the same cryptic text and image (and I don't think that either <PERSON> or the anonymous reader got it right).
Figure 6.7. The sixth key of <PERSON>; the identity of the queen (and the bishop?) remain unclear, although an early reader inked in his own guesses. From _Von dem grossen Stein der Uhralten_ (Leipzig, 1602). By courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin–Madison.
The reader, however, probably has more justification for his view than does <PERSON>, for <PERSON> himself might be giving hints in his ninth key regarding the queen's whereabouts. Here the text deals with colors and describes the stage in making the Philosophers' Stone in which the material sealed in the flask changes from black to white to red. The accompanying illustration (fig. 6.9) emblematizes the maturing stone. The king and queen are shown naked, while on their heads and feet rest the four birds symbolizing the successive stages in producing the stone—the black crow at the top, the multicolored peacock at the bottom, the white swan at the left, and the fiery red phoenix at the right. But if we step back a little and ignore the details, the overall design resolves into a circle surmounted by a cross formed by the oddly bent bodies of the king and queen: in short, the chymical symbol for antimony (stibnite).
As commonly happens in chrysopoetic texts, the end of <PERSON>'s book is the most easily understood. The eleventh and twelfth keys describe operations after the stone has reached the red stage. In the last key, <PERSON> decides not employ "any
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we often experience muscle aches and pains of no known origin or have frequent colds or other infections, nutritional deficiencies are usually the cause. Subclinical deficiencies, usually the result of a flawed diet, can weaken the immune system, cause colds and flu, and lead to various chronic disease states depending on which nutrient is lacking.
Subclinical deficiencies can be insidious because it is hard to know we have them. This is why such deficiencies now affect virtually everyone. Chronic diseases such as heart disease, high blood pressure, and cancer are known to be more prevalent in people who consume fewer nutrient-rich fresh fruits, vegetables, high-fiber grains, and legumes. Fortunately, such deficiencies can be corrected with diet, supplements, and lifestyle modification.
A nutrient deficiency may also result from your unique biochemistry. Each of us is biologically unique ("biochemical individuality"). Each of us has a unique need for nutrients and an above-average need for one or more nutrients. In fact, one person may need as much as forty times more of a particular nutrient than another person. Thus, two people eating the same diet may achieve different results. One may be adequately provisioned and healthy, while the other is deficient and sick. For example, at least one-third of all cases of schizophrenia result from higher-than-ordinary needs for minerals such as zinc and vitamins such as B3, B6, B12, and folic acid. Rather than being medicated or hospitalized, these patients can recover completely when their above-average nutritional needs are met. There is no such thing as an RDA that applies to everyone.
Unfortunately, there is no practical way to measure how much of each vitamin and mineral your body really needs, which is why we must always strive for optimal nutrition. We cannot afford to eat junk foods that are loaded with calories and empty of nutrition. It is also why it is critical that we eat a wide variety of living foods loaded with nutrients. Although RDA guidelines reflect average requirements, most Americans are not even getting the RDA. How could they when close to a third of the average person's caloric intake comes from sugar, white flour, sodas, and other empty-calorie junk foods?
**_Supplements Are Essential,_** ** _but Many Products Are Useless_**
In June 2002, a landmark study published in the _Journal of_ _the American Medical Association,_ analyzing thirty-six years of data, concluded that _everyone needs a daily multivitamin_ _regardless of age or health._ Four years earlier, in April 1998, the National Academy of Sciences issued a profound statement saying that most people will not get all the vitamins they need even if they eat a good diet with lots of fruits and vegetables. In our modern world, _supplementing is essential_.
Many Americans take notice of the need for supplements, but their choices lead them down unhealthy paths and dead ends. Although Americans spend almost $20 billion on supplements every year, they are getting sicker and fatter. You may have heard people say that all you really get from taking vitamins is expensive urine. Lending credence to this view, large-scale epidemiological studies by
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health, but that's not what's happening. The majority of our young people are sick with allergies, asthma, attention deficit, autism, cancer, diabetes, obesity, and other diseases. Autopsies performed on accident victims of this age group reveal that nearly 80 percent have early stages of heart disease, and 15 percent have arteries that are more than half blocked. These young people thought they were healthy; they appeared to be healthy; they lived normal lives; but they were definitely not healthy.
Immigrants to the United States are, on average, healthier and live longer than the general population, largely because they tend to adhere to their traditional diets. The second generation, however, tends to adopt the processed-food American diet, and their health suffers.
It's a matter of perspective. Our own ill health does not stand out when compared to our unhealthy friends and neighbors. The allergies, the colds, the flu, the arthritis, the premature aging—all of these seem perfectly normal. Because disease is so common, we have come to believe that it is an inevitable, natural, normal part of the aging process. We mistake being able to function for being healthy. We perceive "sick" as
being bedridden or housebound, and "healthy" as being able to go about our normal activities. But being healthy is far more than being free of obvious disease symptoms. Healthy means that all of your cells are functioning at the highest level that genetic capacity allows. Ask yourself: Are you truly healthy with all of your cells and systems working as they should, or are you just not obviously sick?
Unfortunately, we are a sick population, growing sicker by the day and, worse yet, blind to our sickness. Here are some realities:
• More than three out of four Americans have a diagnosable chronic disease.
• More than two out of three regularly take prescription or over-the-counter drugs.
• More than three out of four people over age sixty regularly take two
or more prescription drugs.
• One out of four children under age eighteen already has at least one chronic disease.
Despite all this, two out of three Americans believe themselves to be in "good" or "excellent" health. How can you think you are in good or excellent health when you are taking medications and experiencing symptoms of disease? It's because disease is so common; we think disease is health so long as we can keep functioning. As long as we continue to think that disease is health, improving health becomes difficult. If you lack vitality or have other bothersome symptoms, you are not healthy, and if you have a diagnosable disease, you are definitely not healthy.
For example, most people with allergies don't think of themselves as having a chronic immune dysfunction disease; they think of allergies as an inconvenience in an otherwise healthy body. But chronic allergic reactions accelerate the aging process, tax the body and the immune system, and make you much more susceptible to infections and other diseases. Allergies are not just a benign inconvenience; they are a serious immune
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war, if I managed to survive it. I wasn't that keen to go away again, so my next posting with 818 Squadron suited me down to the ground. It would have been marvellous to stay in Arbroath, or even better Abbotsinch, but at least we were still almost in Scotland, although in a place with the unfortunate name of Twatt, in the Orkneys.
Twatt was only half finished during our stay, so we were billeted in half-finished sheds nearby and were driven into the base by lorry every day. The place was awful, a sea of mud. We had a lot of new members in the squadron and spent a great deal of time trying to get them into shape, with dive-bombing practice and various other exercises. We also started to carry out joint manoeuvres with the army. This lasted for a few weeks at Twatt and then we moved yet again, this time to Machrihanish, at Campbeltown in Kintyre. This was particularly disliked by the southerners in the squadron, who hated the weather and couldn't pronounce the name. It was always Machri-bloody-Hanish to them. Here our joint exercises with the army were part of the development of planning for amphibious operations.
Like most pilots everywhere, we were constantly on the lookout for ways to brighten up the day and have a little fun, particularly if we could play a practical joke on the pongos – our not very complimentary nickname for soldiers. On one of these exercises four of our Swordfish were to play the role of enemy aircraft. The army was going to be storming the beach from landing craft and at a crucial moment we were going to dive-bomb the troops. They would then be expected to get into their positions to set up what anti-aircraft defences they had and deal with casualties. Having been briefed on the exercise the day before, we decided that we would make it a little more realistic for them. We spent the next few hours raiding the cookhouse and the sickbay. From the cookhouse we took sacks of flour, which we divided up into smaller paper bags. We debated taking potatoes, but someone pointed out that they could cause serious injury if they were dropped from any height. In the sickbay we liberated a large number of condoms and filled them with water.
Next morning we took to the air, with the observers carrying haversackloads of flour-and-water bombs to launch at the poor lads struggling up the beach. We arrived over the exercise area and there below us were the landing craft, just grinding through the breakers, their ramps crashing down and the army charging out of them. Thunder flashes were going off and there was the noise of gunfire – blanks, fortunately – from some of the machine guns that had been set up. We were to commence our dive-bombing attack five minutes into the landing. To our surprise, the army was accompanied by a naval officer in his blue uniform with shiny black gaiters. He was obviously acting as the beachmaster,
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out together. She was great company and very attractive.
But learning to fly was the reason I had joined the navy and I would have been happy to be here, <PERSON> or no <PERSON>, despite the fact that the airfield itself was not particularly attractive. It was part of the shipbuilding company Harland and Wolff, whose massive mobile crane was visible from all over Belfast. Most of the base had been built on land reclaimed from Belfast Lough and it had a surface of hard-packed cinders. In winter a cold, bitter wind blew off the water, cutting through anything that I was wearing. I was being taught to fly in an aircraft called the Miles Magister, which was a single-engined monoplane with two open cockpits, one for the pupil, the other for the instructor. To start the engines we had to turn them over, swinging the propellers by hand to circulate the lubrication oil and forcing the petrol mixture into the cylinders, and this could be very difficult on a cold morning with everything covered in thick white frost.
There was quite a lot of classroom instruction, as well as practice take-offs and landings with the instructor. The Magister was a modern aeroplane, having been designed in 1937 as a purpose-built trainer for the RAF, so it was a very good plane to learn on, fun to fly and with none of the vices common to more high-performance planes that could take the inexperienced pilot by surprise. I learned a lot of my basic acrobatic skills in it.
I made good progress and thoroughly enjoyed flying. There was something absolutely unique about the sense of freedom that I experienced, the thrill of soaring high above the ground. On the practice flights one could see right over Belfast to the hills beyond. Looking down, I could see the shipyard, now full of warships under construction, one of them a big aircraft carrier that I was later to serve on, although at the time I had no idea what it was. Flying is exhilarating, and I have never lost that sense of joy I felt as the plane became airborne, kept aloft by nothing more than the rush of air over the wings. Other feelings could quickly take over, however, when I was flying off a carrier on an operation. But that was to come later; for now I couldn't wish for anything better.
The time for my solo flight came quickly. My instructor, Flight Sergeant <PERSON>, thought I was ready and I remember a sense of mixed pride and nervousness as he climbed out of his cockpit and sent me off on my own for the first time. I took off to do two circuits of the aerodrome before making a final approach and landing. As I flew around I was so happy to have at last achieved my ambition that I could not contain my joy and was singing the hymn 'Onward, Christian Soldiers' at the top of my voice. I still can't believe it, but I did – I had such
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fish.
Skin Shot
## MORNING SHOT
This is my daily ritual. The lemon and ginger helps waken your body and digestive system, while also alkalising your body and invigorating your metabolism. I enjoy mine with warm water.
1 lemon peeled
5cm piece of fresh root ginger, peeled
Juice the ingredients and serve straight up, or in 300–500ml of warm water or cold water with ice.
JUICEMAN TIP
I like to add 1 teaspoon of manuka honey if I feel like something a bit sweeter.
## SOS
I love turmeric for its incredible healing properites. This is a great shot – and it's even better as a tonic. Mix with water at 10 parts water to 1 part shot, and enjoy after a run or yoga session.
5cm piece of fresh root ginger, peeled
2.5cm piece of fresh root turmeric, peeled
½ a lemon, peeled
1 tsp coconut sugar
a pinch of ground cinnamon
Juice the ingredients and serve straight up, or in 300–500ml of warm water or cold water with ice.
JUICEMAN TIP
Make sure you drink a glass of water after consuming turmeric to avoid any teeth staining.
## TUMMY TUCK
If you don't know about apple cider vinegar then let's just start by saying it's amazing and has unbelievable healing qualities. Make sure you buy one that contains the 'mother' – strands of proteins, enzymes and friendly bacteria that give the product a murky, cobweb-like appearance. I love this shot as it helps to settle my stomach, and it's also great to help boost your immune system.
1 tsp apple cider vinegar
1 tsp raw honey
a pinch of ground cayenne pepper
a pinch of ground cinnamon
Juice the ingredients and serve straight up, or in 300–500ml warm water or cold water with ice.
## RAW HEAT
This shot can be as big as needed and is my go-to when I'm starting to feel a bit run-down or like I'm getting a cold. It's great for clearing your sinuses, and celery is also super-alkaline and detoxifying.
2 celery sticks
½ a lemon, peeled
5cm piece of fresh root ginger
Juice the ingredients and serve straight up, or in 300–500ml of warm water or cold water with ice.
Morning Shot, Tummy Tuck, SOS & Raw Heat
## YOGA SHOT
This makes a great shot, but I prefer it with the added water (see photo) to make a rehydrating drink that's perfect for yoga or post-workout. It contains some Indian flavours and is a great shade of orange. Remember to peel the turmeric with care...
5cm piece of fresh root ginger, peeled
2.5cm piece of fresh root turmeric, peeled
½ a lemon, peeled
1 tsp coconut sugar
a pinch of Himalayan salt
a pinch of ground cinnamon
a pinch of ground cardamom
a pinch of black pepper
Juice the ginger, turmeric and lemon, then mix with the other ingredients and serve straight up or in 300–500ml of warm water or cold water with ice.
Yoga Shot
## ACTIVATED CHARCOAL TONIC
Whenever I'm looking to detox, I add one
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on a juicer? How do I choose one?
Generally, the rule is that the more you spend, the better-quality machine you get. My Omega and Vitamix juicers are still going strong after five years – and they've had to endure a lot of use. I also think it's important to understand the yield aspect of a juicer. With a low-rpm cold-press mechanism, you can get a good 10 percent yield, especially off leafy green vegetables. So if you juice every day, it will be a better value than a cheaper high-speed juicer.
There seem to be many different smoothie makers and juicers out there. What are the best ones?
Here are my recommendations:
Juicers: | Blenders:
---|---
Omega Vert | NutriBullet
Breville | Vitamix
Philips | Ninja
Does it tend to be the more expensive the better?
With juicers, I would say yes. They produce better-quality juice and yield, which will be easier on your annual produce budget. With blenders, I feel the NutriBullet provides a great solution. The reason to purchase a Vitamix is for larger volume per use and a greater variety of uses. One thing I will say is that a Vitamix will never be as good as a food processor at making nut butters, dips, cake batters, etc. due to the smaller blade and base of the container.
Can I swap a meal for a juice?
Yes, absolutely. Just not every meal, unless you are specifically cleansing. I have gone seven days on just juice and felt amazing, but you need the right preparation. In general, if you have had a big breakfast and lunch, you will probably sleep better on a light dinner, which could be a green juice or smoothie. I for one consider 2 pounds of fresh vegetables in a juice a better meal than a pizza.
What's the best juice for a detox?
Ones that are low in fruit content and high in green vegetables, celery, aloe vera – ingredients that will cleanse you and replenish your system. Check out the previous Cleanse section.
Is there really too much sugar in fruit and natural fruit juice?
Everything in moderation! There is no hiding that there is sugar in fruit and fruit juices. But as long as you're not consuming large amounts of them and you're energetic and active enough, the sugar shouldn't be a problem for you. Our bodies will convert it to energy. Otherwise it can be stored as fat. A lot has been said about the high sugar content of juices and smoothies and that they are not as good for us as we think. Many commercial drinks are indeed overloaded with sweet-tasting ingredients, can be highly processed and made with heat-inducing cooking methods. However, making fresh juices and smoothies at home is a whole different ball game.
Can I put yogurt in a smoothie – or will that undo all my hard work?
It depends on what you are looking for and what kind of yogurt. There is nothing wrong with a treat, and personally I love coconut yogurt or kefir
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richness to the texture by employing *enjambment. And sonnet-like structures of 14 lines have even been discerned in the stichic verse of _Paradise Lost_ , a practice later echoed by <PERSON> and <PERSON> (<PERSON> 1982). <PERSON>'s was the strongest influence when, after a century of disuse, the sonnet was revived in the late 18th c. by <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON> and reestablished in the early 19th by <PERSON> (who eased rhyme demands by use of an _abbaacca_ octave in nearly half of his more than 500 sonnets), by <PERSON>, and by <PERSON>, whose frequent use of the Shakespearean pattern reaffirmed its worthiness. By this time, the scope of sonnet themes had broadened widely; in <PERSON> and <PERSON>, it even embraced an unaccustomed humor. Sonnet theory was also developing tentatively during this period (as in <PERSON>'s "Essay on the Sonnet") to eventuate in an unrealistic purism in <PERSON> _The English Sonnet_ (1917) before it was later more temperately approached. Since the impetus of the romantic revival, the form has had a continuing and at times distinguished use, as in <PERSON> ( _The House of Life_ ), <PERSON>, <PERSON> ( _Sonnets from the Portuguese_ ), and <PERSON>. Few poets of the 20th c. (<PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON> might be named) matched the consistent level of production found in the earlier work, although an occasional single sonnet, such as <PERSON> "Leda and the Swan," has rare beauty.
While sonnets were ubiquitous in the colonial Americas, the form did not appear in New England until the last quarter of the 18th c., in the work of Col. <PERSON>, but once introduced, the form spread rapidly if not distinctively until <PERSON> (1807–82), using the It. pattern, lifted it in dignity and lyric tone (esp. in the _Divina commedia_ sequence) to a level easily equal to its counterpart in England. Subsequently, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> (born in Jamaica), <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, among others, produced memorable sonnets, as have more recent Am. and Eng.-lang. poets such as <PERSON>, <PERSON> (New Zealand), <PERSON>, <PERSON> (Canada), <PERSON> (England), <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> (Scotland), and <PERSON>.
In the 20th and early 21st cs., sonnets have continued to broaden to include almost any subject and mood. Structurally, even within the traditional patterns, the sonnet has reflected the principal influences evident in mod. poetry as a whole: *free-verse innovations have frequently led to less metronomic movement within the iambic norm; alternatives to exact rhymes have replenished the stock of rhyme pairs and have sophisticated acoustic relationships; and a more natural idiom has removed much of a burdensome artificiality. Such adaptability suggests continued interest in and use of the form.
_See_ ONEGIN STANZA, PETRARCHISM, QUATORZAIN.
H. Welti, _Gesch. des Sonettes in der deutschen Dichtung_ (1884); <PERSON>, 2.835 ff; L. Biadene, _Morfologia del sonetto nei
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or Greek . . . had been more easier." Indeed, in the 17th c., <PERSON> had some of his more important scientific works pub. in Lat. because he feared that "these modern languages will at one time or other play bankrupt with books." On the other hand, <PERSON>, a prominent educator, thought of Eng. as "the joyful title of our liberty and freedom, the Latin tongue remembering us of our thraldom and bondage." In this, he undoubtedly spoke for the majority of the Eng. people. Both in England and in northern Europe, the cause of national langs. and lits. was enhanced by the growing Reformist and Protestant movements, which insisted that the scriptures be translated and available for all believers to read for themselves.
But once the cause of vernacular poetry was established, the practice raised problems of its own. The initial problem was *meter: how could a vernacular lang. (lacking *quantity) imitate the (quantitative) meter natural to Gr. and Lat.? <PERSON> in his _Versi et regole de la nuova poesia toscana_ (1539) tried to show how It. poetry could be written so as to imitate the prosody of Lat. verse. He was followed in France by <PERSON>, who writes in the preface to his _La Manière de faire des vers en françois, comme en grec et en latin_ (1573) that the real issue is the yearnings of "ultraclassicists" to rival <PERSON> or <PERSON> and argues for a new Fr. spelling and pronunciation that will permit the lang. to fit cl. meter. The Eng. were more tolerant still, and many Eng. poets in the later 16th c. came to write an Eng. quantitative verse in imitation of the Gr. and Lat. because the Eng. lang. seemed closer to the cl. langs., esp. Lat., than it did to It., with its greater percentage of rhyming words, or to Fr., with its more musical accent. For the Eng., meter superseded *rhyme, and in _The Scholemaster_ (1570), <PERSON>, associating rhyme with med. scholastic verse, even calls rhyme "barbarian" (see CLASSICAL METERS IN MODERN LANGUAGES).
Later treatises by <PERSON> ( _Discourse of English Poetrie_ , 1586) and <PERSON> ( _The Arte of English Poesie_ , 1589) provide an additional, Protestant argument by declaring that the past age, when rhyme was employed, was not only "gothic" but papist. <PERSON> recalls "this tinkerly verse which we call rime" and condemns monks for having invented "brutish Poetry." <PERSON> speaks of rhyme as "the idle invention of Monastical men," supporting the superiority of Protestant classicists. Even <PERSON> briefly became part of the quantitative movement, and as late as 1602, <PERSON> in his _Observations_ questions "the childish titillation of riming." The positive outcomes of such complaints in Eng. were a notable increase in poetic experimentation and the devel. of a flexible and powerful medium for *dramatic poetry—*blank verse.
**IV. The Genres of Poetry.** Ren. concern with cl. verse forms was matched by interest in cl. distinctions of *genre, distinctions first worked out by the commentators on <PERSON> and <PERSON> and later
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30054 and turn right. The road dead-ends at the trailhead.
###### **DUCK LAKE**
You'll see why Duck Lake got its name. The creek and lake offer trout fishing. A **visitors center** (435/682-2432, 10am-5pm daily summer) is across the highway from the campground turnoff. **Singing Pines Interpretive Trail,** just east of the visitors center, makes a 0.5-mile loop and **Old Ranger Interpretive Trail** makes a shorter loop from Duck Creek Campground; look for a large pullout on the left where the main campground road makes a curve to the right (near the amphitheater). Pick up information sheets for both trails from the visitors center. The **Lost Hunter Trail** makes a three-mile loop from the same trailhead in Duck Creek Campground to the top of Duck Creek Bench; elevation gain is about 600 feet with many fine views. Turn north from Highway 14 at Duck Lake, about 28 miles east of Cedar City.
Cool off inside the small **Ice Cave,** where the lava rock insulates ice throughout the summer. The road may be too rough for cars—ask about conditions at the visitors center. Turn south on the dirt road beside the visitors center, keep left at the fork 0.2 miles in, keep right at another fork 0.8 miles farther, and continue 0.4 miles to the cave at the end of the road; signs mark the way.
###### **DUCK CREEK VILLAGE**
Hollywood has used this area since the 1940s to film such productions as _How the West Was Won, My Friend <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER>, 10am-5pm daily summer) is across the highway from the campground turnoff. **Singing Pines Interpretive Trail,** just east of the visitors center, makes a 0.5-mile loop and **Old Ranger Interpretive Trail** makes a shorter loop from Duck Creek Campground; look for a large pullout on the left where the main campground road makes a curve to the right (near the amphitheater). Pick up information sheets for both trails from the visitors center. The **Lost Hunter Trail** makes a three-mile loop from the same trailhead in Duck Creek Campground to the top of Duck Creek Bench; elevation gain is about 600 feet with many fine views. Turn north from Highway 14 at Duck Lake, about 28 miles east of Cedar City.
Cool off inside the small **Ice Cave,** where the lava rock insulates ice throughout the summer. The road may be too rough for cars—ask about conditions at the visitors center. Turn south on the dirt road beside the visitors center, keep left at the fork 0.2 miles in, keep right at another fork 0.8 miles farther, and continue 0.4 miles to the cave at the end of the road; signs mark the way.
###### **DUCK CREEK VILLAGE**
Hollywood has used this area since the 1940s to film such productions as _How the West Was Won, My Friend Flicka,_ and the _Daniel Boone_ TV series. This handsome village—a collection of lodges, cabins, and log-built homes—is at the edge of a large meadow (elev. 8,400 feet) about 30 miles east of Cedar City. The surrounding countryside is excellent for snowmobiling, a popular winter sport here. A big snowmobile race takes place on the weekend closest to Valentine's Day. Cross-country skiing is also good on meadow, forest, and bowl terrain. The snow season lasts about late November-late March. **Blue Pine Tours** <PHONE_NUMBER>), at Pinewoods Resort, offers snowmobile and ATV tours and rentals.
Trout and scenic beauty attract visitors to pretty **Aspen Mirror Lake.** The turnoff (signed Movie Ranch Rd.) is on the north side of Highway 14, about midway between Duck Creek Campground and Duck Creek Village. Park and then walk the 0.25-mile level trail.
###### **STRAWBERRY POINT**
A magnificent panorama takes in countless ridges, canyons, and mountains south of the Markagunt Plateau. You can spot Zion National Park and even the Arizona Strip from this lofty perch (elev. 9,016 feet). Erosion has cut delicate pinnacles and narrow canyons into the Pink Cliffs on either side below the viewpoint. Turn south from Highway 14 between mileposts 32 and 33 (32.5 miles east of Cedar City) onto a gravel road and go nine miles to its end. A 500-foot path continues to Strawberry Point. Take care near the edge—the rock is crumbly and there are no guardrails.
###### **ACCOMMODATIONS**
In Duck Creek Village, **Falcon's Nest** (60 Movie Ranch Rd., <PHONE_NUMBER>, www.falconsnestcabins.com, year-round, 2-night minimum weekends, 3-night minimum holidays, $80-115) offers A-frame cabins with kitchens.
**Pinewoods
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E. 100 N., <PHONE_NUMBER>, 9am-8pm daily) for natural-food groceries; it's a well-stocked store.
#### **RECREATION**
Moab is at the center of some of the most picturesque landscapes in North America. Even the least outdoorsy visitor will want to explore the river canyons, natural arches, and mesas. Mountain biking and river tours are the recreational activities that get the most attention in the Moab area, although hikers, climbers, and horseback riders also find plenty to do. If you're less physically adventurous, you can explore the landscape on scenic flights or follow old mining roads in a jeep to remote backcountry destinations.
It's easy to find outfitters and sporting goods rental operations in Moab; it's the largest business segment in town, and there's a remarkable cohesion to the town's operations. It seems that everyone markets everyone else's excursions and services, so just ask the closest outfitter for whatever service you need, and chances are excellent you'll get hooked up with what you want.
Make the **Moab Information Center** (25 E. Center St., <PHONE_NUMBER> or <PHONE_NUMBER>, www.discovermoab.com) your first stop in town; it's an excellent source for information about the area's recreational options. The center is staffed by representatives of the National Park Service, the BLM, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Canyonlands Field Institute; they can direct you to the adventure of your liking. The center also has literature, books, and maps for sale. BLM officials can point you to the developed and undeveloped designated campsites near the Moab Slickrock Bike Trail, Kane Creek, and along the Colorado River; you must use the designated sites in these areas.
To reach most of Moab's prime hiking trails requires a short drive to trailheads. For more options, head to nearby Arches and Canyonlands National Parks. **Canyonlands Field Institute** <PHONE_NUMBER> or <PHONE_NUMBER>, www.canyonlandsfieldinst.org) leads weekend day hikes mid-April-mid-October ($40-45, including transportation and park admission fees) at various locations near Moab; join one of these to really learn the area's natural history.
##### **Hiking**
To reach most of Moab's prime hiking trails requires a short drive to trailheads; these routes are all picturesque. For more options, pick up the brochure _Moab Area Hiking Trails_ at the visitors center.
###### **KANE CREEK SCENIC DRIVE AND U.S. 191 SOUTH**
The high cliffs just southwest of town provide fine views of the Moab Valley, highlands of Arches National Park, and the La Sal Mountains. The **Moab Rim Trail** turns off Kane Creek Boulevard 1.5 miles downriver from Moab. The total driving distance from the junction of Main Street and Kane Creek Boulevard is 2.6 miles; look for the trailhead on the left, 0.1 miles after a cattle guard.
You can see the sky through Little Arch across the river from the trailhead. Four-wheel-drive vehicles can also ascend the Moab Rim Trail, although the rough terrain is considered difficult for them; the first 200 yards will give drivers a feel for the difficulty. The trail climbs northeast 1.5 miles along tilted rock strata of the Kayenta Formation to the top of the plateau. This hike is moderately difficult, with an elevation gain
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elle isole ce dernier, le distinguant radicalement de ses convives. L'individuation du client est l'un des principes de base du restaurant dès sa création, mais son exercice conserve jusqu'alors une grande souplesse, en tout cas il reste maître de partager ou non ce qu'il commande. À partir de l'invention des frères Troisgros, il n'y a plus de partage possible – en principe... <PERSON>, on demeure toujours libre de plonger sa fourchette dans l'assiette du voisin... avec sa permission, bien sûr ; et si elle n'est pas trop éloignée ! – mais une répartition égalitaire des parts : à chacun son assiette, dressée pour lui par le chef. Déjà, le choix se rétrécit : impossible de prendre un peu plus de ceci et un peu moins de cela. Certes, c'est pour la bonne cause, tout comme le raccourcissement drastique de la carte, mais le processus est en marche qui va conduire à cette fameuse "expérience gastronomique" et donc transformer le lieu même de celle-ci.
<PERSON>, c'est tout un nouveau système qui se met en place : les portions s'individualisent, donc, et les tables s'éloignent les unes des autres. Il est amusant de voir sur des photos de dîners chez Maxim's à cette époque, les convives en rangs d'oignons sur les banquettes, au coude à coude face à de petites tables étroites où l'on serait bien embarrassé pour poser une de nos assiettes modernes : il s'agit pourtant d'un des plus luxueux restaurants de France... du monde, sans doute ! Petit à petit la proximité devient promiscuité : il faut s'isoler, installer du vide. Dans le même temps, la cuisine devient "une gastronomie du discours, discours sur le produit, discours sur la chose, discours sur la préparation, discours sur le peu, discours sur le bref, sur la légèreté, sur la quintessence... Et la nourriture finit pas se confondre avec le discours gastronomique". On passe donc bien du plaisir à l'"expérience". L'incroyable succès connu par la cuisine depuis un quart de siècle (et que n'a pas pu que pressentir <PERSON>, disparu trop tôt : la conférence sur la glaciation date de 1987), sa médiatisation outrancière ne font qu'accentuer la tendance, les images, aujourd'hui, tenant lieu parfois de discours.
L'impératif créatif participe, lui aussi, à la transformation du théâtre où prend place ce "drame culinaire" dont parle <PERSON>. Traditionnellement, le restaurant est un lieu de convivialité : tous les témoignages anciens, c'est-à-dire antérieurs aux années 1970, le prouvent. Par exemple, les récits de <PERSON>, patron de la Tour d'Argent, dans ses mémoires [1964], sont éloquents. Mais bien d'autres récits corroborent cette impression. Règne alors toujours dans les restaurants cette "rumeur gourmande" évoquée par <PERSON>, justement, à propos du Directoire : ils sont des lieux de plaisir, pas des chapelles où l'on vient rendre un culte. Non que le fait d'être une âme pieuse ne puisse engendrer bien des satisfactions et même du plaisir, mais il est d'un autre ordre et rejoint cette philosophie de l'ascèse évoquée par <PERSON> dans sa conférence, qu'il voit apparaître avec la Nouvelle Cuisine, à cause
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de moralistes de tout poil. Mais, dans l'aventure, la cuisine s'est, pourrait-on dire, racheté une conduite. À moins qu'elle ne se soit montrée ingrate : répondre à cette demande sans cesse renouvelée, lui a permis de conquérir du même coup son autonomie, cependant c'est comme s'il avait fallu qu'elle fasse, pour finir, le sacrifice de cette gourmandise qui l'avait aidée à parvenir jusque-là. Il est exagéré de dire que la cuisine y a perdu <PERSON>, mais il est certain qu'elle y a laissé une part appréciable d'elle-même. Or esthétisme et gourmandise n'ont rien de contradictoire, a priori. Certes, cette dernière ne peut être aujourd'hui celle du XIXe siècle, période que l'on cite toujours comme une sorte d'apothéose de la gastronomie : cet idéal de la pléthore nous semble désormais bien étranger, mais, sans nul doute, d'autres modèles existent – c'est en cela, d'ailleurs, que la globalisation peut s'avérer une chance – et, de ce point de vue au moins, <PERSON> faisait preuve d'un pessimisme trop noir, sa crainte de l'avènement d'une gastronomie du pur discours s'étant avérée, par ailleurs, quelque peu fondée comme on l'a vu. Il faut donc, non pas réinventer la gourmandise – ce n'est pas une chose qui se construit, mais qui, spontanée, surgit lorsqu'on ne l'attend pas ; dans laquelle, en tout cas, l'inconscient a une grande part – mais, certainement, la ranimer, la cultiver, entretenir un terrain qui lui soit propice, l'exercer, et puis la revendiquer et, quelquefois même, l'imposer. Et, pour cela, avoir un désir ou/et un discours forts. Dans cette perspective l'esthétique a un rôle à jouer. Non pas cet esthétisme tel qu'il s'exerce aujourd'hui et qui procède par intimidation, mais cette étude de notre sensibilité gustative à nous tous, gastronomes en puissance, qui nous permettrait, enfin, de porter un regard différent tout autant sur la création culinaire que sur notre propre gourmandise, et de faciliter, alors, ce dialogue dont il était question plus haut. Autrement dit, cultivant notre goût (gustatif) personnel, éduquons notre (bon) goût qui ne peut être, lui, que social. Envisageons la gourmandise comme méthode d'éveil à l'un et à l'autre, et non plus comme source d'un plaisir égoïste et solitaire.
Autant dire que cette gourmandise se doit d'être subversive. Elle ne peut, en effet, que bousculer le confort de la consommation passive et moutonnière qui, sous des apparences d'activisme forcené et d'intense fébrilité, règne aujourd'hui et n'est, bien souvent, que la consommation des signes d'une gastronomie soi-disant éclairée : produits, labels, noms de chefs, d'artisans ou de producteurs, tout est bon pour tenter de se distinguer. Si ce n'est que tout le monde puisant aux mêmes sources d'un bout de la planète à l'autre, et l'information étant dorénavant instantanée, cette course à la distinction, loin de se jouer comme au XVIIIe siècle, par exemple, créant un véritable différentiel et devenant ainsi productive, semble avoir lieu sur une quelconque machine d'une de ces salles de sport à la mode et se réduire à un surplace épuisant. Il est urgent de descendre de ce tapis sans fin, partir flâner à l'extérieur
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were often at odds with the natural instincts of a girl of 14. It had been just as hard on her to lose her brother <PERSON> and the pain that still coated the walls of the house could be suffocating, no matter how much she did her best to respect the emotions of her parents.
She stepped lightly down the stairs, knowing that her parents were wound up even tighter in recent days as they all watched the town transform into a ball of evil energy. The zombie children were just the start and now more disease, horror and death plagued the community. As <PERSON> slowly approached her parents, she could see the tears slowly falling from their eyes and she knew that she longed to be embraced by both of them, and so the family sat in each other's arms for the duration of the evening, talking of better times and retelling the old jokes and memories that once filled the house with laughter on these autumn evenings.
_
<PERSON> knew he had slept longer than he planned, but he was tired and the whiskey wasn't a fan of mornings. By midday he was awake enough to hit the streets and found a more crowded suburb than on his return to town the night before. Most of the faces he passed contained looks ranging from panic to pure hopelessness. As he walked, he also saw several other bodies in various states of decay along the roads. Most appeared to have succumbed to overdoses and the town appeared too apathetic to remove the decaying corpses.
Upon entering a particularly busy intersection, <PERSON> found a park bench from which to stand so he can get his message to the town he had doomed.
"People, you must listen, it is too late! There is no saving this town and the terror that will rain down will be far worse than the pain that has been felt thus far!"
A few aimless wanderers had stopped to listen, but it was tough to tell whether they were digesting <PERSON>'s words, or merely surprised to hear a human voice speak with such conviction. These people did not realize the extent of their fate yet, merely that the storm was coming.
"You must hear me, the Devil is fast approaching and he aims to lay waste to all of you and he will spare no mercy in doing so. I have seen his vengeance first hand and you're only hope is to find a peaceful way to end it," <PERSON> now screamed, unaware of his voice rising as his speech continued. When he looked again at the townspeople around him, it was clear that his few listeners had moved on. He sat on the bench, and opened the bottle of whisky he stored in his coat pocket.
Despite the frustration and early failure, he surprised himself by not giving up. This still was not much of a game plan, but it was action and at the least, he seemed to ease his own conscience with every word he
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his key to destruction, the reason to reinforce his existence and his evil upon the Earth. The flames burned brighter, <PERSON> sweated fear like a marathon runner. Trapped within this fiery cell, the images around him grew clearer and clearer, as if the smoke around him were now projecting the visuals.
Death and despair were everywhere; <PERSON> even saw himself within the scene, lost and ragged amidst the chaos. Every time it seemed as if the end had finally been reached, the episode restarted and <PERSON> was forced to suffer through the destruction again.
All the while, the Devil remained silent yet his presence never left <PERSON>. He knew that this creature of evil was right beside him, ensuring that <PERSON> not only saw every second of this torture but that he could feel it in his soul. With every replay of the carnage, <PERSON> felt as if the torment were closer and more real to him. He tried to scream, to warn those around him, but his voice was a mere whisper, his scream but echoes, lost before it could even pass his lips.
_
The sun was sitting high in the sky when <PERSON>'s eyes finally opened again. He was in his bed, fully clothed and without a trace of memory concerning the visions he had just been subjected to. For the first time in weeks, <PERSON> felt rested, although he could barely recall what day it was, the gravity of the situation outside his door was a fleeting memory, slowly seeping back into his waking self.
With a sip of whiskey from the bottle next to his bed, he got to his feet and headed for the kitchen, trying to get a grip on the dreams that he could not recall but still left him with a sinking feeling in his chest. When he finally made it to the kitchen sink, he put his face under the cool water, and stood up, wiped his face and stared out into the daylight of the world outside.
Chapter 6: A Master's In Reverse Psychology
The sun sat high in the sky and yet the day still felt grey and dark somehow. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON> sat in their basement, taking stock of their supplies of food and other necessities. They were scared, and uncertain but recognized that being together and prepared was all they could do to combat the evil that had plagued their town. Although they continued to pray for salvation and the safety of themselves, as well as their friends and neighbors, it was apparent that their maker above would not be answering these words. Unbeknownst to <PERSON>, <PERSON> had gone as far as procuring a handgun, in hopes that would be enough to at least save his wife and daughter if the time came to use it.
_
Although the whiskey bottle was still within reach, <PERSON> had been conservative in regards to his intake thus far today as he wandered around the streets of the town, careful to observe in the actions of everyone but simultaneously doing
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a formula that its author would frequently exploit—an ordinary man magically plunged into a story straight out of The Arabian Nights. Using a protagonist from the real world made it easier to deliver exposition, but it also reflected a fascination with personal transformation that <PERSON> shared with <PERSON>. Much of his work parodied the visions of change that were on the verge of becoming central to science fiction, but he also wouldn't have taken so naturally to Unknown if he hadn't had so much in common with its editor.
<PERSON> was cultivating <PERSON>, as he did with other useful contacts, and he began to pay visits to the editor's home, filling his ears with stories about running a cruise ship in the Caribbean and serving with the U.S. Marines in China. "<PERSON> can do almost anything extraordinarily well," <PERSON> wrote to <PERSON>, and a mutual respect was growing on both sides—when <PERSON> visited a university science department, he found that everyone there wanted to ask him about <PERSON>.
Yet there was one aspect of his life that he kept secret. On New Year's Day, 1938, while undergoing a dental operation under anesthesia, <PERSON> had felt himself leaving his body. Rising as a spirit from his chair, he drifted toward a gate behind which lay the answers to all of mankind's questions, but before he could reach the final revelation, he was pulled back. Opening his eyes, he asked, "I was dead, wasn't I?" And he was allegedly told that his heart had indeed stopped beating.
The vision faded, and he spent several days trying in vain to recover it. At last, early one morning, he awoke with the memory of what he had seen. Working like a madman, he produced a draft of over two hundred pages. It took the form of a fable about a sage from the time of The Arabian Nights who tried to distill all of human wisdom into one book, cutting it down to a tenth of its length, then to one line, and finally to a single word: SURVIVE.
When <PERSON> finished the manuscript, which he titled Excalibur or The One Command, he cabled publishers, telling them to meet him in Penn Station to bid for the rights. <PERSON> later claimed to have withdrawn the book after the first six people who read it went insane, while another jumped from the window of an office tower, and he wrote of his ambitions to <PERSON>:
Foolishly perhaps, but determined none the less, I have high hopes of smashing my name into history so violently that it will take a legendary form even if all books are destroyed. . . . I do know that I could form a political platform, for instance, which would encompass the support of the unemployed, the industrialist and the clerk and day laborer all at one and the same time.
He showed it to <PERSON>, who recalled, "It was the strangest book I ever read. Reading it seemed to open queer windows in the bodies of everyone one thereafter met.
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['71fef492-914e-b0b7-09f2-25107522fcdb']
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a department store. At thirteen, he assembled a radio receiver with lead ore and a steel phonograph needle, and he put together his first car using two batteries and a Studebaker starting motor. He blew up his basement chemistry lab, fixed bikes and appliances, and constructed an eavesdropper that could hear a conversation from a block away.
Gradually, he also figured out how to deal with his parents. He took pleasure in bending the rules by following their instructions to the letter, and he loved science because it allowed him to counter his father with facts: "The old son of a bitch couldn't cram in a new rule anymore." With his mother, he perfected a "mental beating technique" that worked because his attention span was longer than hers: "My childhood battles with her did a great deal to build, in me, the ability to put a given set of facts together in sixteen dozen new and unsuspected ways in the space between two sentences. She's good at that; I had to be better at it."
<PERSON> was twelve when his parents separated. His mother moved to Lemon Grove Avenue in Hollywood, California, with the children, and their divorce was finalized a year later. By then, <PERSON> was a tall, lanky kid, and in his father's absence, his mother began to feel physically threatened by him. None of her old tactics were working, and her son finally "had her so thoroughly scared that she didn't want me in the same house with her."
When they returned to the East Coast after the divorce, his mother sent him away for the summer to Kittatinny Campground in Barryville, New York, and then to Blair Academy, an exclusive boarding school for boys in Blairstown, New Jersey. <PERSON> tried to approach the situation with a positive outlook. Instead of his mother's assumption that everyone was against her, he experimented with the opposite point of view: "Everybody is trying to be nice to me."
It didn't quite work. At Blair, he made a few friends, but in general, he did an admirable job of failing to get along with anybody. His intelligence was scored at 145—"I'd have gotten a higher score if I hadn't known so damn much"—but he earned mediocre grades, excelling at physics but nearly flunking English. <PERSON> applied himself to subjects that he found interesting, ignored the rest, and never passed up the opportunity to correct his teachers in class. He joined no teams or societies, and he listed one of his weekly activities as "hiking," perhaps because it allowed him to think for extended periods on his own.
On the social side, he was as unbearable as before. His size gave him an advantage at sports like football, but he tended to spoil the game. In tennis, he taught himself a few dirty tricks with a steel racket, spinning the ball so that it dropped dead on the court or striking the top of the net so that it barely toppled over to the other side. When he played chess against the school's best
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2d6be140-be2a-507e-9c7d-0ab12f0b291c
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['72199acc-b1ce-1c9a-5bdb-13a310bf53c4']
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of the basil, and salt and pepper to taste. Simmer at medium-low for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. The sauce will be thick.
Use an immersion blender or food processor to lightly purée. Add the olives and olive brine. Keep warm.
For the pilaf, in a saucepan sauté the red onion in the olive oil just until translucent. Immediately remove from the heat and add the lemon juice, parsley, apricots, and pine nuts. Set aside.
Add the couscous to the boiling water in a separate saucepan and return to a boil. Cover and remove from the heat. Let stand for 9 minutes.
To serve mix the couscous with the fruit and nuts. Immediately serve the lamb with the Israeli couscous pilaf, kalamata olive and tomato sauce, and slices of baby summer squash lightly sautéed in butter. Garnish with fresh basil.
Makes 6 to 8 servings.
SALMON ASPARAGUS
BISQUE WITH MORELS
**Stock**
1 pound leftover lobster and shrimp shells and salmon bones
1 onion
3 celery stalks
1 carrot
3 garlic cloves
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon black peppercorns
1 teaspoon thyme
1 teaspoon salt
**Bisque**
1/2 cup (2 sticks) butter
3/4 cup flour
1 tablespoon finely chopped shallots
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Stock (see recipe above)
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup sherry
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon thyme
1 teaspoon oregano
Salt and pepper to taste
1 cup thickly diced morel mushrooms (may substitute oyster, porcini, or chanterelle mushrooms)
1 cup 1-inch, diagonally-sliced pieces fresh asparagus
1 pound cooked chunked salmon
Chopped chives for garnish
For the stock, rinse the shells and bones. Coarsely chop the onion, celery, carrot, and garlic. Put the shells, bones, and chopped vegetables into a large stockpot. Fill the pot with water to cover the ingredients by at least 1 inch. Bring to a boil, skimming the foam. Reduce the heat to low and add the bay leaves, peppercorns, thyme, and salt. Simmer for 1 hour or more. Strain through a wire mesh strainer into a large bowl. Set aside.
For the bisque, in a stockpot melt the butter and slowly stir in the flour to make a light roux. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until light caramel in color. Add the shallots and garlic. Cook, stirring, until the shallots are opaque.
Increase the heat to medium and slowly add some of the stock to the roux and stir to the consistency of a thick gravy. Add the cream and enough of the remaining stock to bring the soup to the desired consistency. Add the sherry, paprika, thyme, oregano, and salt and pepper to taste. Stir until hot and bubbly. Add the mushrooms and asparagus. Continue stirring until the asparagus is almost cooked to the desired doneness. Stir in the salmon chunks.
Serve in a wide, shallow bowl garnished with chives and serve with fresh, hot bread and a chardonnay.
Makes 6 to 8 servings.
**AUNT FRANCES'S
CARROT CAKE**
**Cake**
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup oil
4 eggs
1 small can crushed pineapple (drained, juice reserved)
2 cups plus 1
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68bdf573-860f-b7f0-5f17-665fbecb365a
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['72199acc-b1ce-1c9a-5bdb-13a310bf53c4']
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of 125° is reached. Remove the pan from the oven and let cool slightly.
Remove the lamb to a serving platter, tent with foil, and let rest for at least 20 minutes before serving.
Deglaze the pan with the brandy. Add the jam and beef stock and reduce until thickened. Add the huckleberries and season the sauce with salt and pepper to taste.
Slice the lamb thinly on the bias and serve with the sauce. Serve with whipped potatoes and fresh asparagus.
Makes 6 to 8 servings.
**CHOCOLATE BREAD
PUDDING WITH CARAMEL
SAUCE AND BANANAS**
**Bread Pudding**
10 ounces semisweet chocolate pieces
3/4 cup milk
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup sugar
4 egg yolks
4 large croissants, finely chopped
Sliced bananas and strawberries for serving
Ice cream for serving
**Caramel Sauce**
1 cup corn syrup
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
For the bread pudding, preheat the oven to 325°. In a double boiler melt the chocolate and reserve. In a medium saucepan combine the milk, heavy cream, and sugar. Bring to a light simmer. Add the melted chocolate and egg yolks, stirring constantly until the mixture has thickened and is cooked through.
Place the chopped croissants in a large mixing bowl. Pour the chocolate custard over the croissants and mix thoroughly. Spoon the chocolate mixture into six greased ramekins and place into a water bath. Place the water bath in the oven and bake for 15 to 20 minutes. Remove the bread pudding from oven and allow to cool completely. The bread pudding can be made ahead and stored in the refrigerator for several days or can be frozen.
For the sauce, in a medium saucepan heat the corn syrup and brown sugar until the sugar is fully dissolved. Stir in the butter until fully incorporated. Do not boil.
To serve, warm the bread pudding in the ramekins on a sheet pan in the oven for approximately 15 minutes prior to serving. Turn the bread pudding out of the ramekin onto a serving plate. Top with sliced bananas and strawberries. Ladle 1/4 cup of warm sauce and serve with ice cream.
Makes 6 servings.
**CARROT GINGER SOUP**
**Soup**
1 pound peeled and chopped organic carrots
1/2 large onion, chopped
1 quart good chicken stock
1 3-inch piece ginger, peeled and chopped
1/3 cup honey
1/2 teaspoon curry powder
Salt and pepper to taste
**Garnish**
1 1-inch piece ginger, peeled and puréed
1/2 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon honey
Salt to taste
For the soup, place the carrots, onion, stock, and ginger into a stockpot and cook over medium heat until very tender (about 1 hour).
Purée the carrot mixture in batches in a blender or food processor. Do not fill the blender more than three-quarters full and be sure to cover it with a towel when blending to prevent burning. Return the soup to the stockpot over low heat. Add the honey and curry, and season to taste with salt and pepper.
For the garnish, in a bowl mix the puréed ginger
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0a8ad632-a88d-008e-adad-47ba92704aa6
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['739de7db-8668-f56a-77b7-bd3462ba9e92']
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episode is intentionally presented to us as being—whether in experience or in introspection—does not match how it really is.
34. The suggestion is now that hallucinatory experiences are presented to consciousness as being a certain way. More precisely, they are given to us as being perceptions, that is, as relating us to some mind-independent objects and their features in the manner characteristic of perceptions. And given that they are not perceptions, our conscious awareness of them involves some kind of error: there is a mismatch between how the experiences really are and how they are presented to consciousness. The error concerned is one about the underlying objective structure of the hallucinations: namely, their lack—rather than their possession—of the property of relating us to some mind-independent entities. And the wrongness of the resulting introspective judgment is merely a consequence of the error that occurs at the prior level of conscious awareness.
It is perhaps worthwhile to stress that the proposed type of error is not an error about the character of the hallucinations concerned. Indeed, this would be impossible, since it would mean that how these hallucinations are given to us in consciousness is wrong about itself. The character of experiences—what we have so far specified as their most determinate introspectible feature—is identical with their presence in consciousness, that is, with what it is like to consciously experience them. Having a character just means being conscious, that is, being given to consciousness. And the character of an experience cannot present itself, let alone in a mistaken manner. The only types of error possible are introspective error about the character of an experience, and experiential (or first-personal) error about its objective (or third-personal) structure (Dorsch & Soldati, 2010). The proposal here is that introspective error is a result of the experiential error.
This presupposes that we form the introspective judgment about the perceptuality of the hallucinatory experiences in direct response to our conscious awareness of them: we judge them to be perceptions because they are given to us in consciousness as perceptions, and because we introspect this feature of theirs. In accordance with this, the property of being presented to consciousness as relating us to mind-independent things or facts is to be understood as a character determinable that is common to all hallucinations that satisfy (S). But it is also shared by the corresponding perceptions, thus ensuring that the two kinds of perceptual experience end up possessing the same character, for perceptions are equally given to us as relations to mind-independent entities. In this introspectibly accessible respect, perceptions and perception-like hallucinations differ from sensory (or episodic) memories and sensory imaginings: memories and imaginings are not given to consciousness as perceptions. If <PERSON> had recalled or visualized <PERSON> as being at the banquet, instead of hallucinating him to be there, he would not have had the conscious impression of his experience bringing him into direct contact with something that was present before him independently of his actual experience of it.
VII Experiential Intentionalism
35. So far, it remains unclear whether, or how, the new proposal
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301316dd-b619-eb8e-86a8-aabceb3d1fb2
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['739de7db-8668-f56a-77b7-bd3462ba9e92']
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of this material was presented in 2008 at the University of Crete in Rethymno during the "Hallucination on Crete" conference, in 2009 at the University of Fribourg as part of their research colloquium, and in 2009 at the University of Bremen during the seventh conference of the German Society for Analytic Philosophy. I would like to thank the respective audiences for their comments, in particular <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. Special thanks are due to the two editors of this volume, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, for all their work; to <PERSON> and <PERSON> for the many discussions; and finally to <PERSON>, together with whom I developed many of the ideas—and probably also introduced some of the errors—present in this chapter (see also Dorsch & Soldati, 2010). Part of the research for this work was generously funded—in the form of a Fellowship for Advanced Researchers—by the Swiss National Science Foundation (grant no. PA00P1-126157).
References
<PERSON>, T. (2003). Perceptual entitlement. _Philosophy and Phenomenological Research_ , _67_ , 503–548.
<PERSON>, F. (2009). Judging and the scope of mental agency. In <PERSON> & <PERSON> (Eds.), _Mental actions_ (pp. 38–71). Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, F. (2010a). Colour resemblance and colour realism. _Rivista di Estetica_ , _43_ , 85–108.
<PERSON>, F. (2010b). Transparency and imagining seeing. _Philosophical Explorations_ , _13_ , 173–200.
<PERSON>, F. (2010c). The unity of hallucinations. _Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences_ , _9_ , 171–191.
<PERSON>, F. (Forthcoming). The phenomenal presence of reasons. In <PERSON>, <PERSON>, & <PERSON> (Eds.), _Phenomenal presence_. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, F., & <PERSON>, G. (2010). Intentionalism, experiential and phenomenal error. Manuscript.
<PERSON>, F. (1986). Misrepresentation. In <PERSON> (Ed.), _Belief: Form, content, and function_. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, F. (1995). _Naturalizing the mind_. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
<PERSON>, G. (1982). _The varieties of reference_. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, W. (2009). _Perception, hallucination, and illusion_. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, A., <PERSON>, A., & <PERSON>, D. (2009). _Epistemic value_. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, E. [1911] (1996). _Philosophie als Strenge Wissenschaft_. [Philosophy as a strict science.] Tübingen: Klostermann.
<PERSON>, E. (1992). _Logische Untersuchungen_ (Vols. 2–4). Hamburg: Meiner.
<PERSON>, F., & <PERSON>, A. (2008). _Disjunctivism: Perception, action, knowledge_. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, M. (2004). The limits of self-awareness. _Philosophical Studies_ , _120_ , 37–89.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> (1997a). The reality of appearances. In <PERSON> (Ed.), _Thought and ontology_. Milan: <PERSON>.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> (1997b). Self-observation. _European Journal of Philosophy_ , _5_ (2), 119–140.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> (2000a). Beyond dispute: Sense-data, intentionality, and the mind-body problem. In <PERSON> & <PERSON> (Eds.), _History of the mind-body problem_. Routledge.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> (2000b). An eye directed outward. In <PERSON>, <PERSON>, & <PERSON> (Eds.), _Knowing our own minds_ (pp. 99–123). Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, M. G. F. (2002). The transparency of experience. _Mind and Language_ , _17_ (4), 376–425.
<PERSON>, M. G. F. (2006). On
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d9e6ecee-b62a-cfe4-534f-800e68bfc9c9
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['74ad88b0-7e32-6b1c-d35e-957c362a211a']
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<PERSON>'s second chance at the majors as a neat underdog story, others saw it differently. To black Americans it was a slap in the face. There were two whole leagues, the Negro National and Negro American Leagues, filled with dozens of can't-miss major leaguers, and the Senators sign up a has-been semipro garbageman? The outrage it caused helped spur the movement to get the major leagues to integrate. In the late summer of 1944, that moment was barely two years away.
* * *
* * *
### <PERSON> The Babe of the Semipros
* * *
* * *
In the 1920s and '30s the New York metropolitan area was the epicenter of baseball. Besides the Yankees, Giants, and Dodgers, on weekends the city boasted some of the most competitive semipro teams ever assembled. Not just amateurs, as the name "semipro" would suggest, teams like the Brooklyn Bushwicks, Bay Parkway Dukes, and Paterson Silk Sox were the equals of a high minor league club and fielded former and future major leaguers and college stars.
One of those college stars was first baseman <PERSON>. After graduating from New York University, he was given a tryout with the New York Giants. Descended from an old New York family, <PERSON> bowed to his mother's wish for him not to play professional sports. On weekdays he was an adman at a prestigious Madison Avenue agency, but on weekends he was a baseball star. To slake his baseball thirst, <PERSON> played for no fewer than three semipro outfits, the best of which was the Bay Parkway Dukes. <PERSON>'s booming home runs soon made fans forget the team's former first baseman, future Hall of Famer <PERSON>. Playing against other semipro clubs and the best Negro League teams in the country, <PERSON> batted above .450 for 1931 and 1932 and broke all local home run records. Doing all this in New York City got the scouts interested but "The Babe Ruth of the Semipros" turned down everyone, including the New York Yankees. Like many of the other metropolitan New York weekend stars, <PERSON> simply made more money at his day job, and playing semipro ball let him compete against the best teams in the country without leaving home.
* * *
* * *
### <PERSON> The Original Babe Ruth?
* * *
* * *
I love those what-if questions in history—you know, major events in history that hinged on one minor and insignificant event or individual: What if <PERSON> had gotten into art school, or what would America be like now if <PERSON> was a lousy shot? Baseball has plenty of those great what-ifs as well, and it was one of those minor turns of events that gave the game its greatest player.
In the spring of 1914, Baltimore Orioles owner and manager <PERSON> had a problem—lack of left-handed pitching. Fortunately, Baltimore and the surrounding countryside was an untapped gold mine of amateur talent, and <PERSON> knew exactly who he wanted.
For a year <PERSON> had been following
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839872ba-ac51-328a-18b4-1c971e541932
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['74ad88b0-7e32-6b1c-d35e-957c362a211a']
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when the Reds played one night game with each of the seven other league teams, they were all standing room only, and that is what set in motion <PERSON> major league debut.
On Wednesday, July 31, 1935, the Reds faced the Cardinals at Crosley Field. The Reds had oversold the game, and though Miss <PERSON> had a ticket to a field box seat, the overflow crowd forced her out onto the field, where ropes were set up to keep the crowd at bay. When Cardinals outfielder <PERSON> scored a run to put the Cards ahead, <PERSON> was fuming mad. From her place on the field she began heckling <PERSON>, whose awkward gait earned him the nickname "<PERSON>." <PERSON> called out, "Hey, <PERSON>, you couldn't hit the ball with an ironing board!" to which the slugger replied, "Yeah? You couldn't hit the ball with an elephant!" Challenge made, the tiny blond blues singer called back, "I'd like to show you sometime! I'll show you!"
Little did anyone know, <PERSON> meant it. When Reds outfielder <PERSON> came to bat in the bottom of the seventh, <PERSON> burst from behind the rope and approached the startled ballplayer.
"Hey, <PERSON>, lend me your bat," she said.
"Okay, sis," <PERSON> replied, handing over his Spalding bat. For a minute no one knew what to do. The game was getting out of control as the crowd had now flowed into the visiting dugout as well as onto the field. The players looked to home plate umpire <PERSON>, who shrugged, put his mask back on, and shouted, "Play ball!"
Cardinals pitcher <PERSON> walked back to the mound and looked with disbelief at the diminutive blonde in the red dress standing in the batter's box.
<PERSON>, an avid baseball fan, knew she was facing one of the best pitchers in the National League. <PERSON>, nicknamed "<PERSON>" as a bookend to his brother <PERSON>, was St. Louis's ace. Like a seasoned veteran, she knew she had to find a way to get the edge by rattling the pitcher.
"Hey, you big hick!" she cried out. "Why don't you go home and milk the cows!"
Any mercy <PERSON> might have had for the tiny girl disappeared and he started to go into his sweeping windup. <PERSON> knew that <PERSON>, just like his older brother <PERSON>, possessed a blazing fastball. As she watched <PERSON> swing his arms she found herself thinking she had made a bad mistake.
Just then third baseman <PERSON> called out, "Take it easy, <PERSON>!" which made the Cardinal ace grin and lob an underhand slow ball to the plate. <PERSON> swung the bat and hit a slow roller back to the mound. <PERSON> fielded the ball and was waiting on first by the time <PERSON> ran up the line.
The crowd loved it and cried out for more. Cardinals manager <PERSON> ran in from second base and demanded the umpire count it as an official out, which was of course denied.
It was great theater and the publicity
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d81334dc-0486-8eb7-f92c-f3223862b4b4
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['74c504f0-3c5d-c4b4-3ea5-e089d2a2f98b']
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by two points. Given only one point, there are an infinite number of lines that go through it. If we have three points, the only way in which a line can go through all three is if they all lie on the same line; hence you would only need to use two points to determine the equation of the line. If the three points were not collinear, then no line would pass through them. So if we have three points, we can find a unique parabola that goes through them. Given only one or two points, there are an infinite number of parabolas that pass through them. Given four points, the only way that a parabola can pass through all four is if the points already lie on a predetermined parabola, in which case any three of the points will give enough information for us to find the equation of the parabola.
* * *
**Example 4.2.1.** As an example, we want to find the parabola through the three points _P_ (–21, 15), _Q_ (9, –4), and _T_ (37, 26):
Figure 4.4: The parabola that passes through all the three data points.
In Figure 4.4, we clearly see that the parabola fits the data exactly. On inspecting the equations _Eqn1, Eqn2_ , and _Eqn3_ , we can determine the general form for finding the coefficients _a_ , _b_ , and _c_ to the parabola _y = ax_ 2 \+ _bx_ \+ _c_ given points {( _x_ 1 _,y_ 1), ( _x_ 2 _,y_ 2), ( _x_ 3 _,y_ 3)} Putting it in matrix form, we have
Performing Gauss-Jordan elimination on this matrix will solve for _a_ , _b_ , and _c_ that correspond to columns 1, 2, and 3, respectively.
* * *
* * *
**Example 4.2.2.** Now let us look at an example where the function desired is a linear combination of seven exponential functions. The dataset we want the function to fit is the seven points
which is population data taken every 20 years in millions of people. The linear combination we need to fit the data to is
so that we get a square 7 × 7 linear system of equations in the unknowns _A_ through _G_. We will divide each _x_ coordinate by 100 for the actual dataset used in order to prevent overflow in our arithmetic since otherwise our exponents become too large. It is quite normal to have to alter the dataset in order to obtain better results, but you should remember that the resulting function corresponds to the modified dataset, and not the original data:
Figure 4.5: Exponential function fitting the modified data.
Now, we can get the linear combination that works for the original dataset by replacing _x_ by .
Plotting the original data and the correctly adjusted function, as seen in Figure 4.6, gives the exact same graph as that depicted in Figure 4.5, but with the _x_ -axis adjusted back to the correct scaling:
Figure 4.6: Exponential function fitting the original data.
* * *
Now let us attempt to
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ac854188-e740-d819-096b-effb7c68a3fd
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['74c504f0-3c5d-c4b4-3ea5-e089d2a2f98b']
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plane through the three points _P_ (5, –8,13), _Q_ (–7,2,4), and _R_ (16,10, –9):
Figure 4.2: The plane fitting the points _P_ , _Q_ , and _R_.
The plane is plotted in Figure 4.2, along with the three points. The origin lies below the plane, and thus clearly the plane does not pass through the origin, but does pass through all three points _P_ , _Q_ , and _R_ , as required.
* * *
Returning to our discussion of conic sections, it can be shown that any five points in the plane define a unique conic since two distinct conies can intersect in at most four points. Hence, all six constants, _A_ through _F_ , can somehow be solved for a given five points. The five points should be plotted in order to determine which type of conic it is since if it is an ellipse, then it has an _x_ 2 term, and we can divide the entire equation (4.1) by _A_. If the conic is a parabola, it must have either an _x_ 2 or a _y_ 2 term, allowing us to divide by _A_ or _C_. A hyperbola must have at least one of _A_ , _B_ , or _C_ nonzero.
* * *
**Example 4.1.3.** Now we will have _Mathematica_ find the equations and graphs of the conic sections through four fixed points, and a fifth variable point chosen from the circle of radius 1 with center at (0, ). As the fifth point rotates around the circle, the conic section changes from one type to another. For the four fixed points, we will pick the corners of the unit square: {[0,1], [1,1], [1,0], [0,0]}.
Note that we break this process up into two functions. The first, **ConicThrough5Points** , finds the equation of the conic that passes through the given five points; the second, **ConicFrame** , calls the **ConicThrough5Points** function, takes its result, and plots it along with the five points for which it was defined along with circle of radius 1 with center at (0, ). Figure 4.3 is a frame in the animation which shows a solution with algebraic coefficients. Further, note that there is no slider in this manipulation. To move the fifth point around the circle, simply click the mouse anywhere on the graph and the procedure will use the point on the given circle closest to the point you selected in the _xy_ -plane as the fifth point to determine the unique conic section.
Figure 4.3: The **Manipulate** command uses the two functions **ConicFrame** and **ConicThrough5Points** to construct the unique conic section that passes through five given points.
* * *
## Homework Problems
1. Find equations of the circles that pass through the following sets of points:
2. Find equations of the planes that pass through the following sets of points:
3. Find the equation of the plane that passes through the following points:
4. A sphere of radius _r_ , centered at the point ( _a_ , _b_ , _c_ ), can be expressed by the equation
Construct
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['75730d86-9f61-843f-ee52-e539b5e647da']
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the author makes his post-Communist life a natural progression. In one passage, <PERSON> explains: "I returned to the land and undertook that second life."[191] Looking to nature is made a part of the born-again "second life." Nature not only describes the conversion but reflects a universal division between truth and falsity. Connecting nature to conversion, <PERSON> thus relates the conversion's stages to the building shocks of an earthquake, and his transformation to a river whose stream had now found its true channel.[192] <PERSON> further links his childhood memories of the sea on Long Island's south shore with the transcendent realm.[193] _Witness_ fuses the "beyond" of religious faith, which cannot be seen, with the common human experience of nature.
To buttress the conversion story, <PERSON> uses themes of darkness and light throughout the book. <PERSON> finds that light and dark are archetypal metaphors, which appeal to people across times and places as "prominent features of experience . . . which are inescapably salient in the human consciousness."[194] Overlapping with conversion, these terms correspond with <PERSON>'s "dark" past life, in contrast with the "light" of his new faith. Nature infuses both natural and social worlds with a sense of good and evil, supplementing _Witness_ 's philosophical dualism.
<PERSON> tells his children that his book was written to give them a path through the woods and up through dark, rocky paths.[195] Following this trope, the story concludes with a line from <PERSON>'s _Inferno_ and <PERSON>'s _Capital_ about emerging to view the stars.[196] The autobiography's structure begins in darkness and ends in light, with dark and light metaphors generating a teleological frame for <PERSON>'s life and the universe's progression. The emphases on steep and lonely paths traveled underscores an exceptional pilgrim's progress through this world guided by the light of a higher power.
A network of associations is built between darkness and light and death and life metaphors. The birth of <PERSON>'s first child led "us out of that darkness, which we could not even realize, toward that light, which we could not even see."[197] Light and dark, death and life: these constitute two classic metaphors for religious transformation.[198] Yet this language also generates the political conversion, as the "seen" is reflective of the "unseen," <PERSON> not only emphasizes religious responsibilities to unseen realms but deepens his political conspiracy rhetoric, which uses the "unseen" as an evidentiary standard. The religious and political issues both become indisputable matters of life and death.
Nature rhetoric makes the abstract claims to religious realities and hidden, conspiratorial political threats tangible for audiences. When <PERSON> was told by the Communist Party that he was not allowed to see his future wife while a party member, he recalls sensing that a cold and serpent-like force existed behind such efforts.[199] By framing Communism as an underground, shadowy force, <PERSON>'s nature metaphors reinforce his conspiracy claims, positioning such machinations as part of a relatable, material realm.
The life and death emphases of this rhetoric relate to nature's inflexible characteristics. <PERSON> explains to his wife that her choice was not between being a Communist
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|
['75730d86-9f61-843f-ee52-e539b5e647da']
|
authenticity, that it is extremely unlikely any reasonable person will remain unconvinced by it.[99] One blogger writes that _Witness_ "certainly establishes beyond a shadow of doubt that <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and company were active Communists dealing with very important matters in the upper reaches of the U.S. government."[100] Even a legal analysis states that "this book bears evidences of sincerity and truth which do not confirm the hypothesis that <PERSON>' accusations against <PERSON> were part of a vast psychopathic lie."[101]
Other reviews critiqued <PERSON>'s conspiracy claims. A _Life_ magazine editorial comments on _Witness_ 's "deep but narrow conspiratorial experience."[102] <PERSON> argues that <PERSON> "exaggerates the role of the Party and the associated conspiracy,"[103] just as <PERSON> finds that "there must be a series of events which arouse the suspicion that a crime has been committed, and at the same time so tangled that it is hard to verify or disprove that suspicion."[104] Despite general praise for _Witness_ , <PERSON> argues that the book exemplifies "the hazard of founding dogmatic generalizations on experience so narrow and fragmentary."[105] One critic says that <PERSON> "seem[s] able to persuade some people who were not there that [his] aberration was an all but universal aberration. . . . [A] small army can look like a large army to a man who is in the midst of it."[106] To <PERSON>, too, <PERSON> simply "overestimate[d] his role in life."[107]
Although many of _<PERSON>_ 's conspiracy claims have been contested, more remarkable is how conversion and conspiracy function together.[108] Conspiracy rhetoric can be problematic for deliberation when communicators fail to establish evidence for their claims, but more so when combined with the conversion narrative's emphases. This is not the only problematic aspect of <PERSON>'s discourse, as the author uses another rhetorical resource in a similar way.
### Let Unreason Reign: Anti-intellectualism
<PERSON> combines a political conversion narrative with an attack upon the Enlightenment, modernism, rationalism, and intellectualism. I sum up this focus as "anti-intellectualism." As <PERSON> castigates reason and reasonability, he downplays the power of human communication to create social changes. Toward this end, the conversion form and anti-intellectual rhetoric are enlisted as mutually reinforcing resources across the narrative.
Throughout _Witness_ , <PERSON> minimizes the role of reason while elevating a discourse of the private and transcendent in human affairs. _Witness_ equates belief in the capacity of human beings to change their world with a crude materialism,[109] which partly emerges from World War II's savagery, and the atomic and hydrogen bombs that illustrate how "man without God is a beast."[110] <PERSON> hopes to return to a premodern existence uncluttered by Enlightenment thought, and laments the loss of religious faith, family, community, farming, and other traditions as devastating for the human race.[111] He names reason and science as regressive and relegates rationality to a subordinate place in his newly acquired religious conception of the universe. <PERSON> repeatedly chastises modernity's developments for causing horrific historical events such as the Holocaust.[112] Through such emphases, _Witness_ connects the rise of science with totalitarianism.[113]
Conversion rhetoric augments arguments
|
1e9748d3-bb21-1299-b2eb-0d60ae53150c
|
['75a9a35d-7a19-7da3-b569-d8a76ae6c741']
|
for Berthoud Pass/Winter Park. Drive through Empire toward the pass. When you come to the first sharp bend to the right, exit to the left for Henderson Mine. Continue north on the mine road until you reach the designated parking area. The road is closed at the trailhead that serves both the Jones Pass trail/four-wheel-drive road, and the Butler Gulch trail. Travel west through the trees on the joint trail until a junction at approximately 0.25 mile. Bear right for the Jones Pass trail or left for the more difficult but beautiful Butler Gulch trail.
The Butler Gulch trail is also a road, but it is closed to vehicles and is much narrower than the Jones Pass road. It is covered by a thick mixed forest and starts off quite gradually but then steepens. It is well marked. You will start off on a joint trail for Jones Pass and Butler Gulch. After 0.25 mile or so Butler Gulch will split off to the left (south). You will climb a steeper mile, and you will see a small waterfall on the right after this first mile; this is a good place for a water and rest break. The trail traverses south and then turns to the west with a rapid ascent to treeline at around 11,000 feet. When the route breaks out of the trees you will see an open bowl, great for winter skiing or summer enjoyment of wildflowers. The trail levels a bit as it travels to the west and then climbs to the top of the ridgeline and an even more impressive 360-degree vista. You can traverse to the northwest along the trail on the ridgeline if you want to reach the top of Jones Pass and go down the other way for variety.
A magic carpet of wildflowers in Butler Gulch
54 Jones Pass
ARAPAHO NATIONAL FOREST
Distance Up to 8 miles, out-and-back
Difficulty Easy–challenging
Elevation Gain 2,600' (starting at 10,000')
Trail Use Hiking, mountain biking, snowshoeing, skiing, leashed dogs OK
Agency Clear Creek Ranger District, Arapaho National Forest
Map(s) Latitude 40° Summit County Trails
Facilities None
HIGHLIGHTS This beautiful mountain valley is close to Denver and doesn't require a drive over Berthoud Pass. There are several trails you can explore at this popular location near the Henderson Mine, but you share this trail with some off-road vehicles (all-terrain vehicles and motorcycles). Enjoy a hike of any length, and soak in the views. You can combine this hike with Butler Gulch, and make it a loop hike. The Butler half will be vehicle-free.
DIRECTIONS Take I-70 west from Denver and exit at Empire for Berthoud Pass/Winter Park. Drive through Empire toward the pass. When you come to the first sharp bend to the right, exit to the left for Henderson Mine. Continue north on the mine road until you reach the designated parking area. The road is closed at the trailhead that serves both the Jones Pass trail and the Butler Gulch trail. Travel west through the trees on the joint trail until a junction at
|
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|
['75a9a35d-7a19-7da3-b569-d8a76ae6c741']
|
until you see Meadow Mountain Drive, turn right, and look for the parking lot.
The trail gains approximately 200 feet from the distant secondary parking lot to the Wild Basin Ranger Station (8,500 feet). Starting at Wild Basin requires climbing up from the valley floor. The Allenspark Trailhead is about 490 feet higher than the Wild Basin/Finch Lake Trailhead. The hiking distance on the main trails is about the same from either starting point.
Wild Basin Trailhead to Overlook
You will pass the Pear Lake/Finch Lake/Allenspark Trail on the left before you reach the ranger station. You don't have to hike to Finch Lake to enjoy a great view of Wild Basin. It is an interesting, short, out-and-back side trip to climb to the ridge above Wild Basin, where you are rewarded with a terrific view of the glacier-carved valley and the peaks that surround it. It is about a 1.5-mile trek from the trailhead and a little less than 3 miles (one-way) to the viewpoint near the ridgetop, with an 800-foot-plus climb on gradual switchbacks to reach it. When you arrive, great views of Mount Meeker, Longs Peak, Chiefs Head, Pagoda Peak, and the entire Wild Basin stretch before you. At this point you can turn around and have a satisfying round-trip of less than 6 miles.
Wild Basin rest stop
Allenspark Trail
The Allenspark Trail is more scenic than the trailhead on the valley floor. After approximately the first mile, you have breaks in the trees and start getting views of Chiefs Head, Pagoda Mountain, Mount Meeker, and Longs Peak. The last 0.5 mile to the overlook point provides even more views, with the grand finale being the overlook, where you get a 180-degree view of the peaks and the valley. It is a steady climb with variations all the way to the overlook. From the overlook you'll see the Finch/Pear Lakes Trail. Hike part of that trail for more great views.
Finch Lake
Once you reach the overlook and trail intersection, follow the Finch/Pear Lakes Trail left (southwest). You reenter the trees and climb steadily toward the lake and pass through a small section of trail that was burned in the fire in 1978. After the first stream crossing, you dip into and out of the drainage. There is another stream crossing in about 0.5 mile; the trail then follows a small ridge down to the lake. Once there you have an impressive view of Copeland Mountain, a beautiful riparian area, and a dazzling lake.
97 Calypso Cascades, Ouzel Falls, & Ouzel Lake
ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK: SOUTH
Distance 3.6 miles to the cascades, 5.4 miles to the falls, 10 miles to Ouzel Lake, 13 miles to Bluebird Lake; out-and-back
Difficulty Easy to cascades and falls, moderate to either of the lakes
Elevation Gain Cascades: 880'; Falls: 1,130'; Ouzel Lake: 1,500'; Bluebird Lake: 2,500' (starting at 8,320')
Trail Use Hiking, snowshoeing, skiing, option for kids
Agency Rocky Mountain National Park
Map(s) Trails Illustrated Rocky Mountain National Park
Facilities Restrooms at trailhead
Note(s) Bikes and dogs are not
|
359188d6-df88-96bd-ae74-18b8d91fabdb
|
['75be2a2d-99c5-6751-5b1c-dcbb8b307e27']
|
y yo. Tendría que ser una dictadura transitoria, y los cerebros de los gobiernos deberían estar en mis manos. Porque creo que sé y entiendo lo que la gente desea, y tengo palabras de sosiego para los políticos, las democracias y los fascismos, la gente del centro, de la derecha y la izquierda, porque todas esas apetencias están en mí y sé cómo reconciliarlas. Creo que sabría hacerlo. Pero nadie me toma en serio.»
Me amaste como perdedor
Pero ahora te preocupa que pueda vencer
Sabes cómo detenerme
Pero te falta disciplina
¿Cuántas noches recé
Para poder empezar mi trabajo?
<PERSON> conquistamos Manhattan
<PERSON> conquistamos <PERSON>.
El álbum incluye también la canción de Lorca «Take This Waltz» —aunque ligeramente distinta a la grabación que hizo para _Poetas en Nueva York_ : <PERSON> (colaborador del Lama <PERSON>) ha realizado nuevos arreglos, <PERSON> culmina el tema con un maravilloso trabajo de orfebrería en los coros y <PERSON> lo borda con las cuerdas de su violín. Otra composición destacada —utilizada como _single_ — es «Ain't No Cure For Love» —tema que el cantante había cedido a <PERSON> para su disco de homenaje—, mientras que «Everybody Knows» —escrito por <PERSON> junto a <PERSON>— merece una especial atención:
Todo el mundo sabe que los dados están marcados
Todo el mundo los tira cruzando los dedos
Todo el mundo sabe que la guerra ha terminado
Todo el mundo sabe que los buenos perdieron
Todo el mundo sabe que esto es un timo
Los pobres igual de pobres, los ricos, más ricos
Así es como va, todo el mundo lo sabe.
Tanto el disco como la canción que le da título fueron dedicados a <PERSON>, que volvió a realizar un extraordinario videoclip en blanco y negro donde <PERSON> y sus huestes se reúnen en una playa desértica:
Si necesitas dormir en la carretera
Yo conduciré
Si tienes que hacer sola la calle
Desapareceré
Si quieres un padre para tu hijo
O solo pasear un rato conmigo por la playa
Soy tu hombre.
Grabado en París, Los Ángeles y Montreal —los tres habitáculos del poeta—, fue producido por una ristra de hombres de confianza de <PERSON>: <PERSON>, <PERSON> y <PERSON>. Durante siete semanas, _I'm Your Man_ encabezó la lista de éxitos en España y Noruega; fue nominado como mejor disco del año en Inglaterra y Estados Unidos, donde las ventas, sin embargo, no fueron tan espectaculares: «Ahora en Estados Unidos todo es público y las instituciones comerciales son la arquitectura paisajística de este mundo público. No hay otro sitio donde puedas existir... A menos que estés integrado en el sistema, no existes... Personalmente, creo que estamos viviendo un período en el que el mundo público y el privado están muy separados. Es como si no hubiera vida, como si nadie me dijera nada, como si nadie me estuviera hablando. Ningún político y muy pocos artistas hablan desde su mundo interior, de modo que el abismo que existe entre el mundo privado y el mundo público es enorme. En los años sesenta
|
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['75be2a2d-99c5-6751-5b1c-dcbb8b307e27']
|
le digo que mi grabación homenaje a <PERSON> no la pude realizar en la fecha que quise pero ahora estoy sobre ello con mucha ilusión. Pronto le enviaré una cinta casera para, si a usted no le parece bien alguna de mis interpretaciones sobre su obra, me lo diga sinceramente, y si es al contrario también, para continuar hacia adelante. Nuestro común amigo <PERSON> nos comunicará, a quien doy las gracias de paso. Para usted muchos saludos y le deseo lo mejor.
Fdo. ENRIQUE MORENTE
La maqueta incluía los temas «Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye», «Winter Lady» y «Take This Waltz», producidos por el músico granadino <PERSON>.
Por supuesto, allí, lejos de Mount Baldy, en la gran distancia de la niebla y los velos, el mundo seguía rodeando a <PERSON>: <PERSON> había grabado «Bird On The Wire» en el álbum _American Recordings_ , producido por <PERSON> —prestigioso productor en el ámbito del heavy metal y del rap, que también había trabajado con <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, etc.—. Transcurría 1994, año del sesenta aniversario del poeta, cuando recibió un libro titulado _Take This Waltz_ , donde <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> y <PERSON> lo felicitaban. Era un breve compendio de su obra poética y musical con análisis, apreciaciones y valoraciones de sus amigos.
En junio de 1995 se publicó _Dance Me To The End Of Love_ , un hermoso libro de gran formato que incluía la letra de esta canción ilustrada con veintiuna imágenes de <PERSON>. Dos meses después, <PERSON> empezaba a organizar un disco de homenaje a <PERSON>, _Tower Of Song_ , que contaba con la participación de numerosos músicos del _mainstream_ : <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> (Eagles), <PERSON>, Sting & The Chieftains, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> (The Neville Brothers), <PERSON> (Depeche Mode) y <PERSON>. El célebre actor y director hollywoodiense <PERSON> escribió un texto de presentación del álbum: «Hemos llegado a imaginarnos a <PERSON> con un traje Armani, meditando por la mañana, luchando con su musa por la tarde, de noche sentado en una cafetería, bebiendo y hablando de forma conmovedora, pero sin evitar cierto flirteo con las hermosas "alondras" de la calle. Probablemente, este sea un retrato distorsionado. Lo apócrifo, sin embargo, posee cierta verdad especial». También la actriz <PERSON> lo entrevistó para la revista _Interview_ (noviembre, 1995), describiéndolo como «parte lobo, parte ángel». «Creo que la naturaleza del amor es perdurar —le dijo <PERSON> Creo que el amor es eterno, pero la mayor parte del tiempo no sabemos qué hacer con él. Debido a sus cualidades misteriosas, poderosas y eternas, nuestras respuestas al amor suelen ser fruto del pánico, totalmente inapropiadas y, a veces, trágicas. Pero, asimilado correctamente en ese paisaje de horror, es la única posibilidad redentora para los seres humanos.»
El 20 de marzo de 1996, en uno de sus frecuentes viajes de secretariado con Roshi a Tokio, <PERSON> escribiría este poema
|
8079c636-1790-776f-d78f-636ad56de6aa
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['75e321ed-f4af-ad01-859f-7c1580542ce4']
|
students and coauthor of his memoirs, recalled, "<PERSON> told me that he—ever in search of striking names and phrases—gave that name to what <PERSON> had been calling the path-integral method."
As his excitement for <PERSON>'s method grew, <PERSON> thought he might even be able to persuade <PERSON> of its brilliance. He stopped by <PERSON>'s house again and had a deep discussion with him in his upstairs study. <PERSON> asked if <PERSON>'s novel technique might persuade him to drop his opposition to quantum theory. However, <PERSON>, eyeing the theory's chance component, couldn't be swayed.
"I can't believe that God plays dice," said <PERSON>. "But maybe I've earned the right to make my mistakes."
# THE SINGULAR LIFE OF AN ELECTRON
At some point while developing his path integral method, <PERSON> was resting up at the Graduate College when his dormitory phone started ringing. He picked up the receiver and heard an excited voice on the line. It was his crazy supervisor, with another of his wild ideas.
<PERSON> relayed to <PERSON> that he had figured out why all the electrons ever detected have identical charges, masses, and other properties. There is only one electron in the universe, he explained. All the electrons we see are simply the same one racing forward and backward in time—ricocheting through perpetuity like a racquetball in a court. That is why every electron appears the same.
We think there are many electrons instead of one because we're witnessing only a single moment in time—a mere slice of reality. In that snapshot, we're seeing the same electron in all its incarnations, occupying many different places as it zigzags through eternity. These versions might interact with each other much as a thread, sewn again and again through a button, might be tied together.
We might envision such a situation via cinematic analogy by recalling how the protagonist <PERSON> in the film _Back to the Future II_ needed to return to the setting and era he visited in _Back to the Future_ : Hill Valley in 1955. Consequently, in that locale, there were two versions of him, constituting different loops in the thread of his timeline. Imagine if he did that again and again in countless sequels. Ultimately the town would house myriad versions of <PERSON>.
Visionary writer <PERSON>, in the story "All You Zombies," pondered a related situation in which a character became his own mother, father, and friend—by looping through time repeatedly, undergoing gender changes, and interacting with him- or herself. If traveling back in time were possible, such bizarre situations might be conceivable.
<PERSON> imagined a sole electron in the starring (and only) role of its own time-travel saga. He hypothesized that at any given time and place, we might witness the many sequels of that time-traveling electron's adventures. Again and again it would cut through our slice of reality, until it would seem like the universe was full of such particles. Yet it would be flying solo.
Each time that singular electron traveled backward in time, <PERSON> noted, its charge would seem to flip
|
c87e64c3-d5ca-2124-026b-242456b6dd69
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['75e321ed-f4af-ad01-859f-7c1580542ce4']
|
areas of black hole event horizons always increase or stay the same but never decrease, <PERSON> thought of a brilliant scheme for defining black hole entropy. What if the surface area of the black hole _was_ the astronomical way of encoding entropy? The units were different, so there would need to be a proportionality factor. Still, equating the two would offer a natural way of extending the second law of thermodynamics to include black holes. <PERSON> wouldn't have to worry about breaking the law if he chucked his beverages into gravitationally collapsed objects.
When <PERSON>, who studied black hole properties such as conditions for singularities, learned about <PERSON>'s proposal, he was dubious at first. If black holes had entropy, they must have temperature as well, meaning they would radiate into empty space. Anything with nonzero temperature, surrounded by an even colder vacuum, must exude heat. Yet everyone knew that, classically, nothing could escape from a black hole, not even radiation. Nevertheless, <PERSON> was open-minded enough to calculate what would happen in a simple quantum picture. Much to his surprise he determined that a black hole would radiate extremely slowly into the space around it. That trickle of what became known as "Hawking radiation" would gradually lower its temperature until it eventually reached equilibrium with the space around it—a process that could take many billions of years depending on the black hole's size. Hawking announced his results in a stunning talk titled "Black Holes Are White Hot."
The existence of Hawking radiation and black hole entropy spurred an examination of the question of a black hole's information content. "Information" in this context refers to patterns of zeros and ones, called "bits," in accordance with the notions of <PERSON>. In his influential 1948 paper, "A Mathematical Theory of Communication," <PERSON> promoted the idea that every piece of information might be expressed as strings (ordered sequences) of bits, which might be transmitted from one place to another and decoded. That became the basis of today's digital age.
<PERSON> also defined a kind of entropy—now called "information entropy" or "<PERSON> entropy"—related to the amount of information carried by a string. That depends on the number of possible outcomes and the likelihood of each. It derives from Austrian physicist <PERSON>'s much earlier definition of entropy in thermodynamics, which assessed how many possible combinations of microstates (arrangements of particles) might lead to the same thermodynamic macrostate (overall condition such as temperature, pressure, and so forth). If tons of combinations give you the same overall result—such as configurations of fast molecules that correspond to a hot gas—the system possesses high entropy. In contrast, if only rare combinations produce a certain general effect, such as water molecule patterns in a snowflake—that matches low entropy. <PERSON> translated that idea into arrangements of bits rather than molecules.
Consequently, as <PERSON> and others realized, the area of black hole event horizons not only serves as a measure of entropy but also acts as a gauge of information content. As <PERSON> noted, if you divide up the horizon into regions the size
|
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['7606eedb-2685-2ba0-0792-fc283fe87787']
|
trying to get on a bus to escape him. We are invited to laugh at least despite this gross humiliation, and probably at it.
Elements of dialogue and performance seem to open the show-girl image up for scrutiny while the gags (and the ultimate working out of the story) invite us to laugh at her (and endorse her final capture).
This is to suggest that the film is now one thing (crypto-feminist), now another (male chauvinist) – or a confusion of both. The way in which Cherie/Monroe is to-be-looked-at, as the film constructs it, illustrates this well, and perhaps gets most exactly the sense in which – and the limit to which – the film/<PERSON> is opening up the discourse that the resurgent women's movement would finally articulate.
The first shot of <PERSON>, as so often in her films, is a point-of-view shot. But it is not <PERSON>, the hero's, point of view but <PERSON>, his mentor's. Indeed, as the latter looks out of the hotel bedroom window, the film cuts to her (<PERSON>'s point-of-view) and then back to <PERSON> shaving, underlining the fact that he does _not_ see her (and will not until the saloon scene). This means that the shots of her that follow can articulate more than <PERSON> as an object of desire, because they have not been set up as contained by desire in the first place.
<PERSON>'s point-of-view shot is a long shot, and it is followed by a mid-shot (at the same looking-down-at-her angle), then a return to the long shot. In this way, we get to see her better than <PERSON> does. In one sense, this satisfies our voyeurism – both sexual (we have a better view than <PERSON>) and in terms of narrative, character and star (we want to know who she is, what <PERSON> looks like in this part, and so on).
In the second long shot, a group of men enter the room, crowding around her as she tries to fend them off. They are broken up by the saloon owner who clears them out and then yells at her to get back to work. The image very clearly sets out the dimensions of male power (of the male audience/clients, of the male employer) within which <PERSON> is caught. She is also caught in our/the camera/<PERSON>'s gaze, but what we see articulates something of what it is like to be gazed at. We gaze at an image that hints at the politics of gazing.
The scene that follows takes place inside the dressing room, no longer seen by <PERSON>. It allows us to see <PERSON> close to, and to observe what we could not in the opening shots, which preserve something of the magic and beauty of the half-dressed woman glimpsed from a hotel window. Her hair looks as if it has been peroxided (it would not convince us that she was a natural blonde); her face looks deathly white; her stockings have holes in them. This deglamourising continues in the ungainly way she gets into her green sateen leotard. Scenes in
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['7606eedb-2685-2ba0-0792-fc283fe87787']
|
lived on this river', and because the publicity for the character in the 1932 stage version and for the film emphasises his smiling affability.
Refusing white words to describe blacks and white imitations of how they thought black people spoke was already an invasion of mainstream white cultural production, but in his concerts and later radio appearances, for which he was always asked to sing 'Old Man River', he changed the words more radically. In the opening verse as originally written the singer wants to be 'Old Man River' because the river does not worry about freedom; in <PERSON>'s version, that is precisely why he does not want to be '<PERSON> River':
_original_ | _<PERSON>_
---|---
Dere's an ol' man called de | There's an old man called the
Mississippi | Mississippi
Dat's de ol'man dat I'd like to be | That's the old man I don't like to be
What does he care if de world's got | What does he care if the world's got
troubles? | trouble?
What does he care if de land ain't | What does he care if the land ain't
free? | free?
Singing 'I don't like' instead of 'dat I'd like' puts an emphasis on the notes that interrupts the easy run of the phrase, and <PERSON> if anything emphasises this, giving it a bitterness that suggests a resentment that he has himself been identified with the eternal river of indifference to suffering. Further, the heavy tread of the 'lento con sentimento' original, while it can hardly be avoided altogether, is to some extent broken by taking the whole thing at a brisker pace, which suits the further changes to the words.
In the bridge passage and final statement of the song, the original and <PERSON> versions show a shift from suffering and resignation to oppression and resistance:
_original_ | _Robeson_
---|---
You an'me we sweat an' strain | You and me we sweat and strain
Body all achin' an' racked wid pain | Body all aching and racked with
| pain
'Tote dat barge!', 'Lift dat bale!' | 'Tote that barge!', 'Lift that bale!'
Git a little drunk an' you'll land in | You show a little grit and you land
jail | in jail
Ah gets weary an' sick of tryin' | But I keep laughin' instead of cryin'
Ah'm tired of livin' an' scared of | I must keep fightin' until I'm dyin'
dyin' |
But ol' man river | And old man river
He just keeps rollin' alon'. | He'll just keep rollin' along.
These changes in the words of 'Old Man River' are interventions in one of the most popular show tunes of the time; they mark a political black presence in a mainstream (i. e. white) cultural product. This sense of being a black presence in
|
9c893f47-a4b7-1fba-f9b7-2a23c44cf2cb
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['76a19b54-849c-b923-2921-cb052eca6d7f']
|
sneaks under the radar of vegetable-averse children (pro tip: don't mention the parsnips until later). I've played around with the spicing, adding ground coriander to more traditional spices like cinnamon and nutmeg to complement this vegetable's unique flavor. Adding maple syrup to the frosting makes them completely irresistible.
MAKES ABOUT 15 CUPCAKES
4 to 6 (230 g) parsnips
1 cup (250 ml) vegetable oil
1⅓ cups (260 g) granulated sugar
½ cup (115 g) unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 large eggs
2 cups (280 g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon ground coriander
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
½ teaspoon salt
Frosting
4 tablespoons (60 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
4 ounces (110 g) cream cheese (not light), at room temperature
5 tablespoons (38 g) confectioners' sugar
¼ cup (60 ml) maple syrup (preferably Grade B)
¼ cup (30 g) chopped walnuts (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Line two cupcake pans with 15 paper liners.
Grate the parsnips with a box grater by holding each peeled parsnip upside down and rubbing the sides against the large holes of the grater. The central core of some parsnips can be woody and tough. In that case, just grate one side until you hit the core (you will feel more resistance), then rotate and repeat on the remaining sides. Discard the cores. You should have about 2 cups of grated parsnips.
In a large bowl, whisk together the oil, sugar, melted butter, and vanilla. Whisk in the eggs, one at a time. In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, spices, and salt. Stir the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients until combined. Fold in the grated parsnips. Spoon the batter into the 15 muffin cups just shy of the rims. Bake the cupcakes for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the centers have set. Remove the pans from the oven and let the cupcakes cool completely.
FOR THE FROSTING, in the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter and cream cheese until smooth. Sift the confectioners' sugar on top of the butter mixture and continue to beat until no lumps remain. Add the maple syrup and whip well. Frost the cupcakes and sprinkle them with chopped walnuts, if desired. The cupcakes can be stored, covered, in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.
## Little Sweet Potato Pies
Sweet potato pie is a staple in the South. The flavor is similar to pumpkin pie but richer with a more velvety texture. These pretty, single-sized portions sit in sweet biscuit crusts and are topped with chopped pecans. If you're intimidated by pie dough, this is a good way to go since the crust is pretty low-maintenance compared to regular pie dough. These sweet potato pies can be made ahead and warmed in the oven just before serving. Add a scoop of buttermilk ice cream for the full southern experience. The easiest way to get these on the menu is to bake a few extra sweet
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d410c557-c6f5-16b8-5bfd-3c237d1d011f
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['76a19b54-849c-b923-2921-cb052eca6d7f']
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chip cookies for a special occasion? Add a layer of cheesecake! My Italian great-aunt <PERSON> was the baker in the family, responsible for the assorted cookie plates ever-present at family reunions. There were pecan tassies, coconut cookies with jam in the centers, frosted chocolate spice cookies, and these chocolate chip cheesecake bars dusted with confectioners' sugar. My affinity for chocolate and cheesecake drew me to these cookies every time. Rich and substantial, these bars feed a crowd and are guaranteed to please.
MAKES ONE 13 X 9-INCH (33 X 23-CM) PAN
Filling
1 pound (455 g) cream cheese (not light), at room temperature
¾ cup (150 g) granulated sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Cookie Dough
1 cup (225 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
¾ cup (150 g) granulated sugar
¾ cup (170 g) firmly packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
2¼ cups (315 g) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1½ cups (340 g) semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup (120 g) chopped walnuts
Confectioners' sugar, for dusting
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease a 13 x 9-inch (33 x 23-cm) pan.
FOR THE FILLING, beat together the cream cheese and sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer on high speed until fluffy. Add the eggs and vanilla, and beat until the sugar dissolves. Set aside.
FOR THE DOUGH, in another large bowl—with clean beaters—mix together the butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, and vanilla with an electric mixer until creamy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well and scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt until well combined. Add the dry ingredients to the butter and sugar mixture, and mix on low just until the flour is incorporated. Pour in the chocolate chips and nuts, and mix briefly until well dispersed.
Using a flexible spatula, spread about half of the cookie dough evenly onto the bottom of the prepared pan. Pour the cheesecake filling on top. Spoon the remaining cookie dough in dollops over the cream cheese filling. Bake the bars for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the top is puffed and golden and the center is set. Remove the pan from the oven and let it cool. Cover the pan and transfer it to the refrigerator for at least 4 hours before serving. To serve, cut the sheet into approximately 3 dozen 1½-inch (4-cm) squares and dust them with confectioners' sugar. The bars can be stored, covered, in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.
## Cheese Danish
When was the last time you had a really great Danish pastry? Unless you happen to live down the street from a European bakery, they're hard to come by. Danish are originally from Austria, but Denmark has taken butter-laminated, sugar-lacquered dough to new heights. My ideal danish is flaky and buttery, dabbed with sweet cheese and colorful jams, and lightly drizzled with icing. Consider this a fun weekend
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['77f37dc4-42d1-35fa-9014-3525606ed6ac']
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llegó al hospital muy mal: un joven hindú que acababa de ganar una beca de estudios. Un drogadicto quiso asaltarlo, hubo un forcejeo y un disparo, uno nomás, en pleno rostro. Ese muchacho tenía apenas dos días en Islandia. Fue una tragedia enorme en un país de poco más de trescientos mil habitantes, donde el crimen es casi inexistente, ¿te imaginás qué shock? El argentino abrió todas las botellitas que pudo y se las bebió. Fin de la colección.
Ahora es aficionado al cielo, tiene un telescopio y sigue los movimientos misteriosos de las estrellas, siempre más interesantes y nobles que las personas.
Así que, para responder a la pregunta de mi primera carta: no, no quería él las botellitas de Aldo. No quería recordar el amargo incidente del becario ultimado.
<PERSON> está preparado para ver morir a alguien. A veces, ni siquiera los que lidian con esto a diario. Tal vez sientan que saben, que pueden, pero un día hay una fisura incluso en el caparazón del profesional y se quiebra todo.
Hay formas de muerte. Muertes blancas, superficies nevadas, abismos de este mundo. Son las peores, dice, todo queda en suspenso. No se puede vivir un duelo. ¿Se celebra lo que queda de vida o se lamenta lo que se ha muerto? Sólo queda esperar a que el paciente abra los ojos un día. O aquellos que se quedan disminuidos, con medio cuerpo: una mujer muere en medio de la noche. Sus estertores despiertan al marido, que duerme a su lado. Él extiende una mano hacia ella y la siente rígida, fría. Su respuesta es instintiva: se trepa en ella y golpea su pecho, la hace respirar. Pero no vuelve entera. Ella lo lamentará y él lo lamentará.
Nada te previene. Por qué habría de ser de otro modo. ¿No pasamos el tiempo pensando que al hacer esto o aquello nos preparamos para algo? Como en el ensayo de Montaigne, evitas una calle porque calculas un riesgo, pero en la ruta segura un águila dejará caer desde el cielo el caparazón de una tortuga a la que ha devorado, y esa coraza que tan buena fue para el anfibio te partirá la crisma.
Al final pone su dirección de correo electrónico. Le contesto de inmediato una sola línea: por favor, escríbeme más sobre las estrellas.
Luego olvido todo esto. Debo buscar otro pediatra.
Aquellas mariposas no se fueron nunca. Atrapadas en mis cuadernos, un día desplegaron sus pieles para volar a mi alrededor. No las vi. No conocí su augurio.
Ya no era una niña, sólo una mujer distraída con los afanes ordinarios de cualquiera. Como casi todo el mundo, ajena al lenguaje de los presagios, viviendo a ciegas, a tientas, sin saber realmente nada, atravesaba los días ignorando que a cada instante perdía y perdía y perdía lo más mío.
El mundo era el de siempre. La puertas se abrían y se cerraban según su costumbre, también las llaves del agua; yo empezaba las mañanas con un café, iba a dar mis clases, me reía de las ocurrencias de
|
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|
Cómo sería esa certeza, ese absoluto, ese camino sin retorno.
Empecé a soñar con <PERSON>.
Crecí en una familia gobernada por un cínico encantador: mi padre. Él tenía dos debilidades: el alcohol y las mujeres. También trabajaba como loco, era un burócrata que viajaba para verificar asuntos relacionados con las carreteras del país; le gustaba decir que el mundo era mejor de madrugada, casi siempre al amanecer volvía de la fiesta o se iba a algún punto del país.
Mi madre era una simuladora profesional: apartaba los ojos de todo aquello que representara un conflicto. Era más bien una especie de ama de llaves: mantenía la casa impecable, la comida a su hora, y lo único que pedía a cambio era que no se alzara demasiado la voz, que no hubiera palabras altisonantes, que todo transcurriera con mesura. Era muy joven cuando conoció a mi padre, mientras él cumplía con su trabajo de supervisar la construcción de una carretera a Cuautla. Ella venía de aquel pueblo junto al volcán, junto a sus cinco hermanos, dos de ellos sordomudos, una vida de muchas carencias. Hizo estudios en una normal superior y comenzó a enseñar en una escuela rural. Conoció a mi padre cuando se hacía la carretera hacia su pueblo. Él prometió cosas que por primera vez estuvo dispuesto a cumplir y se casó con aquella joven maestra. Yo creo que mi madre pensaba más en ponerle punto final a la pobreza de su infancia que en lo que podría sentir por mi padre. Y él debió saberlo. La cuestión es que yo me sentía siempre mucho más cerca de él que de ella, aunque de alguna manera le seguí los pasos a mi mamá, pues me convertí en maestra después de estudiar literatura.
Las mentiras de papá me parecían naturales, tener una vida doble como él la tenía me parecía natural: ahí empecé a disfrutar de la ficción. Y cuando a mi vez acepté casarme con <PERSON> no me pareció extraño conservar mi relación de tanto tiempo con un hombre al que veía algunas veces al año.
Todo esto parece no venir al caso, qué importancia tiene que una mujer confiese algo así ahora. Lo que quiero decir es que yo no traicionaba a <PERSON>. Que si hubo una traición, la cometió él. Y por eso, después de su muerte, cuando pude volver a dormir sin somníferos, por mi propia cuenta, siempre soñaba que él me dejaba por otra mujer. La más misteriosa. La infalible. En mis sueños él se iba con ella, una figura velada, a la que no podía interrogar; ninguna respuesta suya sería de este mundo.
No lo traicionaba, pero a veces, cuando escuchaba a su madre quejarse de los engaños de su padre, cuando veía el terrible estado en que <PERSON> quedaba tras oír todo aquello, a veces estaba dispuesta a opinar, a tomar partido y a pedirle a <PERSON> que le cerrara la puerta a su madre, que la dejara sola con sus lloriqueos porque no es cosa de los hijos allanarle el camino a los padres,
|
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|
the odd biscuit, and happily used jars of baby food to save time, particularly when I was working. But during their babyhoods I was careful to introduce a range of tastes and textures, and though I wasn't prepared to eat my evening meal at half past five I did try to be with them and talk to them while they ate.
I would have been astonished, and horrified, if I could have seen into their nutritional future. This morning <PERSON> breakfasted on six After Eights and some lemon barley water. I was pleased – _pleased_ – because lately he hasn't been eating anything at all. <PERSON> had no breakfast. This is common. I set out some Frosties (dry) and a beaker of orange juice, but he tipped the juice down the sink, and ignored the Frosties. The only thing he ate before the school taxi arrived was a sugar mouse, which was the bribe I used to get him out of bed.
<PERSON> takes a packed 'lunch' – a bag of plain crisps, some gluten-free biscuits, some raisins, an apple, a bag of Whizzers (dairy-free Smartie wannabes) and a small marzipan cat made by my mother. He will eat about half of this. Guess which things he'll leave. <PERSON> doesn't have a lunchbox, because at the moment he chooses to deny that he eats anything at all. So I smuggle supplies into his taxi on Monday mornings. On arrival, <PERSON>, the taxi escort, conveys the supplies to <PERSON>'s teacher by similar sleight of hand. They are kept in the classroom in a drawer to which <PERSON> has unrestricted access. Most days he won't eat unless nobody's looking – or until everybody's pretending not to look. The drawer contains Twiglets, crisps, Aeros and Bourbon biscuits – George is not on the gf/cf diet. Some days he gets through quite a lot of these, but today was not one of those days. The note in the home–school book says, '<PERSON> has eaten nothing except a small tube of Parma Violets.'
I don't think Parma Violets count towards the recommended five daily portions of fruit and veg. For years I've been mentally straining to accredit goodness to the horrid things my children eat. Crisps are only potatoes, really, I tell myself; ketchup is a vegetable. It had better be, because it's the only one <PERSON> eats.
When <PERSON> is in eating mode – and after five or six days of starvation he'll usually have a kill, like a python – he eats meat smothered in ketchup. Burgers, sausages, bacon, ham, mince, casseroled lamb, sometimes roast meat, chicken curry; he covers all these, including the curry, with ketchup so thick that you can't see what's underneath. Occasionally, chips or potato waffles or even roast potatoes will get the same treatment. I slip a few slivers of vegetable matter in with the mince or the casserole, but as often as not these will be removed, even from deep within the ketchup, wiped clean, and left in a neat row on the kitchen table. <PERSON> eats no fruit
|
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went to London for a secretin injection. And I'm glad we did, because if we hadn't, I would always have asked myself if I had turned down the chance of a truly miraculous treatment. And though no miracle was worked, <PERSON> did improve after secretin.
It's hard to be very clear about its effects, because I'd removed the gluten from his diet a few weeks before, so I'm not sure which improvement to attribute to which treatment. In theory they should have worked together, since they are both intended to correct a leaky gut. The doctor who administered the secretin told us to wait for a few weeks before the next injection, and to have a subsequent injection only if <PERSON> had begun to deteriorate again. After the third shot, <PERSON> plateaued, and never seriously regressed again, so that was the end of secretin for him.
After secretin (and gluten-removal) <PERSON> immediately started sleeping through the night. Before, he'd been going to bed at midnight and waking seven or eight times before rising at seven. This, combined with <PERSON>'s extreme early rising – often three or four in the morning – and <PERSON>'s normal-but-wakeful babyhood, meant that I was seriously deprived of sleep.
Since secretin, <PERSON> has nearly always slept through. He goes to bed later than I'd like, but averages half past ten rather than midnight. I have to rouse him in the mornings, but now he wakes up smiling. Before secretin, I used to dread the thump on the stairs that meant <PERSON> was on his way, because when he woke he was always in such a gloweringly awful mood, like an infant ogre.
Before secretin and gluten-removal, <PERSON>'s hands were raw and bleeding because he bit them and banged them so much. He had deep red horseshoe-shaped weals on them, and his fingers were scabbed and swollen. Now, he still has patches of rough skin, and he'll mumble on his hands as an occasional protest against being made to do something he doesn't like, but it's nothing to what it was. He used to harm himself in other ways, too, like knocking himself under the chin and pinching and scratching himself all over. He doesn't do any of this any more.
In March 1999, just before my fortieth birthday, <PERSON>'s physical discomfort was at its worst. He was screaming almost all the time, he would hardly keep his clothes on, and his whole body was pinched and scratched like <PERSON>. He was admitted to hospital to be checked for appendicitis, but nothing was found. Naked and still screaming, he ran up and down the hospital corridors for half a day. He was given something to relax his stomach, which seemed to help a little, and then they discharged us with their usual sigh of relief. He had the secretin injections later that year, and he's never been anywhere near as bad again.
Secretin also seemed to clear some of the fog that had arisen between <PERSON> and the rest of the world. His use of language had dwindled
|
28b4aa6d-2b72-0128-9b04-8cb1e2e7e80a
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['7968809e-9962-1b48-b77a-878211642a56']
|
That's why young people in Cambodia get sent to the city to work in the first place. Approximately 20 percent of the country's fifteen million residents survive on the incomes of nearly half a million workers working in today's garment trade. The family tradition of shipping daughters off to work leaves Cambodia's already weak bureaucratic state scrambling to document the ever widening epidemic of underage labor. Official documents are easy to fake and not always required, and a young person's genuine interest in helping the family may mean she's willing to lie about her age, even if she knows her real birth date, which several generations of Cambodians do not. So while underage workers throng the garment factories, reliable statistics on the problem of child labor are almost impossible to collect. Girls face other barriers to advancement, too: only 6 percent of the garment factory managers in the country are women, most of whom are owners' relatives. For these women to advance in the factories, in other words, they would have to have been born into the business.
The young man stayed silent as his female coworkers described their fates. He knew that he would probably make manager if he wanted to, or get another job if he didn't. His colleagues also lacked the simple sovereignty over their own persons that he could take for granted. A 2006 BFC study found that around 30 percent of the garment factory workforce experienced sexual harassment on the job. A more recent 2012 report from the ILO found that number had dropped to 20 percent—a decline almost certainly stemming from the increase in male factory employees during the industry's expansion.
My hosts' twenty-minute lunch break ended quickly and they waved goodbye. In a few hours, three of the youngest would walk home together after work, to the cramped factory housing unit they shared with three other girls to save money, and make a meager dinner. After that, they'd fall asleep right away, because it would be late, and because they would have to get up early the next day and do it all over again.
We recognize labor and human rights violations when they occur on the production end of global fashion, but any close look at the display sector will reveal a distressing litany of similarities—beginning with the tendencies of garment factories and modeling agencies alike to prey on young women. (A feature they share with the marketing divisions that stoke demand for the products of both industries.)
"It's a brutal world," <PERSON> says, recalling her entry into the display-side workforce. "They do want you to come in at the age of thirteen, fourteen, hoping that you'll hit your prime at seventeen." A 2012 Model Alliance report found that over half the models surveyed had started between thirteen and sixteen; another 1 percent had started earlier. More than half of those underage were never or were rarely accompanied by a legal guardian to castings or jobs. (The Model Alliance sample size was small—85 completed surveys, from the 241 who received the form—but so is
|
73c96c4e-5763-6d65-1b83-0fd8964e0ef5
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['7968809e-9962-1b48-b77a-878211642a56']
|
exists than a televised declaration of victory, for bacterial resistance to antibiotics has been around for as long as antibiotics themselves, even if <PERSON>'s weapon of choice has just been pulled off the market. In 1946, one hospital in England calculated the number of patients with penicillin-resistant staph infections at 14 percent and saw that number nearly quadruple two years later to 59 percent. Penicillin resistance lead to the development of the alternative, methicillin. MRSA, or methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, first identified in 1961, made headlines in the 1990s when its effects worsened and infections spread. These were early superbugs, the origin story of our little modern antiheroes. In recent days, the name "superbug" has come to describe even more powerful strains of multi-drug-resistant bacteria, or MDR. (The much ballyhooed, pan-resistant MCR-1 is the most-cited example.)
The imminent superbug apocalypse of special-report lore and the real life but silent autoimmune epidemic are of course part and parcel of the same modern medical foible. A 2014 UK look at the economic impact of microbial resistance suggests that current rates of death from multi-drug-resistant bacteria—around 23,000 per year in the United States and slightly more in the European Union—will grow to ten million global deaths per year by 2050. In response to such predictions, medical researchers and drug manufacturers have been scrambling for stronger weapons, mostly new antibiotics, or new combinations of old antibiotics, to treat ailments including pneumonia and tuberculosis long considered conquered but slowly reemerging in drug-resistant bacterial strains. New antibiotics naturally means new superbugs, but also the continued depletion of our gut bacteria, which the latest research suggests will only contribute to the rise in autoimmune disease.
But it may also be that the rise of superbugs is the problem to which autoimmunity responds. Spend some time dabbling in the far fringes of science, and a question emerges: Is autoimmunity just another mutation in a gloriously designed immune system that we never understood in the first place?
Few reasonable medical professionals will counsel the acquisition of an incurable disease as part of any wellness program, but many will helpfully suggest immune-boosting measures like increasing intake of vitamin C, selenium, and zinc, or taking probiotics to "balance" the gut. Such "immune-boosting" measures reflect the upside to crippling autoimmune disorders that medicine has yet to understand or cure. Actually, there's quite a bit medical science doesn't yet understand, including how overactive immune systems might actually respond to antibiotic-resistant microbes. However, one theory is that overactive immune systems will respond to superbugs in the exact same way they respond to everything else: by letting those killer T cells loose to engage in a fight to the death.
Of course, the lack of actual research into autoimmune responses to multi-drug-resistant bacteria hasn't stopped drug manufacturers from trying to emulate autoimmunity in order to fight cancer. Nivolumab, sold under the brand name Opdivo, is approved to treat certain skin, lung, and kidney cancers. It is, more or less, an autoimmune disorder in a syringe. An expensive one, too: a single, full course of the drug costs between
|
86dbfd5b-935e-1a18-0024-084f169afb0e
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|
sail at ten that morning. On this voyage, she would carry the largest number of passengers since the beginning of hostilities.() Some were off to join the fighting in Europe; others were hoping to join relief efforts, or traveling to reunite with loved ones who were destined for the battlefield. But surprisingly, and considering the state of war and the risks of traveling through an area patrolled by hostile U-boats, many passengers sailed aboard Lusitania for holidays and family reunions.()
Following custom, the 373 Third Class passengers had begun forward boarding first, just after seven.() "This is not, as has been unkindly suggested," a guidebook warned, "because they only pay low fares, but because there are so many of them, because the number of children in that class is proportionately greater than in any other, and because sufficient time must be allowed for them to settle down before the voyage begins."() An hour later, the 601 Second Class passengers embarked, climbing gangplanks at the rear of the vessel. Helpful stewards examined tickets and directed people down decks and along corridors to their cabins.()
The 290 passengers traveling in First, or Saloon, Class began arriving shortly before nine.() This, as one contemporary noted, "is a more ceremonious affair, for they sometimes include persons of title, holders of high naval or military rank, colonial governors, millionaires, and even members of reigning families. Their arrival is interesting because there is about it a survival of the etiquette of the sailing-ship days, when the owners of the ships saw personally to their departure and were always careful to escort any exalted personages to the ship's side and present them to the captain." They disappeared into the pier building, temporarily shielded from clicking cameras as they presented papers and steadily neared the open doors at the side. Emerging into the light of day, they climbed narrow gangways above the dark Hudson that seemed to vibrate ominously with every tread. Once they had entered the hull of the vessel, crisply uniformed officers waited in the First Class Entrance Hall, decorously welcoming these ladies and gentlemen aboard the great Lusitania.()
"Such last minute excitement!" was how an earlier traveler described the scene aboard Lusitania. "All was confusion—stewards and stewardesses guiding passengers with their suitcases to their staterooms, lifts going up and down, bustle, noise, and hurrying everywhere."() Stewards rushed along corridors, bearing an assortment of farewell gifts sent on by friends and relatives of those sailing that morning. There were immense bouquets of flowers; bottles of fine wine and vintage champagne; carefully wrapped boxes of candy or hothouse fruits; packages of books; collections of teas from around the world; decorative tins of delicacies like caviar or exotic tropical jams; and a multitude of cards and letters wishing travelers a memorable voyage.()
More than a few passengers clustered in Lusitania's Reading and Writing Room that morning. Architect and spiritualist <PERSON> sat there with her traveling companion, <PERSON>, browsing through the newspaper, when she spotted the German notice. "That means, of course, that they intend to get us," she
|
94552de9-a095-5ea8-fbd7-f2065312fd08
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['798505a5-748d-1086-c2f4-e8312ff2ecf0']
|
shown in her letters, sentiments which by nature she was reluctant to express in public but which reassured <PERSON> of her love for him: "<PERSON>—I want to leave here I want to see you touch you I want to run my own house I want to be married and to you," she wrote in February.
<PERSON>, meanwhile, was fast realizing that he was now an outcast where his family was concerned. He had believed that once the furor over the abdication had passed, he could simply return to England and assume the role of younger brother to the King. If this seems somewhat naive, it should be remembered that in the weeks leading up to the abdication—and even on the day he left England—<PERSON> had received warm, loving letters from <PERSON> and <PERSON> assuring him of their support and understanding of his feelings for <PERSON>. <PERSON> had made it clear, even when he knew that abdication was the most likely resolution to the crisis, that he believed <PERSON> would make the right decision where the Crown and Empire were concerned. These letters were undoubtedly genuine, but unfortunately the sentiments expressed within them were not to last. Almost as soon as <PERSON> had left England, both <PERSON> and <PERSON> began to turn against the former King, no doubt influenced by <PERSON>. As a result, <PERSON> felt horrified and deceived when, in exile, he came to understand the strong feeling which now existed against both him and <PERSON>. He suspected, quite rightly as things turned out, that both Queen <PERSON> and <PERSON> were twisting the arm of the new King. In this, they were supported by the court, those members who had disliked <PERSON> for fear of his proposed and assumed changes and innovation and who now closed ranks around <PERSON>.
Along with telephoning <PERSON> every day, the Duke soon developed the habit of ringing his brother, offering him advice in an effort to smooth his transition. These incessant telephone calls, however, quickly annoyed <PERSON>. Although the former King was simply hoping to assist his brother in his new duties, <PERSON>, already uneasy and insecure, felt certain that in reality <PERSON> was trying to regain some sort of foothold in the palace. Abruptly, <PERSON> told his brother that the telephone calls would have to stop.
"Are you serious?" <PERSON> asked, obviously hurt.
"Yes, I'm sorry to say that I am," his brother replied. "The reason must be clear to you."
"My father," <PERSON> son <PERSON> recalls, "was with the Duke when <PERSON> told him not to ring any more. He said he would never forget the look on the Duke's face. He was completely devastated."
The new King was determined, pushed by his wife and his mother, to ensure that his brother never returned to England. He once met with former prime minister <PERSON> for lunch and discussed <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
"She would never dare to come back here," the King declared.
"There you are wrong," the former prime minister said.
"She would have no
|
8c99a794-5468-d9b7-40f0-242cd5f91470
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['7a5f9596-cbe9-8e6f-c06f-ac6dfa335005']
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our service to the world. Surrender to our destinies, surrender to our authenticity, and surrender to our passion to service are interrelated divine fires. Fidelity to our spirits is faithfulness to God. Never betray who you were sculpted to be, and never betray the Divine's dream of peace and justice for the world. These two fidelities arise from one bursting great love—the love of God for creation.
These times of ours, with their challenges of evolving violence and almost insane disregard for our ecological environment, are beckoning us to look deep within to rediscover the divine image of who we are and find in it the essence of our own individual nature. We cannot look for a generic image of the Divine, a kind of "one size fits all" image. It is important for individuals to find the image of the Divine that is sculpting their own unique being: in other words, to look for who we are and who we are becoming—each one different—when we stand in the intimacy of our inner truth. The suffering earth needs us to awaken the image of our spiritual identity that is unique to each of us. The sacred earth needs us to develop our authenticity to its utmost potential, and to live and act passionately from it—act for a vision of freedom and love locally and globally. This twenty-first century is the era of global responsibility. We are made in God's image, and God is the creator and the lover of all of creation. God cares for our world. If we allow ourselves to live from that individual God-image within us, then we too will realize that we have an embedded passion in us for the well-being of the world and that our humanity consists of a fascinating individual and collective interpenetration. We are unique manifestations of the love of the Divine. And it is the loving power of the Divine accessed in the authenticity of our spirits that can allow us to become voices for the voiceless and empowered agents of transformation.
Authenticity is not only one of the greatest spiritual virtues; it is also the bridge to real power. As we grow toward the authentic truth of our nature, we unleash the sacred creative forces of nature within us. The more masks we wear, the more victimized we will feel. We do a great disservice to ourselves when we hide our truth, for by doing so we lose touch with that truth and forgo its power. The shedding of masks transforms our perception of our lives from one of merely surviving into one of being worthy co-creators with the Divine. The pursuit of authenticity in a world that so often values veils and facades is a struggle, but a noble and fulfilling one. The epic spiritual choice is one that refuses to squelch the spirit by becoming a sham or a flimsy copy of others. It is wisdom to know that one has something important to contribute to the peace and well-being of the community. In the legend of Camelot, the symbolic
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imposition of extreme poverty. We are never to disregard the amazing tenacity of heart and tenacity of spirit of all those who still say a powerful "yes" to the values of love.
However, at the same time that the social vision of love is increasing in momentum, humankind's inhumanity against itself is expanding in scope. Oppression and exploitation are becoming more subtle, complex, and dangerous. We are observing the development of mega economic entities that too often think of those they victimize as "collateral damage." They strategize to accumulate billions of dollars of profit in the hands of the very few, and then they resist spending by the state or by themselves to alleviate situations of extreme poverty or natural catastrophes. A case in point: a seventy-year-old woman had to climb twenty-two flights of stairs for weeks, twice a day, to fetch water to her apartment in New York City after Hurricane Sandy devastated her neighborhood. She had to live in the dark and the cold. Her financially impoverished community was without electricity and gas for thirteen days after the onslaught of the storm (whereas most of the city had recovered). Seemingly, the private company that provided electricity for her economically challenged neighborhood used most of what would have been their emergency funds to distribute profits to shareholders. In addition, the blackout that made her impoverished neighborhood suffer for so long from the bitter cold weather (no lights, no adequate distribution of medicine, and none of the usual amenities) did not make it to the top of the list of corporate or national budgeting priorities. When people suffer at that level through no fault of their own, are we not asked to be their brothers and sisters? Are we not ethically mandated to do what it takes to relieve their undue suffering, whatever their socioeconomic condition? Is this not the spiritual imperative mandated by all holy texts?
We urgently need the new imagination of how we could live together and relate to each other. We need a more humane and definitely a more spiritual vision of community. The encouraging news is that a considerable number of people desire to cross to a higher level of consciousness and solidarity. Second Wave spirituality is happening. If we keep on evolving our spiritual mind-set and come to understand the socially engaged nature of love, our future will be very different—much brighter and much healthier. We have the ability and we possess the know-how to change our spiritual mind-set into one that is more compassionately active and socially engaged. We can grow out of the personalized and self-absorbed version of our spirituality. We are in fact beginning to understand that every individual is an indivisible part of the destiny of planet earth. We can live by the ancient mystical idea that the true good of one is the good of all. We can develop theologies and spiritual philosophies of love-in-action. We are historically ready. The great reformation has started. The sleeping (disengaged) spiritual giant is awakening! Our hands are needed on the plow. The times are
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_work_ (<PERSON>'s italics)...but it must be manual work' (<PERSON> _Fors_ II: 306). 'Manual work' is associated by <PERSON> with 'honest country people patient in their task of maintaining the rascals in the towns,' even if the task to which he referring is drawing ( _Fors_ II: 306). All good art for <PERSON> is manual labor, and an activity like digging is the highest form of manly manual work.
<PERSON> digging his harbor seems a mixture of work and play, and the scene recalls his own remarks on the relationship between physical activity in work and play. In _The Crown of Wild Olive_ <PERSON> defined play 'as an exertion of body or mind, made to please ourselves and with no determined end; and work a thing done because it ought to be done, and with a determined end' ( _Crown_ XI: 8). In this light it is difficult to decide whether digging the harbor is work or not, since it is the exertion of the body that pleases <PERSON>, but it also has a determined end. In later remarks it seems that digging the harbor should be classified as a 'play' through its association with rowing which makes it an unserious exercise in comparison to work:
In your own experience most of you will be able to recognize the wholesome effect, alike as body and mind, of striving within the proper limits of time, to become good batsmen or good oarsmen. But the bat and the rower's oars are childrens' toys. Resolve that you will become men in usefulness, as well as in strength, and you will find that then also, but not till then, you can become men in understanding. ( _Aratra_ IX: 83)4
In this formulation ideas of play and recreation are associated with children's toys, while manliness is equated by implication with adult seriousness. <PERSON> also moves easily from 'strength' in body to a more metaphorical strength of understanding which he equates with a full-blooded masculinity. <PERSON> is of course drawing upon a familiar set of Victorian assumptions about work, seriousness and masculinity. Real men put aside children's toys and get on with the serious business of life, and do not play. Therefore, <PERSON> asks Oxford undergraduates to put aside their oars and bats and become diggers of roads, and thus become 'real' men. The act of digging is itself supposed to produce the change from 'boys' to 'men' in the Hincksey Road project.
This passage from _Aratra Pentilici_ draws upon an overall argument in the lectures that society itself is emerging from a technic 'childhood' and becoming more 'manly' ( _Aratra_ IX: 28). The Hincksey project is therefore for <PERSON> a microcosm of his overall plan for social reformation in which all men will abjure oars for shovels. He calls for his Oxford audience to shun all technology, even in the construction of buildings as 'degrading to the intellect' and 'vulgar exhibitions' ( _Aratra_ IX: 128). Machinery subverts the 'hands' that are crucial for <PERSON> because in Victorian society 'our hands are dexterous with the vile and deadly dexterity
|
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senses. Mr. <PERSON>'s hand therefore marks him both as a working-class man and a sensualist. The working-class laborer is not idealized in <PERSON>'s text but rather represents a locus of horror. The working-class identity is housed within the body of the professional male, and his hand transforms from 'white' and 'comely' (the term registering the hand's proximity to the feminine) to hairy and muscled.
The parallels between Dr. <PERSON> and <PERSON> run deeper than simply a fascination with the class and gender markers encoded in hands, however. <PERSON>'s tale records one of <PERSON>'s primary strategies for managing the contradictions in his own subject position: compartmentalization. <PERSON> perceptively entitled his selection from the diaries _Munby: Man of Two Worlds_ , underscoring the way in which <PERSON> divided his life between his respectable, public persona and his private, perverse interest in working-class women. His is another version of divided masculinity, caused by the division of labor, that <PERSON> documented in his quotation from _<PERSON> Deliverance_ (140; see Introduction). <PERSON> split his persona in two in the way that <PERSON> has Dr. <PERSON> divide off the perverse, socially unacceptable side of his desires in Mr. <PERSON>. In both these 'strange' cases (which are in fact not 'strange' but mundane in that they exemplify an everyday trait of Victorian masculine consciousness), these desires transgress class boundaries and are thus deeply troubling and divisive for the subject.9 The division of labor along class lines leads to a corresponding splitting of the subject into conflicting work identities, one an intellectual, white collar worker and upper class, the other a blue collar, working-class manual laborer. It is as if in <PERSON>'s story <PERSON> were to be divided into two different workers. The horror here is based in class anxiety in that the 'Dr.' could overnight become a 'Mr.' and lose the class status derived from his profession. <PERSON>'s tale expresses through horror the relationship between 'professional' and working-class hands that <PERSON> registers in his diaries and photographs.
<PERSON> in his diaries and photographs therefore registers the same professional, masculine class anxieties that <PERSON> represented in the case of Dr. <PERSON>. Through his anxieties about work, <PERSON> dramatizes his insecure position within the Victorian division of labor, which supposedly privileged the masculine. Where in the early days of feminism men were lumped together as oppressors and beneficiaries of patriarchy, it is now becoming increasingly evident that the subject position of men is and was as contradictory and unstable as that of women within the division of labor. <PERSON> in his photographs and diaries registers the entire panoply of masculine anxieties in the areas of race, class and gender. In particular, <PERSON> uses what I will term 'negative identification' to question the very basis of his gender and class identity. <PERSON>'s collection of photographs in this context becomes a gallery of antitypes that help him subvert his interpellation by Victorian class and gender ideologies, and to imaginatively compensate for the division of his own subject position by the division of labor in Victorian society.
<PERSON> and 'Negative
|
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know that the Native American population was declining and that the European colonial population was growing at an accelerating rate. North America's small African population of roughly 30,000 persons was about to expand exponentially in the decades ahead.16 In 1698, England's Parliament had passed the Africa Trade Act, formally breaking the monopoly of the Royal African Company and opening the English slave trade to independent shippers, known as separate traders. "In the fifteen years prior to the 1698 act," <PERSON> reminds us, "slavers transported close to fifty-five hundred slaves to the American mainland. In the fifteen years after, that figure increased by nearly 300 percent to more than fifteen thousand."17
Geographically, we know that the new European population was clustered almost entirely along the eastern seaboard, below the fall line of the major rivers. Most newcomers lived within fifty miles of the Atlantic Ocean; their communities still constituted a marginal foothold on a continent 3,000 miles wide. Granted, colonial outposts were being established at places such as Pensacola, Biloxi, Detroit, and Cahokia. But these new forts, along with older missions and settlements such as Santa Fe, prove statistically insignificant when their occupants are compared to the entire human population living north of the Rio Grande.
Moreover, the population of the English colonies in 1700 is generally estimated at 250,000 or slightly higher, and the North American colonies of France and Spain contained far fewer than 30,000 inhabitants between them.18 Hence, the continent's overall European population in 1700 had not yet reached 300,000, and the entire colonial population (combining Europeans and Africans) was below 330,000 people. Meanwhile, the total population of indigenous Americans had been falling rapidly for generations.19 In 1700, the declining Native American population, according to rough calculations, was still somewhere between 1.4 and 1.6 million people, using the most conservative estimates. This means that eight years after the Salem witch trials and six years before the birth of <PERSON>, roughly five out of every six persons living in North America was a Native American.
It also means, significantly, that the North American population was still spread rather evenly across the entire continent in 1700. This would change dramatically by the end of the eighteenth century, with the rapid buildup of east coast population and the further decimation of native populations by nearly half a million, due to recurrent warfare and the ongoing spread of epidemic diseases. But in 1700, at the start of the eighteenth century, eastern populations remained relatively small, and in some areas east of the Mississippi (such as Florida, Georgia, southern Appalachia, and Mississippi, for example) the total population was actually declining.20 Over the previous generation across the South, Indian deaths had more than offset all new colonial arrivals, by birth and immigration combined.21
If we use the admittedly speculative, but also rather conservative, estimates of <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER>, England's Parliament had passed the Africa Trade Act, formally breaking the monopoly of the Royal African Company and opening the English slave trade to independent shippers, known as separate traders. "In the fifteen years prior to the <PHONE_NUMBER> act," William Pettigrew reminds us, "slavers transported close to fifty-five hundred slaves to the American mainland. In the fifteen years after, that figure increased by nearly 300 percent to more than fifteen thousand."17
Geographically, we know that the new European population was clustered almost entirely along the eastern seaboard, below the fall line of the major rivers. Most newcomers lived within fifty miles of the Atlantic Ocean; their communities still constituted a marginal foothold on a continent 3,000 miles wide. Granted, colonial outposts were being established at places such as Pensacola, Biloxi, Detroit, and Cahokia. But these new forts, along with older missions and settlements such as Santa Fe, prove statistically insignificant when their occupants are compared to the entire human population living north of the Rio Grande.
Moreover, the population of the English colonies in 1700 is generally estimated at 250,000 or slightly higher, and the North American colonies of France and Spain contained far fewer than 30,000 inhabitants between them.18 Hence, the continent's overall European population in 1700 had not yet reached 300,000, and the entire colonial population (combining Europeans and Africans) was below 330,000 people. Meanwhile, the total population of indigenous Americans had been falling rapidly for generations.19 In 1700, the declining Native American population, according to rough calculations, was still somewhere between 1.4 and 1.6 million people, using the most conservative estimates. This means that eight years after the Salem witch trials and six years before the birth of Benjamin Franklin, roughly five out of every six persons living in North America was a Native American.
It also means, significantly, that the North American population was still spread rather evenly across the entire continent in 1700. This would change dramatically by the end of the eighteenth century, with the rapid buildup of east coast population and the further decimation of native populations by nearly half a million, due to recurrent warfare and the ongoing spread of epidemic diseases. But in 1700, at the start of the eighteenth century, eastern populations remained relatively small, and in some areas east of the Mississippi (such as Florida, Georgia, southern Appalachia, and Mississippi, for example) the total population was actually declining.20 Over the previous generation across the South, Indian deaths had more than offset all new colonial arrivals, by birth and immigration combined.21
If we use the admittedly speculative, but also rather conservative, estimates of Douglas Ubelaker regarding the changing size of Indian populations in each major North American region, we find that in 1700 there were more men, women, and children living in the Great Basin region of the mountain West (34,000) than
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<PERSON>, _Scotland, the Caribbean, and the Atlantic World, 1750–1820_ (Manchester, U.K.: Manchester University Press, 2005); <PERSON> and <PERSON>, eds., _Scottish Communities Abroad in the Early Modern Period_ (Leiden: Brill, 2005); and <PERSON>, _From New Babylon to Eden: The Huguenots and Their Migration to Colonial South Carolina_ (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2006).
24. <PERSON>, "Atlantic History, 1492–1700: Scope, Sources, and Methods," in <PERSON>, ed., _Atlantic History: History of the Atlantic System, 1580–1830_ (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), pp. 55–64; <PERSON>, _Atlantic Virginia: Intercolonial Relations in the Seventeenth Century_ (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). For further examples of seeing Virginia in larger Atlantic and global contexts, see <PERSON> and <PERSON>, eds., _Envisioning an English Empire: Jamestown and the Making of the North Atlantic World_ (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005); <PERSON>, ed., _The Atlantic World and Virginia, 1550–16241_ (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); <PERSON>, "Charles I, Virginia, and the Idea of Atlantic History," _Itinerario_ 30, no. 2 (2006): 33–53; and <PERSON>, _Fish Into Wine: The Newfoundland Plantation in the Seventeenth Century_ (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004).
25. <PERSON>, "Comparisons: Atlantic Canada," in <PERSON>, ed., _A Companion to Colonial America_ (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2003), pp. 489–507; <PERSON>, _The Indian Ocean_ (London: Routledge, 2003); <PERSON> with <PERSON>, _Young Men and the Sea: Yankee Seafarers in the Age of Sail_ (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), pp. 60, 129 (quotes). For other portraits of life at sea, see <PERSON>, _Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea: Merchant Seamen, Pirates, and the Anglo-American Maritime World, 1700–1750_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); <PERSON>, _Spain's Men of the Sea: Daily Life on the Indies Fleet in the Sixteenth Century_ , trans. <PERSON> (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998); <PERSON>, _The Social Construction of the Ocean_ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001); <PERSON>, _Liberty on the Waterfront: American Maritime Culture in the Age of Revolution_ (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004); <PERSON> and <PERSON>, eds., _Sea Changes: Historicizing the Ocean_ (New York, 2004); <PERSON>, ed., _Maritime History as World History_ (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2004); <PERSON>, _Slave Ship Sailors and Their Captive Cargoes, 1730–1807_ (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006); <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, eds., _Seascapes: Maritime Histories, Littoral Cultures, and Transoceanic Exchanges_ (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2007); <PERSON>, _The Treasure of the San José: Death at Sea in the War of the Spanish Succession_ (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007).
26. <PERSON>, _Oceans of Wine: Madeira and the Organization of the Atlantic Market, 1640–1815_ (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008); <PERSON>, _At the Crossroads of the Atlantic: Maritime Revolution and the Transformation of Bermuda, 1612–1815_ (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, forthcoming); <PERSON>, "The Caribbean Islands in Atlantic Context, circa 1500–1800," in <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER>_ (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008); Michael Jarvis, _At the Crossroads of the Atlantic: Maritime Revolution and the Transformation of Bermuda, 1612–1815_ (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, forthcoming); Philip D. Morgan, "The Caribbean Islands in Atlantic Context, circa 1500–1800," in Felicity A. Nussbaum, ed., _The Global Eighteenth Century_ (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
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[12] Su nombre procede de la antigua palabra italiana banca, que quiere decir mesa. En los primeros tiempos, el intercambio de dinero se hacía en una mesa sobre la que se colocaban las distintas monedas. Con el tiempo, los cambistas se convirtieron en custodios que empezaron a guardar las monedas y a facilitar los pagos con ellas como garantía (RAJAN, 1998). En la antigua Inglaterra, fueron los orfebres los que asumieron esta función de custodia (RICHARDS, 1929).
[13] <PERSON> (1980).
2. LA MECÁNICA DE LA BANCA TRADICIONAL
[14] <PERSON> y ESPELAND (1991).
[15] Si <PERSON> retirase dinero, la transacción solo aparecería en los registros de <PERSON> como un débito en la cuenta de Sittah. En cambio, una retirada de dinero de una cuenta bancaria tendría registrados dos débitos: uno en la cuenta de Sittah y otro en las reservas de dinero del banco. Algunas transacciones también se registran dos veces en una contabilidad de partida única. Por ejemplo, la transacción entre <PERSON> y <PERSON> quedó anotada dos veces en los libros de <PERSON>: una como débito en la cuenta de <PERSON> y otra como crédito en la cuenta de <PERSON>.
[16] <PERSON> y <PERSON> (1991), que explican con detalle cómo la contabilidad de partida doble cambió el pensamiento económico de los comerciantes y otros intermediarios. La contabilidad de partida doble influyó en la toma de decisiones racionales y alimentó el racionalismo económico.
[17] Normalmente, el balance se recopila al final de cada año fiscal. La contabilidad de partida doble moderna incluye asimismo otros aspectos financieros —como los ingresos y el flujo de caja— que indican las actividades financieras de una empresa a lo largo del tiempo. A nuestros efectos, estos dos aspectos contables tienen menos importancia.
[18] Las empresas que cotizan se financian mediante acciones, participaciones en el capital, que se venden en las bolsas. En este caso, el valor de mercado de la acción negociada puede ser distinto del valor contable. Salvo que indiquemos lo contrario, cuando hablamos del valor de capital, nosotros nos referimos siempre al valor contable.
[19] La insolvencia técnica se denomina a veces insolvencia contable.
[20] Aunque los bancos prometen la misma posibilidad de retirar fondos a todos los impositores en cualquier momento, en realidad solo pueden hacer frente a una pequeña parte de esas solicitudes en un momento dado. Por eso, algunos economistas de la escuela austriaca dicen que el contrato de depósitos es fraudulento; véase, por ejemplo, HUERTA DE SOTO (2009).
[21] El nombre de este régimen monetario procede del verbo latino fiat, que quiere decir «hágase». Se refiere al carácter artificial del dinero y eso es lo que lo distingue de otros regímenes monetarios anteriores. Históricamente, las sociedades han solido usar como dinero alguna materia escasa; es lo que se denomina régimen de dinero mercancía. Las formas más conocidas son seguramente las monedas de oro y plata. Se podría objetar que gran parte del valor del oro se debe, precisamente, a que se considera dinero. Sin embargo, hay que tener en cuenta que el oro y, sobre todo, la plata se
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de mercado en la que todo el mundo puede incorporarse a ese mercado con libertad.
Sin embargo, la actividad bancaria no constituye un mero modelo de negocio; es la creación de dinero a partir del crédito. Como son profecías autocumplidas, los pánicos bancarios tienden a ser contagiosos. Si se producen varias estampidas simultáneas en diferentes bancos, entonces hablamos verdaderamente de pánico bancario o pánico financiero.
En un pánico bancario, la gente pierde la confianza en la banca. Los impositores retiran sus depósitos de varios bancos, incluso de los que están saneados. Como acabamos de ver, eso produce que se queden sin liquidez, incluso aunque estén bien gestionados. El resultado es una bancarrota generalizada. Fue lo que sucedió en los años entre 1929 y 1933, cuando, aproximadamente, 9.000 bancos suspendieron sus operaciones.[27]
En un pánico bancario, el importe total de los créditos se desploma. Los bancos que han quebrado ya no pueden conceder préstamos y los que siguen operando dejan de prestar dinero a otros bancos y a empresas para tener suficientes reservas y poder satisfacer las demandas de los impositores que corren a retirar su dinero. El sistema bancario no puede financiar la misma cantidad de crédito que antes del pánico; es lo que suele denominarse una crisis crediticia: las empresas que dejan de tener créditos a su disposición durante un pánico bancario no pueden seguir trabajando y también quiebran. La producción se detiene, las personas que trabajaban en esas empresas se quedan sin empleo y los ingresos por impuestos se reducen.
Además, como los bancos crean dinero interno, las quiebras bancarias repercuten en el nivel de precios. Los depósitos de los bancos insolventes o sin liquidez dejan de ser dinero. Como hemos visto, los bancos que todavía funcionan dejan de conceder préstamos y aumentan sus reservas, es decir, destruyen dinero interno. La economía dispone de menos dinero y los precios empiezan a caer. El fenómeno monetario de la caída de los precios se llama deflación. En el caso de un pánico bancario, la deflación es una distorsión de los precios provocada por una característica organizativa peculiar del sistema financiero: la creación de dinero a partir del crédito. La bajada de precios deprime aún más la actividad de la economía real y se dispara un círculo vicioso de destrucción de crédito y dinero.[28]
En definitiva, una sola estampida bancaria puede provocar una reacción en cadena que acabe por socavar el funcionamiento del sistema financiero. Al principio repercute en otros bancos y luego en la provisión total de dinero y de crédito en la economía. En el peor caso, un pánico bancario puede desembocar en un colapso total del sistema financiero y llevar la economía a una espiral deflacionaria y a una recesión severa. El hecho de que la banca ejerza un papel tan fundamental en nuestro sistema financiero es lo que hace que los pánicos bancarios tengan consecuencias tan catastróficas. Los pánicos bancarios son el talón de Aquiles de la banca.
LAS GARANTÍAS DE LOS ESTADOS PUEDEN PREVENIR LOS PÁNICOS BANCARIOS...
Los pánicos bancarios son inherentes a todos los sistemas de banca.
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point at St Julian, a task that was assigned to the second officer, Lieutenant <PERSON>. According to <PERSON> this order was to 'their great annoyance'.
<PERSON> joined the army at Coimbra on 2 May for the advance on Oporto. He believed that the capital was safe for the moment and he could concentrate his forces against Soult without any chance of support reaching the French. They advanced with minor skirmishing until 11 May, when there was more determined resistance around Grijó before the French retired across the Douro into Oporto, burning the boat bridge behind them.
On 12 May, <PERSON> and his adjutant, Lieutenant <PERSON>, rode to Oporto ahead of the army to obtain intelligence and then remained with <PERSON> during the assault. <PERSON> and <PERSON> moved upriver towards Avintes with General <PERSON>'s brigade to look for boats or crossing-points. The French clearly thought they were safe, with the Douro, 250 yards wide at this point, between the opposing forces, but in an area where boats were used for most transport it was inevitable that some would be found. The inattention of the French just made it easier. Several engineer officers were present at the battle with only one casualty, Lieutenant <PERSON>. <PERSON> recorded 'He had been sent by General <PERSON> to post the German Riflemen – on his return he met the cavalry on the road about [to] charge. He knew it was impossible to get by them therefore turned about and was the first man wounded at their head'. A musket ball passed through one thigh, lodging in the second. It was eventually removed but <PERSON> never fully recovered from his wounds and died a year later at Lisbon.
<PERSON> took command of replacing the boat bridge at Oporto and work was started that night. With assistance from a number of the Royal Military Artificers the bridge was completed on the following evening. The other good news following the capture of Oporto was that the engineer officers Captain <PERSON> and Lieutenant <PERSON> managed to escape from the French in the confusion. The Allied army pursued the retreating French until 18 May when they abandoned almost all their equipment to avoid being surrounded, <PERSON> and <PERSON> reporting repairing a bridge near Ruivães to assist the pursuit.
The bridge over the Tagus at Alcantara, by <PERSON>.
<PERSON> now returned to the routine tasks of an engineer officer and dispatched <PERSON> to survey the course of the river Douro from Oporto to the river Agueda, over 100 miles inland. At the same time, Lieutenant <PERSON> was also dispatched to survey the river Tamega. Other engineer officers were carrying out independent roles in central Spain. Lieutenant <PERSON> was with Sir <PERSON> and the Loyal Lusitanian Legion, strengthening the defences at the key crossing-point over the Tagus at Alcantara. He also took the precaution of laying a mine on the bridge. When it was approached by a French force on 10 June, <PERSON> initially commanded the batteries defending the bridge and when there was concern it would be taken,
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At present they are commanded by <PERSON>, who is a fine soldier-like man. On his arrival he gave out a very impressive order to his troops which was read at the head of each regiment on King <PERSON>'s birthday; A Major of one of the regiments who was reading it was so much affected that he could not proceed. They all seem full of ardour and patriotism and their presence will inspire confidence whatever army they may join.
<PERSON>, taking full advantage of his unexpected reinforcements, advanced on Bilbao, pushing the French out again on 11 October. He then settled into a period of inactivity that allowed the French to regroup and to absorb the large reinforcements that were pouring over the Pyrenees. <PERSON> noted with great satisfaction that the personal possessions that he had lost when the French retook Bilbao on 29 September had been hidden by the Spanish and were returned to him when he went back to his billet.
On 13 October, around 16,000 reinforcements under Sir <PERSON> arrived at Corunna. Travelling with <PERSON> was Captain <PERSON>. The junta at Corunna would not let <PERSON> land without permission from the Central Junta at Madrid. Riders were sent for their approval, which was received on the 22nd. Much to his displeasure, <PERSON> was instructed to move his troops in small numbers to limit the impact on the local population. The landings began on 26 October but it was not complete until 13 November, on which day <PERSON> set off for Astorga. Like his fellow generals, <PERSON> had sent his engineers forward to reconnoitre the route to Astorga and to review the terrain around Villa Franca 'with a view to its defence'.
On 21 October, <PERSON> wrote an update report for the Board of Ordnance in England. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and himself were at Santander with General <PERSON> and <PERSON> was attached to <PERSON>'s army to report on its activities. He said that <PERSON> had been ordered to go to Bilbao to assist in arming the inhabitants. <PERSON> went on to express concern on the state of the Spanish armies: 'That great portion of the Spanish troops, being newly raised, imperfectly disciplined, and officered by peasants, so that you cannot reckon a Spanish army of 30,000 equal to more than a veteran army of 20,000 or less.' Similar sentiments were expressed by <PERSON>: 'The new regiments (I mean the armed and organised peasantry) have not sufficient confidence in themselves to contend with the French veterans, and it is to be doubted whether the men are under sufficient command to be kept together should the French follow up.'
Although working completely independently, it is interesting to note that the engineers serving under <PERSON> in the north of Spain were corresponding with <PERSON> who was with <PERSON>'s army and we can assume that this information was passed on to <PERSON>. <PERSON> was expressing concern about the limited information he was receiving from <PERSON> on the activities of the various Spanish forces.
<PERSON>, who had been with <PERSON>
|
2ed86046-9184-b0fe-f514-f80c53d68a13
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|
schools of Viennese Psychology were established by <PERSON> and <PERSON>. First, <PERSON> suggested that man's fundamental struggle was with pleasure. Later, <PERSON> came along and said man's fundamental struggle was with power. But after surviving the Holocaust, <PERSON> insisted man's fundamental struggle was not with pleasure or power, but with meaning — finding meaning and purpose in our existence. He said that without meaning, we are lost and have little will to survive. He concluded that those who survived the concentration camps — and only one of 28 who entered did — had something deeply important they yet wanted to achieve.
Those who live with joy are invariably engaged in activities that they view as meaningful and that use their unique talents. In the last 15 years, the concept of flow has emerged to explain this phenomenon.
Flow occurs when we use our talents to meet some challenge that deeply engages us and to which we happily cede our energy and attention. We seem to lose all sense of time as we focus on the activity. One example is kids on the beach who spend hours completely absorbed in creating a sand castle. Other examples would be the rock climber described by <PERSON> in the quote at the beginning of this section or a sports team with all players in sync and working incredibly well together.
Modified from <PERSON>, _Flow_
Experiencing flow often brings intense joy, especially when we are doing something we think is important or meaningful. The key is finding the sweet spot between stress, where the challenge exceeds the skill, and boredom, where talent exceeds the challenge. When I lead a class at DePauw or at Canyon Ranch, I frequently experience flow. It takes every ounce of energy, focus, IQ, EQ and skill I have to meet the challenge of having a successful class. When the class is over I am exhausted, but the experience is an incredible joy.
If you've ever played a new video game, you will recognize this balance. At first you play at an easy level. As your skill increases, you move up to a more advanced level or you will become bored. Finding that balance between challenge and skill is the path to flow. Without purpose, flow is not possible.
Ever wonder why some people like to rock climb? I think it is because of flow. They are using their unique talents in meeting a challenge that is very important to them — staying alive. They are also totally in the present or "doing now what I am doing now." They cannot worry about the bills that haven't been paid or the test they have to take tomorrow.
Through teaching at DePauw, I have come to believe that significant purpose also precedes significant learning. I have observed that my students fall across a broad spectrum of interests and capabilities. In particular, they run from being what I call "ShamWows" to "ducks." Let me explain. I have certain students that are incredibly engaged in class. They take copious notes, they listen
|
92b51697-df21-7d38-fe1e-3a5a29221be4
|
['7d523db1-d488-d31d-ea05-6720d6e5b0b5']
|
are suffering from scarcity thinking — a perspective that robs many of us from feeling happy.
I know scarcity thinking well. There is an antidote for it: thinking with abundance. But abundance thinking is something that I struggle with daily. My guess is many of you, particularly those of you who are highly competitive, find this a struggle as well.
Scarcity thinking is when you think most of life is win or lose. If someone wins, then by definition — your definition anyway — someone must lose. In other words, we see the world as a pie, and if someone else gets a piece of the pie, then there has to be that much less for everyone else. On the other hand, abundance thinking is when we see the world as limitless and one person's gain does not have to be another's loss.
The first year I taught a winter term class at DePauw, one of my students was a young woman who was a senior studying pre-med. She had applied to a program at the Mayo Clinic, to which only about 35 students were accepted nationwide. During the winter term she was waiting anxiously to hear if she had been accepted. By coincidence, another student with whom she was good friends had also applied. One day she came into class and was ebullient. She smiled radiantly as she told me her friend had been accepted to the program. When I asked if she had heard yet, she answered that no she hadn't, but she was still hopeful she would be accepted.
As she walked away, I wondered how I would respond in a similar situation. Could I have found it within myself to feel joy for someone else, when I didn't know my own fate? She was practicing abundant thinking, and doing so is a key skill to happiness.
I struggle with this skill perhaps more than any of the other happiness skills I have shared in this book. I think I understand why. Many years ago I took part in a _Life Styles Inventory_ test. I filled out this fairly detailed questionnaire intended to determine my predominant behavioral styles. The _Life Styles Inventory_ comprises 12 styles, such as self-actualizing, affiliative, power, achievement, competitive and oppositional.
When I met with the psychologist who administered the evaluation, he said, "<PERSON>, I have been doing this for nearly 30 years and I have never had anyone as high as you on the style of 'self-actualizing' — loving to learn and to improve oneself."
I was thinking (since I judge everything that comes before me), "This is good!"
He then said, "I have also never had anyone as high on 'competitiveness.' In fact, with those two styles there is almost no room for other styles."
Still thinking the feedback was great, I said, "Well, I was a bit of an athlete in college and winning has always been important to me. . . ." He interrupted me and said, "<PERSON>, I want you to know that 'competitive' is **NOT** a positive trait."
What?
"Wait
|
045df72b-ace6-0360-a1ee-14fc44798537
|
['7d8efc52-3d2c-977d-e3ae-39ffc6599237']
|
grocery store. You use that type of gel, which is more translucent than frosting, to write messages on a cake. Write-on gels have little effect in adding a hue to a white frosting.
I'm partial to using food coloring gels rather than pastes to color frostings. Squeezing the coloring gel into the frosting a drop at a time makes for less mess and easier maneuvering than adding pastes to a mixture.
## Pastes
Food coloring pastes, which usually come in 1/2-ounce pots, are more concentrated in color than their gel counterparts. Pastes are widely available in larger chain craft stores as well as cake decorating supply stores in individual pots or in sets of 8 to 12 popular colors (see the preceding section for the most common colors).
Pastes sometimes yield a truer color than gels for the hue you're trying to achieve. However, you need some utensil — such as a toothpick — to add the paste to the frosting. And, needless to say, you shouldn't use the same toothpick twice or you may get mixed colors or bits of buttercream or royal icing in your paste pot (an unsanitary proposition at best).
## Gathering Flavorings and Other Liquids
You need several liquid accoutrements for your cake making adventures to add flavor, make gum paste and fondant, and accent batters.
## Extracts and flavorings
On the flavor front, pure vanilla extract and almond extract are must-haves. Depending on the favorite tastes in your household, you also may want to include lemon extract, orange extract, anise (which has a licorice flavor), and peppermint extract.
When it comes to extracts, use pure extract rather than the imitation counterpart. The flavor of pure extract truly tastes more pure and intense than that of imitation extract, and it doesn't include any artificial ingredients. However, if you're eager to use a flavor that you can't find in the pure form, the imitation is okay.
If you're preparing white frosting with vanilla extract as one of its ingredients, know that the frosting will turn slightly ivory in color. If you want the frosting to remain true white, you have to use a clear vanilla extract, which is only available in the imitation form.
In addition to extracts, you have a wealth of other flavorings — also known as _candy oils_ — to pick from to satisfy a recipe's needs or to fulfill someone's special request. The possibilities really are endless and exciting. For instance, these are widely available on the Internet and through specialty kitchen stores:
Black walnut
Blueberry
Butterscotch
Caramel
Cherry
Coconut
Cream soda
Eggnog
Hazelnut
Macadamia nut
Passion fruit
Peach
Peanut butter
Piña colada
Root beer
Violet
But be mindful in using flavorings because they're more concentrated than extracts, so a little goes a long way. If you're adding flavoring to a batter or frosting, begin with as little as 1/8 teaspoon, take
|
989da440-2d95-0a7f-7b21-ada672762db4
|
['7d8efc52-3d2c-977d-e3ae-39ffc6599237']
|
shower cakes. Although the recipes in this chapter don't utilize all such techniques, mastering them will undoubtedly benefit your cake decorating repertoire, for showers and beyond.
## Crafting cutouts
Fondant is a common choice for shower cakes because it's smooth, refined, and so versatile. I discuss how to make fondant in Chapter 9; in this section, I explain three methods for decorating a cake with fondant decorations. All three methods rely on using cookie or fondant cutters to cut fondant into the shapes of flowers, leaves, animals, or geometric designs, among other possibilities. You can use good-quality, sturdy cookie cutters you currently own to work with the fondant, or you can also purchase specialty fondant cutter sets to craft your fondant as well.
Although I talk about fondant cutouts as they apply to shower cakes, these instructions also apply to virtually any other occasion cake. For instance, you can cut holly leaves out of green-tinted fondant and arrange them on a Christmas-themed cake. Or you may want to cut out a fondant bird or chick to decorate an Easter or springtime treat.
### Layered fondant
A layered fondant decoration is a fondant "stack" that features fondant cut in different sizes of the same shape. The three-dimensional effect adds depth to a cake design.
**1.** **Cut out the same or similar shapes in a gradation of sizes (see Figure 15-1).**
To make the layers really pop, consider dividing and tinting fondant a number of colors and then cutting the different sizes of shapes out of different colors.
**2.** **Stack the shapes on top of each other.**
**3.** **Apply them to the cake.**
**Figure 15-1:** Cutting fondant shapes.
|
---|---
### The fill-in
For this colorful fondant decoration, you fill in a larger fondant shape with a smaller size of the same shape that's tinted a different color.
**1.** **Cut your desired shape out of fondant.**
**2.** **Place a smaller cutter of the same shape inside the bigger fondant shape, and press.**
**3.** **With the smaller cutter, cut out a piece of fondant that's a different color from the fondant used in Steps 1 and 2.**
**4.** **Place the larger shape on your cake, and fill the empty space with the smaller shape in the different color (see Figure 15-2).**
### Cake insets
For cake insets, you add interest to a cake covered in fondant by cutting out shapes in the fondant covering, and then inserting the shapes back in, but tinted a different color.
**1.** **Roll out a piece of fondant that you'll use to cover the entire surface of your cake. Carefully lay it on the cake.**
**2.** **Mark areas that you want to cut out and fill in with a colored shape. Transfer the fondant from the cake to a flat work surface.**
**3.** **Using a cutter of the desired shape, make cuts where you marked the fondant in Step 2.**
**4.** **Lay the fondant on the cake again, and smooth it so that it adheres to the cake's surface.**
**5.** **Use food coloring gel to
|
fa346fbc-b369-9f47-a8e9-f7f7279d314e
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|
Mahayana (Greater Vehicle) Buddhism. When it entered China, the Indian religion assimilated elements of Taoism and Confucianism and found practical expression in Ch'an (Zen) Buddhism. Chinese painting and poetry were permeated with these religious influences. Eventually, the several branches of Buddhism, along with Chinese literature and art, were introduced into Japan, where they came into contact with Shinto, the indigenous religion of the country. The search for the satori of Zen was associated with several typically Japanese forms of art—Noh, the tea ceremony, flower arranging and the code of chivalry. These religious and artistic influences all culminate in the Zen satori, or moment of enlightenment, the concept of which will be examined briefly later.
BUDDHISM, TAOISM AND CONFUCIANISM
Zen is a development of the Buddhism founded in India by <PERSON> in the sixth century B.C. In his first sermon, <PERSON> taught that there are two extremes to be avoided—sensual indulgence and self-mortification. By avoiding the two extremes he gained the enlightenment of the middle path. The Four Noble Truths of the middle path are, first, the Truth of Pain or Suffering—the pains of birth, old age, sickness, death, union with the unpleasant, separation from the pleasant and the pain of not obtaining what one wishes; secondly, the Truth of the Cause of Pain, which is craving—lustfulness, the craving for existence and the craving for nonexistence; thirdly, the truth of the Cessation of Pain: that is, the cessation of craving and detachment from it; and lastly, the Truth of the Path that Leads to the Cessation of Pain—the eightfold path, the final goal of which is Nirvana. Nirvana is a transcendent state free of craving, suffering and sorrow, the state of freedom from the self and absorption into the great Self, analogous to that of a candle held against the sun; the candle retains its identity yet merges with the light of the sun. The essence of the doctrine of <PERSON> may be summed up as transience and detachment—the transience of life and the detachment from its joys and sorrows which is necessary for the faithful. These two religious notions are prevalent in haiku.
As Buddhism developed, the earlier version came to be known as Hinayana or Theravada (Lesser Vehicle) Buddhism, a later version as Mahayana (Greater Vehicle). The essential difference between the two is that, whereas the goal of Hinayana Buddhism is Nirvana, Mahayana Buddhism teaches that men who attain Buddhahood should turn in compassion towards their fellow men, who are all capable of being saved. The Buddhist saints who help men to attain salvation are known as bodhisattvas. According to <PERSON> abridged version of The Lotus of the Wonderful Law, "through the inspiration and compassionate care of these bodhisattvas, all men may ultimately achieve salvation." As <PERSON>'s summary indicates, those who held the earlier teaching of <PERSON> did not necessarily receive the new doctrine with enthusiasm:
> [Buddha] is aware that many who have followed his earlier teachings, including the practice of severe disciplines, will feel cheated rather than be rejoiced . . . that Buddhahood is open
|
c2b9845f-1c33-afc1-711c-2d762717c84f
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|
it also imitates the "woof" that a dog might answer if asked the question. This mu or nothingness is the road to enlightenment.
While meditating on koan such as the anecdote of <PERSON>'s dog, the monks used haiku, haiga (haiku pictures) and other arts as disciplines to foster enlightenment and awareness of essences; according to <PERSON>, Director of Tokyo's National Museum, "a new kind of artistic endeavor was born as disciples tried to express spiritual concepts in objective form." <PERSON> explains the nature of existence as taught in Japanese Buddhism:
> Existence consists in the interplay of a plurality of elements whose true nature is indescribable and whose source is unknown. Combinations of these elements instantaneously flash into existence and instantaneously disappear, to be succeeded by new combinations of elements appearing in a strict causality. . . . The only concrete reality is the moment, which like the image from a single frame of motion picture film is. . . followed by a new and different frame and image. The visible world is therefore flamelike, shifting and evanescent, possessed of no durable validity.
It must be stressed that the Japanese artist, too, regards the world of perception as having no permanence, only brief flashes of actuality. He merely records; he does not interpret. He concentrates on single moments of time and space.
Bushido (the way of the warrior), based on Zen and Confucian principles, stresses frugality of life, benevolence and righteousness. Bushi means "samurai, warrior"; do means "way." Bushido is "the way of the samurai" or simply "chivalry." Loyalty to the warrior's lord is more important even than loyalty to the laws of the country or to the duties towards the family. If a conflict arose between the two, the duty to the lord should be performed, followed by seppuku (suicide by disembowelment) to atone for the offense against the law or against family ties. In modern Japan lifelong loyalty and service to one's employer go far beyond anything found in Western countries. Thus <PERSON>, a young man from a samurai family, first became interested in haiku out of loyalty to his young lord, a haikai-lover who died at an early age. The Zen frugality and simplicity of living arrangements; the mingled sense of pride and tragedy flowing from the spirit of sacrifice epitomized by samurai suicides; these are the chief contributions of bushido to haiku.
The Zen Buddhist concept of life as a succession of moments, whose meaning is to be captured by openness to the significance of each event as it occurs, gave birth to many new arts. One of these is cha no yu (the tea ceremony). According to Asano, its purpose was "to look quietly into oneself and to appreciate nature while meditating within a rustic teahouse." Each part of the teahouse is a work of art having a certain symbolism. The overhang of the roof above the entrance indicates the changeability of the weather and of human life. The opening is small (three feet square), so that the guest must humble himself by stooping. Outside
|
951e22c6-a2b0-b9d8-1f9d-25039dd726fb
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['7ee8593d-f225-873d-15f4-8f4eeacab657']
|
criniera del leone.
154. _turrito_ : simile a torre.
159. _monumento_ : <PERSON>, ricordo.
209. _tale qual sei_ : valoroso e nobile.
239. _ad invecchiar non venne_ : non giunse alla vecchiaia.
248. _con oltraggio_ : perché divine.
279. _commercio_ : uso.
297. _sconcio_ : disgrazia.
306. _propinate_ : bevete alla salute, brindate.
321. _ritroso_ : opposto.
325. _assiepati_ : eretti a guisa di barriera.
343. _gl'innanzi_ : i primi.
344. _verro_ : cinghiale.
345. _si converte_ : si volta.
375. _di costa_ : di fianco.
376. _Schedio_ : duce col fratello Epistrofo dei Focensi.
378. _correttor_ : re.
388. _alto_ : profondo.
419. _conobbe_ : riconobbe.
440. _èpate_ : fegato.— _corata_ : rispetto al testo greco, sta per diaframma.
442. _Peònia_ : regione tra la Macedonia e la Tracia.
443. _Asteropèo_ : altro figlio di Ippaso.
449. _s'avvolgendo_ : muovendosi qua e là.
473. _mutue_ : reciproche.
485. _<PERSON>_ : Nestore.
491. _dissolve_ : discioglie, infiacchisce.
494. _coreggiaio_ : lavorante di cuoi.
495. _rammollir_ : tendere, conciare.
508. _anche nell'ira_ : sebbene adirata contro i <PERSON>.
509. _commendata_ : lodata, ammirata.
513. _il grido_ : la notizia, la voce.
519-520. non pensa affatto che Patroclo possa abbattere le mura di Troia né con lui (<PERSON>) né senza di lui.
528. _su quell'esangue_ : su quel cadavere.
550. _colonna_ : pietra sepolcrale.
552. _giunti_ : accoppiati, aggiogati.
564. _quanto... ha spiro e moto_ : uomini e animali.
565. _miseria_ : infelicità.
569. _vampo ne meni_ : si insuperbisca.
573. _fermo_ : fermamente deciso.
580. _sublime_ : alto.
582. _<PERSON>_ : addolorato per la morte del compagno.
610. _Avvisossene_ : se ne avvide.
619-620. _<PERSON>_ : scudi fatti di cuoio ben asciutto e seccato.
627. _preciso_ : <PERSON>, impedito.
634. _modo_ : limite.
653. _il cinto_ : la fascia che proteggeva il ventre.
661. _tremando_ : oscillando, per la sua lunghezza.
664. _rase_ : sfiorò.
677. _glorïando_ : esultando.
695. _rompe_ : interrompe.
717. _polso_ : <PERSON>.
718. _impronta_ : <PERSON>, ostinata.
721. _torbido_ : <PERSON>, tumultuoso.
725. _per_ : da.
748. _fiammante_ : splendente.
757. _Polìdama_ : Polidamante.
759. _carpo_ : <PERSON>.
788. _diffuser_ : <PERSON>.
809-811. pensano che noi, <PERSON> dal poter sostenere l'invincibile assalto di Ettore, cadremo morti presso le nostre navi.
841. _ruina_ : <PERSON>, metaforicamente.
842. _facelle_ : tizzoni.
843. _lustro_ : bagliore.
858. _grido_ : fama.
883. _rimesse_ : affidate.
888. _rea_ : dolorosa.
907-908. _sotto all'esangue mettetevi_ : <PERSON> le spalle.
910. _noi_ : <PERSON>, con l'altro Aiace.
915. _difilossi_ : <PERSON>.
921. _grifo_ : si dice <PERSON>.
936. _esulta_ : sale in alto.
942. _da volar sull'onda_ : per una nave.
949. _devolve_ discende.
952. _tuttavolta_ : continuamente.
955. _mulacchie_ : <PERSON> (XVI, 819).
958. _volatìo_ : uccellame.
959. _ruina_ : impeto.
LIBRO DECIMOTTAVO
Tutta così qual fiamma arde la pugna.
Veloce messaggier correa frattanto
Antìloco ad Achille. Anzi all'eccelse
sue navi il trova, che nel cor già volge
5.
l'accaduto disastro, e nel segreto
della grand'alma sospirando, dice:
<PERSON>,
|
619828bd-8285-5bb3-55e9-114abf02e65b
|
['7ee8593d-f225-873d-15f4-8f4eeacab657']
|
il trafitto, e cupamente
l'armi sovr'esso rimbombar s'udiro.
Prole del fabbro Armònide, Fereclo
da Merïon fu spento. Era costui
75.
per tutte guise di lavori industri
maraviglioso, e a Pallade Minerva
caramente diletto. Opra fur sua
di Paride le navi, onde principio
ebbe il danno de' Teucri, e di lui stesso,
80.
perché i decreti degli Dei non seppe.
L'inseguì, lo raggiunse, lo percosse
nel destro clune Merïone, e sotto
l'osso vêr la vescica uscì la punta.
Gli mancâr le ginocchia, e guaiolando
85.
e cadendo il coprì di morte il velo.
Mege uccise Pedèo, bastarda prole
d'Antènore, cui l'inclita <PERSON>,
gratificando al suo consorte, avea
con molta cura nutricato al paro
90.
dei diletti suoi figli. Si fe' sopra
a costui coll'acuta asta <PERSON>, e alla nuca <PERSON> Trascorse
tra i denti il ferro, e gli tagliò la lingua.
Così concio egli cadde, e nella sabbia
95.
fe' tenaglia co' denti al freddo acciaro.
Ipsènore, <PERSON>
Dolopïon, <PERSON>
riverito qual Dio, fugge davanti
al chiaro germe d'Evemone Eurìpilo.
100.
<PERSON> e via correndo
tal gli cala su l'omero un fendente
che il braccio gli recide. Sanguinoso
casca il mozzo lacerto nella polve,
e la purpurea morte e il vïolento
105.
fato le luci gli abbuiâr. Di questi
tal nell'acerba pugna era il lavoro.
Ma di qual parte fosse <PERSON>,
se troiano od acheo, mal tu sapresti
discernere, sì fervido ei trascorre
110
il campo tutto; simile alla piena
di tumido torrente che cresciuto
dalle piogge di Giove, ed improvviso
precipitando i saldi ponti abbatte
debil freno alle fiere onde, e de' verdi
115.
campi i ripari rovesciando, ingoia
con fragor le speranze e le fatiche
de' gagliardi coloni: a questa guisa
sgominava il Tidìde e dissipava
le caterve de' Troi, che sostenerne
120.
non potean, benché molti, la ruina.
Come <PERSON> il vide sì furente
scorrere il campo, e tutte a sé dinanzi
scompigliar le falangi, alla sua mira
curvò subito l'arco, e l'irruente
125.
eroe percosse alla diritta spalla.
Entrò pel cavo dell'usbergo il crudo
strale, e forollo, e il sanguinò. <PERSON>,
forte allora gridò l'inclito figlio
di Licaon, magnanimi Troiani,
130.
stimolate i cavalli, ritornate
alla pugna. <PERSON> è degli Achei
il più forte guerrier, né credo ei possa
a lungo tollerar l'acerbo colpo,
se vano feritor non mi sospinse
135.
qua dalla Licia il re dell'arco Apollo.
<PERSON> il vantator. Ma domo
non restò da quel colpo <PERSON>,
che ritraendo il passo, e de' cavalli
coprendosi e del cocchio, al suo fedele
140.
Capaneìde si rivolse, e disse:
Corri, <PERSON>, <PERSON>,
e dall'omero tosto mi divelli
questo acerbo quadrel. — Diè un salto a terra
Stènelo e corse, e l'aspro stral gli svelse
145.
dall'omero trafitto. Per la maglia
dell'usbergo spicciava il caldo sangue,
e imperturbato sì l'eroe pregava:
Invitta figlia dell'Egìoco Giove,
se nelle ardenti pugne unqua a me fosti
150.
del tuo favor cortese e al mio gran padre,
odimi, o Dea Minerva, ed or di nuovo
m'assisti, e al tiro della lancia mia
manda
|
4ebb0270-acc5-a9af-87cf-7078c0ccf89b
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['7f1a1a48-8266-12b7-cbee-8fcc9baa41c5']
|
241.5 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## The Mad Woman
c. 1822
Oil on canvas, 41 x 33 cm
Musée des Beaux-Arts, Orléans
## The Orphan Girl at the Cemetery
1824
Oil on canvas
66 x 54 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## The Massacre of Chios
1822
Oil on canvas
419 x 354 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## The Massacre of Chios
Watercolour
33 x 30 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## A Mulatto Woman
c.1824
Oil on canvas
80 x 65 cm
Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France
## Horse Frightened by a Storm
1824
Watercolour
23.6 x 32 cm
Museum of Fine Arts (Budapest)
## Seated Nude, Mademoiselle Rose
1824
Oil on canvas
81 x 65 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Study of a Reclining Nude
1824
Oil on canvas
33 x 49.5 cm
Private Collection
## Two Knights Fighting in a Landscape
c.1824
Oil on canvas
81 x 100 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Two Views of a Standing Indian from Calcutta
1824
Oil on canvas
## Two Views of an Indian from Calcutta, Seated and Standing
1824
Oil on canvas
37.5 x 45.7 cm
Private Collection
## A Mortally Wounded Brigand Quenches his Thirst
1825
Oil on canvas
Kunstmuseum Basel, Basel, Switzerland
## The Duc d'Orleans Showing his Mistress to the Duc de Bourgogne
1825-26
Oil on canvas, 35,2 x 26,8 cm
Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid
## Odalisque
c.1825
Oil on canvas
Fitzwilliam Museum, University of Cambridge, UK
## The Natchez
1825
Oil on canvas
90.2 x 116.8 cm
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City
## <PERSON> Sitting Smoking on a Couch
1825
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Turk with a Saddle
1825
Oil on canvas
33 x 41 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Two Greek Warriors Dancing
1825
## Two Views of Costumes Souliotes
1825
## <PERSON> and <PERSON>
1826
Oil on canvas
33.5 x 27.5 cm
Private Collection
## Combat Between the Giaour and the Pasha
1826
## <PERSON> Dictates to his Daughters
1826
Oil on canvas
79 x 63 cm
## Female Nude Reclining on a Divan
1826
Oil on canvas
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Portrait of a Turk in a Turban
c.1826
Pastel on paper
47 x 38 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## The Bride of Lammermoor
1826
## The Execution of the Doge Marino Faliero
1826
Oil on canvas
145.6 x 113.8 cm
Wallace Collection, London
## Greece on the Ruins of Missolonghi
1826
Oil on canvas
209 x 147 cm
Musée des Beaux Arts, Bordeaux, France
## Faust and Mephistopheles
1826-7
Oil on canvas
The Wallace Collection, London
## Portrait of Baron Schwiter
1827
Oil on canvas
218 x 143 cm
National Gallery, London, UK
## Woman with a Parrot
1827
Oil on canvas
24.5 x 32.5 cm
Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lyon, France
## Odalisque Reclining on a Divan
1827-28
Oil on canvas, 37,8 x 46,4 cm
Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge
## Still Life with Lobsters
1827
Oil on canvas
80.5 x 106.5 cm
Musée
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1c28a206-e8fc-9389-55f6-b71f11086eb1
|
['7f1a1a48-8266-12b7-cbee-8fcc9baa41c5']
|
canvas
135 x 196 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## The Crusaders' Entry into Constantinople, 12th April 1204
1840
Oil on canvas
411 x 497 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## A Jewish Ophelia ng in Morocco
1841
Oil on canvas
105 x 140.5 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Christ on the Lake of Gennezaret
c. 1841
Oil on canvas,
46 x 54 cm
Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City
## Horse Attacked by Lioness
1842
## Bouquet of Flowers
1843
21.3 x 27.1 cm
Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France
## The Edge of a Wood at Nohant
1843
Watercolour
15.5 x 20.5 cm
National Gallery of Art, Washingon, DC, USA
## The Bride of Abydos
1843
Oil on canvas
35.5 x 27.5 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## The Death of Ophelia II
1844
Oil on canvas
## The Sultan of Morocco and His Entourage
1845
Oil on canvas
377 x 340 cm
Musee des Augustins, Toulouse, France
The Moroccan from the Sultan's Guard
c. 1845
Oil on canvas
Private collection
## Moroccan Military Exercises
c. 1845
Oil on canvas
## The Abduction of Rebecca
1846
Oil on canvas
100.3 x 81.9 cm
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City
## Attila the Hun
1847
Assemblee Nationale Palais-Bourbon, Paris, France
## Babylonian Captivity
c. 1847
221 x 292 cm
Bibliothek Palais Bourbon, Paris (France)
## A North African Jewess
1847
## Attila and his Hordes Overrun Italy and the Arts
1847
Bibliothek Palais Bourbon, Paris (France)
## Jewish Musicians in Morocco
1847
## Moroccan Fantasia
1847
Oil on canvas
66 x 81.5 cm
## Saint George Fighting the Dragon
1847
Oil on canvas
## The Muse of Orpheus
1847
## After the Shipwreck
1847
Oil on canvas
## The Entombment of Christ
1848
Oil on canvas
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MA, USA
## Othello and Desdemona
1849
Oil on canvas
50.8 x 62.2 cm
National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, Canada
## Study of Sky, Setting Sun
1849
<PERSON>
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Study of the Sky at Sunset
1849
<PERSON> on paper
19 x 24 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## The Porte d'Amont, Etretat
1849
<PERSON>
15.7 x 20.6 cm
Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France
## Cliff at Etretat
1849
## Vase of Flowers on a Console
1849
Oil on canvas
135 x 102 cm
Musee Ingres, Montauban, France
## Women of Algiers in Their Apartment
1849
Oil on canvas
84.14 x 111.13 cm
Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France
## Turkish Horseman
c. 1849
Oil on canvas
## An Arab Horseman at the Gallop
1849
Oil on canvas
Private Collection
## A Basket of Flowers Overturned in the Park
1848-9
Oil on canvas
New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art
## 1850's
## Arab Horseman Attacked by Lion
1850
Oil on panel
Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL, USA
## Bouquet of Flowers
1850
<PERSON>, watercolour
65 x 64 cm
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France
## Michelangelo in his Studio
1850
Oil on canvas
40 x 32 cm
Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France
## Moroccan Horseman
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ca963fcf-97b4-b641-5a86-0a0572721680
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['7fae3f8d-34a4-163e-6380-e6ee6fd3b9b3']
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But they also reviewed the intelligence community's responsiveness to the navy secretary's information needs on the case and sought to determine a better way for the intelligence community to support POW/MIA issues, which hadn't been addressed properly, and which was also their finding. Committee members learned, much to their dismay, that no comprehensive analytic review of all-source intelligence was produced on the fate of <PERSON> from the time his aircraft was shot down on January 17, 1991. Intelligence coverage gapped.
The SSCI, operating under its active oversight of <PERSON>'s case, passed the Intelligence Authorization Act, Section 304 of Senate 2507, 106th Congress (also referenced as Senate Report 106-279) dated May 4, 2000. The authorization act required the director of central intelligence to establish in the intelligence community "an analytic capability with responsibility for intelligence in support of the activities of the United States relating to prisoners of war and missing persons." The final version of this bill emphasized that the reason for the act was the inadequacy of the intelligence information provided in support of a Department of Defense decision to make a presumptive finding of death for <PERSON>. Another SSCI closed hearing on July 25, 2000, updated members on efforts to obtain the fullest possible accounting for <PERSON>. By that time the committee was deeply troubled that the navy's conclusion that <PERSON> was killed in action during the Gulf War did not reflect the information being provided by the intelligence community. Federal regulations are clear. A presumptive finding of death is made when a survey of all available sources of information indicate, beyond doubt, that the presumption of continuation of life has been overcome. Information that Congress had in hand didn't support that conclusion.
Closed session testimony varied widely. There was the camp that wanted <PERSON>'s status changed to MIA and there was the one that had strict instructions to do all it could to undermine the SSCI's investigation. CENTCOM commander army general <PERSON> sent a navy S-3 Viking pilot on his staff in Riyadh to Washington to do just that. Commander <PERSON> was told to do all he could to get the SSCI off the <PERSON> case. <PERSON> and his predecessor, Marine Corps general <PERSON>, did very little to help Senate investigators find CENTCOM documents pertaining to <PERSON>. They'd provided no information about any Special Forces activity nor black operations with <PERSON>'s name on them. <PERSON> was a "talking head." He'd been sent to muddy the investigation. But the SSCI didn't believe others' testimony blatantly intended to throw them off CENTCOM and its role in leaving <PERSON> behind – several times – by the very chain of command who'd sent him on his mission that night in January nearly a decade before.
The SSCI wanted documentation of <PERSON> whereabouts since the war, the years between 1991 and 1995 being a good start. They were looking for evidence that <PERSON> was with nomadic Bedouins. They were looking for the information and photographs from the Falcon Hunter. And they were looking for CIA
|
af68d13a-fe34-3a40-8eae-fd2faa30aeac
|
['7fae3f8d-34a4-163e-6380-e6ee6fd3b9b3']
|
had overstepped the bounds of their official government responsibilities on Katyn. Testimony offered before <PERSON>'s committee proved that the Voice of America, successor of the OWI, had failed to fully utilize available information concerning the Katyn massacre until the creation of the House Select Committee in 1951. The committee was thus not impressed with statements that publication of facts concerning the Katyn massacre, prior to 1951, would lead to an ill-fated uprising in Poland. Neither was it convinced by OWI officials' statements that, had Polish-Americans heard or read about the Katyn massacre in 1943, it would have resulted in their lessened participation in the Allied war effort.
The White House maintained its silence on the Katyn massacre for decades. The cover-up of the truth cost many Americans their lives, including men like <PERSON>. The case set a precedent and a pattern of behavior that gave America's enemies the road map to take down service members and get away with it. When America protected the Russians in the matter of Katyn forest, the White House showed the Kremlin that it didn't value human life and the truth anymore than it did.
The December 1952 conclusions of the House committee that studied the Katyn massacre found striking similarity between it and events taking place in Korea. "For 2 years the Soviets disavowed any knowledge of the vanished Polish officers and deceived the Polish government [-in-exile] in its search for these men," concluded the House Select Committee. "Today," the report concluded, "the Communists are similarly prolonging the Korean peace talks because they cannot account for the 8,000 American soldiers reported by General <PERSON> 'killed as war crimes victims.' There are many indications that Katyn was a blueprint for Korea." The White House's handling of the Katyn forest massacre was blueprint for far more than Korea.
When <PERSON> was asked by a member of <PERSON>'s committee if a firmer attitude toward the Soviets during the war would have helped avoid some of the trials and travails of postwar problems with North Korea, <PERSON> replied:
It is a very difficult thing to answer in the light of hindsight. As I look at it today, I think you are entirely correct. As we looked at it then, of course, the success of the war effort was the major effort; and I must remind the committee that the one overshadowing fear on the part of our military authorities at that time was a separate peace on the part of the Soviet Government with Germany.
Records unequivocally indicate that the Katyn massacre undermined Polish-Soviet relations throughout World War II, but also continue, in the present, to do the same. Katyn, as <PERSON>'s report observed, was a means to an end. The Soviets had plotted to take over Poland as early as 1939. The massacre of the lion's share of Poland's military officers and intelligentsia was designed to eliminate intellectual leadership that might have blocked Russia's ambitions for complete communization of Poland. Poland was one step of <PERSON> greater plan to communize Europe and, eventually, the
|
0acaffc5-6d40-212b-8934-94a00739297e
|
['7ff5d422-fa44-b915-2c52-d846c01ee4ef']
|
the trucks with gas in them and take all of the gas out of the garages. We're going to set Santiago on fire. Fifty-five-gallon tanks." Set Santiago on fire. Arroz con pollo. Betrayal. In some of my biographies (the detail appears in many of them), I've read that once, when I was a child, I asked my father for some money, probably a couple of cents, and before his refusal to part with these little coins, I tried to cause a fire in the house at Birán, set fire to it, reduce it to ashes. If I remember correctly, they even mention some charred wood, some damage that I was able to unleash before they found me with a torch in hand. In the end, the house was burned down years later in the blink of an eye because of a lit cigar that the old man had forgotten in the loft. I'm amused that my biographers should be unaware of what I wanted to do to Santiago the day of the triumph of the Revolution because it would have allowed them to explain my pyromaniacal tendencies when I don't get what I want, whether it be some coins from my father or the surrender of the Republic.
PERHAPS BURNING DOWN the country's second-largest city was dramatic to an extreme and I accept that I had images of a crazed <PERSON> and the Chicago fire of October 8, 1871, going through my head. Let's be serious now: it's not that I give free rein to my imagination, to my temper tantrums; but it so happens that sometimes people don't realize that I'm just like everyone else, except that I can do whatever I please and am able to do it all. Who's going to hold me back? The same thing happened with that kid, that captain of ours, whom I was going to execute. Looking at it very closely now: how was I going to kill a brave guy in front of an entire town, regardless of how fascinated the people would be by the spectacle? That head—which was where I was going to shoot him—exploding like a pumpkin under the fire of my FAL, who would erase that from the history of the Cuban Revolution? In any event it was about doing something noteworthy because I really didn't know what was happening in the capital.
The Cuban Revolution has never been more vulnerable than at that moment, when it was victorious. The hours that passed between my hearing <PERSON>'s plane and my being able to sit down in the capital and control the Directorate and dissolve the army, when all ends were still loose, those were the most fucked-up hours.
In the end, we were never going to be more like each other, at least at that stage: <PERSON> and me. The general spoiling his army, I flattering it with promises of sinecures even when I arrived at Columbia, the country's main military facility, to the west of Havana, and joked with the soldiers in my speech when I told
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0ace26ab-a1cf-9a19-cb0a-a963782ff5df
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['7ff5d422-fa44-b915-2c52-d846c01ee4ef']
|
very difficult to carry out my revolutionary plan from within its ranks. That's why I had to choose: to become a disciplined member of the Communist Party or to create a revolutionary organization that could act under Cuban conditions.
He was also distrustful of them, since the period between 1940 and 1944 when they had had two ministers in <PERSON>'s government.
The Communists were no less distrustful: <PERSON> was, in their view, a hothead and adventurer who did not fit their strict cadre system; he treated the pure doctrine of Marxism-Leninism not as an absolute, but only as a building block for his own _fidelista_ conception of social revolution. For the Communists, then, there was no future in <PERSON> and his plans. Nevertheless, some of the closest comrades in his movement were either young Communists or people influenced by Communism; indeed, his own brother <PERSON> became a member of the Communist Youth in 1953. <PERSON>, who in those days had been part of <PERSON>'s inner circle, later told <PERSON>:
In our ranks in that period there was never talk about Communism, socialism or Marxism-Leninism as an ideology, but we did speak of the day when the revolution would come to power, that all the estates of the aristocracy must then be handed over to the people and must be used by the children for whom we are fighting.
With a group of handpicked comrades, <PERSON> spent months carefully preparing his action against <PERSON>; they also eventually composed a victory anthem and drew up a manifesto. His plan was to capture the massive Moncada fortress in Santiago de Cuba, to break open its arsenal of weapons, and to spark a popular uprising in the east of Cuba that would spread to the whole country and bring the regime crashing down. Only his closest associates were in the know – one of these being <PERSON>, who, in the event of success at Moncada, had the task of broadcasting the news over the radio.
On July 24, 1953, the 162 people selected for the attack were sent in small groups from Havana to the rented "El Siboney" chicken farm a couple of miles east of Santiago. When <PERSON> disclosed the plan there, some of them recoiled in horror: 10 wanted to pull out and were placed in detention. The weapons at their disposal for the dangerous undertaking were relatively modest. <PERSON> – a mulatto bricklayer from Oriente Province who, half a century later, was still said to be <PERSON>'s most loyal and influential follower – recalled: "I waited for my rifle like the <PERSON>. When I saw that the one they gave me was a .22-calibre [hunting rifle] I froze up."
In histories of Cuba published under <PERSON>, Sunday, July 26, 1953, marks the official beginning of his revolution. At 5:15 a.m., 111 men and two women (<PERSON> and <PERSON>) in ill-fitting uniforms set off in 26 American limousines on the road to the Moncada Barracks, which on that day were occupied by some 700 troops. At the same
|
1c6b64e1-0260-04d5-ee50-1b6b9c6d1c31
|
['807044da-1cbb-fb34-2b85-1a2a3fe3a611']
|
of hoofs and the soft jingle of accouterments. The sounds seemed terrifyingly close and, listening intently, he could hear the squeak of leather and the rumble of voices. Then the murmur began to recede and after a few moments died away altogether in an easterly direction. After a pause <PERSON> crawled to the summit of the fold, returning almost at once, beaming with relief.
"They gone by up the river," he said. "If we wait on a bit we c'n get down to the ditch!"
In the brief interval of waiting <PERSON> listened to the wheezing breath of the drummer-boy, lying where <PERSON> had flung him, his pallid face calm but expressionless and a wide smudge of dirt across his cheek and forehead. He looked infinitely pitiful and <PERSON> passed his hand lightly across the boy's face, trying to remove some of the dirt. <PERSON> opened his eyes and stared back, moving his lips as though he wished to say something, but apparently he found the effort too much for him, for he gave a long shudder and closed his eyes again.
<PERSON> was beckoning eagerly from the top of the slope now and <PERSON> said, "Lie still, boy, I'm carrying you to cover. We're almost there, you understand?" He gathered him up and went on over the brow of the slope, then down a steeper patch to the welcome cover of the ditch.
It was a narrow irrigation channel about five feet in depth, with a thick growth of weeds on each side. There was about three inches of stagnant water at the bottom, but they jumped into it, grateful for the shelter. <PERSON> left <PERSON> with <PERSON>, to splash along to a culvert that ran out of the ditch at right angles and then under the road along which the dragoons had trotted. A mile or so to the east he could see the sun sparkling on their casques, but they were nothing to worry about now, he decided. What concerned him at the moment was <PERSON>, who was clearly incapable of marching another step. Some kind of shelter would have to be found for him until they could set about contacting a gunboat, and he looked about him anxiously for signs of one of the grain pits which <PERSON> had mentioned earlier. Seeing none, he ducked through the culvert under the road. The swift flow of water in the ditch told him that the river must be close, for he could hear the roar of its outfall at the far end. The water reached his waist as he entered the brick tunnel at the end of the ditch, but he pushed on, feeling his way step by step. The tunnel would have been an ideal place for concealment had there been a dry spot in it, but in the dim light coming from each end he could see smooth, unbroken walls, festooned with slime and weed.
Fifty yards farther on he emerged, to find that his guess had been accurate. The outfall led directly to the shingle beach of
|
be2a2030-4e36-6af6-2d5a-e474ba01c4d5
|
['807044da-1cbb-fb34-2b85-1a2a3fe3a611']
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far as the old monastery. Then the French troop sergeant decided that the stragglers were beyond pursuit and called off his troopers, telling them to light fires in the open street and set about making horse litters for the wounded. He paused for a moment to look down at the dead lieutenant, whose insistence upon a second charge in daylight had cost the squadron an extra five casualties, and then he walked over to look at <PERSON>, who they said had held the porch alone with nothing but a bayonet and had sent two more troopers into the shades before he went down under the final rush. Swiftly, when no one was looking, the Frenchman raised his saber in salute. It was a compliment that he had not paid his own dead.
<PERSON> had never considered following any career but that of a soldier. As a second son he had resigned himself to seeing estate and fortune pass to his elder brother, and when he was a child lead soldiers and toy swords had been his playthings, military glory his dreams. His idealized conception of war had survived the officers' training course at Hythe and the experience of the voyage in a cramped transport, but during the long march north from Lisbon his notions of a soldier's life had undergone some radical changes. Until then he had seen himself as an inspirer of wavering men standing fast against a resolute foe, or advancing in faultless formation across a background of meadows and standing corn. In this stirring setting there had indeed been a few reminders that sometimes soldiers got killed. One or two corpses had lain about at his feet in composed and graceful attitudes, and in more introspective moods he had himself received a clean flesh wound which did not, however, prevent him from continuing in action. The nagging responsibility of the long march over the previous two days had tarnished this idyllic picture somewhat, but it was the encounter with the lancers that had obliterated the picture. The corpse of the Welshman <PERSON> lying in front of the porch had looked not graceful but obscene, with blood flowing from the mouth and the eyes glazed in terror, whereas the body of the lancer shot down by the camp follower had looked grotesquely comic, with one stockinged leg flung over the high boot and the shako crushed under the head.
Sergeant <PERSON> could have told him that even the least sensitive soldier carries to his grave the sense of horror that accompanies the spectacle of the first men killed in action, but <PERSON> himself was now lying among the debris of battle in the plaza and <PERSON> was alone with his six survivors and the problem finding a way through the mountains to the British lines. As yet it was this problem that obsessed him, but beyond it, tucked away almost out of sight, was the repellent specter of fear, fear of wounds and pain, of disgrace and ignominy, but above all fear of death at the hands of the savage
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fce89366-fb21-48b9-b1b1-be1f3089ee78
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['809c49d1-3995-78aa-b4ac-6d8986923cb6']
|
<PERSON>'s policy came from senators of both parties who argued that the Sherman Act, in which the word _consumer_ never appears, was meant "not to lower prices but to protect the independent entrepreneur and to prevent a few among us from using our political and economic institutions to concentrate power in their own hands."
# 2.
Why do antitrust laws matter, besides occasionally helping the little guy compete against corporate giants? To answer that question, we need to know that the fear of monopoly goes back to the founders of the American republic and the epic battle between <PERSON> and <PERSON>. <PERSON>, of course, represented the commercial power of New York and the financiers who held the bonds that financed the revolution. <PERSON>, the man of the people, had been sent to France in 1784 and became our minister to the country that had also helped finance the revolution. While he was there, the meetings in Philadelphia to draw up the Constitution were going on, and <PERSON> had to represent <PERSON>'s point of view in the formation of the document. <PERSON>'s major objection was that it included no bill of rights. He wrote <PERSON> from Paris, having read the first draft.
I will now add what I do not like. First, the omission of a bill of rights, providing clearly, and without the aid of sophism, for freedom of religion, freedom of the press, protection against standing armies, **restriction against monopolies** [emphasis added], the eternal and unremitting force of the habeas corpus laws, and trials by jury in all matters of fact triable by the laws of the land, and not by the laws of Nations.
Eventually, with <PERSON>'s help, he got the assembled delegates to write the Bill of Rights, but the one clause <PERSON>'s Federalists fought fiercely was "restriction of monopolies." From his perch in Europe, <PERSON> had firsthand knowledge of the corrupting power employed by monopolies such as the British East India Company. The company, which had an absolute monopoly on English trade in India and China, became so rich and powerful that in 1708 it loaned the nearly bankrupt British treasury three million pounds in return for extending its monopoly for a much longer period. <PERSON> also observed that the monopoly rents (the extraction of extra profit from a monopoly) the officers of the company enjoyed allowed them to come home to England and establish sprawling estates and businesses and to obtain political power. The company developed a lobby in Parliament that was so powerful that they could write legislation pledging British military might to protect their private trade routes. <PERSON> had also read of the Great Bengal Famine of 1770, which resulted in the deaths of ten million people. The British East India Company forced Bengal farmers to grow opium—which the company intended to export to China—instead of food crops, resulting in a shortage of grain for the local inhabitants. <PERSON> saw the havoc that unrestrained monopoly could deliver.
<PERSON> wanted to have it both ways, believing that capital should be free to influence
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820113aa-8416-6b0d-6708-4b767dcab844
|
['809c49d1-3995-78aa-b4ac-6d8986923cb6']
|
log on through a dial-up modem and have real-time text conversations on a variety of subjects. In his 1972 _Rolling Stone_ article, <PERSON> identified these enthusiasts as "hackers," saying, "The hackers are the technicians of this science—It's a term of derision and also the ultimate compliment. They are the ones who translate human demands into code that the machines can understand and act on. They are legion. Fanatics with a potent new toy." The early WELL guidelines were very clear about intellectual property, as stated on the log-on screen: "You own your own words. This means that you are responsible for the words you post on the WELL, and that reproduction of those words without your permission in any medium outside the WELL's conferencing system may be challenged by you, the author."
But in 1989 something weird happened. The notion of the "hacker ethic" became a contested trope. It started with an online forum on the WELL organized by _Harper's Magazine_. The subject was hacking, and <PERSON>, a _Harper's_ editor, had recruited <PERSON> and a few of his most important WELL members, including <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, to participate. <PERSON>, a shaggy, bearded man with a fondness for colorful cowboy shirts, is a true American character. He is a failed Wyoming rancher, a former Catholic mystic, and a former Grateful Dead lyricist. He was also an early proponent of cyberspace as the new American frontier—as lawless as <PERSON> Tombstone. <PERSON> wanted it to stay that way, but his romantic notion of the hacker as countercultural brigand was about to be confronted with something more real and more dangerous.
In the spirit of a hacker forum, the _Harper's_ editor invited two real hackers, identified only as <PERSON> and <PERSON>, to join the discussion. The debate over the definition of _hacker_ soon got pretty heated. <PERSON> set the scene in _From Counterculture to Cyberculture_ :
Among WELL regulars like... <PERSON>, hackers were cybernetic counterculturalists, creatures devoted to establishing a new, more open culture by any electronic means necessary. For Acid Phreak, hackers were break-in artists devoted to exploring and exploiting weaknesses in closed and especially corporate systems.
<PERSON> kept insisting that a computer network was like a small Wyoming town where people left their doors unlocked, but <PERSON> would have none of it. In a fit of youthful fury, he hacked <PERSON>'s credit report and posted it on the WELL. Now the young hackers had <PERSON> hooked. He wanted to hang out with them. Maybe all his <PERSON> fantasies were tied up in these kids, but it ended badly. On January 24, 1990, the Secret Service raided the apartment where <PERSON> was living with his mother. By the end of the day <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and a third hacker, <PERSON>, were in a New York City jail, accused of hacking the main AT&T computer system.
And that is where <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and their fellow communards changed course. Instead of recalibrating the hacker ethic in line with their earlier goals, they embraced
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a5192188-48c8-ef5b-97e4-ff42b6e8550f
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'Like the classical physicists facing quantum mechanics. As if a theory you've always believed has been superseded, and the new one makes no sense, but somehow all the evidence supports it.'
'No, it's not like that at all.' Her dismissal was almost contemptuous. 'This has nothing to do with evidence; it's all a priori.'
'How is that different? Isn't it just the evidence of your reasoning then?'
'Christ, are you joking? It's the difference between my measuring one and two to have the same value, and my intuiting it. I can't maintain the concept of distinct quantities in my mind anymore; they all feel the same to me.'
'You don't mean that,' he said. 'No one could actually experience such a thing; it's like believing six impossible things before breakfast.'
'How would you know what I can experience?'
'I'm trying to understand.'
'Don't bother.'
<PERSON>'s patience was gone. 'All right then.' He walked out of the room and canceled their reservations.
They scarcely spoke after that, talking only when necessary. It was three days later that <PERSON> forgot the box of slides he needed, and drove back to the house, and found her note on the table.
Carl intuited two things in the moments following. The first came to him as he was racing through the house, wondering if she had gotten some cyanide from the chemistry department: it was the realization that, because he couldn't understand what had brought her to such an action, he couldn't feel anything for her.
The second intuition came to him as he was pounding on the bedroom door, yelling at her inside: he experienced déjà vu. It was the only time the situation would feel familiar, and yet it was grotesquely reversed. He remembered being on the other side of a locked door, on the roof of a building, hearing a friend pounding on the door and yelling for him not to do it. And as he stood there outside the bedroom door, he could hear her sobbing, on the floor paralyzed with shame, exactly the same as he had been when it was him on the other side.
**8**
<PERSON> once said, 'If mathematical thinking is defective, where are we to find truth and certitude?'
**8a**
Would her suicide attempt brand her for the rest of her life? <PERSON> wondered. She aligned the corners of the papers on her desk. Would people henceforth regard her, perhaps unconsciously, as flighty or unstable? She had never asked <PERSON> if he had ever felt such anxieties, perhaps because she never held his attempt against him. It had happened many years ago, and anyone seeing him now would immediately recognize him as a whole person.
But <PERSON> could not say the same for herself. Right now she was unable to discuss mathematics intelligibly, and she was unsure whether she ever could again. Were her colleagues to see her now, they would simply say, She's lost the knack.
Finished at her desk, <PERSON> left her study and walked into the living room. After her formalism circulated through the academic
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Sometimes when he looked at the vault, he felt as if the world had flipped around somehow, and if he lost his footing he would fall upward to meet it. When the vault did appear to rest above his head, it had an oppressive _weight_. The vault was a stratum as heavy as all the world, yet utterly without support, and he feared what he never had in the mines: that the ceiling would collapse upon him.
Too, there were moments when it appeared as if the vault were a vertical cliff face of unimaginable height rising before him, and the dim earth behind him was another like it, and the tower was a cable stretched taut between the two. Or worst of all, for an instant it seemed that there was no up and no down, and his body did not know which way it was drawn. It was like fearing the height, but much worse. Often he would wake from an unrestful sleep, to find himself sweating and his fingers cramped, trying to clutch the brick floor.
<PERSON> and many of the other miners were bleary-eyed too, though no one spoke of what disturbed their sleep. Their ascent grew slower, instead of faster as their foreman <PERSON> had expected; the sight of the vault inspired unease rather than eagerness. The regular pullers became impatient with them. <PERSON> wondered what sort of people were forged by living under such conditions; how did they escape madness? Did they grow accustomed to this? Would the children born under a solid sky scream if they saw the ground beneath their feet?
Perhaps men were not meant to live in such a place. If their own natures restrained them from approaching heaven too closely, then men should remain on the earth.
When they reached the summit of the tower, the disorientation faded, or perhaps they had grown immune. Here, standing upon the square platform of the top, the miners gazed upon the most awesome scene ever glimpsed by men: far below them lay a tapestry of soil and sea, veiled by mist, rolling out in all directions to the limit of the eye. Just above them hung the roof of the world itself, the absolute upper demarcation of the sky, guaranteeing their vantage point as the highest possible. Here was as much of Creation as could be apprehended at once.
The priests led a prayer to <PERSON>; they gave thanks that they were permitted to see so much, and begged forgiveness for their desire to see more.
And at the top, the bricks were laid. One could catch the rich, raw smell of tar, rising out of the heated cauldrons in which the lumps of bitumen were melted. It was the most earthy odor the miners had smelled in four months, and their nostrils were desperate to catch a whiff before it was whipped away by the wind. Here at the summit, where the ooze that had once seeped from the earth's cracks now grew solid to hold bricks in place, the earth was growing
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krig, såvida de inte är _ad populi salutem_ 144 och är alldeles nödvändiga. _Odimus accipitrem, quia semper vivit in armis._ 145 __Anfallskrig godtar jag inte, såvida de inte är rättfärdiga. Ty jag prisar gärna det som <PERSON> sade till <PERSON>, enligt <PERSON>: »Det hade varit en välsignelse för er och för oss, om <PERSON> hade fått våra föregångare att inse att ni borde nöja er med Italien, vi med Afrika. Varken Sicilien eller Sardinien är ju värda så stora kostnader och sådan pina, så många skepp och så många soldater, och att så många berömda befälhavare skulle dö.« _Omnia prius tentanda,_ först prövar man allt annat. _Peragit tranquilla potestas, Quod violenta nequit._ 146 Jag kommer att beordra försiktighet, ty det är <PERSON> som är min general och inte Minucius,147 _nam qui consilio nititur plus hostibus nocet, quam qui sine animi ratione, viribus._ 148 I sådana <PERSON> gäller det att så långt som möjligt undvika massdöd, nedbrända städer, barnmassakrer och så vidare. När det gäller försvarskrig, så kommer jag att ha styrkor klara med kort varsel, på land och till sjöss, en förberedd flotta, soldater _in procinctu, et quam Bonfinius apud Hungaros suos vult, virgam ferream_ 149 _,_ dessutom pengar, som är _nervus belli_ 150 _,_ också i beredskap, och en tillräcklig avkastning, en tredjedel bestämd för det allmänna, som i gamla Rom och Egypten; detta för att undvika dessa tunga skatter och pålagor och för att bestrida krigsutgifter, liksom alla andra allmänna slöserier, utgifter och avgifter, pensioner, reparationer, enkla idrotter, festligheter, donationer, belöningar och nöjen. Allt sådant skall <PERSON> uträtta efter moget övervägande: _ne quid temere, ne quid remisse ac timide fiat_ 151 _; Sed quod feror hospes?_ 152 __Att gå vidare med allt som återstår skulle kräva en volym. _Manum de tabella_ 153 _,_ jag har tjatat för länge om detta ämne. Jag kunde gärna ströva vidare men mina strama villkor tillåter det inte.
[---]154
Om någon nu skulle undra <PERSON> tror mig vara, som dristar mig till att gå till rätta med andra, _Tu nullane habes vitia?_ Har då inte jag några fel? Å jo, fler än du, vem du än är. _Nos numerus sumus_ 155 _,_ jag kan inte annat än medge att jag är lika narraktig och galen som alla andra.
> _Insanus vobis videor, non deprecor ipse,_
>
> _Quo minus insanus._
>
> (Du tror att jag är galen, jag har inga invändningar, om än mindre galen – Petronius)
Jag förnekar det inte, _demens de populo dematur_ 156 _._ Trösten är att jag har talrika olycksbröder, också högst bemärkta sådana. Och även om jag inte är så rättvis eller grannlaga som jag borde vara, så är det inte heller så galet med mig som du kanske tror.
För att nu avsluta. Vi får bara inse att hela världen är melankolisk, att vi alla är galna eller fjolliga; därmed har <PERSON> fullgjort mitt uppdrag och visat till fullo det som jag föresatte mig att visa. Så jag har inget mer att säga. _His sanam mentem Democritus._ 157 __<PERSON> och till var och
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b9d72db6-caa2-fe68-1c0e-6a5329e566c1
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fere, et duas alias sorores d mortem vulneravit._ 244 __Om honom kunde man verkligen säga att dryckenskap ger glädje, dryckenskap orsakar elände, _vino dari laetitiam et dolorem,_ dryckenskap orsakar »fattigdom och brist«245, skam och vanära. _Multi ignobiles evasere ob vini potum, et_ (säger Augustinus*) _amissis honoribus profugi aberrarunt:_ många olyckliga har ruinerat sig på vin och går omkring som landstrykare och tiggare. De har förvandlat allt vad de har till _aurum potabile_ 246 _._ De kunde ha haft ett fromt och lyckligt liv, men för några korta glädjestunder, eller <PERSON>, som <PERSON>* kallar det, har de skaffat sig bekymmer och evigt elände.
Den andra galenskapen handlar om kvinnor. _Apostatare facit cor,_ säger den vise, _atque homini cerebrum minuit._ 247 I förstone behagar hon, som <PERSON>' oleander, som är vacker att betrakta men giftig att smaka, »men till slut blir hon bitter som malört, vass som ett tveeggat svärd.«248 »Från hennes hus går vägen till dödsriket, till <PERSON> den ner.«249 Värre kan det väl inte bli? De är olyckliga i detta liv, <PERSON>, som djur, de leds som »oxen till slakt«250 – och vad värre är, <PERSON> <PERSON>, _amittunt <PERSON>,_ <PERSON>*, <PERSON>, incurrunt damnationem aeternam:_ de förlorar nåd och ära, drar på sig evig fördömelse.
> _Brevis illa voluptas_
>
> _Abrogat aeternum coeli decus_
>
> (Ögonblickets nöje berövar honom himlens eviga sällhet)
## Underavdelning XV
_Kärlek till lärdom eller övermått av studier. Med en digression om de lärdes elände och varför muserna hänger sig åt melankoli._
<PERSON>*, <PERSON>*, <PERSON>* talar om ett speciellt ursinne som kommer av övermått av studier. <PERSON> betraktar studier, kontemplation och ihärdig meditation som särskilt skäl till galenskap och anför samma ord i sin 86:e paragraf. <PERSON> _studium vehemens_ 251 __bland andra orsaker och detsamma gör <PERSON>*. »Mången man«, säger han, »anfäktas av denna sjukdom på grund av ihärdiga studier och nattvaka, och av alla människor är de lärde mest utsatta för det»; och <PERSON>, tilllägger <PERSON>, »som annars har de finaste förståndsgåvor.« <PERSON>* håller <PERSON> som en av den lärdes fem huvudsakliga åkommor, det är något om drabbar dem alla så att den nästan kan betraktas som en oskiljaktig ledsagare. <PERSON> talar om _tristes philosophos et severos_ 252 _;_ de lärde kallas ofta allvarsamma, sorgsna, torra, sura; och <PERSON>, i sin furstespegel, anser inte att fursten bör bli boklärd. Detta eftersom studier (<PERSON>) försvagar deras kroppar, förslöar deras själskrafter, dämpar deras styrka och mod; och en framstående lärd är aldrig en god soldat, vilket en viss got förstod, ty när <PERSON> trängde in i Grekland, och föresatte sig att bränna alla deras böcker protesterade han högljutt emot detta, det skulle de absolut inte göra; »låt dem behålla denna pest, som i sinom tid kommer att förbruka all deras kraft och krigiska förmåga.« Turkarna avsatte <PERSON>, som skulle ha ärvt imperiet, eftersom han var så fördjupad i sin bok; och det är en allmän uppfattning att lärdom förslöar och förminskar själskrafterna och därför, _per consequens,_ förorsakar melankoli.
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me, <PERSON>. B-E-Z-E-L-L-I-A!" I was screaming so loudly my mother took two steps back, afraid, I imagine, that the force of my words might knock her right down. But I just kept firing.
"Being by the water has nothing to do with this, and you know it! That's exactly what you told us when we were little. And if you remember, <PERSON> cried and begged you to let her stay home. But that didn't matter to you then, so I guess there's no reason to think it's going to matter to you now." My mother began to step backward, hoping, I guess, to take refuge among her flowers. But I pressed on.
"You just wanted to go about your very important business. Remember, Mother, playing cards with your friends and getting so drunk <PERSON> would have to carry you home? So don't start acting like you're doing the _loving_ thing here by sending <PERSON> away where no one will see her knitting or making mud pies or anything else that embarrasses you. And I don't know what this Reverend <PERSON> is telling you, Mother, but you need to start listening to those of us who still love you—who haven't abandoned you or who don't just want your money. Whatever soul you've got left, apparently he'd sell to the devil himself."
And by the time I was done, I was standing directly in front of my mother, digging my shoes into the soft, warm dirt. She raised the metal scissors toward my face and gripped the flowers, now surely suffocating in her grasp, even harder. "That's enough, <PERSON>. Just watch your mouth," Mother shrieked, drenching us both with her anger and hate. And for once my name sounded so ugly that I wished she hadn't said it at all. "Do you have any idea what I've been through? Do you have any idea how long it's taken me to get <PERSON> to the point she's at now? Do you? Do you?" Mother rambled on, her voice sounding more and more shrill with every syllable she spit into that garden.
"What point is that, Mother? Tell me, what point is that? Holed up in the house knitting baby booties?"
"I think you better shut your mouth. You don't know what you're talking about. Being away at college has certainly given you a healthy dose of attitude. But listen to me, Sister, it has been damn difficult since the tragic event. You wouldn't understand. You haven't been here. But since I'm the one left to deal with this mess, I will be the one making the decisions about what is best for this family."
"Lord, Mother, you can't even say it. There was no _tragic event_. There was an accident. And if _it_ wasn't an accident, well, hell, the Lord's going to forgive you for that too. Father didn't treat you right. We all know that. Everybody in Nashville knows that. And his death, however it happened, maybe it's the best thing that ever happened to you. What do you think, Mother?"
My mother could
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['82394062-3f6d-0ff6-cf7c-3a4a620b1c9d']
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causing her head to hurt. My sister just lay on the floor kicking and screaming, and Mother went and fixed herself another gin and tonic.
I was never sure if it was chairing the gala or talking to Mrs. <PERSON> on the telephone every day that delighted my mother most. Mrs. <PERSON> was a beautiful woman, as all Mother's friends were. Her hair was light blond and stylishly short, curled and teased into a very attractive bob. She never went anywhere without wearing high-heeled shoes and two-piece suits, and always pinned to her jacket's lapel was a large, diamond-encrusted H. My mother admired that pin very much. And before long, she was consulting Mrs. <PERSON> about everything—invitations, caterers, menus, even her children.
<PERSON> and I quickly found ourselves wearing matching taffeta dresses and waltzing every Tuesday afternoon with a bunch of other kids who looked as perfect and as miserable as we did. My sister, however, learned almost on the spot that if she'd stomp and snort loud enough, Mother would leave her at home. Oh, Mother would threaten <PERSON> with a spanking that she would never forget, and my sister would retaliate by screaming even louder and clutching Baby Stella tightly against her chest. Then Mother would, inevitably, leave them both behind, but only as she reminded me that I was very privileged to be dancing with Mrs. <PERSON>'s children.
One afternoon I simply refused to go. I told my mother that there was nothing particularly privileged about holding some boy's sweaty hand while he stood on my left foot. She immediately lowered her body so her face was directly in front of mine. And with her finger pointed sharply in front of my nose, she said that when she was a little girl she would have _given_ her left foot to dance with a <PERSON>. And I obviously did not appreciate what had been handed to me on one very old, albeit slightly tarnished, silver spoon. Then she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the car.
Besides, she said, I was now old enough to understand that worthwhile relationships were not rooted in the foolish affairs of the heart. She had learned the hard way that there were only three things of value to look for in a man. One, he wears cashmere. Two, he drives a convertible. And three, he glides across the dance floor. Anything more than that, Mother said, should not be of any importance to me, now or ever. I asked her if that was all she had looked for in my father. She simply tilted her head back and laughed. But from where I was sitting, it seemed that being a good wife had much more to do with impressing other wives than it did dancing with your own husband.
Mrs. <PERSON> flew to New York to buy a triple strand of pearls with a diamond clasp. She came to Grove Hill straight from the airport so she could flaunt her bejeweled neck in front of her dear, envious friend. My mother
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65a14f60-618d-9631-354f-3e888e9ba04a
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['832be7b4-a0cd-742b-a939-b151abee027e']
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and pitched mostly in relief the rest of the year. Rather than the brilliant <PERSON>, who arrived with such high expectations, it was <PERSON> who pitched more effectively, even if not as impressively, in 1925. Notwithstanding second place and staying in contention until late August, <PERSON>'s budding great team was still not ready.
* * *
Notwithstanding seventh place and never being in contention in 1925, the Yankees were a much better ballclub when they broke spring training in 1926, perhaps the best in the league before having played a single regular-season game. With <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON> in the lead, the Yankees had one of the strongest pitching staffs in baseball. The Babe was fully recovered and much better behaved, having learned the previous September that owner <PERSON> was fully behind <PERSON> in any contest of supremacy between superstar player and manager. The final pieces essential to the Yankees' resurgence that year were a pair of rookies to stabilize the middle of the infield—<PERSON> playing second base and <PERSON> at shortstop. The fact that <PERSON>, like <PERSON>, was an average player with a relatively short career as a regular belied his importance to the Yankees' success. <PERSON>, by contrast, was a dangerous hitter whose 12 years in pinstripes earned him the Hall of Fame. He was also the first in a line of players of Italian American heritage important in the making of New York Yankees history that included <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON> were all from San Francisco, and <PERSON> was from Berkeley, also in the Bay Area. Nearly blowing their seemingly safe 10-game lead on August 23 to win the pennant by 3½ games, and then losing the World Series, the Yankees gave no evidence of the juggernaut they would be in 1927.
Right-hander <PERSON> had the best season of his Hall of Fame career with the 1927 Yankees when he went 22–7. _George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress)._
<PERSON> breakout, particularly as a home-run threat nearly on par with the Babe, was the catalyst to their epic 110-win season. Now opposing teams were forced to pick their poison, because pitching around <PERSON> meant having to deal with <PERSON>. The two Yankees sluggers vied with each other for the league lead in home runs all summer before <PERSON> finally pulled away with 17 big blasts in September to reach 60, leaving <PERSON> far behind. <PERSON>, who had 41 compared to <PERSON>'s 43 going into the final month, finished with 47 homers, but led the league with 52 doubles and 173 RBIs while batting .373. He was the American League MVP—a completely legitimate selection even though <PERSON> was not eligible because the rules at the time precluded any player who had previously won the award, which the Babe had in 1923. Although the Yankees won 101 games in 1928 to win a third straight pennant, their margin of victory was only 2½ games over Philadelphia.
<PERSON> completed his dynasty-rebuilding project in 1928
|
0453c967-8a44-d6d9-97bb-184cf64c3b28
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['832be7b4-a0cd-742b-a939-b151abee027e']
|
<PERSON> again led the league with 147 RBIs. He batted .374. In 1930, <PERSON> hit .379—his career high—and led the league in runs batted in for the third time with 173; the next year, <PERSON>'s 163 runs, 211 hits, 46 homers, and 185 RBIs were tops in the league; and in 1934, the last year he and <PERSON> played together, <PERSON> won the Triple Crown, batting .363 with 49 home runs and 161 RBIs. <PERSON> batted .338 with 424 home runs among 713 extra-base hits in the time they played together, and <PERSON> hit .344 with 881 extra-base hits, 348 of them homers.
The tandem was just as lethal in the four World Series they played in together. <PERSON> hit four home runs against the Cardinals in a seven-game losing cause in 1926, although he was ignominiously thrown out on an attempted steal of second in a one-run game to end both Game Seven and the World Series with <PERSON> batting and <PERSON>, who hit .348 in the Series, waiting on deck. <PERSON> batted .400 with two homers in the Yankees' four-game sweep of the Pirates in 1927, while <PERSON> hit only .308 without going deep. The two were unstoppable in the Yankees' four-game revenge against the Cardinals in 1928; <PERSON> hit four home runs and <PERSON> three, and <PERSON> batted .625 and <PERSON> .545. <PERSON> had his "called shot" in the 1932 Series sweep, but <PERSON> had three homers of his own and batted .529.
Appropriately for being the "Bronx Bombers," the 1926–32 Yankees led the league in homers every year except 1932, when the Athletics hit 172 to their 160. Indicative of their clout, 38 percent of the Yankees' victories were by blowout margins of five runs or more—including an astonishing 44 of their 94 wins in 1931, a year in which they finished 13½ games behind the Athletics _despite_ outscoring Philadelphia for the season by 209 runs. And why would that be? Because the Athletics had superior pitching and defense. Philadelphia led the league in fewest runs allowed four times those seven years even though the park effects at Shibe Park were not favorable for pitchers. With <PERSON> and <PERSON> on the mound, the Athletics were also the premier power-pitching team in baseball, leading the league in strikeouts six straight years beginning in 1925, before finishing second to the Yankees in 1931 and 1932. <PERSON> emergence as an elite pitcher in 1929 may have been the decisive breakthrough enabling the Athletics to win three straight pennants, when he went 24–8, 22–13, and 21–7. But it was <PERSON> who was otherworldly.
From 1928 to 1932, <PERSON> made a strong case for having the best five-year stretch of any pitcher ever by winning 128 games while losing only 33 for a .795 winning percentage; leading the league in earned run average the last four of those years; and leading the league in strikeouts the first four of those years—and all this in the peak years of a hitters' era. <PERSON> was 20–6 in 1929, 28–5 in 1930, and his
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d5bc2c6b-7033-305f-6dba-d617c38c032a
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['83aca2f2-97c9-49bb-f9d9-e639dfcb5eea']
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fiche <PERSON>, p. 150).
Pour en avoir le cœur net, je vous propose de vous livrer à une petite expérience. Placez-vous face à un de vos proches, demandez-lui de se fermer à vous et de dire: «Non», en hochant la tête d'un côté à l'autre. Si vous réussissez à obtenir un non qui soit sincère, vous allez assister à un phénomène étrange. Lorsque nous disons «non», nous présentons d'abord notre œil droit avant notre œil gauche en déclenchant un mouvement de tête vers la gauche. Ce que traduit Syna dans le montage suivant:
Au chapitre précédent, nous avons parlé de l'inclinaison latérale de la tête. Ici, nous parlons de sa rotation, car la tête reste bien droite et rigide quand nous exprimons un refus.
Sans doute tombez-vous des nues et n'aviez-vous jamais noté qu'à partir du moment où vous êtes touché par un interlocuteur, vous regardez davantage la partie gauche de son visage que la partie droite. Nous le faisons tous, car il n'existe qu'une seule race humaine. Il n'est jamais trop tard pour le remarquer!
Se regarder «l'œil gauche dans l'œil gauche»
Nous pensions que deux interlocuteurs émus se regardaient «les yeux dans les yeux» et nous sommes en train de découvrir qu'ils regardent chacun principalement l'œil gauche de leur vis-à-vis. De surcroît, comme l'hémisphère droit permet à la fois de lire les émotions d'autrui et d'exprimer ses propres émotions, ils regardent plutôt la partie gauche du visage de leur interlocuteur et le font plutôt avec leur œil gauche.
Ce phénomène est très riche de sens. Pour comprendre à quel point, observez Syna en train de vous regarder, la tête placée dans deux positions différentes. Essayez de saisir très vite la différence entre la fonction des yeux ces deux photographies: sur quelle photo a-t-elle l'air le plus ému?
À la télévision, les personnes interviewées ne se tiennent pas directement face à la caméra. Elles se décalent légèrement afin de «parler» avec leur œil gauche, même si leur œil directeur est l'œil droit. C'est là une attitude de séduction très inconsciente manifeste dans toutes les situations de face à face28. Certes, il s'agit d'un phénomène très subtil, mais il est facilement repérable pour qui est un tantinet observateur.
Pour montrer que nous sommes touchés, nous parlons davantage avec la partie gauche de notre visage. Et pour créer un climat de douceur, nous inclinons la tête.
Dans les moments de douceur, notre tête dodeline des deux côtés, mais les mouvements effectués sur la gauche sont toujours plus accentués. Soumis à des émotions positives, nous nous laissons aller, et notre cou s'assouplit. Ces phénomènes semblent universels. D'ailleurs, c'est sans doute parce qu'ils sont universels que partout où nous allons, nous arrivons à échanger et à instaurer des relations amicales, même quand nous ne comprenons pas la langue de nos interlocuteurs. Tous ceux qui ont voyagé dans des régions où des repères culturels et linguistiques ne leur permettaient pas de le comprendre avec les mots «verront» sûrement ce que je veux dire.
Les hommes et les femmes très séduisants sont plus sensibles aux émotions que
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36d74a38-b79b-09dc-5c92-fcf01204fe13
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['83aca2f2-97c9-49bb-f9d9-e639dfcb5eea']
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là! Ils se fient à leur intuition, . et leur intuition leur dit toujours de ne pas simplement écouter les discours, de ne pas simplement croire aux mots, car la vérité est ailleurs.
Si certains lisent plus intuitivement que d'autres les messages du corps, chacun a néanmoins la capacité de les observer. Par conséquent, il appartient à chacun de développer cette faculté. Pour cela, il suffit simplement de prendre le temps d'observer ce qui se passe en soi et ce qui se passe autour de soi, il suffit d'être soi face à l'autre, attentif et présent.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Le dessin d'une personne, Le test de Machover,_ préface de Juliette Favez-Boutonier, 1re édition, Neuchâtel, Delachaux et Niestlé, 1963. (Coll. Actualités pédagogiques et psychologiques).
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _A natural history of the senses_ , New York, Random House, 1990.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. «The Emergence of Cooperation among Egoists», _American Political Review_ , no 75, 1981, p. 306-318.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Comment réussir dans un monde d'égoïstes,_ Paris, <PERSON>, 1992, 230 p.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Pour une écologie de l'esprit_ , Paris, Le Seuil, 1977, tome 1.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Pour une écologie de l'esprit_ , Paris, Le Seuil, 1980, tome 2.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>, et autres. _Towards a Theory of Schizophrenia_ , Behavioral Science, 1, 251-164.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> _La vieillesse_ , Paris, Gallimard, 1970.
<PERSON>, K. _L'organisation verbo-viscéro-motrice au cours de la communication verbale selon la structure spatiale ou proxémique_ , Thèse de 3e cycle, Lyon 2.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. «Steroidal Substances Active in the Human Vomeronasal Organ Affect Hypothalamic Function», _Journal of Steroid Biochemistry and Molecular Biology,_ vol. 58, no 1, 1996.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> _Kinesics and Context: Essays on Body Notion Communication_ , 1970.
<PERSON>, H., et F. MORANGE. «Organizing Gestures in External Space: Orienting and Reaching», dans _A Handbook of Spatial Research Paradigms and Methodologies_ , publié sous la direction de N. Foreman et R. Gillet, Hove, Psychology Press, 1997, tome 1.
BLOOD, <PERSON> et J. ZATORRE. «Intensely Pleasurable Responses to Music Correlates with Activity in Brain Regions Implicated in Reward and Emotion», _Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences_ , no 98, 2001, p. 11 818-11 823.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> «An Ethological Study of some Aspects of Social Behaviour of Children in Nursery Schools», dans _Primate ethology,_ de D. Morris, <PERSON>, Weidenfeld and <PERSON>, 1967, p. 347-368.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> «Interhemispheric and Intrahemispheric Control of Emotion: A Focus on Unilateral Brain Damage», _Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology,_ no 60, 1992.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _La distinction: Critique sociale du jugement_ , Paris, Éditions de Minuit, 1979, 669 p.
<PERSON>, Juliette, _Les dessins des enfants,_ 1re édition, Neuchâtel, Delachaux et Niestlé, 1963.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _L'attachement_ , Paris, P.U.F., 1978.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _La séparation: Angoisse et colère_ , Paris, P.U.F., 1978.
BOYSSON-BARDIES, Bénédicte de. _Comment la parole vient aux enfants_ , Paris, Odile Jacob, 1996, 286 p.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Le sexe des émotions_ , Paris, Odile Jacob, 1996.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Cerveau de soi, cerveau de l'autre_ , Paris, <PERSON>, 1998, 432 p.
CACIOPPO, <PERSON>, <PERSON> et <PERSON>. «Social Psychophysiology: A New
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['83d763de-1d74-9def-7cde-a1bab74e46b8']
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stir well, then put into the fridge to cool.
Once chilled, serve the buttermilk in deep bowls with lots of fresh _kammerjunkere_ cookies on top.
### ◁ Ris à L'amande med Kirsebærsovs
RICE PUDDING WITH HOT CHERRY SAUCE
Many Danish families will eat _ris à l'amande_ for pudding on Christmas Eve – a traditional dessert of cold rice pudding combined with vanilla, almonds and whipped cream and served with a hot cherry sauce. My family are a little different – we eat rice pudding as a starter on Christmas Eve, with cinnamon and sugar on top, or in my father's case, he loved single (light) cream and white sugar. My darling godmother <PERSON> often makes rice pudding for my children, as she made it for my sister and I in our childhood.
Here I've given two recipes – the traditional rice pudding is utterly delicious, while the _ris à l'amande_ is the perfect dessert for a special occasion. We also have a wonderful tradition of putting one single almond in the mix, and whoever gets the almond gets the 'almond gift' – big joy!
SERVES 10
FOR THE BASIC RICE PUDDING
500g (1lb 2oz/22/3 cups) pudding rice (short-grain white rice)
500ml (18fl oz/2 cups) water
1/4 tsp pink Himalayan salt or sea salt
2 litres (31/2 pints/8 cups) full-fat (whole) milk
FOR THE _RIS À L'AMANDE_
150g (51/2oz/1 cup) whole raw almonds
2 vanilla pods (beans), cut in half and seeds scraped
2 tbsp vanilla sugar
4 tbsp dark rum
600ml (1 pint/21/2 cups) whipping cream
FOR THE CHERRY SAUCE
400g (14oz/scant 3 cups) cherries
300ml (10floz/11/4 cups) water
160g (53/4oz/3/4 cup) raw cane sugar
1 tbsp vanilla sugar
1 tbsp cornflour (cornstarch)
Place the pudding rice in a sieve and rinse well under cold running water. In a large saucepan, bring the measured water to the boil, then add the pudding rice and salt and boil for 2 minutes. Now add the milk and gently simmer for 45 minutes. Keep stirring so the rice doesn't stick to the bottom, then remove from the heat. You can either eat this hot now as rice pudding, or leave to cool then make it into _ris à l'amande_.
Put the almonds in a bowl of boiling water for a couple of minutes so the skin comes off easily, then drain. Once cool, take the skins off and chop the almonds roughly.
Add the vanilla seeds, vanilla sugar, rum and almonds to the rice pudding and mix well. Transfer to a serving bowl and put in the fridge to chill.
When the rice pudding is cold, whisk the cream until thick. Mix the whipped cream into the cold rice pudding, then return to the fridge to chill until ready to serve. This is normally served very cold in Denmark.
To make the cherry sauce, wash the cherries, remove and discard the stones and cut the cherries into quarters. Put into a large saucepan, pour the measured water on top and add the sugar and vanilla sugar. Place over a medium heat until it starts to
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c7f5dac5-7392-5b58-5c01-3c00c44d60ff
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['83d763de-1d74-9def-7cde-a1bab74e46b8']
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garlic and potatoes and gently fry for 10 minutes, stirring. Add the stock, salt and nutmeg, stir well and leave to simmer for 20 minutes.
Add the kale and lemon juice, put on a lid, and leave to simmer for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally. Then pour into a blender or food processor and blend until you have the desired smooth consistency. The colour should be quite amazing.
Serve with a dollop of crème fraîche, a spoonful of crispy chopped bacon, and warm, freshly baked rye bread on the side.
### ◁ Jordskokkesuppe med Trøffel
JERUSALEM ARTICHOKE AND TRUFFLE SOUP WITH RYE BREAD CROUTONS
I remember so clearly the first time I tasted this soup. My Danish friend <PERSON> had just serenaded us on the piano in Blakes Hotel, whereafter our friend <PERSON> ordered <PERSON>'s version of this dish. The flavour made such a huge impact on my taste buds that I have played around lots with this fabulous root vegetable. It's completely unique and for me a much loved flavour of winter. We Danes also adore our bacon and use 'any excuse' we can to add it to a dish.
SERVES 6
FOR THE SOUP
600g (1lb 5oz) Jerusalem artichokes
3 tbsp olive oil
1 red onion, chopped
8 rashers (slices) of smoked streaky bacon, chopped
1 litre (13/4 pints/4 cups) chicken stock or water
1/2 tsp salt
FOR THE CROUTONS
4 tbsp olive oil
1 clove of garlic, crushed
4 thick slices of rye bread, or other bread, cut into strips
1/2 tsp pink Himalayan salt or sea salt
white truffle oil, to drizzle
TO SERVE
4 rashers (slices) of smoked streaky bacon
2 tbsp finely chopped parsley
4 tbsp white truffle oil
Wash the Jerusalem artichokes well, then scrape off the thin outside layer with a kitchen knife. Cut the artichokes into thin slices and soak in water for 20 minutes, then drain.
Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the onion and fry for a few minutes to soften, then add the chopped bacon and fry for another couple of minutes. Next add the Jerusalem artichokes and pour in the stock. Bring to a gentle boil, add the salt, and simmer for 20 minutes.
While the soup is simmering, in a frying pan (skillet), heat the olive oil for the croutons and gently fry the garlic. Add the rye bread strips and sauté for about 5 minutes. Sprinkle with salt, then drain on kitchen towel until cooled and crispy. Just before serving, drizzle them with the truffle oil.
In another frying pan (skillet), fry the 4 rashers (slices) of bacon until crispy, then remove from the pan, drain on kitchen towel and chop.
Remove the soup from the heat, pour into a blender or food processor and blend to the desired consistency.
Serve the soup in soup bowls with the bacon and chopped parsley sprinkled on top. Finally drizzle each soup bowl with a little extra truffle oil and serve the rye bread croutons on top or on the side.
### Ærtesuppe ▷
PEA AND MINT SOUP
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1fb3e067-5b61-da6a-55c9-fb4cdd5fda85
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['8529633e-d3dd-85c3-6b4d-01c0a98a633b']
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He is simply paying the price for turning his son into a band-nerd at an early age, thereby putting himself into the undignified position of playing "the cool father" as his twittering tween rages stylishly in the pit to the likes of Avenged Sevenfold or (most likely) worse, while lamenting, silently or out loud, about "how much cooler it was when people didn't mosh with Roman candles," and "when underground scenes weren't just a big fashion show."
# A BRIEF HISTORY OF COOL
**WALK INTO ANY COOL COFFEE SHOP** , or a bar with the _Garden State_ soundtrack on constant rotation, and the tension is impenetrable. with every creak of the door, everyone peeks, seemingly to judge with derisive wrath. One can't escape the self-conscious rambling: Am I wearing white after Labor Day? Are there crumbs in my beard? Have I forgotten pants again? It's hard not to feel insecure, or at least defensive enough to walk in with both middle fingers extended.
It's always the young'uns, with entitlement as smug as their pants are snug, downloading whatever new band informed by a three-year old musical knowledge and acting superior about it, and exercising hyper-consumerism indirectly learned from Japanese teens.
Or, it's always the crotchety old fart, railing about "back in the day" like it was an ex he never got over. A dinosaur of a bachelor, his "that one time I saw Magazine at this warehouse party" line is long spent.
Or, it's always the anti-establishment punk with his liberty spikes, menacingly mouthing "yuppie," but when it comes down to it, you know how to sing more Discharge songs than he knows Against Me! riffs.
Or, it's always the scholarly film buff, collared shirt buttoned to the top, reading shallow philosophy, but never actually willing to discuss it. The kind of pal who uses the word "criterion" only as a proper noun.
But it's not ever you. No, never you. Cool people are, like, _soooooo_ annoying. You're cool, but you don't care about cool. Cool's overrated. Cool sucks. Cool is _so_ over. You liked <PERSON>'s early stuff better. Whatever. You're not even trying to be cool.
That would affect your carefree nonchalance—the same disaffected attitude you take towards your hair. The one that states, "I'm me. A unique individual, free from pigeonholing." And when it's pointed out that you're sporting the same <PERSON> track jacket as five other folks in the vicinity, you reply, "Get bent, it was on sale!" In desperate moments, such conversations always end with the classic exclamation: "Don't you even know who I am?!"
Welcome to our subculture, with a social climate so potent with oneupsmanship, it's why you picked up this book. It's what happens when one throws a bunch of awkwardly anti-social nerds into a room where they quickly skip to condescending conversations about the most obscure thing, ever.
People got into indie cred because it was a subculture for alienated outsiders, disaffected youth music cultures carry so many names: the hepcat, teddy boys, beats, hippies, rockers, mods, punks, skins, SHARPS, straight edge, crusties,
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26b87ba4-9cb0-1293-2e60-6e2b50aef3bb
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['8529633e-d3dd-85c3-6b4d-01c0a98a633b']
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how much money we need to round out our collection of rare Bollywood soundtracks. Tough titties, baby; nobody said Cred was fair.
3. If you think there is an error in your Billing Statement, please contact:
Bank of Indie Credit
P.O. Box 2814
Athens, Georgia 30612-0814 U.S. of A.
or visit any seedy check-cashing place that has the three (3) inch thick bulletproof glass wrapping around its employees. If you survive, you've probably earned the right to dispute.
A. After We Receive Your Complaint in Writing
a. Within thirty (30) days of receipt, we must tell you we received the letter. If our nosy live-in brother-in-law accidentally spills bong water on your claim, we may request a facsimile.
b. Within ninety (90) days of receiving your letter, we must either correct the error or explain. While waiting to hear a response we suggest the following activities:
1. learn all the lyrics to _69 Love Songs_
2. ponder if you would really join a club that would have you as a member
3. consider opening a line of credit at a less reputable, local branch
4. learn to cook successfully with tofu
c. When ninety (90) days have passed, you will be responsible for all disputed charges regardless of your claim. If you still want to dispute the claim please call 1-800-555-CRED and we will be happy to connect you with a surly hipster who will surely rack your brain with obscure questions, forcing you to hang up in frustration.
B. You may have noticed that these rules are set up to favor us after ninety (90) days. At least we're being upfront about it.
**VI. CREDIT LIMIT**
You agree not to exceed the credit limit established for you by us. We do not have to honor any use of your Cred, and furthermore reserve the right to decrease your Cred if and when you begin to suck. Yeah, we know...it's definitely when you begin to suck.
**VII. CREDIT AUTHORIZATIONS**
1. Some purchases/actions will require prior authorization by the BIC, at which time you may be asked to provide proper identification in the form of:
A. tour passes,
B. seven (7) inch record collections, and/or
C. contact lists/Facebook friends.
2. We may not be able to authorize a purchase or career choice, even if you feel you have sufficient Cred at times when we lose interest in you. In the event that this occurs, BIC is absolved of all liability with regard to its effect on your Cred. You should've stayed more relevant. Whose fault is that, hmmm?
**VIII. LIABILITY OF UNAUTHORIZED USE**
1. You will be liable for the unauthorized use of your Cred (defined as "any use of Cred that was conducted without either your express consent or the express consent of BIC, or occurred without promise of return of appropriate levels of Cred enhancement, as defined in Section A.I.iv ["Return On Cred"] of the BIC Cred Maintenance Manual").
2. You agree to notify us promptly (or immediately after the ecstasy wears off) upon learning of the possible breach or misuse
|
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['8581ca1b-4045-5a48-b3f6-1e1de4a3cd11']
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he saw him, the old man still brought a smile to <PERSON>'s lips, even when he was trying to maintain his tough façade.
<PERSON> met the blacksmith and they clapped their hands together and pulled themselves forward into a one-armed hug. <PERSON> pulled away and showed him the metal. "Finding the answer to our problems."
<PERSON> turned the bar over in his hands with curiosity. "Didn't know we had problems."
<PERSON> nodded solemnly. "Aye. You're going to be very busy."
<PERSON> tugged on <PERSON>'s pants leg and the warrior gestured toward the boy. "<PERSON>, may I introduce <PERSON> <PERSON>, son of <PERSON>."
"Good 'ol <PERSON>." <PERSON> crouched beside the boy. "You look just like your father." He turned back to <PERSON>. "What brings his boy here?"
"War," <PERSON> croaked. "The wyverns attacked my village and killed my family before my father could forge the armor to defeat them."
<PERSON> nodded, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He gestured toward the silver in <PERSON>'s hands. "Now the task falls upon you."
<PERSON> placed a hand on <PERSON>'s shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss, son." He stayed there, locked in place for a long moment before standing to inspect the metal. He held the silver block in his hands, hefting the metal to feel the weight. "By itself, this metal is far too weak. I can't believe it blocks the wyvern's fire."
"The combination of this new metal with our own strengthens the alloy." <PERSON> put a hand on <PERSON>'s shoulder. "The boy has a breastplate his father made that has proven itself against the fire."
<PERSON> shook his head. "I wouldn't know where to start. I'll have to make several models and test the mix."
"We don't have time for experiments." <PERSON> hated hurrying his friend, but an entire swarm of wyverns headed by a massive myth of a beast might be on their way. He softened his tone. "<PERSON> knows how much his father used. He can help you."
"All right." <PERSON> clapped <PERSON> on the back and gave <PERSON> a wink. "Leave us to our work."
<PERSON> nodded and rustled the overgrown hair on <PERSON>'s head. This was the first time they'd be apart, and the thought saddened him more than it should. An overprotective urge to look after him every second came upon him, but the boy needed his space if he was ever to grow. <PERSON>'s father had let him and his brother run free and, in doing so, they'd become capable men. "Do well. Make me proud."
<PERSON> only nodded, then scurried over to where <PERSON> stood above the melting pots. It was hard to believe the kingdom rested on the shoulders of such a young boy and his memory. <PERSON> left, having faith <PERSON> would recall the right balance. That boy was as smart as a ravencrock.
<PERSON> took the horses to the stable. As he handed them over to a young boy a messenger galloped in to return his horse. Mud-covered and travel-weary, he fell, more than jumped, off, and waited in line behind
|
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|
She dug in her travel bag and pulled out a wad of dried beef. "Take this. Share the rations among the others. You will be welcomed in Ebonvale."
He stood with more confidence. "Thank you, Princess."
The others had caught on and they started to surround her, chanting, "Save us." "Save our village." "Save my children."
They pulled on her arms and grasped at her hands. <PERSON> grew smothered and panic rose in her throat. "I'm trying. You will be welcomed in Ebonvale. I have no more food. I can do no more."
"Leave her alone." <PERSON>'s horse cut through the growing crowd. "Go."
He offered his hand and pulled her up on his horse with him. "You are too kind, Princess."
"I wish I could help all of them." She held onto him as he cut through the crowd. He was her rock, her driftwood at sea, her compass. He'd always pull her up.
"You will." He rode up to her horse and she dismounted. "Believe in our quest."
"I do." <PERSON> climbed onto her charger then met his gaze, and they froze, locked on one another. His belief in her solidified her resolve. Together they could rule the world. If only <PERSON> had a kingdom to justify their union. <PERSON> sighed. A farm in Oaten's Dell was hardly a kingdom, and his brother, <PERSON>, was to inherit it. <PERSON> had nothing except his courage and reputation to his name.
That was enough for her. But was he enough for Ebonvale?
<PERSON> broke their stare. "Onward, march."
The army began moving and the tide of travelers kept their distance, pushing to the sides of the road. <PERSON> could bear to look no longer; instead, she focused on the path ahead. Only when the sun rose high in the sky did her shaking subside.
The countryside turned from green fields to brown wasteland with blackened patches. The brook that had followed them along the way dried into a muddy hole, and the sky was empty of birds. No insects buzzed on the wind. The unnatural silence rang in <PERSON>'s ears and she focused on the rhythmic clomp of the army's feet.
They crested a hill, looking down upon the bridge linking Ebonvale with the southern districts, the same bridge the wyverns had kept them from crossing before their journey to the House of Song. Although the lake had dried, the muck would still slow them down, and the higher ground of the bridge provided a superior advantage in battle. They had to cross the bridge instead of trekking through the dry lake.
"Do the wyverns still guard it?" <PERSON> already knew the answer. The dark clouds moved unnaturally, shady tendrils weaving in and out.
<PERSON> peered through his telescope. "Five, maybe ten."
<PERSON> checked the position of the sun and a sinking feeling sucked at the bottom of her stomach. "None of the scouts have returned besides the one."
"I know." <PERSON> stuffed the telescope back in his travel bag. "We could go around."
"And tramp the whole army though the forest?"
|
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critical. Small villages were cesspools of gossip.
"What if she was?"
<PERSON> offered <PERSON> some of her lunch. He glanced over and shook his head. "She is not to be trusted."
"Neither of you like each other," <PERSON> frowned up at <PERSON>'s impassive face. "Why?"
"It is a boring and sordid story."
<PERSON> shrugged her shoulders. "We have a long walk ahead of us."
<PERSON> squinted his eyes up at the sun. "It was nineteen years ago. It means nothing now."
<PERSON> shook her head. "You are still very angry with her. That was obvious at the inn."
<PERSON> laughed harshly. "I said nothing to suggest that."
"It was your actions," <PERSON> explained. "You treated her with disdain. I have not seen you do that with anyone else at Caldern. The hurt must go very deep."
<PERSON> gave <PERSON> a twisted smile. "You are very perceptive."
"Is she the reason you left Caldern?"
"Part of the reason," <PERSON> agreed after a moment's silence. "I would have left soon anyway."
"You were planning to join the navy then?" <PERSON> finished her lunch and wiped her hands on her napkin before tucking it away in her basket.
<PERSON> shook his head. "I never planned on the navy."
<PERSON> frowned. "What were your plans?"
"Originally, I thought I would go to Oxford and from there into the diplomatic corps. I had several relatives on my mother's side who were willing to give me a start."
"Then why the navy?"
"I had no choice. My mother's great uncle was an admiral and when I left Caldern I sought him out. I was too young for the government, so my only option was the navy."
<PERSON> glanced at <PERSON>'s impassive face. "Are they not two very different careers?"
<PERSON> shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. Both are looking after the country's interest."
"One involves socializing and the other fighting. I would not call them the same thing," <PERSON> stated quietly. "You must have felt you had no choice but to leave Caldern."
<PERSON> sighed heavily before looking down at her. "Do we really have to talk about this?"
<PERSON> nodded her head. "If you want me to stay away from <PERSON>, then I must have a reason."
<PERSON> suddenly stopped walking, halting his horse with a stay of his hand. He kicked at the gravel beneath his feet and then stomped the foot down decisively. "Alright."
He threw his head back and looked up at the sky. "I fell in love with <PERSON> shortly after my sixteenth birthday. She was older than me, but I did not care. She was everything I wanted in a woman—beautiful, full of laughter, and caring. At least that was what I thought."
<PERSON>'s chest tightened at <PERSON>'s words and the pain she heard in his voice. She regretted forcing him to speak about his past, but she was curious. "What changed your mind?"
"My father."
<PERSON> digested that for a few seconds. "He did not approve?" she guessed cautiously.
<PERSON> laughed bitterly. "That is an understatement. He told me to bed
|
26cad9a1-a7ed-1abd-fbdb-7bdf113a3257
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|
we can arrange for you to live away from her?"
"That would be nice." <PERSON> smiled and seemed to move toward <PERSON>, but hesitated, her face losing all of its animation. "You want to send me away."
"Just away from your mother. You will like living on your own," <PERSON> coaxed. He moved another foot closer, sensing <PERSON> and <PERSON> move to either side of him.
"Can I go to London?"
<PERSON> nodded. "Anywhere you want to. Now please come down from there," he pleaded.
<PERSON> tilted her head. "If you promise."
<PERSON> nodded, holding his breath as he watched <PERSON> make a small step toward him. She released her tight grip on the stone and started to bend her knees when suddenly she froze. She looked over his shoulder, her eyes pierced with pain.
The shrill voice of Lady <PERSON> rang through the air. "You are not taking my daughter away from me."
<PERSON> turned quickly. "Stay where you are," he commanded.
Lady <PERSON> ignored his warning and moved forward. "I know what is best for her. I will make certain that she is taken care of."
"No," <PERSON> shrieked. "I cannot listen to you any longer, Mother."
<PERSON> turned back to his sister, her fragile frame outlined against the morning sun. His heart ached for her torment even though he could not condone her actions. <PERSON> looked over her shoulder and <PERSON> knew that he could waste no more time.
"Grab her," he shouted to <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
<PERSON> ran toward <PERSON> at the same time <PERSON> and <PERSON> did, but they were too late. Without any final farewell, she pushed herself away from the parapet. <PERSON> reached the edge just as <PERSON> slipped from life. Her body lay lifeless on the drive below them.
<PERSON> groaned and put his head down on the cold stone parapet. "Why?" he mumbled under his breath.
<PERSON> leaned over the side and then looked back at Lady <PERSON>. "Do not look," he instructed sternly. He pushed away from the edge and walked to his mother. "I will take you to your room."
<PERSON> listened to their retreating footsteps and when they were gone he straightened up. <PERSON> leaned against the parapet that <PERSON> had clung to, his head in his hands. <PERSON> stood a few feet away.
"There was nothing we could do." <PERSON> rubbed the back of his neck, weariness seeping throughout his body.
"No," <PERSON> agreed. "Now you know who was responsible for your accidents."
"Do we?" <PERSON> walked slowly to the roof door.
"She confessed," <PERSON> exclaimed.
<PERSON> looked back at his friend and shook his head. "She carried out the actions, but she was not the only one responsible. <PERSON> must carry a portion of the blame."
<PERSON> left the roof, walking down the dark stairway, past the charred ruins of the sewing room. He would arrange for <PERSON>'s body to be carried inside and prepared for burial. Then he would go to <PERSON>.
After witnessing the tragic consequences of a suffocating love, he knew what he had to
|
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['859d18f7-6fa6-a53b-2a75-2c1097fc5327']
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churches," then its name is certain as well. Around 1800, the monopoly on knowledge formerly held by monasteries and churches shifted to the new, state-run educational system. Thus, it is no wonder that—in the shadow of <PERSON>, who has been transfigured into an _Alma mater_ —there appears a wise old man, whose conversations with <PERSON> may serve as an ending even in a novel that remained a fragment. <PERSON>—of whom it is not said for nothing that he, "as a father, sits alone, eternally tearful, at the [mother's] grave" (327)—represents <PERSON>'s philosophy teacher at university (just as <PERSON> taught him German in high school). <PERSON>'s expertise encompasses medicine (325), history (326), theology (332), the natural sciences (334), and above all, philosophy (330–33). All disciplines—with the exception of jurisprudence—are represented when <PERSON> initiates <PERSON> into university learning. With that, both Poetry and the Poet achieve discursive legitimation.
Already in his exchange with <PERSON>, <PERSON> had learned that poetry, despite the universality into which it can translate all discourses, has a limit:
If there exists a proper sphere for the individual poet, within which he must remain . . . , there is also, for all human faculties, a certain limit to what can be represented. . . . Mature experience first teaches one to avoid such irregularity of objects and to leave the detection of the Simplest and the Highest to Wisdom of the World. (285ff.)
Also, and especially, the poet <PERSON> accords philosophy (and not theology, as <PERSON> and the Middle Ages in general had done) a superiority that, when <PERSON> appears, finally enters the novel itself. His doctrine—that "the cosmos [ _das Weltall_] dissolves into infinite worlds which are always encompassed by greater worlds," and that "all senses, ultimately, are a single sense" (331)—formulates precisely the "Simplest and the Highest," which, according to <PERSON>, only philosophers (and not poets) can pronounce.
In passing from <PERSON> to <PERSON>, from "expectation" [ _Erwartung_ ] to "fulfillment" [ _Erfüllung_ ]—as the two parts of the novel are called—<PERSON> performs the final steps necessary for education in the Age of Goethe. Graduating from a preparatory school, where there were still women and the highest point was occupied by German poetry alone, he arrives at the peak of contemporary discourses. In the European university system of old, philosophy had simply provided a propaedeutic course of study for medicine, theology, and jurisprudence (the three discourses of absolute power). But around 1800, in the new _Bildungsstaat_ , it achieved the rank and title of supreme knowledge. The careers of <PERSON> and <PERSON> attest as much.
Inasmuch as preparation for all university study passed to _Gymnasia_ , the discipline of philosophy—previously the "preschool" of general knowledge for the three older fields of study—achieved an autonomous position at the beginning of the nineteenth century. In addition to the matter of cultivating scientific research, it was charged with the particular task of preparing [students] for the teaching profession.
The formation of German teachers (in so-called reality) or poets (in so-called fiction) must occur by way of a discipline that surpasses even
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132.
. <PERSON>, "Subversion of the Subject," 692.
. <PERSON>, _Ältere Fassung_ (1803), _Sämtliche Werke_ , XVI, 1.
. <PERSON>, "An den Mond," _Goethes Werke. Hamburger Ausgabe_, I, 130.
. <PERSON>, "Nachts," _Neue Gesamtausgabe der Werke und Schriften_ , ed. <PERSON> und <PERSON> (Stuttgart: Cotta, 1957), I, 12.
. <PERSON>, "Lureley," _Werke_ , ed. <PERSON>. (Munich: Hanser, 1963–68), I, 258.
. <PERSON>, "In Memory of Eichendorff," _Notes to Literature_ , trans. <PERSON> (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), I, 69.
. Quoted in <PERSON>, <PERSON>, "Über allen Gipfeln ist <PERSON>." Texte, Materialien, Kommentar_ (Munich: Hanser, 1978), 64. Here, too, otherwise unjustified doubts are voiced.
. <PERSON>, "Der Erlebnisgehalt des Wiegenliedes," _Berliner Hefte für geistiges Leben_ 3 (1948): 414.
. <PERSON>, _Deutsches Wörterbuch_ (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1954).
. <PERSON>, "Der Erlebnisgehalt," 412.
. <PERSON>, "Kritisches Lesen," 262.
. <PERSON>, _Seminar_ , 47.
. <PERSON>, _Symbolik des Traumes_ (Heidelberg: Schneider, 1968), 16n.
. <PERSON>, "Clemens Brentano, 'Der Spinnerin Lied,'" _Probleme und Gestalten. Essays_ (Frankfurt a.M.: Insel, 1974), 198.
. Cf. <PERSON>, "Chronika des fahrenden Schülers Johannes Laurenburger zu Polsnich an der Lahn," _Werke_ , ed. <PERSON> (Munich, 1963–68), II, 612–15.
. <PERSON>, _Günderode_ (Boston: Burnham, 1861), 284.
. <PERSON>, _My Life_ (Middlesex: Echo, 2007), 146.
. <PERSON>, "Overture to This Collection," _Écrits_ , 3.
. <PERSON>, _Vom Nutzen der Literatur. Vorbereitende Bemerkungen zu einer Theorie der literarischen Kommunikation_ (Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 1977), 112.
. Cf. <PERSON>, _Geschichte der deutschen Literatur_ , I, 267: "Thus, ['Wanderer's Night Song'], while speaking of language ending, also speaks of it beginning."
. <PERSON>, "Vom Erkennen und Empfinden der menschlichen Seele" (1778), _Sämmtliche Werke_ , VIII, 198.
. On the material history of the text, the wall, and the hut (which burned down in 1870), cf. <PERSON>, _<PERSON>, "Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh,"_ 15–21.
Chapter 4
. <PERSON>, _Diana at Her Bath: The Women of Rome_ , trans. <PERSON> and <PERSON> (Boston: Eridanos, 1990), 30.
. <PERSON>, _Orality and Literacy. The Technologizing of the Word_ (New York: Methuen, 1982), 72. Here it stands in full:
Vision comes to a human being from one direction at a time: to look at a room or a landscape, I must move my eyes around from one part to another. When I hear, however, I gather sound simultaneously from every direction at once: I am at the center of my auditory world, which envelops me, establishing me at a kind of core of sensation and existence. This centering effect of sound is what high-fidelity sound reproduction exploits with intense sophistication. You can immerse yourself in hearing, in sound. There is no way to immerse yourself similarly in sight.
. Cf. _Der Spiegel_ 51/1979, 176.
. <PERSON>, quoted in <PERSON>, _Pink Floyd_ (Paris, 1973), 54.
. Cf. <PERSON> and <PERSON>, _Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia_ , trans. <PERSON>, <PERSON>,
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those parts of the tree are themselves composed of more details (cells, molecules, atoms, electrons). And if we look further into those details, we'll find even more of the same, ad infinitum.
While it may seem to defy common logic, the reality is that the closer we look at objects or experiences, the less clear it is what exactly we're looking at. Choose anything that might be showing up right now in your field of experience. It doesn't matter what it is. For example, pick some emotional state you're experiencing. Maybe you're feeling a little restless or agitated. Or maybe you're experiencing a sense of calm or ease. In either case (agitation or calm), just feel whatever is present. Now, get very, very close to it. Whether you call it agitation or calm, just look as carefully as you can at whatever is happening. And now, move in even closer. What exactly is this state? Agitation, calm...these labels are pointing to something. The question is, what exactly is that? What are those words actually referring to?
As you continue to look very, very closely, exploring this question, you might find yourself answering that the mental-emotional state being experienced is composed of various sensations. Okay. Now get right up as close as you can to what you're calling "sensations," and ask the same question: What are those made of? As you continue in this way, traveling down the metaphorical well of your experience, you may begin to notice something quite remarkable: that the closer you look, the more intimate you become with whatever is happening experientially, the less clear it is exactly what you're looking at! It's a strange and curious thing, isn't it, that as we draw closer to things, investigating what experiences are actually made of, those experiences seem to move away from us, like a receding horizon that we can never quite reach, no matter how many steps we might take toward it.
And so, to return to our metaphorical well, the more we investigate the nature of things, the clearer it becomes that we cannot know definitively what any object or experience actually is because everything is beyond the reach of our definitions and categories. While at first glance, this may seem disorienting or frustrating, it turns out to be a powerful and liberating discovery for it reveals that all our imagining that we are bound up in, defined by, or limited by experiences is just that—pure imagination, because there is no bottom to the well. We are forever falling through the indescribability that is everything.
The Borderless Field of Being
By and large, the consensus human view is that we exist as separate individuals, bio-psycho-social-spiritual organisms encased in these physical bodies that are clearly distinguishable from the outer environments in which they appear to reside. Put another way, our tendency is to perceive ourselves as separate subjects navigating a world of objects. We believe that these bounded creatures we see ourselves as are somehow cut off and effectively separate from the rest of existence. But maybe it only
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what's happening in the dream is in fact happening. Whether we're dreaming of having sex with a gorgeous man or woman or being chased by a monster, it all seems quite real to us until we wake up and realize it was all made of consciousness, the lover and the monster both conjured into existence by the dreaming mind.
We don't exactly know how consciousness is able to generate the nighttime dreams that it does, but it clearly has this extraordinary capacity. And that imagined dream world surely does seem real, at least while we're dreaming it! But could it be that our waking lives are not as different from the dream world as we imagine? Just as we can wake up and realize that the anxiety and fear experienced in the dream state is made of dream stuff, we can also "wake up" right in the midst of our everyday lives by inquiring into what the experiences we imagine we are stuck in or otherwise struggling with are actually made of. While we've evolved this extraordinary capacity to interpret, categorize, parse, and define things, careful investigation reveals that our moment-to-moment experience is not actually definable.
We imagine that we know what experiences are because we have names for them. However, through more carefully exploring the texture or felt sense of experience, we can discover that all experiences, whether they're conceived of as mundane or sublime, lie beyond the reach of our conceptualizing faculties. Feel into any state—fear, anxiety, joy, exhilaration—and what becomes apparent is the inadequacy of our descriptive labels, the failure of our conceptual maps to convey the unthinkably vast, subtle, and nuanced territory of experience.
So what does all of this have to do with our search for well-being? Approach one—learning to live life as skillfully and artfully as we can—is based on things actually being what we imagine them to be according to our definitions and interpretations. From this perspective, we would of course prefer to experience more of the mental, emotional, circumstantial moments we conventionally label as "positive" and have fewer of those we define as "negative."
But remember, things aren't merely what our descriptions tell us they are. They are much more than the labels we give them. And this is the liberating thing we come to realize through approach two, the discovery that those experiences conventionally labeled as happy/unhappy and fulfilling/unfulfilling are actually expressions of an ultimately indefinable, unfathomable mystery.
We can certainly try to manifest more of what we conventionally think of as "states of well-being." But the second approach reveals another order of well-being altogether, one that is discovered to be present in every moment of experience, irrespective of the conventional labels we may give it, a well-being that is just as present in sadness as it is in joy. This is a stable, indestructible well-being that can neither be given nor taken away because it is reality itself, the same ever-present reality that appears as each changing moment of life, a field of fathomless mystery and well-being that is beyond our capacity
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aside if fire begins to flare.
SERVE Remove foil from skewers and arrange on plates. Serve at once with lemon wedges.
Makes 4 servings.
QUICK TIP
When removing the silverskin, insert your knife near the tapered end of the silverskin and cut toward the thick end. Keep the knife edge tilted up against the silverskin slightly, and the knife will glide between the skin and the meat. If you cut the other direction, you are fighting the grain and the knife can dig into the loin, causing choppy cuts.
# 129 Round Up the Favorites
Pork belly, shoulder, and ham are some of the most popular cuts of pork across many cuisines—and for good reason. Pork belly is just that, the belly of the pig. It's tasty and super-rich, so a few slices are all you'll need for each serving. When cured and smoked, pork belly is known as another favorite: bacon. Pork shoulder and ham are crowd-pleasing, big-plate favorites, great for hearty meals and a table full of elbows jostling for seconds.
# 130 Sizzle Bacon on a Grill
Keeping your stovetop free of greasy spatter is only one of the perks associated with cooking bacon on a grill. The strips grill up nice and crispy, the fumes remain out-of-doors, and cleanup is a snap. Here's how to do it like a pro.
STEP 1 Prepare a charcoal or gas grill for direct grilling over medium-high heat.
STEP 2 Fashion an edged griddle by placing a piece of heavy-duty aluminum foil on the grill rack and turning up the sides. (Or use a disposable aluminum roasting pan or an old cookie sheet with sides.)
STEP 3 Lay bacon on the griddle and cook, turning as needed, until crispy and browned, about 10 minutes.
STEP 4 When bacon is done, lay it on a double thickness of paper towel to drain.
STEP 5 To clean up, slide makeshift griddle or cookie sheet to cooler part of grill, or remove roasting pan from heat, and let grease cool until thickened. Discard foil or disposable pan, or scoop fat from sheet into grease container and discard.
Enjoy the bacon while it's hot and crisp!
# 131 Smoked Hickory Ham
A fresh ham (or leg of pork) is large and popular enough to feed a good-size crowd, and it's especially great at holiday feasts. Have your butcher trim the ham of excess fat and tie it for roasting to get some of the prep work out of the way.
3 handfuls (about 5 oz/155 g) hickory chips
2 tablespoons coarse or kosher salt
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
2 teaspoons dried thyme
2 teaspoons dried sage
3 cloves garlic, minced
½ teaspoon ground allspice or cloves
1 shank-end partial leg of pork, about 10½ lb (5¼ kg), trimmed of excess fat and tied for roasting
2 tablespoons vegetable oil or olive oil
SOAK Soak hickory chips in water for about 1 hour.
PREHEAT Prepare a fire
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['86419463-6f6a-8ef4-1441-41f16f00806a']
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to mind when you think of a simple cookout, whether you know this term for it or not—burgers and franks on a grill, sizzling over the flames. Food is placed on a grill grate directly over the heat source. Cooking directly over hot coals or on a gas grill's preheated burner lends foods a nice sear, creating a flavorful caramelized crust and, with good temperature monitoring, a quickly cooked interior. Direct-heat grilling can be done with or without a lid, although the use of a lid will reduce the airflow that could foster flare-ups when fatty meats and oil-marinated vegetables drip juices onto the heat source. When using direct heat to cook thicker cuts of meat and other large food items, you often get the best results by turning down the heat after the initial searing, in order to prevent burning. Many foods cooked over direct heat are seasoned, sauced, or marinated before or during their time on the grill, making for a messier affair. Sauces, especially those laden with sugar or oil, are best applied to food toward the end of its time over direct heat so as to avoid burning. Try direct-heat grilling for steaks, chops, burgers, fish fillets, boneless chicken, sausages, and most vegetables.
# 006 Go the Indirect Route
Much like oven roasting, grilling with indirect heat relies on reflected heat that circulates around the food, cooking it more slowly and reducing the likelihood of burning.
CLEAR A SPACE On a charcoal grill, coals are pushed to the sides, leaving the center grill rack open for cooking without the searing quality of direct heat. On a gas grill, one or more of the burners should be turned off, allowing a space for food to cook that captures the heat from the burners without being placed directly over them.
PUT A LID ON IT Indirect-heat cooking works best with a grill that is covered—throughout a cooking time that can be much longer than that required for direct-heat grilling. Savvy grill masters who understand indirect heat know to keep extra coals at the ready (even better if they're already glowing) to replenish those being diminished during the often long and slow cooking process. Try indirect-heat grilling for beef roasts, leg of lamb, thick-cut pork chops, pork loins, whole chickens, bone-in chicken pieces, whole fish, and anything that is heavily sauced.
# 007 Smoke and Steam
For basic smoking, the cooking heat is provided by both smoke and steam. In a grill, the setup is usually about the same as for indirect-heat grilling. The difference comes in the form of water-soaked wood chips added to the coals (or to a smoker box in a gas grill) to create smoke. The moist chips also create steam, which is often significantly bolstered by a drip pan filled with water set underneath the food to be smoked, either in the center of a bed of coals or between burners in a gas grill. Get ready for a long, slow cook at a low temperature, and be sure to keep adding more coals to a
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to be decided. That lapsed half-hour! It was clear enough as he saw it that the right side of the gendarme (left side as he looked back at it now) was impassable—a sheer, slippery precipice. Had that suggestion of his been as foolish as it looked? Had his judgment as a mountaineer been at fault? It had not been an occasion to throw away half an hour lightly. He confessed that it had been a chimerical sort of hope that entertained at all the idea of climbing over the top; it was in too icy a state just where one wanted it clean. And mightn't he have inferred those steep walls from the structure of the crest? He became convinced that in his suggestion had lurked a personal motive. The sequel proved it. Why had exhaustion overcome him exactly there and then? True, it had seemed to him a very strenuous half-hour: but it wasn't only that; it wasn't merely a physical fact that he had succumbed to sleep; it must be interpreted as the collapse of 'morale'. And it came just then—quite naturally as a reaction. He had wanted a supreme exhilaration; it was for that he had harboured the hope of a steeper way, more sensational. Such a way might possibly have been found; and the stimulus of such to the imagination and to the nerves would, he felt sure, have kept him going.
But what was to keep him going now—since evidently he was fated to go on? The course of these reflections brought him sharply back to face that problem, the immediate problem which must be resolved. He couldn't any longer proceed like an automaton; that way had been tried and failed. A change of mind, or rather a change of heart, was wanted. The day, if it were to be saved, must save him; he must feel its full Alpine significance. Somehow he must be strung up afresh to the task; emphatically some stimulus was required. But stimulus he felt was not to be had for the asking; one must proceed delicately to net that bird and feign indifference to his approach. His mood was still dominated by that strange incident on the traverse and the sense of his guilt. At all events nothing of that sort must occur again. He must establish a different state of being for <PERSON> and <PERSON> if not for himself. His companions—what was their attitude in these circumstances? How were they looking at the whole expedition? How did they stand as a party?
It was a critical situation seen whole—not that they had yet met with anything like a reverse; the conditions had been singularly favourable—perfect weather; rocks and snow as one would wish to find them. It was proving an easier course than might have been expected. One formidable difficulty mentioned in the scanty records of the previous party had been dealt with very happily. All had gone well so far, undoubtedly. But how far? So much lay in that question. They had all along to reckon with the salient
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Everest from the Rongbuk Glacier (nine miles north-west)_
_19 July_ Started 3 a.m.; still some cloud, particularly to the West. The moon just showed over the mountains in that direction which cast their strange black shadows on the snowfield. One amazing black tooth was standing up against the moonlight. No luck on the glacier and we had to put on snow-shoes at once. An exciting walk. I so much feared the cloud would spoil all. It was just light enough to get on without lanterns after the moon went down. At dawn almost everything was covered, but not by heavy clouds. Like guilty creatures of darkness surprised by the light they went scattering away as we came up and the whole scene opened out. The North ridge of Everest was clear and bright even before sunrise. We reached the col at 5 a.m., a fantastically beautiful scene; and we looked across into the West cwm at last, terribly cold and forbidding under the shadow of Everest. It was nearly an hour after sunrise before the sun hit the West Peak.
But another disappointment—it is a big drop about 1,500 feet to the glacier, and a hopeless precipice. I was hoping to get away to the left and traverse into the cwm; that too quite hopeless. However, we have seen this Western glacier and are not sorry we have not to go up it. It is terribly steep and broken. In any case work on this side could only be carried out from a base in Nepal, so we have done with the Western side. It was not a very likely chance that the gap between Everest and the South Peak could be reached from the West. From what we have seen now I do not much fancy it would be possible, even could one get up the glacier.
We saw a lovely group of mountains away to the South in Nepal. I wonder what they are and if anything is known about them. It is a big world!
* * *
With this expedition on July 19 our reconnaissance of these parts had ended. We proceeded at once to move down our belongings; on July 20 all tents and stores were brought down to the base camp and we had said good-bye to the West Rongbuk Glacier.
So far as we were concerned with finding a way up the mountain, little enough had been accomplished; and yet our growing view of the mountain had been steadily leading to one conviction. If ever the mountain were to be climbed, the way would not lie along the whole length of any one of its colossal ridge. Progress could only be made along comparatively easy ground, and anything like a prolonged sharp crest or a series of towers would inevitably bar the way simply by the time which would be required to overcome such obstacles. But the North arête coming down to the gap between Everest and the North Peak, Changtse, is not of this character. From the horizontal structure of the mountain there is
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['86c3306c-f003-68eb-e18b-f1e53f9fc75c']
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coating. A great side benefit this waterproof feature provides is the fact that these lids don't ever need to be chalked. However, you might occasionally rough up the treated coating on your waterproof box call lid with a kitchen scouring pad, such as Scotch-Brite—but never sandpaper—to recondition it for better sound. Light scratches in this treated area allow for deeper vibrations to resound from the call.
Here's a look at ten good options:
1. A two-sided sawed and glued wood box call that has a waterproof lid, the Bugling Bull Strutter Box is coated inside and out and has treated sidewalls. The call also features a pop-up mechanism for easy cutting. For more information, visit www.buglingbull.com.
2. The H. S. Strut Field Champion is a two-sided box call that uses a waterproof cedar lid, treated sidewalls, and an acrylic sound chamber box. It also features a built-in silencer to restrict accidental sounds when moving. For more information, visit www.hunterspec.com.
3. The Penn's Woods Waterproof Wizard is a two-sided, sawed and glued wood box call that has a waterproof lid and treated sidewalls. For more information, visit www.pennswoods.com.
4. The Primos Wet Box is a two-sided call bored out of a single piece of hardwood, coupled with a waterproof coated lid and treated sidewalls. For more information, visit www.primos.com.
5. The Quaker Boy Typhoon is a two-sided box that is bored out of one piece of poplar and has a curved mahogany lid to achieve an oversized sweet spot on the friction surface, along with a waterproof lid and treated sidewalls. For more information, visit www.quakerboy.com.
6. The H. S. Strut Cutter Deuce is a single-sided box call with a waterproof cedar lid, a single cedar sidewall, and an acrylic sound chamber box. It also features a preinstalled rubber band cutting system. For more information, visit www.hunterspec.com.
7. The two-sided M.A.D. Heavy Metal Box is constructed with thin black anodized aircraft-grade aluminum sidewalls and a waterproof American walnut lid. For more information, visit www.flambeauoutdoors.com.
8. A compact box specifically designed to produce the clucks and cutting of a hen is the Penn's Woods Cut-n-Cluck call. It features a one-piece, one-sided, bored out sound chamber box with both waterproof sidewalls and a hardwood lid. It also features a pop-up cutting mechanism. For more information, visit www.pennswoods.com.
9. An all-wood, pushpin box, the Quaker Boy H20 Easy Yelper, features a waterproof plunger and contact point. For more information, visit www.quakerboy.com.
10. The pocket-sized Woods Wise Mini Wet Hen is a high-pitched box that's two-sided and bored out of one piece of walnut. It's specialized Mystic coating on the sidewalls and lid creates a naturally gritty, waterproof surface. For more information, visit www.woodswise.com.
Waterproof box calls produce good sounds, wet or dry, that are effective at coaxing gobblers in close. Also, their low maintenance provides convenience in the field that's hard to beat.
CHAPTER 25
THE UNINTENTIONAL SCATTER
The topic of scattering turkeys is usually associated with fall hunting, when it is sometimes used to break up a flock for the purpose of calling them back
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['86c3306c-f003-68eb-e18b-f1e53f9fc75c']
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a tom on the opposite slope. As he moved, he would gobble from high and low spots on the incline, but he wouldn't cross over to my side. It finally dawned on me that his forward progress was halted by the small creek between us, and that's when I decided to take a chance and make a strategic move.
Sometimes a blocked tom will come to you, sometimes you have to go to him. Here my son <PERSON>, on a hunt several years ago, crosses a trout stream with a hard-earned tom slung across his shoulder.
The next time I heard him gobble from the upper part of the slope, I descended quickly and set up close enough to the creek to shoot across. I yelped loudly with a box call so the sound could be heard over the noise of running water, and his next gobble told me he was coming back down. When I squeezed the trigger of my 12-gauge Remington Model 870, he flopped into the water twenty yards away, and that's where I retrieved him.
I don't know what it is with turkeys and woven wire fences, which are common in ranch and farmland. Sometimes they fly across such fences with ease or go through holes or gaps, and other times, despite your best coaxing, all they do is walk back and forth, apparently confused as to why they can't step through them. One approach to dealing with a tom that is hung up because of a fence is to wait for him to go one way and move unseen to within range of the spot he just left. It doesn't always work, but when it does, a few yelps from you are usually enough to make him retrace his steps one last time.
What is it with turkeys and woven wire fences? Sometimes they go over or under them with ease; other times they pace back and forth for a long time before they remember they can fly.
Recently, I had a chat about roadblocked toms with <PERSON>, who has been turkey hunting for several decades. Currently he's one of the hosts of Turkey Thugs, and he recently designed a line of signature calls for Maestro Game Calls. He has won more than one hundred and fifty calling-contest championships, so when he talks turkey, I listen. He shared his thoughts about toms and obstacles with me.
"Knowing where the likely obstacles are before you hunt and adjusting to them as you go definitely stacks the odds in your favor," he said. "When I'm not familiar with the landscape and have a hot tom hang up unexpectedly, I usually find out there's some obstacle in his way. In that case, I give him a few minutes to make a move. After a while, if he's still stuck, I back off and try to get set up on his side of the barrier in a place I know he can come to. Sometimes calling from a different location is all it takes to end the standoff."
This tom
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structures of stars by monitoring their vibrations, in somewhat the same way that Earth's core/mantle structure can be discerned by studying the planet's vibrations—that is, the seismic waves generated by earthquakes. CoRoT was planned as a stellar seismograph, able to probe deep into stellar interiors. Because CoRoT would be staring at fields of stars for as long as 150 days, however, it might also be able to detect planetary transits, at least for planets with orbital periods much less than 150 days. Multiple transits could be observed and the transiting planet's orbital period reliably determined. <PERSON>, CoRoT's head at CNES, noted that CoRoT would also be able to determine the physical size of transiting planets by measuring how much of the target star's light was blocked by the area of the planet during a transit: a planet 10 times smaller than its star would lead to a 1% diminution in the star's light, because the areas of the planet's and star's surface projections on the plane of the sky depend on the squares of their respective diameters. CoRoT aimed to produce as accurate a picture of transiting planets as one might imagine could be created by the French realist painter <PERSON> (1796-1875).
CoRoT was planned for launch in 2002 with a total cost of only $55 million, including a Russian launch vehicle—a bargain compared to the expected costs of a typical NASA space mission. However, even this low total cost put CoRoT in jeopardy, given the desire of <PERSON>, the French science minister, to cut major projects. <PERSON> is a well-known and respected cosmochemist who had helped fix the age of the Solar System at 4.566 billion years, give or take a few million years. However, <PERSON> had confided to me at a 1998 exoplanets meeting in Lisbon, Portugal, that <PERSON> had wanted to close the Haute Provence Observatory, where <PERSON> had discovered 51 Pegasi b, and to cut the budget for the European Southern Observatory by 25%. Now <PERSON> wanted to finish the job on French astronomy by sending CoRoT to the guillotine. Apparently <PERSON> was content with planet Earth and felt no need for France to continue to discover new worlds.
**October 22, 1999—** The estimated cost of SIM rose to the range of $650-$700 million, well above the NASA headquarters target of $500 million. The SIM Project was told that it must cut costs or risk being canceled so that its funds could be used to help build the Next Generation Space Telescope, which now had a total cost estimate of $2 billion and a launch date of 2008. Clearly the Next Generation Space Telescope was the favored child, in spite of SIM's ability to perform brilliantly on a number of tough astronomical problems, such as helping to refine the cosmic distance scale, and in spite of SIM being NASA's first planet-hunting space telescope.
**November 11, 1999—** <PERSON> was excited, very excited. His team had made a major discovery, arguably the most important discovery in the field of extrasolar planets since 51 Pegasi's
|
d659c5fb-fbd5-13cf-3bc1-71ccc203bd95
|
['8726925a-329f-77e1-7b49-86696d542f43']
|
executive retreat overlooking a fjord outside of Stockholm, Sweden. Only one or two such conferences are held each year, and the fact that this one was on extrasolar planets seemed to be a harbinger of a possible future Nobel Prize in physics for planet hunting.
The Kepler Mission science team members gathered in private at the retreat to discuss what to do to support Kepler in its latest moment of peril. The rumor was that NASA headquarters believed that the scientific return expected from Kepler was not worth the money it would cost to complete the mission, even though NASA had already spent most of the money needed to build Kepler. We quickly put together a letter to the Astrophysics Subcommittee of the NASA Advisory Council stressing that only Kepler could be certain to detect Earth-like planets, if they existed, and to determine their frequency with a high degree of confidence. <PERSON> fired off the letter on our behalf in an e-mail to the Astrophysics Subcommittee, and we went back to the Nobel Symposium sessions to hear the latest about CoRoT.
<PERSON> noted that CoRoT had started its first long field exposure on May 2, 2007, beginning 150 days of staring at the same 12,000 or so stars. CoRoT's camera had already stumbled on an old Delta 2 rocket stage wandering in Earth orbit. It had also seen the orbital debris from the Chinese antisatellite missile that explosively impacted a Chinese satellite on January 11, 2007, achieving success on China's fourth attempt at a kill. <PERSON> pointed out that these 150 days of staring were long enough for CoRoT to detect two or three transits of planets with orbital periods as long as 60 days, and that 60-day orbital periods would place a planet in the habitable zone for K dwarf stars. Confirmation of transiting planets was to be done with a network of European telescopes in the Canary Islands, France, and Germany, and in Chile with the premier HARPS spectrograph. The CoRoT target fields were near Earth's equator so that ground-based follow-up observations could be done from observatories in both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres.
**June 21, 2007—** Portuguese astronomer <PERSON> and his colleagues on the Geneva Observatory team submitted a paper to _Astronomy & Astrophysics_ with the first results from their new Doppler search for planets around low-metallicity stars. Given the metallicity correlation, and the strong dependence of the two competing formation mechanisms on metallicity, understanding how the formation of gas giant planets depended on the stellar metallicity was important. The Geneva team had begun a search dedicated to low-metallicity F, G, and K dwarf stars with the HARPS spectrograph in 2003. They searched 105 stars regularly—a small sample out of the thousands of more metal-rich stars being followed, but a sample large enough to provide some fresh insight.
<PERSON> and his colleagues discovered that the G dwarf HD 171028 had a gas giant companion with mass of at least 1.8 Jupiter masses, orbiting at 1.3 AU, a distance slightly greater than Earth's distance from
|
16ed9037-e76d-52c5-b894-06656c08dd48
|
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|
you. Seen all sorts. Right and wrong can be like bloody snakes: so tangled up that you can't tell which is which until you've shot 'em both, and then it's too late."
He looked at <PERSON>: a long, wordless look. "The question I'd ask is, how would raking over the coals make things better? You can't put any of that right now." The words, devoid of judgment or animosity, twisted like a knife in <PERSON>'s guts just the same. "Christ—the quickest way to send a bloke mad is to let him go on re-fighting his war till he gets it right."
<PERSON> scraped at a callus on his finger. "If I'd had a son, I'd be proud if he turned out half as well as you. You're a good bloke, <PERSON>. A lucky bloke, with that wife and daughter of yours. Concentrate on what's best for your family now. <PERSON> upstairs's given you a second chance, so I reckon he's not too fussed about whatever you did or didn't do back then. Stick to now. Put right the things you can put right today, and let the ones from back then go. Leave the rest to the angels, or the devil or whoever's in charge of it."
"The salt. You can never get rid of the salt. It eats away like a cancer if you don't watch out." It was the day after his talk with <PERSON>, and <PERSON> was muttering to himself. <PERSON> sat beside him inside the giant glass cocoon of the lens, feeding her rag doll imaginary sweets as he buffed and polished the bronze fittings. Her blue eyes beamed up at him.
"Are you <PERSON>'s dadda too?" she asked.
<PERSON> stopped. "I don't know. Why don't you ask <PERSON>?"
She leaned to whisper something to the doll, then announced, "She says no. You're just my Dadda."
Her face had lost its round shape, and was now giving hints of her future self—blonde hair rather than the earlier dark shade, and enquiring eyes, fair skin. He wondered whether she would begin to resemble her mother, or her father. He thought back to the face of the blond man he had buried. Dread crawled up his spine as he imagined her asking him harder questions as the years went on. He thought, too, how his reflection in the mirror now offered glimpses of his own father's face at his age. Likeness lies in wait. <PERSON> was small: a mother might fail to recognize her infant in the face of a toddler, but eventually, wouldn't she see herself in the grown woman? The thought gnawed away at him. He dabbed the rag into the tin of polish and rubbed again, until the sweat trickled into the corners of his eyes.
That evening, <PERSON> was leaning against the veranda post, watching the wind blow the sun into night. He had lit up, and the tower was now settled down until dawn. He had gone over <PERSON>'s advice again and again. Put right the things you can put right today.
"Here you are,
|
a81e70f4-67ce-9571-5377-47d931fef2eb
|
['87d61df0-b285-1b96-2abb-b4f8fb09239c']
|
traded for the fruits of earth.
The isolation spins its mysterious cocoon, focusing the mind on one place, one time, one rhythm—the turning of the light. The island knows no other human voices, no other footprints. On the Offshore Lights you can live any story you want to tell yourself, and no one will say you're wrong: not the seagulls, not the prisms, not the wind.
So <PERSON> floats further and further into her world of divine benevolence, where prayers are answered, where babies arrive by the will of God and the working of currents. "<PERSON>, I wonder how we can be so lucky?" she muses. She watches in awe as her blessed daughter grows and thrives. She revels in the discoveries each day brings for this little being: rolling over; starting to crawl; the first, faltering sounds. The storms gradually follow winter to another corner of the earth, and summer comes, bearing a paler blue sky, a sharper gold sun.
"Up you come." <PERSON> laughs, and hoists <PERSON> onto her hip as the three of them stroll down the path to the glinting beach for a picnic. <PERSON> picks different leaves—sea grass, pig-face—and <PERSON> smells them, chews on their ends, pulling faces at the strange sensations. He gathers tiny posies of rose banjine, or shows her the shimmering scales of a trevally or a blue mackerel he has caught off the rocks on the side of the island where the ocean floor drops away into sudden darkness. On still nights, <PERSON>'s voice carries across the air in a soothing lilt as she reads <PERSON> tales of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie in the nursery, while <PERSON> works on repairs in the shed.
Whatever the rights and the wrongs of it, <PERSON> was here now, and <PERSON> couldn't have been a better mother. Every night in prayer she gave thanks to God for her family, her health, her much-blessed life, and prayed to be worthy of the gifts He showered on her.
Days broke and receded like waves on the beach, leaving barely a trace of the time that passed in this tiny world of working and sleeping and feeding and watching. <PERSON> shed a tear when she put away some of <PERSON>'s earliest baby things. "Seems only yesterday she was tiny, and now look at her," she mused to <PERSON>, as she folded them carefully away in tissue paper—a dummy, her rattle, her first baby dresses, a tiny pair of kid booties. Just like any mother might do, anywhere in the world.
When the blood didn't come, <PERSON> was excited. When she had given up all hope of another child, her expectations were about to be confounded. She would wait a little longer, keep praying before saying anything to <PERSON>. But she found her thoughts drifting off to daydreams about a brother or sister for <PERSON>. Her heart was full. Then the bleeding returned with a vengeance, heavier and more painful, in a pattern she couldn't fathom. Her head would ache, sometimes; she would sweat at night. Then months would pass with no
|
404ddee2-542f-2bc2-3a0b-1a3321f40000
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['881b4a9a-5194-b640-c9ff-049b5bd7ebcd']
|
MIT is. Speaking with an Indian accent, <PERSON> can easily embody the image of the wise Indian guru in the public mind, which gives everything he says additional credibility.
Advertising for products is taking on a more spiritual tone, sometimes in a way that seems gratuitous, as the religious imagery has nothing to do with the product. Some products, however, without the cover of humor, risk offending readers by associating religious symbols with their brands. For example, Antron carpets, by Du Pont, ran an ad with a picture of the <PERSON>, with text that said, "a daringly different backdrop of geometry and patterns that subtly frames, defines, and provides a new metaphor of harmony and strength. It's Zensual. It's zenduring." As customers click on the company's Web site, they are advised to "Pick a mantra. And don't forget to breathe."
#### **Barnes & Noble: Marketing Savvy for Booksellers**
<PERSON> purchased Barnes & Noble when it was struggling and he was a nobody. However, he understood that the action in bookstores was expanding the market. His initial strategy was shocking to other bookstores, because he used tactics similar to those of Wal-Mart, cutting prices every way he could. He made enough from doing so to keep purchasing his competition. At the same time, he kept the Barnes & Noble name, a name that conjures up the old monkish image of the small, dedicated bookshop, run by and for people who just love books.
The temple of the Sage archetype has to be either the library or the bookstore. Even when Barnes & Noble was conducting slash-and-burn price reduction as a strategy to defeat the competition, the firm's image still conjured up the archetypal bookstore ideal.
Over time, the introduction of the superstore updated this image to provide a book-buying experience, speaking to the full needs of the book lover in each of us. Understanding the absence of the village green, <PERSON> recognized that bookstores were a natural place for people to gather, particularly people who like to talk about ideas. He therefore began to offer Starbucks coffee, provide comfortable chairs, expanded store hours, book discussion groups, and readings by authors. Eventually, he learned to deliver an experience that Sages would enjoy. Barnes & Noble even became a place for young people who loved ideas to meet each other—a veritable dating service!
Getting into e-commerce just shortly after Amazon.com, <PERSON> also was quick to see the possibilities of the Internet. He predicts that, in time, on-line services "will allow shoppers to download and print all or part of a book," making changes that will revolutionize the industry. His ability to hold firm to a Sage identity while updating the business of book marketing has made Barnes & Noble the biggest and most successful book chain in the world.
#### **Marketing That Makes People Think**
Marketing expert <PERSON>, in _Experiential Marketing_ , identifies "think campaigns" as a major way to market a brand, and we would add that think campaigns are ideal ways to market Sage brands. Genesis ElderCare, for example, differentiates
|
315bf0ba-0fbb-300f-7207-241e1689b29a
|
['881b4a9a-5194-b640-c9ff-049b5bd7ebcd']
|
can use this system to consistently find ways to take the high road while still being successful selling products.
#### **Accentuate the Positive, Eliminate the Negative**
There are wonderful ads out there that reinforce the cutting-edge potential of archetypes. However, many run-of-the-mill messages currently reinforce their negative or lower-level aspects of archetypes. For example, so many commercial messages appeal to the Ruler's desire for power and status. However, the Ruler archetype at its higher level is willing to take on huge responsibilities, not just for money and status, but to make the world a better place. People with a high degree of Ruler tendencies also have a knack for putting together the infrastructure of policies, procedures, rules, regulations, and laws that make the world function. You can think of such people as great citizens who help make things work for all of us. Is it really necessary that so many ads to appeal simply to the more crass Ruler desire to incite envy or dominate situations? You can sell products using either approach—in the first case, with the potential for reinforcing shallow tendencies in people or, in the second case, for reinforcing something greater and nobler within them. If you can sell a product either way, why not take the high road?
Particularly when marketing professionals may be pressured to create commercial messages designed primarily to get attention, with no thought given to other factors, it is important to recognize that there is a great risk that these stereotypical ads can reinforce the negative potential within an archetype.
In the field of medicine, doctors and pharmaceutical companies are charged with the task of making people well. However, if, in the process, they induce side effects that are harmful, they are held accountable. Recent government and class-action suits against cigarette companies may be only the first step in the growing social consensus that business is responsible for the impact of its products on consumers.
Marketing can also have unanticipated consequences on the consciousness of individuals and of the time, however well intentioned marketers might be. It is therefore helpful, in developing a marketing campaign or constructing an ad campaign, to monitor the level of the archetype you are reinforcing and to deemphasize its shadow or negative aspects. If you remember from Part 1 how the placebo effect works, it is apparent that a product can become so associated with negative attitudes and behaviors that its use promotes them. Figure 7.7 includes summary information, which can be supplemented by revisiting Parts 2 to of this book, about the shadow aspects of the 12 archetypes. This information is meant to provide a means to routinely consider the ethical domain, which tends to be nebulous and difficult to pin down.
_Figure 7.7_
#### **Quality Standards in Marketing**
There are other ways, too, in which the ethics of working with archetypes gets dicey. Sometimes, one positive feature conflicts with another. For example, one might argue that showing off-road vehicles tearing through a wild terrain holds important Explorer values that are threatened by modern life. Some part
|
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['88d5185d-ce6c-fcd2-76e4-8f5d697cfbc5']
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of fringe of fibers called cilia which vibrate so as to catch any dust that may enter the throat with their gluey mucus and move it up to the mouth. And then there are the heroes, who sacrifice their life for the welfare of others. These are the cells of the skin. The skin which sacrifices itself for the protection of the other organs, covers the whole body. The outer layer of the skin dies; its cells sacrifice themselves and underneath there is another layer which is getting ready to sacrifice its life for the safety of all. Those with the long filaments are the cells of the nervous system. Then there are the red cells of the blood which go on continuously taking oxygen to the other cells. They take back and throw away the poisonous gases that have formed. The marvelous thing is that though the red corpuscles of the blood are in enormous numbers, yet their number is determined.
Before the work starts, these are some of the types of cells. Each of these cells prepares itself for the work it has to do. When they have formed themselves for this special work, they can no longer transform themselves. A nervous cell can never be transformed into a liver cell. And so when they have transformed themselves as if imbued with a great ideal and dedicated themselves to the work that fulfils it, their task is fixed, because they have specialized themselves for it. Is it not the same in our human society? There are, we might say, special groups of men who form the organs of humanity. In the beginning each individual performs many tasks. In the primitive society, when people are few, one has to know a little of everything. One is a mason, a doctor, a carpenter and everything. But when society is evolved, then there is specialization of work. Each man chooses a type of work and his psyche becomes so involved in this work that he can do only that work and nothing else. For example, a doctor cannot be a shoemaker. The training for a profession is not only learning a technique, the individual undergoes a psychic transformation for the task that he is to perform so that one prepares himself not only technically, but, what is more important, one acquires a special psychic personality, which is suited for that special work. One finds one's ideal realized in it. One's life is that.
The same seems to happen in the case of the body. When each cell has specialized to form the different organs, something else comes that achieves a union among them all. It is composed of two complex organs which do not function for themselves but function in order to achieve the unity among all others. They are the circulatory and nervous systems. The first system is a sort of a river in which there are substances and these are carried to all. But it is not only a distributor, it is also a collector. The organs produce certain things which
|
9fd69b43-19b7-dbea-b6b6-41fdf390dcd5
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|
is an act of homage, an acknowledgment of a superiority in the teacher, which could make him feel proud and satisfied of himself.
Will and obedience are connected in as much as the will is the foundation and obedience marks a second phase in a process of development. Obedience has thus a higher meaning than is generally realized in education. It may be considered as a sublimation of the individual will.
Also obedience must be interpreted in a way which places it among the phenomena of life and can then be considered as one of the characteristics of nature.
In our children, in fact, we witness the development of obedience as a kind of evolution. It appears spontaneously, as a surprise. It represents the destination of a long process of perfectionment.
If there were not this quality in the human soul, if men could not reach the point of being able to obey by an evolutional process, society could not exist. If we throw but a superficial glance at the affairs of the world we easily discover up to what extent people obey. This kind of obedience is exactly the reason that causes whole groups of humanity to fall into a chasm of destruction. An obedience without control, an obedience leading whole nations to disaster. There is no lack of obedience in the world, far from it! Obedience as a natural consequence of the development of the human soul is very evident indeed, but the control of obedience is sadly lacking.
Our observation of children in a environment prepared to help their natural development has clearly shown us the growth of obedience as one of its most characteristic coefficients and this observation throws a great deal of light upon the subject.
We have clearly seen in the course of our experience that obedience in children is developed in the same way as the other qualities of the character; it follows hormic urges at first, then passes on to a conscious level where it is further developed along several degrees.
Let us first specify what we really and practically mean by obedience. It is after all what has always been meant by it: a teacher commanding the children what to do and the children obeying the command by realizing it.
The natural development of obedience in the child can be divided according to three degrees.
In the first degree the child obeys only occasionally, not always. This fact which could be attributed to whimsical behavior, should be analyzed.
Obedience is not connected only with what is usually called "willingness," it depends on facts of formation. A certain ability and a certain measure of maturity are necessary in order to be able to perform the commanded action. Obedience, therefore, should be judged in relation to development and vital conditions. It is impossible to command "walk on your nose," because this is physiologically impossible. Neither is it possible to command "write a letter" to a person who cannot write. It is necessary, therefore, to establish first the material possibility to obey in relation to the
|
ee4b6783-4a43-1798-8445-71d4e20a4737
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|
funda la intimidad,
como los ríos fundan sus ciudades,
es porque muchos días, en lugares ajenos,
en las extrañas estaciones
de paisajes difíciles,
cuando el vagón observa los rostros desalmados
y los silencios precavidos,
me persiguen los signos familiares.
En la niebla de luces, letreros, altavoces,
ojos con prisa, manos con teléfonos,
escaparates rápidos, mendigos,
semáforos cerrados,
músicos ambulantes, idiomas callejeros,
movistar, samsung, nokia, todavía
no me siento perdido.
Y, sin embargo,
cuando oigo los ruidos de mi casa,
cuando soporto el tráfico que hay en mi memoria,
cuando paseo dentro de un olvido,
y abro los cajones, y busco en los armarios,
y cruzo por debajo de la almohada,
estoy lejos de mí,
como dañado y triste,
igual que una bandera sin sentido.
Sé que los sueños rotos
nunca dejan vacío, sino historias.
La muerte sí, quiero decir la vida,
la vida que se atreve a soñar su descanso.
Voy hacia el puente. Veo sobre el río
el barco de papel que se deshace.
Hay palabras escritas en las velas,
palabras en desorden
que he aprendido a callar.
Está la tarde fría en la mano mojada.
Escondida en los árboles,
la bicicleta insiste
para volver a tiempo. Pero ¿adónde?
<PERSON>, piérdete en las veredas
dudosas de la tarde,
descubre que ser libre es estar solo.
No son las multitudes,
ni las plazas desiertas, ni el suburbio.
Es otra soledad.
Hablo de ti como lugar difícil.
Aprende que el vacío también se desordena.
Aunque tú no lo sepas, con los años,
este desorden fundará tu vida,
como los ríos fundan sus ciudades.
### LA LENTITUD TIENE ALAS IGUAL QUE EL PENSAMIENTO
### Y QUE LAS OBSESIONES
AMO la lentitud de los aviones
cuando todo parece más quieto y más lejano.
Quiero inventarme el mundo,
dejar que se conforme con mis ojos.
<PERSON> ver las películas sin voz,
nunca obedezco órdenes de los auriculares.
Adivino en la imagen
la historia recogida en un abrazo,
los motivos del odio y la venganza,
la cicatriz que marca la piel de una familia.
Voy poniendo palabras en los labios ajenos
como se dejan huellas en la nieve.
Suelo mirar el curso
|
1f073749-3af2-4252-ca44-65c81134a8f4
|
['89c58d56-d55c-3d0a-bbd5-f0c6fff18de6']
|
se volvieron objetos.
Un paisaje de centros comerciales
apareció, murmullo tras murmullo,
lentamente, lo mismo
que si la realidad se confesara.
Autopistas y casas desmontables,
un paisaje difícil
para cualquiera de nosotros.
La suerte,
que no conoce patrias, se tomó
la libertad de presentarnos
una tarde de lluvia en Albuquerque.
Ella contó su vida
como quien tiene un árbol a un lado del camino.
Yo cumplo la promesa que le di
y escribo este poema.
### MUJERES
MAÑANA de suburbio
y el autobús se acerca a la parada.
Hace frío en la calle, suavemente,
casi de despertar en primavera,
de ciudad que no ha entrado
todavía en calor.
Desde mi asiento veo a las mujeres,
con los ojos de sueño y la ropa sin brillo,
en busca de su horario de trabajo.
Suben y van dejando al descubierto,
en los cristales de la marquesina,
un anuncio de cuerpos escogidos
y de ropa interior.
Las muchachas nos miran a los ojos
desde el reino perfecto de su fotografía,
sin horarios, sin prisa,
obscenas como un sueño bronceado.
Yo me bajo en la próxima, murmuras.
Me conmueve el recuerdo
de tu piel blanca y triste
y la hermandad humilde de tu noche,
la mano que dejaste
olvidada en mi mano,
al venir de la ducha,
hace sólo un momento,
mientras yo me negaba a levantarme.
Que tengas un buen día,
que la suerte te busque
en tu casa pequeña y ordenada,
que la vida te trate dignamente.
### AFIRMACIÓN
VIAJAR por carreteras secundarias,
más cerca del paisaje,
<PERSON> y la tierra mojada,
el coche muy despacio sobre el puente.
Afirmación posible
de que nos sobra el tiempo
para perdernos en nosotros mismos,
porque el mundo con todas sus ciudades
está siempre en el sitio donde estamos nosotros,
única rosa de los vientos,
único puerto de llegada.
Aquí, entre tú y yo,
entre los álamos y el río,
la luz de otoño vive
con la tranquilidad de los recuerdos
y nunca necesita pasaporte
para entrar y salir
de nuestro corazón.
### EN OTRO TIEMPO
###
|
05f6ee8a-0bce-1104-39d0-847b26dc63c8
|
['89cfd042-d114-f461-51f9-a91529e28417']
|
was exacerbated and became clearer as the socio-political situation grew darker during and after the First World War. This hugely traumatic event utterly changed people's sensibilities. Italian Futurists had sung the praises of war before European civilization attempted its own suicide...
_"War is beautiful because it establishes man's dominion over the subjugated machinery by means of gas masks, terrifying megaphones, flame throwers, and small tanks. War is beautiful because it enriches a flowering meadow with the fiery orchids of machine guns. War is beautiful because it combines the gunfire, the cannonades, the ceasefire, the scents, and the stench of putrefaction into a symphony."_
Such rhetoric was obscene in the face of actual carnage – an unparalleled slaughter of 8.5 million in trench warfare, 1914 to 1918. _"And for what?"_ That, precisely, was the question that modernism had to pose itself. The official information propagated during the war had been brazen lies. Lies and "laughter out of dead bellies", as <PERSON> fumed in his poem _Hugh Selwyn Mauberley_ (1920): "There died a myriad... For an old bitch gone in the teeth, for a botched civilization..."
_Died some, pro patria_ ,
_non "dulce" non "et decor"...
walked eye-deep in hell
believing in old men's lies, then unbelieving
came home, home to a lie,
home to many deceits,
home to old lies and new infamy;
usury old-age and age-thick
and liars in public places._
## **_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_**
Heroic patriotism that pre-war schoolboys imbibed from these famous words of the Roman poet **<PERSON>** (65–8 BC) had become a grotesque joke for <PERSON>, a sinister lie for the war poet <PERSON>** (1893–1918), killed in action...
_Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling_ ,
_Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time_ ,
_But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime_.—
_Dim through the misty panes and thick green light_ ,
_As under a green sea, I saw him drowning._
_In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning._
_If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori._
## **"And What For?"**
The question soon found its answer in two conflicting political remedies. Two decisive events emerged from the "mire and death" of the
|
a8dd21f0-3939-c190-cad8-9e4b15a8bf4a
|
['89cfd042-d114-f461-51f9-a91529e28417']
|
the urban landscape. The _"film noir"_ genre in particular explored memorably the dark corners and violent streets of a dystopian America.
## **Architects' Utopia**
The city could also function as utopian map. The Futurist architect <PERSON>** (1888–1916) designed (though never actually built) his grand visions of the city. The influential German school of design, the **Bauhaus** , was founded by architects <PERSON>** (1883–1969) – its director from 1919 to 1928 – and <PERSON>** (1886–1969).
OUR SCHOOL EXERTED A PERVASIVE INFLUENCE ON THE FUNCTIONALIST ASPIRATIONS OF ARCHITECTS AND TOWN PLANNERS ...
FROM CHICAGO TO CHANDIGARH IN INDIA TO BRASILIA – THE BAUHAUS PRINCIPLES OF DESIGN WERE PUT INTO PRACTICE.
Sometimes it is difficult to distinguish between utopia and dystopia. The exhilarating urban panoramas of Sant'Elia seem so similar to the sense of nightmare in <PERSON>'s film _Metropolis._
But if there is one name which conjures up the attempt, however misguided, to create utopian visions of buildings and cities, it is the controversial **Le <PERSON>** (1887–1965). His concept of the house as "a machine to live in" was extended to the city, whose streets were to become "machines for traffic".
His utopian designs for the future have now become associated with a discredited modernist dream, our contemporary urban dystopia.
OUR "CARBUNCLES", AS I CALL CONTEMPORARY ARCHITECTURE ...
<PERSON> vision was a rendering of the city which banished the unpredictable and the deviant: "Nothing is contradictory any more. Everything is in its place, properly arranged in order and hierarchy."
## **Why Are Modernists So Often "Exiles"?**
The city acts as a centripetal force in modernism, drawing into itself talent and energy. The great capital cities of Europe offered "asylum" to these modernist emigrants. Many were exiles in their own land, class immigrants (such as the Cubist painter <PERSON>) who had their roots in the provinces and discovered the great capital cities.
THE SHOCK AND CONFRONTATION WITH METROPOLITAN MODERNITY CONTRIBUTED TO OUR AVANT-GARDE EXPERIMENTS, OUR WAY OF UNDERSTANDING THE DIFFERENT AND THE NEW.
Imitating the mass emigrations in microcosm, there were also those who opted to change countries. A great number of prominent modernists were in fact such "exiles" by choice. <PERSON> and <PERSON>** (1887–1927) were Spaniards who went to live in France. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and the Imagist poet **<PERSON>** (<PERSON>, 1886–1961) left the United States to live in England.
## **Modernist Nomads**
The "lost generation" of American expatriates – <PERSON>** (1899–1961), <PERSON>** (1896–1940) and <PERSON> – flirted with exile in Europe and Paris.
The exemplary exile is <PERSON>, who deliberately turned his back on Ireland.
THE LAST THREE WORDS OF ULYSSES – "TRIESTE-ZURICH-PARIS" – SIGNIFY THE NOMADIC LIFE OF THE MODERNIST WRITER.
<PERSON> came originally from Poland. <PERSON> left Switzerland to roam adventurously in China, Persia and the Americas, finally settling in Paris. <PERSON> escaped the stultifying confines of 1920s England to travel in Europe and Mexico.
How often we discover Paris as the final location in a journey. Paris drew artists and writers
|
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|
it appears she had never visited before. <PERSON> went elsewhere; <PERSON> knew not where.
<PERSON> had not begun the trip planning to end up in Detroit. She had intended to stay around Mt. Pleasant and find a job. Just what motivated her to flee so far is a matter about which we can only speculate. Certainly, she had concluded that she had exhausted the job prospects in the small pocket of Michigan she knew so well: St. Louis, Alma, Ithaca, and Mt. Pleasant. "I went to Detroit because I could not do anything better," <PERSON> would testify. "I could not work in Alma or any place." But perhaps there were other reasons as well. Perhaps she feared staying so close to home, and thus to <PERSON>. Perhaps she had some sort of falling out with <PERSON> (though there is no evidence of this: the two women's journey thus far had been purely ad hoc, following no logical route and returning to dangerous <PERSON> twice in two days; it was not illogical for them to part ways). Perhaps <PERSON> even held out hope that her husband, <PERSON>, residing in Detroit, would be able to assist her, to provide her with "protection" or possibly even affection.
Perhaps not. In any event, the nineteen-year-old <PERSON>—hunted and haunted—hauling her few belongings in suitcases—boarded one last train and started out for Detroit, the same city her father had traveled to alone three years earlier, in an ill-fated attempt to "better himself."
DETROIT IN 1919 was a city in a grand ferment. Trade unionists, bootleggers, suffragists, soapbox preachers, and wave after wave of assembly-line workers packed the city's increasingly crowded streets, all of them walking beneath the new slate-gray, steel-framed skyscrapers and matching sky. Workers in the ascendant auto industry—almost half the city's workforce—made $5 a day. The Fisher Brody 21 plant had just opened at the edge of Poletown, and across the city, other auto plants—bearing names like Chrysler, Dodge, Studebaker, Cadillac, and the granddaddy of them all, Ford—were opening, expanding, and bustling with activity. The city's population had doubled over the last decade, largely as a result of the influx of Poles, Germans, and other European pilgrims. By 1920, Detroit was the fourth-largest city in America, and its borders had to literally expand to encapsulate all the new residents; the city had grown threefold in area over the last twenty years. When the Great War closed the country's ports to European immigrants—immigration fell 90 percent from 1914 to 1918—the major industrial centers of America beckoned southward to fill their factories. Hundreds of thousands of blacks traveled north, to the booming cities of Chicago, New York, Pittsburgh, Gary, and Detroit, where black migrants packed into tiny, unsanitary boardinghouses in fetid, vibrant Black Bottom. After the war ended, the black migration did not, but the flood from abroad started up again with a vengeance. The number of immigrants moving to Detroit more than tripled between 1918 and 1919, and Poletown, Corktown, and Germantown bulged. Returning soldiers further swelled the city, happily removing their gas
|
5f6294f0-4fca-6f4d-9b57-1460f3863dd9
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['89f20a8a-271a-41e7-0486-fd1afd9c9d53']
|
highest court quickly denied <PERSON>'s appeal, citing several American Plan cases from the 1910s as precedent.
The case of <PERSON> reflects one of the more sinister realities of the American Plan: through the decades, the Plan had remained stubbornly racist at every stage. <PERSON>'s arrest, detention, and losses in court are obviously a product of her gender, but they are also inextricably a product of her race. <PERSON> was a black woman living in Beaumont, Texas—which meant she was a second-class citizen, constantly subject to suspicion and even hatred.
When the officer who arrested <PERSON> claimed he had seen her with soldiers, he specified that he had seen her in several "negro dives." Every inmate in the jail cell in which <PERSON> and other infected Beaumont women were locked was black. Indeed, in SPD investigators' first meeting with town officials (years before <PERSON> was arrested), they recommended that the city fathers ask the military that the "colored sections of the City of Beaumont be placed off-limits for white soldiers." Beaumont's leaders immediately obliged, as did the military. Shortly thereafter, at the urging of <PERSON> and others, Beaumont implemented a policy of "repression against commercialized prostitution," shutting down its decades-old red-light district and arresting many of the women found within. City health officials examined women arrested for vagrancy, prostitution, and the like, and in some cases they quarantined infected ones in the jail, but they allowed most infected women to seek treatment as outpatients.
That changed once <PERSON> became chief of police on December 1, 1943. <PERSON> accepted the appointment as chief after gaining assurances from the city council that "no limitations" would be imposed on him. <PERSON> told an SPD investigator "that he will resign his position if he is ever told to ease up on any person or group of persons." <PERSON> immediately fired a dozen officers he deemed insufficiently vigilant and began enforcing Texas's laws against prostitution and vagrancy with a vengeance. Suspected women were examined, and those found to be infected were quarantined. <PERSON> maintained a strict policy of racial segregation: infected white women were held in the county building, while infected black women were held in the city jail.
Such segregation was justified on sanitary as well as racial grounds. In the 1940s, experts widely believed that STIs were more dangerous in blacks than in whites. "The Negro is not to blame because his syphilis rate is six times that of the white," Surgeon General <PERSON> himself once said,
It is not his fault that the disease is biologically different in him than in the white; that his blood vessels are particularly susceptible so that late syphilis brings with it crippling circulatory diseases, cuts his working usefulness in half, and makes him [an] unemployable burden upon the community in the last years of his shortened life. It is through no fault of hers that the colored woman remains infectious two and one-half times as long as the white woman.
<PERSON> and other police chiefs like him in Texas were so enthusiastic in their enforcement
|
06ac5996-3bdb-ac91-25d0-702b4e78f808
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['8abc3d8f-41d8-c125-f220-23520e5f5f74']
|
he said smoothly, as if now adjusted to the new situation. "You haven't made this easy, <PERSON>, sticking close to other people or to your own place. I decided I'd have to get at you here, if I could ever catch you alone. When I saw only your car out front tonight, I decided now was the time. Fooled me again, did you? But you won't live to enjoy it."
<PERSON>'s puzzled gaze moved from one to the other. <PERSON> took two deep breaths, wincing at the pain from her cracked rib, and felt slightly more calm. She eased her right foot backwards and over, partly behind a bookcase.
"Bet you're <PERSON> kid, aren't you?" <PERSON> asked, turning more towards <PERSON>.
She nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes.
"What're you doing here so late?" he demanded. "Where's _your_ car?" He rubbed at an eye.
Impulsively, <PERSON> slipped behind the bookshelf. Pulse racing, she cowered there. Okay, what now?
Her heart thudded hard. She had acted rashly, with no plan. She had the library keys in her pocket, but even if she could make it to the front door, with its sticking lock she wouldn't be able to get it open quickly enough.
Anyway, she mustn't leave <PERSON> alone with him, at his mercy.
"I'm doing—research," <PERSON> quavered. "My car's—up the block a ways."
<PERSON> knew she had no choice. Slowly, reluctantly, she edged from behind the bookshelf. This time <PERSON> noticed her movement.
"Oho, <PERSON>, trying to be cute, are we?" Eyes narrowed and menacing, he walked towards her, his gun trained directly on her now.
Panic seized her again. Would he shoot her immediately, out of pique? Maybe kill both of them? Her legs rubbery, she grabbed a shelf for support.
_Don't give up, <PERSON>_ , she told herself. _You're still alive, and so is <PERSON>. Don't give him the satisfaction of giving up._
If she could just remain calm enough to think straight— Taking another painful deep breath, she forced herself to stand upright and face <PERSON> without flinching.
He grinned. "Now you get it, <PERSON>—escape's not in the cards for you. Go join your friend there at the table."
Avoiding <PERSON>'s eyes, striving for dignity despite her anxiety, <PERSON> walked past him and along the alcove half-wall to the entry point. Inside it, she resumed her seat. A glance at <PERSON>'s face showed a mixture of fear, bewilderment, and suspicion. Did she think <PERSON> had tried to run out on her? Leave her to face <PERSON> alone?
Uncomfortably, <PERSON> realized she'd considered doing just that.
"You're in bad company, Miss <PERSON>," <PERSON> said. "<PERSON> can't keep her nose out of other people's business." He rested his gun arm on the half-wall.
"I'm so sorry, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said in a hushed voice. "I've—gotten myself into a mess—and you with me."
"Speak up," <PERSON> said, cupping his left ear.
As <PERSON> repeated herself, her brain went into overdrive. Maybe she could somehow take advantage of his hearing limitation. She had to keep him talking, buy time to plot strategy.
|
670b3d19-9b2c-f7fa-452e-6b8639282ab0
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['8abc3d8f-41d8-c125-f220-23520e5f5f74']
|
park bench, and—since <PERSON>'s car was gone—I stopped. He and I talked awhile, and I asked him about the <PERSON> murder. He was cagey but didn't deny knowing something. The trick'll be getting any information he has _out_ of him."
"Think it would be worth appealing to <PERSON> for her help?"
<PERSON> heard a quick indrawn breath. "We'd better leave her out of this."
"Suppose it'd make her mad if I talked to him behind her back?"
"Possibly. <PERSON>'s a nice woman, but she watches over her dad like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades."
"I didn't realize you were up on your Greek mythology."
"Because I'm a jock?" He chuckled. "Here I'd thought you weren't one to stereotype people. Seriously, <PERSON>, you may have to choose between angering <PERSON> and losing the story." He paused. "The people who know what really happened are getting up in years. If you're going to find out the truth . . . ."
"I'd better get on with it?"
"Yeah. Anyway, <PERSON> says you're congenitally unable to leave any secret alone."
"<PERSON>'s a wise-off. But I would hate to give up on this one, now that I'm finally making progress."
"Good. You talk to <PERSON>, and I'll keep working on <PERSON>. But remember your promise to keep mum about these folks' cooperation. Just in case."
"Absolutely." <PERSON> hung up, spirits dampened by a feeling of foreboding brought on by <PERSON>'s last words.
* * * *
As she had feared, her weight came in for criticism that afternoon. After giving <PERSON> her physical, Dr. <PERSON> sat at her desk in the examining room, frowning at a paper listing test results.
"This won't do, <PERSON>. Excess pounds carry health risks, and you need to lose at least forty, preferably fifty. Your blood pressure isn't dangerous now, but it's creeping upward, higher than someone your age ought to have." The doctor straightened her own compact body and swept a wing of salt-and-pepper hair off her cheek. "Heart problems or strokes could be in your future. Not to mention diabetes, which runs in your family—both sides."
"I've been a bad girl."
"Don't make light of this, <PERSON>. I'm prescribing a plan of diet and exercise, and I want your solemn word you'll follow it."
<PERSON> hesitated. "I already hike to work and back most days. I guess I could walk even more. But I have trouble sticking to a diet. I love to eat."
Dr. <PERSON>'s expression softened. "So do I. But there are things I value more. My family. My work." She folded her hands on the desktop. "My life."
"I'm not old yet. Can't I enjoy food a few more years before I have to count every calorie?"
"<PERSON>, you're too smart to think that way. We now know that poor eating habits, even in the teen years, have health consequences later in life. What you do now, matters. Are you going to take off weight and get fit?"
"I guess you won't let me leave till I promise."
"Damn straight."
<PERSON> sighed. "You've never
|
60513a2e-2586-a66c-ea38-68598cdabba2
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['8b82fbc8-dd32-beae-0186-a077a4e79f2c']
|
to find some and we went to Saint Francis's to see the windows and down to the cemetery to put flowers on <PERSON> grave.
What'll we do if there's a war?
Head to the caves, son. We'd all live underground, my grandad says.
I can see that, when I ask, my mum is worried because she doesn't know the answer. She hasn't been in a war like my grandad. He knows what to do. <PERSON> might start a war to help her new friend, <PERSON>, who is the new President of the United States of America.
Fool, him, my grandad says, as he watches <PERSON> on the television. They'd have bin better off with the monkey.
<PERSON> used to act in films with a chimpanzee called Bonzo.
The television shows Russian tanks rumbling through Moscow and the soldiers marching along with big steps and boots, then the screen switches to <PERSON> smiling and waving, back in America. I like to watch the Russian soldiers march when they show it on television on May Day. May Day is workers' day, so the Russian soldiers march for us under their red flags and hammers and sickles. The people's flag is deepest red. It's complicated, though, because the Russian soldiers still might come and kill us even though they'd be attacking <PERSON> and we'd have to try to make friends with them, our enemy's enemy.
If there's a war the Russians will drop a nuclear bomb on Birmingham, so we'd have to go underground and live in the caves. That's how human life might survive. When I look at the patterns of the trilobites' bodies I think of the labyrinth underneath us, the twists and turns. There are lakes and great caverns under Dudley. There's one by the zoo called the Singing Cavern that's so big you'd have to ride across it in a ship. That's where we'll live when they drop their bombs.
I used to dream of <PERSON> striding through the labyrinth to kill the minotaur, of <PERSON> creeping through the misty mountain tunnels with his magic ring, stories from the books I read. I imagined how we'd evolve as we lived underground, how we'd end up with huge eyes and curved backs like the Morlocks in The Time Machine. Slowly we'd change into pale frogs, worms, burrowing back into the water and the dark.
<PERSON> said hello to some of yower mates this morning, day yer, <PERSON>?
As my dad says this I see <PERSON> flinch at the kitchen table and I don't want my dad to say anything more.
Day yer, Sean? my dad says again because I'm ignoring him. I nod.
Oh, right, <PERSON> says.
My dad is smiling. He thinks it's funny that I might know the skinheads. I'm not sure why. He must know they're not <PERSON>'s mates, could never be.
Who was they, <PERSON>? What was theer names?
I doh know, I say.
Well, they knowed yowers. Put their thumbs up.
I pretend I'm trying to remember. There's no point
|
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['8b82fbc8-dd32-beae-0186-a077a4e79f2c']
|
he goes falling backwards and the others all shout Scrap! Scrap! Scrap! and Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! like we always do when there's a fight. <PERSON> grabs a pole. I think how we're not meant to play around here because of the stuff that the workmen left when they did up the nursery: slabs and bags of concrete and thick metal poles like the one <PERSON> has picked up now. He runs at me with it held over his head and I stop still, freeze. I could dodge, or swing a punch, or try to run away; no one would blame me, it's against the rules to try something like this. But I'm thinking, Come on then, let's fight about your stupid fucking islands and your cousin in the army helping <PERSON> and then <PERSON> smashes the pole over my head.
I know there's blood because there's some on my hands and spots of it on the gravel in front of me. I can't see properly. There's blood in front of my eye and I can't get up off the floor. Everyone screams and runs around. There's a whistle blowing and I can see <PERSON>, the caretaker, wrestling with <PERSON> to get him to drop the iron pole, which goes with a crash onto the floor, like it did on my head.
He's killed him, I hear someone shout, but it's not like when I fell out of the window. I know I'm not dead this time. It's just blood and a clanging in my ears from the iron bar crashing and it sounds like the metal I used to be able to hear being bashed at the works from across the allotments, and then everything goes black.
I come round in Mr <PERSON>'s car. I'm wrapped in a blanket on the back seat and Mrs <PERSON>, the school secretary, is sitting next to me. She's got a son in the navy on the way to the Falkland Islands. There's a picture of him above her desk in the office with a poppy pinned on it, even though it isn't November, and a Union Jack. For a moment I think that she knows the truth and they're going to drive me off and drop me into the canal from the bridge and I'll be like one of the Disappeared. I'm sick onto the blanket and Mrs <PERSON> says, It's okay, darling, it's okay, and wipes my mouth with some tissues.
We're at the hospital and a doctor sews my eyelid back on, which was the problem, it was hanging off, and why even <PERSON> was crying and trying to get at <PERSON> to punch him even when he still had the iron pole in his hands and even though she'd been one of the people shouting Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! and clapping and stamping when we started fighting. She loves a good fight.
I have concussion, a big lump on my head and stitches in my right eyelid and eyebrow.
<PERSON> is in big trouble. I'm allowed back in class, even though I
|
bff5e7c2-763c-fc04-7499-7a0472ee6bec
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['8bc76854-a61c-f38f-c9fa-86b0eea5e17d']
|
had no idea where he stood lurking, watching us.
I peered into the darkness, heart banging, mouth dry. Finally, at three o'clock, I noted a flick of movement. There was a reshaping of the shadows at the edge of the forest. A flash of fair skin. The glint of an eye. Then <PERSON> came into dim focus.
I glanced at the brothers. The expression on <PERSON>'s face was unlike any I'd seen there before. The man was terrified.
I looked back at <PERSON>, every instinct on hyperalert.
"The <PERSON>. Kick it over here."
<PERSON> tossed then kicked the shotgun toward <PERSON>, hands raised in submission.
"<PERSON>. You startled me." Though my tone was casual, my brain was whirling.
"My bad."
"A little outside your jurisdiction, aren't you?" I was pleased at the steadiness of my voice.
"Easy to get lost in the glades." <PERSON> kept his eyes on <PERSON>. "Easy to screw up."
"We ain't done nothin' wrong." <PERSON>'s tone was half defiant, half pleading.
"You morons do just about everything wrong." <PERSON> stepped further into the clearing.
"Why are you here?" I demanded.
"Thought you might want protection."
I caught the glint of steel in <PERSON>'s hand.
"<PERSON> sent you?" My mind was clicking at warp speed. Disjointed pieces were sliding into place. The humiliation of losing an ad campaign. The jotted words that read like places in a national park. A photo of a python skin used by women fingered for illegal procurement.
"Sure did," <PERSON> said.
Except <PERSON> didn't know I was coming tonight. Had <PERSON> followed me?
"I'm good," I said. "Sorry you made the long trip for nothing."
More pieces. Hostile behavior at the rangers' station. Unsupervised time in the locker room.
"Can't have a city gal running around all by her lonesome. This swamp's a dangerous place." <PERSON> began walking toward us.
"<PERSON>'s on his way," I lied, heart hammering against my ribs.
"<PERSON> ain't coming." <PERSON> called my bluff.
As the ranger cop drew closer, details of his appearance emerged. A flashlight in his waistband. A Glock in his hand. A deadly look in his eyes. The bulge of an object in his shirt pocket.
My flight instinct screamed for me to take action. I held my ground and squinted to make out the bulge. It was leaf-shaped. With a spiral along one side.
Sudden recognition.
<PERSON> journal.
"I'm leaving anyway," I said.
I had to get out of there. <PERSON> had murdered and dismembered <PERSON> and <PERSON>. I'd stumbled onto his secret. Now he wanted me dead.
I turned and started toward the car.
"That's not going to happen."
<PERSON> raised the Glock and pointed the barrel dead between my eyes.
# Chapter Ten
"What the hell are you doing, <PERSON>?" I held my voice steady, despite the gun pointed at my face.
"Taking care of a problem."
<PERSON> and <PERSON> were frozen in place. No help coming from that direction. My best tactic was to stall, look for an opening. Then what?
Whatever it took to survive.
"You killed
|
0a185d7f-d84f-270a-26dc-7a1f9a86c664
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['8bc76854-a61c-f38f-c9fa-86b0eea5e17d']
|
and Wildlife. All reptiles captured in the vicinity of Hardwood Hammock were to be taken to the morgue and presented to <PERSON> and yours truly. Since human remains were involved in the homicide we were trying to solve, the head pathologist didn't object, as long as the snakes were no longer breathing. A qualifier I enthusiastically applauded.
"<PERSON> was smart to order the roundup." <PERSON> hadn't stopped talking since I'd arrived. "FWC is working assembly-line style—one person making incisions, another examining stomach contents, a third studying sex organs."
We'd rolled a gurney end to end with the autopsy table to accommodate the full length of our subject. Even knowing the snake was dead, I'd had to gird myself to touch it. Irrational, I know. But creatures without eyelids creep me out.
Still, I felt sorry for the snake. It hadn't chosen to be born in trigger-happy Florida rather than Southeast Asia.
"It looks alive," I said.
"There are two ways to ethically euthanize a python." <PERSON> handed me one end of a retractable tape measure. I held the little metal tab at the tip of the snake's tail while he stretched the working portion to the end of its snout.
"By chemical injection or brain destruction." <PERSON> jotted a number, then looped the tape around the snake's midsection and jotted again. When done, he glanced up.
I must have looked appalled.
"Like all reptiles', the python's central nervous system is tolerant to low oxygen and low blood pressure, so the brain can remain active for up to an hour after decapitation, allowing the snake to experience pain. To minimize suffering, you want immediate loss of consciousness and brain destruction."
<PERSON> took a Nikon from the counter and began snapping pics, all the while maintaining the flow of his lecture.
"For challenge participants, we recommend using a captive bolt or a firearm. A captive bolt works like a gun, where compressed air drives a steel bolt into the animal's brain. FWC officials euthanized this catch by lethal injection."
"He was captured in the same location as the python containing the turkey vulture and the foot?" I asked.
"She. Yes. Just yards away. Pythons aren't territorial, so you can find more than one animal in close proximity. Especially during mating season."
<PERSON> circled to my side of the table and snapped a series of close-ups. At his direction, I repositioned the case marker for each.
"This female would have attracted multiple males to the vicinity. What we call a breeding aggregation."
"How does one determine gender?"
"With most snakes you can't tell just by looking. You have to probe, or open them up to observe the genitalia. But pythons have vestigial organs in the pelvic girdle, left over from a time their ancestors had hind limbs. Look here, on either side of this vent." He set down the camera and pointed a gloved finger to tiny spurs toward the tail end of the beast. "The small size indicates that this is a female. They'd be larger in a male."
A female who would have
|
243161af-2299-1378-a101-6edf1159bde1
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['8c1874d6-9207-2df0-9d38-87aeed4408cf']
|
the astonishing flashpoint in history called "the frontier," and the remaining few years of her life would be profoundly affected by it.
In 1906, she returned again to London, England, where she dazzled a doting <PERSON> and thrilled a packed audience at Steinway Hall. She was invited by a British newspaper magnate to contribute articles to the Daily Express. The most intriguing of these pieces, "A Pagan in St. Paul's Cathedral," shows <PERSON>, full of her Canadian-born pride, comparing the great cathedral music to "the far-off cadences of the Sault Sainte Marie rapids." The piece has a strangely modern feel to it. London is shown to be a pale substitute for the North, for the Indian Nation, and for Canada. For <PERSON>, even the great stone structures of London appear trite compared to the craftwork performed on an Indian reserve near Brantford, Ontario, where the stones "take the polish by fingers dipped in sturgeon oil, and long days of friction with fine sand and deer hide."
She returned to Ontario in the winter of 1907. She was now writing almost exclusively short stories and articles about idealized mothers — Indian mothers in particular. A month later she inexplicably crossed the Atlantic and returned to London, England. She did not attempt to place her manuscripts and did not perform. It has been suggested that an unknown love interest accounted for this curious jaunt, although it is equally possible that <PERSON>, now forty-six and sensing her impending illness, was looking for a place to die. She did not find it in England. Returning to New York in June 1907, she and <PERSON> embarked on another breathless circuit tour, this time of the United States. Typically she found herself stomping the boards with such celebrities as Miss <PERSON>, the "delightful child impersonator and bird warbler." By October she was back in Winnipeg, preparing for a western tour. She and <PERSON> performed throughout 1908 on the western prairies. By April she was touring the Maritimes. In Saint John, a local church ladies group presented her with ten dollars as appreciation from "all women who strive for a name and place in this Canada of ours." By the end of June she was in Vancouver, resting, and writing commercial work for family magazines. During this period she also started work on the forgotten but remarkable essay, "My Mother."
She and <PERSON> toured the Maritimes before <PERSON> headed west alone, booking a room for herself in the Hotel Vancouver for a month's rest. By July she was meeting for long afternoons with Chief <PERSON>, whom she had met previously in London, England. Her book The Legends of Vancouver would be based on these meetings with the chief, who was already dying of tuberculosis. Eventually she found herself an apartment within walking distance of Stanley Park, her first permanent residence in seventeen years. There she served tea, entertained her many friends, and wrote for various magazines.
Those same friends could not help but notice the dark circles under her eyes and dramatic weight loss.
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9ae2a4f0-743c-79d8-f9f7-427ccb97e193
|
['8c1874d6-9207-2df0-9d38-87aeed4408cf']
|
at the end of the season, and "bushwacker": an itinerant timberman who roved from camp to camp, in the sense of spreading lice. To "fly off the handle" had much more serious consequences in the timberfields than it does around the dinner table. The term "widow maker" has its origins in the Canadian bush where it describes a dead but standing tree; also known by the French-Canadian word chicot, which corrupted into cheeko, a term still heard to describe a large stump.
The insularity of this language is sounded in the following exchange between an injured timberman and a nurse. The timberman, a man named <PERSON> (apparently it was de rigeur for all timbermen to have nicknames) is asked by the nurse how the accident happened. He replies,
> "Well you see, I was the skyman, and we were shy a grounder, and there was a gazaboo come down the pike and the push took him on. The first thing he sent up was a big blue butt, and I yelled out to him to throw a Saginaw into her, but he St. Croixed her, and then he gunned her, and she came up and cracked my stern."
>
> "I don't understand," said the nurse.
>
> "I don't either," interrupted the top loader. "I think he must have been bughouse or jigerood."
Behind such displays of rhetoric lay the elimination of the North American forest. By 1890, Wisconsin was practically denuded of trees and American timber barons were buying up timber rights in Canada where the policy of "cut out and get out" was in full swing. By 1920, the spoliation of the Lake Superior forests was complete. Stumpage fees were neither collected nor assessed, and the trees often went straight into American mills.
Apparently one of the first efforts at timber management undertaken by the Canadian forest industry occurred in 1865 when assassins were hired to murder <PERSON> father, the forest warden who resolutely guarded the trees of the Six Nations reserve. By the early twentieth century, the industry was so corrupt that Port Arthur became known as "the place where they manufacture affidavits." When the Ontario Temperance Act came into effect and it was no longer possible for hotel owners to make a killing in liquor, they found it an easy move into timbering.
By 1919, the "timber thieves" had created such havoc that the Riddell-Latchford Timber Commission was appointed to investigate. A timberman accused of cutting trees on private property offered the intriguing defence that trees belonged to God, therefore he could do what he wanted with them. When a piling and pulpwood operator was asked by the commission what he would do if he saw good timber on private land, he answered at once, "I'd wheel right into her."
Wheel right in, they did. <PERSON> took a million trees out of the Algonquin area a year, and did not plant a single one in return. His mill at Ottawa, the largest in the world, churned out a million board feet
|
beee47b5-a863-1c7c-27c7-efbe5aa710a9
|
['8c1e16e2-b2ae-b117-415e-6f2d44aadb37']
|
the money, a large mob gathered round the building, summoned by bells and trumpets and led by the wife of the receiver. They broke down the doors with axes, and drove the _élus_ __ out of the town. Forez was far away in eastern France, where English armies and fighting bands had not yet penetrated. But the attitude of the Foréziens was very common, even in places where the danger was immediate and the case for war taxation obvious. In Languedoc the Lieutenant, <PERSON>, summoned representatives of the nobility and the towns to Toulouse at the beginning of May 1357. Languedoc was not affected by the decisions of the Estates-General in Paris or by the King's annulment of them. It had granted its own tax. But since the grant had been conditional on there being no truce, Armagnac needed their consent to its continued collection. The delegates allowed him to collect half of it. Even that was too much for some of their constituents. As soon as the decision had been made, crowds began to gather outside the Lieutenant's headquarters in the Chateau Narbonnais. On 9 May 1357 they attacked the building with siege engines, shouting 'Death to the traitors!', and set fire to it with burning arrows. <PERSON> was forced to suspend the collection of the tax and flee covertly by night. The mob celebrated their victory by pillaging the building and rampaging through the streets looting the houses of royal officials and destroying the archives of the collectors. They remained in control of Toulouse for several weeks. What violence did in these places was achieved in other parts of France by the sheer weight of passive obstruction. On 10 May 1357 the Dauphin announced another moratorium on the payment of royal debts. A little money trickled in from the collectors in the towns of Languedoil during the summer. Less than a fifth of the theoretical yield of the tax was brought in. The government was bankrupt and impotent.51
*
The truce of Bordeaux expressly contemplated its own failure. The perennial problem of irresponsible subordinate commanders, which had destroyed every previous truce, was dealt with by providing that neither party should be held to have broken the truce if such men continued to fight, provided that the principals did not support them. Special provision had to be made for the Duke of <PERSON>, who was on any view one of the principals. He had committed his honour to the capture of Rennes and was still, after more than six months, engaged in besieging it. <PERSON> was to be notified of the truce and ordered by <PERSON> to abandon the siege. But if he declined to do so, then he was to be allowed to take nominal possession of the city with up to twenty of his men and to hold it until he received the personal command of the King of England to withdraw. If he declined to comply even then, the truce would remain in force, but Lancaster would be regarded as fighting a private
|
4131b3fd-c803-2da5-a377-33ddca23d477
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['8c1e16e2-b2ae-b117-415e-6f2d44aadb37']
|
penetrating beyond the Tyne almost as far as Durham. Returning northward he conducted a brief demonstration before the walls of Newcastle. The city was defended by the warden of the east march, Sir <PERSON>. <PERSON>, the eldest son of the Earl of Northumberland, was a famous paladin who had been knighted by <PERSON> at the age of thirteen and had passed his whole career fighting on the Scottish border, in France and at sea. Still only twenty-four years old, he had already earned the nickname '<PERSON>' for his impulsive tactics and speed of movement. In the course of a skirmish outside the gates of Newcastle <PERSON> captured <PERSON>'s pennon. As the Scots withdrew he sent an abusive message to his adversary, boasting that he would plant it on the walls of Dalkeith castle. <PERSON> replied that it would never leave Northumberland. Behind the walls of Newcastle he had gathered the retainers of his house and the levies of Yorkshire and Northumberland. They must have numbered between 5,000 and 8,000 men. Another host had gathered at Durham under the command of its Bishop, <PERSON>, and was on its way. On 5 August <PERSON> received reports that <PERSON>'s army was encamped by the River Rede, close to the tower of Otterburn some thirty miles away. In the early afternoon he led his men out of the town and set off in pursuit, leaving behind him orders that the Durham host should follow after him.
Shortly before dusk on 5 August 1388 the English army passed the village of Elsdon, some three miles east of the Scottish encampment. They were hungry and exhausted after the long march. The light was failing. The English archers would be useless in such conditions. But <PERSON> was unwilling to allow the Scots to escape under cover of darkness. He believed that the advantage of surprise would carry the day. True to his name he ordered an immediate attack. He split up his men into two divisions. One, under his own command, would deliver a frontal attack on the Scottish positions. The other was placed under the command of Sir <PERSON>. He was ordered to take a circuitous route by the north to attack the Scots in the rear. The Scots were finishing their dinner, their weapons by their sides, and were about to settle down for the night when a mounted scout rode into the camp with the news that the English were almost upon them. '<PERSON> armys spedyly,' he cried. In the rush the Earl of Moray forgot his helmet. <PERSON> had no time to put on any armour at all. The Scottish camp stood at the foot of a ridge. The Scots scrambled up the slope and formed themselves up in battle order at the summit. <PERSON>'s division mounted the ridge on foot in no particular order and fell on the Scottish lines shouting '<PERSON>!' and '<PERSON>!' <PERSON>'s men recoiled before the first impact but held firm and then counter-attacked in the declining light, forcing the English into retreat. <PERSON>, the 'true
|
2395a328-7e86-4871-1508-e86729a379d2
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['8c52dedc-1056-b391-3b20-ce165ae9e04b']
|
version of this affection is TTouches, and <PERSON> recommends them as rewards for approaching spooky objects either during ground training or while you're on the horse's back.
<PERSON> particularly recommends tail work to increase confidence in nervous or shy horses. Start by standing to the back and one side of the horse and doing Clouded Leopard TTouches — a particular type of touch that's as far from the customary flat-hand, hard pats as you can get — at the top of the tail and down the dock. (If you'd like to learn more about this and other specialized TTouch techniques, see the recommended reading list at the end of this bulletin.)
Next, take a small strand of hair between finger and thumb. Move the strand in small circular movements, keeping a gentle tension on it, as you slide your hand down the strand. Repeat this with other strands of hair.You can also try this on the mane.
Finally, cup one hand under the dock about eight inches from the top, lifting up the tail. Place the other hand on top of the tailbone about two-thirds of the way down, and push the tail inward and upward so that from the side it looks like a question mark. If the tail is very stiff, you may not be able to bend it. Don't try to force it; just carry on to the next step.
Gently move the tail both clockwise and counterclockwise; one way may be easier than the other. Don't make the circles bigger than is comfortable for the horse. They might be quite small initially if he is very stiff or nervous.
There is good reason to believe that working around the tail, where many owners fear to tread, helps the rider get over a certain amount of nerves, too — and any issue that you and a horse can face together will bring down the horse's level of tension, that is, his tendency to spook.
### **_New Age Trainers_**
"New Age" is a broad category, and it includes anyone who practices natural horsemanship, including such well-known trainers as <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, whose book, _Dressage for the New Age,_ is a modern classic.
But many local trainers, too, operate New Age practices. One of these, <PERSON> of Richmond,Virginia, thinks spooking is highly overrated, and approaches the problem from the point of view of the rider/horse connection. She begins by getting riders familiar with "riding from their center,"from going beyond technique to possessing an inner calm that begins below and behind the solar plexus, and supples their bellies, relaxes their muscles and prevents the rider from inadvertently tensing. Tensing, most trainers think, enhances a horse's need to spook.
When a rider is "centered" (see <PERSON> book, _Centered Riding_ ), the horse has no reason to become uncentered. Still, instinct remains. So, when a horse is reactive in a certain place or situation, <PERSON> advises riding through it while repeating comfort phrases such as "that's nothing at all,"or "you're fine,"and immediately engaging the horse's attention
|
4e4c5416-24c1-5bb3-1d2c-2454bd368984
|
['8c52dedc-1056-b391-3b20-ce165ae9e04b']
|
the call (to her or to most shamanic practitioners) the rider describes the horse and his issues. Then the shaman goes on a journey to meet the animal's spirit and asks the horse if he agrees to do the spiritual work. Then the practitioner asks why he's spooking: Is it pain, is it lack of understanding? The shaman then asks for spiritual healing. "Most problems have both a spiritual and a physical component," <PERSON> says. The spirits can often resolve the spiritual causes, and they offer healing for the physical problems. They can give the owner ideas for helping the horse and information on other practitioners. She says,"I like to work with other healers. If the problem is physical, I want to know that a vet is involved."
## **There's No Quick Fix**
Many people expect that once they've figured out why their horse spooks and taken steps to prevent it, they'll see immediate success, but it doesn't work that way. As <PERSON> says,"One of the keys to my system is that it takes work. Assume, for example, that you have done some work and the gait and pace controls operate at 70 to 80 percent efficiency most of the time. And, for instance, the horse is holding his crescendo response at under 50 percent. But then someone opens a car door right in front of him and it's the stimulus that sends his crescendo response above 50 percent, and you've got a spook. Had the efficiency of the controls been at 100 percent, a sudden stimulus would send the horse's crescendo response upward, but he'd be a lot more likely to keep it under 50 percent and not go into a spook."
**Taking a Good Thing Too Far**
Last summer, I was looking for horses and ponies for a new riding school. One very nice large pony had only one problem. He leaped over a two-foot jump as it were four, and he also twisted in the air and pretty much bolted down the line. I asked the owner about this very dangerous behavior."Oh, you just have to let him sniff all the jumps before you ask him to jump them," she said."Then he doesn't jump you out of the tack. The trainer I work with trains all her horses that way."
I won't be getting any of those horses, unless I want to spend a lot of time retraining. If a horse is attentive to the aids, has been bombproofed, is not overfaced, and has been worked up to jumps in a methodical manner (groundpoles, cavaletti, small X, and so on), there is no reason for him to sniff any jump. The "sniff" training, in fact, is likely to make a horse think there is something scary about those objects and to never be at peace with jumps.
<PERSON> believes in crescendo control and riding, riding, riding as a way of getting horses over spooking. Why does this work? The more you ride, he says, the more subtle the cues you can pick up from your horse, and he
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