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? la viande ? le lait11 ? Les voies de transmission sont décidément bien impénétrables. Elles poussent le responsable politique à la prudence, entendue ici comme l'abstention. En revanche, l'homme de la rue en retient une, et concentre son angoisse sur le lait.
**Une nouvelle image du lait**
Il était difficile de mettre en cause la vache. La vache est laitière, maternelle, paisible dans le pré. Stabulant comme Babet dans des vacheries urbaines, loin de rebuter le voisinage, elle le satisfait en lui apportant du lait chaud et des émanations si utiles, pense-t-on, pour protéger de la phtisie12. La vache est nourricière, et tout récemment elle a fait cadeau aux hommes d'un bienfait dont on ne saurait jamais trop la remercier : la vaccine. Donner son nom à ce qui a permis l'avance décisive en matière de prévention de la maladie est la moindre des choses, quand on sait les ravages que la variole exerçait sur les hommes, les enfants en particulier, avant que <PERSON> ait l'idée de se servir de la variole des vaches (ou _cowpox_ ) pour immuniser les hommes. Aussi, comment croire qu'elle puisse inoculer à l'homme des poisons ? C'était l'argument éculé des ennemis de la variolisation, que le Dr <PERSON>, initiateur de la vaccine en Italie, fustige en ces termes :
« On pourrait encore ajouter que par le moyen du lait et des chairs dont chaque jour nous faisons usage, nous devrions contracter les germes de toutes les maladies bovines... S'il y a jamais eu une semblable communauté, pourquoi la craindrait-on aujourd'hui, et pourquoi, d'après la crainte d'un mal impossible, aurait-on un motif d'abandonner un avantage réel et certain13 ? »
<PERSON>, ceux qui, au tournant du siècle, auraient quelques craintes à l'endroit du lait tuberculeux seraient aussi obscurantistes que ceux qui rejetaient le vaccin. L'image de la vache reste alors inentamée, comme celle des verts pâturages.
L'image du lait est complexe et oscillante ; pendant longtemps on s'est méfié du lait animal, on l'a tenu pour un pauvre aliment et un aliment de pauvre14. <PERSON>, le pionnier en science alimentaire du Second Empire, hésite à le classer dans sa pyramide diététique. Il l'évoque à la rubrique _Débris et Divers Produits comestibles des animaux_ comme un sous-produit de l'élevage, pas encore un produit noble et destiné à tous. Il se limite à énumérer les 23 éléments qui entrent dans sa composition, sans émettre d'opinion sur sa valeur nutritive15. Le lait est un bon aliment, « _superfood_ » dit-on en pays anglo-saxons ; en pays latins, on le rangerait plus volontiers parmi les médicaments. Dans un cas comme dans l'autre, le lait est paré de vertus immaculées. C'est l'aliment idéal pour les enfants, les débiles qu'on met volontiers au régime lacté, les pulmonaires qui consacrent l'essentiel de leur forces vitales à maintenir leur souffle et à qui on recommande le lait qui ne surcharge pas l'estomac. On leur recommande aussi le séjour dans les étables dont l'ambiance est considérée comme bénéfique pour les poumons16.
Pour que le lait cesse de rassurer, il faut qu'il se crée
|
bd76b829-4f0b-3062-46f2-1162f0ecda3e
|
['b565069c-8a03-c6fe-e375-b3490dc5fe18']
|
veille de la Grande Guerre, d'un arsenal de vigilance réglementaire face à la tuberculose bovine. La vigilance des bactériologistes croise, au tournant du siècle, le souci des médecins et des politiques de parer à la dégénérescence démographique et biologique de leur peuple. Tous les pays sont obsédés par l'idée de décadence biologique. Tous, pourtant, ne prennent pas des mesures identiques21. Le lait retrouve toute sa virginité avec la pasteurisation. La France fait figure d'exception. Comme nul n'est prophète en son pays, Pasteur est mieux écouté en dehors de la France, ses leçons assimilées jusque dans leurs ultimes prolongements. Les fromages pasteurisés sont exigés par le public un peu partout, sauf en pays latins où on reste attaché au lait cru. Sur le lait se bâtit une ligne blanche qui tend à séparer des cultures alimentaires nationales en voie de construction.
**L'État et le consommateur**
« Si la connaissance des alimens eût été approfondie de tous tems comme elle l'est à présent, on aurait prévenu bien des maux ; mais il était réservé à notre siècle de s'en occuper spécialement22. »
Parmentier ne s'est pas trompé : le XIXe – un long XIXe qui s'étire jusqu'à la veille de la Première Guerre mondiale, qui découvre les calories et les premiers « indéterminés alimentaires » : les vitamines, qui instaure avec les premières la science quantitative de la nourriture et qui jette avec les seconds les bases de la science qualitative du XXe siècle – est le siècle des grandes découvertes en matière de nutrition. Mais les justes pressentiments du savant s'accompagnent de douces illusions : la connaissance ne conduit pas nécessairement à la prévention.
Le siècle est aussi celui de la très grande sérénité alimentaire des pouvoirs publics. Il faut s'interroger sur ses causes. Pourra-t-on jamais connaître ses effets ? L'intervention de l'État dans le domaine des risques alimentaires rassure-t-elle le mangeur ? Ou bien, tout à l'inverse, est-ce son abstention qui tranquillise ? Il semble bien que le libéralisme qui donne la coloration politique du siècle ait opté pour la seconde hypothèse.
« Il faut apprendre à envisager toutes choses du côté du consommateur », aurait dit l'économiste <PERSON> sur son lit de mort, comme un ultime testament à l'adresse de ses émules libéraux. Certes, préserver les droits du citoyen parmi lesquels son intégrité physique et sa santé sont inscrites au programme libéral. C'est le principe qui fonde l'intervention de la puissance publique contre les fraudes. L'État doit-il aller plus loin ? Dans l'esprit des ultra-libéraux comme <PERSON>, il n'est point besoin pour assurer la sécurité du consommateur de prendre d'autres mesures en sa faveur : la libre concurrence y pourvoira23. Dans le régime de marché idéal qu'ils théorisent, le producteur s'évertue « naturellement » à satisfaire les attentes du client. De sorte que le consommateur, tel un roi, n'aurait qu'à se laisser servir.
<PERSON>, professeur de droit à Montpellier et père fondateur du mouvement consommateur en France24, est un des rares à mettre en cause le _credo_ officiel. Les faits, dit-il, contredisent la théorie : l'objectif à court terme
|
a324e7a0-ed29-cee2-4533-4df12185b4e1
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['b5673f93-9db0-154c-8433-a3f8e711d563']
|
1000 hours
**5.83**. Construct (a) a histogram, (b) a frequency polygon corresponding to the frequency distribution of Problem 5.82.
**5.84**. For the data of Problem 5.82, construct (a) a relative, or percentage, frequency distribution, (b) a relative frequency histogram, (c) a relative frequency polygon.
**5.85**. Estimate the percentage of tubes of Problem 5.82 with lifetimes of (a) less than 560 hours, (b) 970 or more hours, (c) between 620 and 890 hours.
**5.86**. The inner diameters of washers produced by a company can be measured to the nearest thousandth of an inch. If the class marks of a frequency distribution of these diameters are given in inches by 0.321, 0.324, 0.327, 0.330, 0.333, and 0.336, find (a) the class interval size, (b) the class boundaries, (c) the class limits.
**5.87**. Table 5-17 shows the diameters in inches of a sample of 60 ball bearings manufactured by a company. Construct a frequency distribution of the diameters using appropriate class intervals.
**Table 5-17**
**5.88**. For the data of Problem 5.87, construct (a) a histogram, (b) a frequency polygon, (c) a relative frequency distribution, (d) a relative frequency histogram, (e) a relative frequency polygon.
**5.89**. From the results in Problem 5-88, determine the percentage of ball bearings having diameters (a) exceeding 0.732 inch, (b) no more than 0.736 inch, (c) between 0.730 and 0.738 inch. Compare your results with those obtained directly from the raw data of Table 5-17.
**5.90**. Work Problem 5.88 for the data of Problem 5.82.
##### **Computation of mean, standard deviation, and moments for samples**
**5.91**. A student received grades of 85, 76, 93, 82, and 96 in five subjects. Determine the arithmetic mean of the grades.
**5.92**. The reaction times of an individual to certain stimuli were measured by a psychologist to be 0.53, 0.46, 0.50, 0.49, 0.52, 0.53, 0.44, and 0.55 seconds. Determine the mean reaction time of the individual to the stimuli.
**5.93**. A set of numbers consists of six 6s, seven 7s, eight 8s, nine 9s, and ten 10s. What is the arithmetic mean of the numbers?
**5.94**. A student's grades in the laboratory, lecture, and recitation parts of a physics course were 71, 78, and 89, respectively, (a) If the weights accorded these grades are 2, 4, and 5, respectively, what is an appropriate average grade? (b) What is the average grade if equal weights are used?
**5.95**. Three teachers of economics reported mean examination grades of 79, 74, and 82 in their classes, which consisted of 32, 25, and 17 students, respectively. Determine the mean grade for all the classes.
**5.96**. The mean annual salary paid to all employees in a company was $5000. The mean annual salaries paid to male and female employees of the company were $5200 and $4200, respectively. Determine the percentages of males and females employed by the company.
**5.97**. Table 5-18 shows the distribution of the maximum loads in short tons (1 short ton = 2000 lb) supported by certain cables produced by a company. Determine the mean maximum loading using (a) the "long method," (b) the coding method.
**Table
|
d09a994f-a64c-8923-70b9-e1c0d4f6a0c8
|
['b5673f93-9db0-154c-8433-a3f8e711d563']
|
(a) 0.05, (b) 0.01 level of significance. (c) Find and interpret the _P_ value of the test.
If _p_ is the probability of the subject stating the color of a card correctly, then we have to decide between the following two hypotheses:
, and the subject is simply guessing, i.e., results are due to chance
, and the subject has powers of ESP.
We choose a one-tailed test, since we are not interested in ability to obtain extremely low scores but rather in ability to obtain high scores.
If the hypothesis _H_ 0 is true, the mean and standard deviation of the number of cards identified correctly is given by
(a) For a one-tailed test at a level of significance of 0.05, we must choose _z_ 1 in Fig. 7-4 so that the shaded area in the critical region of high scores is 0.05. Then the area between 0 and _z_ 1 is 0.4500, and . This can also be read from Table 7-1.
Fig. 7-4
Therefore, our decision rule or test of significance is:
(1) If the _z_ score observed is greater than <PHONE_NUMBER>, the results are significant at the 0.05 level and the individual has powers of ESP.
(2) If the _z_ score is less than <PHONE_NUMBER>, the results are due to chance, i.e., not significant at the 0.05 level.
Since 32 in standard units is , which is greater than <PHONE_NUMBER>, decision (1) holds, i.e., we conclude at the 0.05 level that the individual has powers of ESP.
Note that we should really apply a continuity correction, since 32 on a continuous scale is between 31.5 and 32.5. However, 31.5 has a standard score of , and so the same conclusion is reached.
(b) If the level of significance is 0.01, then the area between 0 and _z_ 1 is 0.4900, and . Since 32 (or 31.5) in standard units is 1.98 (or 1.84), which is less than 2.33, we conclude that the results are _not significant_ at the 0.01 level.
Some statisticians adopt the terminology that results significant at the 0.01 level are _highly significant_ , results significant at the 0.05 level but not at the 0.01 level are _probably significant_ , while results significant at levels larger than 0.05 are _not significant_.
According to this terminology, we would conclude that the above experimental results are _probably significant_ , so that further investigations of the phenomena are probably warranted.
(c) The _P_ value of the test is the probability that the colors of 32 or more cards would, in a random selection, be identified correctly. The standard score of 32, taking into account the continuity correction is . Therefore the _P_ value is . The statistician could say that on the basis of the experiment, the chances of being wrong in concluding that the individual has powers of ESP are about 3 in 100.
**7.6**. The manufacturer of a patent medicine claimed that it was 90% effective in relieving an allergy for a period of 8 hours. In a sample
|
29b44f13-3227-a930-07a3-1592d2ea8722
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['b6370863-b4db-cfef-fe24-1712230ec284']
|
only sibling, possibly? This case has many, many confusing aspects.
<PERSON> returned the last picture to <PERSON> and said, "Yes, I am interested in buying the group. How much?"
The Gtetan named his price in terms of the requisite compounds available in the chemistry laboratory of the high school where <PERSON> taught. He explained exactly how he wanted them to be prepared and warned <PERSON> to tell nobody of L'payr's existence.
"Uzzerwise, when M'sieu gets 'ere tomorrow night, ze peekshures weel be gone, I weel be gone—and M'sieu weel have nozzing to show for his trouble. _Comprenez?_ "
<PERSON> seems to have had very little trouble in obtaining and preparing the stuff for which <PERSON> had bargained. He said that, by the standards of his community, it was a minute quantity and extremely inexpensive. Also, as he had scrupulously always done in the past when using school supplies for his own experiments, he reimbursed the laboratory out of his own pocket. But he does admit that the photographs were only a small part of what he hoped to get out of the ameboid. He expected, once a sound business arrangement had been established, to find out from which part of the Solar System the visitor had come, what his world was like and similar matters of understandable interest to a creature whose civilization is in the late phases of Secretly Supervised Status.
Once the exchange had been effected, however, <PERSON> tricked him. The <PERSON> told <PERSON> to return on the _next_ night when, his time being more free, they could discuss the state of the Universe at leisure. And, of course, as soon as the Earthman had left with the photographs, <PERSON> jammed the fuel into his converters, made the necessary sub-nuclear rearrangements in its atomic structure and, with the hyperspace-drive once more operating under full power, took off like a _rilg_ out of _Gowkuldady._
As far as we can determine, <PERSON> received the deception philosophically. After all, he still had the pictures.
When my OP office was informed that <PERSON> had left Earth in the direction of the Hercules Cluster M13, without leaving any discernible ripple in terrestrial law or technology behind him, we all relaxed gratefully. The case was removed from TOP PRIORORITY—FULL ATTENTION BY ALL PERSONNEL rating and placed in the PENDING LATENT EFFECTS category.
As is usual, I dropped the matter myself and gave full charge of the follow-up to my regent and representative on Earth, Stellar Corporal <PERSON>. A tracer beam was put on L'payr's rapidly receding ship and I was free to devote my attention once more to my basic problem—delaying the development of interplanetary travel until the various human societies had matured to the requisite higher level.
Thus, six Earth months later, when the case broke wide open, <PERSON> handled it himself and didn't bother me until the complications became overwhelming. I know this doesn't absolve me—I have ultimate responsibility for everything that transpires in my Outlying Patrol District. But between relatives, <PERSON>, I am mentioning these facts to show that I was not
|
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out of this jam, then nobody could. And that would be awful, positively awful.
She would never get back to San Francisco and <PERSON> And while <PERSON> might not be everything a girl like <PERSON> wanted, she was quite willing to settle for him at this point. He worked hard and made a good living. His compliments were nothing much, true, but at least he could be counted on not to say anything that tore a person into worthless bits right before their very eyes, like somebody she could mention. And the sooner she could leave the twenty-fifth century and be forever away from that somebody, the better.
"Now, Mr. <PERSON>," she cooed insistently, "I'm sure he told you _something_ we could do. He didn't tell you to give up hope completely and absolutely, did he?"
**T** he executive caught the strap end of his knickers as it came unbuckled and started rolling exultantly up his leg. He glared at her out of eyes that bad seen just too damn much, that felt things had gone just too damn far.
"He told me something we could do," he said with careful viciousness. "He said the Temporal Embassy could help us. All we need is somebody with puff in the Temporal Embassy."
<PERSON> almost bit the end off the lipstick she was applying at that moment. Mrs. <PERSON> and <PERSON> had both turned to stare at her. And she knew just exactly what they were thinking.
"Well, I certainly don't—" she started to protest.
"Don't be modest <PERSON>," <PERSON> interrupted. "This is your big chance—and right now, it looks like our only chance. We've got about an hour and a half left. Get yourself into a jumper skedaddle out there and turn on the charm!"
Mrs. <PERSON> sat down beside her and gave her shoulders the benefit of a heavy maternal arm, "Listen, Miss <PERSON>, sometimes we have to do things, it's not so easy. But stuck here is better? _That_ you like? So—" she spread her hands—"a touch here with the powder puff, a touch there with the lipstick, a this, a that, and believe me, he won't know what to do first for you. Crazy about you he is already—you mean to say a little favor he wouldn't do, if you asked him?"
"You really think so?" The girl began to preen. "Well, maybe—"
"A pretty girl like you, a fellow like him, nothing to maybe about. What a man like Mr. <PERSON> can't accomplish, a woman has to do all the time. And a pretty girl like you can do it without lifting her little finger."
<PERSON> gave a nod of agreement to this female view of history and stood up with determination. <PERSON> immediately called for a jumper. She stepped back as the great cylinder materialized in the room.
"Do I _have_ to?" she asked. "Those awful things, they're so _upsetting_."
**H** e took her arm and began working her under the jumper with a series of gentle, urging
|
bca16369-5719-2b5e-15c2-680cbfe48af6
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['b760d66c-76f6-0ac3-1dc5-5e3cc60eb7bc']
|
par-cook for about 7 to 8 minutes. Par-cooking gives the ground beef a start but does not fully cook the meat.
Dump the seasoned ground beef mixture, including the residual fat and pan juices, into a slow cooker. Add the remaining ingredients, cover and cook on low for 4 to 5 hours.
## **LAMB MEATBALLS IN CREAMY CURRY SAUCE**
**While a rack of lamb can be intimidating, ground lamb is not. The price is just a touch more per pound than ground beef, and it's certainly a budget-friendly alternative to a pound of chops. These meatballs are blended with bold garlic and fresh parsley and gently simmered in a tomato-based curry sauce, finished with coconut milk. You'll hardly believe this entire meal runs less than $20 from start to finish.**
**Serves 3 to 4**
**FOR THE MEATBALLS**
**1 lb (454 g) ground lamb**
**2 cloves garlic, finely minced**
**1 tbsp (10 g) chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley**
**½ tsp kosher salt**
**6 to 7 grinds fresh black pepper**
**FOR THE SAUCE**
**2 tbsp (30 mL) extra virgin olive oil or coconut oil**
**½ medium white or yellow onion (about 3 inches [8 cm] wide), diced**
**3 cloves garlic, minced**
**1 tsp (5 g) kosher salt**
**1 (14.5 oz [411 g]) can crushed organic tomatoes**
**1 tbsp (15 g) curry powder (regular, not spicy)**
**½ cup (118 mL) full-fat, canned coconut milk**
**Chopped fresh mint, for garnish**
Start by preparing the meatballs. In a large bowl, combine all of the ingredients listed for the meatballs by hand. Use a quarter-cup (60-mL) measuring cup (or anything comparable) to scoop out the mixture and shape into balls. This helps keep them uniform for even cooking time. There should be about 10 meatballs total.
Heat a Dutch oven or large heavy-bottomed pot with a secure lid over medium-high heat. Pour in the oil. When it comes to temp, arrange half of the meatballs in the pot without them touching each other. Leaving plenty of room in between the meatballs will allow the oil to stay hot, resulting in a quality sear on the meat. Sear the meatballs on at least 2 sides, then transfer to a bowl or plate (a paper towel to absorb fat is not necessary) and continue cooking until all of the meatballs are done.
In the same pot, add the onion, garlic and kosher salt and reduce the temperature to medium. Cook and stir until the onion becomes translucent, about 6 to 7 minutes.
Add the tomatoes and curry powder and allow to bubble. When the mixture just starts to bubble up a few times, reduce the temperature to low and return the meatballs to the pot. Mix the meatballs into the sauce, cover and simmer for 30 minutes.
At the 30-minute mark, remove the lid, turn off the heat and pour in the coconut milk. Stir until fully combined.
Transfer to a serving dish and top with chopped fresh mint or even some leftover fresh flat-leaf parsley, whatever is easiest and most accessible.
## **OFFAL BACON MEATLOAF**
**I should actually call it
|
5065dbae-3b1e-3659-c2fd-8f02da96b3cd
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['b760d66c-76f6-0ac3-1dc5-5e3cc60eb7bc']
|
cut whole zucchini into noodle-like shapes, which we in Paleo affectionately refer to as "zoodles." Zoodles are commonly par-cooked and used as a pasta substitute, but this recipe serves them raw and flavored boldly with Asian-inspired ingredients.**
**Serves 4 to 6**
**2 (6 inch [15 cm]) organic zucchini**
**2 red chili peppers**
**¼ cup (60 mL) coconut vinegar or rice wine vinegar**
**½ cup (25 g) thinly sliced green onions (sliced on the bias)**
Trim the ends from the zucchini and cut into "noodles," ideally using a spiral cutting tool or a julienne peeler. Place in a large mixing bowl.
Remove the stems from the red chilies, slice open lengthwise and remove the seeds and ribs. I like to use a pair of latex-free gloves when working with peppers since the oils are easily absorbed into skin and can cause burning. If you don't have gloves, just be sure to thoroughly wash your hands after dicing the peppers and do not touch your eyes, nose or face! Once the ribs are removed, finely dice the chilies.
Pour the vinegar into a medium mixing bowl. Add the red chilies and green onions. Mix together and then pour over the zucchini. Toss to evenly distribute.
Serve cold or at room temperature. If the salad rests at all prior to serving, be sure to give it a fresh toss before dishing up. The vinegar will pool at the bottom as it sits.
## **CHILI AND CACAO ROASTED CAULIFLOWER**
**Quite possibly my new favorite way to eat cauliflower, this recipe combines some unlikely ingredients. Spicy, earthy ancho chili powder partnered with savory raw cacao complements roasted cauliflower in a way that you have to try for yourself to believe! I buy my raw cacao in the bulk section of my local health food store and use spoonfuls of it here and there to enhance recipes or green smoothies. Using large quantities of cacao in treats can get expensive, but small amounts in special recipes stretches the purchase.**
**Serves 4**
**1 head organic cauliflower**
**½ tsp ancho chili powder**
**½ tsp raw cacao**
**½ tsp kosher salt**
**1 tbsp (15 g) coconut oil**
Preheat the grill to 450°F (232°C).
To prepare the cauliflower, remove the leaves and core and cut into florets. The florets should be on the large size, quite comparable to the floret that forms naturally within the head. Place the florets in a medium bowl.
In a small bowl, mix together the ancho chili powder, raw cacao and kosher salt. Melt the coconut oil. Add the oil to the florets and toss. Then add the chili powder mixture and toss again.
Transfer to a grill basket and roast for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the cauliflower is al dente and has caramelized a bit. Serve warm.
## **CHEATER CUCUMBER KIM CHEE**
**I enjoy traditional kim chee, but my favorite version is made with seedless cucumber and is eaten fresh as opposed to fermented. Because many of my readers say they tend to avoid recipes that they feel are overly complicated or use ingredients
|
a3914fe3-e11f-d7b7-8072-f46eaed99406
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['b801085a-f8b7-7acc-b0e8-2ad5e8701e6b']
|
virus strain in the USDA lab. Studying a virulent strain of a new virus that caused human infections, <PERSON> showed how it adapted "neurotropically" in humans by voraciously attacking nerve and brain tissues. This was the same potent virus that infected a human in Plum Island's first-ever germ experiment one year later.
By 1953, West Germany recognized a need for its own Insel Riems and built a high-containment virus facility in Tübingen. They asked Dr. <PERSON> to return to the Fatherland and assume command. Permission was granted. But there was a catch. "In view of Dr. <PERSON>'s eminence as an international authority and the recognizable military potentialities in the possible application of his specialty, it is recommended that future surveillance in appropriate measure be maintained after the specialist's return to Germany." In other words, the CIA would be tailing him for years. As soon as the lab opened for business, he turned to Plum Island for starter strains of viruses, which were gladly shipped over. USDA officials traveled to West Germany and visited his laboratory often.
<PERSON> AND PLUM ISLAND
Everybody seemed willing to forget about <PERSON> dirty past—that he had played a crucial role in the Nazis' "Cancer Research Program," the cover name for their biological warfare program, and that he worked directly under SS Reichsführer <PERSON>. They seemed willing to overlook that <PERSON> in the 1930s faithfully attended Camp Sigfried. In fact, the USDA liked him so much, it glossed over his dubious past and offered him the top scientist job at the new Plum Island laboratory—not once, but twice. Just months after the 1952 public hearings on selecting Plum Island, <PERSON> dialed Dr. <PERSON> at the naval laboratory to discuss plans for establishing the germ laboratory and a position on Plum Island.
Six years later—and only two years after <PERSON> squirmed in his seat at the Plum Island dedication ceremonies—senior scientist Dr. <PERSON> retired. The USDA needed someone of "outstanding caliber, with a long established reputation, internationally as well as nationally," to fill Dr. <PERSON>'s shoes. But somehow it couldn't find a suitable American. "As a last resort it is now proposed that a foreigner be employed." The aggies' choice? <PERSON>, who was in their view "the most desirable candidate from any source." The 1958 secret USDA memorandum "Justification for Employment of Dr. Erich Traub" conveniently omitted his World War II activities; but it did emphasize that "his originality, scientific abilities, and general competence as an investigator" were developed at the Rockefeller Institute in New Jersey in the 1930s.
The letters supporting <PERSON> to lead Plum Island came in from fellow Plum Island founders. "I hope that every effort will be made to get him. He has had long and productive experience in both prewar and postwar Germany," said Dr. <PERSON>, dean of the Cornell University veterinary school, carefully dispensing with his wartime activities. The final word came from his dear American friend and old Rockefeller Institute boss Dr. <PERSON>, who described <PERSON> as "careful, skillful, productive, and very original"
|
1d193a71-1773-7ed7-82ab-1630378f707b
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['b801085a-f8b7-7acc-b0e8-2ad5e8701e6b']
|
had spiked to 102 degrees; yellow lesions appeared on his sore throat. He plummeted into malaise and depression. The signs were clear: <PERSON> had contracted the animal virus. Hearing the news, FW's Plum Island colleagues saw a window of opportunity. They placed a call to <PERSON>'s wife—who happened to be a registered nurse—in the name of science. Before <PERSON> took a heavy dose of Terramycin, prescribed by the family physician, they asked his wife to collect blood and saliva, and swab the back of his throat with a Q-tip. She complied. The samples were stowed in her refrigerator and later ferried to Plum Island.
Assistant Director Dr. <PERSON> took FW's blood samples, spun them down in an ultracentrifuge, and stored the human serum in a flame-sealed glass ampoule for future use. Then the man's virus-rich blood cells were injected into chicken eggs. This killed the embryos, drowning them in their own blood. The new "FW Strain" was passed through four successive chicken egg embryos and then isolated again; antibiotics were found to have no medicinal effect. The first published research abstract of the animal disease laboratory carries an incongruous title: The isolation of virus from the blood of man. The report dryly notes, "The infection contracted by FW occurred...in a newly constructed laboratory.... Past experience in other laboratories has shown the dangers associated with infectious materials inhaled or deposited accidentally in the eyes or nasal passages." There is no mention in the report of a safety violation or, more important, the need for revised safety procedures to prevent the human infection that sickened FW. But the USDA scientists had stumbled upon vesicular stomatitis as a promising incapacitating germ weapon. The Army was pleased with the USDA's (inadvertent) human field testing.
With a troublesome "test run" under its belt, Plum Island was ready to handle the real thing. For the first time, exotic animal germs would be unleashed on United States soil. In eerie silence, the two young scientists, Drs. <PERSON> and <PERSON>, looked on with reverence as veteran USDA man Dr. <PERSON> slowly and carefully unlocked the virus vault, unstrapped the box, unscrewed the canister, and carefully uncorked the ampoules of hot germs. No accidents this time. On with the work.
In their mandarin-collared white lab coats, the lanky <PERSON> and the stumpy, bespectacled <PERSON> bent over the flasks, neatly lined up on the long lab bench, stirring and shaking the concoctions, holding test tubes up to the fluorescent light, scribbling observations and mathematical equations on their pads. Any changes in color? Consistency? Evaporation? All were signs of microbiological reaction. They took samples, streaked them on a slide, peered into the microscope, and fiddled with the focus knob.
Blood serum samples of twenty-seven calves, seven cows, ten bulls, and thirty-eight steers were set out in dishes and then injected with brucellosis bacteria and foot-and-mouth disease virus to test immune actions and reactions. They had to be extra careful with the brucellosis, because it caused an ailment of fevers, sweating, weakness, headaches, malaise, anorexia, abdominal pain, constipation, rigors, enlargement of
|
396f8abe-9bf5-6570-f88c-6e5496fd61da
|
['b9dfdd7f-2eb0-c854-b5b0-512c8475a1eb']
|
admitted that a trip to the <PERSON> home wasn't just for <PERSON>. She wanted to see the house again for herself. So many of her memories were wrapped up in that property, both good and bad. "Hey, I've got an idea," she said.
The ringing of her cell phone interrupted her. She glanced at the screen. <PERSON>. This was the third time he'd called in the two weeks they'd been in Holly River, and she couldn't just ignore him. He had a right to speak to his daughter whenever he wanted to.
"It's Daddy," she said to <PERSON>. "Do you want to answer?"
"Yes." <PERSON> enthusiastically took the phone. "Hi, Daddy. Are you coming to see us?"
<PERSON> watched <PERSON>'s face for a sign of <PERSON>'s answer and was relieved when her little girl's lips turned down into a pout. "Okay, that's all right," <PERSON> said.
They chatted another few minutes until <PERSON> handed the phone to <PERSON>. "He wants to talk to you."
<PERSON> took a deep, calming breath. "Good morning, <PERSON>. Is everything okay with you?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess. It's just that last weekend was supposed to be my time with the squirt and now I'm facing another lonely weekend without her."
<PERSON> was a good father, and he and <PERSON> shared a special relationship. But he had agreed with <PERSON>'s plan. "I understand that," she said. "But <PERSON>, we talked about it. You knew I would have <PERSON> with me for a few weeks."
"Sure, I knew, but I bought her this baton. She said she wanted one, and I found a really cool one with those plastic strips on it that you see on bicycle handles. She's going to love it."
"She will. I won't tell her and spoil the surprise."
"So do you have a timeline yet? How long will you be there?"
"I've made some strides with <PERSON>, but there is still work to be done. And I'm committed to staying as long as necessary." There was a pause during which <PERSON> sensed <PERSON> wanted to say more. Finally she asked, "Is that it?"
"No. I might as well just come out and say it. Have you seen <PERSON>?"
Her stomach clinched. She had to make her contacts with <PERSON> sound casual and friendly. Well, they were, weren't they? "Yes, <PERSON>, I saw him."
"Did he mention... Did he say anything about me?"
"No, he didn't. Did you expect him to?"
"No. I've known how <PERSON> felt about me for a long time."
"I didn't see any sign of animosity where you're concerned," she said. "<PERSON> seemed perfectly fine. Besides, he's had so much sadness in his life that he doesn't have to dwell on what happened to all of us over a decade ago."
"Yeah, I remember hearing about the miscarriages. And how did you feel when you saw him? Any tingling going on you want to tell me about...?"
"<PERSON>, stop it. I saw him. We chatted a bit." My heart pounded, my palms sweat, my blood raced... "He actually offered a good
|
dfc48831-905c-63f6-1ccc-114be46ed177
|
['b9dfdd7f-2eb0-c854-b5b0-512c8475a1eb']
|
back, but this morning he didn't see anyone.
"Yes. Can you believe it?" she shouted from the kitchen. "<PERSON> didn't show up so I guess that means she and <PERSON> had a big fight. <PERSON> had a flat tire, but she'll be here soon."
<PERSON> was <PERSON>'s brother and he and <PERSON> had an on-and-off-again relationship. <PERSON> owned the gas station and a wrecker service and he also helped the sheriff every now and then. He was well known around the town, and was a friend of the <PERSON> family. And of <PERSON>'s.
After hooking his hat on an ornate wrought-iron hat rack made by <PERSON>'s father, he eased his tall frame into a chair at one of the small red tables in the eating area. <PERSON> returned with two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of fresh kolaches. The hairnet and apron were gone and her smile lit up his cold heart. Besides the <PERSON> family, she was the only one in town who hadn't snubbed him. Her blond hair was pulled back into a topknot and several strands were loose around her face. At forty, she had this idea in her head that she was overweight and she didn't think of herself as attractive. He'd told her before that she was just the right size. And she was to him. Time and time again she mentioned the weight thing. He couldn't convince her otherwise.
"Cherry kolaches," she said as he picked up the heavenly treat.
He took a bite and she picked up the cheese one. "I should just slather this on my hips." She made a face.
"Don't start. You're the perfect size and I don't know why you're always complaining about it. Look in the mirror for heaven sakes."
"You're just saying that to be nice."
"Do you think I come in here just for the kolaches?"
She shrugged, sipping coffee.
"Or to visit with an ugly overweight woman?"
She spit coffee all over the table and giggled. She quickly dabbed at her mouth, holding the laughter inside. But it showed on her face and he never saw anything more beautiful. Why couldn't she see that about herself?
"You're so good for me," she said, wiping coffee from the table with a napkin.
"You're good for me, too."
Their eyes met and there were so many emotions he saw there, but he could also see she wasn't ready to express them. He didn't know if she ever would be.
She leaned back in her chair. "It feels so good to sit and relax before all the madness starts." Her voice held a soft caring quality and he didn't know of anyone who cared more about people than she did.
"You work too hard." He wrapped his hands around his cup.
"Look who's talking. You put in long hours, just like I do."
"But I don't get up at two thirty in the morning."
"Yeah." She stared down into her coffee and he wished he could read her thoughts. "That is getting old, but it's my job. Mom's
|
b02f931b-1e50-86d9-f0a9-b35378d65dc6
|
['ba70a506-e310-6013-3083-4da6a80541b4']
|
kernel and make it what it is today.
### Note
Did you know that the cost to rewrite the Linux kernel to where it was in 2011 would be over $3 billion USD?
The Linux logo is a penguin named Tux:
If you want to use a hardware device by connecting it to your Raspberry Pi, the kernel needs to know what it is and how to use it. The vast majority of devices on the market are supported by the Linux kernel, with more being added all the time. A good example of this is when you plug a USB drive into your Raspberry Pi. In this case, the kernel automatically detects the USB drive and notifies a daemon that automatically makes the files available to you.
When the kernel has finished loading, it automatically runs a program called init. This program is designed to finish the initialization of the Raspberry Pi, and then to load the rest of the operating system. This program starts by loading all the daemons into the background, followed by the graphical user interface.
## Daemons
A daemon is a piece of software that runs behind the scenes to provide the operating system with different features. Some examples of a daemon include the Apache web server, Cron, a job scheduler that is used to run programs automatically at different times, and Autofs, a daemon that automatically mounts removable storage devices such as USB drives.
A distribution such as Raspbian needs more than just the kernel to work. It also needs other software that allows the user to interact with the kernel, and to manage the rest of the operating system. The core operating system consists of a collection of programs and scripts that make this happen.
## The shell
After all the daemons have loaded, init launches a shell. A shell is an interface to your Raspberry Pi that allows you to monitor and control it using commands typed in using a keyboard. Don't be fooled by this interface, despite the fact that it looks exactly like what was used in computers 30 years ago. The shell is one of the most powerful parts of Raspbian.
There are several shells available in Linux. Raspbian uses the **Bourne again shell** ( **bash** ) This shell is by far the most common shell used in Linux.
Bash is an extremely powerful piece of software. One of bash's most powerful features is its ability to run scripts. A script is simply a collection of commands stored in a file that can do things, such as run a program, read keys from the keyboard, and many other things. Later on in this book, you will see how to use bash to make the most from your Raspberry Pi!
## Shell utilities
A command interpreter is not much of use without any commands to run. While bash provides some very basic commands, all the other commands are shell utilities. These shell utilities together form one of the important parts of Raspbian (essential as without the utilities, the system would crash). They
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b2d23a83-6a50-06fd-a5cb-1932402c7373
|
['ba70a506-e310-6013-3083-4da6a80541b4']
|
information needed to install the package
* A data archive that contains the actual software itself
dpkg reads the `.deb` file and determines whether all of the required software is installed. If the required software isn't installed, it will let you know what the required software is.
## APT
The APT is a frontend tool that makes using dpkg a lot easier. It is preconfigured with several repositories that contain every official package that is available to be installed on your Raspberry Pi.
These repositories are split into several different archives or groups, depending on what software packages are contained in each. It is also extremely easy to add other third-party repositories.
### The main archive
The `main` archive contains all of the software that makes up the Raspbian distribution. If the package is not in the archive, it is not considered a part of the Raspbian distribution. No packages in this archive require any software that is outside it. The Debian project requires that all packages in this archive should be free and can be distributed, modified, and shared freely. The software in this archive is supported by the Debian project.
### The contrib archive
Any package that requires other packages that aren't part of the `main` archive is included in the `contrib` archive. The `contrib` archive may also contain wrapper packages and other pieces of free software that work with non-free software.
### The non-free archive
Any other software that does not comply with the Debian project's guidelines for free software is included in the `non-free` archive. Other pieces of software that have problems that may affect their free distribution are included in the archive as well.
### Package verification
The official Raspbian repositories are signed with a digital signature to ensure that the package does not get corrupted when it is downloaded. This is achieved using public key encryption and a digital certificate to prove that the packages in the repository are from who they say they are.
# Using the console
The most common way to install software on your Raspberry Pi is by using `apt-get`. It is a very powerful command-line application.
To run `apt-get`, you need to use the command shell. The command shell is available for you through an application that is installed in Raspbian by default. The application is called LXTerminal.
You can launch LXTerminal by double-clicking on its icon on the desktop.
LXTerminal
LXTerminal allows you to run commands using the bash command shell (and other command shells if desired). You will learn more about the bash shell in Chapter 6, _The Console_.
Generally, each command you run fits in one line. When you have finished typing a command, simply press _Enter_ to run it. The output of the program will be displayed in the following lines. If you want to rerun or modify a command that you have just typed, simply press the up arrow key on your keyboard and you will see the previous command displayed again. You will then be able to edit and rerun it by pressing
|
e77a54cc-693b-6656-5019-40adaaa1c6bb
|
['ba920663-df51-ab39-c11a-38789a9b3c5a']
|
the piano bench, and soon we were under way.
It didn't take long to figure out what she was doing. Sneaky, sneaky, Miss <PERSON>. Pretty soon, the rest of the kids figured it out, too. She was trying to put the kids in different groups to tell who might be Gospel Girl.
She asked <PERSON> to sing a verse alone. I almost fell off the piano bench. And you know what <PERSON> did?
"Um, my throat is sort of scratchy tonight," she said. Then she followed that up with an expression that made her look timid, as though she were afraid of the attention.
_Well, honestly!_
Choir rehearsal ended. <PERSON>'s parents came, and <PERSON> texted to say he was on the way. Miss <PERSON> had gone into the Youth Choir rehearsal, and I was alone in the practice room with "One Sweet Day" ringing in my ears.
When I was sure no one was around, I sat in the small space, filling it with music. I drew a deep breath, sat up straight, and relaxed my hands the way Mrs. <PERSON> had taught me. On a steady exhale, I began to sing. And sing. It felt good, too. Really good. Still...
Something was missing.
I thought about how I'd felt watching Aunt <PERSON> sing. Then remembered how it felt blending my voice with Zara's and Faith's that first time.
Then I knew.
What I was missing was people. Someone to share the music.
When I listened to my <PERSON> playlist over and over and over, her voice took me on little journeys; it comforted me when I felt down; it saved me from the negative voices in my head; and it filled the silence of a phone that almost never rang with calls from my mother.
When I listened to gospel music, it was the same way. Only, I was starting to see that one of the great things about listening to music at church was the fact that I wasn't alone. Maybe the reason I loved going to the Lodge so much for Sunday Brunch wasn't just the kind of music or how good it was.
Maybe it was sharing that music with my friends and family. The good, happy feeling the songs left in my soul all week through.
I'd only ever thought about how the music touched me. Now I was beginning to understand how much more powerful it could be when shared.
Was I really going to help <PERSON> trick the entire church? I continued playing, and singing, letting the conflict and confusion swirling through me come through in the song.
The sound of a door creaking made me stop short.
Mr. <PERSON>, standing at the rear of the room.
When I stopped playing, he was looking at me. I felt like melting into the floor.
Was this it? Had he heard me singing? Did he know?
"Miss <PERSON>, your father is upstairs," he said. "Don't forget your things."
He waited for me and ushered me out. He never mentioned hearing me. As outgoing and upfront as
|
7c41eb6a-a4c4-7a32-bab9-7b74fe8febcf
|
['ba920663-df51-ab39-c11a-38789a9b3c5a']
|
clutching each other's hands. Fearful, but alert.
Miss <PERSON> was the tallest. Like the other two, she wore a colorful suit and hat large enough to launch into space. Her suit was yellow, to match the autumn leaves. She walked right up to me and placed her hands on either side of my face.
I blinked. Swallowed hard. Felt <PERSON> take a step back.
Miss <PERSON> said, "God has blessed you, child. You're an angel!" Her words started out soft, then grew more intense.
Miss <PERSON> fluttered her hands, saying, "Hallelujah!" then stepped over to us. She stuck her hand out and pressed her palm to my forehead, as if she were healing me. This seemed to please Sister <PERSON>, who then joined her friends and placed both hands on my shoulders.
I shut my eyes, unable to even try to begin to understand what they were doing. Wait, what _were_ they doing? I opened my eyes again and realized they were swaying ever so gently and singing words at such a low pitch it was impossible to understand beneath all of the noise in the hall.
When Miss <PERSON>'s eyes popped open, I jumped. Hadn't realized they were closed until now. She knelt so that I could look straight at her.
"We pray for you, sugar," she said.
"Amen," cried the other Trinity Sisters.
"No child should have to suffer what you have suffered," Miss <PERSON> said.
"Suffered like a lamb!" said Miss <PERSON>.
"A mother leaving like that is a sin!" declared Miss <PERSON>.
At that point I was a trembling mess. <PERSON> and <PERSON> had both taken two giant steps back, while several others passed by and threw glances in our direction like we were doing the hula with Eskimos.
Miss <PERSON> shut her eyes tight and began, "God won't abandon you—you are a child of God, created by God, secured, accepted, and valued by God. You have direct access to God's throne of grace. Nothing can separate us from God's love. God will never abandon you."
The words of her prayer danced around my brain. _Abandon. Secured. Valued. Separate._ Words that conflicted with one another and made my heart squeeze. Daddy never spoke of my mother's absence as abandonment. He made it more about her needs. The Trinity Sisters had a different idea. The knot in my chest told me I might agree with them more than Daddy, a truth I did not want to think about.
Miss <PERSON> spoke in a dry, crinkly whisper. She said, "In the Bible, it says, 'I will fulfill my vows to the Lord in the presence of all His people.' Don't let your mama's absence make you lose sight of your responsibility to the good Lord."
"Amen!" cried the other two women. Then all three straightened. For the first time I realized their suits were exactly alike and each woman wore one color from head to toe. Miss <PERSON>, as I'd noticed, in autumn yellow. Miss <PERSON> in deep cranberry. Sister <PERSON> in frosty blue. Hat, scarves, suits, shoes.
They walked
|
8951e4d0-81ec-e981-dd63-d5a0dc38ce9d
|
['bb4ea5db-335d-de37-920e-14c07c0ccb07']
|
system."
But olfactory loss occurs with many diseases, not just other cognitive disorders like Parkinson's, but schizophrenia, depression, and the common cold. Smell tests alone can't diagnose which one you've got. This lack of specificity—and the possibility of false positives among neurologically normal test-takers who just happen to have a crummy sense of smell—means the tests aren't universally embraced. <PERSON>, the French doctor, points out that they would be better at discriminating between abnormal and healthy aging if you had a record of how well each person smelled when they were younger. And <PERSON> says she suspects that at the earliest stages of disease, smell tests are picking up a verbal deficit, not an olfactory one—the ability to connect odor to name.
So now <PERSON> is back in the waiting room, sitting next to <PERSON>, resignedly crunching his way through an apple. "<PERSON>," he complains. As they wait, they talk about how smell loss has diminished his quality of life. <PERSON> asks if her husband could taste the veal marsala during last night's dinner. <PERSON> says it was "about 30 percent," and she sighs sadly. Nobody here has mentioned Alzheimer's, or any of the illnesses that can be behind smell loss for a 90-year-old. But <PERSON> is pretty sure what the options are. "It's one of two things," he says drily. "The one-word answer is 'hopeless.' And the two-word answer is 'old age.' "
"He has a good sense of humor. It might be true, though," his wife says comfortingly. "At least he will know that he's tried."
At that moment, <PERSON> calls them in. There are a few nervous moments as everyone jokes around, and then the doctor offers his assessment: It's old age. <PERSON>'s tests give no indications of dementia. "On the Odor Memory Test, where you had to remember and count backwards, that terrible test—you did well on that," says <PERSON>. With the rose oil test, <PERSON>'s performance was normal for a person of any age. Overall, he did better than three quarters of people in their 90s. But he does have a moderate loss of sensation, the kind that begins for most people around age 65.
<PERSON> and <PERSON> keep saying "Oh, wow!" as <PERSON> ticks off the results. He recommends things to try: a supplement, a special cookbook, making a home version of a smell kit to practice sniffing. Just as <PERSON> does at the Atelier Olfactif, <PERSON> advises his patient to keep working his nose.
"Anyway, so you're not hopeless," says <PERSON>, fondly ribbing her husband.
"No, I'm not hopeless," he repeats. He gives his wife a sly look. "In that area, anyhow."
* * *
ALIENOR MASSENET'S DESK IS ENTIRELY COVERED in little square glass bottles, in an office that is itself a little glass square with a view overlooking a springtime park. She is a perfumer at the Parisian office of International Flavors & Fragrances, and she built the scent kit for the Atelier Olfactif. But today she has a different task: cutting it back down.
There are 120 scents in the kit, and
|
8fe97276-4bf2-4d21-94cf-1ffe731d08d4
|
['bb4ea5db-335d-de37-920e-14c07c0ccb07']
|
everything with "sir," making them sound like they are constantly on the verge of a duel. (<PERSON>, staring at a breadboard on which nothing is, infuriatingly, happening: "Something is fishy in Denmark, sir.")
They're happy even when the hours get late, and one thousand cigarettes have been stubbed out in a kombucha bottle, and the rest of the house goes to bed or out for the night and it's just <PERSON> trying to write code to the memory card. Does he ever ask himself, you know, what he is doing in this unheated basement on a Saturday night? "No," he says. "Because it would be another unheated basement somewhere else."
And three nights later, they've got things working. Sort of. As they squint at the circuit, I run past them a working hypothesis for how magnetic implants function. Now, there's not exactly a Department of Magnetic Fingers that you can dial to ask an expert. But between Grindhouse visits I have been out to see neuroscientist <PERSON> at Case Western, who in addition to being an olfaction expert teaches a course on animal sensory perception, and is intrigued by the magnet idea.
First, he'd quashed the idea that implanting magnets gives you a unique modality. "They are never going to be able to experience anything beyond our five senses. We don't have the brain circuits for that," <PERSON> said. There's just no way you can stimulate the brain through the peripheral nervous system without using one of the five already-existing sensory channels. If you're putting magnets in contact with the hand's nerve fibers, he said, "The hand is designed to sense touch. You are only going to sense touch, whether the touch comes from a hot pan or from a magnet displacing the skin."
That said, <PERSON> pointed out excitedly, you can give the touch channel a novel input, and the brain, because of its extraordinary plasticity, learns to make patterns from that noise. The magnet reacts to its environment, it moves, you feel that pressure through touch, and eventually, with enough repeated exposure, your brain learns a new pattern. This, in short, is sensory substitution, and it's been used to create assistive technologies, like devices that convert images into tactile cues to help the blind navigate. "The whole purpose of our nerve system is to transduce environmental energy into meaningful codes," <PERSON> said. "What [magnets] are doing is allowing us to detect a new type of environmental energy." So it's not a new sense; it's new information being ported through an old sense. It's touch, plus.
The other scientists I run this by independently come to the same conclusion. Neuroscientist <PERSON> from UCLA, the time expert who is used to studying a perceptual experience with no associated organ, agrees the information is being relayed through touch. He compares a magnet implant to using a <PERSON> counter, which transforms radiation (which you cannot ordinarily sense) into sound waves (which you can). And whether you can call this a sixth sense, <PERSON> says, depends on how you define your terms. If
|
6b84055f-5de1-e084-ec02-1c66d1cccca3
|
['bba2ce0a-42b8-65c1-e67d-206a2799c73b']
|
gesture. I meant something like "That's nothing."
_"Bu yong xie"_ she said. No need to thank. At least I think that's what she said. I couldn't pick much out of her conversation, so I figured she must be speaking some kind of dialect.
She started talking again. She must have figured I could talk Chinese because I had thanked her. I pulled my earlobe and shook my head, to show that I didn't understand.
Just when I had finished my second bowl of rice the door opened, and I was startled to see a young woman come rushing in. She was about the same age as <PERSON>, but not as tall. I didn't recognize her at first, but it was the student I had talked to behind the car before we all ran from the PLA. She looked drawn and exhausted. Her pants and jacket were wrinkled and dirty and there was a bloodstain on her left arm.
Then everything fell into place. The students must have brought me here.
She pushed the door closed and came over to the table, saying hello to the old woman and talking quickly for a moment. The old woman shook her head sadly.
The student switched to English. "How you are feeling?" She sat down. The old woman got up and brought her a cup of tea.
"Fine, I guess. Where am I?"
She talked English with a fairly thick accent, but I could understand everything she said. When she had to stop and think of a word she'd press her lips together and go _Mmmm_. Like this: "Mmmm, this is our home. I, mmm, live here with my grandmother. How your leg is?"
"I don't know. I mean, it hurts a lot but I can't see how bad it is."
Her hair was thick, parted exactly down the centre of her head, and braided. The braids were tied with elastic bands. Her moon-shaped face was sort of pretty, with strong features.
"My friend is medical student. He fixed your leg where you were shot. He says it's okay, but will be very pain for few days. He said he saw you before, in Tian An Men Square."
Probably lots of people had, I thought. I had spent enough time there.
"Thanks," I said, "for helping me."
She made the same gesture her grandmother did. Her grandmother said something.
"My grandmother asked what is your name and how old you are?"
I looked at the old woman. "<PERSON>. I'm seventeen."
"Ahhh-rek-us," said the old woman after the student had translated. Then she reached over and touched my hair.
"A friend of mine named me <PERSON>," I added, "because my full name is <PERSON>."
While the student translated, a wave of grief rolled though me. Mentioning my Chinese name made me think of <PERSON>.
"Ah, <PERSON>!" The old woman nodded, pleased.
"I am <PERSON>," said the young woman. "<PERSON> means King or Emperor. That's the most common of the hundred Chinese surnames. <PERSON> means New China. But my grandmother calls me _<PERSON>
|
72d586ab-599d-0e38-0784-bc162fc9eb28
|
['bba2ce0a-42b8-65c1-e67d-206a2799c73b']
|
like _real_ soldiers, not those kids in green who "guarded" the doors of the Great Hall of the People or those wimps who sat in the trucks and got an earful from the civilians.
The stalemate lasted for about three hours. Then the trucks reversed, turned around, and withdrew.
The citizens, and the students, had won again. What an army, I thought. They lost face again. They looked stupid. I was glad.
#
This morning I was grounded.
I came back early from school because classes have been postponed indefinitely. Most of the diplomats pulled their kids out because they don't think it's safe enough to send them to school. It's just as well, I guess, because I've been missing classes quite a bit lately. My tones are probably really lousy now.
I got back home to find <PERSON> and <PERSON> deep into a conversation that stopped short when I came through the door. They both looked at me guiltily, so I knew something was up.
And here's what they cooked up. <PERSON> wanted to go down into the square again. Rumours said the army was going to make another try.
"Great," I put in, "I'll go with you. I don't want to miss that."
Nope. The plan was that I would stay in the hotel!
"We need you here," <PERSON> explained. And he went on to say that he and <PERSON> would go down with their two-way radios. I would stay in the office as a sort of base co-ordinator and, when I got something interesting from one of them, make an oral memo into my little tape recorder. <PERSON> said this would be a great way to record details for his book while at the same time letting him get on with his immediate job — E.N.G., Electronic News Gathering.
Dad nodded all the way through this line of nonsense but I could see from the look in his eye that he knew I wasn't buying it.
"This is just an excuse to keep me here, right? Because you think it will be too dangerous, right?"
<PERSON> didn't say anything.
<PERSON> said, "No, really, <PERSON>, you'd be more useful to us up here."
"Come on, <PERSON>, you could take the tape recorder with you and make the memos yourself down there. You don't need me to do that."
"Yeah, I could, <PERSON>, but you're forgetting something."
"I'll bet. What?"
"Point of view. If I do it, all we'll have is what _I_ see. From up here you can record your dad's observations, mine, and anything <PERSON> gets over the telephone."
I thought hard but I couldn't argue my way out of that one.
<PERSON> hammered his point home. "Your dad and I will take our Polaroids with us and try to get pics we can fax home. And we'll send you oral reports of what's going on. Not having to stop and write leaves us free to move fast. I've got a feeling we're going to see a lot of action today."
I couldn't think of anyway out of
|
0d97bc05-0089-d9dc-f511-80af6eab731c
|
['bbdf2405-f5e2-98d0-3da6-f67c73786175']
|
report. They spoke for most of their nation, and the favourite words that the French found for praising their conquerors became the catchphrase of the day. <PERSON> corrects: they behave properly.
On the whole the French were right. No military commander has an interest in letting his men run riot and, braced by special instructions from the Reich's propaganda machine, commanders in the Wehrmacht took special care to keep theirs in line. Naturally, the men were granted certain luxuries. First-class compartments, marked Nurfür Wehrmacht, were reserved for them on trains, and in Paris they could travel free in the first-class carriages on the Métro. In major cities some restaurants were soon requisitioned as Lokale, or troop canteens, and some cinemas as Soldatenkinos: the French were excluded from them or allowed in only if they had a special permit. But, these privileges aside, the Reich required its soldiers to behave properly and courtmartialled them if they did not.
They were not even allowed to play PMU, the French state-controlled betting system, for example. When off duty, they were subject to curfews: in Paris soldiers in the ranks had to be back in barracks by eleven in the evening, non-commissioned officers by midnight and officers by one in the morning. The female military personnel officially known as Nachrichtenhelferinnen had to observe rather more rigid hours. An elaborate, though less effective, set of regulations restricted sexual contact with the defeated, in tribute to a desire not to offend the locals and a preoccupation with the dangers of venereal disease. Soldiers could not walk arm in arm with French women in public or travel with them in vélo-taxis, the new bicycle-taxis which began to appear on the streets of Paris. Nor, naturally, could they take French women – or indeed French men – back to their barracks. The doggedly puritanical and disciplinarian General <PERSON>, appointed Militärsbefehlshaber (military commander-in-chief of the Occupied Zone) in October 1940, would not even allow the Nachrichtenhelferinnen to travel in official vehicles with their German boyfriends.
Not all the regulations simply expressed the concern for discipline that one would expect of any well-run army. In Paris, for example, soldiers were required to show proper reverence at the tomb of the soldat inconnu, the nameless victim from the field of Verdun, whereas they had been expressly forbidden to show reverence at the tomb of Poland's Unknown Soldier in Warsaw. To start with, at least, the Germans viewed France with a respect which they did not feel for Poland or Czechoslovakia or Yugoslavia – which, in fact, they did not feel for any other nation they conquered and occupied except Greece. There, their traditional philhellenism made them visit the Parthenon in awe. In France, they paid tribute to the history and culture of the old enemy they had defeated.
At its simplest, this meant that the Germans liked French food. Stories abounded of soldiers guzzling butter straight from the packet as if it were ice-cream, scoffing whole bowls of cream, eating omelettes made with two dozen eggs and dying from a
|
0cf8e523-cc86-6e09-d31f-705d1dccbec3
|
['bbdf2405-f5e2-98d0-3da6-f67c73786175']
|
with the <PERSON> in the Morvan:
On one path, some distance from our camp, two boys stand guard over the safety of their comrades. One has a pistol, the other a service rifle, with a few spare cartridges in a box. Their watch lasts for two hours. How amazing those hours on duty in the forest at night are! Noises come from everywhere and the pale Hght of the moon gives everything a queer aspect. The boy looks at a small tree and thinks he sees it move. A lorry passes on a distant road: could it be the Germans?... Are they going to stop?
There is no reason to be condescending about this breathless, boyish excitement. It faithfully captures what being initiated into the Maquis felt like for the generation who were young in 1943 and 1944. They were embarking on a romantic adventure which quickly forged loyalties with new comrades; they were nervously confronting new dangers they barely understood; they were proudly learning new techniques of survival and battle. These essential features stand out in accounts by maquisards even after innocence had quickly given way to experience which made them regard danger and discipline as commonplace.
Group loyalty and group identification were always their most striking feature, though hardly the most surprising. The Occupation dispersed society, divided it, set it so profoundly at odds with itself as to endanger the very notion of society. It created both the circumstances and the need for people to fall back on, or to build, their loyalties at the microcosmic level. So France became a country of factions split into smaller factions and splintered again into tiny fragments, each passionate in its solidarity with itself, passionate in its warfare with the rest. This description applies as much to the ultra-collabos who set the tone in Parisian journalism, the thugs who joined the rival parties headed by <PERSON> and <PERSON>, and the zazous who listened to swing as it does to the cells formed by the résistants de la première heure or the underground remnants of the Communist Party. But nowhere does it apply more strongly than in the Maquis. Loyalty, mutual trust and the close bonds of friendship were not just essential to survival on a daily basis; they gave a sense of identity back to people who otherwise had come close to losing all they had.
Maquis groups were quick to take on their own distinctive structure and, indeed, their own distinctive sub-culture, expressed in how they behaved, how they talked, how they dressed. The band which the young recruit in the Morvan had joined was only twelve strong, a sensible size well within the accepted recommendation that bands should never be larger than sixty and preferably much smaller. Smallness increased security, not least in helping to keep groups highly mobile, able to move from one base camp to another at short notice and without being detected. Enforced by experience, these precautions became part of the regimen which writers giving advice to the Maquis were soon urging as a matter of necessity:
A
|
9ef4f5e6-00e9-c4a9-8eed-31eb8e898a9a
|
['bc064589-3000-9dd2-198e-b073e0997962']
|
breaths somehow told me that things were going to be OK. And now, from your giggles to your pick–me–up stance, we are getting so much . Maybe not more than we're giving. Let's face it; there are days when I still want to throw myself in front of a tuk tuk. But I'm getting things back. And I'm going to stop keeping score. Promise. Kind of_.
_Welcome to One_.
_I love you both_.
_Mommy_
PART THREE
THE TODDLER YEARS, OR REASONS TO START A THERAPY FUND
### WE NEED TO OUTWIT, OUTLAST, OUTNUMBER OUR KIDS
If we thought flying with our dual airbags the first time was difficult, we were wrong. Now that <PERSON> and <PERSON> were doing the drunken baby walk, this transpacific flight was like summiting Everest without the assistance of oxygen, _sherpas_ , or our nanny.
Still, some things went our way. Although the check-in agent wouldn't let our one-year-old twins fly in dog crates, she compensated by ignoring the weight of our hockey duffels and let the four of us wave bye-bye to our luggage. <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s permanent passports had arrived before we left and even though they looked like one-year-old criminal masterminds, security let them through.
After a flight attendant listened to my life story, she doubled our seat allowance by giving us four seats in the middle row, with <PERSON> and I serving as bookends to our babies near the bowels of the aircraft. We each had to hold a baby for takeoff. I believe airlines are conducting an ongoing study about the strength of parents' arms in the event of a crash. I suspect physics wins, every time.
Chris looked at me and joked, "Should we try to stuff them into the overhead bins?"
I laughed. "Maybe. But do you want to play Catch-the-Baby at 38,000 feet?"
Once all our eardrums were blown from air pressure, three of us dozed. I still wasn't great at this sleep thing, but I could help achieve it in others. I broke every airline code and parenting oath by placing <PERSON> and <PERSON> on the floor. I plunked them down at our feet, shoved pacifiers into their mouths, and put the tray tables down to hide our babies from flight attendants. I figured under the seat in front of me was safer than the overhead bins. Then, with two live foot warmers asleep on my toes, I relaxed by comparing pictures of <PERSON> in gossip magazines.
There were worse ways of passing time while flying. One was when your children awoke. <PERSON> and <PERSON> were truly toddlers at this point, wanting to move when awake. So they waddled up and down the aisles doing the baby shuffle. I'm pretty sure airplane armrests were designed to give barely mobile kids as many black eyes as possible.
They walked. They fell. They entertained other passengers, who smiled either because our babies were adorable in their topsy-turvy way or because the airplane meal-of-themoment gave everyone gas they were trying to expel.
Eventually more food and drink carts charged down the
|
c106cf7d-b3b4-ff77-3894-82f1846583bf
|
['bc064589-3000-9dd2-198e-b073e0997962']
|
going straight to hell."
### WHY DO SO MANY PEOPLE SAY STUPID THINGS
TO PREGNANT WOMEN?
Before I had kids, I approached childrearing like a new project: I researched it with the goal of becoming an expert. In retrospect, this approach was as successful as a nineteenyear-old who has completed Biology 101 performing a DIY appendectomy.
I read all the books on pregnancy.
And like a good wife, I shared what I read with <PERSON>, not caring that he was trying to multitask by watching the NHL and NBA playoffs simultaneously.
"Listen to this," I said.
I took his grunt as assent.
"This book says that if you have large breasts, you should try putting a rolled up pair of socks under the boob the baby is feeding on."
Another grunt.
"I think mine qualify as large."
A third grunt. I was getting somewhere.
"We need to buy some tube socks."
Nothing.
I continued. "Some tube socks that would fit <PERSON>."
"What did you say about <PERSON>? Neither he nor the Lakers are having a great game."
"I don't care, but I need his size socks. You know, for my <PERSON>-sized boobs."
"You need socks for your boobs?"
"Weren't you listening?" I asked.
"Yes. I mean not really. I kind of zoned out to my own world when you mentioned your knockers."
"The book says I need to put socks under my boobs while I breastfeed. I have basketball breasts, so I need Shaq socks."
"What book?" he asked.
"The one I'm reading."
"Right," <PERSON> said. "Do your breasts need anything else?"
I finally had his attention.
"Look," I said, distracting him. "Halftime's over. What's the score?"
In those last weeks of pregnancy, sleep was as elusive as an Oscar nomination for the average reality TV star. I started a sleep debt that I'd spend the next ten years trying to recover from. Often I woke up and read. I was on Pregnancy Book #83.
Some nights my hip went numb. Some nights I'd urinate hourly. Some nights I'd be karate kicked in the ribs by a fetal black belt.
I emailed my pregnant cousin: "<PERSON> has taken up the pommel horse. This is likely the only time either of my kids will be small enough to contemplate gymnastics."
I waxed on about stats and bodily functions, and I pressed send.
I found <PERSON> watching sports again—this time hockey playoffs—escaping into a world where the season didn't last for the rest of his life.
"We need to preregister our kids for speed skating," I said.
"We need to _what_?"
"Preregister them for speed skating," I explained. "With our genes, each babe is bound to be a head on thunder thighs."
<PERSON> smiled. "Short track cycling is an option too."
"True," I said. "And it has a complementary off season."
We laughed.
"Speaking of compliments, I could use one," I said.
His smile grew. "You look good knocked up."
|
Parenting Tip: Before placing your children in sports activities, consider their genetic limitations. Blame your spouse for any shortfalls.
|
3bd66880-13f2-ab2e-db7a-58a47ce770b6
|
['bcb79301-05f9-8152-813f-e6b9d24c571b']
|
trying to hug her arms about her and draw up her legs, but she felt hands holding her, and the soothing voice continued telling her to lie still.
It isn't your stomach that's on fire, she wanted to shout to that voice, but she didn't. She hurt too badly.
Her mind latched on to her doctor in 1854, <PERSON>. But at the moment she couldn't find the humor in it. "I was on the side of the road, not in anyone's way," she said. Then her mind fizzled out, the pain damping everything.
"I know," the voice said, "just hang on."
What was that about the moped being stoned?
She moaned again, feeling tears sting her eyes.
Suddenly the movement stopped, and she was aware of being flat on her back on some sort of moving table. There were voices and faces peering down at her.
"In here," a woman's clear voice said.
The table stopped, and there was a man leaning over her. "Do you understand me, Miss?"
She licked her lower lip. "Yes," she said.
"Where does it hurt?"
"My stomach."
The face was gone, and suddenly she felt her clothes being pulled off.
"What the hell! <PERSON>!"
It was <PERSON>'s voice, blank with surprise. He was leaning over her now, and the other man was gone. "What happened to you?"
"Stoned," she managed. "Moped."
She heard the first man tell him about her stomach.
Suddenly she felt cool air on her chest. Dear <PERSON>, they were stripping her in front of <PERSON>. She yelled, "Stop it! Don't you dare take my clothes!"
"<PERSON>—" <PERSON>'s voice was low, soothing, immensely professional, and she hated it "—I've got to examine you, and I can't do it with your clothes on. Now, just hold still and relax. All right?"
"No!" She tried to get up, but strong hands were on her shoulders, pressing her down. "Get away from me!"
"I won't hurt you," <PERSON> said, holding her as gently as he could. Damn it, he had to get her calmed down. "Please, <PERSON>, hold still!"
She was panting, the pain jabbing at her, making her want to yell. "Get out, <PERSON>! You're not going to see me with no clothes on! Get out!"
There were several moments of pandemonium.
<PERSON> drew a sharp breath. He leaned over her and took her face between his hands. "Listen to me!" He held her head until her eyes focused on his face. "No more of this damned nonsense, do you hear me? I am a doctor and you are now a patient and you're hurt. If you don't hold still, I'm going to belt you. You got that, <PERSON>?"
"I don't want you to," <PERSON> said.
"I don't give a damn. Now, will you hold still and try to act like a reasonable adult?"
"I hate you."
"Good, just hold still and try to cooperate."
Oh, Lord, <PERSON> thought, finally releasing her. "Your belly hurts?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to check it out now. Don't move!"
<PERSON> straightened and took a needle from <PERSON>, who was
|
19d831c9-b3d5-9098-80c5-e6d838987942
|
['bcb79301-05f9-8152-813f-e6b9d24c571b']
|
Sherlock are with me. Let's move out. <PERSON>, get us some backup."
## 72
* * *
REDEMPTION HOUSE
<PERSON> wished she'd given the FBI agent enough ketamine to kill her on the spot, but of course she couldn't, not with <PERSON> and the others standing right there, watching her every move. She didn't know what <PERSON> had overheard, what she'd seen, but even if she'd only seen Redemption House itself, she'd signed her death warrant, just as <PERSON> had when she'd let the CIA agent see her. <PERSON> could only hope <PERSON> hadn't already called for backup or revealed what she'd seen.
<PERSON> would have gotten away clean if <PERSON> hadn't happened to look at one of the monitors and see her on the property. It was only luck <PERSON> herself had been there to set a plan in motion, or she had no doubt it would have been a disaster with the amateurs trying to figure out what to do. <PERSON> had led her away from the house and <PERSON>, as she'd expected, had followed her. And when <PERSON> had turned off at the isolated gas station, the agent had exited with her. <PERSON> had followed them both and taken care of the agent. She'd hoped her blow had killed her, but unfortunately it hadn't. Thankfully, the agent had stayed unconscious after <PERSON> had insisted they bring her back to Redemption House. <PERSON> couldn't very well fight with <PERSON> right there on the road. Back at the house, she called <PERSON> and told him to come and pick her up, so little time was wasted. She had to call with everyone listening, so she had to tell him loud and clear to take the agent to a CIA safe house until morning.
By now <PERSON> was back in McLean at the safe house. She watched <PERSON>, Dr. <PERSON>, and <PERSON> work for a moment, then slipped into the hallway and called him on her burner phone. She got his voice mail, frowned. No, she wouldn't worry. <PERSON> was a pro. She said into her cell only "It needs to look like an accident." She walked back into the living room, where they were still all busily breaking down equipment, <PERSON> giving them orders. She studied them a moment. It amazed her how their collective greed overcame breaking more laws than she could count, yet they weren't willing to do what was necessary to save themselves, save the project. They had to know the FBI agent threatened their very lives, yet they wouldn't hear of killing her. And that's why she'd never admit to them she'd had <PERSON> kill <PERSON>. In her case, there'd been no time to stage an accident. She wondered, at odd moments, if killing <PERSON> had been a mistake. Perhaps if she'd left her alone—but no, she'd spotted <PERSON> as the weak link, and <PERSON> had proved it when she panicked and drove off. Water under the bridge. Now the new threat was from Agent <PERSON>. This time she would do
|
241fad52-6572-991b-f2ce-979e73bf4c58
|
['bd1c4407-5efd-73ae-1d18-24d9d1a97091']
|
of her.
<PERSON> dashed tears away from her eyes and guzzled it.
<PERSON> touched her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong?"
"I—" <PERSON> gulped. She needed allies, and <PERSON>—deft reader of strangers' intentions—had liked these two. _(Where was he?)_ "I've got to hide. I'm in big trouble."
"Hey, it couldn't be that ba—"
"Stormtroopers. They've shut down the factory."
"No," whispered <PERSON>. "Where's... you know, your prince?"
"I don't know," <PERSON> groaned.
<PERSON> seized <PERSON>'s elbow. "Come with me. There's no time to lose."
<PERSON> pulled her through a dark, cluttered hallway behind the kitchen, then up one flight of stairs to a cramped little dressing-sleeping room.
"<PERSON>, thanks," <PERSON> objected, "but they'll search up here." She laid her valuables under an old boot rack, then startled. She'd sliced three c-boards off the control panel. Now she had only two.
"We'll hide you in plain sight." <PERSON> grabbed a shimmering red gown. "But we've got to move fast. Put this on."
She'd dropped one c-board! _Concentrate, <PERSON>. First you've got to survive_. <PERSON> eyed <PERSON>'s curves, then glanced down her size-one jumpsuit. "<PERSON>, it won't—"
"You've only got minutes," said the singer. "Are you going to walk into their gun sights wearing that uniform?"
<PERSON> skinned out of her jumpsuit and yanked up the extravagant gown. To her shock, padding slid into position over all the right places. The singer was no more voluptuous than <PERSON>, not in the flesh. She glanced into the room's only mirror. Her face and someone else's body looked out.
"Not bad," said the singer, "but we can do better." She spun a pair of shoes across the floor toward <PERSON> and rummaged in a tattered duffel. "I assume you can sing."
"Not like you." <PERSON> gratefully pulled on one shoe. Too big, but it would protect her throbbing foot.
"Most Imperials wouldn't know a song sparrow from a cloud crupa. You know all my songs, I've watched your lips move." <PERSON> opened ajar and smeared something onto <PERSON>'s face. <PERSON> submitted to several layers of paint and a rapid, hair-pulling fluff job before <PERSON> announced, "Break's over, Princess. Get down there and show your stuff."
<PERSON> eyed the mirror again. Only the stranger looked out at her now. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. The stranger's lips moved when she spoke.
<PERSON>'s face appeared beside the stranger's. Fire blazed in <PERSON>'s blue eyes—the same shade as her own, <PERSON> realized. "The Empire and I had a disagreement four or five systems ago," <PERSON> answered. "Now get down there."
"But you—"
"I'm deathly ill. Couldn't sing another note for at least an hour. Go. <PERSON> and <PERSON> help."
<PERSON> tottered down the steps. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could make out the ale house's interior. Two Human customers sat at one table, a lone Devaronian at the bar. On a clear, triangular stage raised above table level, <PERSON> crouched cracking his knuckles over the black, white, and green keys of a KeyBed that almost enclosed him. The other sentient band member, a Bith named
|
df64142d-4208-39e0-3a3e-b5b833f6bd72
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['bd1c4407-5efd-73ae-1d18-24d9d1a97091']
|
nodded. "It is my hope you are correct." He reached out and took her hand in his, gently stroking warmth back into her flesh. "You only have to endure this prison for a few hours more, then you shall be free."
She gripped his hand tightly. "And soon after that, _we_ shall be free!"
<PERSON> raised a nearly empty glass in <PERSON>'s direction. "I salute you, <PERSON>. It seems as if everything is going perfectly."
"Yes, sir. <PERSON> is secreted away, bringing her confederates together to free the _Delight_ and its crew. She is also altering her appearance so she can claim to be <PERSON>, Imperial Intelligence agent, and take the _Delight_ 's crew from custody without having to notify you for authorization. Several landspeeders have been organized for transport."
"And the _Delight_ is ready?"
The small man nodded solemnly. "Using TIE pilots as workers was difficult, but once I explained the necessity of limiting knowledge of the operation to them, they agreed they were the best people for doing the job. The X-wing munitions are on board the _Delight_ , though the spare parts appear to have been pilfered. As a skilled technician can convert them to work in Incom's T-47 landspeeder, my assumption is that someone in property storage gave himself a bonus. I have a few leads in that regard."
"We will deal with him, later." <PERSON> snorted, drank and set his glass down. "The shields on the ship are disabled?"
"Yes, sir. We replaced a duplex circuit with its triplex equivalent."
"But a codepatch will allow them to bring the shields Up."
"Yes, sir, but an initial diagnostic run on the ship will report the circuits as complete. Only when they discover the failure will they begin to look for the triplex. At that point slicing the proper sequence out of it will take approximately an hour."
The Prefect tapped a finger against the empty rim of his snifter. "An hour they will not have."
"Precisely, sir." <PERSON> refilled the glass with choholl.
"While you have been busy, <PERSON>, so have I." <PERSON> winked at his man. "I have composed the report about your execution."
"Not on the system, sir?"
<PERSON> smiled in response to the urgency in <PERSON>'s voice. "No, of course not." He tapped the fingers of his right hand against the side of his white-haired head. "I have it all up here. You were terminated for 'anti-Imperial activity.' "
"Very good, sir."
"I may modify it. I want it to be perfect."
"I am certain it will be more than suitable, sir."
"I thought I would enter it into the computer just around sunset tomorrow. Things should be ready by then?"
"Yes, sir. Agent <PERSON> will be arriving then, so he should see the pursuit and how you handle it."
"Excellent." <PERSON> hefted the glass and raised it again in a salute. "The destruction of the _Delight_ should make for great entertainment. I think I will have some friends in to watch."
<PERSON> nodded solemnly. "Very good, sir. I had already requested the
|
9efa0597-50f8-f076-bd2c-1832b60def92
|
['bd7214e3-67b5-6d4e-0f9c-945e7949a68f']
|
is not a complex task, but the data volume is tremendous, and the data is not always clean. In particular, currently every trade is reported twice, and data reconciliation is often a difficult and labour‐intensive task because of slight differences in the reported fields that need to be manually adjusted.
There are also a number of regulatorily‐required reporting services providers, notably **approved publication arrangements** ( **APAs** ), who publish trade reports on behalf of investment firms, **approved reporting mechanisms** ( **ARMs** ), who report details of transactions to regulators or ESMA on behalf of investment firms, and **consolidated tape providers** ( **CTPs** ), who collect trade reports from various venues and consolidate them into a continuous electronic live data stream.
* * *
**Regulatory Angle.** Trade repositories in the EU are regulated under EMIR. Interestingly, they are not regulated locally, but directly by ESMA. They are less critical than CCPs in the case of market distress. Nevertheless, to the extent that regulators require adequate information due to periods of market turbulence, repositories must be able to both process new trade information and create up‐to‐date reports in a timely manner. APAs, ARMs, and CTPs are in the EU described and regulated under MiFID.
* * *
### 6.5.3 Custodians and Registrars
Historically, securities were physical pieces of paper, and trading securities involved exchanging those pieces of paper against the agreed‐upon amount of cash. This, by the way, explains why settlement was, and for historical reasons often still is, a few days after the trade happened: the seller had to go back to his safe deposit box, retrieve the securities certificate and physically and safely transport it to the place of settlement.
This arrangement was rather cumbersome—and dangerous, because in transit papers could be stolen, destroyed, or lost—and markets developed a better solution: **custody**. Custodians can either offer **individual safe deposit** or **collective safe deposit**. In the former, the securities that belong to a given client are kept physically separated. In the latter, all securities belonging to the custodian's clients are kept in one big pile in the safe, and ownership is established using a ledger run by the custodian. The difference between the two deposit types becomes important if the custodian defaults and securities are missing, either because of operational issues at the custodian, or due to counterparty default when securities are lent to third parties.
When a security is traded and both counterparties are using the same custodian, changing ownership of the security is as easy as changing a ledger entry in the case of collective deposits, or moving a certificate from one package into another in the case of individual deposits. If the counterparties use different custodians it is up to the custodians to arrange for the handover of the certificates, which still is significantly more efficient and safer than having the counterparties arranging the exchange themselves, especially if the security is liquidly traded and only the net exchange of security certificates has to take place.
Most securities give the owner the right to recurrent payments, either dividends or coupons. Historically
|
15c9f98b-60b2-235c-97c8-fcaba0868691
|
['bd7214e3-67b5-6d4e-0f9c-945e7949a68f']
|
the _payment service provider_ ( _PSP_ ), which is a generic term for a player offering a wide range of services in the payments space. A PSP might be _account servicing_ , in which it not only offers services, but also payment accounts. In many cases a payment service provider will be a bank, otherwise it will be a _payment institution_ ( _PI_ ), which is an entity that operates like a bank in the payments space, but that is only authorised under this directive, and not as a bank. New roles defined here are the _payment initiation service provider_ ( _PISP_ ) and the _account information service provider_ ( _AISP_ ). The former can initiate payments on behalf of a customer from the customer's payment accounts held at a PSP, and the latter can obtain account information from all a customer's PSPs and aggregate them in an appropriate manner (Art 4).
The directive defines a _payment instrument_ as follows (Art 4.14):
> _'payment instrument' means a personalised device(s) and/or set of procedures agreed between the payment service user and the payment service provider and used in order to initiate a payment order._
The important point here is the _set of procedures_ part, meaning that a payment instrument does not need to correspond to a card or any other physical device.
## 17.3 Authorisation and Regulatory Requirements
### 17.3.1 Authorisation and Passporting
Only authorised payment institutions are allowed to provide payment services (Art 37). Authorisation is not required for services that are not in scope of this directive (Art 3; see first paragraph). Every payment institution must be incorporated in at least one Member State, and must apply for authorisation there (Arts 5, 28). It is subject to ongoing supervision (Arts 29–31), and it must provide its services in the state where it is authorised, also referred to as home Member State (Art 11). Once authorised in any Member State, a payment institution is passported to operate throughout the Single Market (Art 11). Disagreements between local regulators regarding the supervision of an entity are to be resolved with the help of EBA (Art 27). There are no equivalence provisions in this directive that would allow companies incorporated and regulated in third countries to operate in the Single Market. Both Member States and the EBA maintain a public register of authorised payment institutions (Arts 14, 15).
Authorisation can be withdrawn, for example if the business is not being taken up within 12 months of granting it, if the business is discontinued for 6 months, the initial conditions are no longer met, or the institution is a threat to stability (Art 13). Regulators must be informed in advance of intended changes of control (Art 6).
### 17.3.2 Capital Requirements
There is a minimum initial capital requirement (Art 7), and there is an ongoing requirement that capital (aka own funds) not fall below a certain level (Arts 8, 9). There are a number of different ways in which an institution can calculate this requirement; regulators can then adjust the raw number up or down by
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plusieurs mois de leur solde. Aussi, le premier étonnement passé, des soupçons les envahirent. Ils demandèrent à voir les papiers des jeunes gens.
— Nous n'en avons pas !
— Alors, suivez-nous à la gendarmerie...
— Volontiers !
Ce qui suit se déroula très vite et les déclarations contradictoires, plus ou moins imaginaires, des quelques témoins n'ont pas aidé à éclaircir par la suite une scène si rapide qu'elle se joua en quelques secondes. Apparemment soumis, les jeunes gens se levèrent et suivirent les gendarmes.
— Reprenez votre sale argent ! cria alors <PERSON> agitant la liasse négligemment abandonnée sur la table.
Les gendarmes se retournèrent et <PERSON>, suivi de ses complices, profitant de cette distraction, sauta dans la voiture découverte. Naturellement, ils auraient dû pouvoir fuir sans difficulté, mais le Destin était là. Pour eux, pour <PERSON> et pour un de nos gendarmes. La voiture hoqueta et ne démarra pas. Il ne leur restait plus que la fuite. Bien qu'alourdis par le champagne et l'alcool, ils bondirent de la voiture, bousculèrent le brigadier d'une violente bourrade et coururent devant eux. Devant eux, c'est-à-dire vers la maison au portail couronné de glycines. Auraient-ils connu les lieux que ce n'eût pas été un mauvais calcul. Ils pouvaient traverser la maison, sortir par la cuisine, enjamber un mur et se retrouver dans un lacis de ruelles où ils auraient égaré les recherches pendant un temps au moins. Après ? Oui, l'aventure était sans issue, mais ils pouvaient toujours compter sur la nuit et le faible nombre des gendarmes pour s'enfuir par la route, faire de l'autostop. On ne mobiliserait pas l'armée et les C.R.S. pour un délit de grivèlerie. L'ignorance de la situation, le manque d'imagination les paralysèrent. Ils se barricadèrent dans la maison tandis que les gendarmes secouaient la grille bloquée et les sommaient de se rendre. On aperçut <PERSON> à son balcon, puis une main la saisit par l'épaule et <PERSON>. Il y eut un coup de feu et un gendarme tomba la face contre terre. Sur le point d'où le coup de feu avait été tiré, une journée entière aux assises n'éclaira pas la controverse, malgré <PERSON>. La seule certitude est que le gendarme mourut dans la nuit pendant que la maison cernée devenait le centre d'un véritable siège. Les renforts arrivèrent lentement alors que les bruits couraient à toute allure. Brandissant une croix rouge, le pharmacien, aidé de son potard, était venu enlever le corps du gendarme. Selon les uns, il s'agissait de dangereux anarchistes, selon les autres de gangsters célèbres, d'assassins recherchés dans plusieurs pays. À la vérité, comme nous le sûmes plus tard, pendant le procès, il ne s'agissait que de petits-bourgeois à la tête enflée par les films policiers, de délinquants victimes de la presse et du cinéma, pitoyables voyous qui déshonoraient et ruinaient leurs familles et venaient de se rendre coupables d'un meurtre autant par bêtise que par affolement.
À la tombée du jour, des voitures blindées stationnèrent sur la place. Il y eut des sommations auxquelles il fut
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canne-béquille, vous êtes plus solide que tout le monde.
— C'est ça, je brandis ma canne et du coup je m'effondre. Allons... puisque vous le voulez !
Il l'accompagna et, devant la porte, esquissa le geste de lui baiser la main, puis se ravisa :
— Il faudrait savoir si vous êtes une madame ou une mademoiselle et si on peut vous baiser la main ou non.
<PERSON> :
— À la vérité, je n'ai jamais été mariée. Vous savez ce que c'est : il faut bien s'amuser et raconter des histoires. Les hommes sont tellement ennuyeux ! Il est délicat de leur dire de se taire, alors le mieux est de parler. Ce serait bien monotone de toujours répéter la même chose.
— Oui, je comprends.
— Vous viendrez demain à Lindos ? On monte sur l'acropole. Si vous êtes fatigué, on vous donnera un mulet.
— Je suis si bien sur ce bateau ! Je crois que j'y resterais quelques années sans en descendre.
— Ça vous regarde ! Bonsoir !
<PERSON> la porte au nez.
Le _Clytemnestre_ mouillait en eau profonde dans la rade de Lindos. Des chaloupes transportèrent à quai les touristes qui, à dos d'âne et de mulet, montèrent le rude chemin de la citadelle. <PERSON> emprunta des jumelles et suivit l'ascension. La jeune fille différait des autres passagères par un grand chapeau de paille ceinturé d'un ruban orangé aux pans flottants. « Vous me reconnaîtrez <PERSON>, avait-elle dit en partant. Si je tombe de la falaise dans la mer, mon chapeau flottera longtemps encore, poussé vers le large par le vent. Ne jetez pas de fleurs. Dès que je serai à terre, je piquerai du jasmin dans le ruban. Si la brise souffle jusqu'à vous, vous pourrez me suivre grâce aux effluves du jasmin. »
Quand la silhouette devenue minuscule disparut par la poterne médiévale, il mesura sa frustration et, impatiemment, guetta le retour du groupe. La jeune fille balançait son chapeau de paille au-dessus de sa tête et il n'eut pas de doute : elle aimait l'idée que, du _Clytemnestre_ , il la suivît des yeux. Quand elle disparut dès les premières maisons du village, il arpenta nerveusement le pont, oubliant sa canne-béquille. Un marin lui jeta en passant :
— Alors, aujourd'hui... on danse.
Et de chanter : _C'est l'amour, c'est l'amour qui ensorcelle..._
Guillaume rit de bon cœur et claudiqua de nouveau, mais quelque chose d'amusant se passait. Guettant le retour des chaloupes il chercha parmi les passagers le chapeau de paille au ruban orangé. Comme si elle se jouait de lui, elle ne se coiffa qu'à l'approche du bateau. Elle était assise à côté du séducteur aux tempes grises et, apparemment, il trouvait autre chose que des banalités à lui susurrer : <PERSON> aux éclats.
Il s'arrangea pour être loin d'elle au dîner et partit se coucher parmi les premiers. Après les quelques pas de danse sur le pont, ses genoux avaient enflé sérieusement. Il souffrait par habitude, pour ne plus prendre de calmants qui
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<PERSON> is taken aback by her calm. She feels him release his grip on her seat back. Of course her calm is mostly an act because <PERSON>'s mind is screaming with complications and personal fears, the foremost of which is confronting her father with this. She wrote to him months earlier to let him know that she knows about his other activities. But since coming home on leave she and her father have never mentioned it. Forcing him to face it? To face the fact that his activities have now ensnared his daughter? That feels very, very hard to <PERSON>.
On the other hand, part of <PERSON> is excited. The part of her that wants to contribute something to destroying the monster <PERSON>. She is a mere buck sergeant, one of hundreds of thousands of such in the US Army, but she's being offered an assignment that could really amount to something. She could help to save the lives of GIs like those she met in Tunisia. She has fond memories of solid, reliable <PERSON> and charming <PERSON>, and she was amazed—and just a little scared—by <PERSON>.
Since the desperate combat in the desert, that young woman, <PERSON>, has insinuated herself into <PERSON>'s mind. The mix of freckle-faced naiveté and savage Amazon brutality has affected <PERSON>'s worldview, has shown her a glimpse of a future in which ideas of masculinity and femininity could be utterly transformed. There is a revolution in <PERSON> (who would no doubt snort derisively at such a notion). All over the country women are going into factories and doing jobs previously reserved for men only. All over the world clever women—and <PERSON> knows herself to be in this category—are contributing their intelligence and insight to the war effort. But women have always worked, if not as shipfitters and aircraft mechanics, then as maids and nurses and teachers. And there are examples going back to the time of the Romans of women bright and determined enough to wield real power, though often it was from behind the scenes.
But <PERSON>, and women like her, are intruding in an area that has always been reserved to men: <PERSON> is a warrior. She and others like her have shown that girls—women—could do more than work; women could be brave and aggressive. Women could kill. And <PERSON> is sure that reality will change the world.
She's sure it will have no effect on the minds of men like Agent <PERSON>, but for <PERSON> it feels like a challenge.
Colonel <PERSON> takes charge again as the FBI man seems to have run out of steam. "You will be required to give us a full report of the contact. You must attempt to convince them to speak with me directly, but if you find yourself dealing directly with <PERSON>, you will prepare a full report on him and on anyone else associated with him."
"Of course," <PERSON> says.
"And on your father," <PERSON> adds.
"No," <PERSON> says without hesitation.
"That's not a request, that's an order," <PERSON> snaps.
<PERSON>
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Stork Club's owner, <PERSON>, a garrulous, table-hopping force of nature and former bootlegger, greets them as they squeeze through the door just ahead of a woman in evening wear with gloves up to her biceps and décolletage down to . . . well, much farther than <PERSON> would ever have dared.
"So, you're <PERSON>'s boy?" <PERSON> says, shaking <PERSON>'s hand before bowing slightly to <PERSON>, raising her hand and not quite touching it to his lips. "And with a charming sergeant on your arm!"
They are not given the best table in the house. In fact they are shown to a small table far from the dance floor and far too near the banging kitchen door, but it is impossible to resent this in any way as the best tables are occupied by the rich and the famous.
"Is that <PERSON>?" <PERSON> blurts. "And . . . and . . . is that . . . is that really <PERSON>? He's not very tall, is he?"
The room is all swank leather booths, crisp linen on the tables, glittering crystal, and rushing waiters. The band is just filing out onto the stage.
"This may not be a discreet question, but how did you get reservations here?" <PERSON> asks.
<PERSON> smiles, leans across the table, and says, "My father is rather successful in the garment trade, and my uncle <PERSON> is tailor to probably a quarter of the men in the room."
"Do tell me you're rich," <PERSON> jokes. "It will make my parents so happy. The only thing better would be if you were a doctor."
"I am not in any way rich," <PERSON> says. "My father? My uncle?" He shrugs. "They make a living."
_They make a living. So, yes: rich, or close to it._
They sip cocktails and sneak discreet glances at the famous folk. They each order a shrimp cocktail to be followed by a steak with asparagus and potatoes au gratin. A very tall man trailing a small gaggle of men and women passes by and tosses a casual salute and a wink at <PERSON>. It's not until the big man is past that <PERSON> recognizes him and very nearly stabs her fork into her tongue.
"Was that <PERSON>?"
"<PERSON>," <PERSON> says, leaning back in his chair with an expression of great satisfaction. "You have just been saluted by the Duke."
"And winked at, let's not leave that out of the story."
"Wait until you hear the band. You won't see them very well unless we go up to dance, but that's <PERSON> band."
<PERSON> frowns. "This is mad! I shouldn't be in a place with these people! And . . . I don't think I dance."
"You don't think you do?"
"Well, I am certainly not dancing at the Stork Club in front of <PERSON>."
But she does dance after a few more cocktails and fortified by a massive steak of the sort regular folks aren't supposed to be getting, what with there being a war on.
It is a
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for us. I'll teach you to play sometime. Then we can play checkers _or_ chess."
She didn't know what to say. No one had ever been so nice to her before. She knew part of that was because she kept people at a distance. She tried to keep <PERSON> at a distance when they first met, but that was useless now.
She really liked him. That terrified her.
"Uh, <PERSON>?" <PERSON> said. She just stared at the chess set. "You alright? I mean, we don't have to play chess if you don't want."
"I'm going to bed," she announced. "Thank you for everything. Really."
She packed up her presents and left without another word. She didn't even bother lighting a candle. <PERSON> watched her go. He was too confused to say anything.
"Just remember, women are a mystery," he reminded himself.
# Chapter 11
Four days passed. <PERSON> saw <PERSON> in passing, but they hadn't spent any time together. She missed him. <PERSON> was learning more about Lexington, while <PERSON> was asking people what she could do to help. In the past few days, she had helped <PERSON> plant more seeds and pick vegetables off the vine, and helped <PERSON> clean out the spring-house.
It was a good feeling, she discovered, earning her keep.
It was the middle of the day. <PERSON> was working with <PERSON> in the storeroom. They were cleaning up, moving things around, still trying to organize the supplies that <PERSON> had brought in.
<PERSON> didn't talk much. She took direction from <PERSON>, and gave any kind of help she needed. They were dragging a mattress across the old gym floor when <PERSON> spoke.
"So, you pretty much know <PERSON> better than anyone, right?"
<PERSON> rolled her eyes. Everyone was still smitten with <PERSON>, even more so since his return with the supplies. The only person she knew of that hated him was <PERSON>.
"I guess so."
"What's the meeting about then?"
They stacked the mattress against the wall and went back for another.
"Meeting?"
"Yeah. He's called a meeting for tonight in the library, at sunset. He wants everyone there, even kids. I thought <PERSON> called all the meetings. Hell, when's the last time we even had a meeting?"
<PERSON> had to think. "Not too long after I first got here. I didn't go."
"You don't know what it's about?"
"Nope, not at all."
<PERSON> was curious. What could <PERSON> possibly want to say to everyone?
"You'll show up to this one, won't you?" <PERSON> said with a smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you got a thing for <PERSON>."
"What the hell is a _thing_?"
"You know, a crush."
"What's a _crush_?"
<PERSON> shook her head. Expressions some of the older people used were lost on her too, but she at least knew what a crush was.
"You like <PERSON> more than just a friend."
"You mean like bunk-mates?" She laughed. "No."
<PERSON> was quiet. In the past, she would have been content to let the subject drop. But she needed to convince
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completely, but she would also fight for him.
He obviously felt the same way.
<PERSON> struggled underneath <PERSON>. "Who the fuck do you-"
<PERSON> choked <PERSON> while applying more pressure to his wrist. <PERSON> let out a gasp and felt his face turning red.
"Shhhhh," <PERSON> whispered in his ear. He made sure only <PERSON> could hear him. "Just listen. If you go near <PERSON>, if you even give her too hard of a look, I will kill you. You hear?"
"When I get up-"
<PERSON> squeezed harder. Just a little more pressure, and <PERSON>'s wrist would snap. <PERSON> struggled to breathe as drool fell from his mouth.
"It was a yes or no question. Leave <PERSON> alone, or I will kill you. Now, did you hear me?"
"Yes," he coughed.
A new voice rang out, near the old parking lot.
"Hey! That's not how we solve problems here!"
It was <PERSON>. He marched toward them. People walking by in the distance stopped to see what was happening at the front gate. <PERSON> didn't realize they'd attracted an audience.
<PERSON> let <PERSON> up without saying anything else. The large man rubbed his neck and wrist, not taking an eye off <PERSON>. He gestured for <PERSON>, and the two walked away together.
<PERSON> breathed a sigh of relief and gave <PERSON> back his gun. She looked at <PERSON>.
"I can take care of my own fights," she said. Then she smiled and gave him a playful punch on the arm. "But shit, that was nice."
<PERSON> didn't smile. He kept an eye on <PERSON> until he rounded the corner toward the back of the school. "That's what friends do. They watch out for each other."
That surprised her. "You, uh, want to be friends?" The thought excited her more than it should have.
"We already _are_ friends, <PERSON>. I don't know when it happened, but we're friends."
She smiled, and realized she was actually happy.
<PERSON> stopped as he drew closer, then shook his head. "I should have known Baltimore couldn't kill you."
"I would have been dead if it wasn't for <PERSON> here. <PERSON>, this is <PERSON>."
<PERSON> looked at the both of them. <PERSON> only wore one shoe, her other foot looking slightly swollen. She leaned on <PERSON> slightly, an act itself that surprised <PERSON>. <PERSON> simply didn't _lean_ on anyone.
<PERSON> looked unassuming enough. He was lean, well-built, with a clean shaven head. The bow and arrow on the ground next to him was a little strange, but <PERSON> had seen weirder things.
What caught his eye about the young man was his expression. <PERSON> had seen many faces over the years. Most of the young generation weren't pleasant. He understood why. <PERSON> was a perfect example. It was hard to be truly happy in the world of the dead. Yet <PERSON>'s guest carried himself in a way that told <PERSON> that not much bothered him.
"Staying long, young man?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Look, I don't like <PERSON> either, but we can't just go running around beating up
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over here all by yourself."
"Oh yeah," he said. "I did. I couldn't sleep."
"I couldn't either," I said.
Mrs. <PERSON> nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "But you shouldn't be playing a board game right now."
"But the cat came over," I started. "And . . . and . . ." How could I explain the next part?
"We thought it was a ghost from <PERSON>'s book and it was going to tell us a message," <PERSON> explained.
"I see," Mrs. <PERSON> said softly. Then she yawned and covered her mouth. "Excuse me."
"I'm sorry that we woke you up," I said. "It's just, well, I wanted to go to sleep but I couldn't. You can't make your body go to sleep when it doesn't want to."
"I understand," Mrs. <PERSON> said. "It can be a little bit scary to sleep away from home, huh?"
I nodded.
"Not me," <PERSON> said. "I'm not scared." But then the cat walked toward him and arched its back again, and <PERSON> gasped.
"I have an idea," Mrs. <PERSON> said. "If you two can do this very quietly—how about if you each grab your sleeping bag and pillow, and take them over to the corner over there where I'm sleeping? We can look out for each other, okay?"
<PERSON> and I both said, "Okay." He tiptoed back to the big room to get his sleeping bag and pillow, and I picked up mine as quietly as I could, and tiptoed to where Mrs. <PERSON> was waiting. I set myself up on her right side, and <PERSON> set up his sleeping bag and pillow on her left.
The cat followed us over and sat right at our feet. It laid its head on the end of my sleeping bag, and its body was stretched out so that the tip of its tail was on <PERSON>'s. Maybe the cat was lonely, like I'd been. Maybe it was looking for company so it wouldn't have to feel so alone.
I was still scared, but not as scared as I had been before, because Mrs. <PERSON> was right there. She said she'd wait to go to sleep until we did. I closed my eyes. Then I opened them just slightly and looked across Mrs. <PERSON> to see if <PERSON> had closed his, too. He had. So I closed mine again.
I thought I'd stay awake forever, but I must have fallen asleep. Because I didn't wake up until someone was above me shouting, "Hey! <PERSON>! What are you doing all the way over here?"
I opened my eyes, and there was <PERSON>. <PERSON> and <PERSON> were with her, too.
Next to me, Mrs. <PERSON>'s sleeping bag was smoothed out and empty. And on the other side was <PERSON>'s crumpled sleeping bag. He was gone, and so was the cat.
It was so weird. It was like a dream that hadn't really happened. But when I got up and walked back with my friends, I saw the Ouija board and box in the little kids' reading nook, and
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Ouija triangle. I couldn't look anymore, so I looked to the side. Next to me, <PERSON> was squeezing her eyes shut. Her palm was sweaty in mine. And just behind her—
"EEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I screamed.
"<PERSON>, what happened?" Mrs. <PERSON> said.
"I saw yellow eyes!"
"Where?"
"Over there!" I pointed to one of the shelves. It looked normal now, but just seconds before, there had been a pair of yellow eyes staring at me from between books.
"Nothing's there," Mrs. <PERSON> said.
"Sometimes our eyes play tricks on us," Mrs. <PERSON> added.
"They weren't playing tricks," I insisted. "I know what I saw."
"It's the ghost!" <PERSON> cried out. It was the first time I'd ever heard <PERSON> say anything loudly.
"Told you there was a ghost in here," <PERSON> said. "They always disappear when people are trying to look for them."
"Oooooh," <PERSON> said.
"You know what," Mr. <PERSON> said. "I think I'm married to the idea of a group story after all. Let's pack this up and start the activity over."
"No!" <PERSON> said.
But Mr. <PERSON> was already describing how the group story game worked. We'd stay in a circle around the table, and he'd say a sentence that was the beginning of the story. Then the next person would go, and then the next, and that's how we'd craft a story all together. "So here we go," Mr. <PERSON> said. "Once upon a time there were twenty boys and girls, and four adults, and they were having a sleepover in the library, when something unexpected happened."
"The unexpected thing was a visitor," said <PERSON>, the boy sitting on the right next to him.
"Now <PERSON>," Mr. <PERSON> said, nodding to the girl next to <PERSON>.
"She had a message to give to all the kids," <PERSON> said.
"And now <PERSON>," said Mr. <PERSON>.
"The message was a little bit . . . um . . . it was from a ghost."
It was <PERSON>'s turn. He said, "Someone is going to have really bad luck tonight."
Then it was Mrs. <PERSON>'s turn. "But she said if everyone had good behavior, there would be a lot of good luck."
After that kids continued to go around, adding to the story, but I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying. All I could think about were the ghosty yellow eyes, and bad luck, and maybe that was the message it had to give to me. Maybe <PERSON> was right about the mirror, and I was in for seven years of bad luck.
I was only eight years old. Seven years was practically my whole life!
"<PERSON>!" <PERSON> called out.
"What?" I asked.
Everyone laughed. Even the four grown-ups were smiling. "It's your turn, dear," Mrs. <PERSON> said.
"Oh, I . . . I didn't hear what just happened."
"She wasn't listening!" <PERSON> said in a singsongy voice. "She has to go to the principal!"
"Mr. <PERSON> isn't here," Mrs. <PERSON> said. "But if you keep up this behavior, you'll have to go home."
"I wasn't the one not listening," <PERSON> said.
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through her <PERSON> novels, it seems that there was likely to be enormous pent-up demand for the book. <PERSON>'s biggest fans might have been prepared to spend a lot more than £20 on the book. Yet, in the UK at least, £20 was not the price that many people paid. Supermarkets like Sainsbury and Tesco offered it for £10 or less. At WHSmith, you could get it for as little as £6.99, albeit in conjunction with another offer. In February 2013, Amazon was selling the hardback for £8.50.
I'm sure that the book has been a success for the publishers, even with the eye-watering advances that are likely to have been paid. The US rights alone were believed to have been sold for an advance of $7 million, according to _Forbes._ 8 There was still an opportunity to make money, to make a stronger connection with fans, to weaken the stranglehold of specialist retail, supermarkets and Amazon, who don't care about <PERSON>'s book except as a means of getting people through the door so that they can sell them other things.
To my mind, that model of selling is on the way out. Little, Brown should consider sales made at Sainsbury and WHSmith and Amazon as the start of their relationship with <PERSON>'s fans, not the end of it. Not everyone will want to become a fan or a superfan, and that's OK. The model behind the Curve is not to treat everyone the same. It is to use the power of the web to segment people, to allow the freeloaders to experience the product for free while the superfans are given opportunities to spend money on things they truly value. Would 100,000 people have been prepared to pay £30 to get the book a week before the general release date? Possibly. Would 10,000 people have been prepared to pay £50 to get a signed, limited edition? Possibly. Would 1,000 people have been prepared to pay £300 to attend one of ten launch parties during the first month, where they could eat a fine meal in the company of one of the best-known authors in the world? Possibly. Could Little, Brown be building a database of <PERSON> fans so that they can talk to them again, for her next novel? Are they thinking about how to cross-promote between authors based on genre, target market, purchasing patterns and so on? Possibly.
I don't know what might have worked out differently for the launch. I am pretty sure that <PERSON>'s first novel since Harry Potter was always going to do well. (It's the second one that will be a bit more scary for the publishers.) I do know that we are all trying to learn in a rapidly changing environment and that the winners will be the ones who have the best relationships with the fans. That might be the creators. It might be the retailers. It might be the new digital gatekeepers. It might be businesses who would traditionally have been called publishers. It is all up in the air.
|
71f3234b-e0bf-9a84-d856-096030a64706
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risk from the digitization of its core product. No one is yet threatening to turn flour into easily replicable bits and bytes. Flour is a staple product and not one that naturally leaps to mind when thinking of a business where it is possible to build an emotional relationship with customers and turn them into fans. Yet that is exactly what the people who run King Arthur Flour have done. In the same way that <PERSON> did at River Pools, they have created an audience by giving away high-quality information for free. They have understood how to talk to their audience and what they want through smart use of technology. They have enabled those people who love what King Arthur Flour does to spend hundreds of dollars a year with a business that, at its heart, is a miller. That is smart application of the Curve.
The company has realized that a miller can no longer just be a business-to-business if it wants to thrive. The web has encouraged the 'consumerization' of business. Your business is becoming more consumer-facing, and no matter your role in the business, you are becoming more consumer-facing too. Everyone needs to understand that they are part of the marketing organization now: sales, finance, customer service, product design, administration, everyone. To change your business from selling products to selling services is a big shift. In the next chapter, we will look at how you can make this shift, whatever you do.
# 13
HARNESSING THE CURVE
The Swiss town of Montreux is beautiful in January. Hugging the shores of Lake Geneva, the town nestles between the icy waters of the lake and the soaring peaks of the Alps. It has a sleepy feel, with visitors sipping sunset cocktails as the last rays disappear across the lake. It's a place where <PERSON> would feel very much at home.*
In 2013 I was in Montreux as the guest of MPI, the trade association for everyone involved in the events industry. Their annual peripatetic conference for European members had settled in Switzerland, and I was there to talk about how the Curve will affect their industry. I was introduced to the audience by an announcer who had the kind of voice usually associated with the movie trailer for a Hollywood blockbuster or perhaps introducing acts on _The X Factor._ A blast of jingle, a starburst of brightly coloured lights and I was on.
I wasn't sure what to expect. The Curve is about what happens to things that can be shared digitally when it becomes incredibly cheap to do that sharing. If there is one thing that is true about events, it is that they are not digital in nature. Watching a live stream of a conference is not the same as sitting in the auditorium. Chatting to someone in the live chat alongside the live stream is not the same as standing in the queue for ropy coffee† or lukewarm tea.‡ Exchanging a handshake and a business card cements you in someone's mind more firmly than
|
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|
pur venimmo al fine in su la punta
onde l'ultima pietra si scoscende.
La lena m'era del polmon sì munta
quand' io fui sù, ch'i' non potea più oltre,
anzi m'assisi ne la prima giunta.
"Omai convien che tu così ti spoltre,"
disse 'l maestro; "ché, seggendo in piuma,
in fama non si vien, né sotto coltre;
sanza la qual chi sua vita consuma,
cotal vestigio in terra di sé lascia,
qual fummo in aere e in acqua la schiuma. →
E però leva sù; vinci l'ambascia
con l'animo che vince ogne battaglia,
se col suo grave corpo non s'accascia.
Più lunga scala convien che si saglia;
non basta da costoro esser partito.
Se tu mi 'ntendi, or fa sì che ti vaglia."
<PERSON>, mostrandomi fornito
meglio di lena ch'i' non mi sentia,
e dissi: "Va, ch'i' son forte e ardito."
Su per lo scoglio prendemmo la via,
ch'era ronchioso, stretto e malagevole,
ed erto più assai che quel di pria.
Parlando andava per non parer fievole;
onde una voce uscì de l'altro fosso,
a parole formar disconvenevole.
Non so che disse, ancor che sovra 'l dosso
fossi de l'arco già che varca quivi;
ma chi parlava ad ire parea mosso.
Io era vòlto in giù, ma li occhi vivi
non poteano ire al fondo per lo scuro;
per ch'io: "Maestro, fa che tu arrivi
da l'altro cinghio e dismontiam lo muro;
ché, com' i' odo quinci e non intendo,
così giù veggio e neente affiguro."
"Altra risposta," disse, "non ti rendo
se non lo far; ché la dimanda onesta
si de' seguir con l'opera tacendo."
Noi discendemmo il ponte da la testa
dove s'aggiugne con l'ottava ripa,
e poi mi fu la bolgia manifesta:
e vidivi entro terribile stipa
di serpenti, e di sì diversa mena
che la memoria il sangue ancor mi scipa.
Più non si vanti Libia con sua rena;
ché se chelidri, iaculi e faree →
produce, e cencri con anfisibena,
né tante pestilenzie né sì ree
mostrò già mai con tutta l'Etïopia →
né con ciò che di sopra <PERSON> èe.
Tra questa cruda e tristissima copia
corrëan genti nude e spaventate,
sanza sperar pertugio o elitropia: →
con serpi le man dietro avean legate;
quelle ficcavan per le ren la coda
e 'l capo, ed <PERSON>.
<PERSON> a un ch'era da nostra proda,
s'avventò un serpente che 'l trafisse
là dove 'l collo a le spalle s'annoda.
Né _o_ sì tosto mai né _i_ si scrisse,
com' el s'accese e arse, e cener tutto
convenne che cascando divenisse;
e poi che fu a terra sì distrutto,
la polver si raccolse per sé stessa
e 'n quel medesmo ritornò di butto.
Così per li gran savi si confessa
che la fenice more e poi rinasce, →
quando al cinquecentesimo anno appressa;
erba né biado in sua vita non pasce,
ma sol d'incenso lagrime e d'amomo,
e nardo e
|
180b832d-f5de-2139-c7df-acec1e5408b8
|
['bf5b1c62-7204-85ed-d12a-9d574989aa49']
|
v'intoppa.
34. Noi ci movemmo colla scorta fida
<PERSON> la proda del bollor vermiglio,
<PERSON> i bolliti facean alte strida.
35. I' vidi gente sotto infino al ciglio :
E 'l gran <PERSON> disse : E' son tiranni
Che dier nel sangue e nell'aver di piglio.
36. Quivi si piangon li spietati danni :
Quivi è <PERSON>, e <PERSON>,
Che fe Cicilia aver dolorosi anni :
37. E quella fronte c'ha 'l pel così nero,
È Azzolino ; e quell' altro ch'è biondo
È <PERSON>, il qual per vero
38. Fu spento dal figliastro su nel mondo.
Allor mi volsi <PERSON> ; e quei disse :
Questi ti sia or primo, ed io secondo.
39. Poco più oltre il Centauro s'affisse
Sovra una gente che 'nfino alla gola
Parea che di quel bulicame uscisse.
40. Mostrocci un'ombra dall'un canto sola,
Dicendo : Colui fesse in grembo a <PERSON>
Lo cor che 'n sul <PERSON> ancor si cola.
41. Poi vidi gente che di fuor del rio
<PERSON> testa e ancor tutto 'l casso ;
E di costoro assai riconobb' io.
42. Così a più a più si facea basso
Quel sangue sì, che copria pur li piedi :
E quivi fu del fosso il nostro passo.
43. Siccome tu da questa parte vedi
Lo bulicame che sempre si scema,
Disse il Centauro, voglio che tu credi,
44. Che da quest' altra a più a più giù prema
Lo fondo suo, infin ch'ei si raggiunge
<PERSON> convien che gema.
45. La divina giustizia di qua punge
<PERSON> che fu flagello in terra,
E Pirro, e Sesto ; ed in eterno munge
46. Le lacrime, che col bollor disserra,
<PERSON>, <PERSON>,
<PERSON> alle strade tanta guerra.
Poi si rivolse, e ripassossi il guazzo.
CHANT TREIZIÈME
1. Nessus n'avait pas encore regagné l'autre bord, lorsque nous entrâmes dans un bois où nul sentier n'était tracé.
2. Point de feuillage vert, mais de couleur sombre ; point de rameaux unis, mais noueux et tortus ; point de fruits, mais sur des épines des poisons.
3. N'ont point de halliers si âpres et si épais ces bêtes sauvages qui, entre Cecina et Corneto1, haïssent les lieux cultivés.
4. Là font leurs nids les hideuses Harpies, qui chassèrent des Strophades2 les Troyens, avec la triste annonce du futur désastre.
5. Elles ont de vastes ailes, et des cols et des visages humains, et des pieds armés de griffes, et des plumes à leur large ventre ; elles se lamentent sur les arbres étranges.
6. Et, le bon Maître : « Avant de pénétrer plus loin, sache, me dit-il, que tu es dans la seconde enceinte3, et y seras
7. « Tant que tu chemineras dans l'horrible sablon. Regarde bien, et tu verras des choses qui rendront mes paroles croyables4. »
8. Déjà, de toutes parts, j'entendais pousser des gémissements, et ne voyais personne ; de sorte que, troublé, je m'arrêtai.
9. Je crois qu'il crut que je croyais5 que cette foule de voix, sortant
|
b51b5f42-09b5-0e51-8ae8-1a9c4b691751
|
['bfad5306-9cf6-6cf1-3953-01c699ecc620']
|
1,981,720 sales. The act was performed in 386 venues worldwide.
### THE BEST MEDICINE
If the audience of 200 people watching <PERSON>** left with stomachaches after his performance on November 14, 2014, you couldn't blame them. That's because the Australian comedian told a whopping 550 jokes in 60 minutes: the **most jokes told in one hour**.
While <PERSON>** of the UK had them rolling in the aisles at the Arts Centre in Haverhill, Suffolk, UK, on June 22, 2014, telling 26 jokes in 60 seconds: the **most jokes told in one minute**.
### KIND OF A FUNNY STORY
**<PERSON>** didn't let any hecklers stand in his way on April 29 through 30, 2013. The American comedian, who goes by the name <PERSON>, performed for 40 hours and 8 minutes, the **longest individual stand-up comedy show** , at the Diamond Jo Casino in Dubuque, Iowa.
### NO JOKE
The yuks just kept coming at the **longest continuous stand-up comedy show by multiple comedians**. The show lasted 80 hours and was achieved by the **Laugh Factory** at their comedy club in Hollywood, California, from December 6 through 9, 2010. The show included 170 different acts by 150 comedians—it was definitely a laughing matter!
### NOT SHORT ON LAUGHS
<PERSON>** is the **shortest stand-up comedian** , standing 3 feet, 4.3 inches tall. Born in Australia, <PERSON> is of Lebanese descent and now lives in London, UK. He began his stand-up career at the age of 15 by winning the Class Clown national stand-up comedy contest in Australia. He also performed at the 2012 Edinburgh Fringe Festival and as part of the "Royal Family of Strange People" at London Wonderground in September 2012.
### SEVEN-DAY STAND-UP
Australian comedian <PERSON>** performed 30 shows, the **most comedy gigs in a week** , in 30 different venues around Australia, from October 14 to 20, 2007. Over the seven-day event, he helped raise more than $2,000 for the Camp Quality children's charity through ticket and T-shirt sales and donations.
## CHAPTER 3
## Gimme a Beat: Music Superstars
What's that sound you hear? The sweet notes of achieving musical dreams. From a bangin' collection of drumsticks to an orchestra unlike any other, we can't stop singing these world record holders' praises!
### VERSED IN RHYME
With over 124 members, the world's **largest rap group** is the hip-hop outfit **Minority Militia** of the USA. Each member of the group either rapped, sang, played an instrument, or produced on their 2001 album, _The People's Army,_ released by Low Town Records.
### SWEET SONG
There was music in the air on October 24, 2009. For that was the day that **Sweet Adelines International** —an organization of women barbershop-music singers based in Oklahoma—held their 63rd annual convention and earned the record for the **largest singing lesson** , with 6,651 participants. Barbershop is an American musical art form sung a cappella in four-part harmony, and the Sweet Adelines are committed to advancing barbershop harmony through education, performance, and competition. Their motto? "Harmonize the world."
### THE BEAT
|
92019552-98f5-7a70-6863-7ecf9c0f52b6
|
['bfad5306-9cf6-6cf1-3953-01c699ecc620']
|
FEVER
The **largest disco ball** in the world measures 33 feet, 10 inches in diameter—taller than most houses! It was used at **Bestival** 's Desert Island Disco festival held on the Isle of Wight, UK, on September 7, 2014.
### DAZZLING DANCERS
If you're a fan of Irish music and dance, Dublin, the capital city of Ireland, was the place to be on July 21, 2013. At an event organized by **Abhann Productions** , 1,693 participants formed the **longest "Riverdance" line**. Irish step dancers are famed for their fast-moving feet and legs, while the arms and upper torso remain still.
### BOOT-SCOOTIN' GIRL
<PERSON>** of the UK won the Junior World Line Dance Championship in Nashville, Tennessee, on January 10, 1998, at the age of 6 years, 194 days, making her the **youngest world line-dance champion**.
But country wasn't the only type of dance <PERSON> had a talent for. She made the leap to swing dancing and came in fourth place in the junior youth division at the 2000 US Open.
### TAP WHIZ
Quick-footed **<PERSON>** of Spain attained 1,274 taps in a minute on the set of _Guinness World Records_ in Madrid, Spain, on January 23, 2009, making her the **fastest female flamenco dancer**.
### FAST AND CLEAN
The **most break-dance windmills performed in 30 seconds** is . . . 50! In this move, the break-dancer rolls the torso nonstop in a circular path on the floor and twirls their legs in a V shape. This record was set by <PERSON>** of Italy, aka <PERSON>, at the Sony Ericsson UK B-Boy Championships World Finals in London, UK, on October 10, 2010.
### HOP TO IT
Break-dancer <PERSON>** of Germany achieved the **most consecutive elbow hops** —66!—in celebration of Guinness World Records Day in 2011.
### SHE SPINS HEAD SPINS
The female record for **most head spins in one minute** is 101 and was achieved by <PERSON>** of the UK (pictured), aka B-girl <PERSON>, on the set of _Officially Amazing_ in Edinburgh, Scotland, UK, on July 18, 2013. The **most consecutive head spins by a female** , meanwhile, is 47, set by dancer <PERSON>** from Germany on November 13, 2014. <PERSON> and <PERSON> must have felt dizzy with success after their spinathons!
### FLARED UP
The **most break-dance virgin air flares in one minute** is 39 and was achieved by **Junior <PERSON>** , aka <PERSON>, of France at the Sony Ericsson UK B-Boy Championships World Finals in London, UK, on October 10, 2010. A virgin air flare is like a standard air flare except the legs are closed instead of in a V shape. It is sometimes referred to as a <PERSON> flare—the name used for a similar move in gymnastics.
### HIPS DON'T LIE
The first time <PERSON>** of Australia attempted the record for **longest belly-dance shimmy** , it did not go well: owing to a technical failure with the camera equipment, her attempt could not be verified. But that didn't stop <PERSON>! She went on to achieve the record at the
|
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|
was in fact the superior. He does not make it clear precisely when the European Golden Age occurred, but there was now a clear and indisputable mismatch between moral potential and reality. In the West, the 'marvellous developments and vast practical results of science' had been given to societies 'too low morally and intellectually to know how to make the best use of them'; certainly on the surface, in terms of worldly success and increase in numbers, natural selection seemed to be advancing the mediocre, if not the low. But, being an incurable optimist and a believer in perfectibility, <PERSON> stated his belief in an intellectual and moral advance, although without reference to any basis for that belief. In his Utopian vision,
the passions and propensities will be restrained within those limits which most conduce to happiness; and mankind will have at length discovered that it was only required of them to develop the capacities of their higher nature, in order to convert this earth, which had so long been the theatre of their unbridled passions, and the scene of unimaginable misery, into as bright a paradise as ever haunted the dreams of seer or poet.
This was a bold gauntlet to toss at the feet of the <PERSON>, and a long and heated discussion followed, with <PERSON> returning point for point.
When the paper was published, <PERSON> sent copies to <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>. <PERSON> approved; <PERSON> applauded – though correcting him about his comments on the mound-builders of the Mississippi valley, and questioning whether <PERSON> quite appreciated the length of time available for the development of man. <PERSON> also commented, 'The manner in which you have given <PERSON> the whole credit of the theory of Natural Selection is very handsome, but if anyone else had done it without allusion to your papers [ _sic_ ] it would have been wrong.' A comment by <PERSON> about <PERSON> sounded alarm signals for <PERSON>. <PERSON> had written, 'We can thus understand how it is that, judging from the head and brain, Professor <PERSON> places man in a distinct sub-class of mammalia...' Was <PERSON> deserting the <PERSON>–Huxley camp, was he about to commit apostasy and return to <PERSON>'s creationist views? <PERSON> wrote to put <PERSON> right; he had rather mistaken his meaning 'as to the systematic classification of man': <PERSON> did not agree at all with <PERSON>'s system, but there was some reason to class man apart from the rest of organic nature, on account of man's reason and moral faculties as opposed to the 'mental faculties' of the whole of the animal world. Man, he argued, does not differ as much from the chimpanzees as the chimpanzee does from the aye-aye or the lemurs, so, zoologically, <PERSON> would class man as forming a distinct _family_ of the same _order_ which contains them all. Then, as if he had disposed of this slight misinterpretation, he changed the subject; seizing advantage of <PERSON>'s position at Kew, he asked if his brother-in-law <PERSON> could have permission to take photographs there – was there a
|
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|
as though it is still alive. But at the end of the day, he skinned it, before night fell. Then the fires were made up, and the joints of pork hung over them to smoke; and around him were thirteen naked Indians, talking in unknown tongues:
Two only could speak a little Portuguese, and with them I conversed, answering their various questions about where iron came from, and how calico was made, and if paper grew in my country, and if we had much mandiocca and plantains; and they were greatly astonished to hear that all were white men there, and could not imagine how white men could work, or how there could be a country without forest. They would ask strange questions about where the wind came from, and the rain, and how the sun and moon got back to their places after disappearing from us; and when I had tried to satisfy them on these points, they would tell me forest tales of jaguars and pumas, and of the fierce wild hogs, and of the dreadful curupurí, the demon of the woods, and of the wild man with a long tail, found far in the centre of the forest.
<PERSON> spent nine days on this expedition to the Serra: his twelve hunters produced ten gallos, while he shot two himself. In addition, he captured numerous birds: two trogons, several blue-capped manikins, barbets, and ant-thrushes. Back at the village, where he spent another fortnight, he added to his bird collection, and made more drawings of fish, before making his way up river again to Guía. He was eager now to leave for the upper Rio Negro. The padre, however, <PERSON>, was in the area, and no one would set off until his visit, for there were baptisms and weddings to be conducted. <PERSON> arrived eventually, carried up the hill in a hammock: 'a tall, thin, prematurely old man, thoroughly worn out by every kind of debauchery', according to <PERSON>, who commented that <PERSON> was an innocent by comparison. He had a fund of anecdotes, 'disgustingly coarse', but so cleverly told that they were irresistibly ludicrous. <PERSON>'s Portuguese was improving rapidly, and he could appreciate <PERSON> use of idiom. <PERSON>, sturdily agnostic at this point in his life, noted that the 'seven or eight distinct processes' in the rite of baptism were sufficiently like the complicated operations of the Indians' own ceremonies 'to make them think they had got something very good in return for their shilling'. A few weddings followed the baptisms, and <PERSON> delivered a practical homily 'which might have done some good, had the parties to whom it was addressed understood it'; but as the homily was given in Portuguese, they did not. The only two white men present, besides <PERSON> and <PERSON>, were Lima and the local commandante, who both had large families without benefit of marriage. The padre's response was: 'Never mind what these white people do, they will all go to purgatory, but don't you be such
|
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the Tribune, then drove to the Lincoln Park Zoo to see the gorillas. When I returned to the parking lot, the Dodge was gone, along with my nice clothes, my résumés, and a trunk full of newspapers I had carefully saved to document my job search. The police assured me the car would eventually turn up, but I was shaken and despondent. I took a taxi to the home of a friend from <PERSON>, and when I rang the doorbell, her entire family was riveted to the TV. <PERSON> was on the screen, resigning.
The next day, I accepted the first job offer that came in. A month later, I was a cub reporter at the Evening Capital in Annapolis, earning $125 a week. Still determined to become the next <PERSON>, I stole away from zoning board meetings and sought out social problems to chronicle. For the next decade, at a series of newspaper jobs, I wrote about alcoholics and mental patients, garbage collectors and tobacco pickers, refugees and runaways.
I reached for <PERSON>'s lyrical framing of the mundane, his eye for detail, his search for redemption amid suffering and failure. And occasionally, I came close to achieving these things—for example, in my portrait of a brilliant, haunted journalist who fled the superficiality of TV news but delved too deep in his quest for reality and became a homeless street addict. What drew me to stories like this, I finally realized, were the same tragic contradictions that had attracted me to <PERSON>, a tormented genius who drank too much and died at forty-two. They were contradictions I also feared in myself.
One day in 1983, I was offered the chance to become a foreign correspondent in Latin America, which opened up a vast new canvas of life-and-death struggles—revolutions, dictatorships, natural disasters, and dire poverty. Over the next twenty-five years, I reported intermittently from more than thirty countries, mostly in the third world. I burrowed happily into the seething shantytowns of Port-au-Prince and Lima. I covered the tumultuous rebirth of democracy in Chile and the Philippines. I traveled with tides of ecstatic Hindu pilgrims and met shaken survivors of Taliban market bombings.
Always, though, it was the rare encounters with personal stoicism, faith, or kindness that inspired my best word portraits: the Indian family who took me on a journey to the Ganges to baptize their infant son; the Afghan teacher whose humble home contained the only library in a war-ruined village. When I sat down to re-create these experiences, <PERSON> was always there.
But on another level, during all those years of far-flung and often dangerous travel, it was my father, <PERSON>, who provided me with the moral support to go on. Whenever I called from some new disaster zone, he always answered with a calm and reassuring voice, no matter how awful it looked on the evening news. As I learned how cruel and selfish the world really was, I outgrew my adolescent disdain for his upper-crust ways and began to appreciate the quieter pain of loss and aging;
|
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|
house that <PERSON> had taken me and two other graduate students to, years ago. She had told us to look out on the deck at the view of the Atlantic Ocean and say to ourselves, "This is what playwriting can buy." (She bought the house with the proceeds from How I Learned to Drive.)
Now, pregnant with twins and terrified for my writing life, I sat and looked out at the same blue. <PERSON> is a great naturalist and bird-watcher, and a great many birds flew over. In a quiet moment I asked <PERSON>, "Will I ever write again?"
She gave me her penetrating gaze, which I think is almost a form of hypnosis, a summoning. If I were a soldier, <PERSON> would be a general, coaxing me into battle. She said: "Of course you will."
We named our twins <PERSON> and <PERSON>. Hope Street and Williams Street is the intersection in Providence where my husband and I met. And where we grew up. And that is most of my story.
So, back to the abstract question: Is playwriting teachable? Of course it's not teachable. And of course it is teachable. It lives in a paradox. It is as teachable as any other art form, in which we are dependent on a shared history and on our teachers for a sense of form, inspiration, example, and we are dependent on ourselves alone for our subject matter, our private discipline, our wild fancies, our dreams.
The question of whether playwriting is teachable begets other questions, like: Is devotion teachable? Is listening teachable? Is a love of art and a willingness to give your life over to art teachable? I believe that these things are teachable mostly by example, and in great silences. There is the wondrous noise of the classroom, the content, the liveliness of the teachings themselves, the exchange of knowledge, and then there is the great silence of relation. Of watching how great people live. And of their silently communicating: "You too, with your midwestern reticence, can go out into the great world and write. And when we fail, we'll have some bourbon, and we'll laugh." This is all part of the teaching of playwriting over time, and it's unbounded by the classroom. Just as love is unbounded by time.
I find myself thinking of <PERSON> a great deal now that I am teaching playwriting for the first time to graduate students at Yale. I began as <PERSON>'s substitute teacher. I wonder what I can possibly give to the students, and whether it will be a dismal fraction of what <PERSON> gave me.
Having young children, I think about preschool a lot. About <PERSON>, who revolutionized early childhood education by giving children the ability to be independent learners. I think: what would the graduate playwright version of the <PERSON> classroom look like? It would give playwrights freedom and implements, and would let them direct their own courses of study. In short, it would give playwrights actors. The teacher would be a listener, a first audience. It strikes me that people
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Some researchers have also found that teaching people to challenge their unrealistic thoughts using cognitive techniques (such as those described in chapter 7) is sometimes helpful.
Studies that have compared medication treatments to exposure and response prevention have generally found that both approaches are equally effective in the short term. However, after treatment ends, the effects of exposure and response prevention tend to be longer lasting than those for medication. For more details on how to conduct exposure and response prevention, see chapter 8. In addition, the end of this chapter includes a section on how to apply these strategies to obsessive-compulsive symptoms in particular.
## Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder
The second type of problem discussed in this chapter is obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, or OCPD. This problem shares a number of features with OCD and can occur in people with OCD. However, OCPD and OCD are viewed as different conditions.
What is OCPD?
The hallmark of OCPD is an excessive concern with order, organization, rules, lists, and trivial details. People with OCPD are often perfectionistic to the point of not getting anything done. For example, they may spend so much time making lists of things that need to get done (and refining their lists), that the tasks on the list don't get completed. Or they may devote so much energy to including every small detail when they tell a story that the main message of the story is lost.
In addition, people with OCPD typically spend excessive amounts of time and energy on their work, often at the expense of other important aspects of their life such as having fun and enjoying time with friends and family. People with OCPD tend to be overly conscientious, rigid about their views, and inflexible about issues related to ethics and morals. They have difficulty delegating jobs to other people for fear that tasks will not be completed correctly. They may also have difficulty throwing things away, just in case they are needed in the future. In many ways, OCPD is the psychological disorder that is most closely related to perfectionism.
Research on OCPD
Compared to OCD, very little research has been conducted with people suffering from OCPD. Therefore, we know very little about the causes of this problem and almost no controlled studies have tested the effects of specific treatments for OCPD. In fact, we do not even have reliable data on the prevalence of this disorder. Despite the lack of adequate research, it is likely that both biological and psychological factors contribute to OCPD. The limited literature available on treatment suggests that the cognitive and behavioral strategies discussed in chapters 7 and 8 are likely to be effective (<PERSON> 1998; <PERSON> 2005).
## Overcoming Perfectionism Associated with Obsessive- Compulsive Behavior
Strategies for dealing with obsessive-compulsive behavior include response prevention and exposure, each of which is discussed in this section.
Response Prevention
As we mentioned earlier, exposure to feared situations combined with prevention of compulsive rituals is the key to overcoming obsessions and compulsions. This approach is likely to be helpful for OCPD behaviors as well,
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under the seats, between the seats, or anywhere else that he could think of. He even checked under the hood, even though he knew rationally that he had not opened the hood. Before entering his home, he checked outside his house and behind the bushes in his front yard. Before leaving his home, he checked in all drawers, cupboards, closets, and garbage cans in each room. In addition to spending many hours per day checking, he also asked people for reassurance. For example, he typically asked his partner whether she had emptied the garbage cans in the house, fearing that some important papers may have been thrown out.
As illustrated in this example, the rituals may be quite complex. Before you can begin to prevent your rituals, you will need to become aware of the specific rituals that you use and the situations and feelings that trigger your rituals. What types of repetitive behaviors do you engage in? These may include checking, cleaning, washing, counting, list making, reassurance seeking, repeating certain behaviors, purposely thinking a particular thought (for example, a prayer, a safe word), or engaging in any other behavior that you feel compelled to do.
Are there particular situations where you are most likely to engage in these rituals? Are they more likely to happen when you are in a particular mood (perhaps feeling anxious, sad, angry, bored)? When you are tired or hungry? When you are in a certain place (like home, work, outside)? When you are with certain people (for instance, strangers, relatives, children, coworkers, alone)? In your journal, keep track of your rituals, as well as the situations that trigger your rituals.
Once you have identified the rituals that you want to stop, the next step is to find ways to prevent the rituals. At first, this task may be very difficult. The urges to do the ritual may be very intense. Over time, however, the urges will gradually decrease. Anything you can do to prevent the rituals in the beginning will pay off in the long run. Remember, the worst thing that is likely to happen if you don't complete a ritual is that you will feel uncomfortable. Below are some strategies that you can use to prevent yourself from engaging in your compulsive rituals. Remember, if you can get through the first few days, resisting the urges should become easier.
Strategies for Resisting Rituals
* You will experience anxiety when you begin resisting your rituals. Remind yourself that the anxiety is unpleasant but not dangerous.
* Do something that makes it impossible for you to perform the ritual. For example, turn off the water from the main source in your basement so you won't be able to wash your hands. Or, mail a letter immediately after writing it so you cannot check what you wrote.
* Remind yourself that your anxiety will decrease eventually, and that the more frequently you resist the ritual, the easier it will be to resist it.
* Remind yourself when you are doing
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hull, and passengers looking down from the deck could see the dark brown stain of reefs on either side. At his morning story hour, <PERSON> adopted his command stance and began: "Here's what there is to do on Guanaja." In the silence that followed, guests finally realized he was making a joke.
Guanaja is another Honduran mountaintop surrounded by ocean. From its rugged central peak jutting 1,400 feet above the harbor, the land descends 8 miles northeast and southwest over lumpy slopes. Columbus called the island "Isla de los Pinos" after a thick cover of evergreens. Timbering and periodic fires, usually caused by trash burning, had denuded and blackened large tracts of land. One fire, fanned by the trade winds, had swept through a stand of trees only a week before. A physically difficult, steep-sided landscape, the island did not have a single motor vehicle. The only way to travel was by boat or by puddlejumper plane to the Honduran mainland.
Guanaja's population was an isolated, fractious cultural gumbo of German millionaires, Honduran laborers, Seventh-Day Adventists, Baptists, and shrimpers and lobstermen descended from English pirates. Along the rocky shoreline, shacks and estates faced the same water and shared the same vistas. The descendants of white settlers speak English and an English-derived patois and have more in common, historically, with the British Caymans than with Spanish Honduras. In 1998 most of the islanders lived in one of four jumbled clusters of stilt houses erected over the water to avoid the dreaded sand fleas and to take advantage of sea breezes and tidal waste disposal. Houses were reached by boat or by way of swaying, rickety docks. Three of the clusters were on the south side of the island: Bonacca, Savannah Bight, and East End Village. On the northeast side, reachable through a canal that slices the island in half, was the stilt settlement of Mangrove Bight.
Guanaja also had a handful of resorts and expatriate compounds that fit everyone's vision of "Fantasy Island." On the western tip, for example, <PERSON>, a British transplant, had carved West Peak Inn, a kayaking resort, out of 30 palmed, beachfront acres. Over twenty years he had built a thatched-roof bar and restaurant, six guest cabins, a greenhouse, and an employee cabin. He stayed in this paradise while his wife, <PERSON>, took reservations in California. Halfway up the island's north coast, the Bayman Bay Club, a diving resort, looked like a Malibu Beach house. Its gorgeous cabins with their louvered wood windows clung to a pitch flowing with vines and flowering broad-leafed plants. Manager <PERSON> and his staff descended a three-story ladderstairway to reach their dock.
Farther east, on the island's northernmost point, <PERSON> and <PERSON> had built an elegant family compound at Black Point, an area named for a huge boulder that rose from the sea 100 yards from the <PERSON> property. Their side of the island was much more beautiful and varied than the south, with mangroves, soft folds of pastures, and granite cliffs, broken here and there by native pine and the
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at 4 P.M., <PERSON> declared <PERSON> dead.
"The system has been over land for about three days. Although there is still a general turning of the cloud pattern around an apparent center near the border of Guatemala and Mexico, surface data show little evidence of circulation. Mitch is dissipating and the remnant low and area of disturbed weather will be monitored for signs of redevelopment in either the Gulf of Mexico or the eastern Pacific. This is the last advisory unless regeneration occurs."
The _Miami Herald_ 's Sunday edition reported that the fate of the thirty-one _Fantome_ crewmembers remained a mystery. "So far we have not found squat of this vessel," said <PERSON> of the U.S. Coast Guard. "We haven't found debris. We haven't found life rafts. We haven't found bodies. Now that is a good thing."
A hot tip Sunday that the _Fantome_ was in Puerto Cortés pulled a Coast Guard C-130 off its search pattern to circle around the port. The ship was not there. The plane then flew from Puerto Cortés to Belize, essentially retracing the _Fantome_ 's route the week before, with negative results. Conditions for searching had improved. One plane spotted the slick from a dead whale at a distance of 5 miles, which "reinforced the notion that debris should have been sighted from a sunken/capsized vessel," according to a trip report.
Sometime on Sunday, the HMS _Sheffield_ learned of the stair banister and the stenciled life jackets at Posada del Sol. Windjammer was informed, along with the U.S. Coast Guard, but the company did not want the information released, according to <PERSON>, a public information officer with the Coast Guard in Miami. "The company was rather touchy." Windjammer denied the first suggestions from reporters that the debris was from the ship. The company did not believe that the life jackets, probably knocked from deck cabinets, constituted significant proof of a disaster, and their Sunday press release made no mention of it. Although a London newspaper quoted <PERSON> as being "very worried" about his brother, Windjammer wouldn't confirm that <PERSON> was captain or give out the names of any crew, a silence the company would maintain for three weeks. The company said later it was trying to protect the privacy of the crew's families.
Late Sunday, <PERSON> _Fantome_ Web site crashed from so many hits. When he got it running again, he forwarded a message from Windjammer that a private ship from Holland had joined the search. "As the weather improves, so do the chances of finding _Fantome_ ," said the company's message. "Six U.S. Coast Guard planes and two chartered airplanes we have hired are all busy looking. Hope springs eternal so let's pray for some good news."
Waiting in Miami, <PERSON>, the evacuated activities mate of the _Fantome_ , pulled from her luggage the wad of notes hastily scrawled by crewmen and handed to her in Belize. In a haze of uncertainty—half despair, half hope—she tried to fulfill their wishes. A year later, she went through the notes
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presiding authorities. The military and bureaucratic representatives then explained the goals of the volunteers' association, followed by rallying speeches made by the heads of the Imperial Service Association. Taiwanese employees of the empire took turns exhorting the group to sacrifice themselves for the great cause of defending the nation. Thunderous applause greeted each of these rallying cries.
Once the main meeting had ended, the thousands of citizens present were divided into their various fortification construction units and assigned to unit leaders. The only people left unassigned were the thousand or so people on the upper floor, all of whom were carrying exemption certificates or were sick or disabled. Almost all those with certificates were local males. <PERSON> waited along with the others for the officials to come and check his papers.
Eventually, five or six officials from the city government came up to the second floor. They looked like Japanese reservists. One of them stood in the middle of the group and started giving directions. He was wearing a veteran's badge conspicuously on his chest, and from the very beginning he exuded quite a menacing air. He was nearly shouting as he angrily explained to them how to line up to have their papers checked. The group listened in frightened silence. The supervisor then raised his voice higher to say:
"Everybody line up now. Starting from the first row, those on the left side go to the left, those on the right side go to the right and wait in front of the inspector."
Since he didn't make clear whether he meant the first vertical row or the first horizontal row, people in both rows started moving. The people in the left column began standing up from front to back while those in the first row began standing from left to right. The supervisor ran over and started to box seven or eight people on the ears, excoriating them for not following orders. One of the men dared to retort, "But we did what you told us!"
Without waiting for him to finish, the supervisor screamed "Idiot!" and slapped him on the cheek. Nobody said anything, but they all felt burning indignation at the supervisor's brutish behavior. One could sense a silent resistance beginning to crackle within their ranks.
After about two hours, <PERSON> was finally able to leave the town hall. He was in a daze, perhaps because the stress and commotion of the assembly had worn him out. The others leaving the building with him all looked ashen.
Half a month passed. <PERSON> received yet another order to attend a meeting of the Homeland Defense Volunteers' Association. This was a full-day Sunday meeting that required all government employees and stipend recipients, Taiwanese and Japanese as well, to attend.
Sunday eventually arrived, and they all assembled at 5 a.m. They were split up into work squads and set out. <PERSON> was given a gardening hoe and joined the rest of his group.
They looked as lifeless as a herd of sheep being led to slaughter. They had barely gone half a
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As he looked back at the farm, his friend's farm, his beloved pupils, the farmhands, were following him. At the station, they waved their handkerchiefs until his train became a tiny speck in the distance. Bracing himself on the window sill, he waved back at the receding mass of women, "the women I worked with," he thought, "who taught me to teach them." He was feeling incredibly sentimental.
By the time the women, the station, the farm, and the town had dropped below the horizon, the train was thundering into a field of tall, waving trees of Australian origin. The distant sparkling sea, which he glimpsed now and then, seemed to be racing against the train.
9. The Call of the Continent
According to her brother <PERSON>, <PERSON> was no more than a child, but while he was away, she had been happily engaged to a medical school graduate—a son of one of her father's friends—who intended to practice. The <PERSON> were too busy preparing for her wedding to notice <PERSON>'s arrival home.
The town geishas occupied the time and energy of <PERSON>, who argued with his wife when he was not neglecting her. <PERSON> did not feel strongly about his older brother's sudden need to sample women and to seek concubines; after all, <PERSON> was not the first man to use a comfortable inheritance for such antics. It was none of <PERSON>'s business. Although he felt sorry for his sister-in-law, he did not consider making this known to his brother.
There was nobody to talk to in the village, so <PERSON> decided to dust his late grandfather's books. Sometimes, handling one of them pulled at the grandson's heart, and he then flipped through the book and read a page or two, then another, sometimes reading the whole thing in this unmethodical manner. Grandfather's spirit lived on in the pages. Gauging by the number of notes, his favorite had been, at least at one point in his life, <PERSON>. Guided by his grandfather's hand, as on that long-ago spring day, <PERSON> step by step reentered the world of the fifth-century poet and of classical verse and spent many hours there. Immersing himself in literature seemed to restore his balance. Irritating as it was that his parents—and sister—did not stop nagging him to find a wife, he had no difficulty ignoring them. The incident that disturbed his modest equilibrium was much more direct.
One day, shouting incoherently, <PERSON> came running down the path from the hill. Construction workers were digging up a corner of the <PERSON> graveyard. Fearing the ancestors' wrath, she had attempted womanishly, bodily, and futilely to stop the excavation. A muscular man, the supervisor, charged at her and hit her on the cheek. She argued with him, but he did not understand Taiwanese and hit her again. He seemed to be telling her, "Shut up!" Weeping like a banshee, she came scrambling down the path from the hill.
Sugarcane farming was spreading to <PERSON>'s village. This crew was the vanguard.
<PERSON> flushed as he listened to
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barely realized what she'd done; drawing the blade was always her first instinct. Only there was nothing to fight here. She couldn't knife the brutal crush of feeling in her chest, the weight that made her feel like she was slowly drowning. Her fingers opened nervelessly and the knife fell to the floor.
If anything, his gaze narrowed further.
Then he was hauling her toward the next staircase—the one that led to the boxes. Trapped by the ruthless steel of his grip, <PERSON> could do nothing but stumble along in his wake. Her mind was blank. No clever escape routes, no witty rejoinder. She was numb all the way through.
They staggered into the hushed foyer that led to the boxes. Gilt soared up each column and the roof was mirrored in small tiles of glass. An image of the pair of them, locked together in a horrific embrace, danced through thousands of tiny glass shards. A red liveried servant stepped forward. "Sir, you can't be up here—"
<PERSON> shot him a deadly look and <PERSON> grabbed his arm in desperation as the darkness within him looked back.
"Don't," she said shakily. "Take your anger out on me. Not him."
The servant swallowed hard and bolted out of the way. <PERSON> raked a glance at the heavily gilded sigils on each door: a griffin, a swan, three roaring lions, a serpent... He yanked the door open, the scarlet snake seeming to hiss in her face as she was wrenched through.
The House of Bleight's box. Bound to be empty so soon after the death of the duke's son.
Plunging into darkness, her knees hit one of the chairs and she tripped, clutching at the velvet seatback. The theatre spread before her, golden light basking over hundreds of pale faces as the blue bloods took their seats. The dull roar of conversation echoed in the cavernous theatre, a monotonous drone that masked the harsh pant of her breathing.
<PERSON> spun.
<PERSON> pressed the door closed with a quiet, controlled click, his head bowing for a moment as if he fought for control. The line between his shoulders was rigid with tension. Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the door and turned to face her.
<PERSON> eyes met hers, devouring her face as if he'd never seen her before. "Did you enjoy it? Making me a fool? Laughing at me behind my back?"
"It was never about that—"
"No?"
The harsh word stopped her. <PERSON> tilted her chin up defiantly. "Maybe at the start I enjoyed it a little."
A bitter smile curled over his mouth. "And what happened? Come, entertain me with some story about how it started to change—how I began to matter to you. How long did you intend to carry out this charade? Until you'd broken me? Until you'd won whatever game you thought you were playing?" He stepped closer, looming over her, each word cutting and precise. "You should have left me in that cell, my dear. I'm certain the mechs would have taken care of me
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the head of the massive circular table in the center of the room. The original one had been deliberately burned when the queen regained her throne and overthrew her husband, and this replacement was made of polished mahogany and jokingly referred to by several of the councilors as the Round Table.
"Hear me out first," he managed to gasp as <PERSON> directed him toward the table. "It wasn't her fault."
The queen whirled on him. "Perhaps you can explain to me how I was almost assassinated in my own damned throne room by one of _your_ agents!"
He tugged the neural implant <PERSON> had found during <PERSON> autopsy out of his pocket and slammed it flat on the table.
"This is how they did it," he replied. "This neural implant was discovered in the brain of <PERSON>, the man we thought was the Chameleon. One of my top agents has spent the past day trying to discover what it does, but all she could say was that the device was inert. Probably made so the second <PERSON> was murdered.
"However, I've managed to discover someone who does know what the neural implant is intended for. It uses complex bio-mechanics to fuse with a person's brain and override their impulses and wishes. Our enemy has discovered the means to circumvent a man's—or woman's—true loyalty and turn them into a mindless killing automaton. The Chameleon was never one person. It's a code name passed from person to person. Project: Chameleon. The next Chameleon could be anyone." He tipped his head toward the queen. "It could be your dearest friend, the Lady <PERSON>. It could be a trusted housemaid, her intentions overridden by this bloody thing. It could be a guard who's spent thirty years in the service of your family. You'll never know. And you'll never see them coming, because they don't even seem to realize what's happened.
"From what I can gather from events, Baroness Schröder"—even saying her name hurt—"was turned against my cause. There was an incident a few days ago where the baroness and my agent, <PERSON>, were the subject of a kidnapping. The baroness managed to escape with a mild concussion, though knowing what I know now, I suspect she led <PERSON> into a trap. <PERSON> vanished for the period of twenty-four hours and managed to escape the warehouse where she was being held. She and I thought it strange how lightly guarded the facility was, but...." He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. _Always question the small things that don't add up_. How had he forgotten? "There was no sign of any injury upon her. There wouldn't be, as she's a blue blood. <PERSON> could barely remember what happened. She was bludgeoned, hemlocked, and then kept drugged throughout the ordeal. Her head hurt her at first, but we thought it merely a side effect from being hit from behind. Now...."
He could barely say it.
His fists clenched.
"They must have operated on her while she was drugged, and implanted the neural implant. The craving virus
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is practical, and I have similar content I think your audience would appreciate."]
NOTE: Most people don't link to articles from the site where they want to contribute. Fewer still explain WHY they enjoy the posts they reference.
I wrote a blog post recently called [blog post title that's linked to the post], and in a nutshell it's about [quick line on what the post is about; for instance, "smart tips for dealing with rude co-workers"]. I would be happy to send it over as a guest post if you'd like. Here are a couple other recent posts I've done:
– [blog post title that's linked to the post]
– [blog post title that's linked to the post]
If you have other ideas, I'm open to writing something else for [the site where you want to guest post].
NOTE: What you're "saying" is...I will play by your rules so tell me what you want. I'm the guest poster and don't call the shots.
Thanks, and I hope to hear from you.
– Your first name
Email signature
Deeper Insight
First, praise the other person and mention how much you enjoy his/her website by linking to recent content. That's a nice ego boost for the site manager and goes a long way.
Then, link to your own content and give the person a few guest post options. You also mention you're happy to write something else entirely if that's what the person wants.
How to thank the person for allowing you to guest post
Once your guest post appears, you need to then thank the editor or publisher for the chance to contribute. Ideally, you'll want to offer more guest posts so now is the chance to solidify the relationship and become a go-to writer for the blog or website.
**Subject line: Thank you for running my [article/column/guest post]**
Hi [first name of the person who runs the site],
Thank you again for publishing my [article/column/guest post] called [name of post with the link included]. I think the [article/column/guest post] turned out great, and I appreciate the chance to appear on [name of website where you contributed].
I will be sure to share the post on my social media channels today and throughout the week. On occasion, can I send you other pieces I write? I'd like to contribute again if that's possible.
NOTE: Not only did you provide content to fill out the person's website, but you're also willing to share the piece on social media. That's a double dose of helpful, and the person will make special note of it.
Please let me know and have a great day,
– Your first name
Email signature
**Deeper Insight**
You should always thank the publisher/editor who runs your work. That's a smart way to build on your budding relationship.
Finally, offer to submit your work again. Most website editors need fresh content day after day. If the editor can rely on you for new articles or columns, you could find yourself as a regular contributor.
QUICK TIP — Six most powerful words in
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conversation.
How to thank someone who went above and beyond
Month/Day
Name,
Thank you for (what the person did for you; for instance, "handling my shift while I was out sick with the flu. You came through HUGE for me"). I appreciate your help so much and (quick example of what the help let you do; for instance, "I didn't fall behind on my follow-ups with the Georgia clients"). Please let me know how I can help you in the future. I'm more than happy to lend a hand. Thanks again!
Your first name
**Deeper Insight**
Make sure to remind the person how he/she helped you ("handling my shift while I was out sick with the flu"). Also offer to return the favor.
The thank-you note should go out within 48 hours.
Chapter 7
Graduate School Templates
Basics for Back to School
HOW TO CONTACT A FACULTY MEMBER BEFORE YOU APPLY TO THE PROGRAM
The graduate school email below helps in two ways:
1. Allows you to learn more about the graduate program
2. Develops a relationship with a faculty member, which could prove useful during the application process
**Subject line: Interested to learn more about [name of program] at [name of school]**
Hi [Professor/Dean ______],
My name is [first and last name], and I'm interested in the [name of program; for instance, "criminology program"] at the [name of college/university].
[Give the person your short bio; for instance, "I'm a sales associate for a large farm supply company but feel I want to make a career change and focus on criminology."]
[Then explain how you researched the graduate program and the person you're writing; for instance, "Big State University has a well-regarded criminology program, and I see you personally have published a lot of important work in the field, including a 2012 study on the effects of an increased police presence in suburban communities. I'm also interested in the impact of police on society, and I appreciate the research you conducted."]
NOTE: Link to the person's work (2012 study) when possible.
I'd like to learn more about the [subject; for instance, "criminology"] program and what life is like as a student. Are you available for a phone call? Please let me know.
NOTE: Don't ask questions about the application process. Instead, focus on learning more about the graduate program and the faculty member's career.
[Or, if you expect to visit the campus, ask, "I plan to be on campus in the coming weeks. Do you have a few minutes to meet with me and answer questions?"]
Thanks, and I hope to hear from you.
– Your first name
Email signature
**Deeper Insight**
In the email, you show interest in the school, the graduate field of study AND the professor's own work. It's not brown-nosing — it's about building a relationship.
If you can visit the campus, ask to meet in person. A physical introduction is much more effective than email or phone. Before you meet, make sure you understand the faculty person's research and courses he/she teaches. You
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navigation computer, and see what we come up with as the best approach trajectory. The Maze is complicated. It may take us a while. I am a coward, you see, by both experience and natural inclination."
Then he winked at me, as though he was joking and I knew it, and left without another word. And now, twenty-four hours after that first discussion of where we were going, he was back.
We were sitting around the table, me between Doctor <PERSON> and <PERSON>, with <PERSON> and <PERSON> opposite us, and an empty seat between them.
"You won't like this any too well," <PERSON> began, direct as usual. "We've done the trajectory calculation, <PERSON> and I, and the safest route to where you want to go has to skirt out wide of the Maze. It will take us nearly four weeks."
I don't know if he could read the doctor's wince, but I could. In making her plans she had hoped to be out and home again to Xavier House in less time than that. But all she did was nod, and say, "Keep it safe, Captain, that's the first priority." And then, in what seemed like an odd change of subject, "Tell me, is the _Cuchulain_ a safe ship?"
<PERSON> must have been as puzzled as I was by the question, but he didn't let his feelings show any more than she had. "I certainly believe it is," he said, "or I would not fly in it. As I told you, in space cowardice is a virtue. But why do you ask?"
"<PERSON> and I did a quick tour earlier today. I noticed that some areas of the ship are neglected and dirty. It made me wonder how well your central control computer is working."
<PERSON> sighed, and sat down between Uncle <PERSON> and <PERSON>. "Doctor <PERSON>, I believe that the _Cuchulain_ is perfectly spaceworthy, at least for the moment. But I don't pretend that the ship is as good as new. It has been in use, more or less continuously, for hundreds of years. There is natural wear, in everything from main drive to maintenance, and when certain things go wrong we do not have enough knowledge of the original design to fix them. I'm well aware that some parts of the ship are being neglected by the cleaning robots, and I assume that the problem lies in the controlling software in the ship's main computer. But I have no one able to understand that software, and safely change it."
His answer, oddly enough, seemed to please Doctor <PERSON>. She was nodding.
"Captain <PERSON>," she said, "you have been very patient with me. You have never asked me the natural question: _Why_ are we going to the Maze? But I think that now you deserve an answer."
Doctor <PERSON> really liked <PERSON>, I could tell she did. There was a lighter tone in her voice when she talked to him, and a different little smile on her face. It did not surprise me. I felt
|
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better than a game."
"I totally concur. But what do you think happened to the _other_ worlds, all the other destinations served by the Godspeed ships?"
That made <PERSON> smooth forehead wrinkle, and he crossed his arms to massage his biceps through the sleeves of his blue jacket. "I don't like to think too much about that. I've been to libraries in Skibbereen and Middletown. There's not much left in the general data banks, but you get the feeling that our survival on Erin after the Isolation was not easy."
"That's a prize understatement, if ever I heard one." <PERSON> had been sitting aloof, still not fully over his spacesickness but much improved in the tenth-gravity field of our living quarters. Now he was showing signs of life.
"The first generation after Isolation survived by an eyelash," he went on. "Without the space launch system, and the local space fleet, and the access to minerals and light metals from the Forty Worlds..."
He hiccuped, put his hands on his stomach, and lapsed back to silence.
"So we came through—just." <PERSON> turned again to Doctor <PERSON>. "But you know that we're not really in the clear. The records show that every human on Erin, and many of our most useful plants and animals, came here from somewhere else. We're not _native_ to the planet. It's not right for us. We keep struggling along, but we do it by hauling in what we need from the Forty Worlds. And we do it with a fleet of ships that can't be replaced, and gets older and more worn every year. I know that from personal experience—every year, something else goes wrong with the _Cuchulain_.
"But the old records make another fact even clearer. Of all the planets settled and colonized by humans, Erin is _the most like Earth_ , the most like the original home world. So I think—and as I said, I don't like to think about this too much—I think that we have been very lucky. We have survived. Maybe a handful of other planets have, too." He glanced my way, and this time there was no wink or smile. "But for most of them, and for the _future_ generations on Erin—"
"I agree with every word you say." Doctor <PERSON> cut him off before he could finish the sentence, I think because I was present. "And now I'll tell you why I'm asking you to fly us into the middle of the Maze. I believe we will find evidence, on the body whose coordinates I gave you, of something new about the Godspeed Drive."
"Something new?" <PERSON>'s face was impassive again. "What?"
"I can't tell you—because I don't know. It could be as little as an old base, empty and deserted. Or it could be as much as a whole ship, with a Drive intact. But as I'm sure you'll agree, _anything_ about the Godspeed Drive has to be investigated. <PERSON>'s future may depend on it."
"Indeed it may." <PERSON> stood up. "I appreciate your sharing this information
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2b89271b-670d-615f-38ee-1a2dc56d7189
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Like his teammates, <PERSON> left Saint-Cassien with the gift of a fondue set and an unexpected sermon. He should never have taken part in the tournament, which had exposed him to potential injury, he was told firmly by the team. His body had become his working tool; he had to protect it, not risking the slightest accident, not calling on it unjustifiably outside the normal scope of its services – of its _profession_.
Here was further proof that time with his friends was now a thing of the past.
In this case, the fear on the part of the AS Cannes directors was retrospective because the tournament was spoiled by incidents, although fortunately without physical consequences for anyone. A fight broke out and spread into the outdoor refreshment bar. ASLM members, volunteers like <PERSON> mother, were serving customers by the touchline, where people could rest and chat while standing, sitting or lying down. They suddenly dispersed in panic and began running in all directions. Someone had started waving around a handgun.
Those who wanted to protect <PERSON> were aware neither of the atmosphere at the time, nor his propensity to react to dirty tricks. This was not new. While he was playing for the Under-13s, the final of the tournament held in Roanne was stopped because he had head-butted an aggressive opponent... incited to violence by his coach, who went on to manage the France women's team! More recently, in Montpellier, in the Troisième Division, he was sent off for the same type of vengeful reaction. As a consequence he was banned from all competition for three weeks. It was a long time, which gave <PERSON> the idea of introducing 'dressing-room duty', a cleaning task that would become the responsibility of anyone suspended from then on. At the same time, with a phrase that was a little caricatured but realistic, not to mention distressing, the manager exposed <PERSON> to the risks of the profession, the profession of brilliant dribbler, someone who protects the ball so well their opponent has no idea how to get hold of it: 'If one day you stop getting hit, you'll know you aren't as good any more!'
At La Bocca, during the 1989–90 season that was just beginning, the blows were not visible. They were not administered on the pitch but on an imaginary chessboard, where everyone moves their own pawns. New pawns, moved by new hands. A municipal election fostered a change of mood and the atmosphere no longer felt like that of a family, unless it was a family whose members were tearing each other apart.
Football, which was being increasingly broadcast on television, a source of money and power, had long since become an instrument for businessmen and politicians. Drunk with the prospect of victory at any price and with ever-increasing budgets, those who exploited volunteers lined the pockets of backers who came out of nowhere, ready to make 'football merchandise' part of their portfolio.
These kind of psychological dramas were nothing new. From Nice to Marseille, and even in Monaco, in
|
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|
of popularity contests, the children's idol and someone whom adults aspired to be like, found himself plunged into relative isolation. Sometimes, he fell prey to the doubt inherent in any convalescence. In May, ten months after the World Cup final that had propelled him to the dizzy heights of fame, he was operated on in Strasbourg by surgeon <PERSON>. His right knee began to regain mobility. In July, almost a year to the day after France–Brazil, one hundred days after his injury, three months after <PERSON>'s indiscretions, the Juve playmaker was back on the pitches of the Aosta Valley. <PERSON> returned to Châtillon to enjoy the relative calm of the off-season preparation. He stayed at the hotel and would see his friend between training sessions. He was still playing in Serie C1, for Brescello, a small town known first and foremost as the set for the _Don Camillo_ series popularised by the actors <PERSON> and <PERSON>. There was one simple link between <PERSON>'s peaceful career and <PERSON>'s life in the spotlight: they both loved football and appreciated the professionalism of Italian clubs, but much less the exaggeration and polarisation of a sport that often became the centre of the world. It was difficult to escape this passionate environment.
Like almost every player, <PERSON> had an agent who negotiated his contracts; <PERSON> was his right-hand man who took care of his business affairs. But he also involved his family in managing his promotion. There was no shortage of work for Zidane Diffusion, his company based in Marseille. The success of Leader Price was followed by other campaigns. With a new marketing vehicle – a footballer rather than a couple in love – Christian Dior fragrances refreshed the image of their Eau Sauvage perfume, on the market for 20 years. The CanalSatellite channel package used the presence of Zinedine in a more natural way, with a football angle similar to that of Adidas, whose famous giant poster had loomed over Marseille's Corniche. Volvic mineral water would also later benefit from the moral purity of the champion, whose fans felt it corresponded perfectly with his image. Not fake in any way.
A simple and pure professional. The brand image began to take hold. He was seen as an alien, an incongruity on the celebrity planet. Despite entrusting the decoration of two rooms in their Rodez home to <PERSON>, a decorator known for his flourishes, the <PERSON> preferred neutral tones and a sober, pared-down style.
The tabloid press could get nothing on <PERSON>. The only rough patch came with creatine, which was hardly the stuff of which celebrity gossip is made. Creatine is a substance that acts on muscle energy. Consumption can be dangerous and its use is controversial. Creatine and the abuse of iron – thought to mask illicit substances and also denounced by medical authorities – can be harmful to the body. Firstly, as an allusion in an account of his own misadventures, then by mentioning the name to Italian investigators who came to question him, a former French
|
a8761e7b-6f26-0f40-9bc8-77b3b8bd5ed9
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puis elle contourna la maison de sa tante, le square de son enfance, regarda de loin le cimetière et la petite ville qui s'étendait au pied de la montagne en se demandant ce qu'elle allait faire de cet argent, une probabilité lui traversa l'esprit, après tout, ma mère m'aurait donc aimée? mais elle chassa vite l'idée et d'un souffle se rendit jusqu'au train qu'elle attrapa à la toute dernière seconde, il avait déjà commencé sa course, et alors qu'elle s'avançait entre les sièges dans le couloir, pour la première fois depuis longtemps, une série d'images agréables lui vint à l'esprit, elle se voyait marcher dans la rue, vêtue de vêtements luisants, les bras chargés de sacs d'emplettes et pourtant si légère, se frayant un chemin parmi les passants qui ralentissaient leur foulée pour la regarder, mais oui, pourquoi pas ? j'ai de l'argent! se dit-elle, tout est possible! elle eut encore de la difficulté à s'asseoir tant elle était légère, et croyait voir dans la neige éblouissante des myriades de paires d'yeux qui la contemplaient.
<PERSON> son poste au bureau dès le lendemain, il n'y eut que son amie <PERSON> pour lui donner une carte achetée toute faite, autrement personne ne vint lui présenter ses condoléances, elle ne s'y attendait pas non plus.
En revanche, contrairement à ce qu'elle avait prévu de faire, <PERSON> ne donna pas sa démission la première journée.
Plutôt la semaine prochaine, histoire de m'habituer à l'idée et de planifier ma nouvelle vie.
Puis de jour en jour, elle retarda son projet de courir les boutiques, lorsqu'elle finissait ses journées elle n'en avait plus envie et quand vint le samedi, jour de shopping par excellence, <PERSON> se découvrit un petit rhume et décida de reporter le programme à plus tard, ce qui l'agaçait aussi c'était qu'elle n'avait rien de chic à porter pour entrer dans les boutiques de luxe et craignait qu'on la regarde de travers, en fait je devrais commencer par prendre rendez-vous chez un bon coiffeur, mais elle n'en connaissait aucun.
D'abord résolue à ne plus s'apporter de casse-croûte pour son repas de midi, elle sortait à l'extérieur, mais les restaurants, mon Dieu que ça prend du temps pour être servie, elle avait beau apporter un livre ou un magazine et tenter de s'y plonger comme <PERSON> le faisait toujours au bureau, elle n'arrivait pas à se sentir à l'aise, tous ces groupes de gens d'affaires autour d'elle, avec ces hommes cravatés et ces serveurs plus ou moins avenants, si bien qu'en quelques jours elle avait retrouvé la solitude de la cuisinette sans fenêtre du bureau, se disant que de toute façon elle allait bientôt quitter ce travail.
Une nuit, elle rêva que sa mère lui avouait qu'elle avait agi sur un coup de tête et qu'elle regrettait de l'avoir couchée sur son testament, <PERSON> se réveilla avec l'impression d'avoir eu une vision.
Au bout de la journée suivante, elle se mit à espérer que le spectre de sa mère lui apparaisse au plus vite afin de pouvoir la remercier une fois pour toutes et
|
9f0a8904-7463-8b3b-621e-a0af1841f3ec
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rien que pour la matinée, et ça c'était sans parler de l'après-midi, mais non, elle était avec <PERSON> et le maquilleur, en train de prendre le café, ils se taquinaient les uns les autres, <PERSON> chatouillait <PERSON> et tous riaient assez fort pour vous flanquer un mal de bloc, ça m'a confirmé ce que je pensais, c'était donc ça, <PERSON> prenait les choses à la légère, <PERSON> se sentait trop en confiance, c'était ça le problème, il ne fallait pas oublier que jusqu'à la veille elle ne connaissait absolument rien à la vie de star, et voilà qu'on lui donnait sur un plateau d'argent un grand rôle, très bien rémunéré, que ce rôle, elle réussissait même à le chiper à Lilly Lee, il y avait des filles qui auraient été prêtes à tuer pour ça, et du jour au lendemain, on la trimballait en limousine, on lui offrait des massages, des petites bouchées, et des serviettes et des courbettes, et quand la caméra et tous les spots n'étaient pas braqués sur elle, elle se faisait chatouiller par <PERSON>, monsieur séduction en personne, le roi de la campagne de publicité internationale des condoms Siempre, pendant ce temps moi, l'espèce de tarte, je lui demandais d'être fragile, ha ! fragile ! comme si elle avait eu la tête à ça !
Alors je suis entré dans sa loge, j'ai demandé qu'on nous laisse seuls et j'ai refermé la porte derrière moi, je n'étais pas de bonne humeur, ça se voyait et avant même de me mettre à parler j'ai vu qu'elle était déjà toute pâle, je lui ai dit que ça n'allait pas du tout, qu'elle ne répondait nullement à mes attentes, que sa performance depuis deux jours n'arrivait pas à la cheville de ce qu'elle avait laissé espérer à l'audition, qu'il était temps qu'elle cesse de batifoler et qu'elle livre une prestation à la hauteur de mes exigences, les larmes lui sont venues aux yeux, elle m'a répondu qu'elle était surprise, qu'elle ne comprenait pas, voulait s'excuser, je l'ai coupée, je lui ai dit que je ne voulais pas savoir ce qu'elle ressentait, je voulais le voir! et pas dans sa loge mais dans son personnage, qu'on avait déjà perdu deux jours, que rien de ce qu'elle avait tourné jusqu'à présent ne ferait partie du film, zéro, niet ! tout était à jeter, rien que bon à jeter ! et qu'il était temps qu'elle se donne à fond, que le cinéma pouvait avoir l'air glorieux dans les magazines mais que ce n'était pas une partie de plaisir et que le rôle qu'elle était en train de jouer l'était encore moins, elle tremblait, elle tremblait encore lorsqu'on a recommencé à tourner quelques minutes plus tard et pour qu'elle cesse, j'ai crié action ! en donnant au mot l'impulsion d'un coup de fouet.
<PERSON>, elle faisait pitié, comme un petit animal traqué et orphelin, j'aurais aimé la prendre dans mes bras et la protéger contre moi mais j'étais trop avide de perfection pour arriver à m'arrêter, d'ailleurs son jeu m'a tout de suite
|
d70cbf5f-f2d0-8b6b-1158-67359169c2cb
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['c891731e-4c7d-4f7f-5c0e-f3ae66012ac6']
|
marry at sixteen implies a desire to leap off a sinking boat, and then she had leaped again: after eighteen months <PERSON> moved out of her husband's handsome and comfortable house, and she now occupied a single room. The boardinghouse had five other tenants. She told the census enumerator that she was an artist, although in fact she was a retoucher of photographs. A retoucher of photographs is not an artist. She told the census taker that she was twenty-one, although she was younger. She said she had $700 in the bank, a claim that if true made her the richest tenant both within her building and on much of the block. In 1869, $700 was a considerable sum for an artist, even a successful artist, and she was not a successful artist in the way the older man whom she had recently met was successful. <PERSON> worked a block away from the boarding house in the art gallery belonging to <PERSON> and <PERSON>, at 121 Montgomery, and it was there she had met the artist who used to call himself <PERSON>, and who now used the plainer name <PERSON>.
_<PERSON>_ , ca. 1868 (Illustration Credit 6.1)
A photograph taken two or three years later shows <PERSON> to have been a diminutive woman with an oval face, alabaster skin, and a loft of brown curls. She sometimes wore a floral arrangement on her head and often a billowing dress, but amid the adornment, her mouth appears fixed and her cheeks emotionless, and little feeling seems present in her almost spherical eyes. <PERSON>'s eyes withhold feeling. She seems to hold out her decorated appearance as an alternative to it.
A newspaperman said she was "voluptuous, with a sweet face and large, lustrous eyes." Another described "a handsome woman of petite but plump figure with a profusion of beautiful wavy brown hair." She made an impression on male newsmen, and also on women. One woman said <PERSON> was "impulsive, given to fine dress and flirting." That was at the murder trial.
On a workday <PERSON>, fitted out in petticoats and an ankle-length dress, ruffles at the breast and cuffs, with a hat and maybe a parasol, walked from her boardinghouse to the <PERSON>' gallery, where she went to a room at the back and deposited herself at the retouching table. The <PERSON> brothers paid <PERSON> to doctor their photographs. In wet-plate photography, a scratch or dent on the collodion negative resulted in a white line or blur. <PERSON>'s job was to paint a liquid on the picture base to mask the defect. Sometimes she also did wax work. The <PERSON> tinted their pictures with paint, and <PERSON> had learned the skill of using wax to guide the liquid pigment. She manipulated a pool of hot wax into the shape of the figures on a photograph and used it to channel paint into place, making white skies blue and gray faces pink. <PERSON> said that he considered <PERSON>'s wax work some of the best he had seen. It's also likely
|
2f05e840-ad93-e23e-b12c-19001a70f513
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['c891731e-4c7d-4f7f-5c0e-f3ae66012ac6']
|
gallery had thirty-four employees (six of them Chinese American) and occupied twenty-nine rooms on three floors of a building at 429 Montgomery, on the corner of Sacramento. Bradley & Rulofson advertised itself as the biggest art dealer in San Francisco, and the most progressive. As proof, the gallery boasted of a strange new machine it had installed, an elevator. (The elevator, another nod to speed, was water-powered. A pump attached to the city's water main filled a tank that acted as a counterweight to raise and lower the cage.) When he made arrangements to sell his photographs through Rulofson, <PERSON> made sure his new dealers gave his wife, <PERSON>, a part-time job retouching pictures, as she had done at the <PERSON> gallery. Despite his own attachment to velocity, <PERSON> disliked the elevator and always took the stairs, a fact that came out at the murder trial.
<PERSON> and his family at their San Francisco home, ca. 1880 (Illustration Credit 8.1)
To mark the acquisition—a new artist! the famous <PERSON> & Rulofson printed a catalog of <PERSON>'s work, describing all his photographs for customers to buy. It ran to fifty pages and listed more than a thousand images.
Back in San Francisco after a stint with the <PERSON>, <PERSON> packed for another trip that would take him away from his wife, <PERSON>. In June he went to Yosemite. He had first made his reputation as a photographer, five years earlier, with turbulent pictures of Yosemite Valley, the state's natural spectacle. Most of those had been stereo cards, not much bigger than the human hand. This time he would make big pictures, seventeen by twenty-two inches—the scale of a small table—known as "mammoth plates." The operation required a big camera, the size of an oven. Before the invention of the enlarger, a darkroom device that could stretch a negative up to any scale, the photographic print was the same size as its glass negative: to make a big photograph you needed a big camera.
As he had done before, <PERSON> spent five months at Yosemite. The writer <PERSON>, a fan of the photographer, described running into him on a narrow path.
"As we slowly climbed the trail, a long line of pack-mules met us. We drew aside to let them pass. They were loaded with a photographer's apparatus, lenses, plates, camera, carefully packed boxes of chemicals. Their owner, Mr. <PERSON>, has just established himself in the valley for the purpose of taking a series of views, larger and more perfect than any heretofore attempted."
Between June and November <PERSON> made his mammoth plates. According to one paper, to take his pictures, <PERSON> "cut down trees by the score that interfered with the cameras from the best point of sight; he had himself lowered by ropes down precipices to establish his instruments in places where the full beauty of the object to be photographed could be transferred to the negative, and he went to points where his packers refused to follow." <PERSON> was good at publicity—there might have been 50 percent truth
|
ff85392c-d03d-88ff-3fb6-3c4f2ac4a4d8
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['c898d490-ba0f-911c-dc7b-c79862d666c0']
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Byzantine domes and palazzos. Step back in time to an age when <PERSON>, the queen of the Adriatic, ruled much of the Mediterranean world. Meander through neighborhoods where not much has changed since native son <PERSON> set sail for the distant corners of the world, courtesans and doges passed as shadows in the narrow alleyways, and <PERSON> glided down the Grand Canal on his way to a nocturnal assignation.
### Top Attractions
Gallerie dell'Accademia—The most extensive collection of Venetian masters in the world fills a former church and guild hall with works by <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and others. Venice is the colorful backdrop for <PERSON>'s St. Mark Cycle and many other works that reveal how little the city has changed over the centuries. Info: Tel 39/041-522-2247; www.gallerieaccademia.org.
Ca' d'Oro and the Galleria Giorgio Franchetti—In a beautiful 15th-century palazzo on the Grand Canal <PERSON>'s _Venus at the Mirror_ vies with <PERSON>'s _St. Sebastian_ for your attention. These and other paintings, sculptures, and furniture were donated to the Italian government by philanthropist Baron <PERSON>. Info: Tel 39/041-520-0345; www.cadoro.org.
Chiesa dei Frari (Church of the Friars)—In a city filled with churches, this immense Franciscan bastion, built in the 13th and 14th centuries in San Polo, stands out as a showcase for <PERSON>, including an _Assumption_ depicting the ascension of the Virgin Mary into heaven surrounded by swirling putti (cherubs). Info: Tel 39/041-522-2637; www.chorusvenezia.org.
Chiesa dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo (Church of Saints John and Paul)—The largest church in Venice after St. Mark's contains the tombs of 25 doges, plus works by <PERSON> and <PERSON>, and ceilings that depict New Testament scenes. <PERSON> famous 15th-century bronze equestrian statue of the mercenary <PERSON>, one of the great masterworks of early Renaissance sculpture, commands the surrounding _campo._ You can take it all in from the outdoor tables of Rosa Salva, a centuries-old coffeehouse and pastry shop. Chiesa SS. Giovanni e Paolo: Tel 39/041-523-5913.
The Grand Canal—Venice's Main Street is a 2-mile-long, S-shaped aquatic thoroughfare lined with hundreds of weather-worn Byzantine and Gothic palazzos and abuzz with canal life. Jump aboard the number 1 vaporetto (water bus) and float through 1,000 years of Venetian history, dodging gondolas and delivery boats. Start at either Piazza San Marco or the Santa Lucia train station, and savor the ride at least twice: once by day for rush-hour stimulus and once at night for the quiet, unmatched romance of it all. A cruise by gondola brings you through an enchanting web of more than 150 sleepy back canals—seeing the hidden corners of this unique city built on water.
A centuries-old sumptuary law required that gondolas be painted black, a tradition that continues to this day.
<PERSON> Collection—An unfinished 18th-century palazzo on the Grand Canal that was once the home of art collector <PERSON> is filled with works by <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and (her husband) <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER>; www.gallerieaccademia.org.
Ca' d'Oro and the Galleria Giorgio Franchetti—In a beautiful 15th-century palazzo on the Grand Canal Titian's _Venus at the Mirror_ vies with Mantegna's _St. Sebastian_ for your attention. These and other paintings, sculptures, and furniture were donated to the Italian government by philanthropist Baron Giorgio Franchetti. Info: Tel 39/<PHONE_NUMBER>; www.cadoro.org.
Chiesa dei Frari (Church of the Friars)—In a city filled with churches, this immense Franciscan bastion, built in the 13th and 14th centuries in San Polo, stands out as a showcase for Titian, including an _Assumption_ depicting the ascension of the Virgin Mary into heaven surrounded by swirling putti (cherubs). Info: Tel 39/<PHONE_NUMBER>; www.chorusvenezia.org.
Chiesa dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo (Church of Saints John and Paul)—The largest church in Venice after St. Mark's contains the tombs of 25 doges, plus works by Bellini and Veronese, and ceilings that depict New Testament scenes. Andrea del Verrocchio's famous 15th-century bronze equestrian statue of the mercenary Bartolomeo Colleoni, one of the great masterworks of early Renaissance sculpture, commands the surrounding _campo._ You can take it all in from the outdoor tables of Rosa Salva, a centuries-old coffeehouse and pastry shop. Chiesa SS. Giovanni e Paolo: Tel 39/<PHONE_NUMBER>.
The Grand Canal—Venice's Main Street is a 2-mile-long, S-shaped aquatic thoroughfare lined with hundreds of weather-worn Byzantine and Gothic palazzos and abuzz with canal life. Jump aboard the number 1 vaporetto (water bus) and float through 1,000 years of Venetian history, dodging gondolas and delivery boats. Start at either Piazza San Marco or the Santa Lucia train station, and savor the ride at least twice: once by day for rush-hour stimulus and once at night for the quiet, unmatched romance of it all. A cruise by gondola brings you through an enchanting web of more than 150 sleepy back canals—seeing the hidden corners of this unique city built on water.
A centuries-old sumptuary law required that gondolas be painted black, a tradition that continues to this day.
Peggy Guggenheim Collection—An unfinished 18th-century palazzo on the Grand Canal that was once the home of art collector Peggy Guggenheim is filled with works by Pollock, Brancusi, Picasso, Klee, Rothko, Chagall, and (her husband) Max Ernst—and many other 20th-century artists to whom the American heiress was a patron. Some of the rooms at DD724, an intimate, contemporary hotel next door, overlook the
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90411302-f783-5d59-f37c-81c3adf8ad2c
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['c898d490-ba0f-911c-dc7b-c79862d666c0']
|
lauded the mountain range's misty landscapes, scroll painters have sought to capture its ethereal beauty, and more than a thousand years of labor have gone into creating its dizzying pathways and staircases. The power of nature alone has been enough to inspire centuries of admirers and pilgrims.
The range is comprised of over 70 peaks characterized by gnarled pine trees, teetering rock formations, bubbling hot springs, and a shifting sea of clouds. A cable car can transport you up (you can also travel by sedan chair), but hiking is traditional. The eastern steps will take 3 to 4 hours, the western steps 4 to 6 hours, but the longer trek is compensated by even more spectacular scenery. The going is tough and steep and is unsuitable for those with no head for heights, but the scenery is among the most amazing in the world. While the extremely fit could hike up and return down on the same day, staying at the top means the chance to experience sunrise piercing the sea of mist, surely one of China's most awesome natural sights.
Even though Huangshan's hotels aren't going to win any prizes, they should be booked well in advance. The Shilin Hotel provides compact but cozy rooms and basic services; the Xihai Hotel is a Swiss-designed establishment popular with foreign visitors.
On the southwest slopes of the mountain, Hongcun is a venerable village of 1,200 or so residents. Founded 900 years ago, it was laid out by a feng shui master in the auspicious shape of a buffalo. One of China's most beautiful historic villages, it is comprised of some 150 buildings, including a farmhouse and clan halls that date back to the Ming and Qing dynasties and are among the best preserved in China. Scenes in the movie _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_ were filmed here in 1999.
Where: 315 miles/500 km southwest of Shanghai. Nearest airport is in Tunxi, 40 miles/65 km away. Shilin Hotel: Tel 86/<PHONE_NUMBER>; www.shilin.com. _Cost:_ from $190. Xihai Hotel: Tel 86/<PHONE_NUMBER>; www.xihaihotelhuangshan.com. _Cost:_ from $140. Best times: Mist and fog shroud Huangshan at any time; May–Oct is busiest.
## "The city was bigger, noisier, brighter, more prosperous—it amazed me . . ."—Paul Theroux, Riding the Iron Rooster
_______________
## Beijing
### China
The daunting, maze-like interior of the Forbidden City humbles the seven million visitors it receives annually.
China's political and cultural capital—and the center of imperial and Communist power alike for half a millennium—Beijing, home to approximately 20 million people, is a city in the throes of a vast transformation. Its world-famous historic sights are staggering, and the last remaining ancient _hutongs_ (residential alleyways) are now being carefully preserved. But Beijing is also about futuristic buildings, architectural experimentation, a modern can-do spirit, and a striking optimism. It's forward-looking and fast-paced—at least when traffic doesn't grind it all to a standstill.
### Top Attractions
The Forbidden City—Off-limits to commoners for 500 years, this is the largest, most complete, and best-preserved cluster of ancient buildings in China. Also known as the Imperial Palace or Palace Museum, it was the
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be a poor use of time and rather insulting, since they are quite sure it is insincere or naïve.
"<PERSON>'s and my perspective was that if we didn't emphasize our missions and values now, there would always be a reason to postpone prioritizing them. It would have been easy to circumscribe the amount of time, effort, attention, and passion that would be required. I believed that if we accepted an excuse the first month, we'd have another in the second month, third month, and so on. I accepted our crisis as a gift. It's a gift because in a crisis mode, everyone is watching and listening to you. Companies pay millions of dollars for Super Bowl commercials. They do it because that's when everyone is watching TV. Similarly, during a crisis, leaders need to be incredibly purposeful about what they say, because everyone is watching and listening.
"Another reason for clarifying and emphasizing our mission and values was because we needed them to guide our decision making. They couldn't guide us if we didn't have them!"
In addition to the retreat's agenda, <PERSON>, a gregarious and likeable man, made a concentrated effort to shake as many hands as he could, greeting and chatting with the wary crowd. It is said that he worked the room like a seasoned politician. Under normal circumstances, he would have been well received, but not on this day. It would take more than charm to gain favor with this group.
To his credit, <PERSON> worked on fixing the short-term troubles while concurrently focusing on long-term gains. Certainly, giving immediate attention to dealing with the financial woes was paramount. Had he done otherwise, the company was likely to have gone belly-up, and there would not have been a future company. It was like being on a sinking ship that had sprung many leaks. A captain doesn't have the luxury of plugging one leak at a time; to do so would surely result in a disaster.
<PERSON> knew that once the financial problems were in order, to attain sustainable, long-term success, the company's culture would have to be changed. "There are things that are done today that are now strong and vibrant DaVita traditions," he explains.
"For example, we have some cheers that instill a teammate spirit. We started experimenting with them because we realized that it was going to be impossible to reach the 800 company leaders who were spread across the country and the 10,000 other teammates in any consistent, in-person way. Sure, we could communicate our message by sending serious voicemails and emails. We could conduct big teleconferences, and we could give serious sermons about the missions and values we advocated. But that would put people to sleep. Instead, we needed to tell _real_ stories about _real_ DaVita people, along with situations, victories and defeats, decisions, and issues, and discuss them in context with our mission and values. We needed to come up with language and rituals that reminded people of important themes just like the military, sports teams, and religions do."
At his first
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on costumes.' And some would say I was egomaniacal. But what worked for us in the integration were the nurses and technicians and facility administrators in the 565 former Gambro clinics. We kept putting those people together with our own DaVita veterans at local meetings. As it turned out, it didn't matter that much what I or our other executives would say, but it did matter what the new Gambro people heard from their DaVita peers that worked at our centers. On breaks at meetings, they'd mingle and ask, 'What's the deal here? Is this all a lot of bull, or is it for real? Do you like it here?' When they heard in a straightforward way that they ought to give it a chance because the company culture is a really good thing for them, they were willing to give it a try. Once they were open-minded about our core values and how this was a fulfilling and fun place to work, it made a lot of sense to them. When the former Gambro executives saw how the people in the field were buying in to the DaVita way, they started to think, 'Maybe this will actually work.' And, of course, some former Gambro executives emerged as early leaders even before their teams and helped bring other former Gambro folks along."
"A lot of people say, 'Wow, you guys are lucky," <PERSON> tells. "Yes we're probably lucky, but everything we've done is intentional. Absolutely intentional. Everything was well thought out with very little being left to chance."
Dr. <PERSON>, chief medical officer, says, "Most kidney patients are on a multitude of drugs, and through our subsidiary, DaVita Rx, we have their filled prescriptions sent to the patient's dialysis facility. This way, we are on top of what medicines he's on and can ask questions such as, 'Are you having any problems?' 'Do you have any questions?' We work with our patients' physicians, and our nurses take the information on their chart. By making sure the patient's drugs are adjusted in real time and taken daily provides the quicker drugs benefit and in a more sustained way. We measure the patient's blood on a continuous basis, and we chart his progress from a clinical standpoint. It also reinforces why they should be taking those drugs, and as studies show, DaVita patients' compliance rates are among the highest in the industry. Although we are hailed an industry leader, we are constantly working on ways to improve our clinical numbers. We have numbers to prove that we can make a dialysis patient healthier and have a better quality of life when he or she is with DaVita. I don't think it's a stretch to say that if you are a DaVita patient, you are healthier."
Nor is it a stretch to say that during the six-year period under <PERSON>'s leadership, the company made impressive strides in its quest to be the industry leader in providing outstanding patient care. Documented yearly clinical outcomes on how DaVita stacked up against its competitors substantiated a
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minimum of a sport-specific warm-up before beginning any kettlebell workout.
### General Warm-Up
The overall approach to the general warm-up is to focus on warming the large muscle groups of the body such as the quadriceps, calves, hamstrings, hip flexors, shoulders, and so on. The general warm-up is divided into two parts: aerobic activity (pulse-raiser) and joint mobility exercises (rotations).
#### Aerobic Activity
Aerobic activity to raise the pulse can consist of any number of aerobic movements that circulate blood and oxygen to supply the muscles with more energy. The most common aerobic activity is an easy jog of 5 to 10 minutes. In place of jogging you can select any of these light aerobic activities:
* Brisk walking
* Marching in place
* Skipping forward and backward
* Lateral shuffling
* Low-intensity agility drills, such as two-legged hopping in all directions, speed ladders, or cone drills
* Body-weight squats or other simple calisthenics
* Shadowboxing, which is throwing loose, easy punches while bouncing and shuffling around like a boxer
* Skipping rope
* Other light-intensity cyclical aerobic movements
In most cases, the selected movements should use only your body. For example, jogging on the ground is preferred to jogging on a treadmill because on a treadmill you only need to lift your foot and let the belt pass, whereas you have to propel yourself forward when running on the ground. As another example, riding a bicycle requires a degree of balance and core stability that a stationary bike cannot offer. Mastering your own body weight in basic movements is the fundamental athletic use of your body that all sports and other activities, including kettlebell lifting, are built upon. In some cases, such as for convenience or in poor weather, you might use an aerobics machine such as a treadmill, stationary bike, or elliptical trainer. However, when possible, natural movement is preferred to the machine-based alternative. The focus of the pulse-raiser is simply to raise your core temperature, gradually increase your heart rate, and increase your cardiovascular output (get your blood pumping). Increased blood flow in the muscles improves performance and flexibility and reduces the likelihood of injury.
#### Joint Mobility Exercises
Upon completion of the gentle pulse-raiser, you will move directly into joint mobility rotations, which help your joints to feel loose and lubricated so that they move smoothly and with relative ease. Joint rotations lubricate the entire joint with synovial fluid and permit your joints to function more easily when called upon to lift the kettlebells.
Perform joint rotations by gently moving the joints in circular motions both clockwise and counterclockwise. Work from top to bottom or vice versa, or you can begin at your center (waist, hips, and low back) and then move to the extremities. For most joint mobility exercises, do 10 to 20 repetitions or as many as needed for the joints to feel stretched and warmed. Be sure to mobilize all the major joint structures of your body,
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one-count variation, it becomes necessary to use a squat-based mechanic due to the trajectory and fast-paced tempo.
* For the two-count variation, the trajectory of upswing and downswing is best described as the letter _J_. Thus, there is a circular component to the movement. For the one-count variation, the upswing and downswing follow a vertical groove (straight up and down). For the two-count variation, focus on both the cleaning arm and the arm that is not cleaning. For the latter, the primary goal is connectivity—keep the arm in contact with the torso.
* An important mechanic during the one-count variation is a drop to the squat position that initiates the motion for _both_ kettlebells—the kettlebell that is descending and the kettlebell that is accelerating up.
## Double Snatch
The double snatch is one of the best exercises for increasing explosiveness, hip drive, and overhead stability. This exercise has two variations: the double half snatch (racking on the drop from overhead) and the double full snatch (no racking on the drop from overhead). _Half snatch_ means to snatch the kettlebell or kettlebells overhead and then lower them to rack position before executing the downswing. _Full snatch_ , or just _snatch_ , means to snatch the kettlebells overhead and drop into the backswing from the top. The full snatch requires extensively more core stability, which is your stance. The bells fall a lot faster and more forcefully from the top. Therefore a natural progression for any double snatch is to first practice the double half snatch, and only progress to the double full snatch after you have full control over the movement.
Double Half Snatch
Start with both kettlebells on the floor in front of you. Sit back to load the hips and grip both handles with finger locks (see figure 8.6 _a_). Swing the kettlebells back between your legs (see figure 8.6 _b_) and then rapidly extend the knees and hips as you drive your body forward, with your forearms still connected to your body (see figure 8.6 _c_). As the kettlebells swing forward and up, the kettlebells (and arms) pull away from your body. At this moment, shrug your trapezius muscles and pull with the arms, moving the kettlebells vertically up an imaginary chimney (see figure 8.6 _d_). As the kettlebells are moving up, insert your hands into the kettlebells when they are between your neck and the top of your head. Proper overhead positioning is important for efficiency and thus work capacity. Your triceps are facing forward, thumbs are pointing back at a 45-degree angle, biceps are close to the ears, arms are vertical, and rib cage is open. From the overhead fixation position (see figure 8.6 _e_), deflect the trunk backward and rise up onto the toes slightly as you let the kettlebells fall to the chest in the rack position (see figure 8.6 _f_). From the rack, deflect the trunk again as you drop the kettlebells down and into the backswing to complete the rep. As with the double swing and double clean,
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TIM'S MOUNTAIN BREW ANNIVERSARY ALE
I brewed this beer in the winter of 2015 to celebrate the forty years since the first run of Mountain Brew. It's a light mild ale made with a mix of dried and liquid malt extract. This is a one-gallon recipe, which is an amount I like to brew because it's less hassle than the usual five-gallon recipes. No big boiling pots on the stove, and less heavy lifting and bottling chores. It also gives me a more opportunities to experiment with different beer styles: various types of malt, hops, yeast, etc. You can blow a batch, or simply not like it, without wasting a larger investment in time and ingredients.
Considering the amount of great beers available today, you have to wonder why people still brew at all! I think it's the good old do-it-yourself life force fighting for air. When I moved to Vermont and started brewing, it wasn't just beer that folks were making. It looked like every other new house was owner-built. People worked on their cars, supplied their heat and lighting, and farmed a lot of food. So many of those options are gone now—lost to building codes, computerized vehicles, and less free time. But making beer lets you reclaim the creative process. I also like using my own spring water. I think it makes for better beer than even high-end craft brews, perhaps because it doesn't contain fluoride, chlorine, or any of those nasty chemicals. Best of all, I love to inhale the sweet atmosphere of bubbling malt and hops that fills the house at brewing time.
<PERSON> bottling a batch in the old days
To get started, you'll need some basic brewing equipment. I have a three-gallon stainless steel pot for cooking the wort. You'll also need a long stainless steel spoon, a ladle, several measuring cups, some plastic tubing for siphoning, a primary fermenter with an airtight lid with an exhaust port, an airlock, a capper, and some bottles.
It helps to have a separate pot to decant the fermented beer into at bottling time. Everything should be super clean, from brewing equipment to bottles. Some folks use sanitizing fluid you can get at the brew shop. I use hot soap and water, then rinse everything well.
INGREDIENTS
1/2 pound dried malt extract
1/2 pound liquid malt extract
1 package ale yeast
1 oz. hop pellets (preferably Cascade or Brewer's Gold)
Sugar for bottling (I use table sugar, 10–12 tablespoons for the batch)
INSTRUCTIONS
Heat up a half-gallon of water. Add half of both types of the malt extract and lightly boil for 60 minutes, being careful to stir and not let the wort boil over. Add the remaining malts for last five minutes of boiling. Make sure to stir enough to keep the malts from caramelizing on the bottom of the pot.
During the boil, add 1/3 oz hops for the entire 60 minutes, 1/3 oz. hops for the last 30 minutes and 1/3 oz. hops for the last 5 minutes.
Turn off heat and add water to
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the factories. Same way.
The night before brewing I soak the malt. I take a good mix of dark, medium, and light and coarse crack it. Put that in an enamel pail and soak it overnight. A big change happens overnight. The diastase starts to work and the water changes color. It becomes something obviously different. And then you go on from there and do your mashing up to 145 degrees or so. Steeping it overnight is really an important thing, because otherwise you stand over it all day, right? Waiting for the stuff to warm and it doesn't do very good. Much more hip to soak it overnight.
I want to start sprouting some rice. And malting rice. Brown rice. The Chinese do it. Americans and Europeans never do it. Oh, Budweiser has a little rice. But the Europeans never do it as far as I know. The Japanese and Chinese are also into a different kind of fermentation. They're into enzyme fermentation. It's a whole 'nother ball game. Sake is enzyme fermentation as opposed to yeast. It's pepsin. You take a little malt and chew it and spit it into the wort. You've heard of a steak bone or a cock's head thrown into the brew? That's your enzyme trip. It's fermentation, it's all fermentation.
For cleanliness I'm into Clorox. It will stop vinegar, strep, a lot of things. Hops are important also. Hops will prevent vinegar every time. Put the hops right to it and you won't ever get a batch of vinegar. Don't be fooled by Blue Ribbon. You don't really have many hops in there. Not much, comparatively minute. But hops are so expensive now. God, they jumped in price so much. Hops are worth a lot of money, mister! If you can find some that are growing somewhere, well, good for you. Otherwise cultivate them.
For bottling I give a good rinse in cold water after I'm finished drinking. And then when it's time to bottle, I rinse them in cold water and plenty of Clorox. I dip them into the pail, give them a shake and pour out. Then I go after them with boiling water. And it sterilizes. I mean, I'm not worried about my bottles. I boil water on the stove and I take it boiling in the kettle and pour into each bottle and scorch my fingers. For bottles I like the pint best. It makes a mellower beer every time. Of course, every bottle is different. A quart might be green when a pint's ready. You have to leave at least an inch of air when you cap the bottle. Keep in mind your prime, the sugar at bottling. I actually underprime because I'm going to fill them up a little fuller. A bottle that doesn't get filled enough gets too hot, too spritzy. There is too much air, too much room. You got to have some air, but not too much. Better flat than too spritzy.
There aren't many commercial beers I'm interested in, domestic especially. But Narragansett Porter—there's a
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you must create the initial budget that is simply a document that identifies all of your planned or expected spending for a period of time. Most people create a monthly budget but a yearly budget is also common. It is important to carefully consider all of your spending, not just the highly visible spending like groceries, car payments, and rent or mortgage. Don't forget about birthday gifts, license tag renewal fees, magazine subscriptions, and oil changes for your car. Estimate your monthly or annual income; then identify where you are going to spend every penny. We recommend zero-based budgeting, which means that saving and investment are specific items in your budget, not just the leftover balance (if there is any).
The second action is documentation of actual spending and making needed budget adjustments. Keeping track of all spending and placing it into the categories of your budget provides valuable information about your habits and the progress made toward achievement of your financial goals. Tracking your spending will also help you develop a better, more precise budget in the future. For example, if you fail to include a spending item or two in your initial budget, when that actual spending is observed, you can then make sure to include it in your new budget next time. Suppose you budget $100 for restaurant meals for the month but then realize that you actually spent $150. You will know to either change your budget or your spending to account for this difference. The documentation of your actual spending provides you with a feedback mechanism that will help you make adjustments to your budget and spending in the future.
Budgeting your income and monitoring your behavior will help you evaluate your spending and direct it toward the categories that will provide you with the most overall value. Four simple steps will get you on the path to financial stability: Begin immediately, set goals, get tools, and design a budget to meet your goals.
Step 1. Start now and increase the likelihood of success! Don't fool yourself into thinking that budgeting is only for people with jobs, or high salaries, or that you'll start "later." Children receiving allowance, students receiving support from their parents, and people without direct incomes should still budget and develop goals. Budgeting will not be easier when you are older or when you are earning more money. In fact, it will probably be more complex. It is easy to procrastinate. People who budget, spend their money wisely, and save for the future generally started early when their incomes were relatively low.
Step 2. Set goals. Incentives matter. Recognize this in your personal life, and let your goals drive your actions. Set short-, medium-, and long-term financial goals and incorporate them into your budget. Short-term milestones can be achieved within the next year and provide immediate gratification. Depending on your situation, they might include the elimination of the credit-card debt on your highest interest rate loan, a significant increase in your rainy day savings account for coverage of unexpected expenditures, or money for an
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will be expensive relative to the potential harm. Thus, it will generally be more economical to accept these risks and use a rainy day account (see Part 4, Element 6) to plan for and cover the cost of these risks. In contrast, automobile, housing, and healthcare insurance are usually cost-effective. In these cases, the cost of spreading the risks over a group of people is generally low relative to the potential damages of an adverse event. We now turn to those topics.
Most states require car owners to maintain some level of automobile insurance. Make sure to check with your insurance company so that you meet the minimum requirements. Customers will pay a premium based on a number of factors. Those include the driver's record, characteristics of the driver, the type of automobile, and the specific coverage limits and deductibles of the policy. A deductible is the amount the customer must pay first before any insurance coverage applies. For example, a $500 deductible means the customer must pay $500 before the insurance policy will pay for a loss. Generally, the higher the deductible the lower the premium. Coverage is the maximum amount the policy will pay in the event of a loss.
An auto policy is typically structured with a few basic coverages, or types of loss. Collision pays for damanges to your car in the event of an accident. Comprehensive pays for non-collison damages such as theft, vandalism, and acts of nature like a tree branch falling on your windshield. Liability coverage comes in two forms. First, it pays others for damages to their person or vehicle caused by the operation of your automobile. Second, it pays damages to you and your passengers for medical expenses and death benefits. For example, liability coverage of $500,000 means the most the insurance will pay in the event of a loss is $500,000, even if the actual loss is greater. When purchasing insurance, you should consider carefully the size of your coverage limits and deductible levels. Do you have enough in your rainy day account or other funds to pay the deductible?
As discussed in Part 4, Element 11, housing is the largest investment most people will make. It makes sense to insure against the loss of your biggest asset. All homeowners in the United States are required to have some level of insurance, mandated by state regulations or the financial institution holding a mortgage against the house (or both). Make sure to consult with your insurance company so that you are meeting the required minimum standards. Similar to auto policies, housing insurance will have deductibles and coverage limits. Housing insurance typically has three basic kinds of coverage. The first pays for damages to the house and other structures such as a detached garage or shed. The second pays for damages to the personal property of the homeowner—that is, the items inside the house. The third pays for liability. It covers other people who may get injured at your home. As in the case of auto insurance, if you choose a higher deductible, your
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and pliable. Return the dough to the bowl, cover with clingfilm and leave to rest for about an hour until doubled in size.
2 Add the sultanas, cherries, cinnamon and orange zest to the dough and work in well with your hands (or the dough hook of your electric mixer). When the fruit is evenly distributed, turn the dough out on to the lightly floured worktop. Flatten with your hands to a rectangle about 15 × 30cm.
3 Roll up the dough from one long side to make a sausage shape. Set it seam side down on the baking sheet. Slide the sheet into a large plastic bag, to protect the loaf from draughts, and leave to rise for about an hour until doubled in size.
4 Towards the end of the rising time heat your oven to 200°C/400°F/gas 6. Uncover the loaf and place in the heated oven. Bake for 20 minutes until the loaf is a good golden brown and sounds hollow when tapped on the base. Cool on a wire rack.
5 To finish the loaf, sift the icing sugar into a small bowl and gradually stir in enough cold water to make a runny icing that coats the back of the spoon. Drizzle the icing over the loaf. Leave to set before cutting into thick slices to serve.
TECHNICAL CHALLENGE
## PAUL'S APRICOT COURONNE
A soft, rich dough filled with fruit and nuts is rolled, split and twisted to make this pretty crown-shaped bread. It is packed with flavour.
MAKES 1 LARGE CROWN LOAF
YOU WILL NEED: 1 LARGE BAKING SHEET, LINED WITH BAKING PAPER
For the dough
250g strong white bread flour
5g salt
1 × 7g sachet fast-action dried yeast
50g unsalted butter, softened
105ml full-fat milk, at room temperature
1 medium egg, at room temperature
For the filling
90g unsalted butter, softened
70g light brown muscovado sugar
120g ready-to-eat dried apricots, chopped and soaked in 100ml orange juice
35g plain flour
60g raisins
65g walnut pieces
finely grated zest of 1 orange
To finish
50g apricot jam
100g icing sugar, sifted
25g flaked almonds
1 To make the dough, tip the flour into a large mixing bowl. Add the salt to the bowl on one side and the yeast to the other. Add the soft butter, milk and egg and turn the mixture round with your fingers, using them like a paddle. Keep doing this, mixing until you've picked up all the flour from the sides of the bowl. Use the mixture to clean the inside of the bowl, picking up all the scraps, and keep going until you have a ball of soft dough.
2 Turn the dough out on to a lightly floured worktop and knead for 10–12 minutes: work through the initial 'wet' stage until the dough starts to develop a soft, smooth skin. When the dough feels smooth and silky put it into a lightly oiled large bowl. Cover the bowl with a dry tea towel and leave to rise for about 1 hour until doubled in size.
3 While the
|
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Stir in the lardons, then taste and adjust the seasoning as needed. Set the pie raiser (or upturned egg cup) in the centre of the pie dish and spoon the meat filling into the dish. Leave until cold (at this point the filling can kept, tightly covered, in the fridge for a couple of days).
5 Before you cover your pie make sure home-made pastry is well-rested, or ready-made pastry thawed/removed from the fridge according to the pack instructions. Roll out the pastry on a floured worktop to the shape of the pie dish and about 7cm larger all round. Cut off a 1cm wide strip from around the edge of the pastry shape. Dampen the rim of the dish with water and press the strip of pastry on to it, joining the ends neatly. Dampen the pastry strip. Make a small slit in the centre of the pastry lid (to fit over the pie raiser without tearing the pastry). Roll the pastry around the rolling pin and gently unroll it over the pie to cover, fitting the pie raiser through the slit. Press the edges of the pastry lid on to the strip on the rim to seal firmly. Trim off the excess pastry with a sharp knife – save the trimmings for decorations.
6 Use the back of a small knife to 'knock up' the pastry edge, then flute it (see the Baker's Guide here for how to do this). Cut the pastry trimmings into leaf shapes or small discs, using a small fluted cutter or a knife, and stick on to the pastry lid with a dab of beaten egg.
7 Chill the pie while heating your oven to 200°C/400°F/gas 6. Set the pie on the baking sheet. Brush the pastry with beaten egg to glaze. Bake for 15 minutes, then turn down the oven to 180°C/350°F/gas 4 and bake for a further 20–25 minutes until the pastry is puffed up, crisp and a good golden brown. Serve hot with creamy mashed potatoes.
Boeuf Bourguignon Pie
## CHEESE, HAM & CHIVE TART
A simple but favourite combination of lean ham and cheese with a proper 'bite', held together with a creamy custard, generously fills this tart.
##### MAKES ONE MEDIUM TART
For the cheese shortcrust pastry
* 175g plain flour
* good pinch of salt
* ¼ teaspoon mustard powder
* 75g extra mature Cheddar cheese, chilled and finely grated
* 85g unsalted butter, chilled and diced
* about 3 tablespoons icy-cold water
For the filling
* 3 medium free-range eggs, at room temperature
* 300ml single cream
* small bunch of fresh chives, finely snipped
* 200g thickly sliced lean ham, finely diced
* 100g extra mature Cheddar cheese, coarsely grated
* salt and black pepper
* 1 × 20.5cm round, deep, loose-based flan tin (straight-sided) OR a deep loose-based sandwich tin; a baking sheet
1 Sift the flour, salt and mustard
|
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|
of this flight
Console.WriteLine(flight.PilotId + ": " + (flight.Pilot != null ? flight.Pilot.ToString() : "Pilot not loaded!"));
CUI.Headline("Load pilot");
var pilot = ctx.PilotSet.FirstOrDefault();
Console.WriteLine(pilot);
CUI.Headline("Assign a new pilot");
flight.Pilot = pilot; // Case 3a
//flight.PilotId = pilot.PersonID; // Case 3b
// Determine which relationships exist
PrintflightPilot(flight, pilot);
// Here you have to trigger the Relationshop fixup yourself
CUI.Headline("DetectChanges...");
ctx.ChangeTracker.DetectChanges();
// Determine which relationships exist
PrintflightPilot(flight, pilot);
}
}
Listing 9-6
Relationship Fixup in Case 3
### Preloading with Relationship Fixup
Like the classic Entity Framework, Entity Framework Core supports another loading strategy: preloading in conjunction with a relationship fixup operation in RAM. You explicitly send out several LINQ commands for the connected objects, and the OR mapper puts the newly added objects together after their materialization with those objects that are already in RAM. After the following statements, Flight 101 as well the Pilot and Copilot objects of Flight 101 can be found in RAM when accessing flight.Pilot and flight.Copilot:
var Flight = ctx.FlightSet.SingleOrDefault(x => x.FlightNo == 101);
ctx.PilotSet.Where(p => p.FlightAsPilotSet.Any(x => x.FlightNo == 101) || p.FlightAsCopilotSet.Any(x => x.FlightNo == 101)).ToList();
When loading the two pilots Entity Framework Core recognizes that there is already a Flight object in RAM, that needs these two pilots as Pilot or Copilot. It then compiles the Flight object with the two Pilot objects in RAM (via relationship fixup, as covered earlier).
While the Pilot and Copilot objects for Flight 101 were specifically loaded in the previous two lines, you can also use the relationship fixup for caching optimization. Listing 9-7 shows that all pilots and some flights are loaded. For each loaded flight, the Pilot and Copilot objects are available. Of course, as with caching, you will need a bit more RAM here because you will also load Pilot objects that are never needed. In addition, you must be aware that you can have a timeliness problem because the dependent data is on the same level as the main data. But that's always the way caching behaves. However, you can save a round-trip of the database management system and improve its speed.
Listing 9-7 also shows that when loading the information for the two pilots you can avoid the join operator in Entity Framework Core by using the navigation properties and the Any() method. Any() checks whether there is at least one record that meets or does not meet a condition. In the previous case, it is enough that the Pilot object was assigned once as a Pilot or Copilot for the Flight you are looking for. In other cases, you can use the LINQ All() method if you want to address a set of records that all meet or fail a condition.
Note
It is noteworthy that neither the previous loading of the two pilots nor the loading of all pilots in the next example assigns the result of the LINQ query to a variable. In fact, this is not necessary because Entity Framework Core (like the classic Entity Framework) contains in its first-level cache a reference in RAM to all objects that have ever
|
e63adf80-4acc-8ce1-72b5-dcfb0a49c59e
|
['c9c4cbdb-da68-9238-bcf5-a11d06396224']
|
support for database views in version 2.1 of Entity Framework Core; see Appendix C.
### Creating a Database View
The database view must be created manually in the database (possibly with the help of a tool such as SQL Server Management Studio) via CREATE VIEW. The database view created by CREATE VIEW in Listing 16-14 provides the number of flights and the last flight for the Flight table per departure (from the World Wide Wings database).
USE WWWingsV2_EN
GO
CREATE VIEW dbo.[V_DepartureStatistics]
AS
SELECT departure, COUNT(FlightNo) AS FlightCount
FROM dbo.Flight
GROUP BY departure
GO
Listing 16-14
Creating a Database View via SQL Command
### Creating an Entity Class for the Database View
You must create an entity class for the database view whose attributes correspond to the columns of the database view that are to be mapped. In this example, this class is named DepartureStatistics and will receive the data of the database view V_DepartureStatistics. The [Table ] annotation specifies the database view name in the database because the entity class differs by name.
Listing 16-15 deliberately ignores the LastFlight value of the view V_DepartureStatistics. It is important that the entity class requires a primary key to be specified with [Key] or the Fluent API method HasKey().
[Table("V_DepartureStatistics")]
public class DepartureStatistics
{
[Key] // must have a PK
public string Departure { get; set; }
public int FlightCount { get; set; }
}
Listing 16-15
Entity Class with Two Properties for the Two Columns of the Database View to Be Mapped
### Including the Entity Class in the Context Class
The entity class for the database view is now included as an entity class for a table in the context class via DbSet<T>, as shown in Listing 16-16.
public class WWWingsContext: DbContext
{
#region Entities for tables
public DbSet<Airline> AirlineSet { get; set; }
public DbSet<Flight> FlightSet { get; set; }
public DbSet<Pilot> PilotSet { get; set; }
public DbSet<Passenger> PassengerSet { get; set; }
public DbSet<Booking> BookingSet { get; set; }
public DbSet<AircraftType> AircraftTypeSet { get; set; }
#endregion
#region Pseudo-entities for views
public DbSet<DepartureStatistics> DepartureStatisticsSet { get; set; } // for view
#endregion
...
}
Listing 16-16
Including the Entity Class for the Database View in the Context Class
### Using the Database View
You can now use the entity class for the database view, such as for a table in LINQ queries or in FromSql() for direct SQL queries. If the database view is writable, then you could also use the API of Entity Framework Core via SaveChanges() to change, add, or delete records (Listing 16-17).
public static void DatabaseViewWithPseudoEntity()
{
CUI.MainHeadline(nameof(DatabaseViewWithPseudoEntity));
using (var ctx = new WWWingsContext())
{
var query = ctx.DepartureStatisticsSet.Where(x => x.FlightCount > 0);
var liste = query.ToList();
foreach (var stat in liste)
{
Console.WriteLine($"{stat.FlightCount:000} Flights departing from {stat.Departure}.");
}
}
}
Listing 16-17
Using the Entity Class for the Database View
### Challenge: Migrations
Although the previous sections showed some manual work, integrating database views did not seem to be all that challenging beyond some typing required. Unfortunately, on closer inspection, this is not
|
c1198692-a2b7-653a-5a01-e750c10d59ea
|
['c9de148e-7cf5-5f8d-a36b-46596a8382c1']
|
based on limited information. Or so it seems. When it comes to someone's smiling face, research shows there may be more than meets the eye.
A few years ago, scientists at the University of California got their hands on 1950s yearbooks from nearby Mills College, an all-women institution in the Bay Area. They flipped to the senior class pictures and began analyzing the smile of each student. The telltale sign of a genuine smile is crow's-feet alongside the eyes. This creates a <PERSON> smile, named for the nineteenth-century neurologist who discovered the role of one's eyes in displaying authentic happiness. If the corners of a student's mouth went up but her eye muscles were uninvolved, she was giving a courtesy smile, kind of like the expression I would give my grandmother when she gave me white tube socks for Christmas every year.
In their yearbook photos, about half of the Mills students exhibited <PERSON> smiles. What was most interesting was the predictive power those smiles held. Shortly after the yearbook photos were taken in the 1950s, the women completed a series of personality inventories and were observed in a number of social settings such as interviews, group discussions, and mealtime conversations. Those with <PERSON> smiles in their yearbook photos were also the most nurturing, caring, sociable, and cheerful. Remarkably, this effect held over the life span. At ages twenty-seven, forty-three, and fifty-two, they were still just as jovial and gregarious as they had been as young adults. What's more, those with the happiest expressions in their yearbook photos at age twenty-one had a higher likelihood of being married by their late twenties. They also enjoyed higher-quality marriages when compared to their less emotionally expressive counterparts.
As we've seen with other studies so far in this chapter, happiness is not confined merely to a given moment. Young nuns who were happier went on to live longer, young adults in good moods performed better on tests, and now we see that the quality of a college student's smile predicted what kind of relationship partner she would be later in life.
# TRICKING OUR BRAINS INTO HAPPINESS
An old adage tells us, "Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile is the source of your joy." Although this saying is older than the field of positive psychology itself, it has been backed by recent scientific findings. Researchers at the University of Illinois found that when students were smiling, they rated _Far Side_ cartoons as funnier than when they were frowning. The students, however, didn't even know they were smiling or frowning. Half were told to hold a pen using only their lips, and the other half were told to hold it using only their teeth. Try it for yourself. You can't hold a pen in your teeth without smiling, or in your lips without frowning.
Usually we feel happy about something and then smile in response. This study shows that it's possible to reverse that pattern. Students found the cartoons funnier in the pen-in-teeth condition not because they were feeling
|
1d165b65-65e9-2ba9-37bb-d55a9246857f
|
['c9de148e-7cf5-5f8d-a36b-46596a8382c1']
|
away with extra spring in his step. "The best part about the whole ordeal is that I got as much out of it as she did."
Studies confirm that helping others is another way to help ourselves. Earlier in this chapter we saw that our happiness is affected by how we spend our time and money. A nice meal out or a trip to a new place will bring much greater joy in the long run than acquiring a new computer or pair of sneakers. But it's not only a matter of _what_ we buy; it also matters _on whom_ we spend our time and money. Investing in others, in fact, is another key way to actively maximize our own personal happiness.
In one study researchers doled out small amounts of cash to students at the University of British Columbia one morning, with instructions to spend it by five that evening. Some of the students were told to spend it on other people or give it to a charity; others were told to spend it on themselves by paying a bill or personal expenses. When the researchers followed up with the students later that day, they found that those who'd spent the money on someone else felt significantly happier than those who'd spent it on themselves. It turns out the puppets from _Avenue Q_ had it right all along: when you help others, you can't help helping yourself.
# IN GIVING, WE RECEIVE
American author <PERSON> once said, "Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind."
One of my students personifies kindness as a volunteer at St. Louis Children's Hospital. One day, a father of one of the patients approached her and asked why she volunteers.
"I do it for the kids," she replied.
"Thank you for making each day just a little bit better," he said.
This simple interaction reminded her why volunteering is such an important part of her life. "It is amazing how the little things in life can make such an impact on someone else, even if it is just playing a game with a child and allowing the parents to go out for coffee," she said. "Even a smile is enough to brighten a child's day." Although she acknowledges that she is providing these children and their families a service, she feels that what she gains is even greater. "Children have the ability to teach adults to be spontaneous, be courageous, make mistakes, and, most of all, approach life with enthusiasm. As a volunteer, you learn that compassion is the key to everything since you do not necessarily know what the patient is going through. You have not walked in their shoes to know. But you do get the opportunity to walk with them and make a difference, even if it is small, in that patient's day. Volunteers are given the greatest gift, the ability to help others."
Helping others has been associated with many benefits that enhance
|
83ca5226-b220-ae8e-8daf-68d46d9a24e6
|
['c9ed577a-50cd-4f77-d61a-fdda74260b8a']
|
exhibited a general increase in earnings (relative to their measured skills) over the postwar period. On the other hand, persons from less developed countries do not perform well in the U.S. labor market and their cohorts have exhibited a general decrease in earnings (relative to their measured skills) over the postwar period.
These analyses should not obscure the energy and ability that we often see among immigrants, whether they are staffing the checkout counter at the corner convenience store or teaching classes in the nation's most advanced research centers. The observations of everyday life and the statistical generalizations we have just presented can both be true at the same time, however.
### HOW IMPORTANT IS DYSGENIC PRESSURE?
Putting the pieces together—higher fertility and a faster generational cycle among the less intelligent and an immigrant population that is probably somewhat below the native-born average—the case is strong that something worth worrying about is happening to the cognitive capital of the country. How big is the effect? If we were to try to put it in terms of IQ points per generation, the usual metric for such analyses, it would be nearly impossible to make the total come out to less than one point per generation. It might be twice that. But we hope we have emphasized the complications enough to show why such estimates are only marginally useful. Even if an estimate is realistic regarding the current situation, it is impossible to predict how long it may be correct or when and how it may change. It may shrink or grow or remain stable. Demographers disagree about many things, but not that the further into the future we try to look, the more likely our forecasts are to be wrong.
This leads to the last issue that must be considered before it is fruitful to talk about specific demographic policies. So what if the mean IQ is dropping by a point or two per generation? One reason to worry is that the drop may be enlarging ethnic differences in cognitive ability at a time when the nation badly needs narrowing differences. Another reason to worry is that when the mean shifts a little, the size of the tails of the distribution changes a lot. For example, assuming a normal distribution, a three-point drop at the average would reduce the proportion of the population with IQs above 120 (currently the top decile) by 31 percent and the proportion with IQs above 135 (currently the top 1 percent) by 42 percent. The proportion of the population with IQs below 80 (currently the bottom decile) would rise by 41 percent and the proportion with IQs below 65 (currently the bottom 1 percent) would rise by 68 percent. Given the predictive power of IQ scores, particularly in the extremes of the distribution, changes this large would profoundly alter many aspects of American life, none that we can think of to the good.
Suppose we select a subsample of the NLSY, different in only one respect from the complete sample: We randomly delete persons who have a mean
|
7430d3a0-6eba-2f8c-3542-5b603896fa6b
|
['c9ed577a-50cd-4f77-d61a-fdda74260b8a']
|
a baby and going on welfare. The results we have presented can be interpreted as saying that the welfare system may be a bad deal, but it takes foresight and intelligence to understand why. For women without foresight and intelligence, it may seem to be a good deal. Hence poor young women who are bright tend not to have illegitimate babies nearly as often as poor young women who are dull.
Another possibility fits in with those who argue that the best preventative for illegitimacy is better opportunities. It is not the welfare system that is at fault but the lack of other avenues. Poor young women who are bright are getting scholarships, or otherwise having positive incentives offered to them, and they accordingly defer childbearing. Poor young women who are dull do not get such opportunities; they have nothing else to do, and so have a baby. The goal should be to provide them too with other ways of seeing their futures.
Both of these explanations are stated as hypotheses that we hope others will explore. Those explorations will have to incorporate our central finding, however: Cognitive ability in itself is an important factor in illegitimacy, and the dynamics for understanding illegitimacy—and dealing with it through policy—must take that strong link into account.
### THE SELECTIVE DETERIORATION OF THE TRADITIONAL FAMILY
Our goal has been to sharpen understanding of the much-lamented breakdown of the American family. The American family has been as battered in the latter decades of the twentieth century as the public rhetoric would have it, but the damage as measured in terms of divorce and illegitimacy has been far more selective than we hear. By way of summary, let us consider the children of the white NLSY mothers in the top quartile of cognitive ability (Classes I and II) versus those in the bottom quartile (Classes IV and V):
• The percentage of households with children that consist of a married couple:87 percent in the top quartile of IQ, 70 percent in the bottom quartile.
• The percentage of households with children that have experienced divorce:17 percent in the top quartile of IQ, 33 percent in the bottom quartile.
• The percentage of children born out of wedlock: 5 percent in the top quartile of IQ, 23 percent in the bottom quartile.
The American family may be generally under siege, as people often say. But it is at the bottom of the cognitive ability distribution that its defenses are most visibly crumbling.
## Chapter 9
## Welfare Dependency
People have had reason to assume for many years that welfare mothers are concentrated at the low end of the cognitive ability distribution, if only because they have generally done poorly in school. Beyond that, it makes sense that smarter women can more easily find jobs and resist the temptations of welfare dependency than duller ones, even if they have given birth out of wedlock.
The link is confirmed in the NLSY. Over three-quarters of the white women who were on welfare within a year of the birth of their
|
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|
['ca0c3b2e-50a8-9fc5-f4a0-37aae81761ea']
|
<PERSON> said, his voice hushed. It wouldn't be long until the soldiers noticed them. They had to escape while they could.
That's when they heard the screeching of tires—it sounded like a convoy of vehicles coming to an abrupt stop in the street in front of the house.
"Someone's here," <PERSON> said, moving toward the sound to take a look, expecting to see emergency crews, the police or some fire engines. He tried to find a good angle from behind the tall fence to see the commotion out on the street, but it was difficult with his hands still bound together. <PERSON> found a piece of jagged steel from the wreck to cut through the plastic binds on <PERSON>'s wrists. The three of them climbed up on a rail of the fence and looked over.
Several figures were running fast toward them. They were in plain clothes—certainly not the emergency crew uniforms <PERSON> hoped to see. <PERSON> fell back from the fence, dragging <PERSON> and <PERSON> with him. The three of them dropped to the ground and rolled toward the cover of the jungle-like garden.
Moments later, a couple of huge guys smashed through the side gate and drew weapons.
Before anyone in the backyard could react, shots rang out.
# **08**
<PERSON> glanced up and saw that the pilots and soldiers from the helicopter were each being shot, one by one. _Shot with darts_ , he realized. They were little feathered things that made a thudding noise as they stuck into bare skin, rendering their targets unconscious.
A tap at <PERSON>'s shoulder caused him to jump with fright.
Stunned, he turned and stared at the woman disbelievingly. <PERSON> and <PERSON> hunched in close behind him.
"My name is <PERSON>," she said.
<PERSON> couldn't move. <PERSON>... she was _the_ <PERSON>, from his dream. She was dressed in tight black clothes, with knee-high boots and black gloves. She held a dart gun in one hand, while the other reached down toward him, as if offering to pull him to his feet.
"We're here to help you," <PERSON> continued.
A group of serious-looking guys, with dart pistols drawn, formed a defensive perimeter. They all wore sunglasses and in-ear radios and resembled undercover secret agents dressed in casual street clothes.
"Who are you guys?" <PERSON> had found his voice again.
"Please, we've no time to waste," <PERSON> pleaded with them. Her flame-red hair blew in the breeze. She took her sunglasses off. She looked _exactly_ as she had in <PERSON>'s dream. _But, if <PERSON> is real, does that also mean my dream could come true like <PERSON>'s?_ And after that hell-ride in the helicopter, he knew he didn't need to pinch himself to be sure he was awake: this was _real_. "Come with us and we'll explain everything on the way."
"On the way to _where_?" <PERSON> persisted.
"Somewhere safe," <PERSON> replied. "Please, follow me."
"Ah, yeah, thanks anyway, but I think we'll be waiting for the cops," <PERSON> said.
<PERSON> looked warily around, not knowing who they should trust.
"Believe me, the police won't
|
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|
['ca0c3b2e-50a8-9fc5-f4a0-37aae81761ea']
|
parked aircraft. He saw <PERSON> waving at <PERSON> and then— _whoosh!_ The aircraft was up in the air, warm exhaust from the engines washing over them, and it flew away to the south, quickly becoming invisible to the eye.
"Come on!" <PERSON> said, leading the way toward the pier, as the group ran after her.
"<PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON> will head to our safe house," <PERSON> said, directing who would go where. "You stay put and be ready to move in and give the Enterprise a distraction if needed. There is a group of Guardians already waiting there for you."
"Are you sure we've got to split up?" <PERSON> asked.
"I'm very sure," <PERSON> said, not wanting to put his friends in harm's way. "<PERSON> and I have to go alone to get the Star of Egypt—only this time, we'll have Guardians undercover outside."
"Why not change it more?" <PERSON> said. "Change the way it happened in your dream?"
"We already are," <PERSON> said. "We're changing the little things. But we'll still use our contact to get the Star for us and it's safer for all of us if only two of us meet him."
"Who is he?" <PERSON> asked.
"The man from your dream."
"He's Enterprise," <PERSON> said and he saw the acknowledgement on <PERSON>'s face. "But... he also works for the Academy?"
"Yes, in a sense," <PERSON> said. "And, most importantly for us, he's somehow got access to the Museum of Natural History."
"What's our plan?" <PERSON> asked as the group of them jogged to the road to flag down a couple of taxis.
<PERSON> and <PERSON> looked at <PERSON>. "It's your dream, which means you set it up," <PERSON> said.
"What?" <PERSON> said, thinking about it. "You're saying _only_ the Dreamer can alter their dream?"
"It's the best way. You're in the driver's seat," <PERSON> said. "You've seen things we haven't—it's your intuition we need. Trust your gut. What would you change?"
<PERSON> thought about it. "How about we change where we meet our contact?"
"I like it," <PERSON> said. "It's bold, but we just might get away with it."
"Where?" <PERSON> asked.
"The museum," <PERSON> replied. "Instead of the café, let's meet him at the museum."
<PERSON> looked back at <PERSON> and <PERSON>. <PERSON> had dreamed how they'd met, how they were loaded aboard a helicopter that had been shot down. _She did nothing to change that, and it all worked out OK in the end, didn't it? Maybe I got my dream wrong? And <PERSON>... well, we don't even know why he got picked up. Has he even had any true dreams yet?_
"It's OK, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said, signalling for the group to slow as they neared the street. "The right thoughts will come at the right time... don't force it, just let it come to you. When it feels right, you'll know how it's meant to be."
<PERSON> stood by the open cab door.
"I'll be close by," he said, "and <PERSON> has been briefed on the change and now has the bird hovering over that
|
3977dedf-ee11-da96-5845-c46ec1ca156c
|
['ca3b867d-0bbb-1bce-6c29-e477b81b8952']
|
round," he added, with a shrug, "or else I shouldn't be here."
"Very well," said <PERSON>, "then I'll rate myself chief engineer." He got up, and walked round to where the black second engineer, the last man shot, still nuzzled the boiler plates exactly in the same position where he had first fallen. He lifted one of the man's arms, and let it go. It jerked back again like a spring.
"Well, <PERSON>," he said, "you didn't take long to get stiff. They shot you nice and clean, anyway. I guess we'll let the river and the crocodiles bury you." With a sharp heave, he jerked the rigid body on to the rail, and even for the short second it poised there the poor dead clay managed to stop another of those bullets which flew up in such deadly silence from that distant sandbank.
"Good-by," said <PERSON>, as he toppled the corpse over, and it fell with a splash, stiff-limbed into the yellow water. He watched the body as it bobbed up again to the surface, and floated with the stream out into the silvery sunshine. "Good-by, cocky," said he. "You've been a good nigger, and, as you were shot doing your duty, they'll set you on at the place where you've gone to, one of the lightest jobs they've got suitable for a black pagan. That's a theological fact. You'll probable turn to and stoke; I'll be sending you down presently another batch of heathen to shovel on the fire. I've got a biggish bill against those beggars on that sandbank yonder for the mischief they've done."
But it was no place there to waste much time on sentiment. The woodwork of the shabby little steamer was riddled with splintered holes; the rusted iron plating was starred with gray lead-splashes; and every minute more bullets ploughed furrows in the yellow waters of the river, or whisped through the air overhead, or hit the vessel herself with peremptory knocks. It is all very well to affect a contempt for a straggling ill-aimed fire such as this; but, given a long enough exposure to it, one is bound to be hit; and so, if the work was to be attempted, the quicker it was set about the more chance there was of getting it finished.
They use wood fuel on these small, ungainly steamers which do their business up in the savage heart of Africa on the waters of the Haut Congo, and because every man with a gun for many reasons feels himself to be an enemy of the Free State, the steamers carry their firing logs stacked in ramparts round their boilers and other vital parts. But wood, as compared with coal, is bulky stuff to carry, and as the stowage capacity of these stern-wheelers is small, they have to make frequent calls to rebunker.
Indeed, it was for this purpose that <PERSON> had originally put in at the village where Commandant <PERSON> had his headquarters; and, as other events happened there which he had not calculated upon, he had steamed
|
d8fde497-ddd8-5bca-5055-dc47a514afa6
|
['ca3b867d-0bbb-1bce-6c29-e477b81b8952']
|
hustled out through the state-room door. He was a tall man, and the hands thrust him from below, upward, and, though he struggled wildly and madly, all his efforts to have his own way were futile. Captain <PERSON> had handled far too many really strong men in this fashion to even lose breath over a dram-drinking passenger. So <PERSON> found himself hurtled out on to the lower fore-deck, where somebody handcuffed him neatly to an iron stanchion, and presently a mariner, by Captain <PERSON>'s orders, rigged a hose, and mounted on the iron bulwark above him, and let a three-inch stream of chilly brine slop steadily on to his head.
The situation, from an onlooker's point of view, was probably ludicrous enough, but what daunted the patient was that nobody seemed to take it as a joke. There were a dozen men of the crew who had drawn near to watch, and yesterday all these would have laughed contemptuously at each of his contortions. But now they are all stricken to a sudden solemnity.
"Spell-o," ordered <PERSON>. "Let's see if he's sober yet."
The man on the bulwarks let the stream from the hose flop overboard, where it ran out into a stream of bubbles which joined the wake.
<PERSON> gasped back his breath, and used it in a torrent of curses.
"Play on him again," said <PERSON>, and selected a good black before-breakfast cigar from his pocket. He lit it with care. The man on the bulwark shifted his shoulder for a better hold against the derrick-guy, and swung the limp hose in-board again. The water splashed down heavily on <PERSON>'s head and shoulders, and the onlookers took stock of him without a trace of emotion. They had most of them seen the remedy applied to inebriates before, and so they watched <PERSON> make his gradual recovery with the eyes of experts.
"Spell-o," ordered <PERSON> some five minutes later, and once more the hose vomited sea water ungracefully into the sea. This time <PERSON> had the sense to hold his tongue till he was spoken to. He was very white about the face, except for his nose, which was red, and his eye had brightened up considerably. He was quite sober, and quite able to weigh any words that were dealt out to him.
"Now," said <PERSON> judicially, "what have you done with Mr. <PERSON>?"
"Nothing."
"You deny all knowledge of how he got overboard?"
<PERSON> was visibly startled. "Of course I do. Is he overboard?"
"He can't be found on this ship. Therefore he is over the side. Therefore you put him there."
<PERSON> was still more startled. But he kept himself in hand. "Look here," he said, "what rot! What should I know about the fellow? I haven't seen him since last night."
"So you say. But I don't see why I should believe you. In fact, I don't."
"Well, you can suit yourself about that, but it's true enough. Why in the name of mischief should I want to meddle with the poor beggar? If you're thinking
|
8614fed9-f8a6-93ba-c666-db26c3911d7c
|
['ca47346a-aa4b-e085-6da2-e85ac30c1eff']
|
discoloration)
**** Signs of shock (weak, rapid pulse; rapid breathing; fear; pale and moist skin; confusion)
**** Distended jugular (neck) veins
**** Diminished or absent breath sounds on the injured side (Place your ear on the chest wall of the victim.)
**** Bubbles of air felt or heard (a crackling sound) when touching the chest wall or neck
**Treatment**
If the situation is desperate and the victim is literally dying before your eyes, you can do only one thing to possibly save the life: you must relieve the pressure from inside the chest (pleural decompression) and allow the lung to re-expand. This procedure takes courage and improvisation in the wilderness. **_Pleural decompression should not be undertaken lightly and should be attempted only if the victim appears to be dying._** The possible complications include infection; profound bleeding from puncture of the heart, lung, or a major blood vessel; or even laceration of the liver or spleen.
**Weiss Advice**
**How to Perform Pleural Decompression**
**Caution:** This technique should only be performed in the wilderness by a trained individual on a victim who would die if the procedure were not done.
1. Swab the entire chest with povidone-iodine or another antiseptic.
2. If sterile gloves are available, put them on after washing your hands.
3. If local anesthesia is available, inject it into the skin at the site to numb the area.
4. Insert into the chest a large-bore (14-gauge) intravenous catheter, needle, or any pointy, sharp object (not wider than a pencil) just above the third rib in the midclavicular line (approximately midway between the top of the shoulder and the nipple, in line with the nipple). If you hit the rib, move the needle or pointy object upward slightly until it passes over the top of the rib, thus avoiding the blood vessels that course along the bottom of every rib. A gush of air will signal that you have entered the correct space—do not push the object in any farther. This will convert the tension pneumothorax into an open pneumothorax.
5. Leave the object in place. Slit the finger portion of a rubber glove and cover the opening of the object with the slit glove to create a one-way flutter valve that allows air out but not in.
6. Anchor the object to the chest wall with tape so that it cannot be pulled out or forced farther into the chest.
7. Monitor the victim closely, and if signs of tension redevelop, repeat the procedure.
#### _Open (Sucking) Chest Wound_
If an object such as a bullet or knife enters the chest, a wound that opens into the lung can develop. Each time the victim breathes, a sucking sound often can be heard as air passes in and out through the hole.
**Signs and Symptoms**
**** Painful and difficult breathing
**** A sucking sound each time the victim breathes
**** Bubbles visible at the wound site when the victim exhales
**** Bubbles of air that can be felt and heard (crackling sounds) when touching the chest wall near the injury
|
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to the area to remove any embedded sponge spicules. Repeat the vinegar soak for 5 minutes or apply rubbing alcohol for 1 minute. Apply hydrocortisone cream 1% two times a day until the irritation is resolved.
#### _Jellyfish_
Jellyfish inflict painful, occasionally life-threatening, stings. Stings occur when the skin comes into contact with jellyfish tentacles, which contain millions of venomous stinging cells. Broken-off pieces of jellyfish that wash up on the beach can remain toxic for months and should not be handled. The venom from the box jellyfish (from northern Australia) can kill in minutes by causing abnormal heart rhythms and cardiopulmonary collapse. The symptoms and treatment for jellyfish stings are to some degree similar to those for the Portuguese man-of-war (bluebottle), box jellyfish (sea wasp), Irukandji jellyfish, fire coral, stinging hydroid, sea nettle, and sea anemone.
**Signs and Symptoms**
Symptoms range from mild burning and redness to severe pain and blistering. Victims may also experience nausea, vomiting, shortness of breath, and low blood pressure.
**Treatment**
1. Immediately apply vinegar (5% acetic acid). If vinegar is not available, flush the area with sea water. Cold packs or ice may relieve pain following a man-of-war sting. Do not rinse with fresh water or apply ice directly to the skin.
2. Apply vinegar (5% acetic acid) or rubbing alcohol (40 to 70 percent) for 30 minutes or until the pain subsides. If these products are not available, use household ammonia (one-fourth strength). Urine and meat tenderizer have limited usefulness.
3. Remove any embedded particles using a Splinter Picker or tweezers. Be careful not to touch the fragments with your bare hands.
4. Apply shaving cream or a baking soda paste. Shave the area using a razor or other sharp-edged object.
5. Reapply the vinegar or alcohol soak for 15 minutes.
6. Apply a layer of hydrocortisone cream 1% two times a day.
7. Seek medical attention if a large area is affected, if the victim is very old or very young, or if you observe significant signs of illness (nausea, vomiting, weakness, shortness of breath, chest pain, etc.).
8. If the victim was stung on the mouth or has any respiratory tract involvement, do not give anything by mouth. Monitor the condition constantly to ensure an unobstructed airway, and transport the victim to definitive medical care.
9. If the sting is from the Australian box jellyfish, seek immediate assistance in addition to completing the above steps. An anti-venin is available.
#### _Sea Urchins_
Sea urchin spines are venomous. The puncture wounds from these animals can cause difficulty in breathing, weakness, or collapse. To treat this injury, immerse the affected area in hot water to tolerance 43–45°C (110–113°F). Carefully remove only visible spines. Do not attempt to clean the wound thoroughly. Consult a physician. If the victim shows any signs of infection, administer trimethoprim/sulfamethoxazole (Septra), ciprofloxacin (Cipro), or tetracycline.
#### _Sea Cucumbers_
Treat any skin irritation resulting from contact with a sea cucumber the same as for a jellyfish sting. If the eyes are involved, flush with at least 1 L (1 quart) of water.
|
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a sickle, and flames), nothing else that would suggest a banquet. There is an air of ritual solemnity among the participants. Behind the bride is an altar furnished with symbolic objects relating to male-female sexuality in both high and low forms: a half-sphere that is both breast and vagina and a mortar with upright pestle standing next to an urn whose shape reminds <PERSON> of the position of the frog held aloft by the black paramour at the altar of the Lisbon _St Anthony_. The frog, of course, is redolent of "swampy procreation" (<PERSON>, 1951), in other words, the nadir of sexual depravity; it is also related, <PERSON> tells us, to a cult symbol of Egypt that had lasted in demonic initiation rites into <PERSON>'s time. Thus, it seems, <PERSON> is revealing this group's members as being devotees of an anti-church older than the Judeo-Christian tradition. <PERSON> concludes:
The Hay Wagon (detail, left panel), 1525.
Oil on panel, 147 x 212 cm (triptych).
Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.
The Hay Wagon (detail, left panel), 1525.
Oil on panel, 147 x 212 cm (triptych).
Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.
Only a syncretism wholly indifferent to religious affiliation could permit the uncontrolled lability and intermixing of creeds at the Grand Master's wedding. The leader of a heretic Christian community is marrying into a heretic Jewish family. He, for his part, has no objection to the marriage being celebrated according to their heretical temple ritual. But, although he is willing to celebrate the nuptial mystery, he uses it only to turn away towards the opposite world, revealed in the presence of <PERSON>....
So, <PERSON> continued to proselytise for the position of the Grand Master in controlling the content of <PERSON> paintings.
We are left with a mystery that probably will never be resolved completely. It could be rejected out of hand, as with some successors to this historian, except that there are still some intriguing signs that more than the unembellished biblical story is being told in the _Marriage_. How to explain the finger positioning pointed out by <PERSON>, by which several of the banqueters hold the middle three fingers together, and the thumb and forefinger apart? We shall never know for sure and may ask why should we? The spirit of the miracle is here, enveloping the scene; perhaps, this is all that the artist wished his viewers to receive (we must note here how later research – <PERSON>/Vermet – has claimed the painting to have been created in 1561, or later).
<PERSON> saw the hooded crow as being the symbol of the Grand Master in the _Garden of Eden_ and the central panel of the "Millennium" painting; he also identified this symbol in several more paintings, including <PERSON>'s "weightiest triptychs": _The Hay Wagon_ , the Vienna Last Judgement, and the Lisbon Temptation of Saint Anthony. <PERSON> considered the latter painting to be filled with "rampant satanic licentiousness" such that its "polemical excesses embitter the religious theme with witches' venom". Consequently, he thought it left behind all heretofore conventional treatments of the
|
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we examine the imagery against a knowledge of such activity, it is apparent that the artist did not pinpoint any specific idea or practice. There is not one symbol that could be said to come entirely from any single source. It is obvious therefore, that <PERSON> incorporated ideas from numerous sources in his imagery. The composite mechanisms that he developed are not complete within themselves. I believe that they make rational sense only when related to the main theme of the painting. If not convinced that <PERSON> created his scene of hallucinatory effects and hideous demons with responsible use of his faculties, we should take into account the world of ideas, universally held in his time, upon which he could draw.
As <PERSON> observed, the art of the past "must not be interpreted as if it had been created today. Instead of asking 'How do these works affect me, the modern man?' and estimating their expressional content by that standard, the historian must realize what choice of formal [and ideational] possibilities the epoch had at its disposal. An essentially different interpretation will then result". Before considering how our artist might have formed the images of this <PERSON> painting, let us review the sources of possible elements that he fused to form his imagery.
#### Saint Anthony
The first source is that of the painting's subject, <PERSON> temptation by the Devil, seems to have been a favourite of the artist, since he devoted more works – drawings as well as paintings – to this theme than to any other, almost as if he felt a personal empathy towards the visionary saint.
A reason why might be found in the observations of <PERSON> on a personality type that throws light upon both <PERSON> and the hermit. In <PERSON>'s words:
Isolation by a secret results as a rule in an animation of the psychic atmosphere as compensation for loss of contact with other people. It causes an activation of the unconscious, and this produces something similar to the illusions and hallucinations that beset lonely wanderers in the desert, seafarers, and saints.
And, following shortly afterwards: "We are reminded of the visions of <PERSON> in Egypt". <PERSON> emphasised that such "intuitive perception" is not the same thing as insanity, whatever the layman might believe. The difference, of course, is a matter of degree.
Whether or not <PERSON> devils were imaginary or real, tradition and the Church held that they were real and a good part of the body of Church belief towards the constitution of the demonic world came from <PERSON> story. <PERSON> probably had recourse to two sources for this story, both the _Golden Legend_ (a compilation of the stories of the saints' lives written by <PERSON> in the late 13th century), and the original story, which was written by <PERSON> shortly after <PERSON>'s death.
The saint's lifetime was that of the waning power of the Roman Empire, in the 3rd century CE. Years of misrule in the provinces by military governments, wars, exhausting taxes,
|
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is where we remind you to rethink the things you already have to suit your storage needs. Case in point: We had a square shelf unit that we were using vertically for books. We turned the unit horizontally, and it became an ideal spot to house our baby <PERSON>'s toys and double as a window seat.
And don't forget to look closely at your surroundings for site-specific opportunities: In our bathroom in San Francisco we set a reclaimed piece of wood on top of an already existing small tile ledge that spans the space between the shower and the sink. Adding the lumber has created a place on which to rest our shampoos and toothbrushes.
In <PERSON>'s room we turned a custom vertical bookshelf on its side to function as accessible toy storage. This photo was taken moments before <PERSON> turned the peaceful organization back into a state of chaos.
In the bathroom of our Great Highway apartment, the existing tile ledge was much too thin to hold anything useful, so we added a piece of framing lumber to serve as a shelf and painted it white.
Hooks and Pegs
When it comes to making jackets orderly or displaying your hat collection, you cannot beat a selection of hooks or pegs. They not only incorporate your things into your living space (rather than exiling them to a closet) but also create the appealing impression of organized chaos—an integral aspect of our design philosophy.
Our favorite hanging fixtures tend to be simple, hand-forged brass hooks or bentwood and plywood versions (like the ones made by our friend the artist <PERSON>) and Shaker-style knobs and pegs—so visually and tangibly satisfying in their solid simplicity.
If you are looking to create a design moment, installing a line or cluster of hooks will result in a composition with lovely visual rhythm. (Of course, one or two hooks are also ideal for suiting any storage needs in a small area—like equipping the back of your door to hold your towel.) When you put up hooks, you may be adding as many as twelve holes in the wall, so, as ever, it's best to be prepared: Map out the spots where you are installing ahead of time to avoid unnecessary marks. Hooks are also our go-to option for outdoor needs, since they are available in weather-resistant materials.
A <PERSON>-style peg rack, on the other hand, will only require two holes in the wall, but is more of a visual commitment, as you are essentially adding a hanging piece of furniture to your environment. You want to make sure that the aesthetic is compatible with your surroundings. We prefer the really long versions—six to eight feet—because if you are going to make this statement, it's best to really make it. The shorter versions don't tend to do the design justice, in which case, you're better off opting for hooks.
Because we have tiny closets, Serena relies on brass hooks in the bedroom for hanging hats, sweaters, and bags, among other things. If you decide to install hooks in
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effect. If you unearthed the concrete beneath another material like tile, it may sometimes contain a "visual memory" or imprint: It's worth considering retaining this look and simply sealing the surface rather than sanding it.
If All Else Fails
Paint your floor white using floor paint, which is thicker and more durable, as it's intended for high-traffic areas. Got ugly-looking linoleum? Paint it white. Loud seventies-era tiles that mess with your scheme? Paint them white. You get the gist.
To reveal the concrete floor at General Store in Venice, which we polished and sealed with a clear coat, we first had to remove carpet and tiles glued down with tar.
### NEW FLOORS
Here's a for-instance we get asked about a lot: You've ripped your floor apart and discovered that the buck stops with plywood. And you don't want plywood floors (not that there's anything wrong with plywood floors, for the record, which we'll address later on in the chapter).
It can be discouraging to go through the work of tearing apart your floor in search of a diamond in the rough, only to discover that there wasn't one to begin with—not to mention that the whole thing is going to cost you more money. The upside? This situation presents a certain freedom: the power to choose and invest in exactly what you want, rather than being forced to work with a choice someone else has selected for you.
It's also an opportunity to dissolve or establish new thresholds in your home—connecting rooms or blending indoors and outdoors by using a cohesive material and color; or introducing a threshold by virtue of a change of material (tile in the entryway, for example, where you ask guests to leave shoes or jackets).
Hardwood
With wood, the choices are abundant. Our favorite is hardwood white oak flooring, which is durable, long-lasting, and on the lighter end of the color spectrum. And though it's less expensive to work with thinner pieces, our size of choice is four-inch-wide continuous-length boards, because they are more consistent in appearance and less likely to look patchy.
The most common types of hardwood for floors are oak, maple, mahogany, and birch. Visually, there are subtle differences between the four: Mahogany is the darkest; oak, which also leans dark, shows more grain than its alternatives; maple is on the lighter, plainer, more uniform side; and birch is also light, with an inherent geometric pattern to it.
Keep in mind that wood looks dramatically different finished than it does unfinished, and time will alter its appearance. (This is an obvious advantage to using prefinished material, as you can see what it looks like before you install it. The downside is that prefinished wood tends to be engineered and, as a result, less sustainable and reusable.) People often stain wood, but just as we do when we refinish floors, we always prefer a clear coat or treatments that result in a lighter shade. Ask to see samples of aged wood from your carpenter or design professional so that you have a clear understanding
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the path.
**STEP THREE** Instead of using a darker green to further darken the trees, create much better contrast and color with heavy pressure and black cherry. Then sharpen the pencil and draw a few strokes in the darkest clumps of grasses; stroke upward from the bases of the clumps. Add a light layer along the edge of the path. Draw clumps of short, light, upward strokes of indigo, spring green, chartreuse, and limepeel throughout the field, all with very sharp points.
**STEP FOUR** With very sharp Prussian green, enhance the clumps further and repeat any of the other colors used in step three as needed. To finish, you may wish to use the sharp tip of a craft knife to scratch out some lines in the dark clumps to bring back the look of light blades of grass. Use a colorless blender with heavy pressure to smooth any rough spots.
### 86 Flower Petals
**STEP ONE** All flower petals grow outward from a base, so all your pencil strokes should follow that direction. For this fiery red-orange tulip, finishing the background first ensures that the value range is correct in the blossom. First lightly draw the blossom outline. Then fill the background with dark green, using heavy pressure so there are no specks showing through, while keeping the edges crisp. Lightly spray a layer of workable fixative over your work to prevent the dark color from polluting the blossom in the following steps. Fill the blossom with a light wash of sharp lemon yellow.
**STEP TWO** Go over almost all the lemon yellow with a wash of a sharp Spanish orange. The two washes together provide a waxy base for a smooth blend of the darker colors to come.
**STEP THREE** Go over almost all the Spanish orange with a wash of very sharp pale vermilion. Then use medium pressure to indicate the darker parts of the petals, which will begin to give them form. Notice that the blend is becoming smooth.
**STEP FOUR** Go over almost all the pale vermilion with a wash of very sharp crimson lake. Use heavier pressure in the center of the blossom and at the innermost edges of the petals to create depth, as well as around the center of the bottom petal to give it richness. Draw some light strokes with very sharp crimson lake and pale vermilion to suggest the subtle ridges in the petals. Tighten up any edges that have become fuzzy. Finish by using a colorless blender with light pressure to further smooth the blend.
### 87 Mountain Rock
**STEP ONE** Mountain rocks are typically very rough, irregular, and jagged, which makes them surprisingly easy to render without stressing over exacting details. Use dull cool gray 20% on its side to create an overall rough look.
**STEP TWO** Use dull slate gray and sandbar brown to block in some angular shapes, varying the pressure from light to medium.
**STEP THREE** Now give the rocks form and dimension. With very sharp indigo blue and heavy pressure, define the darkest cracks and gaps
|
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some needles with very sharp olive green on the sections nearest the stem to add dimension. Draw the stem with green ochre, making it thicker at the base and fading into the needles where they overlap its tip.
**STEP THREE** Each needle attaches to the stem, and the stem is rough. Use very sharp black raspberry to mark some of these attachment points, and make some marks on the stem. Enhance a few needles, as some are in various stages of growth.
**STEP FOUR** Repeat these steps to create more pine needles as desired. Note that some species have long needles and some have short needles; some have dark green needles and some have light green, or even bluish needles; some have thick needles and some have thin needles—know your tree before you draw!
### 80 Pinecone
**STEP ONE** Cones vary between species of pines and evergreens, from compact forms the size of a ping-pong ball to elongated forms the size of a football. The largest of all trees, the giant sequoia, produces the smallest cone, which is demonstrated here. Start with a basic outline of the shape and segments.
**STEP TWO** With a sharp point and light pressure, apply a layer of sandbar brown, darker in the centers and around the edges of the segments, and even darker along the bottom of the cone. Don't worry about staying within the bounds of the segments.
**STEP THREE** With a sharp point and medium pressure, apply a layer of sienna brown, darker in the centers and around the edges of the segments, and even darker along the bottom of the cone. Radiate the strokes outward from the centers and inward from the edges of the "faces" to create highlights.
**STEP FOUR** With a sharp point and medium pressure, add radiating strokes of black grape and dark cherry to further develop the wrinkled faces of the segments. Add a few light strokes of black to enhance the centers and darken the bottom segments. Finish by using black and heavy pressure to fill the gaps between the segments, stopping short of the cone's perimeter.
### 81 Palm Frond
**STEP ONE** There are many types of palms, varying in shape, size, fruit, trunk texture, and leaf structure. The leaves of this particular palm have thin ribs and are offset from each other down a thin, strong stalk. They attach at a tiny point, flare, and then taper to a graceful, sharp tip. It's important to keep your pencils very sharp to convey these crisp lines. Since the colors are light, lightly draw the basic outlines with very sharp limepeel rather than graphite. If the outlines aren't crisp, don't worry—we'll make them crisper as we continue.
**STEP TWO** With a sharp point and light pressure, fill in the outlines with limepeel. Leave highlights blank or stroke even more lightly. Stroke in the same direction as the leaf growth.
**STEP THREE** With a sharp point and light pressure, use marine green to darken the tips and part of the bodies of the leaves. Then, with a very sharp
|
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Center of CSHL. Intense discussion there led <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and others to propose a "common language" in identifying genes with so-called sequence-tagged sites (STSs). These, in turn, lent themselves to the polymerase chain reaction (PCR) method of producing millions of copies of a gene of interest overnight. The information could now be electronically coded and transmitted to different laboratories across the world—and be understood. So now, labs could generate gene sequences they wanted without waiting to receive actual tubes of DNA from other labs or a central repository.
The mapping drive kept heating up. In 1987 two rival U.S. groups, Ray White's at the University of Utah and <PERSON> at a private company, Collaborative Genetics, put together "genetic-linkage" maps with markers scattered across the entire human genome. Both used data stored at CEPH. The announcement in 1987 of the two competing maps, each with some 400 markers, came as the members of the <PERSON> committee were finishing their report endorsing the Human Genome Project.
Soon after, the work of CEPH, which included several European projects to develop robots for genomics, received a big boost from the "scientific marketing" so typical in the United States, where the genome project had been launched with typically loud éclat. Aiming at maps of the entire human genome would go beyond the numerous projects for individual chromosomes. In the fall of 1988, fresh from success in a sequencing-robot project with a private manufacturer, an eager <PERSON> went to see <PERSON>, head of the French muscular dystrophy association, known by its French initials, AFM. <PERSON> asked, why not spend something like $40 million and get a map with 5,000 markers as a step to the whole DNA sequence? <PERSON> was oppressed by the immense number of genetic disorders the AFM was struggling to cure, including an array of muscular dystrophies of varying severity. Seeing the futility of attacking diseases one by one, he said yes after ten minutes and took the idea to his board. The resulting big project, called Généthon, was fed with millions of dollars raised from the public via telethons. The AFM found space for the gene hunters in Evry, an industrial suburb of Paris.
Looking ahead to complex, multigene diseases, CEPH put ads on television, asking for families to volunteer for a genetic study of one type of diabetes, and enlisted more than 500 in France and elsewhere. In less than two years, CEPH uncovered mutations in several genes that affected the level of sugar in the blood.
It remained as clear to the French as it was to the Americans that the technology for sequencing was not ready for the big push. The genome project would have to walk before it could run. Cost-effective, large-scale sequencing remained years away. The project's fifteen-year timetable was fast—but the total budget was not supposed to exceed $3 billion. Besides, mapping was familiar. It was simple and comfortable to intensify a classical activity of geneticists, dating all the way back to the landmark studies with fruit flies in Columbia University's "fly room" after
|
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"cost-effective" mapping and sequencing. He saw several immediate tasks for an "active scientist" leader, backed by a "strong" advisory board. These included starting "exploratory research" on new technology, launching pilot projects to fix the cost and accuracy of the technologies, moving to larger-scale contracts for mapping where the technology was ready, and increasing the number of experts "in the new DNA technologies." Without these, Watson said, a project that should not cost more than $3 billion would cost $10 billion. Currently the costs of sequencing were "out of control."
Talent in the field was so scarce, <PERSON> said, that there was little room for two efforts of the same size. NIH should take the lead with a dedicated "line-item" budget from Congress. Counseling an immediate decision on this rather than years of dithering, he opposed what he called a "disastrous" interagency setup—management by committee—which would prevent "long-term stable leadership." Instead the enterprise would be "effectively in the hands of an ever-changing, unpredictable bureaucracy." While not excluding a major role for DOE's big national laboratories, <PERSON> said that NIH was best qualified to lead because of its "long experience in supporting first-class DNA research in human genetics" and its "strong cadre" of experienced administrators who had shown during the problematic "War on Cancer" of the 1970s that they could get a grip on a big program.
Noting that Congress would now have to decide "whether you have liked what we have said," and settle the question of a lead agency, <PERSON> concluded, "I see an extraordinary potential for human betterment ahead of us. We have at our disposal the ultimate tool for understanding ourselves at the molecular level and for fighting the genetic diseases that diminish the quality of so many of our lives. The time to act is now."
#### The Bomb, the Moon, a Telescope, a Railroad?
A complete map and sequence of human DNA had such vast implications, both inside and outside biology, that supporters and detractors often resorted to comparing it with other grand-scale, focused efforts like the atomic bomb project of World War II and the moon program of the 1960s and early 1970s. Because it involved human health, nutrition, and energy, there was a tendency to describe the genome project in even grander terms than its putative predecessors. Indeed, continued government support for genomics might prove easier to sustain than in other technical fields.
The genome project, however, differed significantly from both the atomic and space projects in both cost and scale. The bomb project cost $2 billion in the 1940s, equivalent to more than $20 billion today. The American moon program cost $20 billion in the 1960s, equivalent to more than $130 billion now. The genome project, which spanned fifteen years—instead of about five for the bomb and ten for getting to the moon and back—used far smaller equipment and employed fewer scientists and engineers than either the bomb or moon projects. The $3 billion genome project represented less than 2 percent of the total NIH budget, which in turn equals less than 2 percent of
|
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Yellow-eyed <PERSON> face peering at me. Say something. "What's happening?"
"I beg your pardon, please?" Long hair, cherry soda in the bony hand? Dressed in a gauze coat. He's drunk.
"Must've rung the wrong bell. Looking for <PERSON> is the thing."
"You are Mr. <PERSON>, of course, yes?"
Of course. Nearly. Also the <PERSON>. But how did you know? Guard your jugular. "You're Mr. <PERSON>?"
"<PERSON>, to be sure," in the clipped, liquefied singsong accent. "When you move your belongings, you must come and pay to me and my wife a particular call."
"Sure thing. Perhaps—" the door closing in my face?
"Goodnight, then. Miss <PERSON> is assuredly no doubt at home." Gone. Jesus.
He tiptoed around the porch and peeked in through the bamboo shades. She was sitting alone on the Navajo rug next to the fireplace, eating a TV dinner. Spooning the thawed, reheated food out of its partitioned aluminum tray. Creamed corn, beef with gravy, whipped potatoes. Eyes like a water spaniel. Tap on the pane. She's looking up. Can't see me, too dark out here. Press nose against glass. Don't be afraid, ducks, it's only Rubberface.
He went to the door and waited.
"Why, Mr. <PERSON>, hello again. Whatever do you have with you?"
"Little gift is all," handing her the Old Spice toilet water, trying to hide the box of cufflinks and the enema bag. Her missing eyebrows penciled on.
"Well. Thank you. Coming in, are you?"
"Just passing by, thought I'd see how your packing was getting along." Ooof.
"You smell rather like a distillery," letting him pass. Turn around slowly, smile; for Christ's sake, don't breathe on her. "Coming from a party?" was her question.
"Always. Part of my condition. And my name is <PERSON>."
"Yes, you said something like that earlier; I thought you were joking, surely."
Five syllables, too many for a proper-sounding name. Three appeals to the conditioned ear. Buckingham. Bolingbroke. Butterball. Man, chaos all over the pad, boxes, books left out, ladies' things. That photograph.
"Your husband?" he asked slyly, pointing.
"<PERSON>. He graduated last year, from the ag school." Spoken with little enthusiasm. Still wearing that kimono thing, kitty-fluff, high heels.
"Listen, just go on and eat, don't mind me. Nothing like a little energy." Ought to have a fire in here, make it cozy. White bear rug. Black Mass.
Between beef bites, the Japanese robe falling open slightly so he could see the single hair on her chest.
"Are you really a student here, <PERSON>? I trust you don't mind my asking?"
"As soon as I register. Why?"
"You hardly seem the type." Looking at me. Ho ho, edge of the wedge.
"I'm not. Can't be classified is where it's at. Certainly better than screwing around out there, though," with a nod to the void, marking time beyond the Athené city limits. The Scotch pure ambrosia. Paregoric less groovy after eating.
"I'm not sure I understand. How better?"
"Everything all Orgone Boxish. Little microcosm thing happening."
"No responsibility, you mean."
"Check."
"Rather fascinating, all the same."
Be humble. Lie.
|
bf43cba4-5605-67ac-fd30-61e15ec5256a
|
['cc79a441-40c0-d854-0b66-d0a67339c39a']
|
were swarms of children waiting at each of the lights and when they got to Calle O'Reilly he had no more money at all.
"You mean, you're entirely out of bread, is that what you mean?" <PERSON> was searching through the rucksack while the others untied the bags.
"Don't bug me, baby, I've got credit. I feel it coming."
The Calle O'Reilly was narrow and cobbled, free of tourists. At the end of the street was an open square with an adobe church that looked like the Alamo. There were palm trees and mimosa, but <PERSON> dreamed dreams of blitzkrieg vendetta.
Their hotel was called Casa Hilda and they shared what <PERSON> herself called the Penthouse, a large room with three double beds. It opened on a balcony overlooking the square, but <PERSON> locked himself in the bathroom.
"Come out," they pleaded, "we'll find some penicilin."
He sat in the tub and plugged fingers in his ears. Later, when everyone had finally decided to explore the city and trust him to the fates, he sent down for a bottle of dark Bacardi, a bowl of icecubes, sugar, and half a dozen limes, all to ease the pain.
He was half finished with the bottle, just getting a rolling buzz, when an unsalutary thought of wet diapers came bubbling back through childhood memories. He went to the tiled balcony, made a miniature funeral pyre, and burned his saturated underpants. From hotel towels he improvised absorbent pads.
When the bottle was gone, he rolled paregoric Pall Malls, dried them in the afternoon sun, went to bed, and watched the cracks in the old foreign ceiling. But as he expected they had very little to say.
# **18**
The lymphatic grottos of Limbo.
For three days he stayed in bed, serving a self-imposed penance, rising only to change absorbent pads. He burned the old ones, yellow and fetid, and tried to keep his bladder clean. The pains, excruciating and caustic, were too severe to coax, so he drank no more. Instead he watched the ceiling, ate fatty links of chorizo, and wondered occasionally what had become of his Immunity. There was also the continuing spatter of gunfire for diversion. Small arms in the morning, machine guns in the afternoon, tiny bombs at cocktail hour. After the bombs he listened for the flat echo of wings, pigeons frightened half to death by the shudder in the air. Dust blew through the window.
Near the end of the seventy-second hour he rolled over and found a damp oval on his pillow, reminder of his open-mouthed night. The sallow bag of doom, spilling over. With a stubby pencil he scratched above his bed:
_A plastic sack, twisted at the ends and sealed_.
_Yet we can set small cells to gnaw_ ,
_to tear and puncture of our own accord_.
"Handwriting on the wall?"
<PERSON> was standing in the doorway, smiling.
"Not really, man, more on our foreheads. People need mirrors is where it's at."
"It'd get all backward. What about you? Incubation period up?"
"I guess so, any
|
27e21d82-7d64-aa0b-afe8-3a616d195366
|
['cce17051-3224-a754-5fb9-30cf6f2cbbd9']
|
had not been able to find more work. Now they lived on her mother's wages from the part-time library job and his welfare payments. They never had enough money now, and his pride had been hard hit.
"Sorry," she muttered.
<PERSON> undid the broken string and wound the two pieces around her fingers, tying them into a coil. She would need to get some more—and there was only one place to do that.
The trams did not descend into the guts of the city. To reach the lowest levels, you had to take a tram to a point above your desired destination and take steps or an elevator down. <PERSON> preferred the stairs—the elevators were becoming unreliable. From her tram stop, she descended one hundred and fifty-eight steps to Sub-Level Three of the Fourth Quadrant, one of the several levels occupied by the Filipino District.
On the way down, <PERSON> passed the exposed workings of the city. Driveshafts carrying the city's power whirred, causing the steps to tremble beneath her feet; pneumatic shock absorbers caught much of the vibration from the engineering, and the heated air was drawn out and along radiators that kept the air temperature at the required level. Pipes wove through the infrastructure, carrying hot water, near-freezing water, steam, or sewage; contaminated air and carbon monoxide, as well as methane from the sewers. Heavily insulated electricity cables followed the catwalks and stairs for ease of maintenance. In more concealed areas, <PERSON> knew, enterprising individuals tapped the lines, drawing illegal power from the city for personal use.
It got dark as she descended. There was little light from the dome down here. Dust grew thicker, with no winds or rain to clear it, and cockroaches thrived. The walls were thick in the sub-levels: load-bearing reinforced concrete and denceramic architecture. Ash Harbor's most abundant mammal, rats, had made homes in the countless nooks and crannies. <PERSON> had learned once in history that the rat had conquered the world right alongside humans. If the elements won out, rats, not humans, would be the last mammal to die. And the cockroaches would be around a long time after that.
Ash Harbor was in what had once been the South Pacific, before most of the ocean had become a vast plain of pack ice. The Philippines had been one of the last refuges of the Old World as the city was built, and the Filipinos had wielded a huge amount of influence in the last years before people moved in. As the richer countries slowly became frozen wastelands, Southeast Asia had found itself host to its more affluent neighbors, and when the rich and the influential booked their places in Ash Harbor's safe confines, the workers who had built it begged, bribed, bargained, and cheated their way in. Many, many more were turned away by force.
In the years that followed, many of those who had been rich on the outside used up what they had to trade, and affluence took on a new shape in those who could affect the running of the
|
71a214df-fda5-0f86-9ce2-fe4fd57c54b9
|
['cce17051-3224-a754-5fb9-30cf6f2cbbd9']
|
out what he could, and if anybody tried to get rough with him, he was going to shoot them.
When <PERSON> got to her apartment with the two police officers, there was a man walking away down the corridor toward the exit on the other side of the building. His head looked as if it had been shaved with a power sander. She glanced at him again for a moment, then went to unlock her door. <PERSON> and <PERSON> seemed to pay him no attention.
Inside the apartment, the two men walked through to the living room. <PERSON> showed them <PERSON>'s bag, and <PERSON> started going through it.
"I'll just use your toilet, if I may," <PERSON> said to her, and she pointed him toward the bathroom.
The inspector seemed less interested in using the facilities than in perusing the finer points of the décor. He had left the door open, and <PERSON> peered in to see what he was doing. She could feel moisture in the air, and there was condensation on the mirror. <PERSON> ran his finger around the rim of the drain and looked at it.
"<PERSON>!" he shouted, pushing past <PERSON>. "That was him outside! He's shaved his head. He's definitely on the run—call for back-up!"
They charged out into the corridor with <PERSON> chasing after them. A sense of outrage kept her on their heels; they were chasing <PERSON> as if he were the criminal. Hissing through her teeth, she ran with the police as they crashed through the fire doors and into the side street. They split up, each taking a different direction, but there was no sign of <PERSON>. Standing where she had come out, <PERSON> took panting breaths.
The fact that <PERSON> had escaped brought her a little gleam of satisfaction. The younger, rebellious side of her enjoyed seeing the police evaded. Even if it was for the wrong reasons.
"Unfortunate." Inspector <PERSON> sighed, walking back to her. "If he's still in the vicinity, we'll catch him. Otherwise, our young Mr. <PERSON> is on his own."
## Section 9/24: FEAR
AFTER LEAVING THE building, <PERSON> descended some steps to a lower street level, intent on catching a tram toward the city center. He wasn't very familiar with the Filipino District, and he wanted to take the main route in. It was after five P.M., and the streets on this level were clouded in shadow. Water was draining from a leaking pipe somewhere, the sound loud in these narrow, echoing spaces. Bats' droppings coated the ground beneath a low bridge. A homeless drunk was lying wrapped in a foil blanket, propped up in the doorway of a closed-down nightclub. There was graffiti on the walls: the usual complaints about life, as well as tags from the young hoods competing for territory.
A tram passed overhead, and somewhere nearby, a mechanical press was thumping in time with the shudder of a conveyor belt. <PERSON> passed an open window and saw a factory floor where overalled workers were standing at benches operating hand-cranked machines that broke down
|
93af004a-01f3-62e1-8319-c6b8562ae473
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['cd2295a5-145e-9e9f-ef98-908136ff0c22']
|
that degree. And it is not our intention to eradicate from the face of the earth this cross-grained and surly man or to classify all men in this category; it's not unlikely that women worse than him may make their appearance on the planet or that there may be others beside whom he pales. Anyhow, he was what he was: one of that caste of miserable wretches who, even if a rose were to grow by mistake in their hearts, would eat the thorns in order to nibble on the roses . . . And if, when he was still young, he would waver between his drunken bouts and somewhat moderate his miserableness, with the passing of the years, everything became ten times worse, and not even his mother—with whom he had much in common—could ask him for a favor.
And only <PERSON>'s groans and coughing emerged from high up behind that window with the iron bars and, occasionally, her hands. Months had passed, and not one of her own folk had seen her. And as for her little son, had anyone seen or heard him? <PERSON> was infuriated when he realized that he didn't have to deal simply with a stubborn and pigheaded man, even with a spiteful and malicious one, but rather with someone cruel who was torturing a woman not because he loved her or hated her but because he was incapable of anything else. And he felt himself even more hard-pressed when someone came and told him that he had heard <PERSON> calling from the window, "Tell <PERSON> to come—what's he waiting for? For me to die?" Even if this someone had said it as a busybody, simply to open up wounds or light the fuse, <PERSON> realized that the limits of patience and tolerance had been reached, that <PERSON> was calling to him from her hell, and that either he had to kill his brother-in-law or find some other way to go to his sister. At the risk of proceeding with the first (and extreme) solution, the weather helped him to decide upon the second—it was winter again.
Winter, and the other man hardly went out, his mother—so it appeared—was confined to bed, and the wolfhound that they had to guard the house was found one morning frozen solid in the snow. He cursed it, spat on it, kicked it in case it came round, but didn't seem to show much sorrow. Nor did <PERSON>.
The next night, he brought a tall wooden ladder and climbed up to <PERSON>'s window. The vertical iron bars were rusty, and with a little effort he bent the middle ones, but he couldn't get through, the opening wasn't big enough (nor would it have been even if he had bent all of them), while from inside she stared at him terrified and cowering in a corner. _She_ was a phantom of his sister, not his sister—only a shadow had remained that kept coughing up blood into a handkerchief. He called her over to him, clasped her two hands and said, "I've
|
e64de2ec-dc0e-b5be-1c2c-bc0d63662b32
|
['cd2295a5-145e-9e9f-ef98-908136ff0c22']
|
down.
But while she was walking without hearing either the bells or the songs that were ringing in the air in a wide radius, she saw her brother a little way off on the side of a rise, caught up, like a badly tied bundle, in some dry, tangled roots . . . And a horde of unripe red apples that he had stolen from some apple trees farther on and stuffed in his knapsack were gleefully rolling ahead of him and waiting for him . . . When the hapless fellow finally freed himself from the roots, he went and slipped down good and proper beside the apples.
<PERSON> laughed her heart out. She went up to him, rollicking with laughter, and began to wipe the dirt from his clothes and explain to him with her hands and her stick that now it would be much harder for him to gather them up again one by one from where they had scattered and rolled (the place was full of bushes and ditches) than it had been for him to climb the trees and steal them in the first place! . . . She simply wanted to tease him, to make him laugh too at his mishap, to laugh with him, and then she would help him pick up the apples.
But he was offended by her gestures and became angry, very angry—there's a proverb which goes _If you weren't born deaf and dumb, you've no idea from where anger can come_ —and his anger came in the shape of a thick branch . . . Her laughter must have stopped very abruptly.
Every time she reached this point in her narration, <PERSON> would put her fingers to her brow and bow her head slightly: _All this on my brow,_ she meant, and at the same time it was a kind of oath concerning the truth of her words. If <PERSON> had been alive and had brought her Bible, she would have put them on that.
But <PERSON>, tied to a chair now, just as previously he had been tied to the horse, so as not to be able to get away from them, watched her relating all this and his face contorted with the most disagreeable and unappeased grimaces— _grimmifaces,_ as they called them. He denied all that his sister claimed; to be exact, he denied everything, and his grimaces were an attempt to say that he had no connection whatsoever with all these fairy tales, that he had found the bag somewhere and had taken it with him into the hills to see what was inside it—he didn't know whose it was or what the things inside were used for. But he wasn't able for long to withstand <PERSON>'s pressure and threats (who knows what kind of threats), and he eventually admitted that yes, he was the one who had beaten his sister that day—but not because of the apples.
"Then why?" they asked him.
<PERSON> let out two cries of lamentation, untied the rope binding him with amazing speed
|
2df1a035-4625-04c5-0965-8ec575748532
|
['cd3eeed5-96bd-d1fb-31a8-371a09df04fc']
|
it. People are starting to notice, I think. How she stays seated now at <PERSON>'s wrestling matches. How quiet and pale she's become, how this one strand in the front of her hair has turned silver and she always wears hats now to cover it. How she's gone from slender to just plain thin.
It seems so sudden, but then I think, I wasn't paying attention before. I was so consumed with my own life, my dream, with the idea that it was <PERSON> who was going to die. She's been getting weaker all this time, and I didn't really notice until now.
Some stellar daughter I am.
"What kind of cancer?" <PERSON> asks thoughtfully, like this is not at all a morbid topic.
"Something terminal, of course," <PERSON> says.
"Okay, so can we not talk about this?" I can't take this anymore. "You don't have cancer. Why do we have to tell them anything at all? I don't want to have another lie I'm going to be forced to tell."
<PERSON> and <PERSON> share this amused look I don't understand.
"She's honest," remarks <PERSON>.
"To a fault," <PERSON> replies. "Gets it from her father."
<PERSON> snorts. "Oh come on, <PERSON>, she's like a carbon copy of you at that age."
Mom rolls her eyes. Then she turns her attention back to me. "A rational explanation will help everybody. It will keep them from asking too many questions. The last thing we want is for my death to appear mysterious in any way."
I still find it crazy that she can say the words my death so calmly, like she's saying my car or my plans for dinner.
"Okay, fine," I concede. "Tell them whatever you want. But I'm not going to be involved. I'm not going to call it cancer or lie about it or anything. This is your thing."
<PERSON> opens her mouth to say something smart-alecky or maybe chew me out for how insensitive I'm being, but <PERSON> holds up her hand.
"You don't have to say anything at all," she says. "I'll take care of it."
So, cancer it is. But <PERSON> was wrong about me not having to deal. Maybe it would have worked before I got slammed by the power of empathy, but now it's impossible not to know how everyone is feeling about me. The news that my mother has terminal cancer is like an atom bomb going off at Jackson Hole High School. It doesn't even take a whole day before everybody, and I mean everybody, knows. First it's people looking away, some of the nicer girls shooting me sympathetic looks. Then whispers. I quickly know the script by heart. It starts with, "Did you hear about <PERSON> mom?" and it ends with something like, "That is so sad."
I keep my head down and do my work and try to act normal, but by the second day I'm suffering through overwhelming waves of sympathy, and this from people who didn't even bother to learn my name last year. Even my teachers are
|
c2cedeb7-002e-20fd-6b25-3f7330f262ef
|
['cd3eeed5-96bd-d1fb-31a8-371a09df04fc']
|
he lifts his chin, meets the quicksilver of Dad's eyes for a few seconds, and smiles. "It's hard not to fall in love with them, isn't it? There's a Watcher somewhere in you too, <PERSON>."
The glow around Dad brightens. He whispers a word that feels like wind in my ears, and suddenly I see his wings. They are enormous and white, a pure sweet white that reflects the sun so it's hard to look directly at them. I have never seen anything so magnificent as my father—my throat closes on the word—this creature of goodness and light, standing there protecting me. He is my father. I am part of him.
"I will crush you under my heel," he says in a low voice. "Go. And do not come back."
"No need to get excited," <PERSON> says, taking a step back. "I'm a lover, not a fighter, after all."
Then he simply closes his eyes and disappears.
Dad's wings vanish. He walks back across the grass to me.
"Thanks," I say.
He looks sad. "Don't thank me. I've just put you in more danger than you know. Now," he says in a completely different tone of voice. "I would like it very much if I could meet your boyfriend."
We wait around until the bell rings. People flood the halls. They part around us, giving Dad a wide berth, staring at him.
Dad looks a bit strained.
"Are you okay?" I ask. I wonder if that bit that <PERSON> said, about Dad being like a Watcher, got to him.
"Fine," he says. "It's just that around so many people I have to work harder to hold back the glory. Otherwise they might all fall down on their knees and worship."
He sounds like he might be joking, but I know he's not. He's completely serious.
"We don't have to stay here. We can go."
"No, I want to meet this <PERSON> kid."
"Dad. He's not a kid."
"Don't you want me to meet him?" he asks with the hint of a smile. "Are you afraid I'll scare him off?"
Yes.
"No," I say. "But don't try to scare him off, okay? He's been pretty cool with all the crazy stuff so far. I don't want to push it."
"Got it. No threatening his life if he doesn't treat my daughter right."
"Dad. Seriously."
<PERSON> appears at the end of the hall. He's talking with a buddy of his, smiling. He sees us. The smile fades from his face. He spins around and walks the other way.
Dad stares after him.
"He'll come around," I say to Dad.
He nods absentmindedly, then says, "So, lead the way. I promise I'll behave."
"Come on, then. His locker's this way."
Down the hall we go to <PERSON>'s locker. He's there, as I thought he would be, fumbling around with his notes. Last-minute studying for a makeup test in Spanish.
"<PERSON>," I say, leaning up against the locker next to his. I'm suddenly a bundle of nerves. I'm about to introduce my dad to my boyfriend.
|
10e1c922-88de-baa3-2cd8-69adbc08745d
|
['cd7ecaf4-9c9c-bbd3-a246-dd8289146aa8']
|
and then disappear—walking around is costing the sheep energy, and once that energy is gone, the sheep dies. What we need to do is to give the sheep grass to eat. We'll call each patch of grass Grass and make a new class for it. Grass will have its own x- and y-value, size, and energy content. We'll also make it change color when it's eaten.
In fact, we'll be using a bunch of different colors in this sketch for our sheep and our grass, so let's add the code in Listing 9-16 to the very beginning of the program so we can just refer to the colors by their names. Feel free to add other colors too.
WHITE = color(255)
BROWN = color(102,51,0)
RED = color(255,0,0)
GREEN = color(0,102,0)
YELLOW = color(255,255,0)
PURPLE = color(102,0,204)
_Listing 9-16: Setting colors as constants_
Using all-caps for the color names indicates that they're constants and won't change in value, but that's just for the programmer. There's nothing inherently magical about the constants, and you can change these values if you want. Setting constants lets you just type the names of the colors instead of having to write the RGB values every time. We'll do this when we make the grass green. Update your existing code by adding the code in Listing 9-17 right after the Sheep class in _SheepAndGrass.pyde_ :
class Grass:
def __init__(self,x,y,sz):
self.x = x
self.y = y
self.energy = 5 #energy from eating this patch
self.eaten = False #hasn't been eaten yet
self.sz = sz
def update(self):
fill(GREEN)
rect(self.x,self.y,self.sz,self.sz)
_Listing 9-17: Writing the Grass class_
You're probably starting to get used to the structure of the class notation. It conventionally starts with the __init__ method, where you create its properties. In this case, you tell the program that Grass will have an x- and y-location, an energy level, a Boolean (True/False) variable that keeps track of whether the grass has been eaten or not, and a size. To update a patch of grass, we just create a green rectangle at the Grass object's location.
Now we have to initialize and update our grass, the same way we did for our sheep. Because there will be a lot of grass, let's create a list for it. Before the setup() function, add the following code.
sheepList = [] #list to store sheep
grassList = [] #list to store grass
patchSize = 10 #size of each patch of grass
We might want to vary the size of the patch of grass in the future, so let's create a variable called patchSize so we'll only have to change it in one place. In the setup() function, after creating the sheep, create the grass by adding the new code in Listing 9-18.
def setup():
global patchSize
size(600,600)
#create the sheep
for i in range(3):
sheepList.append(Sheep(random(width),
|
68107677-adc9-89e5-ee7a-127d689d1410
|
['cd7ecaf4-9c9c-bbd3-a246-dd8289146aa8']
|
distances, right?
It turns out, above a certain number of cities, the computational complexity gets too much even for today's supercomputers. Let's see how many possible routes there are when you have six cities, as shown in Figure 12-1.
_Figure 12-1: The number of paths between_ n _cities for_ n _between 2 and 6_
When there are two or three cities, there's only one possible route. Add a fourth city, and it could be visited between any of the previous three, so multiply the previous number of routes by 3. So between four cities there are three possible routes. Add a fifth city, and it could be visited between any of the previous four, so there are four times as many as the previous step, so 12 possible routes. See the pattern? Between _n_ cities, there are
possible routes. So between 10 cities there are 181,440 possible routes. Between 20 cities, there are 60,822,550,204,416,000 routes. What's after a trillion? Even if a computer can check a million routes per second, it would still take almost 2,000 years to calculate. That's too slow for our purposes. There must be a better way.
#### USING GENETIC ALGORITHMS
Similar to our quote-guessing program, we're going to create an object with a route in its "genes" and then score its route by how short it is. The best route will then be mutated randomly, and we'll score its mutation. We could take a bunch of "best routes," splice together their lists, and score their "offspring." The best part of this exploration is we _don't_ know the answer already. We could give the program a set of cities and their locations, or just have it randomly draw cities and try to optimize the route.
Open a new Processing sketch and call it _travelingSalesperson.pyde_. The first thing we should create is a City object. Each city will have its own x- and y-coordinate and a number we use to identify it. That way, we can define a route using a list of city numbers. For example, 5,3,0,2,4,1] means you start at city 5 and go to city 3, then city 0, and so on. The rules are the salesperson has to finally return to the first city. [Listing 12-5 shows the City class.
_travelingSales person.pyde_
class City:
def __init__(self,x,y,num):
self.x = x
self.y = y
self.number = num #identifying number
def display(self):
fill(0,255,255) #sky blue
ellipse(self.x,self.y,10,10)
noFill()
_Listing 12-5: Writing the City class for the_ travelingSalesperson.pyde _program_
When initializing City, we get an x- and y-coordinate and give each City its own (self) x- and y-component. We also get a number that's the city's identifying number. In the display() method, we choose a color (sky blue, in this case) and create an ellipse at that location. We turn off the fill after drawing the city with the noFill() function, since no other shapes need to be filled in with color.
Let's make sure that works. Let's create the setup() function, declaring a
|
26fd3a00-fa75-aac4-824f-e4ed0a690b65
|
['ced2472f-f440-9659-985b-7c2469260061']
|
to give kids tools to make choices.
They will likely screw up. We all do. The challenge then becomes "How do we make things right?" I will never, ever forget the time I literally hissed in <PERSON>'s face when she was three, "YOU ARE MAKING MY LIFE HARDER INSTEAD OF EASIER. ARE YOU HAPPY ABOUT THAT?" The words were bad, but my face was worse. I was furious, and my voice was really low and lethal, and I'd put my face right up into hers. <PERSON>'s little face scrunched up, and silent tears rolled down her chubby little cheeks, and I felt absolutely sick with self-loathing. That was a failure of discipline on my part; I lost control. Later, I apologized, and she accepted, but I've never forgotten that queasy, awful feeling.
Now that my kids are older, they understand that both their parents have tempers. They know we try our best to control our words and sometimes fail. (True of <PERSON>, too. <PERSON> is inexplicably even-keeled.) When my girls were little, both loved a picture book called _Harriet, You'll Drive Me Wild!_ by <PERSON>. It's about a kid who just keeps screwing up, on purpose or not—knocking over her juice, getting paint all over the rug, sliding off her chair at the table and taking the tablecloth with her. When the mom in the book finally loses it, she loses it spectacularly, yelling and yelling and yelling. <PERSON> cries. But then the mom pulls herself together and apologizes and the two hug it out and clean up the mess together. It's an adorable book, but one that makes the very real point that none of us is perfect. Moms can explode now and then, but they still love their kids. We're only human, and that's good enough. (I should probably add, though, that if you feel out of control or depressed about your parenting failures a lot of the time, you might want to seek professional help. Doing so is a sign of strength, not weakness.)
When <PERSON> was three and we were visiting my mother-in-law in Milwaukee, we were all invited to a lovely engagement party at the home of my mother-in-law's friends. All the kids were sent to play in their big suburban basement. <PERSON> kept coming upstairs to report that two older boys, around five and seven, were teasing her, calling her a baby, saying they were going to knock over her blocks, threatening to make her clean their rooms. She kept asking us for more solutions. (She was stunned when their response to "If you're not nice to me, I won't be your friend," was "We don't WANT to be your friend!" It was so not in her preschooler's playbook, in which being told you can't be someone's friend was the _worst_ thing you could possibly threaten.) My husband told her "Ignore them. Just walk away." This did not occur. I don't know what the final straw was, but suddenly <PERSON> was chasing the two older boys through the house with an oversized wiffle bat, roaring,
|
7cf0fd3b-7fdf-3281-4ddb-bf1ff755d47d
|
['ced2472f-f440-9659-985b-7c2469260061']
|
great and lucrative businesses of all sorts in Germany were in the hands of the Jewish race! Isn't it an amazing confession? It was but another way of saying that in a population of 48,000,000, of whom only 500,000 were registered as Jews, eighty-five percent of the brains and honesty of the whole was lodged in the Jews." Aw, shucks, Mr. <PERSON>.
Today, American Jews tend to be wealthier than the average citizen. A quarter of us have a household income of more than $150,000, compared to 8 percent of the rest of the country. And since we wait longer than average to have kids (one survey found that 52 percent of Jewish women between the ages of thirty and thirty-four are kid-free, compared with 27 percent of all American women that age), by the time they arrive we have more to spend on them. We also may be eager to buy them _stuff_ as a way to sop our guilt at being working mothers—a recent Gallup poll found that 75 percent of college-educated women with kids under eighteen work outside the home, compared with only 48 percent of moms without a college degree...and the 2013 Pew Research Center's Portrait of Jewish Americans indicated that most of us are college graduates, and 28 percent of us have postgraduate degrees. What all this adds up to: We have to think harder about what having money means.
It's understandable to want our kids to be happy and have material rewards. But we're getting out of control. A 2011 study found that parents in households that bring in more than $102,000 spend more than twice as much on their children's enrichment (in terms of books, music lessons, computers, travel) as parents who earn around $62,000. Wealthier families spend not just _more_ money, but a greater _percentage_ of their money, on enrichment for kids—because they can. And a 2013 study found that the gulf in spending between the highest- and lowest-earning segments of America widened in the last two decades—poorer parents now spend less on their kids than they did in the past, probably because poorer today means really, _really_ poorer.
On the one hand: Yay for spending money to make your children's lives more beautiful and elevated. But on the other: Uh, what about other people's kids?
It's smart to take a look back at the way Jews have historically paired having money with giving money away. Whether you're Jewish or not, whether you have a lot of disposable income or hardly any, you and your offspring can benefit from Jews' perspective on doing well and doing good.
# THE JEWISH HISTORY OF PAIRING MONEY WITH RIGHTEOUSNESS
The Hebrew word _tzedakah_ is usually translated as "charity." But that's not what it actually means. What it really means is "righteousness." Giving charity, for us, is mandatory, part of being a good human. There is no talk of making money without talk of charity. It's incumbent upon us to make sure our children are aware that others have less than we do, to urge nonselfishness and generosity,
|
5ccb1980-d65b-c6aa-7670-802cbb1ef689
|
['cedf5f7d-7183-7440-e4b1-118974a73c98']
|
management and support for its products.25
# Insights and Recommendations
What does the pattern of enterprise innovation uncovered so far and illustrated through examples and cases tell us? It is essentially that there may be a way to churn innovation out of the vortex of radically new business experience in India. In Table 8.1, we summarize this pattern by looking at the guidance that leaders can provide, the business actions they need to take, and the innovation possibilities they expose. This is examined across the four factors underlying the business experience. Stark differences can be observed depending on the guidance chosen.
Table 8.1 Patterns of Leadership Guidance for Enterprise Innovation in Emerging Economies
Factor | Guidance for Agility | Guidance for Patience
---|---|---
Market | Business actions
Focus on the known.
Cherry-pick.
Retro-fit or strip down.
Innovation opportunities
Recast tested business models: pricing, packaging, market positioning, branding, deal structuring, acquisitions. | Business actions
Develop new markets and segments with understanding.
Build deep client relationships and business partnerships.
Reverse-innovate; codevelop new products and services with fresh eyes and with the participation of stakeholders.
Innovation opportunities
New business strategies, new market segments and products, both global and geography specific.
Forge new business models.
Talent | Business actions
Recruit aggressively from available talent pools.
Scale up at lower talent levels.
Acquire organizations.
Innovation opportunities
Repurpose talent for higher value.
Change work flows for higher productivity.
Adopt technology to deskill jobs and enable new capabilities. | Business actions
Discover new sources of raw talent.
Incrementally build competence and scale, infusing new work cultures and practices.
Blend skill levels, and promote opportunities for interaction across geographies, functions, and cultures.
Direct capabilities to high-value business opportunities.
Innovation opportunities
Set up "finishing schools" for recent college graduates to close skill gaps with respect to industry expectations.
Uncover hidden talent pools.
Business infrastructure | Business actions
Align with local practices, even if they are inconsistent with global practices.
Develop local partnerships to broadly delegate responsibilities.
Innovation opportunities
Very limited. In fact, the purpose is to avoid innovation in this dimension.
Some special cases of innovative local practices (for example, the celebrated logistics excellence of Mumbai dabbawallas a). | Business actions
Build up local organization, imbuing company's global experiences and best practices.
Establish network of vendors and partners, and attempt to propagate company practices into a network.
Integrate the best of local and global practices.
Innovation opportunities
Build open innovation with local and global universities, start-ups, and venture capitalists.
Transform supply chains and other support services for major productivity
|
c311a34c-fec2-6407-ff2a-c7247bf18457
|
['cedf5f7d-7183-7440-e4b1-118974a73c98']
|
analytics in green technologies. Product and service divisions suggested IBM-Tivoli for implementing energy management rules and actions. And facilities management in several Bangalore centers worked out the physical implementation.
Green data centers, first conceived and proven within IBM's own facilities, are now offered as energy management services to IBM's customers in India. Furthermore, they have catalyzed enhancements to software and hardware products and spawned patent applications and research publications.
There are other examples as well. The adapter component to WebSphere, IBM's leading Web application server, now offers easier implementation, mainly for emerging markets where higher-end in-house IT skills are not easily found. As product director <PERSON> emphasized in an interview, "A big focus at IBM is 'consumability,' how easily and quickly can consumers adopt your product."
Serendipitously, at that time, U.S.-based leaders were seeking to demonstrate the value of distributing product development across continents, while India-based leaders and managers aspired to take over complete product development and product management responsibilities. This project showed agility in the way U.S. and India leaders coordinated business and staffing decisions. Patience was demonstrated in launching the final product after many development cycles with work distributed among U.S., India and China teams.
## Sasken: New Spins
What enabled Sasken's innovative Inmarsat-linked satellite phone (see Figure 8.2)?
Years of patient technology investments in telecom and the accompanying expertise in handset protocol stacks were finally exploited. Senior management, groomed in such initiatives, compressed the development cycle to a mere eighteen months. The earlier acquisition of the Finnish company provided crucial technology for satellite phone antenna design.24
Another notable Sasken innovation is ConnectM, its spin-off company that offers wireless machine-to-machine (M2M) connectivity for monitoring and management. Application areas include building energy controls, wireless telecom tower operations, and life cycle monitoring of industrial equipment. All of these applications employ physical sensors placed on the asset to wirelessly transmit operational data to a gateway and then to data centers for aggregation, analysis, and reporting.
Several business actions led to ConnectM. Start-up risks were shared with a venture capital investment partner. Earlier start-up experiences helped expose viable market segments. Sasken's <PERSON>, chief technology officer, acknowledges, "We worked on seven ideas and picked M2M. The process of discovery of the solution areas for ConnectM was a huge effort." An existing networking subsidiary provided ready expertise for faster field implementation. In-house leadership talent was groomed and readily available to transfer to this new opportunity. Most important, recasting Sasken as a connectivity company rather than just an IT or telecom player resulted in a novel spin-off beyond the obvious.
## Strand Lifesciences: Platform Leaps
Strand's eureka moment came with its realization that the disparate software platforms available around the turn of the century would not interoperate or scale to handle the prodigious amounts of digital data being produced through newer-generation instrumentation at life science labs around the world. As <PERSON>, CEO, says, "Like good computer scientists, we took a step back, abstracted the problem and realized the need to build a software platform." They did this by creating robust contemporary and legacy-free software
|
f7e6b45b-075b-76bc-db54-d490ad247c30
|
['cee534b6-01f1-311d-971a-de1b7262122c']
|
lie.
ACTOR
Of course. But I don't need Kadar. I have someone much better. At 7:47, you got up from next to Mother and went to the back of the box where...
ACTRESS
Where?
ACTOR
Where a white coat...
ACTRESS
My wrap was hanging there. The one you gave me on February 11th for my 29th birthday.
ACTOR
It was your 30th.
ACTRESS
29th.
ACTOR
Thirty.
ACTRESS
Twenty-nine.
ACTOR
It doesn't matter.
ACTRESS
It does to me.
ACTOR
Then—twenty-nine.
ACTRESS
That's right.
ACTOR
The white coat—was that of a Guardsman.
ACTRESS
It was my wrap.
ACTOR
It was your wrap; fine, it was your wrap. Then there was the helmet with a white plume, on the couch. Or was that something else too?
ACTRESS
My hat with the white feathers. It made my head ache, so I took it off.
ACTOR
All right! It was your hat. But wait, there is more... While you were hiding in the back of the box and speaking to your white wrap and hat with the white feathers, Mother got up, went toward you, saw something, covered her face with her hands, and quickly went back to her seat. What surprised Mother?
_(_ 'MOTHER' _enters)_
ACTRESS
Ask her.
'MOTHER' _('innocently')_
What's going on here?
ACTOR
No, no! The moment I ask Mother if anyone was in the box, a hundred and fifty lies will come out of her in one breath. No, I'm not going to bother to ask you anything because I already know it was not a Guardsman's coat but a wrap and not a plume, but feathers, and you covered your face with your hands because the Guardsman wasn't with my wife. On second thought, let's not let her leave without at least one lie:
_(to_ 'MOTHER' _)_
So why did you cover your face with your hands?
'MOTHER'
I was remembering you, dear.
_(She goes to the door)_
ACTOR
Careful opening the door, the Maid's listening there.
'MOTHER'
Is she? <PERSON>, I'm opening the door.
_(She goes out carefully)_
_(Pause)_
ACTOR
Did <PERSON> come to the box?
ACTRESS
He did.
ACTOR
Did you introduce him to anyone?
ACTRESS
As there was no one was there, whom would I be introducing?
ACTOR
And if <PERSON> were to come here now?
ACTRESS
There are two possibilities. One, there was no one in the box, and <PERSON> will say there was no...
ACTOR
And if there was someone.
ACTRESS
Two, <PERSON> will look first at me, and without so much as a wink from me, he'll know what to say.
ACTOR
Very good! So if <PERSON> first looks at you, then there was someone.
ACTRESS
<PERSON> will look at me as soon as he comes in. Before you could have asked him anything.
ACTOR
Very good. And when I go now to see him? When I ask him and you're not there? What happens then?
ACTRESS
Then he's looked at me this morning.
ACTOR
And if I've gone to see him last night?
ACTRESS
Then he's looked at me the day before yesterday. And so
|
d7aa858a-8f6c-dede-c6f4-1743acd2c551
|
['cee534b6-01f1-311d-971a-de1b7262122c']
|
the bell alone.
ACTRESS
What is this?
ACTOR _(mocking)_
"What is this?"
ACTRESS
So—one by one the questions become a trial? And here I thought you were just being sweet for a change, and only interested in how I spent my evening... But it appears that I'm on trial. And now there is a soldier too, and I'm supposed to be guilty of something. This just gets better and better.
ACTOR
Don't. Don't. Don't!
ACTRESS
I think you have lost your mind.
ACTOR
Don't. Don't.
ACTRESS
This is really too much. I need to get to the bottom of this mysterious soldier affair. I'll ask Mother and the <PERSON> to come in...
ACTOR
And the Maid will lie like the Mother; and the Mother like the Maid. And I will be standing here with a chorus of women telling me lies.
ACTRESS
Then I don't understand what you want.
ACTOR
I don't want anything.
ACTRESS
I demand that you tell me what this is about, why are you accusing me? Who have you been talking to?
ACTOR
No one has told me anything. Yesterday, after I had gone, a soldier was here.
_(_ ACTRESS _goes to ring the bell)_
Don't bother. Let's just assume that they've come and gone, they've lied, even that the soldier came to see <PERSON>.
ACTRESS
What do you want from me?
ACTOR
Wait. You'll find out.
ACTRESS
You should be ashamed of yourself! I'd never have believed this. That it would come to this.
ACTOR
First things first, dear. Let's say a soldier was here, and <PERSON> has sworn on pain of death, with a rush of tears, that he had come to see her. But—there are soldiers, and then there are soldiers.
ACTRESS
Where is this going?
ACTOR
Soldiers and soldiers, but this soldier wore a helmet...
ACTRESS
So do firemen. So maybe it wasn't a soldier after all, but a fireman.
_('smiling')_
So you think I'm in love with a fireman?
ACTOR
A fireman?
ACTRESS
How should I know? I'll ask.
ACTOR
Not you. I want to see if she figures out she's to say it was a fireman.
_(he quickly opens the door)_
MAID
Ow!
ACTOR
What? Oh. You have been listening!
MAID
I was on my way in.
ACTOR
She's been listening.
_(to the_ MAID _)_
So now you know to say it was a fireman. You're going to be working for your mistress a long time.
_(closes the door)_
I'll knock the next time.
_(to_ ACTRESS _)_
Moving along, it was a <PERSON>, not a fireman.
ACTRESS
A Guardsman?? What will you say next?
ACTOR
Nothing. Except, you sat here together, then you changed your dress, went to the theatre with Mother. Second tier, "H," on the right.
ACTRESS
Did you pay someone a crown to spy on me?
ACTOR
Oh, I've paid much more than a crown.
ACTRESS
You're correct. Second tier. "H." On the right. That's where we sat.
ACTOR
You didn't do too much sitting.
ACTRESS
What is this?
ACTOR
For most of the first act, you weren't in
|
9d10946e-383d-45b5-ed11-de020fdaee60
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|
gråtunga molnen. Han kände sig iakttagen men kunde inte se någon.
<PERSON> övergick till sand stannade han för ett ögonblick och knöt badrocken hårdare om sig med två rejäla knutar. Han sneglade över staketet in till Cronas gigantiska villa. <PERSON> betydligt modestare hus hade <PERSON> och <PERSON> på sjuttiotalet för 280 000. En svindlande summa då. Värdet nu antog han låg kring fyra miljoner. Cronas villa, eller rättare sagt två mer herrgårdsliknande kolosser med strandtomt, var enligt vad han hört ryktas värderad till drygt fyrtio miljoner.
Han stod ett femtiotal meter från bryggan och väntade på att Uno skulle lämna den. I det muntliga avtalet mellan de morgonbadande männen var det bestämt att man aldrig beträdde <PERSON> innan föregående badare lämnat den. Tofflorna man tog av sig och ställde vid <PERSON> var ett tecken på att den var upptagen. Borgmästaren fick återigen den obehagliga känslan av att vara förföljd och kisade upp mot sanddynerna. Andhämtningen blev tung och han kände hur oron rev tag i honom.
Uno och borgmästaren passerade varandra på några meters avstånd.
"<PERSON>!" hojtade Uno för att höras i vinden och nickade åt borgmästaren. "Sjutton grader." Han viftade med badtermometern som han höll hårt i ena handen. Borgmästaren nickade stelt tillbaka och klämde fram ett motvilligt "<PERSON>". Han hade sedan länge slutat ta med sin termometer eftersom Uno alltid förkunnade badtemperaturen när de möttes på morgnarna. Han retade sig något oerhört på detta eftersom statistik var något av en hobby som han kunde ägna timmar åt. Under <PERSON> hade han dagligen noga bokfört temperaturen i havet och gjort små prydliga diagram. Men sedan Uno ärvt huset på Sjögatan av sin far och glidit på en räkmacka rakt in i Sjögatans badklubb, ja då hade han slutat föra statistik.
Borgmästaren tog av sig Falsterbotofflorna och ställde dem vid bryggans början. Stranden som kunde vara så härligt solklädd och full av glada barnfamiljer var helt oigenkännlig. Havet såg inte lika inbjudande ut som han önskat, men bada skulle han. Han kastade en blick ner i det mörka vattnet. I vanliga fall avtecknade sig havsbotten tydligt, men inte denna morgon. Illa till mods klev han ut på badbryggan som hade färgats mörk av regnet.
Förhör med förhinder
_Måndag förmiddag den 17 juni, på polisstationen_
"Är du helt säker?" sa <PERSON>.
"Helt säker. Jag har gått igenom allt bildmaterial och alla inregistreringar i entrén och borgmästaren var inte på kasinot den aktuella tiden, det vill säga under fredagskvällen och natten mot lördagen."
"Kan det vara så att kasinot missat att registrera honom?"
"Nej, alla gäster går utan undantag igenom <PERSON>. Först görs en ID-kontroll och i samband med den registreras besöket. Vi fotograferar alla kasinots gäster och dessa rutiner gör att säkerheten är hundraprocentig. Vi för register över alla som någon gång besökt kasinot och där noteras besökarens namn, personnummer och postadress."
"Kan du se när han var på kasinot senast?"
"<PERSON>, jag har tagit fram uppgifter för de senaste tolv månaderna och han har varit en frekvent besökare med i snitt två
|
97bfa19b-ad9e-cdb3-9f07-222dd3c0c5cd
|
['cf1cbf40-e1d7-163f-47dd-d434b23918ab']
|
steg ut med två labradorer i släptåg, en mörk och en ljus. <PERSON> studsade till när hon fick syn på Mårten, men hämtade sig snabbt.
"<PERSON> är tyvärr inte hemma."
<PERSON> noterade att hon hade mörka ringar under ögonen.
"Jag vet", svarade han tanklöst. "Jag skulle inte träffa <PERSON>", fortsatte han, men kunde bitit sig själv i tungan. Varför sa han nu så där? Klart han inte skulle träffa <PERSON>, karln var ju för sjutton död.
"Nej men förlåt, nu är jag med. Du är killen från Elakuten som ska fixa poolbelysningen. Jag trodde du skulle komma först efter lunch", sa <PERSON> och gav honom ett urskuldande leende.
<PERSON> skulle han säga till den nyblivna änkan? Din man är dessvärre död? Han dog omgiven av en massa akvariefiskar på golvet i sitt arbetsrum? Jag tror till och med att det kan vara så att din man blev mördad?
"Ja det blev lite tidigare än planerat", sa <PERSON> och <PERSON> över sin hastigt påkomna lögn. Nu skulle han slippa att lämna över dödsbudet, tänkte han nöjt. Det kunde <PERSON> få ta hand om.
"<PERSON>", sa <PERSON> och sträckte fram en hand med långa smala fingrar och välvårdade naglar med fransk manikyr. Hon hade en förvånansvärt <PERSON> som påminde honom om <PERSON>. Håret var klippt i en pojkaktig frisyr som fick henne att se lite busig ut. Hon var verkligen skitsnygg och Mårten hade svårt att ta ögonen från henne.
"<PERSON>", sa han och sträckte fram sin hand och gav henne ett ordentligt handslag. <PERSON> tryckte hans hand lika hårt tillbaka.
Hundarna kom fram och gav honom en rejäl utskällning och han försökte tafatt klappa dem, vilket fick dem att skälla ännu mer.
"<PERSON> och <PERSON>, kom hit!" sa <PERSON> strängt och på nolltid var de båda hundarna framme hos henne och <PERSON> pustade ut. Han hade ingen vidare hand med djur och tyckte bäst om små vilda djur ute i naturen, som fåglar och kaniner till exempel.
"Jag är ledsen att de skällde på dig, det är unghundar och jag har inte fått pli på dem än. Eller, ja, det är egentligen inte mina hundar", sa hon <PERSON>. "Jag passar dem bara över sommaren. Kom, följ med mig till baksidan så ska jag visa dig poolen och poolhuset", sa <PERSON> och drog iväg med hundarna och <PERSON> i släptåg.
Innan Mårten hunnit protestera befann han sig plötsligt stående vid en tom pool där han skulle installera spots. Nu kändes det lite sent att backa ur, men elektricitet var säkert ingen match, elkablar hade han dragit förr. Det var väl bara att improvisera.
"Är det något du behöver?"
"Va? Behöver?"
"Ja, verktyg eller så? Eller nej så klart, det har du naturligtvis med dig själv", sa <PERSON> och log vänligt mot honom. "Vill du ha en kopp kaffe innan du börjar jobba? Tänkte ta en kopp själv nu."
"Tack, det vore gott", sa <PERSON> som levde sig in i rollen som hantverkare med full entusiasm.
"Vill du ha mjölk eller socker?"
"Svart blir utmärkt."
<PERSON> in
|
da4b5a71-ff9a-b537-c6bc-83278f5ea660
|
['cf83d062-82bf-c4c0-600e-ed9b6cc6f42a']
|
it's up to you to season them just how you like, with chopped fresh herbs, vinegar, black pepper, and hot sauce.
I love to serve peas and beans cooked this way with a skillet of fresh cornbread (see Basic Cornbread) or simply steamed Carolina Gold rice (seeNo-Peek Rice), but they're good with just about anything from fried fish to grilled pork chops.
Pressure-Cooker Sea Island Red Peas
Serves 4 as a side
4 cups Vegetable Stock
1 cup Anson Mills Sea Island Red Peas (see Resources), soaked in water to cover in the refrigerator overnight
½ cup roughly chopped drained Preserved Tomatoes or canned whole tomatoes
2 ounces bacon, preferably Benton's (see Resources), cut into ¼-inch strips
1 small garlic clove
2 fresh bay leaves
5 thyme sprigs
Kosher salt
Equipment
Electric pressure cooker (see Note)
goes well with:
Grilled Quail with Red-Eye Gravy
Beeliner Snapper with Fried Peppers
Cured Duck Breasts with Rice Porridge
This technique for cooking dried peas and beans is pure magic. Using an electric pressure cooker opens up a whole range of flavors and textures that would take hours to achieve otherwise. With this recipe, everything goes into the cooker, you bring it up to pressure, and, in a matter of minutes, you have perfectly cooked peas. I love how the tomatoes become part of the potlikker under the high pressure.
NOTE: You'll need to start this recipe a day ahead of time to soak the red peas.
Combine all the ingredients except the salt in the pressure cooker, lock on the lid, bring the cooker up to high pressure, and cook for 15 minutes.
Carefully release the steam from the pressure cooker. Drain the peas, reserving ½ cup of the cooking liquid, and discard the garlic, bay leaves, and thyme sprigs. Season the peas lightly with salt and serve. Or transfer the peas to a container, cool to room temperature, cover, and refrigerate for up to 3 days; reheat before serving.
Braised Turnips
Serves 6 as a side
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 pounds baby turnips, tops removed and reserved for another use if desired, washed, and quartered
About ¾ cup Turnip Green Potlikker (seePotlikker-Steamed Sea Bass with Corn Dodgers) or Vegetable Stock
2 teaspoons turnip vinegar (seeHow to Make Vinegar) or apple cider vinegar
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
goes well with:
Potlikker-Steamed Sea Bass with Corn Dodgers
Braising is my preferred way to cook nearly every vegetable under the sun. Coating the vegetables in the soft but not quite melted butter creates a glaze as the liquid starts to come out of the turnips and naturally emulsifies. Try this with carrots or diced butternut squash in the winter and tender young onions in the spring.
Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the turnips and stir to coat, then add ½ cup of the potlikker and bring to a simmer, gently stirring. Cover the skillet and braise the turnips until tender when tested with a knife, 5 to 7 minutes. Check the turnips halfway through the cooking time
|
222df50e-3ed4-22c1-edb9-61c9b7b7c7e7
|
['cf83d062-82bf-c4c0-600e-ed9b6cc6f42a']
|
large bowl and a hand mixer). Cream the butter and sugar on medium speed, scraping down the sides as necessary, until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes.
Add the eggs one at a time, beating until smooth after each addition and scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary. Combine the buttermilk and vanilla in a measuring cup with a spout. With the mixer on low speed, add the dry ingredients in 3 increments alternating with the buttermilk mixture, beginning and ending with the dry ingredients, beating until incorporated, and scraping down the sides after each addition.
Pour 1⅓ cups of the batter into each prepared cake pan (if you have fewer than four pans, set the remaining batter aside) and use the back of a spoon or a small offset spatula to spread it evenly. Place two of the pans in the oven and bake for 16 to 18 minutes, until the tops of the cakes are golden brown and a cake tester inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Transfer the pans to wire racks and cool for 10 minutes, then turn the cakes out onto the racks, using a metal spatula to ease them out of the pans, and cool completely. Bake the remaining layers (if you're reusing any pans, let them cool, then prepare them as you did initially before pouring in the batter). Once the layers are cool, peel off the parchment paper.
for the icing: While the cakes are cooling, combine the cream cheese and butter in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or use a large bowl and a hand mixer). Beat the mixture on medium speed until completely combined and smooth, about 3 minutes. Reduce the speed to low and add the powdered sugar 1 cup at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary, until the icing is smooth and spreadable, about 3 minutes. With the mixer on low, slowly pour in the sorghum syrup, scraping down the sides as necessary, and mix until completely incorporated. Refrigerate the icing for 10 minutes to firm it.
To assemble: Place one layer on a cake plate and, using an icing spatula, spread 1¼ cups of the icing on top. Repeat with the remaining layers; do not ice the sides of the cake. You also do not need to smooth any icing that comes out between the layers on the outside of the cake.
Sprinkle the black walnut pieces evenly over the top of the cake. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving.
Cut the cake into slices and serve. The cake will keep in a cake keeper or cake box for up to 5 days in the refrigerator. Remove from the refrigerator 15 minutes before serving.
Pawpaw and Banana Pudding
Serves 8
Roasted Banana Milk
3 ripe bananas (about 1 pound)
3 cups whole milk
1 tablespoon sugar
Custard
1 pound ripe pawpaws (seeResources)
¾ cup sugar
½ cup cornstarch
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
8 large egg yolks
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
|
14edd7ad-3f63-0bb3-0946-36d73d4b2b6c
|
['cfc2001a-94fe-46f8-29ce-287002442e7a']
|
install the software with the following steps:
1. Download Appium from the <http://appium.io/>.
2. The latest version of Appium would be available for download on the page. Currently, the latest version of Appium is <IP_ADDRESS> (<https://bitbucket.org/appium/appium.app/downloads/AppiumForWindows-<IP_ADDRESS>.zip>).
The Microsoft .NET™ framework is a prerequisite to installing Appium on Windows OS, so make sure that it is installed on the machine prior to setting up Appium. If it is not installed during the Appium setup, it will be prompted for and you will need to install it before proceeding.
After installation is finished, click on the **Appium** icon inside the installation folder. It will open in a window similar to the one shown in the following screenshot:
Now, to configure Appium for a particular application and emulator, perform the following steps:
1. Click on the **Android** icon to configure the various options. In this example, we have configured Appium for the ContactManager application with the absolute path of the `.apk` file provided under `Application Path`:
2. If the AVD is already running, it will be displayed under the **Launch AVD** drop-down list. Select the appropriate one. It is important to ensure that the **PlatformVersion** is same as that of the Android AVD under test.
3. For Android versions above 4.3, select **Appium** under the **Automation Name** drop-down list. For versions 2.3 and below, select **Selendriod**.
4. In the **General Settings** window, enter **Server Address** as `<IP_ADDRESS>` and port as `4723` (default values). Check the following options: **Pre-Launch Application** and **Override Existing Session**. It is recommended to keep the **Check for updates** option unselected for faster execution:
5. To run automation scripts on emulators, the Android SDK or Apple XCode should also be installed and any necessary settings, like environment variables, should be set as explained in the previous steps.
6. For automating a native or hybrid application, we also need to extract the `appPackage` and `appActivity` details. We can do this by either executing the `aapt` command to extract the metadata of an `.apk` file or by importing the `.apk` file in Appium, under the **Application Path** section. After importing the `.apk` file, the details would be autopopulated. To do this, execute the following command:
**prompt >aapt –debug badging <qualified name of apk.apk>**
Let's take a look at the following screenshot:
7. After this, click on the **Launch** button at the top-right corner of the Appium window, which looks like the **Play** button. The console log will start loading in the window with details.
### Appium on the Mac OS
To set up Appium on Mac OS, first of all, install it by downloading the required `.dmg` file and performing the following steps:
1. Start up the terminal.
2. Enter the `cd ~/` command to navigate to the home folder.
3. Enter the `touch .bash_profile` command to create a new file.
4. Edit the `.bash_profile` file with any available editor (like TextEdit) by running
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f0e807fe-8868-c47c-8dd1-cf6a91713cea
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['cfc2001a-94fe-46f8-29ce-287002442e7a']
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applications
* mobile web applications / Mobile web applications
* mobile web application / Mobile web applications
* hybrid applications / Hybrid applications
* mobile application tests, types
* interrupt testing / Types of mobile application tests
* UI testing / Types of mobile application tests
* installation testing / Types of mobile application tests
* form factor testing / Types of mobile application tests
* mobile automation, for agile projects
* about / Mobile automation for agile projects
* DevOps / DevOps and shift left
* shift left / DevOps and shift left
* behavior-driven development (BDD) / Behavior-driven development
* continuous integration (CI) / Continuous integration for mobile automation
* mobile automation project
* troubleshooting / Troubleshooting and best practices
* best practices / Troubleshooting and best practices
* mobile automation testing
* approaches / Mobile automation testing approaches
* automation, using real devices / Automation using real devices
* emulators-based automation / Emulators-based automation
* user agent-simulation based automation / User agent-simulation-based automation
* cloud-based automation / Cloud-based automation
* mobile cloud automation tools
* about / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* Keynote Mobile testing (formerly DeviceAnywhere) / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* Perfecto Mobile / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* TestPlant EggCloud / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* SeeTest Cloud / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* Ranorex / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* SOASTA / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* Mobile Labs / Prominent mobile cloud automation tools
* MobileCloud for HP
* about / Integrating automation tools such as UFT and Selenium
* mobile cloud tool
* about / Getting started with cloud automation
* Mobile Device Management (MDM)
* about / Automation with the optical recognition technology
* Mobile Device Management (MDM) program / Troubleshooting and best practices
* mobile emulators
* about / Introduction to mobile emulators
* setting up / Setting up a mobile emulators for automation
* Android emulator, setting up / The Android emulator setup
* iOS simulator, setting up / The iOS simulator setup
* advantages / Advantages of mobile emulators
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889ea16c-4b36-163f-7c53-2b41dc040a2c
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['d0e567a9-4997-8c05-6e33-87aa6fb761aa']
|
dokey," I hypothetically concluded, cracking open another Mickey's Wide Mouth.
At the time I shared the prejudice—common to co-op boards, landlords, and other fools the world over—that smaller dogs are somehow more domesticated. Nothing could be further from the truth. Big dogs might seem like more trouble, but they tend to be lazy and fat. Small dogs are like the most annoying runt you ever knew in high school, plus fangs.
As their name implies, purebreds tend to come from breeders, and breeders are a class apart. When it comes to deciding who is worthy of their spawn, the best ones are as selective as the Harvard Admissions Committee. More selective, actually—Harvard doesn't do home inspections.
"How's it going?" I'd ask <PERSON> by phone from the Marriott, watching the Mondavi swoosh against the bathroom water glass.
"Not too good," she'd say.
"What's the problem this time? We don't know <PERSON>? We're not on _American Idol_?"
"It's the yard. We don't have a fenced-in yard."
"We live in the New York area, for fuck's sake. Nobody has a yard."
"And we never had a Bernese before. That's a problem, too."
"First time for everything," I fumed. "What're we, supposed to get our dog from a pet store?"
Sick silence as we thought about where pet store puppies come from. If you haven't heard of puppy mills I won't kill your buzz by describing them. Just imagine the saddest song you've ever heard and add barking.
"I don't know," she said. "The last one made me fill out this four-page application and give references. I had to swear to feed the dog organic liver. We had an easier time getting the mortgage."
"What's so great about this dog anyway? It's just a stupid pet."
"I have to go," said my wife. "The other phone's ringing."
It was only after she hung up I remembered we didn't have another phone.
Eventually, she did find a breeder up in Rochester who agreed to part with a precious pet-quality Bernese for two thousand dollars. That this breeder was not in the first rank was confirmed a few years later when I mentioned her name to one of the champion <PERSON> owners backstage at the Westminster Dog Show in Madison Square Garden.
Pursed lips. "You have to be careful," she said.
But still, it wasn't a puppy mill and it's not like we had options.
My approach to marriage has been to give myself one _no_ per year, whether I need it or not. That's how I show who's in charge. I was this close to hauling out that _no_ after we wandered into the kitchen of the breeder's roomy suburban ranch house and I heard a loud _thump!_ and saw an abominable snowman slam against the back screen door—closed, mercifully—stretching its massive paws six feet in the air as it tried to smash the door in and go about its evil work.
I think I actually yelped and grabbed <PERSON>. Then the breeder woman appeared from somewhere and did about the single stupidest thing I've ever
|
8bc24caf-1595-7999-f862-e93891aefce4
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['d0e567a9-4997-8c05-6e33-87aa6fb761aa']
|
of this contributes to our canine-human equanimity.
So I run her through the CGC from beginning to end, for the very first time, in the lobby of my building. Our doorman <PERSON> functions as the "friendly stranger" because he has a bulldog, adores <PERSON>, and knows how to act around dogs.
And I am happy to see <PERSON> handle test items #1 to 3 very well: she sits as <PERSON> approaches me and shakes my hand, stands gently as he pets her, and is, of course, so perpetually gorgeous that "Appearance and grooming" (item #3) might as well have been written by her.
We punt the crowd scenes, items #4 and 5, making do with a guy who walks by with a mouse amp and a little girl.
And like most dogs who have taken puppy kindergarten five times, <PERSON>'s sit, down, stay, and recall are well-rehearsed and basically solid.
We skip "Reaction to another dog" (#8) because no other dogs happen by.
And her distraction resistance (#9) has been chiseled to an iron point over a half-decade trotting the sidewalks of Washington Heights.
Which leads us to the easy #10, "Supervised separation," where the dog is left with an unknown person for three minutes while the owner goes out of sight. I have always assumed this item is so easy that not only have we never trained for it—what's to train?—but we have never even tried it.
"Never mind the last one," I say to <PERSON>, "you probably have to get back to the desk."
"Let's do it," he says. "My <PERSON> had big trouble with it."
"Why?"
"You'll see."
And I do.
I say, as we are instructed to do, "Will you watch my dog, please?" Then I surrender the leash to <PERSON> and walk away.
The requirement to pass this item is simple: the dog must _not_ show signs of agitation, including, as enumerated in the evaluators' guidelines: whining, howling, barking, pacing, panting, breathing hard, pulling, acting insecure, or eliminating on the evaluator's shoe.
No sooner had I turned my back to leave than <PERSON> starts in on the first one.
I go into the mailbox area, closing the door behind me, and I can hear her whining get more and more frantic. At thirty seconds, she has graduated to full-throated barks.
_"Stay, girl! Stay there!_ " from <PERSON> is replaced, within a few seconds, by: _"Calm the fuck down <PERSON>!"_
And her feet scratching on the marble floor and—
At forty-five seconds I swing open the door, and <PERSON> rips herself away from <PERSON> and runs toward me as though I've just returned from ten years at sea.
"Well," says <PERSON> with a certain unattractive wisdom, "that one needs a little work."
And then my phone rings.
I MEET MY FRIEND <PERSON>, the soft-spoken lawyer, in the lobby of a new twenty-story condo on West Sixty-third Street, just east of the Lincoln Center–Fordham University complex.
The super standing next to him is pint-sized and flat-faced, black-haired, with a hard conspiratorial mouth, and as I come in off the
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a76ccb3e-dac8-f3f0-e5d9-66c08653df24
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['d0e875fe-45e9-da75-33d9-abe459b3426a']
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lived there the rest of his life, until he died in July of 1878.
Initially during the Civil War, neither side employed very many doctors. No one expected the conflict to last as long as it did or to be as bloody as it was. The combination of rifled guns, deadly ball ammunition, and close-quarters, old-war tactics, however, led to an immense number of dead and wounded. As the war continued, more and more doctors had to be recruited. But very few of these doctors were skilled in the one area of medicine that would become all too common during the war–surgery.
But they would get experience. If you were a doctor during the Civil War, you had no choice. No matter what kind of medicine you had practiced before the war, you would need to develop surgical skills now to meet the demands of wartime. The most common form of surgery was amputation. Soldiers that were shot in the head or chest were often left to die, as it was considered almost impossible to help them.
Unfortunately, Civil War surgeries were often more deadly than the battlefields themselves. You might think it was obvious that before you cut into someone, you should clean your instruments and wash your hands. But this was not obvious to doctors during the mid-1800s. Surgeons often performed surgery after surgery without ever washing, using the same bloody sponges, cloths, and tools. Many patients were treated right on the ground, with no concern for the dirt and other conditions of the battlefield. Tools were primitive; a basic surgeon's kit included a saw, pliers, hooks, and a few knives of varying sizes. Since antibiotics hadn't been discovered yet, infection was rampant.
**A train of ambulances waits to carry the wounded from the battlefield to the doctors who will do their best to treat their wounds**.
**The wounded wait to be treated at a Civil War hospital in Fredericksburg, Virginia**.
**Like ether, chloroform meant that a patient could be made unconscious during surgery. It was administered via a contraption that looked like this**.
The one tool doctors did have that at least helped the patient endure the pain was chloroform. This was used to put patients to sleep, so it kept them from feeling pain during the operation.
As bad as the Civil War was, it did have one benefit: doctors learned and began to change their practices as a result of their experiences during the war. By the end of the war, surgeons were performing amputations much more efficiently, in around ten minutes, and the government developed the Sanitary Commission, which made great strides toward educating people on how and why to keep hospitals and camps more sanitary. These were the first steps toward a healthier future.
**Part III**
After the War (1865–1900)
_1867_
_1867 United States purchases Alaska from Russia_.
_1867 <PERSON> publishes the Antiseptic Principle of the Practice of Surgery—leads to cleaning surgical instruments and wounds, helps decrease deaths from infection_.
_1869_
_1869 Transcontinental Railroad completed on May 10_.
_1870_
_1870 Fifteenth Amendment to the
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f18fb26d-8987-5548-3189-c17d2a95f98b
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['d0e875fe-45e9-da75-33d9-abe459b3426a']
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were then drained; doctors assumed the discharge removed the toxins causing the infection.
Even more frequently, however, doctors would try purging, which involved either administering powerful laxatives to induce diarrhea or taking large amounts of emetics (such as syrup of ipecac) to induce vomiting. Still other drugs induced salivation, sweating, and urination. The emission of fluids was the goal. Blood, sweat, vomit, and pus—these were the tangible evidence that the treatment was "working."
**The instruments—and creatures—doctors used during bloodletting are shown here**.
By the mid 1830s, though, skepticism about such practices was growing among certain physicians, and some began to practice "physiobotanic" medicine. They claimed these plantbased remedies were far safer than the orthodox techniques of bleeding or offering harsher drugs. Meanwhile, "homeopathic" doctors tended to prescribe the classic drugs but in a much diluted state. Even so, these alternate approaches didn't really offer much variation of the standard treatments. Homeopathic doctors were giving the same medicine, just less of it, and botanical doctors were often offering remedies that, although plant-based, caused the same results (like vomiting).
So did any of these treatments help at all? Not really. While some of the herbal remedies may have aided the body's natural defenses, they mostly helped to relieve symptoms. In a few cases, lowering a patient's blood pressure might have been worthwhile to help the patient's muscles relax, but bloodletting more often than not severely weakened the patient at a time when he was in the most need of his strength. Imagine being deathly sick—and then having a doctor cut your skin to make you bleed. If you weren't going to die to start with, you might very well do so from blood loss! Or think about the last time you had the flu—and then imagine that a doctor showed up to make you violently throw up—or gave you blisters along with your other already unpleasant symptoms!
<PERSON> was the father of homeopathy. He believed that a medical practitioner had only three options: first, what he called "sublime," was to remove the cause of disease, something that could seldom occur in the 1800s; second, the treatment by opposites, such as laxatives for constipation, which he called "palliative;" and third, the method he recommended, treatment by similars, in which like cures like. In other words, a doctor would prescribe a little bit of the very thing that caused the same symptom the patient was experiencing, in an effort to stimulate the body's natural defense responses. Homeopathic practitioners still exist in the twenty-first century**.
**If nothing else, doctors provided a sympathetic ear to upper-class nineteenthcentury women**.
But medical advancements did take place. The fact that people were trying different medicines and considering different perspectives was a positive first step. This outside-the-box thinking is what led <PERSON> to perform the first successful surgery using ether as an anesthetic. On March 30, 1842, he painlessly removed a tumor from the neck of a patient. Other advances came later in the century, during the unfortunate, violent dispute between the American North and South—the Civil War.
**Using
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2302b25a-3b6b-9b6a-fe7b-12ad9b567f45
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['d15dfa0a-15fb-5535-fa81-ba8b931ddfb4']
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overturned all of <PERSON>' decrees and during a bishops' synod actually had <PERSON>' remains exhumed and stripped of all papal adornment15. Pope <PERSON> then ordered that two fingers of <PERSON>' right hand be cut off and that the body be thrown into the Tiber River.
Following <PERSON>, <PERSON> (II) was made Roman bishop. He restored all those appointed by <PERSON> to their offices16. Following <PERSON>, <PERSON> reigned, who called a synod in Ravenna that declared the conviction of <PERSON> as illegal. Those popes who followed were <PERSON> and <PERSON>, the latter removed by force and jailed by a Cardinal <PERSON>.
Seven months later <PERSON> took the throne, declared Cardinal <PERSON> an evildoer and thief, and had him jailed. During his reign <PERSON>' had declared <PERSON> as unworthy of wearing the papal tiara. <PERSON> had fled to the French, who aided him in returning and regaining papal worthiness.
In revenge, <PERSON> disinterred <PERSON>' body again and placed it on the throne clad in papal raiment. He then had the body beheaded and threw the remains in the Tiber River18. Soon after the remains were found by a fisherman and returned to St. Peter's. People of faith tell that sacred images appeared before him and welcomed him as he was entombed the last time.
14 _More correctly, <PERSON>_
15 _This posthumous trial, known as the Cadaver Synod, during which not only was <PERSON> sentenced posthumously but everyone who he had appointed was removed from office. Other accounts say <PERSON> removed the appointees._
16 _Besides rehabilitating <PERSON>, <PERSON> allowed <PERSON>' followers to reinterr his remains in St. Peter's Basilica._
17 _Current papal history shows <PERSON> as being responsible for the imprisonment and death of both <PERSON> and Cardinal <PERSON>._
18 _Current papal history shows that <PERSON> also had <PERSON>' remaining fingers of the right hand removed._
## Chapter 13. Archbishop <PERSON>
The holy <PERSON> was promoted from abbot to archbishop of London, and later to patriarch. Once, he called for a legendary goldsmith and ordered a chalice for which he specified the necessary gold and silver. The goldsmith completed the work with the best craftsmanship.
The devil, much displeased by this work, changed into a young woman, went to the goldsmith and asked if she could see the new chalice. The unsuspecting smith handed it to her, who returned it to him and left. Soon after, the smith saw that the chalice was damaged overall, and so began the work anew.
Again, the young woman returned, now with a large entourage, and demanded again to see the chalice. If it pleased her, she said she would also have something made. The smith, who still wasn't aware, responded to her wish. But as soon as she was gone, the new chalice was unusable.
The goldsmith began the work a third time. Meanwhile, a messenger from Dunstan came to ask if the chalice was finished. The smith told him what had happened, to which <PERSON> asked him to tell him as soon as the work
|
4ea94811-3716-5459-2ab7-a5a27d3a5c2f
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['d15dfa0a-15fb-5535-fa81-ba8b931ddfb4']
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trusted myself more than him. But to make it clear to you how one gains a whole friend, I will tell you the following tale..."
## Chapter 64. A Whole Friendship
"...A wealthy citizen in Alexandria had made a deep and profound friendship with a merchant from Baghdad, who always stopped by his friend when in Alexandria on business. It then happened that the Egyptian wooed a beautiful maiden who accepted his marriage proposal. He took the young bride into his house already before the wedding, giving her her own room in which to live.
"At the same time the merchant from Baghdad, as was his custom, also took up residence in his friend's house. The latter took him in with the greatest joy, impressing on his staff to do everything possible to make his friend's stay a comfortable one.
"The first day passed in undimmed merriment, but on the second, his guest was so ill that he could only remain in bed. The attending doctor stated that the sickness was not a physical one but rather had a psychic basis, and requested the man from Alexandria to ask his friend to share what bothered him. "I believe," said the guest, "that my illness is grounded in my strong yearning for a woman whom I saw yesterday evening in your house."
"'That will soon be proven,' replied his friend, who then led each of the women and girls in his house before his friend in a row, the last of which was his own betrothed. As soon as she appeared before the guest, he said, 'Yes, yes, she is the one from whom I can expect life or death.'
"'If she can give you life,' answered the Alexandrian, 'May God give you many days. If the maiden wills it, I will gladly surrender her with her whole dowry.' The maiden agreed with the exchange, and as soon as she agreed, the merchant was again well. When he departed, he asked his friend to seek him out in Baghdad should he have cause to visit. He himself would not likely return to Alexandria, he added, as he was retiring from his business. With that, the friends parted.
"After some years, the man from Alexandria became very poor so that one night, he departed secretly from the city. He thought of his friend's invitation and so made his way to Baghdad. The night had already settled when he arrived, and as he felt unwilling at such a late hour to seek out his friend, he decided to spend the night in a hut that was but an arrow's flight from the city.
"When he had just made himself comfortable, a man came in quick steps to the hut, fleeing from a pursuer. The pursuer found his quarry, killing him. The killer had only just escaped when six armed men appeared at the hut, finding the Egyptian by the murdered man. Taking him with them, where by the laws of the land he was made responsible for the murder because he was found at the
|
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['d1efcb8b-694a-2f41-6bad-365cd150c363']
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of the scale I used by the tiny figure walking down the centre of the track, just visible as a dark stroke left of the axeman's forehead.
Still moving away from the viewer, the track now disappears over the next ridge, and reappears beyond it slightly further to the left; they probably can't be made out at this size, but in fact there are a couple of horses beside that run of track – very small models from the Preiser company, who make model railway accessories.
Now the land falls away for the last time, and the track is a tiny thread where it leads to the gate in the palisade surrounding the village. The village houses are just small cubes of basswood cut to house shape and painted with a variety of colours. Outside the palisade, I created a beach by painting the plaster underlay with light sand-coloured acrylic; the lake itself was coloured a very pale blue-grey.
As the scene moved progressively further away from the viewer, I used finer and finer Woodland Scenics foliage and scatters to make the hedges dividing the fields diminish in size; finally, the hedges on the furthest piece of land around the village are merely green-painted sisal string, rolled in the finest turf scatter before the paint was dry, with small clumps of foliage stuck in to represent trees.
###### SECOND PHOTO, FROM RIGHT
This picture was taken from the right-hand side before the model was boxed in – an angle that the viewer through the front 'letter box' would never be able to see when the model was installed in the museum. Once again, you can see the tiny dark uprights of <PERSON> figures in the central grey area – villagers at work burning off vegetation to create a new field. On the nearside of the near hedge around this area, cows graze on grassy slopes beyond the edge of the forest. The trees in the foreground were made up with Woodland Scenics Fine Leaf Foliage. When seen through the viewing slot at the front of the box this area of forest appears to be in correct scale; of course, if seen from the lake end of the model, the forest, figures, animals and everything else would look very strange, with the giant woodcutter and his helper looming on the horizon.
This picture also suggests how unrealistic the ridges in the groundwork look when seen from the wrong point of view: a series of abrupt drops instead of gentle folds or slopes.
* * *
The final elements of this model cannot be seen in either of these photos. The sky and the far shore of the lake had to be painted on a backdrop, which curved right the way round the model; its ends were then attached each side of the flat front face of the box. It also had to curve up towards the front in the vertical plane, to be fixed above the viewing slot out of the sight line, thus giving a seamless appearance.
The whole scene was lit
|
687dd5fe-7e48-2d0b-6487-b71dd8b0085a
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['d1efcb8b-694a-2f41-6bad-365cd150c363']
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circumference in one go. Emplacing the logs one at a time was the most laborious part of the whole project, but eventually the entire palisade was finished and could be left to dry.
While I was waiting, I made up the palisade that closed off the inner end of the bailey from the motte – this was a simple log barricade without points at the top. Using more of the wooden skewers, I cut the logs to length and then stuck a few at a time together with white glue, so as to make a number of short runs of logs, which I once again coated with a thin layer of Flexi-Bark. Before the glue had had time to dry I put this palisade in place; since the glue was not completely set I was able to form the sections into the curve necessary to match the base of the motte. I set them in place in the same way as before, pushing them into a low, raised mound of 'earth'. I made a simple timber gate to set in this wall, with plasticard bracing bands and studs, in the same way as the keep door and gate.
By now the main palisade had dried, so I gave it a coat of Vallejo Weathered Wood acrylic, and faired the bottom of the logs into the earth with some more Claycrete. As a final touch I added green scatter for grass and weeds growing up to the logs.
Making up the runs of the plain logs that form the palisade that closes off the rear of the bailey from the mound. Top, plain wood, then with a coat of Flexi-Bark; bottom, a thin wash of green acrylic, and finally a dark brown wash.
The crudely sharpened lengths of wooden skewers used to form the defensive palisade around the bailey, being set into 'soil' – in this case they have not yet been coated with Flexi-Bark.
Making the steps for the timber stairs up the mound. By trial and error I found that the easiest method was to clamp a block the same width as the treads between the side rails, then to fix in the first and last steps; when these were securely dry I removed the block and finished putting in the remaining treads.
The stair platform, as finally occupied by the lady of the castle and her bodyguard.
###### MOTTE STAIRWAY
Now the main elements were in place, I had to give the folk in the keep a means of getting up and down the motte; this meant constructing a fairly solid timber stairway (too substantial to be called a ladder). Failing to find a ready-built one in the right scale, I had to go back to the drawing board – I could see another laboriously repetitive job looming up. (A guillotine tool is invaluable when you have to cut lots of pieces – of either wood or plasticard – to the same length, and it's also very useful when cutting angles.) Once again using basswood, I started out by making
|
fb513750-3185-8093-d2ba-ba124993077c
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['d337d415-c63d-c904-ff5f-0f2534f15bce']
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love of others is the driving force of mentoring; it births compassion in our hearts and compels us to action. So when we consider mentoring as intentional discipleship, let us be compelled by love—our love for God and our love for other people.
**_Mentor for Life_**
**1.** Prior to reading this chapter, what was your understanding of evangelism and its connection to discipleship? What were some of your approaches to evangelism, and what was your follow-up commitment to discipleship?
**2.** Why does it sometimes seem like there is no real difference between the lives of professing Christians and those who are lost in the world?
**3.** Make a list of three people God might be leading you to mentor. Begin praying for them as you continue reading this book.
**4.** How can the concept of mentoring help you connect your prior understanding of evangelism and the current call to make disciples?
**5.** Summarize in four or five sentences what you have learned from this chapter.
**_Tweet This_**
"Love for Christ and love of others is the driving
force of mentoring. It births compassion in our
hearts." #Mentor4Life @asistasjourney
_Three_
Shape Culture and the Church
_One of the most important functions of Christian prophets in our day is the ability to perceive the consequences of various forces in our culture and to make value judgments upon them._
**_Richard J. Foster_**
Sometimes life seems like one big interruption. Considering our communication systems and technological advancements, we spend most of our days being interrupted. Interruptions come in the form of Facebook updates, Twitter notifications, vibrating cell phones, and emails arriving in our in-boxes. Then, of course, there are the distractions of people walking into our cubicles as we attempt to work, or children barging into their parents' bedrooms unannounced, or the dear friend who requests help at the last minute because "something came up" (something always comes up). We live in a society where everything is urgent and people constantly demand our immediate attention.
Some of these attention-grabbers are telling us things about God, our lives, our priorities, and how to engage the world. We receive messages all day long about ourselves, telling us what's most important and how to live. Some of them are from marketing campaigns designed to influence our purchases or garner our votes of approval. Commercials, news articles, our favorite television shows, friends on social media—all of these are targeting us, competing for our attention, speaking to our desires, and telling us how to think.
These interruptions play into our attitudes and approaches to discipleship by allowing our overindulgent, me-centered American culture to determine what we prioritize in church ministry. We need to look at our lives and ask, _Does God really have our attention, or is he just another interruption?_ Are we actually applying God's messages to our lives or simply going with the flow of the culture? Making disciples requires that we consciously challenge people about their priorities, teaching them how to filter the messages they receive according to God's standards.
**The Influence of
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Some of my sisters insisted that my most important contributions would be inside my home and to my family, that everything else lacked value or relevance. Those messages stood in conflict with the testimony of my mother. As a result, I struggled to understand my identity, purpose, and calling as a woman, wife, and mother serving on active duty as an officer in the U.S. Marine Corps. I was asking myself, _What does God's Word say about women? Particularly, how does God feel about women like me?_ Were my service to country and my passion to raise up future leaders less important than my family commitments? Did I have to choose between them?
Going before the Lord to wrestle with these questions and having a diverse group of mentors in Christian faith to speak into my life have helped me resolve some of these uncertainties in my own heart. Embracing my true identity in <PERSON> meant that I had to embrace all of myself, just as God created me, and not try to fit into someone else's idea of who I should be because of my gender.
Embracing my identity in Christ also meant reflecting on the formative mentoring relationship I had with my dear mother. I am my mother's daughter, an African American woman from South Carolina who loves the Lord and his church. I am a leader, learner, teacher, servant, advocate, wife, mother, and friend. It is in this capacity that I have mentored from the perspective of intentional discipleship with a compassionate embrace of God's message for all women. Leaders in the church must ask, "Does God care about the things that concern women?" If you believe as I do that the answer to this question is yes, then let us consider what it means to effectively mentor women who understand their identity in Christ when they are diverse in their life stages, faith journeys, spiritual giftedness, professional work, and relational commitments.
**Relational Connections and Finding Purpose**
Understanding our identity in <PERSON> gives us purpose. God has a specific purpose for each of us, a unique calling for every individual. Our shared and primary purpose is to become disciples (followers) of <PERSON>. Our secondary callings are unique and are birthed out of our submission to the primary calling. The body of <PERSON> misses out when we attempt to force all women into one constrained understanding of the role and responsibilities of women. <PERSON>'s transformation does not mean we blindly do as other good and godly people say we should. If we are simply content to go along just to get along, we will never come to realize our true purpose in life. A great mentor and a safe community of believers will consistently point us to Christ and challenge us to follow him as we seek clarity on our faith journeys. A godly mentor models <PERSON>'s character, while calling us to completely surrender our will and desires to God's will for our lives.
God is the creator of all things, and his creative vision is big enough to
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radicalization.
In 1960, I ran for Congress in upstate New York. By then I didn't have to worry about money anymore and it was partly a lark. A friend of mine, <PERSON>, was running for President.
Q. You did a lot better than <PERSON> in your district.
A. I ran 20,000 votes ahead of him, yes. And I carried every town. I carried Poughkeepsie, Kingston, Catskill, and Hudson. But the countryside made the difference in those days. The problem was <PERSON> at the head of the ticket. If he hadn't been running, I would have been elected. That was old-fashioned politics. I quite enjoyed myself, but then I went back to novel-writing with <PERSON>.
Q. You ran as a liberal Democrat?
A. I was the nominee of the Democratic and Liberal parties, yes. But there was no such thing as a real liberal Democrat. <PERSON> was a very conservative politician, and I was much the same, as <PERSON> discovered. I think my campaign was the first he worked on. The 29th was the biggest district in the state. I had been working at it for five years before I ran. Judge <PERSON>, the Democratic chairman of Duchess County, and I had put together a little organization. We had a hand in picking candidates here and there. There was not much in the way of liberal politics then. I wanted to clean up the Hudson River. I was premature with that. I also wanted recognition of Red China. <PERSON> said, "For God's sake don't say that because there will be nothing but trouble from the China Lobby." I said "I don't think anybody will mind," and she said "At least say 'If they conform to the United Nations rules,'" so I used that dim formula.
I came up with the idea of the Peace Corps instead of military service. Of course it never occurred to me to ask what in the name of God we're doing with universal military conscription in peacetime. I hadn't thought that through. But I did think there should be alternatives to military service. So I came up with that idea and it was passed on to <PERSON> by <PERSON>, Senator from New Jersey. <PERSON> then put it in a speech at San Francisco and that's how it got started. That was about all I did.
Q. Was there any gay-baiting in this campaign?
Q. Even then it was considered bad karma to fuck around with old <PERSON>. But just to be safe I had something on every politician and publisher in the district. There was one old newspaper publisher up in Columbia County, the most conservative of the five counties. He was making some giggly hints about me, and he was also having an affair with his son's wife. So after he took one particular swipe at me, I went on the radio in Hudson, the county seat, and I was asked, "Are you getting any ideas for any novels while you're doing this?" I said "Well, every now and then I do get an
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American empire in the Philippines and comes in the year that <PERSON> is in the headlines.
A. Yes, <PERSON> was in the headlines. But more important, the book came out right after we became a debtor nation. Thirty years ago I was the first person to bring into the discourse of journalism the phrase "the American Empire." In a review of one of my early books of essays, Time magazine did a raging attack on me, saying that one of the things that made me such an evil figure was that I used that phrase, "the American Empire." We cannot be an empire, of course. I remember <PERSON> years ago saying "<PERSON>, how on earth can you say 'American Empire?' We don't have an empire. We're a republic. We believe in freedom and democracy." Now, I hope "national security state," which I'm currently explicating, will catch on.
Q. In your book 1876 your characters discuss the place of truth in fiction and historical writing. "What we think to be history is nothing but fiction," one character says. Another disagrees: "I want to know, I always want to know what is true, if anyone knows it." Therefore, he concludes, history is better than fiction. His questioner says, "But how can we know what is true? Isn't everything that is recorded just one person's effort to make himself look best?" Clearly, this is a discussion about your own writing.
A. I don't have a name for my books on American history. I don't like the phrase "historical novel" because it seems to cancel itself out even as one says it. I usually refer to them as just reflections on American history or narratives.
I use the phrase "agreed upon facts." That is all a historian can use, and this is why the pretensions of the history departments sometimes set my teeth on edge. They really think there is such a thing as "historical truth," if enough of them agree. Well, they agree on many absurd things and I brought up the subject in my second go-round on <PERSON>. During the sixties, many blacks decided that <PERSON> was a honky. Obviously he did not want the two races living side-by-side. His desire for separatism led him to advocate the colonization of freed slaves outside the U.S. That was not a practical solution, but he clung to the notion of colonization as late as July, 1864.
In the age of <PERSON> scholar-squirrels were obliged to make <PERSON> a generous, wonderful, loving man, a man without a racist bone in his body, who knew that the two races would be divinely happy together. The truth? He comes out very strongly for colonizing blacks in his State of the Union address in December, 1862. He asks for money to buy land, for a piece of what was then called New Granada, which is now Nicaragua.
<PERSON> has made the case that he could never have been serious about it. Other scholar-squirrels decide he dropped the notion because he had a vision of <PERSON>
|
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also makes him realize that cabbage is probably all <PERSON> can afford, because he is still behind in his rent. Later, as he lies in bed listening to <PERSON> singing, he resolves to be more responsible and decides to call Brother <PERSON> to discuss his job offer.
The narrator is surprised to find that Brother <PERSON> apparently expected his call, because he immediately gives the narrator directions to an address on Lenox Avenue. When the narrator arrives at the designated address, a car pulls up to the curb with three men inside, plus Brother <PERSON>, who tells him to get in and informs him that they are going to a party. After a short ride through Central Park, the car stops and the men enter the Chthonian, an exclusive private club, where they are met by a sophisticated woman (later identified as <PERSON>). Wondering about the contrast between the room's lavish decor and the men's poor clothing, the narrator surveys the scene. Brother <PERSON> guides him into a larger, even more lavishly decorated room filled with well-dressed people. The narrator overhears <PERSON> asking <PERSON> if he thinks that the narrator is black enough to be an effective leader. Deeply offended by her remark, the narrator crosses to a nearby window where he remains lost in thought. Soon the narrator is asked to join a group in the library where he is given a new name and informed that he will be the new <PERSON>.
In the midst of the celebration, a belligerent drunk demands that the narrator sing an old Negro spiritual. Before the narrator can respond, Brother <PERSON> orders the forcible removal of the man from the room, and the crowd lapses into an embarrassed silence, finally broken by the narrator's near-hysterical laughter. After numerous apologies <PERSON> asks the narrator to dance, and the party resumes.
Later that night, back at <PERSON>'s, the narrator decides that it would be best to simply place his rent money on the table the following morning, in order to avoid an emotional farewell scene with <PERSON>, and move into the apartment Brother <PERSON> provided for him.
The next morning, he is awakened by the sounds of someone banging on the steam pipes. He looks for something to use to strike the pipes and discovers <PERSON>'s coin-filled, cast-iron bank in the shape of "a very black, red-lipped, and wide-mouthed Negro," which he finds obscene and repulsive. He bangs on the pipes with the bank, it shatters, and he frantically tries to hide the broken pieces and gather up the coins. But when <PERSON> knocks on the door and tells him to come to the kitchen for breakfast, he hastily stuffs the pieces into his coat pocket, planning to get rid of them on the way downtown.
Realizing that he has no choice but to speak to <PERSON>, he goes into the kitchen and tries to give her a hundred-dollar bill, which she at first refuses to accept. Suddenly, the kitchen is invaded by a horde of roaches that have been shaken loose from the
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have the self-confidence to challenge authority figures such as <PERSON> and <PERSON>, whom he perceives to be in control of his fate.
Throughout the novel, the narrator grows from blind ignorance to enlightened awareness as he begins to listen with an open mind, to question, and to draw connections between the experiences of others and his own life. Relating to Brother <PERSON>'s predicament as <PERSON> wrestles with his conflicting desires to be a leader in the Brotherhood and to be faithful to his black community, the narrator becomes aware of his own internal conflicts.
The grandfather, the narrator's spiritual guide, represents the ancestral shadow of slavery that still haunts contemporary African Americans. According to those who knew him, the grandfather was "the meekest of men," who believed in <PERSON> conciliatory approach that, for the black man, humility is the way to progress and success. The grandfather epitomized the kind of humble, subservient black man often referred to as an "Uncle Tom." But after spending his whole life masking his feelings of hate for the whites who forced him to live a life of degradation and humiliation, he vows that his children and grandchildren must know the truth. The grandfather, on his deathbed, tries desperately to tell them that by adopting a stance of humility and pretending to "go along to get along," they are complicitors in their own destruction.
Describing his grandfather's death, the narrator notes that, after his shocking revelation that he was a traitor to his race, the old man seemed more alive in death than he had ever been in life. Thus the grandfather's spirit lives on, sporadically manifesting itself through other black men who try to provide guidance to the narrator. The narrator _sees_ his grandfather's face in other men—the vet, Brother <PERSON>, and even in the portrait of <PERSON>. Therefore, the grandfather continues to guide his grandson throughout his painful and perilous journey towards enlightenment.
# Mr. <PERSON>
Mr. <PERSON> represents the white Northern liberal who considers it his duty to _civilize_ blacks. Bearing _the white man's burden,_ <PERSON> feels compelled to help and enlighten blacks, whom he considers as a class of childlike, inferior people, lacking the skills and intelligence to help themselves, and needing a "great white father" to show them the way out of their dark and primitive world.
<PERSON>'s patronizing, paternalistic attitude, coupled with a guilty conscience over the role his ancestors played, promoting and perpetuating the slavery system, is a demonstration of what prompts financial contributions to the narrator's black college, exclusive of any genuine interest in or concern for individual blacks.
Although he appears to be a sincere, generous man, <PERSON> is simply a new breed of racist who perpetuates the tradition of exploiting and humiliating blacks, as illustrated by his hundred-dollar donation to <PERSON> after listening to his horrific story of incest. <PERSON>'s actions are equivalent to those of the Southern white racists at the battle royal who _reward_ blacks for abusing each other by tossing them brass tokens. But <PERSON>'s tactics are more subtle
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the character and the game state is stored.
This is an important point in the analogy of Eastern traditions and video games that we will revisit: What information represents a PC (or player character) in a video game, and where does it get stored and accessed? This includes information about the player/account, the character they are playing (or their avatar), information about the character's attributes and possessions, and how far along they are in achieving certain quests and accomplishments—these are all separate sets of data about the PC.
When you are logged in but away from your keyboard, the player is considered "afk" – and the avatar typically appears in a special state so that other characters know not to try to talk to you or engage with your character. When messaging one another, gamers developed many useful acronyms. One of these is "irl" which means "in real life" and is meant to ask or convey information about the player, rather than the character.
When not logged in to an MMORPG, other player characters can still communicate with your character, for example, sending you private messages, and these messages are queued up, so that you can read them when you are back "in world." Where do these messages live? They also live _outside_ the rendered world but are still part of the video game because they are handled by the video game's servers.
#### Quests and Achievements in Video Games
In most sophisticated video games today, a standard feature is a set of "quests" or "achievements" that guide the player toward what to do next. These are usually concrete actions such as "fight an orc and win" or "build a house" or "find the treasure map."
In some video games, quests can be simple. In others, they may involve complex missions. One of the main issues that virtual worlds like _Second Life_ had was that they were almost too flexible; new players, who could do anything, didn't know what to do next. In _World of Warcraft_ , when you first set up your character, there is an NPC with an exclamation point over its head that is meant to give you something to work on next.
Some games have achievements that can be done every day. Inevitably, the list of quests and achievements, which starts off as a simple list, becomes complex enough to evolve into a tree-like structure. Now quests may have prerequisites—you can't go kill the Goblin King until you have completed "find the goblin map," for example. Certain quests feed into other quests.
Still, these trees are usually very generic, and at some point, every game stores a quest/achievement manifest for the current player/character that lists what quests the player has accomplished, and which ones they have "signed up" for. This quest manifest is like a running total and is a subset of all possible quests; it is run by a quest engine.
We'll see that the concepts of quests and achievements, which are really tasks that the player needs to accomplish and master in some gameplay session, ties
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that stayed on Earth.
An unexpected implication of the theory of relativity is that there is no way to tell if two things are actually simultaneous. It really depends on the inertial reference frame of the observer. One person who is close to both events might view two events as happening simultaneously, while another who views the two events from very different distances might need to wait for the speed of light to reach them—which might happen at different times. The concept has been around for over 100 years now and is accepted by most physicists as a fundamental part of our reality—that light and motion are interrelated, and, as a result, it is impossible to know if two events are actually simultaneous or not.
There is a famous example of the car crash in London and in New York. Let's say you were in New York; in theory, you could see the car crash in your city first (since light would have to travel across the Atlantic Ocean to reach London). Theoretically, if you were in the middle of the ocean, you would see both at the same time, so which accident happened first and which happened second depends on your frame of reference more than the actual events themselves!
It's clear from <PERSON>'s theory and the experimental confirmations of it that the speed of light, and in fact, light itself, which is part of the electromagnetic spectrum, is _special_ in the world of physics.
It turns out to be special within the world of video games and computers as well: there is a fixed speed at which we can send signals between one player and the server and from the server to another player who will see those changes. Thus simultaneity is only an illusion in video games, even if we are in the same "scene" in the video game and it appears to us that both of our characters do things at the exact same time.
Theoretically, the fastest that information might travel from one part of a video game to another would be the speed of electromagnetic signals—which brings us back to the speed of light.
Why would the fastest speed at which we can send information in the physical world be the same speed that we use for sending electromagnetic signals? This is an open question and one that points to the simulation hypothesis in and of itself. If we are in a computer-simulated reality that utilizes electromagnetic signals, then one of the largest mysteries in physics—why is light so special? —actually makes sense! Once again, we see that information science can be used not just to describe but to _explain_ the structure of the physical world.
### Clock-Speed and Quantized Time in Computer Simulations
When <PERSON> later published his General Theory of Relativity, physicists began to use the term space-time, where time is defined as an additional dimension of space. Rather than simply identifying an object as occurring at coordinates (x, y, z), we began to factor in time as a fourth value, (x, y, z,
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or early 1341, <PERSON> and some of his followers took refuge from their pursuers in the church at Teigh in Rutland, a living <PERSON> had held as rector for a number of years. <PERSON> and his companions shot arrows at their pursuers, killing one and wounding some others. This was not a case of <PERSON> and his band claiming sanctuary in a church, but that the church was the most easily defended place they could find. But the forces of Justice broke into the church, dragged <PERSON> outside and beheaded him on the spot.46 A bloody conclusion to a career wherein the bow and arrow was frequently used with criminal intent.
## Men Taking the Law into their Own Hands
Men and women in medieval England do not seem to have any deep ingrained respect for the rule of law, as opposed to a very clear understanding of what they perceived as their dues and rights. This meant that 'the preservation of public order was very often the biggest problem the king had to face.'47 This applied just as much in the reigns powerful kings such <PERSON> or <PERSON> as it did in the reigns of their much less secure successors. Indeed right at the end of his reign, <PERSON> had to make great efforts to restore law and order, having let them go somewhat while he concentrated on his military activities, and subverted them to a degree by his own behaviour.48 Throughout the period men of all classes were ready to use violence or the threat of it to pursue their interests. In part this may have meant that they just couldn't be bothered to follow the legal process. But with the decline of the general <PERSON> in the fourteenth century, men seem to have lost confidence in both the competence and the independence of the Justices and courts that succeeded it. As a result they pursued their disputes in other ways. Despite this apparent lawlessness, men and women used the developing legal mechanisms to pursue disputes, particularly by obtaining writs from the King's Court, a process that started in <PERSON> reign. But it was one thing to successfully obtain a writ from the King's Court in your support, and another matter entirely to have it enforced. There is evidence that from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries that, despite increasing access to the royal courts, men also used force to obtain remedies more regularly. This seems to have been the way of it for all social classes.
The records of the Surrey Eyre of 1235 include a rather complicated case. The Steward of the Earl of Cornwall brought a complaint that when his colleagues, the Earl's Bailiffs were lodging in <PERSON> of <PERSON>'s house they were attacked. <PERSON> seems to have been a serjeant, so a man of some means who would have a relatively substantial house. For unspecified reasons, <PERSON>, <PERSON>'s son, with many other unidentified men, attacked the house, and he shot at least two arrows into the house. <PERSON> was fatally wounded by
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land by serjeantry meant that <PERSON> was a free man. A contrasting example is a tenure that reflects the demands made to keep the Welsh at bay. When <PERSON> died in 1256, an inquisition recorded that she held the manor of Chetleton in Shropshire for finding one man with a bow and arrows to go with the king to North Wales when necessary.6 <PERSON>'s economic status was higher than <PERSON>, so it may not have been just her gender that meant that personal service was not required. The precise location of where the duty is to be served, North Wales, reflects the difficulties <PERSON> faced in his relations with <PERSON>, Prince of Wales, whose stronghold was North Wales. Unusually for feudal military service this archer served when necessary, with no specification of how long or indeed how frequent his service might be. Another Shropshire landholder owed a heavier service, that of finding two serjeants one with a lance the other with arrows (no mention of a bow curiously enough), but only for the normal feudal service of forty days.7
## The Archers of Sibertoft and Stoke Archer
The lives and duties of a family of Archers can be glimpsed through several generations in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. <PERSON> held Sibertoft (spelled Sybercroft) in Northamptonshire in the latter part of <PERSON> reign for the service of providing a serjeant with a bow and arrows to serve in the king's army for forty days at <PERSON>'s expense.8 A serjeant was a free man possibly with some protective clothing such as a gambeson. It is probable given <PERSON>'s name that this was an alteration of the original service due, with <PERSON> being allowed to send an archer instead of serving in person as was required in other records. In 1274 <PERSON> made a legal complaint that the land he had a right to in Sibertoft was in fact being held 'in the king's hand', possibly as result of <PERSON>'s death. His claim was that he held this land 'by serjeantry of bearing the king's bow with the king through all the forests of England.'9 This was substantial change in the terms of the landholding, <PERSON> claiming that his tenure was for hunting-related activity. It is not clear whether he was claiming that he was the king's bow bearer, an actual post in the royal administration, or that he carried a bow supplied by the king as a huntsman. The latter is perhaps more likely because when <PERSON> was summoned in 1277 it was to a carry the King's bow for forty days' service in Wales for his lands in Northamptonshire. So at this date <PERSON> of Northamptonshire seemed to owe service in both peace and war, although this is the only reference to forest service connected to Sibertoft. The term 'carry the king's bow' suggests that as a select professional archer the king provided a suitable bow. By 1284 <PERSON> held this land on the same terms under <PERSON> In 1277 <PERSON>
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and need to respect and show respect for each other. The social aspect of LARP is the reason many people begin and stay with LARP, but if they do gain an interest in one of the aspects of LARP, it will prove to be a difficult and demanding group in which to maintain membership. This is an important point when thinking about using LARP as a tool for learning or community development; like most tools, it will not be a good tool for everyone.
So, first of all, finding harmony means recruiting people into the LARP who want to be there, and want to participate in the play that is highlighted by that LARP. The second rule is understanding that the LARP is a social community, requiring all of the management and good will that a successful community requires. Those are the first rules of harmony, and may be the only ones that can be cleanly stated. Creating and maintaining a successful LARP is an art form—a combination of good technique and good taste. If we are fortunate, good taste can be learned through experience, but developing good taste lies beyond the scope of this work. The third part of this book studies some of the basics of LARP technique. Creating harmony is an advanced technique, but an important one. Once it is understood, harmony should be a guiding principle for every other technique. A LARP will be recognizable and playable by having characters, a world, and themes, the topics of the next chapters. Bringing the LARP into harmony can be the difference between creating a clearly identifiable LARP and one that is truly enjoyable or even meaningful for the participants. As an advanced technique it requires some more experience and understanding of the basics to discuss adequately, and lies outside the scope of this work.
Both the pyramid and triangle are drawn from the language used within many of the participants in this LARP community. Two of the social leaders, organizers, and authors within the community, published a version of the triangle in a LARP magazine called _Metagame_ (Peck and Freedman, 1996). This version was only one of the forms of the triangle used by the community, and was not exactly the version used here, but their categories (gamer, actor, roleplayer) are roughly analogous to the desires for gaming, acting and immersion discussed here. The _Metagame_ article was, itself, based on work by others, spearheaded by <PERSON> in articles and blogs written to RPGNet, an RPG forum (<PERSON>, 2001). His three elements were focused on design, while <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s work focused on player experience in games.
<PERSON> initially used narrativist, simulationist and gamist to refer to games focused on producing story, reenacting a genre, and producing interesting tactical or strategic play. <PERSON> resisted placing his three design elements into a triangle, but others did so and dubbed it the GNS triangle. We should also make reference to <PERSON>, who did some of the earliest modern work on player types for role playing games. Studying MUSHes, MUCHs, MOOs, and
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but it is important to remember that LARP is a practice with distributed agency. The organizers can make the mistake of believing that they are in charge of LARP—in fact they are often called game "masters." However, most theater style LARPs are designed so that once the players are in character, the game belongs to the players, not to the organizers. The organizer is the one with the widest view of the whole of the game, but there is much that they will miss during the game. The chaotic nature of the cocktail party means that organizers will need to rely on debrief and out-of-character communication with players to learn many of the nuances that happened in-game. Other than for a few high-production LARPs, most organizers will not have the time or equipment required to fully track the practices of the players in LARP—even for fulltime researchers, tracking the movement of all characters in a relatively small 12 player LARP poses challenges. Usually, especially for LARP conducted for aesthetic and not pedagogical purposes, it is better to let the players gain control of the LARP and to simply try and keep up as best you can, understanding that you are missing much, and trying not to insert yourself too forcefully into their world, lest you break their immersion, ruin their scenes, or unbalance their game.
That doesn't mean that the organizers do not get to insert themselves into the LARP, but they should do so subtly. The following chapters on technique are for all LARP participants, players, and organizers, but they may be essential for organizers, who must understand how to guide a LARP toward more interesting interactions without undermining the players' control of the LARP. This is a delicate dance, and like all dance, it requires awareness of your surroundings and context, good communication with your dance partners, and a sense of how each part fits into the movement of the whole, even when every part of the whole is in motion.
A LARP is constructed of characters. Their back stories, capabilities, and appearance will form actions, personalities, and goals for each player and character, which are realized through interaction with other players and characters during play. The LARP is created by the interaction of all players and characters in the LARP event. By helping to craft characters that will serve the end goals of the LARP, the organizers and players can make an event more effective.
The backstory is where the pre-game story of the character is recorded. The game mechanics and implicit and explicit rules of the LARP will help define what the character can and cannot do during the event. The character adds to the complete environment of the LARP through her appearance. The action of the player in character is the acting portion of play. The personality will be the characterization that forms the immersive portion of play. The goals will form the basis for the gaming portion of play. Together the three are not play, but they inform play (Figure 11).
**Figure 11: Influences on a
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that rattled the glass fifty feet away.
She felt moisture around her legs, she remembered that. Her arms were around her stomach, instinctually, she remembered that, too.
The black cordless phone was on its side, ten feet away, and she could hear a man's voice saying, "Hello?" and "Are you OK?"
"Stay where you are, baby," she whispered. "Stay where you are."
# $200
## <PERSON>, 2001
Vacations made <PERSON> sad. Especially the five-hour trips up north to their beautiful lake cabin. She'd come to especially fear the last hour of the drive, through the smattering of small towns and lush wild forest and the cleanest-smelling air she'd ever known.
She used to revel in these things, every Fourth of July and Labor Day weekend, since they bought their cabin in the late seventies. Until 1999, when <PERSON> sold the boat—"a hole in the water you throw your money into," according to him—they boated, but she didn't miss being on the lake as much as she missed the pure joy in the getting there. It wasn't anticipation; the trip was a delight in itself.
By summer 2001, that drive had become a disheartening trek through the eroding small towns of what had once been Blotz territory. In 1983, she'd counted thirty-one Blotz signs between their home in Marine on St. Croix and the lake cabin. Because she'd noticed that, now she couldn't ignore how every summer their telltale orange-and-white logo was in fewer and fewer bar and bait shop/liquor store windows—only six, by last count. When she found out that July that the closest bar to their cabin quit carrying Blotz, <PERSON> drove back to the lake and just sat in her car for half an hour, staring at the calm evening water from the driver's seat like a tourist.
"There you are," <PERSON> shouted, walking up from the dock with a fishing pole, and no fish. "Well, it looks like we're having the steak tonight. It's tougher without a boat."
"Thank you for trying," she said.
Right then, she knew that weekend would be the last time she'd be there.
* * *
—
It wasn't that they hadn't perceived the warning signs. Unless you were at the very top, or an emerging "craft" brewer, the early-twenty-first century was a tough time for a brewery that only made lagers. Helen and <PERSON> had done their best to stay afloat, selling their struggling Galesburg plant, laying off the newest hires, and shuttering product lines. They also experimented with new slogans, from the practical ("Blotz: The Best Beer For Your Buck") to the cheeky ("Blotz: Good Enough For Who It's For") but neither had moved the needle like their most famous slogan once had.
A decade before, as the other major Midwestern breweries within a two-state range all seemed to be rapidly expanding or contributing to another's expansion, it was Orval and Joe's idea to put their money to use, eat instead of be eaten, and grow Blotz's brand portfolio. By the end of the nineties, they'd heavily leveraged themselves, purchasing six regional
|
040ac190-179d-1b30-2459-795ecf5fccae
|
['d6952eb4-16d4-5a74-c17a-14f6d74bcc1b']
|
misguided hands-on types, but more often they were cheapos who came in with coupons for two free tastings and left without buying anything. Either way, she had to correct them; wine is created when the sugar in a grape breaks down into alcohol, she'd say, and a supermarket grape has a fraction of the sugar required.
If it was close to harvest and she liked the customers, she'd take them outside to the vineyard and let them eat a Merlot grape off the vine, watching their faces as they swirled the seed-plump sugar bomb in their mouths. Can't buy that in a store, she'd say.
• • •
By Labor Day, the Merlot in the vineyard had a Brix of 23, and in her opinion was ready to be harvested. It was always the first harvest of the year—the Cabs, Zinfandels, and Petite Syrahs came much later—and <PERSON> loved it. Other vineyards waited on their Merlot, harvesting it at 26 or 27 to make big, jammy, alcoholic varietals, and although these were popular, to her they lacked the nuance and the restraint of a grape that leaves its vine a little early. She also felt that it was a little easier on the vine, not stressing itself out and yielding its vanishing October nutrients into desiccating grapes, even though stressed vines often lead to wonderful wines.
• • •
On September 5, the first day of the Merlot harvest at Tettegouche Vineyards that year, <PERSON> was stuck in the tasting room. <PERSON>, the sales and wine club manager, who would normally handle the tasting room by herself during the harvest, was out sick, and the job fell to <PERSON>, the most recent hire. She had said when she came aboard as combination sales manager and associate winemaker that she would do her part to help make another unknown operation famous, just as she had with Daniel Anthony Vineyards and Solomon Creek Winery. Whatever that entailed.
She wiped down the long black marble counter and set a single bronze spit bucket in the center, because she didn't want to have to clean more than one. She removed the glasses from the dishwasher and fit wine aerators on the freshly opened bottles for today's flight and set them in a row.
The first customers of the day were a couple who arrived right when <PERSON> opened at eleven. The woman was a young hipster princess, with bangs, a patterned sundress, and cat-eye glasses. The man was an odd match for her; he looked like someone's idea of a sportswriter, with an unshaven face, a blue baseball cap, blue jeans, and a long-sleeved checkered shirt rolled up to his elbows. He looked at least ten years older than his companion.
"Two tastings," the man said, removing a Two Free Tastings coupon from his back pocket. Even if new wineries needed these tacky things, <PERSON>, she despised them.
"IDs, please," <PERSON> said, looking at the man. "Just hers, I don't need yours."
• • •
"We'll start you off with the Sauvignon Blanc," she said,
|
58f9d5e4-b616-6f97-cbcb-3eab065fff99
|
['d6a6a160-e3c9-c304-fa6b-0a3f473a21c5']
|
of his inability to fix geographical positions."
Recognizing <PERSON>'s combination of seemingly boundless physical energy with "vigor of mind," <PERSON> offered to serve as <PERSON>'s tutor during the three months that remained before his scheduled departure. At the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, the two fell into a training regime as demanding as any military exercise. Based on his own practical experience, <PERSON> had a sense of how to feed his pupil "just so much knowledge of plane and spherical trigonometry, and of the nature and use of logarithms, as was essential for his practical purposes... For eighteen hours a day he bent all the powers of his mind to overcome difficulties, for which his previous education and habits had so little prepared him."
**Edward Sabine**
_"Capt. <PERSON> kindly took <PERSON> under his own particular instructions, so that the latter was soon taught the use of astronomical instruments and became an accurate observer."_
—George Barnston (illustration credit 9.3)
Because of <PERSON>'s deep interest in the earth's magnetic properties and <PERSON>'s plan for global data collection, <PERSON> received a very individual mode of astronomical instruction. The captain demonstrated how iron bars suspended from a tripod allowed an observer to measure "the relative intensity of magnetic attraction in different parts of the earth's surface." He acquainted <PERSON> with the use of the dip circle, a compass supported on gimbals that pivots on a plane to reveal the angle the magnetic field makes with the vertical. This angle of declination had bedeviled ship's navigators since the beginning of sea travel, and <PERSON> had developed a strict set of rules for taking readings that compensated for iron objects on board.
He also taught <PERSON> how to hang a magnetically charged needle from a tripod, then watch as Earth's magnetism made that needle vibrate. In London, such a needle suspended from a tripod with special asbestos thread twitched exactly one hundred times in three hundred seconds. By measuring slight differences in the frequency of those vibrations at other locations around the world, <PERSON>, following <PERSON>'s theory, had begun to describe sweeping "isographic" curves that covered the earth in exactly the same way "that iron filings arrange themselves around a magnetized iron sphere."
**Magnetized compass needle** (illustration credit 9.4)
<PERSON> combined these experiments in magnetism with a thorough knowledge of standard nautical measurements—from the use of accurate temperature and dew point to determine elevation to the intricate trigonometry necessary to calculate latitude and longitude. In addition to the mariner's sextant, <PERSON> taught <PERSON> to use a repeating reflecting circle—a larger, heavier instrument that contained two reflecting mirrors and a full circle rather than sixty degrees of arc. The student made good progress throughout this crash course, particularly impressing <PERSON> with a "capacity which enables him to take in knowledge of various kinds under extreme pressure of time, and to keep each subject as distinct in his mind as if it were the only one of his pursuit." Perhaps <PERSON> was applying the same kind of self-trained focus that had allowed him, during his time
|
efed2851-138a-c96e-cf3f-dcffb71c193e
|
['d6a6a160-e3c9-c304-fa6b-0a3f473a21c5']
|
a dreadful havoc among the Natives and at this place half of our people are laid up with it." Two weeks later he counted fifty-two on the sick list and estimated that it had carried off three-quarters of the Indian population in the vicinity. He treated sufferers with quinine until exhausting his supply, then turned to dogwood root as a substitute. Ascending the river that same month, <PERSON> wrote:
A dreadfully fatal intermittent fever broke out in the lower parts of this river about eleven weeks ago, which has depopulated the country. Villages, which had afforded from one to two hundred effective warriors, are totally gone; not a soul remains. The houses are empty and flocks of famished dogs are howling about, while the dead bodies lie strewn in every direction on the sands of the river.
<PERSON> counted himself lucky not to have contracted the fever himself, and when he arrived at Fort Vancouver he learned he was one of the few people to remain well. Toward the end of November the pestilence broke out with increased vigor, and <PERSON>'s sick list swelled to seventy-five. But while European and mixed-blood furmen usually recovered from the illness, natives often did not. Whole villages came upstream to camp near Fort Vancouver, "giving as a reason that if they died they knew we would bury them. Most reluctantly on our part," <PERSON> wrote, "we were obliged to drive them away."
<PERSON>, one of <PERSON>'s traders, visited afflicted villages downstream from Fort Vancouver, "where the fever ghoul has wreaked his most dire vengeance." <PERSON> had heard of a similar disease in California, and believed it not to be contagious, but to come from "miasma pervading the atmosphere" and "foul exhalations from low and humid situations." Many historians see truth in <PERSON>'s assumptions, for the range of symptoms described resembles malaria, which can be carried by a species of _Anopheles_ mosquito indigenous to the lower Columbia. If sailors on board the _Owyhee_ or any other vessel on the river that year were infected with malaria, they could have introduced a new plague to the region. Once malaria is established in the mosquito population it becomes endemic, returning every summer, and that is what happened on the Columbia. The malady, known as intermittent fever, _fièvre tremblante_ , ague and fever, and the cold sick, was still in evidence four years later when <PERSON> arrived to give the first clinical description of the disease. "The symptoms are a general coldness, soreness, and stillness of the limbs and body, with violent tertial ague," he wrote. "Its fatal termination is attributable to its tendancy to attack the liver, which is generally affected in a few days after the first symptoms are developed." Although simple tonic remedies prevented many deaths at the fort, it was impossible to treat all the far-flung natives. "The aspect of things is very melancholy," he remarked.
When <PERSON> ascended the river in 1833 to help fight this continuing epidemic, he floated past numerous burial canoes on Mount Coffin and Coffin Rock;
|
25531388-7cdb-1e52-692a-4009beb041ef
|
['d764ced6-1f52-77db-b722-8c146b57876a']
|
Postfix Email Notifications, Email Forwarding, The Postfix Queue, Mail Delivery, Pipe delivery, Local Delivery, Virtual Alias Messages, Virtual Mailbox Messages, Relay Messages, Other Messages, Other Delivery Agents, Tracing a Message Through Postfix, Tracing a Message Through Postfix
components, Postfix Components
how messages enter Postfix system, How Messages Enter the Postfix System, Email Forwarding, Local Email Submission, Email from the Network, Postfix Email Notifications, Email Forwarding
email forwarding, Email Forwarding
email notifications, Postfix Email Notifications
local email submission, Local Email Submission
network email, Email from the Network
mail delivery, Mail Delivery, Pipe delivery, Local Delivery, Virtual Alias Messages, Virtual Mailbox Messages, Relay Messages, Other Messages, Other Delivery Agents
local, Local Delivery
other delivery agents, Other Delivery Agents
other messages, Other Messages
relay messages, Relay Messages
virtual alias messages, Virtual Alias Messages
virtual mailbox messages, Virtual Mailbox Messages
queue manager, The Postfix Queue
tracing a message through, Tracing a Message Through Postfix, Tracing a Message Through Postfix
arrival time, messages in queue, Listing the Queue
ASCII characters in email message body, RFC 2822 messages
assignment with a comment (parameter example), The main.cf Configuration File
attached message headers, checking for, Content-Checking
attachments with file extensions, rejecting all messages with, Comparing Patterns
attacks, Receiving Limits, Receiving Limits, DNS-based blacklists, Specifying mechanisms, Specifying mechanisms
active, Specifying mechanisms
dictionary, Specifying mechanisms (see dictionary attacks)
distributed denial-of-service, use of hijacked systems for, DNS-based blacklists
indicated by increasingly frequent errors from a client, Receiving Limits
malicious program sending garbage commands, Receiving Limits
AUTH SMTP command, Testing Your Authentication Configuration
authentication, SMTP authentication, Certificate authentication, A Postfix and Cyrus IMAP Example, SASL Authentication, SASL Overview, SASL Overview, Choosing an Authentication Mechanism, Choosing an Authentication Framework, Specifying a Framework, SASL passwords, Unix passwords, SASL passwords, Testing Your Authentication Configuration, SMTP Client Authentication, Transport Layer Security, Transport Layer Security, Requiring Client-Side Certificates, Configuring client-side certificate authentication
certificate, Certificate authentication, Transport Layer Security, Transport Layer Security
(see also TLS)
client-side certificates, Requiring Client-Side Certificates, Configuring client-side certificate authentication
framework, SASL Overview, Choosing an Authentication Framework, Specifying a Framework, SASL passwords, Unix passwords, SASL passwords
choosing, Choosing an Authentication Framework
specifying for SASL use with Postfix, Specifying a Framework, SASL passwords, Unix passwords, SASL passwords
identity, Testing Your Authentication Configuration
IMAP server, Cyrus SASL library, A Postfix and Cyrus IMAP Example
mechanism, SASL Overview, Choosing an Authentication Mechanism
choosing, Choosing an Authentication Mechanism
SASL, SASL Authentication (see SASL)
SMTP, SMTP authentication, SMTP Client Authentication
relay control with, SMTP authentication
authoritative domain nameservers, DNS Overview
authorization identity, Testing Your Authentication Configuration
authorized_verp_clients parameter, Default:
auto-responders, configuring virtual, Configuring a Virtual Auto-Responder, Configuring a Virtual Auto-Responder
automatic reply program, Delivery to Commands
auto_transition feature of Cyrus SASL, SASL passwords
auxiliary property plug-ins, SASL passwords
### B
backscatter, The Problem of Spam
backup MX, Backup MX, Fast Flushing
base64 encoding of credentials, Testing Your Authentication Configuration
Berkeley DB, Cyrus IMAP and, A Postfix and Cyrus IMAP Example
berkeley_db_read_buffer_size parameter, Default:
biff, Default:
bin and daemon (pseudo accounts), Pseudo-Accounts
binary format, aliases file, Starting Postfix the First Time
BIND (DNS server application), Email Routing
blacklisted sites, DNS-based blacklists, Restriction
|
cf70b0d4-b640-b1e0-b066-1ec2d28bf96e
|
['d764ced6-1f52-77db-b722-8c146b57876a']
|
pseudo-accounts, Pseudo-Accounts, Configuration, Creating a pseudoaccount
for daemon-based filter, Creating a pseudoaccount
for filter program, Configuration
on Unix, Pseudo-Accounts
PTR records, DNS Overview, Reverse PTR records, DNS restrictions
DNS checking rules, client restrictions based on, DNS restrictions
reverse mapping to a hostname, Reverse PTR records
public-key cryptography, Postfix and TLS, Generating Server Certificates, Creating client certificates
client certificates, Creating client certificates
generating server certificates, Generating Server Certificates
Python, Mailman requirement for, Creating a Mailman list
### Q
qmgr daemon, Queue Management (see queue management)
qmgr_clog_warn_time parameter, Possible values:
qmgr_message_active_limit parameter, Default:
qmgr_message_recipient_minimum parameter, Default:
qmqpd_error_delay parameter, Default:
queue ID, Listing the Queue, Displaying Messages
displaying queue contents by, Displaying Messages
queue management, Queue Management, Flushing Messages, How qmgr Works, Deferred Mail, Queue Scheduling, Message Delivery, Corrupt Messages, Error Notifications, Queue Tools, Flushing Messages, Listing the Queue, Deleting Messages, Holding Messages, Requeuing Messages, Displaying Messages, Flushing Messages
qmgr daemon, how it works, How qmgr Works, Deferred Mail, Queue Scheduling, Message Delivery, Corrupt Messages, Error Notifications
corrupt messages, Corrupt Messages
deferred mail, Deferred Mail
error notifications, Error Notifications
message delivery, Message Delivery
queue scheduling, Queue Scheduling
tools for, Queue Tools, Flushing Messages, Listing the Queue, Deleting Messages, Holding Messages, Requeuing Messages, Displaying Messages, Flushing Messages
deleting messages, Deleting Messages
displaying messages, Displaying Messages
flushing messages, Flushing Messages
holding messages, Holding Messages
listing messages, Listing the Queue
requeuing messages, Requeuing Messages
queue manager, Local Email Submission, Local Email Submission, Email from the Network
(see also queue management)
network email, handling, Email from the Network
queue manager, Postfix, The Postfix Queue
queue scans, Running Postfix at System Startup, Queue Scheduling
scheduled intervals for, Queue Scheduling
specifying time between, Running Postfix at System Startup
queueing messages, Postfix Components
queues, General Configuration and Administration, General Configuration and Administration, Queue Management
(see also (see also queue management; entries under individual queue names])
default Postfix directory for, General Configuration and Administration
incoming, active, deferred, hold, and corrupt, Queue Management
queue_directory parameter, master.cf, chroot, Queue Management, Default:
chroot location, specifying, master.cf
root directories for chrooted services, chroot
queue_minfree parameter, How qmgr Works
queue_run_delay parameter, Running Postfix at System Startup, Queue Scheduling, Default:
### R
rbl_reply_maps parameter, Default:
RCPT TO command (SMTP), The SMTP Protocol, The SMTP Conversation (Briefly), How restrictions work, Access maps
checking address client supplied with, Access maps
rejection of client after, How restrictions work
realtime blacklists, DNS-based blacklists, Restriction Definitions, Real-time blacklists
client restrictions based on, Real-time blacklists
restrictions based on, Restriction Definitions
Received: header, RFC 2822 messages
receiving limits, Receiving Limits, Receiving Limits, Receiving Limits, Message Delivery, Configuring a Virtual Auto-Responder
errors from a client, Receiving Limits
recipients for a single message, Receiving Limits
for any transport type, Message Delivery, Configuring a Virtual Auto-Responder
receiving mail, DNS and, DNS and Receiving Mail
receiving messages (Postfix system), Postfix Components, How Messages Enter the Postfix System, Email Forwarding, Local Email Submission, Email from the Network, Postfix Email Notifications, Email Forwarding
email forwarding, Email Forwarding
email notifications, Postfix Email Notifications
local email submission, Local Email Submission
network email, Email from the Network
recipient addresses, Listing the Queue, The SMTP Conversation
|
2e0ccf12-909b-9292-6778-bfde81669dcc
|
['da0e9c06-8051-89fd-3d82-ab3384f1f293']
|
Rodmell, where <PERSON> and <PERSON> lived in a small house mostly hidden behind high hedges. They had bought Monk's House after the war, in July 1919, three summers ago, and though the name of the house was redolent of a history, beginning in the fifteenth century, as a retreat for the monks of the nearby Lewes Priory, it was, despite this heritage, an "unpretending house," <PERSON> wrote, "long & low, a house of many doors," the ideal retreat from the "incessant nibble nibble" of London for two twentieth-century writers in search of a quiet to be broken only by the scratching of a nib pen or the striking of typewriter keys.
The house, on the town's single main street, was two stories, built of brick and flint, "very humble and unromantic," <PERSON> warned a friend, in comparison to the country house, Asheham, for which they would be exchanging it. Before moving in, <PERSON> had wondered in her diary, "but why do I let myself imagine spaces of leisure at Monks [sic] House? I know I shall have books that must be read there too... this dressing up of the future is one of the chief sources of our happiness, I believe."
Monk's House had few rooms, no electricity, and no heat or indoor plumbing. Its countervailing charms, though, included an "old chimney piece & the niches for holy water" the monks had required on either side of the fireplace, as well as expansive views across the downs to and beyond the river Ouse.
Despite a "distinctly bad" kitchen that had only an oil stove for cooking and that did double duty for heating the bath water, the pedigree conjured a Sussex home built for isolation amid natural profusion. Virginia had felt upon first sight "profound pleasure at the size & shape & fertility & wildness of the garden"—"an infinity of fruitbearing trees," "unexpected flowers sprouted among cabbages" and "well kept rows of peas, artichokes, potatoes"—and she was filled with rapture in the direction of the river, "the garden gate admits to the water meadows, where all nature is to be had in five minutes." <PERSON> had seen it the next day and agreed. "He was pleased beyond his expectation. The truth is he has the making of a fanatical lover of that garden," <PERSON> wrote. Elsewhere in England there might be "very good" country with "mystic mounds & tombs of prehistoric kings," <PERSON> thought. But everywhere else lacked the distinctive character and atmosphere of the Sussex countryside, he wrote to <PERSON> not long after their wedding, when they first thought of buying a house.
When, a few years later, <PERSON> was buying a country house, he became frustrated that the seller was fighting him penny by penny into a price he feared was too high. "Still I advised the leap, as I always advise leaps," <PERSON> wrote in her diary. In 1919, they had leapt at Monk's House.
How "ironical" it was to find the "so savagely anti-clerical" <PERSON> in a house for monks. And, to some, how appalling: <PERSON>,
|
d4b4e758-819d-2dcd-66c6-3421c4d1d76b
|
['da0e9c06-8051-89fd-3d82-ab3384f1f293']
|
had been scalded accidentally while his mother was bathing him. "<PERSON>'s boy," was now "in hospital, probably dying," just as <PERSON>—whom <PERSON> fondly called "My boy"—was in a similarly precarious state. <PERSON> heard in the melancholy of <PERSON>'s valedictory quartets the invigorating truth that there was life after unexpected tragedy. An old friend, visiting the next day, Saturday the twenty-ninth, asked him, "How can a great artist like you have stopped writing?" It was the question that <PERSON> and <PERSON> had asked themselves after seeing <PERSON>, and though it was also the question <PERSON> had been asking himself for years, on that spring day he seemed to wonder it himself in a way he had not before, and to grasp that whatever had happened or would happen to the boy—or to <PERSON>—he, <PERSON>, was alive. A farewell to <PERSON> might mean a beginning for <PERSON>.
Two days later, on Monday, May 1, he noted a change in his diary. He had sat "gloomily before my Indian novel all the morning." Perhaps the great artist had not stopped writing. It was progress and was more than he had done in weeks or even years.
* * *
In retrospect, the "holocaust" he made of his "sexy stories" was a "curious episode," he thought, a "sacrificial burning... in order that a Passage to India might get finished." For the rest of his life the burning of his old stories remained an inexplicable, almost mystical breakthrough to the future: "I will try to connect it on to 'God,'" he was to write <PERSON> decades later. But <PERSON> and the pyre of his stories were not the only thing that spring that galvanized him.
<PERSON> read a poem called "Ghosts," by <PERSON>, in the April issue of the London Mercury.
The title alone would have been enough to attract his attention, caught as he was in a mix of the morbid and romantic, thinking of the slowly dying <PERSON> as a living ghost receding in distance and time—and of himself only as a living ghost of the writer he once had been. The poem, in twenty-four numbered stanzas, began with the question that had preoccupied him since he had left Egypt two months before.
Can they still live,
<PERSON> and cry
Over the years
After they die,
Bringing us tears
Meditative?
Those we once set
With us abreast,
Shielded and cherished,
Are they distressed
If we forget
After they've perished?
The poem seemed written from within his own mind. Would the link between <PERSON> and him survive the grave, as his friend continually but unavailingly urged <PERSON> to believe? Reading the poem so soon after reading <PERSON>, <PERSON> saw that both writers had found a way to conjure the dead. <PERSON> saw it "all in the opening lines" of "Ghosts," as he had seen it immediately in his little sip of <PERSON>.
At the heart of the poem <PERSON> found the narrator's recollection of a farewell almost exactly like his from <PERSON>.
Then came his words
Back to my lips.
Softly they stole,
|
4193b8fd-752e-31c0-07b6-e432eb10497c
|
['daaf67c1-564b-30bd-c138-9ab81bfe0cbd']
|
paste your text into a site like EzineArticles, so you need to strip out the formatting. This is done easily by pasting your text into a free piece of software such as Windows Notepad (or TextEdit for Macs) to remove the formatting, before copying and pasting from your notepad into EzineArticles.
Main Article
So now it's time to enter your main article, and whether you have written it already or prefer to write it live in EzineArticles, your text needs to go in the "Article Body" box.
You really don't need to write an epic and should try to have fun with your article, rather than treating it as you would a school assignment (which for many people wasn't too much fun). While you want your article to be grammatically correct, keeping things loose and conversational is a great way to write online content. If you approach your article in the same way you would write to a friend, this can come across to the reader and make your work accessible and light.
As mentioned, people like to see bullet points or numbered lists, and using the WYSIWYG editor allows this:
"WYSIWYG" stands for "What You See Is What You Get" and is a simple editor that allows you to format your text. One of the available options is bullet points, so if you have a few points that you wish to make with your article, using the "Bullet Point" option can break up your text and make it stand out for people who skim-read:
You can also bold, italicize, and underline your keywords, although I recommend using this in no more than three instances throughout your text and only once per one hundred words.
Another way to make your article accessible to the reader, and this goes for most text, is to use plenty of paragraphs. When you're reading text online and in magazines you may notice a lot of writers employ this technique. Even though you're getting the same information, having plenty of spaces makes it look far less intimidating than huge blocks of text.
A good way to see how to format your articles is by browsing through existing articles on Ezine. Search for topics of interest and look at a few examples to get some illustrations of formatting. You may even pick up some more ideas for your own article; perhaps the author missed out some key points that occur to you.
Below your article is a small box that lets you know how many words you've written; this is really handy and helps ensure you cover the minimum amount of 400 words. There's no firm rule of thumb with the length of your article (aside from the minimum and maximum word count), but usually the more information and content the better. The more quality information you share with your audience and the more you can establish yourself as an authority, the higher the chances that readers will click on the link you leave in your resource box at the foot of the article.
Keywords
Below your author's
|
ccb7de54-72be-0f74-af0f-3761e80973a0
|
['daaf67c1-564b-30bd-c138-9ab81bfe0cbd']
|
so for my example I might include "beach," "sea glass", "ocean," et cetera.
You will need to enter the URLs of the twelve items that will make up your treasury (as well as the four alternatives) and click "Save."
Once your treasury is live on Etsy, it's a good idea to send a quick message to each of the people you've featured. This is common courtesy and also a great way to get to know other Etsy sellers. There is also a chance that they may visit your shop and potentially refer you to other people.
An additional chance for exposure comes from the possibility that these twelve (or eleven if you feature one of your items) sellers may e-mail a link of your treasury to their friends and family, which could bring even more people to your shop.
Making treasuries is a wonderful way to engage on Etsy, to meet new people and raise the possibilities that you will be included in other people's treasuries. It's also a fun way of inadvertently promoting yourself while taking part in a creative pursuit; finding colors or items that match a theme requires creativity, and it's as though you're embarking on your own treasure hunt. Coming up with great titles for your treasuries also gives you good practice for creating catchy and compelling slogans, which is an invaluable set of skills when it comes to marketing.
If you make enough treasuries, which people can really connect with and enjoy, people on Etsy may get to know your name, which is always helpful. The more opportunities you get to interact with other Etsy sellers, the more you become a part of this often supportive and inspiring community.
ACTION STEPS
Browse through existing Etsy Treasuries to see how they are constructed and to get a feel for themes.
Brainstorm and note down a series of ideas for your own Etsy Treasury.
Choose sixteen items to include in your Etsy Treasury.
Find a free slot for your new treasury.
contract the sellers you included and let them know they've been featured.
Get Ahead in the Holidays
THE HOLIDAYS are an ideal time to promote your shop on Etsy; it's also a very competitive time, with sellers vying for eager shoppers.
One tactic for capitalizing on the holidays is by making sure you have a good plan in place. Anticipating the upcoming holidays months ahead can give you the jump on your competition. If you use Google Mail for your Etsy shop, as recommended, then you can set up Google Calendar to prompt you; indeed, any other form of calendar can help.
Planning
Many retail stores place orders and plan for holidays months ahead. I'm sure you've noticed this, Easter being promoted just as Christmas ends! Of course you don't need to follow this extreme, but thinking ahead is a good idea.
By placing orders for materials months ahead, you can avoid vying with other sellers who may be frantically trying to acquire the same materials on eBay
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ce8e7918-ea38-8e70-d636-cbf2653d1f29
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['dc217321-ed39-d1ac-bdbf-357c84d707c0']
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to beg a boon of thee!'
'What does she want now?' said the fish. 'Ah!' said the fisherman, 'my wife wants to be pope.' 'Go home,' said the fish, 'she is pope already.'
Then the fisherman went home, and found his wife sitting on a throne that was two miles high; and she had three great crowns on her head, and around stood all the pomp and power of the Church; and on each side were two rows of burning lights, of all sizes, the greatest as large as the highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no larger than a small rushlight. 'Wife,' said the fisherman as he looked at all this grandeur, 'are you pope?' 'Yes,' said she, 'I am pope.' 'Well, wife,' replied he, 'it is a grand thing to be pope; and now you must be content, for you can be nothing greater.' 'I will consider of that,' said the wife. Then they went to bed: but Dame <PERSON> could not sleep all night for thinking what she should be next. At last morning came, and the sun rose. 'Ha!' thought she as she looked at it through the window, 'cannot I prevent the sun rising?' At this she was very angry, and she wakened her husband, and said, 'Husband, go to the fish and tell him I want to be lord of the sun and moon.' The fisherman was half asleep, but the thought frightened him so much, that he started and fell out of bed. 'Alas, wife!' said he, 'cannot you be content to be pope?' 'No,' said she, 'I am very uneasy, and cannot bear to see the sun and moon rise without my leave. Go to the fish directly.'
Then the man went trembling for fear; and as he was going down to the shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the rocks shook; and the heavens became black, and the lightning played, and the thunder rolled; and you might have seen in the sea great black waves like mountains with a white crown of foam upon them; and the fisherman said,
'O man of the sea!
Come listen to me,
For <PERSON> my wife,
The plague of my life,
Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'
'What does she want now?' said the fish. 'Ah!' said he, 'she wants to be lord of the sun and moon.' 'Go home,' said the fish, 'to your ditch again!' and there they live to this very day.
# The Tom-Tit and the Bear
One summer day, as the wolf and the bear were walking together in a wood, they heard a bird singing most delightfully. 'Brother,' said the bear, 'what can that bird be that is singing so sweetly?' 'O!' said the wolf, 'that is his majesty the king of the birds, we must take care to show him all possible respect.' (Now I should tell you that this bird was after all no other than the tom-tit.) 'If that is the case,' said the bear, 'I
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c0f092d8-bda3-e32b-d731-2ad71282fff7
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['dc217321-ed39-d1ac-bdbf-357c84d707c0']
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the meantime the father was uneasy, and could not tell what made the young men stay so long. 'Surely,' said he, 'the whole seven must have forgotten themselves over some game of play;' and when he had waited still longer and they yet did not come, he flew into a rage and wished them all turned into ravens. Scarcely had he spoke these words when he heard a croaking over his head, and looked up and saw seven ravens as black as coals flying round and round. Sorry as he was to see his wish so fulfilled, he did not know how what was done could be undone, and comforted himself as well as he could for the loss of his seven sons with his dear little daughter, who soon became stronger and every day more beautiful.
For a long time she did not know that she had ever had any brothers; for her father and mother took care not to speak of them before her: but one day by chance she heard the people about her speak of them. 'Yes,' said they, 'she is beautiful indeed, but still 'tis a pity that her brothers should have been lost for her sake.' Then she was much grieved, and went to her father and mother, and asked if she had any brothers, and what had become of them. So they dared no longer hide the truth from her, but said it was the will of heaven, and that her birth was only the innocent cause of it; but the little girl mourned sadly about it every day, and thought herself bound to do all she could to bring her brothers back; and she had neither rest nor ease, till at length one day she stole away, and set out into the wide world to find her brothers, wherever they might be, and free them, whatever it might cost her.
She took nothing with her but a little ring which her father and mother had given her, a loaf of bread in case she should be hungry, a little pitcher of water in case she should be thirsty, and a little stool to rest upon when she should be weary. Thus she went on and on, and journeyed till she came to the world's end: then she came to the sun, but the sun looked much too hot and fiery; so she ran away quickly to the moon, but the moon was cold and chilly, and said, 'I smell flesh and blood this way!' so she took herself away in a hurry and came to the stars, and the stars were friendly and kind to her, and each star sat upon his own little stool; but the morning-star rose up and gave her a little piece of wood, and said, 'If you have not this little piece of wood, you cannot unlock the castle that stands on the glass mountain, and there your brothers live.' The little girl took the piece of wood, rolled it up in a little cloth, and went on again
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9d9b10d5-5aa3-68f2-abc3-6572dcd11976
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['dd9f48be-71fd-abba-110f-7a505bfd94a2']
|
thousand tubby <PERSON> back at me.
I can't help remembering <PERSON> words. _If he's the killer, he'll be drawn to her vulnerability the way a shark's drawn to the scent of blood._
But <PERSON> was wrong, I think firmly. Not to mention a liar.
Every day a private psychiatrist visits, while <PERSON> tactfully goes out to leave us alone. The first few sessions Dr. <PERSON> takes blood samples to check for traces of <PERSON>'s meds, but mostly we just talk about what happened. When I describe <PERSON>'s role in the operation he goes pale with anger. From what he knows of forensic psychology, he says, the sting she constructed was almost certainly illegal. Something similar was attempted in Britain once, with an undercover policewoman as decoy. The policewoman ended up having a breakdown, the judge threw out the evidence as tainted, and the psychologist was charged with professional misconduct.
"Really, you got off lightly, <PERSON>. Anyone would experience identity disturbance under that kind of pressure, let alone an untrained civilian."
Increasingly we also talk about my past, the demons I came to America to escape but which somehow smuggled themselves in with my hand luggage. Dr. <PERSON> suggests coping strategies, areas where I might be able to rescript my thought patterns using a technique called Dialectical Behavior Therapy. We all have life scripts, he tells me, narratives we construct for ourselves as children, which, left unexamined, shape the outcome of our lives. His kind of therapy is all about revealing those narratives and rewriting them.
"There's a theory," he explains, "that Cluster B disorders may result from a mismatch between the emotions a child feels and those her caregiver validates by being receptive to. If your emotional needs were ignored or even thwarted by your foster parents, it could result in the kinds of behaviors Dr. <PERSON> highlighted."
I think of <PERSON>'s warning. _For some, those are pretty dark places, <PERSON>. But you still have to go there._
* * *
—
The night before I left the hospital, Dr. <PERSON> came to see me. I thought he'd be angry I'd found a way to get out from under him, but if so, he hid it well.
"I'm not entirely surprised you're leaving us, <PERSON>," he said. "Most psychiatrists would argue that if a person's functioning okay, they _are_ okay. And you're clearly functioning pretty well."
I braced myself for the _but._
"The reason I think differently is because I've made a specialty of these particular disorders. And I can see what most practitioners can't, which is that you're putting on an act. Pretending to be someone you're not."
I leaned forward and spoke very quietly, so he had to crane forward to hear.
"You're right," I told him. "I'm just as crazy as ever. But so was that guy with the apple tree in his stomach."
* * *
—
A week after I move in, <PERSON> takes me to Liberty Island on the ferry. I never did the tourist things when I first came to New York, so
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45b38ffb-1406-c5ad-b9ef-8bdbc6ccce62
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['dd9f48be-71fd-abba-110f-7a505bfd94a2']
|
> I love to imagine myself as his Venus, receiving all those extraordinary poems. I wonder whether he knew she'd be turned on by the things he'd dared to conjure up.
>
> I say imagine...but in fact I was once in a similar position myself, and I know what it's like, being allowed inside someone's mind. An amazing feeling.
>
> I guess some people would call what that man wrote for me pornography. But to me they were as beautiful, and as honest, as any poems.
>
> x
A long wait, three days passing with no reply. Until, without warning:
> To: <EMAIL_ADDRESS>
>
> From: <EMAIL_ADDRESS>
>
> Re: Our meeting
>
> In that case, perhaps the enclosed will keep you amused in my absence.
>
> <<forclaire.doc>>
# 31
"It's all there." Excitement flickers on Frank's normally impassive face as he re-reads Fogler's fantasy for the third time. "Sweet Jesus, it's all there."
Dr. Latham doesn't answer. The only sound is her pen, tapping against her lips.
"It's just as you expected, isn't it," I say to her. "Everything you said he'd write about. Violence, pain, control..."
Frank reads aloud: " _The musky smell of your arousal fills the room like the sickly perfume of a rare flower, an orchid that releases its heavenly odors only as it starts to wither and decay..._ This is some weird shit, Kathryn."
The tapping stops.
"He could have gone down to the bookstore and copied that out from any one of a dozen books in the adult fiction section," Kathryn says reluctantly. "It's mildly deviant, certainly. But I couldn't put my hand on my heart and say only a killer could have written it."
"He hasn't eliminated himself, though."
She shakes her head. "No."
"So what do we do now?"
Dr. Latham turns to me. "He's holding back. You need to show him you're more into this than he thinks. Write back. Give him something in the same vein, but stronger."
"You want _me_ to write it? Couldn't you—?"
"Why do you think I got you to spend time on those websites? This needs to be in your voice."
* * *
—
Sitting at my laptop, I have to remind myself that I've done harder things than this, that I once went out into the New York streets and sold sweaters made of giraffe wool to commuters.
> To: <EMAIL_ADDRESS>
>
> From: <EMAIL_ADDRESS><PERSON>, receiving all those extraordinary poems. I wonder whether he knew she'd be turned on by the things he'd dared to conjure up.
>
> I say imagine...but in fact I was once in a similar position myself, and I know what it's like, being allowed inside someone's mind. An amazing feeling.
>
> I guess some people would call what that man wrote for me pornography. But to me they were as beautiful, and as honest, as any poems.
>
> x
A long wait, three days passing with no reply. Until, without warning:
> To: strangegirl667@gmail.com
>
> From: Patrick.Fogler@columbia.edu
>
> Re: Our meeting
>
> In that case, perhaps the enclosed will keep you amused in my absence.
>
> <<forclaire.doc>>
# 31
"It's all there." Excitement flickers on <PERSON>'s normally impassive face as he re-reads <PERSON>'s fantasy for the third time. "Sweet <PERSON>, it's all there."
Dr. <PERSON> doesn't answer. The only sound is her pen, tapping against her lips.
"It's just as you expected, isn't it," I say to her. "Everything you said he'd write about. Violence, pain, control..."
<PERSON> reads aloud: " _The musky smell of your arousal fills the room like the sickly perfume of a rare flower, an orchid that releases its heavenly odors only as it starts to wither and decay..._ This is some weird shit, <PERSON>."
The tapping stops.
"He could have gone down to the bookstore and copied that out from any one of a dozen books in the adult fiction section," <PERSON> says reluctantly. "It's mildly deviant, certainly. But I couldn't put my hand on my heart and say only a killer could have written it."
"He hasn't eliminated himself, though."
She shakes her head. "No."
"So what do we do now?"
Dr. <PERSON> turns to me. "He's holding back. You need to show him you're more into this than he thinks. Write back. Give him something in the same vein, but stronger."
"You want _me_ to write it? Couldn't you—?"
"Why do you think I got you to spend time on those websites? This needs to be in your voice."
* * *
—
Sitting at my laptop, I have to remind myself that I've done harder things than this, that I once went out into the New York streets and sold sweaters made of giraffe wool to commuters.
> To: Patrick.Fogler@columbia.edu
>
> From: strangegirl667@gmail.com
>
> Re: Our meeting
>
> Dear <PERSON>,
>
> Thank you for the fantasy—I enjoyed it. But believe me, the things you describe are fairly tame for me. The things I like, sometimes I scare myself with how extreme they are—God, why am I telling a total stranger this? Sometimes I look at the things that turn me on—things that make me feel powerless and vulnerable and afraid—and wonder if there must be something wrong with me.
>
> I'm telling you this because I think you might actually
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8d6d75d1-cfb9-44a5-a05a-2fb51c1df8c2
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['dddf2a2c-5909-7d29-ed6a-cf6cb5d4f4a4']
|
two colors in each row, and only one strand is used at a time.
Fair Isle
Made famous by knitwear from Fair Isle, one of the islands of Scotland, the Fair Isle technique is one form of stranded colorwork. Fair Isle is typified by its use of symmetrical geometric motifs, two-ply Shetland yarn, and muted, sophisticated colors.
Scandinavian
Stranded colorwork originating in Scandinavia (Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Finland) is very different from Fair Isle, though the knitting techniques are similar. Scandinavian colorwork is distinctive in its large, often asymmetrical motifs, three-ply yarn construction, and bright, clear colors.
Stranded Knitting Mechanics
Although the finished result may look intricate, there are really only two things you need to be aware of to get started making gorgeous stranded colorwork.
Strand Orientation
The first thing to understand about stranding is the orientation of one strand to the other. Decide which strand will be "A" and which will be "B." You will knit with only one strand at a time, while the other waits for its turn. When you change from using one color to another, keep their orientation consistent:
"A" is the background, or receding, color, and that strand should always cross below the other.
"B" is the foreground, or outstanding, color, and that strand should always cross above the other.
Float Tension
The second key to stranded colorwork is making the strands of the unused color loose enough to keep the work from puckering. When changing colors, stretch apart the last stitches made in the prior color, and then loosely lay the new color across them on the wrong side. This strand on the back of the work is called a float. Knit with the new color, releasing the tension on the previous stitches. A properly tensioned float will relax into a "swag" or "smile" on the wrong side.
Stranding Myths
Here are some common misconceptions about stranded colorwork.
You must carry strands in the left hand, the right hand, or both hands.
This myth probably comes from the fact that in other countries, knitters don't always throw with the right hand or pick with the left hand. The fact is, any way you like to knit will yield beautiful results. Whichever hand you use to wrap the yarn is the one you should use for stranding. To begin, just drop the unused color. When you are ready to change colors, let go of the previous strand and retrieve the other one. Though it feels awkward at first, your body will soon find the way it likes to hold the strands, and your speed will increase.
You have to twist the strands around one another to avoid holes in your work.
This statement is true only if you are working in intarsia (described in Chapter 6), which is a completely different form of knitting. In stranded colorwork, twisting the strands is rarely necessary. In fact, doing so can make for twisted tangles and slanting stitches.
You can knit only a particular number of stitches at a time before you are required to change colors.
This
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b0ee5489-6e9f-781f-8fda-9eafbcbb74bb
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['dddf2a2c-5909-7d29-ed6a-cf6cb5d4f4a4']
|
Hat
Here's a great project to practice knitting in the round. The simple shape easily fits various sizes, and its loose-fitting style can be worn lots of different ways. The rolled edge; k1, p1 rib; and three-needle bind off are all techniques you'll use again and again. And of course, don't forget the pompoms!
You will need
_Yarn_
Medium
SHOWN: Cascade 220 by Cascade Yarns, 100% Peruvian Highland wool, 3.5 oz (100 g)/220 yd (201 m): Blue Hawaii #9421, 1 skein (MC); Chartreuse #7814, 1 skein (CA); Anis #8908 (CB) and Como Blue #9420 (CC), about 8 yd (7 m) each
_Needles_
• Size 8 (5 mm) 16" (40 cm) circular or size to obtain gauge
_Notions_
• Spare circular needle in same size or smaller than main needle
• Stitch marker
• Tapestry needle
• Small (1 5/8" [4 cm]) Clover pompom maker or scrap cardboard
Gauge
20 sts and 28 rnds = 4" (10 cm) in St st
Take time to check gauge.
Sizes
Finished measurements: 20" (51 cm) circumference, 8 1/2" (21.5 cm) high
Construction
Hat is worked from the bottom up, in rounds.
Stitch Guide
STOCKINETTE STITCH (ST ST): Knit every st, every rnd.
K1, P1 RIB: *K1, p1; rep from * to end of rnd.
### Hat
#### Lower Edge
With CA, CO 100 sts. Pm and join for working in rnds, being careful not to twist. Knit 6 rnds. Work 6 rnds in k1, p1 rib. Break yarn.
#### Body
Join MC and work in St st until piece measures 7 1/2" (19 cm) from color change. Do not BO.
### Finishing
#### Top Seam
Turn hat inside out and place 50 sts onto spare needle. Work three-needle BO.
Weave in ends. Block hat, allowing lower edge to roll to RS. Make 2 pompoms each in CA, CB, and CC. Sew 3 pompoms to each corner of hat.
Cast On, page 10
Join a Round, page 29
Knit, page 16
Purl, page 18
Three-Needle Bind Off, page 47
Weave Ends, page 49
Blocking, page 52
Pompoms, page 56
## Felted Bag
Knitted bags can be made in any shape and size you like. Felting the finished bag will make it strong and sturdy enough to safely transport your treasures. Before felting, your bag might seem gigantic, but felting will magically transform it to the perfect size. Experiment with different color combinations, embellishments, and straps for totally different looks. Don't be surprised when all your friends ask for one, too.
You will need
_Yarn_
Bulky
SHOWN: Wool of the Andes Bulky by Knit Picks, 100% Peruvian Highland wool, 3.5 oz (100 g)/137 yd (125 m): Crush #25952 (CA), Avocado #25958 (CB), and Masala #24681 (CC), 1 skein each
_Needles_
• Size 15 (10 mm) 24" (60 cm) circular or size to obtain gauge
_Notions_
• Stitch marker
• Spare circular needle in same size or smaller than main needle
• Tapestry needle
• 32" (81.5 cm) leather purse straps (shown: Cindy's Button Company #1006 Mum)
• Hand sewing needle and thread
Gauge
9
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b15df646-0d6b-f65a-111b-72eea7d4b922
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['ddf9588d-8ab9-6fbf-5b02-6232b17e4b83']
|
in Nepal with her hydrogeologist husband and two daughters, then just two and five years old, to start a thirteen-year investment in one of the neediest countries of the world.
A devout Christian, <PERSON> considers her life's work to be all about relationships. In alignment with CVM's vision of "sharing Christ's love through veterinary medicine," she says, "my relationship with <PERSON> compels us to love and serve others, and I choose to live out my faith through using my professional talents as a veterinarian to serve others." While in developed countries, the loss of a cow may have some economic consequences, she asserts that in Nepal, it may be the difference in a child's survival or her education.
Following six months of intense language training in Kathmandu, <PERSON> and her family headed to the rural areas to work alongside local villagers who were designated as animal health workers. These people already had many of the innate skills of animal health care, because they knew their stock and what to look for if they weren't well, "but they just didn't know what to call a disease or how to care for sick animals," she says. Within two weeks of working alongside them, they could learn how to read the numbers on the thermometer, treat a water buffalo dystocia, avoid using antibiotics unless the cow has a fever, deworm their livestock, perform wound care, and carry out rabies prevention—all of which would have a major health impact in the village. They used this knowledge to help others learn.
After four years in these communities, including working in some of the poorest villages in the country, she left the area in the hands the local Nepalese whom she had trained. She and the family moved to a very remote area in the Okhaldhunga District where they settled in a village several days walk from the nearest road. Some of the more isolated villages where she worked were a three-day walk from her own. For the next four years, her community work focused on women, encouraging them to find ways to break out of the cycle of poverty and despair. Groups of women and men received training in vegetable gardening, animal health, sanitation, water potability, and literacy. <PERSON> and her team worked with the women as they applied for and then raised animals through a grant from Heifer International.
As <PERSON> and her family lived and worked in the communities, they treated all people equally, despite their established caste designation. Over time, the local women saw the values of dignity and fairness that the <PERSON> modeled, and they began to adopt some of these values over the traditional caste segregation. In one example, one of the lower caste women on <PERSON>'s staff was traveling overnight during a multi-day trip to another village. The staff stopped at a lodge for the evening and the owner stipulated that the lower caste woman sleep outside, which was the custom. Despite their higher caste privilege of being allowed to spend the night inside the safety and relative comfort of
|
d33e3e87-2e73-c994-a640-dd709b4d06c5
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['ddf9588d-8ab9-6fbf-5b02-6232b17e4b83']
|
over to the cage, they burst into relieved tears. The dog we were carefully watching was in fact their beloved pet, <PERSON>, and she turned out to be fifteen years old. Those were the kinds of cases that kept us going during some really tough times."
There's no single path to leadership. Everyone charts their courses with planned choices, unplanned opportunities, and a little luck. <PERSON> had delayed applying for an externship at the AVMA to be part of Katrina, and afterward she returned to Minnesota after her residency.
It would have been natural for <PERSON> to stay in her home state. She had left a practice and owned a ten-acre horse farm with a stallion and mares. She even had a job offer in public health. "I had it all set and things were neat and tidy," says <PERSON>, but she thought a lot about an AVMA Congressional Fellowship she had left during Katrina and remembered the public policy seed that she'd tucked away earlier. She thought, "It's now or never. I'm going to take the dice and roll it." She applied for and got the fellowship.
<PERSON> loved Washington, DC, and thought she'd stay after the fellowship, but she kept hearing about a job—a perfect fit, everyone said—in Illinois, at the AVMA. "Finally you hear it enough times and you think, ok, what _is_ this?" she says. She applied for the AVMA post as the National Coordinator of Emergency Preparedness and Response, interviewing not because she thought she'd get the job, but because she thought it would be a good learning experience simply to interview. Plus, she was passionate about this work, having lived through Katrina. "I knew that was a calling," she says, "that I was supposed to be working in this, and to have a job in disaster preparedness just seemed ideal."
Career changers, like entrepreneurs, seem infused with self-assuredness. <PERSON>'s parents had a lot to do with her confidence. Both were raised on dairy farms in rural Minnesota, working hard and paying their way through college. Her mother had an illness during much of <PERSON>'s youth, and it profoundly shaped her confidence and determination to take on new opportunities because she realized early that life is not infinite. "My mother couldn't pursue all of her dreams, so I decided I'm going to go for it," says <PERSON>.
On her most recent decision to leave the AVMA and go to the National Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners as its executive director, she says she did a lot of soul-searching and played out different scenarios. "I loved the AVMA job. It was fabulous, it was safe, I knew what I was doing, and I was making an impact, but I knew I wasn't growing and stretching, so as much as it would've been comfortable to stay at AVMA, I knew I couldn't," she says.
Even now that she's an executive director, <PERSON> still looks for ways to grow. Taking advantage of the associations of executives and CEOs, she goes to meetings to make connections and learn. She also is
|
0a10b8ac-6493-0890-bbf4-5b5b0420637d
|
['de057fe2-7803-c396-71a2-048213dc3363']
|
know, once and for all, if I had what it takes to stick it out overseas.
"Would this be a good career move for <PERSON>?" my mom asked when I told her about the job in Uganda.
"Oh, you know him. He doesn't think in terms of career moves. He simply wants to be where he can be of most use."
"Ah, <PERSON>," she said. "Such a comfort to have a live organ donor in the family."
"<PERSON>!"
"Well, who else can I count on if I ever need a kidney?" she said, and I knew she was right. Left to my own devices, I knew I would never be as good a person as <PERSON>. I planned on going out with all the kidneys I came in with. But when I'd married him, I had hitched my wagon to his good star. And for all my misgivings, I knew that I'd follow him to the ends of the earth. And now, apparently, I was going to get my chance.
"Yes, I was in therapy for three years," I shouted through the pay phone from a rest stop on the Massachusetts Turnpike. "It was very helpful. I feel much better now. What? Why was I in therapy?" A bus belched to a stop behind me. "Um, well, when I was in the Peace Corps, a friend of mine was raped and it triggered my own repressed memories of childhood sexual abuse." A stream of passengers dribbled by on their way to the restrooms. "I had severe anxiety attacks and was medically evacuated." I wondered if three good years of therapy could be undone in one ridiculous moment.
The psychologist and I had been playing phone tag for a week. After months of interviews and negotiations about <PERSON>'s contract, there was one last hurdle to clear before going to Uganda: I had to prove my emotional stability. <PERSON> was a safe bet to survive two years in a rural African outpost. After all, he had sailed through two years in the Peace Corps and happily signed on for a third. But in international work it's often a case of "love me, love my dog." And I was the dog. Since CARE would be footing the bill for both of us, they wanted some sort of guarantee that the dog could handle it.
An eighteen-wheeler blew by. "Excuse me, I missed that," I said to the invisible man on the other end of the line. "No. I haven't had an anxiety attack in about two years." I felt exposed saying all this on the side of a highway to a faceless stranger. But I desperately needed this guy to believe that I was okay enough to go to Uganda. And I desperately wanted to believe it, too.
"Do I think I'm ready to try living overseas again?" I repeated his last question and squelched the urge to say, _Why the hell else would I be standing in a truck stop having this bizarre conversation_? Instead I answered, "Yes, I'm definitely ready. I've had
|
3e9f4b80-8b64-6c99-9d50-fa8361b2167a
|
['de057fe2-7803-c396-71a2-048213dc3363']
|
was wearing a skirt like most Ugandan women do. But even in a _kitenge_ I attracted attention. It was hot and the post office was just at the end of the road; I'd decided to throw modesty to the sub-Saharan wind.
_"Ife mani sende! Ife mani sende!"_ a flock of neighborhood children greeted me just outside my gate with their familiar chant.
_"Ife_ mani _sende!" I_ yelled back at them. I put the emphasis on _me_ , which sent the children laughing and scattering in all directions.
<PERSON>'s new post office was cool and airy, and had a long wooden counter with six half-moon windows cut into the glass partition above it. Each window had a wooden sign that listed the services available there. I thought most of it was just wishful thinking or flat-out lies. Imagine purchasing a money order or making an international telephone call in Arua!
There was only one clerk behind the counter. He was seated behind the window labeled "Stamps/Post Office Boxes/Registered Mail." I jaunted up to his window, greeted him, and presented my slips like winning lottery tickets.
"You have to go over to that window," he said, pointing to the window below the sign that read "Small Packets/Packages."
"But no one is over there," I said. He leaned out of his window and pointed to the wooden sign above his head that read "Stamps/ Post Office Boxes/Registered Mail."
"This window is for stamps, post office boxes, and registered mail," he said. Then he pointed to the window next to his underneath the sign that read "Money Orders/Telex/International Telephone." "That window is for money orders, telex, and international phone calls." Then he pointed once again to the window at the far end of the counter beneath the sign that said "Small Packets/Packages." "And that window is for small packets and packages." I didn't dare to ask what was available at the three windows beneath the signs that were still blank. I just headed to the other end of the counter.
"Bloody hell." I looked over my shoulder and saw <PERSON> standing by his post office box, reading a letter.
"Problem, <PERSON>?" I detoured over to him.
"I keep telling these idiots we need an underground water storage tank."
"USAID turned down your request to fund a swimming pool again, eh?" I asked.
"Well, if ya tell 'em it's a swimming pool, of course they're gonna turn ya down. But I keep telling 'em that Arua needs an underground water storage tank. We need an underground water storage tank. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yeah, definitely. And have them put it in my backyard while you're at it."
"Yeah, I might just do that. You've got the big compound. Would go nice there."
I walked over to the Small Packets/Packages window and, wouldn't you know, the same clerk from the Stamps/Post Office Boxes/Registered Mail window came over and took my three package slips, went into a back room, and came back a few minutes later with one small box. "Fifty shillings for this one, but you will have
|
d28a0a2a-285d-7e8b-468b-4983efa2ba7d
|
['de4c1990-7ea6-90fb-a6bc-4cf7998c97e9']
|
of great value to my mother. For he begged her to see to his young grand-daughter, until he could find opportunity of fetching her safely to Dulverton. Mother was overjoyed at this, as she could not help displaying; and <PERSON> was quite as much delighted, although she durst not show it. For at Dulverton she had to watch and keep such ward on the victuals, and the in and out of the shopmen, that it went entirely against her heart, and she never could enjoy herself. Truly she was an altered girl from the day she came to us; catching our unsuspicious manners, and our free good-will, and hearty noise of laughing.
By this time, the harvest being done, and the thatching of the ricks made sure against southwestern tempests, and all the reapers being gone, with good money and thankfulness, I began to burn in spirit for the sight of <PERSON>. I had begged my sister <PERSON> to let <PERSON> know, once for all, that it was not in my power to have anything more to do with her. Of course our <PERSON> was not to grieve <PERSON>, neither to let it appear for a moment that I suspected her kind views upon me; and her strong regard for our dairy: only I thought it right upon our part not to waste <PERSON>'s time any longer, being a handsome wench as she was, and many young fellows glad to marry her.
And <PERSON> did this uncommonly well, as she herself told me afterwards, having taken <PERSON> in the sweetest manner into her pure confidence, and opened half her bosom to her, about my very sad love affair. Not that she let <PERSON> know, of course, who it was, or what it was; only that she made her understand, without hinting at any desire of it, that there was no chance now of having me. <PERSON> changed colour a little at this, and then went on about a red cow which had passed seven needles at milking time.
Inasmuch as there are two sorts of month well recognised by the calendar, to wit the lunar and the solar, I made bold to regard both my months, in the absence of any provision, as intended to be strictly lunar. Therefore upon the very day when the eight weeks were expiring, forth I went in search of Lorna, taking the pearl ring hopefully, and all the new-laid eggs I could find, and a dozen and a half of small trout from our brook. And the pleasure it gave me to catch those trout, thinking as every one came forth and danced upon the grass, how much she would enjoy him, is more than I can now describe, although I well remember it. And it struck me that after accepting my ring, and saying how much she loved me, it was possible that my Queen might invite me even to stay and sup with her: and so I arranged with dear <PERSON> beforehand, who now was the greatest comfort to me, to account for
|
77e54af1-fd0e-927f-df75-7692a5adc2d0
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['de4c1990-7ea6-90fb-a6bc-4cf7998c97e9']
|
look round. Heavy men and large of stature, reckless how they bore their guns, or how they sate their horses, with leathern jerkins, and long boots, and iron plates on breast and head, plunder heaped behind their saddles, and flagons slung in front of them; I counted more than thirty pass, like clouds upon red sunset. Some had carcasses of sheep swinging with their skins on, others had deer, and one had a child flung across his saddle-bow. Whether the child were dead, or alive, was more than I could tell, only it hung head downwards there, and must take the chance of it. They had got the child, a very young one, for the sake of the dress, no doubt, which they could not stop to pull off from it; for the dress shone bright, where the fire struck it, as if with gold and jewels. I longed in my heart to know most sadly what they would do with the little thing, and whether they would eat it.
It touched me so to see that child, a prey among those vultures, that in my foolish rage and burning I stood up and shouted to them, leaping on a rock, and raving out of all possession. Two of them turned round, and one set his carbine at me, but the other said it was but a pixie, and bade him keep his powder. Little they knew, and less thought I, that the pixie then before them would dance their castle down one day.
<PERSON>, who in the spring of fright had brought himself down from <PERSON>'s side, as if he were dipped in oil, now came up to me, all risk being over, cross, and stiff, and aching sorely from his wet couch of heather.
"Small thanks to thee, <PERSON>, as my new waife bain't a widder. And who be you to zupport of her, and her son, if she have one? Zarve thee right if I was to chuck thee down into the Doone-track. Zim thee'll come to un, zooner or later, if this be the zample of thee."
And that was all he had to say, instead of thanking God! For if ever born man was in a fright, and ready to thank God for anything, the name of that man was "<PERSON>," not more than five minutes agone.
However, I answered nothing at all, except to be ashamed of myself; and soon we found <PERSON> and <PERSON> in company, well embarked on the homeward road, and victualling where the grass was good. Right glad they were to see us again,—not for the pleasure of carrying, but because a horse (like a woman) lacks, and is better without, self-reliance.
My father never came to meet us, at either side of the telling-house, neither at the crooked post, nor even at home-linhay, although the dogs kept such a noise that he must have heard us. Home-side of the linhay, and under the ashen hedge-row, where father taught me to catch blackbirds, all at once my heart went down,
|
6aa441be-7719-384a-cbd5-9e5fe545cf66
|
['de808168-6df6-e9ce-c1cc-aa57b603a270']
|
early. Half-drunk Gumballers orbited the bar island, stopping to lean on our table for support—some more than once—in the belief we knew where the unofficial party was later that night.
<PERSON> knew, of course, but he wasn't telling anyone, not even me.
MONDAY, MAY 16, 2005
ROUTE E461 SOUTHBOUND
APPROACHING AUSTRIAN BORDER
51 MILES FROM VIENNA CHECKPOINT
LATE MORNING
"Aliray, I can't believe those army guys got up at four A.M. to block anyone from parking in front of us."
"Nine, I can't believe we left midpack and are now in the lead. God bless <PERSON>."
"I can't believe we passed five Czech police cars at 120 mph with our lights and sirens blaring and not one of them stopped us. And that cop actually standing in the highway? Did he really think we were gonna stop for a guy on foot?"
"My BlackBerry's vibrating Nine, see who it is."
"It's another one of your exes with updates from CoPilot's site. She says three cars approaching the Austrian border, in the lead. Gotta be us."
"Better be, here's outbound passport control. If the Czechs are gonna arrest us, this is their last chance. Don't say a word." I slowed down to the speed limit for the first time since leaving London. We were 50 feet from safety, then 20, then two officers stepped out and blocked our path with hands raised. One approached my window, pausing when he saw our black Policia uniforms, our bright badges glinting in the sun.
"Your license plate...you are from New York?"
"<PERSON>!" I offered him our passports, which he ignored.
"This is...police car from New York or...Španělsko?" "From...er...Spa-nels-ko. For a movie."
"Very cool, man! You may go!"
I slowly pulled out. "That was...surreal, even by my standards."
"That was the strangest thing I've ever seen," said <PERSON>.
Nine giggled. "<PERSON>...nice one. So I guess we are first."
"You never know. Let's not get cocky." A few hundred feet away a crowd of uniformed officials stood at the Austrian passport control. My mother's online scan of that day's Austrian papers suggested they would be tougher than the Belgians. There was nothing to do but proceed at 20 mph. Several officers raised what appeared to be guns. "Holy shit," said <PERSON>, "are they pointing...wait...are they pointing—" All but the officer approaching my door were...taking pictures. I stopped as they clustered in front of the car, camera-toting fans running from beyond the booths to join them. I handed over our documents and with my first-ever I-know-we're-gonna-make-it grin said, "Guten Abend, Herr Offizier!"
He chuckled and handed them to his mustached commander, who pocketed his camera and waved me out of the car.
"You are <PERSON>? From der Team Polizei!"
"Ja?"
"Bring your copilot friend! Ve must haf a picture altogether!"
Fifty miles and sixteen successfully jammed police laser guns later, we arrived in Vienna. Thousands of cheering Viennese lined the streets leading toward the Hofburg Imperial Palace, where thousands more were held back by the local Polizei—they, too, waving approvingly—as
|
5731102d-40b2-fe8b-bec2-a9c5a16800cc
|
['de808168-6df6-e9ce-c1cc-aa57b603a270']
|
light commuter traffic cruising at 75 mph.
"I'll take it to 95."
"There's the Z8," said <PERSON>, "they've slowed down."
"Their top's down. If I'm cold they've gotta be freezing."
"They'll have to stop to put it up. Pass 'em."
The Z8's distinctive blue-tinged Xenon headlights disappeared in my rearview mirror.
101
"<PERSON>, the Golden Gate guys, if they're on the west side of the bay...how long until their route intersects ours? Because they're gonna be bringing the whole damn CHP with them, and we need to get past that intersect point before they do."
"Looks <PERSON> ran his finger across the map page—"we hit the I-80/37 interchange in...maybe 25 miles. Fifteen minutes at this speed."
"Keep your eyes open as we approach."
"Passing through..." <PERSON> said. "Town of Vallejo, California, interchange coming up."
My phone rang. "<PERSON>...<PERSON>! Can y...ear me?" His English voice was smothered by wind and engine noise.
"Who is it?"
"...all o...them nicked...the bridge...we—"
"<PERSON>, what does nicked mean?"
"Maybe 'caught' or 'stopped,' I guess?"
"...was...massacre...wh...are you?"
"I can't hear you!" I lost the signal.
"Who was it?" said <PERSON>.
"I don't know, but he did say 'massacre.'"
"Interchange," said <PERSON>, "any second now." <PERSON> peered at the interchange's entry ramp. "I don't see anything."
"Cops?"
"That's what I was looking for."
"Gumballers?"
"Nothing."
"The scanner's been quiet," I said, checking that its volume was at maximum. It was.
"Let's hope we passed the main pack," said <PERSON>.
"If not, we're dead."
110
The scanner lit up.
Vacaville PD: "Ten-twenty-three on those rally vehicles..."
I let off the gas.
"<PERSON>! We just passed signs for Vacaville! And we've got Xenons coming up behind us at high speed!"
"I see him," said <PERSON>, "it's the Z8!"
"I'll let him pass...wait, hang on!" I yelled. "Yellow Ferrari! Passing on the left shoulder! And the scanner's going crazy!"
DEEDEET!
It was the Valentine 1. My hearing, keenly attuned after ten childhood years of classical piano training, recognized the single DEEDEET as a K-band signal, almost always evidence of a police radar gun within (assuming a straight road with no obstructions) four miles in either direction. This instantly set off a series of responses so frequently practiced they were as involuntary as breathing.
I hit mute and kicked the brake, sending every loose object in the car—the map book in <PERSON>'s lap, <PERSON>'s spare DV tapes, and all our cell phones—flying forward, my seat punched by the mountain of bags behind me in the sex doll's lap.
I released the brake when the speedometer read 70—moved to the right lane in an effort to hide my AutobahnPolizei M5 among a cluster of local commuters, and set the cruise control.
"<PERSON>, can we get a warning next time?"
"Just being cautious."
"Hang on, wait, we've got flashing lights coming up fast. Left lane!"
A black-and-white police car flew past us at least 90 mph.
"Whoooaaa!!!" we yelled in unison.
A CHP motorcycle flew past doing at least a hundred.
"WHOOOAAAAAA!" we yelled together.
My body tingled with excitement at our escape. "Good eyes,
|
9d030a4b-36b6-87f4-e082-11dbb262c3ea
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['de8aa7bf-cbfd-aac2-ef0b-4b4e1064bb4e']
|
vowed to take God for my whole portion and felicity, looking on nothing else as any part of my happiness, nor acting as if it were; and his law for the constant rule of my obedience, engaging to fight with all my might against the world, the flesh and the devil, to the end of my life."
And, in the Seventy Resolutions upon which he based his conduct, we find the same intrusion of his adoration of Life. They are the resolves of a Puritan: "Never to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in the most profitable way I possibly can." They are the thoughts of a Calvinist: "Resolved, to act, in all respects, both speaking and doing, as if nobody had been so vile as I, and as if I had committed the same sins, or had the same infirmities or failings as others; and that I will let the knowledge of their failings promote nothing but shame in myself, and prove only an occasion of my confessing my own sins and misery to God." And of an ascetic: "Resolved, if I take delight in it as a gratification of pride, or vanity, or on any such account, immediately to throw it by." But the very first of the vows which he made is that he will do whatsoever he thinks most to the glory of God and "my own good, profit, and pleasure . . . and most for the Good and advantage of mankind in general." And he has barely set down his duty to God when he breaks out: "Resolved, to live with all my might, while I do live."
In the year of his dedication to God, he came to know the qualities of <PERSON>, "a rare and lustrous beauty," then thirteen years old. "They say," he wrote with the modesty of a lover, "there is a young lady in New Haven who is beloved of that great Being who made and rules the world, and that there are certain seasons in which this great Being, in some way or other invisible, comes to her and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, and that she hardly cares for anything except to meditate on Him; that she expects after a while to be received up where He is, to be raised up out of the world and caught up into Heaven; being assured that He loves her too well to let her remain at a distance from Him always. There she is to dwell with Him, and to be ravished with His love and delight forever. Therefore, if you present all the world before her, with the richest of its treasures, she disregards and cares not for it, and is unmindful of any pain or affliction. She has a strange sweetness in her mind, and singular purity in her affections; is most just and conscientious in all her conduct; and you could not persuade her to do anything wrong or sinful if you would give her all the world, lest she should offend
|
e4f89374-1c8b-adfd-5a84-9435b20b9533
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['de8aa7bf-cbfd-aac2-ef0b-4b4e1064bb4e']
|
man as <PERSON> gives serious attention, and at least qualified endorsement, to the spiritualism of the rapping <PERSON> sisters, "it is a thing in favor of the kingdom of God." Dr. <PERSON>, the eldest son of the founder, was a trained scientist. He was therefore considered the most appropriate man to investigate spiritualism in the community and it was under his direction that séances were held with mediums who had been brought up at Oneida from childhood "and were of such character that there was no possibility of deception." The results differed in no essential from any other séance. After the death of the founder, some of the mediums received communications from him, but they were generally discredited in the community. In fact, all the vagaries of the time were practiced indifferently at Oneida. They used Graham bread but were not Grahamites and, although meat was sparingly used, they were not vegetarians. Tea, coffee, tobacco, and liquor were not used and it was a trial to the communists when visitors came and, in accordance with the custom of the country, spat. "The '<PERSON>' descended as the Vandals had left and soon not a spot of tobacco juice remained in all the mansion to tell a tale of filthy invaders." The Perfectionists of Oneida took most things calmly; they did not dissipate their forces in a hundred fads and fanaticisms. Instead, they concentrated them in one elaborate and fundamental experiment—the experiment of complex marriage.
It is obvious that in his complex marriages, <PERSON> created a system which corresponded to his own social and sexual needs; he tells us so himself in regard to some particulars, and the others are subject to parallel columns. He was sexually timid and his system broke down certain reserves while it raised new barriers against promiscuity. It exalted desire and put a check on lust. He was capable of exceptional restraint, and the full development of his system called for an exceptional continence. He had passed the hot flush of youth and his system was the ideal of all middle-aged men and women, since it supplied them with lovers young in years and without experience. He was tremendously virile and a born varietist, and his system allowed almost infinite change of lovers. He was unsentimental and sentiment was the one thing, after licentiousness, which complex marriage did not tolerate. At its simplest we see a tall pale man, with sandy hair and beard, extremely impressive, dominating without ever being domineering, with gray dreamy eyes and a firm mouth, a high light on his temples, a fine forehead, looking rather like the familiar pictures of <PERSON>, but unlike that tortured soul, successful with woman. And around him we see his disciples—men and women—living under a sexual régime which is eminently satisfactory to the master and is imposed on the others by religious mummery.
This picture is largely false. There is no question that <PERSON> worked out a sexual relation pleasing to men and women, that they accepted it with eagerness and continued to practice it until outsiders
|
7f88f3fd-1d81-7bd3-78d9-1d921072bed7
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['de8c40d8-2684-fdd8-e753-a661e57ddb5d']
|
light in real might be a cent, trans. And vice versa. This place is in the middle of a hole. Nothing there. Long in real, long in trans, both. Funny place, that way."
The girl now shifted through an oval opening onto a tubular passage whose floor seemed unstable, not there. She stepped onto the "floor" and was whisked off. <PERSON> followed.
After several more arcane routes and traverses along floors that weren't floors, and passageways that seemed to go nowhere, they emerged through an ordinary push-door onto a balcony, overlooking an enormous open space which <PERSON> first failed to grasp. She had to stop and get her bearings.
She was on a balcony or walkway, floored with ceramic tile in subtle geometric patterns, with a rail, which overlooked an immense atrium or park or vivarium. She couldn't tell. Down there, somewhere far below, was a forest, or a park, or a city. She couldn't tell. She saw what looked like trees, interspersed with low buildings and parklands. She could tell there was another side, somewhere far off, but she couldn't make out details. It was dim. All she could make out were strings of lights.
They passed one door, stopped at the second. The girl said, "Put your hand flat, palm down on the plate." <PERSON> did so. The door opened, swinging inward silently.
The room was modest, quiet, low-ceilinged. There was a single large bed, a sunken area with a lot of cushions, and another door leading off to the side. The girl followed her eyes, and said, "Bath there." She went in, and saw another door on the other side. "Study cubicle." The portress set the bags down, and paused.
<PERSON> handed the girl some of the money she'd changed down below, with <PERSON>'s help. The girl looked at it for a moment, and then fished in a pocket and handed <PERSON> some change back, "Too much the first time. I'm honest."
"May I ask your name? I may have to ask for you again. I don't know many people here, and there are some things I need to do...."
"<PERSON>. But you probably won't see me anymore."
"But could I ask, if I need to ask something? This is my first trip."
"Um. You grow up down there?"
"Yes."
"Call if you like. Got someone?"
<PERSON> stopped, unsure of herself, and of offworld manners. She said, uncertainly, "I had. Not sure so much now."
<PERSON> nodded, as if thinking to herself. She looked up, spoke with an odd directness. "Plenty of time to find someone. But I'll help if you like." She made a short little curtsey, which caught <PERSON> a little off guard, and left. Now she was alone, in her own place. First, _I_ need to sleep, she thought, and began pulling clothes off, all the time looking at the large bed, which looked more inviting by the second.
Sometime much later, she woke up, and for the first time in what seemed like months, her mind was clear. She turned on the lights and
|
c44ba5e9-b24d-9dfb-7145-46fa5d335827
|
['de8c40d8-2684-fdd8-e753-a661e57ddb5d']
|
be extremely careful in using them. He would plan lines of retreat, make his tests of the system, very small tests, one at a time, always leaving the area immediately. In that manner he could eventually build up the requisite knowledge, and finish the Morphodite off.
This area was clearly an area of no great significance. He stood up, forgetting to duck, and bumped his head against a cable tray, causing him to make an exclamation. He stopped, rubbing his head gingerly, and listened carefully. No sound. Good. He had to be careful. With all the metallic and hard surfaces around, sound seemed to carry in unexpected fashions; many times already he had thought to hear sounds of movement, or work, or conversation, only to find that the source was either very far away, or invisible, hidden behind the tangles of piping. Yes, quiet. He climbed back onto the catwalk he had been moving on and set off the same way he had been going. There was nothing in this immediate area he could use.
The expanded-metal walk went forward a few meters, and then made a remarkable detour around a mass of junctions. Beyond the junctions, the way ended in a metal spiral with cleated metal steps, leading down. There was a nearby light, dim, of course, but in this light, the steps seemed to be worn with much traffic, and the way suggested somewhere important, down below. <PERSON> set out without delay.
He had a picture in his mind's eye of his approximate location, relative to the level-four concourse. But as he went down, flexing his knees at the steepness of the spiral, he noted only an occasional landing or access-point, and his legs began to tire. Still, he followed the spiral down. Sooner or later it had to terminate at the ceiling of the concourse. He tried to estimate how far he had come, but found that he could not with any accuracy. In addition, the spiral did not run straight, but shifted orientation every so often, so that one could not look up or down and see any great distance along its length. Impossible to estimate. He stopped, and paused, and then set forth again, still down. No point in going back up: he already knew there was nothing up there. Apparently the environment was controlled at various points, too, in here as well as out there in the main part of the ship. But now he began counting the steps he took down. The scenery, as it were, seemed not to change appreciably. Still pipes, waveguides, cable trays, ducts of various cross-section.
When he had counted a thousand steps, he got off the spiral at the first landing, his legs aching. And the spiral continued, after a slight radial jog, even farther down! Here there was a certain dankness to the air, and some odors seemed magnified. He touched a pipe passing overhead. It was cool, and his hand came away wet. He looked again: beads of condensation covered the pipe. It bore no legend save an
|
788a644f-afad-707b-1b3d-d312a47a26d9
|
['dee16c3e-a1bb-c9ec-4c6e-89cc6238a22e']
|
any statistic is open to greater or lesser levels of interpretation.
7
Scholarly Information
Identifying, Evaluating, and Understanding It
Scholarly information is a type of information created by people known as (surprise!) scholars. While anyone who attends school can be called a scholar, in the scholarly information sense of the word scholar refers to someone who is very learned in a particular field, usually as a result of advanced education and years of study. Scholars can be divided into two broad categories: academic scholars and nonacademic scholars.
Academic scholars include the faculty, other academic employees (postdoctoral researchers, lecturers, librarians, etc.), and (in some cases) students affiliated with institutions of higher education, chiefly universities and colleges. Academic scholars tend to be especially prolific when it comes to creating information because most of them are, to greater or lesser extents, evaluated on and rewarded for producing articles, books, data sets, and other scholarly information related to their research. Nonacademic scholars are those scholars not employed by, or otherwise directly affiliated with, institutions of higher education. Nonacademic scholars may work in government or private industry, though some nonacademic scholars work independently.
So why does scholarly information matter? It matters because scholarly information is how scholars share the results of their work, and the work of scholars is vitally important to the modern world. A study presented in 2017 found that academic scholars contributed to 74 percent of the most significant inventions created since 1950 and were "the most important or a very important actor in four in 10 cases."1 (Note that these numbers do not include the substantial contributions of nonacademic scholars.) Whether the modern innovation is in health care, military technology, energy, or agriculture, scholars are likely part of that innovation's DNA. Arguably the most significant innovation of the last half century, the Internet, began as a university research project and remained as such for years before it was put to other uses. (Ironically, if not for academic scholars, online pundits and commentators would not have any platform on which to post their observations about everything that is wrong with higher education and why the world would be better off without it.)
Table 7.1 lists most of the major fields of scholarly studies arranged under four broad categories of scholarship. Note that some areas of study (such as history, law, and politics) fall under more than one category.
Table 7.1. Major Fields of Scholarly Studies under Four Broad Categories of Scholarship
Arts and Humanities | Social Sciences | Sciences | Technology
---|---|---|---
Anthropology | Anthropology | Agriculture | Aerospace engineering
Archaeology | Communications | Astronomy | Bioengineering
Classics | Economics | Biology | Civil engineering
History | Education | Chemistry | Computer engineering
Linguistics and languages | Geography | Computer Science | Electrical engineering
Law and Politics | History | Earth sciences | Information science
Literature | Law | Materials science | Mechanical engineering
Performing arts | Linguistics | Mathematics | Nanotechnology
Philosophy | Political science | Medicine | Nuclear engineering
Religion | Psychology | Physics | Robotics
Visual arts | Sociology | Statistics
|
91c2554d-1a4a-1fac-2725-7308fbe52480
|
['dee16c3e-a1bb-c9ec-4c6e-89cc6238a22e']
|
of recreational drugs by young people. Playing on mainstream fears about drug use—at least some of which were overhyped and overheated—the counterculture newspaper the Berkeley Barb published in 1967 a bit of fake news in the form of a made-up recipe for extracting from banana peels a psychoactive substance the writers dubbed "bananadine."18
Of course, there is no such substance as bananadine nor is it possible to get high from banana peels. Even so, the story spread, with members of the hippie counterculture playing along by claiming to get high from banana peels and sometimes displaying banana peels in public to disturb and provoke the establishment squares. The banana peel story was taken seriously enough that major newspapers began reporting on this new form of drug use that, unlike marijuana and LSD, would be virtually impossible to criminalize. Even the normally staid Wall Street Journal ran an article with the headline "Light Up a Banana: Students Bake Peels to Kick Up Their Heels: Exhilarating Effect Is Gained by Legal Puffing, Some Say."19
The great bananadine panic of 1967 soon blew over and is mostly forgotten today. As moral panics go, this one was not so bad. Nobody got hurt or sent to prison, and sales of bananas enjoyed a temporary surge.
Perhaps the most important question to ask about fake news and other forms of noncredible information in digital formats is, "Are people actually falling for this nonsense?" Maybe not as much as we might think. Researchers who studied the impact of fake news and social media on voting in the 2016 US presidential election concluded (with multiple caveats and conditions) that fake news "would have changed vote shares by an amount on the order of hundredths of a percentage point. This is much smaller than <PERSON>'s margin of victory in the pivotal states on which the outcome depended."17 At least in the eyes of these researchers, fake news did not change the outcome of the 2016 election, like it or not. Along similar lines, a researcher of media literacy who studied Internet users from multiple countries found that most used search engines to find news rather than going to partisan websites or hiding out in bias-confirming echo chambers. In the words of this researcher, the "panic over fake news, echo chambers and filter bubbles is exaggerated, and not supported by the evidence from users across seven countries."20 Because the research into fake news is still in its infancy, future researchers are likely to report different, possibly contradictory, findings on just how readily people swallow the bait of fake news.
Whether the furor over the fake news phenomenon is a moral panic has yet to be determined. It took a good decade for the late-1980s and early-1990s fears about ritual Satanic abuse to be exposed as an unfounded moral panic.21 Sadly, that exposure came too late for the many innocent people who had to endure costly and embarrassing court trials and, in some cases, spend years in jail for made-up crimes they never committed. What is undeniable is that fake news, propaganda,
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['def8d499-f722-5ea2-78f4-c029eb8cccf6']
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no time in setting to work, and we added to the load a little chest, which we found half buried in the sands, quite close to the waves. We also provided ourselves with some poles which lay there, that we might use them as rollers, should we stand in need of them for passing difficult places, and then we set out on our return to Falcon's Stream. When we were within a certain distance of our abode, we heard a loud firing, which informed us that the attack upon the ortolans2 was in good train; but on seeing us approach, the cries of joy which were uttered, resounded in every direction, and all ran eagerly to meet us. The chest we had brought was soon opened by a strong hatchet, for all were eager to see what was within. It contained only some sailor's dresses and some linen, which was quite wet with the sea.
I had to account to my wife for having absented myself with one of the boys, without giving her notice, or bidding her adieu. She had been uneasy, and I confessed I had been to blame. In such a situation as ours, so many unforeseen and painful events might happen! She had discovered, however, that we had taken the ass with us, and this circumstance had consoled her. The sight of so many useful pieces of wood, and the promise of a sledge for better security in conveying her provisions for the table, soon appeased her discontent, and we sat down tranquilly to breakfast.
I next inspected the booty of the three sportsmen, who had shot, in all, no less than fifty ortolans and thrushes. As <PERSON> had foretold, their first fire missed; afterwards they had had various luck, now missing and now hitting, and had used so large a quantity of powder and shot, that when, by their brother's advice, they were about to get up the tree and fire from thence, my wife and I stopped them, recommending a more frugal use of those materials, as they were our only means of defence, or of procuring food in future, or at least till we could make another visit to the vessel. I taught them how to make some snares to be suspended from the branches of the fig-tree, and advised them to use the thread of the karata, which is as strong as horse-hair, for the purpose. What is new always amuses young persons, and the boys accordingly took a great fancy to this mode of sporting. <PERSON> succeeded in his very first attempt; I left <PERSON> to assist him, and took <PERSON> and <PERSON> to help me in making the sledge. As we were all hard at work, for my wife had joined the youngest boys, we suddenly heard a prodigious clatter among the fowls; the cock crowed louder than all the rest together, and the hens ran to and fro, as if they were pursued by a fox. I wonder what is the matter with the creatures, said my wife, rising; every day
|
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['def8d499-f722-5ea2-78f4-c029eb8cccf6']
|
said I, 'if it had been pressed by hunger; they tell us, that the bear does no harm to man unless attacked, and is especially fond of children. But, notwithstanding this, I should not like to trust it. At all events, the poor babe would have died, if we had not found him.'
"'Poor babe, he shall not die of hunger now,' said she. 'Let us give him some figs; but these are not good; we must go and seek some more.'
"The rain having ceased, I consented, passing through the grove, where there are no fig-trees, to search farther. My daughters had fed the child with honey and water; it appeared quite reconciled to us, and had ceased to cry. I judged it might be about eight months old. We soon found some trees covered with the violet-coloured figs. Whilst I gathered them, the girls made a pretty bed of moss, adorned with flowers, for their little favourite, and fed him with the fresh fruit, which he enjoyed much; and with their fair hair and rosy faces, and the little negro between them, with his arch, dark countenance, they formed a charming picture, which affected me greatly."
CHAPTER LVI
"WE HAD BEEN MORE THAN an hour under the tree, when I heard cries again; but this time I was not alarmed, for I distinguished the voice of the disconsolate mother, and I knew that I could comfort her. Her grief brought her back to the spot where she thought her child had been devoured; she wished, as she afterwards told us, when we could understand her, to search for some remains of him—his hair, his bones, or even a piece of the bark that bound him; and here he was, full of life and health. She advanced slowly, sobbing, and her eyes turned to the ground. She was so absorbed in her search, that she did not see us when we were but twenty yards from her. Suddenly, <PERSON> darted like an arrow to her, took her hand, and said, 'Come, <PERSON> is here.'
"<PERSON> neither knew what she saw nor what she heard; she took my daughter for something supernatural, and made no resistance, but followed her to the fig-tree. Even then she did not recognize the little creature, released from his bonds, half-clothed, covered with flowers, and surrounded by three divinities, for she took us for such, and wished to prostrate herself before us. She was still more convinced of it when I took up her son, and placed him in her arms; she recognized him, and the poor little infant held out his arms to her. I can never express to you the transport of the mother; she screamed, clasped her child till he was half-suffocated, rapidly repeating words which we could not understand, wept, laughed, and was in a delirium of delight that terrified <PERSON>. He began to cry, and held out his arms to <PERSON>, who, as well as <PERSON>, was weeping at the sight. <PERSON> looked at them with astonishment; she soothed the child, and
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|
shapes my hair into a Mohawk using the shampoo. I can see his boner sprouting up under his belt. They have no regard for us but I am not turned off by it. It's interesting to be on the submissive end. Part of me wishes they wouldn't hold back and would humiliate me a little bit more. I want to learn from them. They are, after all, Cardinal Guards and they are supposed to be the baddest boys in town.
After our "showers," a physician inspects every inch of our bodies and gives us the okay to proceed to the next step of what I assume is our disinfection. The guards pat white powder all over our damp bodies. The guard patting me gets to my butt and starts spanking me. I turn around to see white powder flying up into the air and saturating his face. I was already spanked at the party last night and it's in this moment I realize how easily foreseeable the outcome of fantasies and fetishes can be. There is nothing these guards can teach me because they aren't pushing the envelope. They are just common folk with common fantasies.
<PERSON> is escorted down the hall while I'm escorted into a room with concrete walls and a barber chair. I'm thrown onto the chair, my bare ass skidding on the leather, and am spun around by a stranger.
"I'm going to keep the length," the stylist says. "Sadly I think your friend is going to look like a melon. His stylist wasn't crazy about those curls."
<PERSON> without his strawberry curls? I cannot imagine him without those luscious locks. <PERSON> depends on those curls for comfort, he twists them with his fingers when he is pensive and runs his hands through them when he feels uncomfortable. If what the stranger is saying is true, then <PERSON> must be putting up a fight, struggling to keep those precious locks on his head. I can picture the humiliation, the guards strapping him down so the barber can shear away his pride.
"The disinfection is uncomfortable. I'm sorry," the stylist says. "We're just trying to make sure you're clean head to toe. The last thing viewers want to see is you scratching at lice."
The stylist's skin is darker than anyone I've ever seen in Territory G. He wears his suit jacket in a hip way, form-fitting with the collar popped. I've seen dark-skinned people before – darker-skinned folks are all over the television and newspapers – but there aren't many in Territory G. <PERSON> was probably as dark as they come and even then he was a light mocha color. There isn't much diversity where I come from.
I notice the stylist's eyes are sad like mine, but more so. I've never seen a person with such sad eyes before, and any distinctions I noted because of the difference in our skin color begin to fade away. His eyes are beautiful. The familiarity of his eyes makes me feel he's trustworthy.
He pulls out a silver razor, and
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8c2c716a-1171-cf4f-078b-822929a44aea
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['df0d6399-405d-c0c4-1f9f-8655d0f80188']
|
the crowd goes wild for him. They applaud and cheer so loudly I have to cover my ears.
"Well, it's obvious who our top is," Lady <PERSON> proclaims. "<PERSON>, our top offering for Territory G!"
<PERSON> is immediately escorted offstage, as are <PERSON> and <PERSON>. <PERSON> looks at me with desperation in his eyes while he is making his way down the steps. Good. I'm glad <PERSON> wasn't selected. I'm glad he and <PERSON> are safe from Cardinal City's evil reach.
A stagehand delivers to Lady <PERSON> three huge black dildos. I've never seen such large dildos before. Heck, I've never seen any dildos in real life before. They must be over twelve inches long. Lady <PERSON> saturates each of the dildos with lubricant.
"And now, our bottoms," she says. "Let's see who can take the most."
<PERSON> and the boy with the large stomach have a difficult time easing in the
dildo. In fact, <PERSON> outright refuses to take it, at which point a frustrated Lady <PERSON> rams it up his bum and he cries out in pain.
"Well, that's no fun," she says.
When she gets to me, she pets my hole before shoving the dildo in me. The dildo goes deep and then deeper into my hole than I thought imaginable.
"Oh yes," she screams and then turns me around for the audience to see. "Look at that Territory G, finally a real man who can take it."
My body is pulsating now. Is this the sort of monster I've become? Phentasia only enhances the sexual desires of an individual. It does not create new personality traits. I want the dildo in my body. I willingly accept it and it feels so good.
Everyone has been enjoying themselves at the party so why not me? What's wrong with indulging? I am always burying my sexual fantasies and never relishing them. Now I'm onstage getting exactly what I've always wanted: a dildo up my ass.
"Oh my," Lady <PERSON> says fondling my testicles. "Someone is enjoying this a little too much. The endowed <PERSON>! Seriously, darling, where have you been hiding that thing? What does everyone think?"
The crowd is elated and before I know it, I come all over myself.
"Well, then, that's decided. Mr. <PERSON> is the bottom offering!"
Tears stream down my eyes. I can't believe I let the drug get the better of me. Now, because I gave into my desires, I will have to pay the ultimate price. I scan the room for <PERSON> and <PERSON>, but before I know it a guard drags me away from the stage.
Chapter 5: The Boy with the Strawberry Curls
It's impossible for me not to care about <PERSON>, no matter how much I dislike him. He's well known throughout Territory G as Ms. <PERSON>'s nephew as well as the son of the only butcher in our territory. When the rebellion ended, Cardinal City seized control of the flow of food. This was a strategic move on their part and
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959689c0-1ce2-2dcf-8a17-1e326ed6535f
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['df231c26-24c4-1a51-f6f0-a3704796cfeb']
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inconciliables avec la dignité royale. Le 2 mai, arrivé à Saint-Ouen, aux portes de Paris, il clarifie sa position dans une déclaration immédiatement affichée sur les murs de la capitale. Tout en concédant que les bases du projet de constitution proposé par le Sénat sont bonnes, il juge qu'« un grand nombre d'articles portant l'empreinte de la précipitation avec laquelle ils ont été rédigés [...] ne peuvent, dans leurs formes actuelles, devenir lois fondamentales de l'État ». Le roi s'engage donc à accorder une « constitution libérale » et « sagement combinée », rédigée par une commission nommée par ses soins et destinée à être présentée au Sénat et au Corps législatif le 10 juin. Il promet également le maintien du bicamérisme et la responsabilité pénale des ministres, ainsi que des garanties en matière de libertés civiles, de liberté des cultes, de liberté de la presse « sauf les précautions nécessaires à la tranquillité publique », d'égalité d'accès aux emplois civils et militaires, d'inamovibilité des juges et de reconnaissance des ordres, titres, pensions et charges de l'Empire. La déclaration de Saint-Ouen confirme ainsi que, si un retour pur et simple à l'Ancien Régime est inconcevable, <PERSON> entend bien conserver la haute main sur les concessions qu'il aura à accorder aux temps nouveaux. Le 3 mai, le roi fait enfin son entrée dans sa capitale. Un cortège triomphal est organisé pour l'escorter aux Tuileries, mais le faste de la cérémonie dissimule mal une atmosphère tendue. La vieille garde impériale mobilisée pour le service d'ordre ne cesse de maugréer, tandis que le manque de prestance du roi, la maussaderie glaciale de la duchesse d'Angoulême – la fille de <PERSON>, qui a épousé son cousin germain en 1799 – et la sénilité du prince de Condé ne sont guère de nature à susciter l'enthousiasme des Parisiens, plus curieux que chaleureux face à une famille royale dont ils ignorent à peu près tout, y compris dans les milieux royalistes : les cousins de la comtesse de <PERSON> ne sont-ils pas persuadés que le duc d'Angoulême est le propre fils de <PERSON> ? <PERSON> note fort justement qu'il convient moins de parler de Restauration que de « ré-instauration » de la dynastie bourbonienne, et que <PERSON> a moins été « le désiré » que « l'inattendu ». Le roi lui-même renoue avec un royaume et des sujets bien différents de ceux qu'il a quittés lors de son départ en émigration en juin 1791 et qu'il connaît fort mal. Cette méconnaissance mutuelle justifie une frénésie d'« enquêtes de réappropriation » (<PERSON>) : confiées successivement aux préfets (avril 1814), aux commissaires royaux (avril-juin 1814) et à des hauts fonctionnaires du ministère de la Police générale (juillet-septembre 1814), elles doivent permettre de réactualiser les statistiques élaborées sous l'Empire ainsi que de transmettre à Paris un tableau fiable de l'état d'esprit dans les provinces.
Les Français en 1814
Des hommes et des territoires
En 1814, le royaume de France compte un peu plus de trente millions d'habitants, soit deux de plus qu'à la veille de
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<PERSON> – attaquent cette fois les lieux de pouvoir stratégiques dont dépend le contrôle de la capitale. S'ils s'emparent du Palais de justice et de l'Hôtel de Ville, ils ne parviennent pas à prendre la préfecture de police. La Garde nationale et l'armée se livrent à une répression sanglante, qui fait 66 tués et 190 blessés du côté des insurgés. S'engage ensuite une longue chasse policière contre les chefs qui ont réussi à s'enfuir et qui, une fois arrêtés, sont jugés devant la Chambre des pairs ; condamnés à mort, <PERSON> et <PERSON> voient leur peine commuée en détention perpétuelle au Mont-Saint-Michel. Le régime de Juillet ne juge pas utile d'en faire des martyrs d'une cause républicaine dont la stratégie insurrectionnelle a montré son impuissance et dont l'enlisement est incontestable à la fin des années 1830. Élus en 1839 comme « radicaux » à Perpignan et au Mans, Arago et Garnier-Pagès ne constituent d'ailleurs plus qu'une force d'appoint parlementaire pour la gauche dynastique.
L'impossible organisation politique des légitimistes
Le constat d'impuissance des gauches hostiles à la monarchie de Juillet est également valable pour les anciens ultras qui, pour des raisons tant dynastiques et historiques qu'idéologiques et sentimentales, refusent de se rallier à l'orléanisme. La déroute de la duchesse de Berry en juin 1832 est un rude coup pour les légitimistes, dont seule une minorité – autour de Berryer et de la _Gazette de France_ dirigée par <PERSON> – avait préconisé dès 1831 de cantonner le combat au terrain électoral et parlementaire, il est vrai avec un succès médiocre puisque les carlistes n'avaient eu que deux élus aux élections de juillet 1831 (dont <PERSON> lui-même) en raison d'une abstention massive de leurs partisans. Les circonstances de l'arrestation de la bru de <PERSON> en font d'abord une martyre de la cause royaliste : dénoncée par un Juif converti, <PERSON>, moyennant le versement par Thiers de 500 000 francs, ce qui alimente une flambée d'antisémitisme dans les rangs de ses partisans, elle est arrêtée le 8 novembre 1832 à Nantes et emprisonnée au château de Blaye (Gironde) sous la surveillance du général <PERSON>. L'embarras du pouvoir est grand : nièce de la reine Marie-Amélie, la princesse jouit d'un indéniable capital de sympathie à la Chambre des pairs, dans l'opinion et parmi les Puissances étrangères... jusqu'à la découverte d'une grossesse qui ruine sa réputation en compromettant rétrospectivement la légitimité même du duc de Bordeaux, « l'enfant du miracle » de 1820. Désormais inutile et encombrante pour la cause royaliste, elle est rapidement libérée et, après un mariage de complaisance avec le comte italien <PERSON>, disparaît de la vie publique.
La voie insurrectionnelle est ainsi balayée après 1833, quoique perdurent dans l'Ouest des troubles endémiques qui en font un des principaux foyers de la « France rébellionnaire » cartographiée par <PERSON> et contraignent le pouvoir à y maintenir un état de siège quasi permanent. La loi du 23 février 1834 finit par attribuer aux forces de gendarmerie les fonctions de police judiciaire dans dix départements de l'Ouest qu'elles ont mission de pacifier
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means that an allele may change to another value in the transition from parent to offspring. Selection means that the chances of producing offspring vary depending on the value of the allele in question, as some alleles may be fitter than others. Recombination takes place in sexual reproduction, that is, when each member of the population has two parents. It is then determined by chance which allele value she inherits when the two parents possess different alleles at the locus in question.
Since the preceding are stochastic effects, the future frequencies become probabilities, that is, instead of saying that of the individuals in the population carry the allele , we rather need to say that the probability of finding the allele at the locus in question is . A key point of the mathematical framework for population genetics (and for many other fields) then is the assumption that these probabilities (while expressing stochastic effects) change in time according to deterministic rules.
As already indicated, one typically considers a finite population with a discrete time dynamics. It is often useful, however, to pass to the limit of an infinite population. In order to compensate for the growing size, one then needs to make the time steps shorter and pass to continuous time.
We start with the simplest situation where we consider only one locus; essentially, this means that we assume that the dynamics at this locus are independent of what happens at other loci. This is, of course, unrealistic, but it leads to the simplest models. We can then try to generalize these models in subsequent steps.
## 6.1 Mutation, Selection and Recombination
The models that we are going to discuss all make a number of simplifying assumptions of varying biological plausibility, in order to make a formal treatment possible.
We consider a population that is changing in discrete time with nonoverlapping generations, that is, the population consists of the offspring of the members of . In particular, we neglect the issue of migration here. Each individual in the population is represented by its genotype . We assume that the genetic loci of the different members of the population are in one-to-one correspondance with each other. Thus, we have loci . In the haploid case, at each locus, there can be one of possible alleles. Thus, a genotype is of the form , where . In the diploid case, at each locus, there are two alleles, which could be the same or different. We are interested in the distribution of genotypes in the population and how that distribution changes over time through the effects of mutation, selection, and recombination.
The baseline situation might be that each member of by itself, that is, without recombination, produces one offspring that is identical to itself. In that case, nothing changes in time. This baseline situation can then be varied in three respects:
1.
The offspring is not necessarily identical to the
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sizes of interacting populations (good references being [60, 61, 92]) is
(4.3.60)
is intrinsic growth or decay rate of the th population in the absence of the other populations, and is the strength of the effect that the th population has on the th one. is positive (negative) iff has an inherent tendency to grow (decay), and is positive (negative) iff enhances (inhibits) the growth of , e.g. if population feeds on (is preyed upon by) population ; both and are negative if the two corresponding populations compete. The self-effect is typically negative, expressing a limiting carrying capacity of the environment or interspecific competition for ressources, or at least non-positive. Thus, when gets too large, this term takes over and keeps the population in check.
Biological and other populations always satisfy
(4.3.61)
Thus, we only need to investigate solutions in the positive quadrant.
For a single population, we consider the logistic or <PERSON> equation (see (4.3.7))
(4.3.62)
This is about a population growing under the condition of limited or constrained resources, so that, when it gets too large, the capacity limits take over and keep it in balance. is an unstable fixed point, a stable one.
For the case of two populations, there are three non-trivial scenarios:
1.
Predator-prey or parasitism: Population 1 is the prey or host, population 2 its predator or parasite:
In the predator-prey scenario, one also typically has
2.
Competition
3.
Symbiosis:
We now look at the example of the two-dimensional predator-prey model without intraspecific competition, that is, we have a prey population of size and a predator population of size ,
(4.3.63)
with
We first observe that is a fixed point. Linearization shows that this fixed point is a saddle. On the -axis, the solution expands according to , whereas it contracts along the -axis as , . In particular, since the two axes are orbits, the solution cannot cross them, that is, when starting with non-negative values, it will never turn negative, in accordance with (4.3.61).
Another fixed point is
(4.3.64)
All the other orbits in the positive quadrant are periodic, circling this fixed point counterclockwise. This is seen either from the local behavior of the trajectories near or by looking at
(4.3.65)
which satisfies
Thus, is a constant of motion. attains its unique maximum at , and so the curves constant are circles, that is, closed curves, around this point. The motion on such a circle is counterclockwise because in the case for example, we have .
On the line , , that is, stays constant there, and on , stays constant.
Thus, the prey and predator populations oscillate periodically in this model.
The behaviour of the preceding system with its
|
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people—who were mainly male, smelly, and foul-mouthed. But in the midst of all the things she'd thought were despicable, she found herself enjoying life for the first time in a long time.
Work in the restaurant was taxing as day in and day out she was on her feet, taking orders, delivering food, fighting off the advances and marriage proposals of more men than she could count. But something in her heart had changed in the time that she'd been here. She'd finished the other two journals a number of times, always hoping to glean more from her ancestors' examples. The only journal left was her mother's, and she still couldn't bring herself to read it. At least not yet.
As she tied her apron around her waist and descended the stairs from their living quarters to the bustling restaurant, <PERSON> pushed aside the guilt that every once in a while still liked to rear its ugly head. Deep down, she knew she was forgiven—but if she read <PERSON>'s precious words, <PERSON> was afraid it would bring it all back to the surface.
She longed to move forward, and <PERSON> was pushing her pretty hard to continue to pray about her future. A few weeks ago, she wouldn't have thought he could ever change her mind, but ever so slowly, she began to yearn for another chance at love and maybe even marriage. The wisdom from her older brother was always ensconced in love. After all their years apart and after losing <PERSON> and <PERSON>, it was wonderful to have him in her life and with her every day.
When she'd first made it to San Francisco, the thought of staying in this horrid place was repulsive. After being here a couple of months, spending time with <PERSON>, and reading the journals, she found herself wanting to stay and take on the challenge. Truth be told, she couldn't think of being anywhere else.
It didn't help that a certain blond-haired friend had started to wriggle his way into her thoughts. <PERSON> came every day for their late lunch together and then would stay for the Bible study. The first few days it had just been the three of them gathered in the dining room of the restaurant with their Bibles open. Gradually, a few staff members braved the group. Now, each day they had five or six present. It made <PERSON> a bit giddy to think about, and not just because today was <PERSON>'s day to teach.
The thought made a blush rise to her cheeks as she set out to adjust tables on the dining-room floor. Best to focus on work rather than Mr. <PERSON>'s fascinating qualities. But as much as she tried not to think of him, he kept coming to mind. What did that mean? She'd never had this happen before.
Shaking her head, <PERSON> focused on the tables. Many of the red-and-white-checkered tablecloths were askew. She'd raced upstairs to change after the breakfast rush because she'd spilled an entire bowl of gravy when one of the men got
|
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['e017bf18-2390-81ce-ec91-85a28e802f7c']
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it is too dangerous for us to linger." He reached into his waistcoat. "This is for you."
Sad that the moment was over, <PERSON> knew that this was how things would be. They were at war, and lives were at stake. With a nod, she took the missive and pulled one of her own along with a packet of other messages out of her pocket underneath her skirt.
"I will see you in two days." He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It was all too brief, but she still felt his warmth when he pulled away a few inches. "I will think of you every moment."
"And I you." <PERSON> soaked in the features of his face. Tried to memorize every line.
"<PERSON>?"
"Yes?"
He moved an inch closer. "I think...well, that is—"
A noise by the door made them both jolt and duck.
<PERSON> looked, waited, and then shook his head and turned back to her. "My apologies. What I was trying to say is that...I love you."
Her heart soared. "Oh, <PERSON>. I love you too."
He kissed her one more time and then rushed for the door. "I will check and then you leave first, agreed?"
After he exited, <PERSON> reveled in the words. He loved her. _Thank You, Lord!_
_Thump!_
The muffled sound came from beside her. And it was definitely too big to be a mouse.
#
He thought she'd never leave.
<PERSON> took a deep breath and released it. He'd have to hurry if he were to catch up with whomever that fellow was she'd met with. He'd seen enough to know that the man needed to be eliminated so there would be no more obstacles in his way. Faith would be his soon.
He'd paid his driver to find two men to help him follow today. Hopefully, one of them followed the tall man out. If not, <PERSON> would find him. He knew what he looked like now.
After exiting the meetinghouse, he found his carriage. His driver opened the door and leaned in to whisper. "One of the men is following that fellow. Do you want to follow him or Mrs. <PERSON>?"
"Follow him. I will deal with Mrs. <PERSON> in due time."
The driver closed the door, and soon the carriage was in motion.
A plan began to form in his mind. He could play both sides. Either way, <PERSON> would have to see his power and realize he wasn't playing games. He was a winner. He always won. This would be no exception.
The rocking of the carriage soon lulled him into leaning back onto the seat. No. He couldn't sleep. He needed to remain alert. Tonight, he would finish this business and get on with his life.
What seemed like hours passed. Finally, the carriage slowed. It shifted as his driver climbed down. Soon the door opened. "Sir, the man has gone into that large house over there. We almost lost him at one point, he made several circles, but the man I hired stayed with him on
|
d605e7bd-a92c-3382-c4ff-6c9a1c253e91
|
['e0db645c-7659-fdf5-0fe6-987adae617a3']
|
wasn't yet ready to see this as a blessing.
The transmitter was broken so he was entitled to send some mail back to Norway. He would dispatch a couple of his men with a sledge to the Russian weather station on Dickson Island, five hundred miles to the west. From there they could make their way back to Norway by boat. <PERSON> would lead them; he'd been along that coast before with <PERSON> expedition. <PERSON> would also go; all winter long <PERSON> had whined about headaches, as if he were the only one who suffered in the dark. The _Maud_ would be well rid of him; she had other such winters ahead. To bulk out the mailbag, and to give extra justification to his decision to send off two precious crewmen, he would include the scientific records of the expedition up to now. In amongst them would be tucked a separate package for Kiss containing the message tube and instructions for forwarding it. And he would also send back the chronometer that <PERSON> had lent to him, the one he himself had brought back from King William Island. He felt it would no longer work for him: his luck had finally changed. He wouldn't be fit for sledging this year. The expedition had already failed.
In September the ice broke out to sea. <PERSON> climbed into the crow's nest, with <PERSON> pushing him up from beneath, and watched the cracks reach ever closer to the ship. <PERSON> and <PERSON> helped the rest of the crew to dismantle the observatory, restow the stores that had wintered on the ice, and prepare the ship for sailing.
On the evening of September 12, with the nearest lead of open water still a mile from the _Maud_ , <PERSON> touched off the fifty sticks of dynamite that his crew had drilled into the ice. Fifty charges went off at once, fifty geysers of crystal and smoke. The tide tore the floe along its line of smoking perforations, clearing the way to escape. _Maud_ , making half-revolutions on her semi-diesel engine, became a living ship again. The men on deck cheered and waved their caps. There were more cheers from the shore, across the soupy bay ice. Turning in the crow's nest, <PERSON> saw <PERSON> and <PERSON> wave from the beach then turn and disappear up the mouth of a gully, marching back toward their camp.
A path had opened to the east, a long lead shining in the moonlight. <PERSON> turned to look north toward the loom of Cape Chelyuskin. It was a rare Arctic night, clear, with no hint of haze or fog, and from the crow's nest he could see a band of white cloud sitting on the horizon, stark in the moonlight. But it was more than cloud, he was sure of it this time. Lifting his binoculars, he steadied his elbows on the rim of the crow's nest. He was right: there was land beyond the clouds, black mountains streaked with eternal snow. He adjusted the focus and saw
|
e4560218-cb1c-a753-93ec-16f4571322ae
|
['e0db645c-7659-fdf5-0fe6-987adae617a3']
|
lens monkey came with the job. <PERSON> had found him a couple of weeks before, on a jaunt to Angola, and wanted to give him a try.
So I first saw <PERSON> in Johannesburg, standing outside the Hard Times in Melville, where he was waiting for me to collect him. He looked very young, square‐faced and stocky, with sweat shining in the short dark hair that seemed to grow from a third of the way down his forehead. He wore thick glasses with grey steel frames, grey flannel trousers and a blue blazer that strained against its brass buttons, revealing elongated ovals of off‐white shirt‐front. Dark hairs spilled out around the cuffs and through the top button of his shirt. Slung round his neck was an old‐fashioned wind‐on camera with an old‐fashioned manual lens, the sort of eccentric gear that <PERSON> had taught me to associate with his 'Leica pikeys', the glamorous rich kids who lark around in shitholes pretending to be freelance photographers. But he certainly wasn't dressed like one. He looked more like the inmate of a halfway house for child molesters. I soon learned that <PERSON> did have all the monkey gear stashed away in his shoulder bag – the electronic camera bodies and auto‐focus lenses, the scanner and the flashguns – but he was happier when he could just work with his manual Nikon. He said he liked the weight of it, and that it did what it was told. I'm sure he was telling the truth: unlike a lot of snappers <PERSON> didn't choose his equipment to be noticed. <PERSON> didn't like to be noticed at all.
We were halfway to Hartbeespoort before I dared to ask him about his clothes.
'I reckoned we'd be going to the casino,' he replied, after a short pause. 'The brochure says you're supposed to dress smart or they won't let you in.'
He had a very quiet, gentle voice. It overcame his Australian accent the way water wears down rock.
'Here that just means that you can't go in barefoot,' I told him. 'You look like you're in a Welsh choir.'
He laughed, not embarrassed. 'It's my old cricket blazer, actually.
I had to pick the crest off the pocket last night.'
The road to Sun City threaded through the sharp ridges of the Magaliesberg, past Hartbeespoort dam and then across the thorny plain of the North West Province. We took a wrong turn somewhere in the Boer badlands between Brits and Rustenburg, and it was already dusk when we drew onto the final stretch of highway to the Pilanesberg hills. The spring rains had yet to reach the highveld and the wind from the dry scrub blew plumes of dust across the road. <PERSON> was reading out extracts from a travel guide.
'It says here that under apartheid this was all a black homeland. I guess because it's such poor soil.'
There was a long pause and I glanced over. He was experimenting with his lips. 'Bop – bopoo – bopoo‐tast, no, tstat, tswana. Anyway, everyone called it
|
eaf15be4-1898-28d3-1715-c22123c11017
|
['e0dd6ea9-5e9e-6456-9ee4-21c0a6d77557']
|
grew up, <PERSON> became increasingly wary of the outside world. Consequently, she was often left alone in their vast Long Island estate, save for the company of the expert nurses <PERSON> hired to care for her.
In Lancaster, however, <PERSON> was in her prime. She often served up hearty Sunday dinners to <PERSON>'s employees and friends, contentedly socialized with friends, and crafted lovely dresses for her daughter.
Everything seemed hopeful for the little <PERSON> family, and <PERSON> started dreaming bigger and better dreams.
# **The Woolworth Brothers Band Together**
By early July 1879, <PERSON> was doing so well on Queen Street that he decided it was time to expand. He found a site in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and wrote to his brother, <PERSON>, asking him to manage this new five-cent store. <PERSON> was delighted to comply, for more than one reason. Since March, he'd been running the Morristown, New York, branch of Moore & Smith's, which was located on the banks of the St. Lawrence River, close to the Canadian border. Like his brother, he longed to flee the limited opportunities of the North Country. He'd also had a most unsettling bout with the law; although he'd proven himself a winner in the general merchandise trade, not everyone appreciated his gifts. <PERSON> had recently made a few enemies when he tried to drum up some Canadian business for Moore & Smith's. He hired a boat man to row across the St. Lawrence to Brockville, and started distributing advertising flyers to everyone in town. The Brockvillian merchants did not appreciate <PERSON>'s pushy Yankee methods, or the fact that a foreigner was trying to snare their trade. <PERSON> and the boat man were hauled off to jail, handcuffed, and detained. "He had visions," recalled <PERSON>, "of being branded as a lawbreaker and languishing in a Canadian jail, with the dire consequences of losing his job at Moore & Smith's!" In the end, the magistrate let them go within a few hours, with a firm warning and an earful of fire and brimstone. But <PERSON>'s plan ultimately worked; for as long as the store lasted, a considerable part of the business was due to the trade it had from Canada.
In the summer of 1879, <PERSON> bid a genial farewell to <PERSON> and <PERSON>, and hopped on the first "iron-horse" bound for Pennsylvania. He quickly moved into a rooming house in Harrisburg, and together he and <PERSON> prepared the store for its grand opening on July 19. They took time to send updates to their father back in Watertown, who in August 1879 married his housekeeper <PERSON>. No doubt the brothers were relieved that their father was being cared for, even though the memory of their beloved mother, <PERSON>, still caused so much pain in their minds and hearts.
The Harrisburg store brought in a respectable $84.41 the first day, with sales increasing as the weeks flew by. The Christmas season was moderately busy, but afterward, sales dropped substantially. On top of that, the landlord demanded a rent increase. The brothers
|
e2a2a3d0-bd98-c69d-056b-47c660887890
|
['e0dd6ea9-5e9e-6456-9ee4-21c0a6d77557']
|
wonder of the Woolworth success story is that it happened at all. One can only imagine the scenario in 1875, when...
_A wiry young man dressed in raggedy homespun and a pair of coarse cowhide boots, walks into a flourishing dry good store in upstate New York. Smiling politely, he requests a job as a salesman. The elegantly clad shop owner, sitting like a toplofty rooster at his high wooden desk, eyes the boy and frowns deeply. The boy is not surprised by the man's reaction. He has no business skills, has never mastered anything but the drudge work of farming, and cannot even afford most of the luxuries for sale in this fine establishment. In the far corner, the store's employees are listening to the exchange, hiding their smirks. The female clerks dressed in neat skirts and blouses, and the salesmen in high collars and swinging timepieces, are wondering: "Who is this rube, this inexperienced hayseed, with the nerve to ask for a position_ here?"
_Undeterred, the young man patiently waits as the shop owner ponders hisfate. After all, he has big dreams to fulfill. He knows from all he has read about his hero, <PERSON>, that the only way to succeed is to devise a strategy and stick to his guns. His determination is stronger than the sharpest of barbs. In a clear steady tone, the young man quickly lists his assets: He does not drink or smoke and he is a devout Methodist. He knows a bit about bookkeeping, and he wants, more than anything in the world, to own his own store one day._
_The shop owner fingers his waxed mustachio thoughtfully. The boy before him is clearly green, but he does seem sincere. Still, times were tough and at least twenty_ experienced _candidates would soon be clamoring for this same job._
_And all in all, the boy is a sorry excuse for a potential salesman_.
_But the owner sees something there_.
_"Okay," he barks. "The job is yours. You start Monday!"_
_Trying to control his elation, the young man asks: "What are you going to pay me, sir."_
_"Pay you!?" The owner exclaims. "You don't expect me do pay you, do you? Why, you should pay_ me _for teaching you the business. Not a half penny until you prove yourself worthy. But I'll tell you what. We won't charge you a tuition fee."_
_"How long will I work without pay, sir?"_
_The man smoothes his morning coat, then stares closely at the boy, a spark of challenge in his brown eyes. "Six months," he states firmly._
_The young man ponders this meager offer, and the alternative. He thinks about the way he and his brother rise, before sunrise, and work the fields until dusk. He thinks about his back, and how it aches from picking potatoes in the snow-encrusted fields. He feels sad when he realizes that he has never seen his mother in a beautiful new dress with silk ribbons in her hair, the type of which she enjoyed as a child. Or the fact
|
f8f33d81-8e88-b8e1-4080-f10efc5e1f25
|
['e0f9d8be-917b-e63d-ffbd-80eabe2ddb4a']
|
huge question about Khatyrka that remains unanswered and continues to intrigue me.
By some mysterious process, nature has somehow managed to form quasicrystals with metallic aluminum in direct contact with nonmetallic minerals rich in oxygen, despite the fact that aluminum has a voracious affinity for oxygen. For reasons we cannot yet explain, the aluminum in our natural quasicrystals did not react with the nearby oxygen in the silicate. Normally, the chemical forces would be sufficient to cause the oxygen to react with the aluminum to make corundum, an extremely hard version of aluminum oxide. If we could understand nature's process, it might teach us a new, more efficient way to make both ordinary crystals and metallic aluminum-bearing quasicrystals.
PHOTONIC QUASICRYSTALS
But do we have any indication that any quasicrystal might have novel and useful properties for science and industry?
Yes, we do. We can either simulate quasicrystals on a computer or create artificial samples using a 3D printer, as shown below. The example pictured here was constructed in 2005 at Princeton by <PERSON> and <PERSON>, who collaborated with me to study the "photonic" properties of quasicrystals.
The study of photonics is directly comparable to electronics. Electronics involves the passage of electrons through materials. Photonics involves the passage of light waves through materials. If we could replace electronic circuits with photonic ones, the speed of transmission would be increased and the heat loss due to resistance would be reduced. One of the challenges is to find a way to use photonics to reproduce the effects of semiconductors like silicon, germanium, and gallium arsenide. Those are the materials that comprise transistors and other electronic components used for the amplification and transmission of signals in computers, cell phones, radios, and televisions.
The defining property of a semiconductor is that electrons are totally blocked from propagating through it if their energy lies within a certain band of energies. Engineers take advantage of the so-called "electronic band gap" to control the flow and the information carried by electrons.
Something similar exists in photonics. It is possible to make a material with a "photonic band gap" that blocks light waves within a certain band of energies. The first examples were photonic crystals, introduced and developed twenty-five years ago.
By shining microwaves through our 3D printed structure, Weining Man, <PERSON>, and I have shown that quasicrystals have some of the same features as photonic crystals. They also have photonic band gaps. Most importantly, the band gap properties of quasicrystals are superior to those of photonic crystals because they have higher rotational symmetry. That makes their photonic band gaps more spherical, which is advantageous in practical applications.
The photonic quasicrystal example illustrates the point that there may be advantages to quasicrystals over regular crystals in some applications due to their distinctive symmetries, provided we can find examples with the right combination of chemistry and symmetry. We may hit upon good examples by trial and error in the laboratory, but now, we can also imagine discovering useful examples in nature.
IMPOSSIBLE?
A key to finding how natural quasicrystals
|
ded3317d-1f77-c9f4-a2a8-4ccf47569155
|
['e0f9d8be-917b-e63d-ffbd-80eabe2ddb4a']
|
was also delighted to learn of <PERSON>'s reaction. Both members of the red team happily conceded to the blue. We were now unanimous.
<PERSON> and I could not help but be amused, though, with Glenn's sudden claim of ownership. Of course, we had absolutely no intention of giving up our leadership roles.
* * *
PRINCETON AND FLORENCE, OCTOBER 1, 2010: Two months after the confirmation from Caltech's NanoSIMS test, <PERSON> sent me even more good news.
The International Mineralogical Association Commission on New Minerals, Nomenclature and Classification had just voted to accept our quasicrystal as a natural mineral. They also accepted our proposed name: "icosahedrite," a fitting name for the first known mineral with icosahedral symmetry to be entered into the official catalog.
I savored the historic moment. This was one of the milestones I had been seeking since first imagining the possibility of natural quasicrystals. But I knew the story was not yet over. I went back to reread <PERSON>'s message in which he wrote,
You can call off your expedition to Siberia for one thing . . .
I stared at the note and shook my head. He's definitely wrong, I thought.
There was now convincing evidence that our sample was a visitor from outer space and most likely a creation dating back to the birth of the solar system. But many mysteries remained. How did it first form? Why did it contain quasicrystals? What path did it take through space before entering the Earth's atmosphere? How did pieces of it become lodged in the blue-green clay of the Listvenitovyi? And why had it not corroded since its arrival on Earth?
The few remaining specks of the Florence sample were not enough to answer any of these questions. We needed to recover more material from the same source. The only way to resolve the remaining mysteries was to charge ahead with an expedition to Kamchatka in search of more specimens. That was absolutely clear in my mind.
What I never envisioned, though, was that I might be forced to take part in such an adventure.
## PART III
* * *
## KAMCHATKA OR <PERSON>
## SEVENTEEN
* * *
## LOST
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, KAMCHATKA PENINSULA, JULY 22, 2011: Somehow the unimaginable had happened. No one was less suited to take part in, much less lead, an expedition to the remote regions of Far Eastern Russia. Yet here I was.
For the last sixteen hours, I had been riding aboard a giant tracked vehicle that was carrying me, along with half of my team, across the desolate tundra of the northern Kamchatka Peninsula. At last, close to midnight, we rumbled down a steep hill and stopped for the night by a riverbed. I felt calm and settled despite the strange and unfamiliar surroundings.
That equilibrium was shattered the moment I climbed out of the cab and leapt off the huge tractor treads to the ground below. Suddenly I was suffocating. Sensing my breath, hordes of mosquitoes had sprung out of the muck and formed a thick cloud around
|
2d775527-c42a-8c06-a3b2-332956f52ba5
|
['e129c279-2871-2de0-ab18-4d0b4605a9de']
|
Amenecer El Sol
Dangerous Journey
Dangers of the Journey to the Happy Land
Darkness Ode
Data
Dawn Hunt
Dead Sea Scrolls
December
Der Wanderer
Descending the Slope
Dinosaurs of Pain
Dirt
Dirty Benediction
Dirty Snow
Disasters
Discovery
Dominica
Don't Break It
Double Blind Concerto (for Epictetus)
Doubts
Down
Dragons and Dungeons
Dream Ode
Drunk on the Brain
Drunken Winter
Dusk
Earth
Earth So Beautiful
Earthquake
Elegy
End
End of the World
Escape to Atlantis
Espacio
Experience
Fable
Fault (Penance)
Feast of Visions
Fever
Fill and Illumined
Final Dimensions
Fire of Myself
First Snow
Fits of Dawn
Flight
Floating Gardens
Floods
Fly
Football
Footing
Forecast
Forest Dreams
Forest Wetness, The
Forgive
Freedom
Freedom
Frozen Lookout
Full Bloom
Funny Day
Futura
Future Landscape
Generations of Clouds
Geological Hymn
Ghost of Spring
Glass and Steel Structures
Gods in Me, The
Good Friday
Grand Jury
Gravity Awakening
Great Plains
Green Lake Is Awake, The
Grow
Guitar Ode
Hand Gun
Happiness in the Trees
Hard Energy
Hard or Soft
Haunting Ghosts
Heart Feels the Water
Hermit Gambler
Hidden Bird
Hills
His Universe Eyes
Ho Ho Ho Caribou
Holy
Hospital
Hotel
Hotline for Youth
Hungry
Hunting
Hymn
Hymn to Earth
Hymn to Rain
I Like to Collapse
If I Can't
If You Loved Me
Ignition of Dawn
Ignorance (Strong)
Illuminant before Dawn
Imaginary Styx
In Full View of Sappho
In My Crib
In the Desert
In the Grass
Incantation
Indian Song
Indian Suffering
Infinite Thunder
Inland
Inside
Inside Story
Instantaneous Takes Time
Interior of the Poem
Internal Rays
Invisible Autumn
Irish Entry
Irish Entry
Is It Impossible to Know Where the Impulse Has Originated?
It Is Morning
It's Only Glue
Jet Resurrection
Job
Just at the Beginning of Summer
Kin Pain
Koyaanisqatsi
<PERSON>
Lament #1 for Poland
Lament #2 for Lebanon
Lament #3 for Bayreuth
Lament #4 for Ethiopia
Lament #5 for Lebanon and Israel
Last Song, A
Late Birds
Layout
Legacy (Going Back)
Lethal Sonnet
Libera Me
Life of Freedom
Life Sentence
Lighthouse
Lighting Up
Lights of Childhood
Linear Ballad
Litanical
Live Today
Lonely in the Park
Long Sonnet
Longer Trip
Lost Words
Love Eyes
Love Song
Lyric
Macro
Mad Angels
Manure
Marginal Existence
Marketeers Entwined
Mass
May
Mayhem
Meadowlands
Meditation
Melody for Food
Metaphorical Desert
Mid Ocean
Middle of Winter (off the Hudson)
Migratory Noon
Milky Ways
Millenium Dust
Mistake
Mixture
Modern Sorrows
Montauk
Mood
Morning
Morning Insults
Morning Touched
Morning Vespers
Mother & Father (Simple)
Mother Land
Motion
Mountains
Muscles of Animals, The
Narrative Night
Negative Mountain Peak
New Realism
New World, The
New Year
Night Birds
Night Flash
Night Ride
Night Strokes
Night Wander
No Help
No More People
Noise Outside
Non-spatial
Not a Baby
Not Afraid of the Dark
Not One
Not Really Punishment
Note from <PERSON>
Notes on the 20th Century Scientist
Nothing
Notoriety—Academy Awards
Now
Nuclear Disaster
Nude Madness
O Heart Uncovered
O Moon
Observation
Ocean
Ocean Body
Ode
Ode Song
OK
Old Friend Hung
Old Testament, An
One
Orchard
Over Music
Pages of Storms
Pain Songs
Park Thoughts
Pass Me By
Passion for the Sky
Passivation
Pastoral
People's
|
498c1494-78c6-13cc-e91c-f201ea3215df
|
['e129c279-2871-2de0-ab18-4d0b4605a9de']
|
the hills
while boats somewhere
in the black and dark
have given up the trip.
As the fog comes in
and smokes the light,
respirations and dreams
rise out of my mouth:
past places, other stops
of unfolded visions.
### DAWN HUNT
The unsteady flow
of this message
along the regions
of my head
knocks as if I'm awake.
This creature looks
so mystical in the mirror of blood
in the burden
of the hunt
laid bare at my feet.
My arms know
this kind of flesh
with the heat of an animal
into regions of symbolic quest.
So ranging is the night:
I shiver in its beauty,
while Dawn
shoots from the volcano
a virginity in disguise,
a red that chokes all sensuality,
shimmering to the grey solution.
### CARDINAL CONJUNCTION
It's windy. . . . . the rain is over.
An opening inside the trees,
shows the flood stage
of near destruction.
Is it the lost invaders
touching the shores
of my own guts?
Is it here,
or there, under or over,
(am I blind or am I deaf)
covering me with kisses?
The wild expanse of swamp
hides us in its giant grasses,
my knees, my waist.
A holocaust of Olmec temples
gives direction to the winds,
while a poor man in a new world
is all bitten and refused,
meandering and endless.
Is it the darkness
of the sunny cloud,
is it the crimson flash
of his wings,
that make us stay?
### SACRED AND PROFANE
The city is up now
in the ultimate distance.
For some ocean beyond knowledge
my back has pains.
O Past, O Future
crashing together
O two equidistant stars
in the chance-ordained firmament.
### IGNITION OF DAWN
Whatever sound it is
whatever way
the night's fallen and fallen
on the branches that remain.
To describe what's fallen
and out of the beach's mist
more fluid than waves
comes youth or breezes of it
in the more eternal
the dying salt or no death;
a mineral for a cell.
Something is passing the firmament.
The fallen branch of dark,
the night like a fallen branch
crashes my thoughts. I wake
and wake, and wake and. . . . .
the sky has floated
in our midst.
### BODY WEIGHT
Feeding on solitude
my stomach is fucked up.
What right do I have
when the earth is short
of love, of food,
to feed myself like a pig?
Where did this guilt come from?
Don't mention nature, or the way
things look with the eyes:
with love you can die
without seeing a tree or
the sky or the oceans
or the smell of childhood.
The clouds stopping overhead
means there are no worlds,
nor is there sickly relativity to confuse
an almost endless dream.
### HYMN TO EARTH
The brook curves to the left
during the seeds of dreams.
Runs head on
with maiden of the rocks.
What ethnic dream
lies before me or under me?
The rock cooling off to oblivion.
My hands in this soil
forgetting the sorrow of the
|
08a7fa74-e24d-7a46-0fca-fe834875e4c3
|
['e1466560-a9d4-6f7d-1ced-12cc025028dc']
|
a cup of Jan's soul-mending coffee and one of these little nutritional powerhouses. They seriously will get you through the morning, and the flavor and texture is to die for.
To prepare: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line muffin tins with paper liners. Sift all dry ingredients into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle (not the bread hook); whisk to combine well. In a small bowl, prepare two egg equivalents. In a small bowl, combine oil, applesauce and vanilla.
To mix: Fold carrots, raisins, walnuts, coconut, and apple into dry dough ingredients. With mixer on low speed, add egg replacement mixture, and then add other liquid ingredients. Stir until combined, and then increase speed to medium and beat for 2 minutes.
To bake: Scoop batter into prepared tins, filling ⅔ full. Bake for 20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean, turning pans halfway through baking. Cool muffins in pans on wire rack for 5 minutes, and then remove muffins to a wire rack to finish cooling. Makes 14−16 muffins.
### Orange Zucchini Muffins
#### Muffins
350 grams 70/30 flour blend
35 grams tapioca starch
35 grams sweet rice flour
½ teaspoon xanthan gum
½ teaspoon guar gum
1 teaspoon sea salt (scant)
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
198 grams organic cane sugar
126 grams unsweetened applesauce
75 grams canola oil
½ teaspoon high-quality vanilla extract
Nondairy milk as needed—approximately 1 cup
1 orange
2 cups zucchini, grated
⅓ cup walnuts or raisins (optional)
#### Glaze
½ cup organic powdered sugar
2 teaspoons juice from orange
¼ teaspoon zest from orange
Admit it—you've been looking for a perfect muffin all your life, haven't you? Look no more. Jan's are the holy grail of muffins, guaranteed. My son still refuses to believe these are vegan and gluten-free.
To prepare: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line muffin tins with paper liners. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle (not the bread hook), whisk all dry ingredients together. Wash and zest orange; reserve ¼ teaspoon for glaze. Juice the orange; reserve 2 teaspoons for glaze. In a separate bowl, whisk applesauce, canola oil, vanilla, orange juice, and orange zest with ¼ cup of nondairy milk.
To mix: With mixer running on low speed, slowly pour liquid ingredients into dry dough ingredients, stirring just until combined. Add additional nondairy milk as needed to create a thick muffin batter. Fold in grated zucchini and nuts or raisins.
To bake: Scoop batter into prepared tins, filling ⅔ full. Bake for 20‒25 minutes or until golden and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool muffins in pans on a wire rack for 5 minutes, then remove muffins to wire rack to finish cooling. Makes 14−15 muffins.
To glaze: Whisk together remaining orange juice, powdered sugar and orange zest until combined. Cool muffins for 10 minutes, and then spoon glaze over top.
Variation: Pumpkin Spice Muffins
Add to dry ingredients 1 teaspoon cinnamon, ½ teaspoon ginger, and ¼ teaspoon nutmeg. Replace zucchini
|
d414c8d8-5f0e-993b-f1e5-28c799ddc0bc
|
['e1466560-a9d4-6f7d-1ced-12cc025028dc']
|
yolk.
### Ener-G® Egg Replacer™
Ener-G® Egg Replacer™ is a commercial product and is just what it sounds like. Made from a combination of various starches and binders, it works especially well in baked goods. Its greatest advantage is ease of use. For each egg, use 1 ½ teaspoons in 2 tablespoons water.
### Ground Flax Seed
Ground flax seed may be used for leavening and binding. The golden variety contains more oil and, to me, produces a tighter bind. It works well in baked goods of all kinds, pan breads, and pancakes. One tablespoon of ground seed to three tablespoons of warm water substitutes for one egg or one teaspoon xanthan gum; for an even stronger bind, boil the seed in water until a very thick gel forms.
### Guar Gum
Guar gum functions as a binder and works well in creamy dishes and sauces. It also lowers bad cholesterol and blood sugar, but diabetics should use with caution. Please note that it can cause gas and constipation.
### Psyllium Husk
You may recognize psyllium husk for its use as a digestive aid. It is very high in fiber (seven grams fiber in ten grams), and it is often prescribed for assistance with constipation and weight loss, so you may have to shop for it at a pharmacy. Many people who can't tolerate xanthan or guar gum find they do very well with psyllium. In baked goods, it holds and retains moisture and works nicely in recipes that rely on gluten, such as breads, pizza dough, rolls, and pasta. Mix 1 teaspoon psyllium husk to 3 tablespoons boiling water for each egg.
### Silken Tofu
Silken tofu binds and adds moisture. One-quarter cup replaces one egg in cakes and quick breads; tofu must be well-blended and completely smooth before using.
### Xanthan Gum
Use xanthan gum for binding and thickening, as it provides a somewhat elastic texture for breads and cakes. Replace each egg with one teaspoon xanthan gum.
No matter which substitute you decide to try, start by using the same amount as you would egg or xanthan gum. For example, if you have a recipe that calls for two eggs or two teaspoons of xanthan gum, substitute two teaspoons of your preferred replacement (except for flax and chia seed; see instructions above). Finding your own path will take patience and practice, but, as with all things of an experimental nature, the outcome will be worth the journey.
### Coconut Oil Nation
I am in love with coconut oil. With each dietary transition <PERSON> and I have made, we have seen noticeable changes in our bodies, but not since we discovered hemp seed have we been as affected as we have by coconut oil. Our skin, hair, gums, and nails have taken on a healthy glow, and I'm convinced that coconut oil is the cause of it, even if the scientific jury is still out on the subject.
We use pure, extra virgin, organic coconut oil and purchase in bulk. Extra-virgin coconut oil is not hydrogenated, but it is a
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it. If you do receive what you asked for, but it is against that which G-D calls holy, then you didn't get it from G-D; you got it from the enemy.
How did <PERSON> glorify the Father? By doing the things the Father would have done on earth, by remaining consistent with the Father's character.
The Greek word for name ( _onoma_ ) used in John 14:13 is consistent with the Hebrew word _shem_. _Onoma_ means "the manifestation or revelation of someone's character so as to distinguish them from all others." Thus "praying in the name of <PERSON> (<PERSON>)" means to pray as directed (authorized) by Him, bringing revelation that flows out of His being when you are in His presence. Let me repeat that with strong emphasis on one particular part of the definition: Praying in the name of <PERSON> means to pray as directed by Him, bringing revelation that flows _out of His being when you are in His presence_!
Through being yoked to Him, you will receive communication from <PERSON> to help you know what to do as you face various situations! When you pray, it's as if <PERSON> Himself is praying through you.
"Praying in the name of <PERSON>," therefore, is not a religious formula just to end prayers, or a magic word to get what we want! Praying in His name is praying in His actual person, with His holy character and in His power and authority. If G-D answers your prayer, then He is the One who receives all the glory, not you!
In Hebraic thinking, a name isn't a label or a tool merely used to distinguish one person from another. A person's name is viewed as equivalent to the person himself. A person's name signifies their person, worth, character, reputation, authority, will, and ownership. Everything they have and everything they are is reflected in their name.
Scripture records an account of some men who thought the name of <PERSON> (<PERSON>) was a mystical formula or even magic. They thought they could use the name of <PERSON> apart from pursuing an intimate relationship with Him.
Then some of the itinerant Jewish exorcists invoked the name of the Lord <PERSON> over those had evil spirits, saying, "We command you to come out in the name of <PERSON> whom <PERSON> preaches."
—ACTS 19:13
You see, they didn't know <PERSON>. They were trying to take authority over evil spirits by saying the name of <PERSON>—the person <PERSON> preached about.
There were seven sons of a Jewish high priest named <PERSON> doing this. The evil spirit answered, "I know <PERSON>, and I know <PERSON>, but who are you?"
—ACTS 19:14–15
The evil spirits recognized that these men had no authority because they were trying to use the name of <PERSON> as a magic formula. But when we take authority in the name of <PERSON>, what is actually happening is we are coming in <PERSON>'s actual person, with His holy character and with His power and authority. We are the vessels being used by <PERSON> Himself to flow
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G-D kept <PERSON> from seeing His face because of the stain of original sin. In the new covenant <PERSON> was the face of the living G-D, made flesh and walking among us (John 1:14). When you looked into <PERSON>'s eyes, you were looking into the face of G-D!
For in [Yeshua] lives all the fullness of the [Elohim] bodily.
—COLOSSIANS 2:9
Today, we who are believers in <PERSON> are called to be the face of G-D for others to see! For the most part, believers today can accept that we can approach YHWH (our heavenly Father) through His only begotten Son, <PERSON>. But we still don't understand that the main reason <PERSON> died on the cross was to make a way for us to access and know YHWH (our heavenly Father) in the most intimate way. Being spiritually face-to-face with Him, being embraced by Him, and then being able to see His visage is something that YHWH is ready to bring about in this age before His return to earth with <PERSON>.
I, <PERSON>, saw the Holy City, the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from [G-D the heavenly Father], prepared as a bride adorned for her husband [Yeshua]. And I heard a loud voice from heaven, saying, "Look! The tabernacle of [G-D, YHWH] is with men, and He will dwell with them. They shall be His people, and [G-D] Himself [the heavenly Father] will be with them and be their [G-D, Father]. '[G-D] shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. There shall be no more death.' Neither shall there be any more sorrow nor crying nor pain, for the former things have passed away."
—REVELATION 21:2–4
I submit to you that <PERSON> (our heavenly Father), in preparation for His return with <PERSON> His only begotten Son, is making Himself known again through the Priestly Prayer of the Blessing in a more tangible way.
One of today's worship songs, "Show Me Your Face" by <PERSON>, shares the desire and yearning of YHWH (our heavenly Father) to show forth His face to us. For more of <PERSON> music, visit www.potterhausmusic.net.
<PERSON> stood on the mountain waiting for You to pass by You put Your hand over his face so in Your presence he wouldn't die
All of Israel saw the glory and it shines down through the age
Now You've called me to boldly seek Your face
Show me Your face, Lord, show me Your face
And gird up my legs that I might stand in this holy place
Show me Your face, Lord, Your power and grace
I could make it to the end if I could just see Your face
<PERSON> knew there was something more than the ark of Your presence
In a manger a baby was born among kings and peasants
All of Israel saw the glory and it shines down through the age
Now You've called us to boldly seek Your face
We will make it to the end if we could just see Your face
I will make it to the end, <PERSON>
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today's young female population. The "as if" outlook on life portrayed in _Clueless_ by <PERSON> was once just an entertaining teen comedy, but it sadly seems to be more the norm now. Sure, <PERSON> and <PERSON> were an amusing big-screen duo, and <PERSON> tuna-chicken bit was worth a laugh, but I think we would all agree that life imitating art may not be the best thing—not when the art in question is a cable show with female characters under the age of twenty-five. Similarly, if we find ourselves being sucked into _Laguna Beach_ vernacular around our friends, it may be time to break away from the posse for a while and search for more intellectual higher ground. Warning: this will not be easy. They will try to lure us back in with promises of mani-pedis and gossip magazines. But stay the course! Soon you'll be speaking like a Yale scholar. And when you're tempted to slip back into your old ways, just remind yourself, "If I wouldn't say this in front of my grandmother, I probably shouldn't say it at all."
To kick off our wordfest, take a crack at some of the following Smart Girl activities to get yourself thinking (and talking!) outside the box.
* Do a crossword puzzle every day over your lunch break.
* Pick up a learn-a-word-a-day desk calendar.
* Check out a foreign-language instructional CD from your library and pop it in during your commute to work.
* Play word games either online or with friends. My personal favorites are Scattergories, Catch Phrase, and Scrabble.
* Tape yourself talking—note any unnecessary or, like, filler words that you should, like, maybe not use.
* Intersperse some stimulating nonfiction books in your usual _Glamour_ magazine and chick-lit routine.
* Read the dictionary during _Lost_ commercials. That may sound extreme, but I actually used to read the dictionary for fun when I was little. Yes, I am _that_ dorky.
Polite, respectful speech is a whole other dilemma. Boys get cruder with every _American Pie_ movie, and ladies seem to stoop to new verbal lows every day. Novelist <PERSON> once said, "Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact." I've met many girls who have nothing constructive or edifying to say yet average more words per minute than anyone I know. Evidently only a rare few are raised to employ etiquette or give gracious compliments anymore; if they were, reality shows would all but dry up due to lack of drama and sheer ridiculousness.
Now, I live in the South, so I actually do still witness some courteous actions and proper etiquette on a daily basis. Boys are still taught to open doors for women, pull out chairs, and say, "Yes, ma'am" and "No, sir" from day one. Young women are still taught how to properly host a dinner party (we'll touch on that later!), how to decorate for the holidays, and how
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no need to start a bizarre-o online relationship.
* **_Too-revealing updates_** —you need to completely disregard that impulse to race back to your room and blog that you've just met the man of your dreams. Word will inevitably get back to him that you're obsessed with him, and he'll assume you're a little batty and will be scared poopless. Guys don't want to hear that you're planning their wedding or naming their unborn children (even if you are!), so let's skip the emotional Facebook updates and the tell-all Twitters.
* **_Planting yourself in strategic spots_** —the unnatural act of hanging around his hangouts is not only transparent, it's weird. I'm convinced that if you're truly destined to be with someone, you won't have to leave your house at a calculated time, hide out in the bushes for hours, and then magically materialize, looking fresh-faced, surprised to see him, and very available. For the record, driving by his house or apartment multiple times a day doesn't work, either.
Again, once he has lovingly gazed into your eyes and said that he can't imagine himself with anyone else, you're pretty much free to call and text whenever. Until then, the key is to keep him wanting more. And you can't do that when you're getting a tan from the 24/7 glow of that cell phone, obnoxiously informing him of every minute detail of your day while subtly slipping in hints of matrimony and grandchildren. Luckily, by the time he's professed his undying love, it means that he is so enamored of you that you won't be able to get rid of him—soon you'll be politely asking him to just leave you alone for a couple hours so that you can get some actual work done!
One of my favorite literary characters of all time, _Gone with the Wind'_ s <PERSON>, said, "Why does a girl have to be so silly to catch a husband?" Judging by the actions of most females these days, one might think this is exactly what we have to do. Between <PERSON> degrading hooker-like antics and the bulk of _The Bachelor_ contestants' hot-tub-and-champagne shenanigans, silly is an understatement. But in reality, the majority of guys aren't looking for stupid; they just want a fun, smart, down-to-earth girl they can take home to Mom.
Of course, we've all envisioned a happily-ever-after scenario countless times. Since the day we hit puberty and started matching up potential suitors' initials with our own on the back of an Algebra I notebook, we were destined for a lifetime of tear-jerk reactions to every emotionally charged life scenario: harsh breakups, timely Valentine's Day card commercials, long-awaited weddings, every sappy movie in the book... you name it and we're there bawling our eyes out. And frankly, I think that's just fine.
Romance is part of our female DNA. If you don't believe me, think back on the Disney movies they started feeding us at the ripe old age of two. Although humorous supporting characters helped advance the plotlines, each and every
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Tripoli rapporte une couronne pour deux : « Nestor-Colomba, couple star », titre la presse de la liberté...
... alors que son chef de communication, auquel <PERSON> obéit avec constance, organise les nouvelles interventions-surprises (« il faut aller au charbon »), sur le Tour de France, chez une femme battue, etc., mais cette fois <PERSON> l'a freiné d'un mot (qu'un ami grand bourgeois m'a rapporté) : « Faudrait pas qu'on m'appelle <PERSON>. »
... que, pour nous faire plaisir, l'armée pakistanaise saisit des armes – réelles ou déposées devant les photographes – dans la Mosquée rouge (dénoncée en 2003 par <PERSON> les cheveux : « Personne ne fait rien ! »), dont l'assaut _coûte_ 90 vies humaines (hommes, femmes et dangereux enfants islamistes).
Alors, <PERSON>, porte-parole de N.S., regarde dans les yeux, sur le petit écran, avec un air amusé, le collaborateur <PERSON> : « Je rêve ? Vous voulez taxer les riches ? C'est vous ou votre grand-père que j'ai devant moi ? »
Ce matin, un automobiliste dynamique manque d'écraser une vieille femme qui, se redressant, lance : « <PERSON> ! » <PERSON> : « C'est quoi votre problème ? »
Qui prononcera ces mots : « La folie du capitalisme est la nouvelle forme de la raison » ?
Face au sourire à peine <PERSON>, je me trouble puis <PERSON>, <PERSON> mon dogme humaniste, un documentaire me montre la manière dont les multinationales cherchent à s'emparer des richesses médicinales du Sud, et peut-être de toutes les espèces vivantes, dûment fichées, pour les revendre à ceux qui pourront payer. Par un tel jeu d'écritures la mafia russe a acquis les biens collectifs, matérialisant dans l'horreur le triomphe de la liberté... libre la mafia de les revendre en Occident où elle investit sa fortune.
Copé voit large depuis un jet, depuis la mer à Monaco ou à Aden, depuis le groupe qu'il admire, nos vues sont enfermées dans les murs rapprochés de <PERSON> ; sur un rayon bancal les fantômes de trois malheureux livres – un <PERSON>, deux <PERSON> – reflètent une société vieille de 150 ans.
Alors m'apparaît <PERSON> – bien habillé et bien-pensant – en 1934 : « Un redressement magnifique s'opère outre-<PERSON> et nous faisons la fine bouche, au <PERSON>'s, au Procope », tandis qu'Aragon oppose à notre médiocrité le beau pays de Staline.
La bonne sœur affiche un sourire de logicienne : « <PERSON> n'existe pas ? Comment se fait-il alors que je l'aie épousé ? »
Depuis mes 10 ans j'entends : « Ce n'est pas en prenant aux riches qu'on enrichit les pauvres » et : « Fabuleux développement mais coût social » ; c'est sur le dos des pauvres qu'on bâtit des fortunes.
**CHAPITRE VII**
**Dogmes et amour**
<PERSON> fut conçu à Grenoble un jour où de mon nid d'aigle sanatorial un vieil autocar, obscure enceinte, me mena au bord de l'Isère. Il naquit en 1956 dans une famille dite modeste – par le documentaire (une romance)
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_Samedi 9 mars, 11h10_
Assis dans le petit hall de l'hôtel, j'attends <PERSON> et <PERSON>. Je saisis sur une table basse le journal _Sud-Ouest_ : journée de la Femme hier, plusieurs personnes ont proposé de placer au Panthéon Olympe de Gouges dont les soins ultimes prodigués à A.M. en août dernier m'ont révélé l'existence. En 1791, elle rédigea une Déclaration des droits de la femme, « née égale en droits à l'homme ».
L'un des plus beaux visages du XXe siècle est au-dessus de moi. La dame n'est pas jeune, mais un absolu de la beauté éclaire son visage bronzé : <PERSON>. « J'ai assisté à votre lecture dans la bibliothèque. Nous étions pris. Pas moyen de s'échapper. » Elle éloigne un corps tordu par l'arthrose sans perdre sa grandeur. La Beauté, la Chute (la Mort), A.M.
Je patiente sur le cuir d'une banquette contre la baie. La peur monte. À 12h40, je téléphone à la gendarmerie : « Accident sur la route Bordeaux-Royan ? » À cet instant, non pas dans la baie mais dans le sas qui précède la porte étroite de l'hôtel, une forme sombre développe une hauteur digne de... C'est bien <PERSON>.
Nous fonçâmes vers l'île d'Oléron par de petites routes du bout du monde, un fleuve côtier avait l'apparence d'un chenal, des vignes maigrelettes soudain prenaient nom : prestigieux « pineau des Charentes », jamais je ne lus « cognac ».
Long pont, dit viaduc, légèrement courbe, jusqu'à l'île, quelques fortins minuscules sur des rochers isolés, l'île nous présente le paysage de la terre ferme, plus ne vîmes la mer, le temps se maintenait magnifique, nous arrivâmes à la fin des terres, peuplée de camionnettes.
De la falaise basse, nous descendîmes sur le bout rond de l'île ovale face à l'Amérique dans l'Océan qu'A.M. disséminée ensemença l'été dernier.
Marée haute, les skimboardeurs s'exerçaient, partant à toute allure du sable sec, lançant la planche sur le ressac, sautant sur elle, affrontant les vaguelettes, tous hommes-grenouilles gris-noir à l'exception d'une nymphe en bikini vivement coloré dans le soleil. Assis sur un pliant à une table légère, l'organisateur et jury de la compétition de skimboard accomplissait un travail de bureau sous une casquette de télégraphiste (westerns).
Dans le soleil franc et sur le sable blond, je me suis forcé à manger un petit sandwich au pâté. <PERSON>. J'ai décidé une sieste en plein soleil. Dans le transport rapide de ma valise et de mes vêtements extérieurs depuis le hall de l'hôtel jusqu'à l'arrière de la camionnette EDEN, j'avais perdu ma casquette _Eden_. Un chapeau prêté a couvert le haut de mon visage contre l'agression solaire, mais je voyais, isolé, le bleu du ciel.
Je me suis endormi une, deux ou trois fois.
À travers le chapeau rugueux, le soleil écrase ma conscience. Je suis UN, différent des sportifs, je suis l'homme des retraits : mon lien à A.M. montre un retrait.
Grosse chaleur lumineuse écrase ma présence. Quel noir solaire règne sous ma paupière ?
Bientôt il était 16 h. La compétition avait pris fin.
Pendant deux heures, le
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goods or taking up additional time in shipping them from supplier to factory. Of course the downside of this is that each factory has limited options. Many designers love the process of researching fabrics and sourcing each button as well as creating their own colors and prints.
**Sewn Goods**
Many growing labels, especially in menswear, have started out as T-shirt brands or graphic-based labels with screen printing on sweatshirts or Henleys. Many of these new designers start out using already-sewn product, such as T-shirts from American Apparel. This can be a great place to start and a way to avoid sourcing raw materials and production facilities as you start to establish your brand. However, at some point, you will need to step up to a better quality and lose that American Apparel label to be taken more seriously and to justify the more expensive cost of your designer product.
**Once You Order**
**Convincing Suppliers to Work with You**
Mills and fabric agents are often hesitant to work with new designers. In fact, a designer told me she approached a supplier who was standing in front of a rack of black ribbon, and when she asked, "Do you have any black ribbon?" the supplier said no.
The relationships you develop over time with fabric, leather, and trim suppliers will be invaluable. Fabric company CEO <PERSON> put up $750,000 from her business for designer <PERSON> to start his label. It's not surprising that designers who speak fluent French or Italian often evade the minimums at European mills. A supplier of activewear fabrics at the IFFE told me that even though he has a 500-yard production minimum, if he enjoys speaking to a young designer and determines from the conversation that the designer is serious and smart, he may let that person buy small quantities with a credit card.
Some fabric suppliers enthusiastically support new designers. <PERSON> of Textile Agency said, "Young designers bring energy and creativity to fashion and keep New York fashion from being boring.". Jasco Fabrics supports new talent and allows new designers to order small quantities of its high-quality, American-made jersey.
To increase the odds of getting fabric from a new supplier, introduce yourself, demonstrate some knowledge of fabric, share your vision, and mention interest in your collection from press or stores. Let the supplier see the potential for increased business and convince it that you are able to pay.
If a rep does give you an appointment, be prepared and don't waste the rep's time. Agent <PERSON> emphasizes, "No designing here!" If you start developing your concept in a supplier's office while looking at all the fabrics and asking for random swatches, you won't be invited back. Have your concept and direction for the collection before you meet the fabric agent. Tell the agent exactly what you need so she can help you find it quickly.
Sourcing fabric will get easier. Ingwa; Melero's fabric suppliers now stock some of its fabrics to help with reorders, and they bring previews of upcoming fabrics to see if the
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know that if they do not pay the factors, they will damage their credit, and their other suppliers will stop extending credit to them. Even though factors may save designers from having to check credit and collect from their stores, the designers still need to have someone act as a liaison between the factor and the stores.
The factoring cost of 2 to 3 percent of sales is usually not costly, considering companies will be outsourcing a good portion of their receivables management and will have access to additional funds to grow their business. However, factoring costs money, and companies should always be aware of their expenses.
What makes you factorable? Many factors work with start-ups as well as well-established companies. Generally, before you can be considered by a factor, you need to be able to ship up to $75,000 to $100,000 of goods. Some require $1 million per year, yet others will start at much smaller levels, such as $25,000. You can get a factor at any size, but be careful if your sales volume is small because the arrangement can be extremely expensive. The cost of factoring, and the way a factor structures its deals, can vary greatly. The cost can range from 1.5 to 7 percent of sales, depending on the size of your business, how long you have been in business, the risky attributes of the company, the capital in the business, extenuating circumstances, customer makeup, and the nature of the business. Generally the higher your sales volume, the lower your factoring commission.
When choosing a factor make sure you understand how the factor structures its deal, that it knows your business, and that it has quality systems. Try not to pay more than 3 percent for nonrecourse factoring, which means the factor takes the credit risk and pays its client, even when a store defaults on payment. Factoring is not a regulated industry and can provide funding when banks are unable to do so. Some factors are set up for very aggressive lending and charge more for it.
Working with a factor does not end all your problems. You are still responsible for handling disputes with the stores. If a store calls and complains that the merchandise does not fit or is not what it ordered, designers cannot say, "Oh well, deal with my factor." these situations are generally considered a "charge back," which is when a store disputes an invoice and refuses to pay because of a problem with the goods.
Basically, when a business decides to look into financing, it will decide whether to work with a bank or asset-based financier. Banks generally look for established companies that can provide a financial statement showing that the company is profitable and has solid net worth. Because most new companies do not live up to these standards, asset-based financing/factoring is usually the way to go. However, many companies, which have been around for a while and are in good financial condition, stay with factoring because of the service and flexibility factors provide.
There are different opinions on
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only shines the metal but is a great stress test of the solder connections.
CAUTION: Always use proper ventilation when soldering and allow the soldered metal to cool down before handling (see Paste Soldering Techniques).
* * *
HEAT AND STERLING SILVER
Sterling silver deforms at a lower temperature than copper or bronze, so when you switch to silver rings, take extra care not to overheat them or they will collapse with a deafening sigh. The key is to keep the butane torch's tip only at the soldering joint and then remove the flame the instant you see the liquid shine of the silver solder's melting temperature (see Dimensional Soldering Problems).
* * *
GLOBE BRACELET
GLOBE BRACELET
The Globe Bracelet starts by assembling and soldering twelve Globe frames, which will give you plenty of practice with the subtle detail of melting the solder at both sides without overheating the silver frame. The multiple Globe frames are pickle-cleaned and rotary-polished before they are connected with pairs of interlocking jump rings in a repetitive pattern and then connected with an S-clasp.
INTERMEDIATE
• •
TOOLS: Two pairs of flat-nose pliers; chain-nose pliers; flat file; 10.16mm OD gas pipe mandrel (for 16-gauge, 11mm jump rings); felt-tip pen; Argentium silver solder paste; butane torch; Solderite board; soldering pick; proper ventilation; pickle cleaning solution; baking soda; steel shot; rotary tumbler
MATERIALS: Twenty-four 16-gauge, 11mm ID rings (for the Globe frames); twenty-six 16-gauge, 4.5mm ID jump rings (13 copper and 13 bronze) to link the Globes; three 15-gauge, 5mm ID catch rings; silver S-clasp
1 To make twenty-four 16-gauge, 11mm ID rings (this page), use a 10.16mm OD gas pipe mandrels. Follow Globe Frame steps 1–13 to assemble, solder, test, pickle, and polish twelve silver Globe frames.
2 Pairs of Globe frames are connected by a single (copper) jump ring between them, per the following process. First add the twisted-open copper ring diagonally through a Globe frame.
3 Add another Globe frame diagonally onto the open copper jump ring.
4 Grip the right side of the copper jump ring inside the upper Globe frame with the chain-nose pliers and the other side of the ring with flat-nose pliers.
5 Twist the copper jump ring closed to connect both Globe frames.
6 Repeat steps 2–5 to connect all twelve Globe frames, keeping all the copper rings at the same angle between the Globes, as shown.
7 Add thirteen 16-gauge bronze rings between the silver Globe frames, each spiraling around the copper rings added in steps 2–5. First insert the left-side of the twisted-open bronze ring diagonally through the previous (left) Globe frame and inside the copper ring.
8 Next, position the right-side of the twisted-open bronze jump ring inside the next Globe frame (outside of the copper ring), and regrip the right-hand side of the bronze ring with the chain-nose pliers from within this Globe.
9 Grip the left-hand side of the bronze jump ring with the flat-nose pliers.
10 Twist the bronze jump ring closed to connect both Globe frames while spiraling perpendicularly around the copper ring.
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da18c40f-b06a-d2c9-3007-d4757ea24663
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['e438483c-1b34-0298-1a8a-5ad42aa8821d']
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middle mark.
9 Remove the chuck from the electric motor (leaving the silver and gold wires secured in its jaws) so you can hand-wrap the opened connector jump ring to the silver wire through the ring's gap with five loops to secure it.
10 Reattach the chuck to the screwdriver, and continue wrapping the remaining gold wire around the silver wire to the ending mark. Remove the coiled wire length from the chuck, and trim off any excess gold wire past the outer marks.
11 Place one end of the coiled wire into the predrilled hole of the 12.7mm gas-pipe mandrel.
12 Using your fingers, bend the coiled wire around the mandrel one and a half times.
13 Cut the tail of the wrapped coil from the gas pipe mandrel, just outside of the drilled hole. Remove the coil from the mandrel.
14 Looking down on the coil, use the felt-tip marker to mark the points on the coil directly opposite the connector ring.
15 Use the side cutters to individually cut the wrapped coil slightly beyond each center mark you made in step 19, keeping both ends of the wrapped coiled flat so they make a tight joint for a secure soldering.
16 Lay the wrapped coil on the Solderite board. Add a dab of silver solder paste to the joint of the coiled loop, and solder with a butane torch to securely connect the joint. Clean the toggle and bar in a pickle solution, neutralize with baking soda, and then tumble-polish them with steel shot (this page) before using them to secure your favorite necklace design.
The Jens Pind Propeller Necklace is finished with a Coiled Toggle Clasp.
## MATCHING EARRING BACKS
This demonstration is just to illustrate the basic principle of earring-back bending. Once mastered, you can try longer and shorter lengths of head-pin wires and adjust the large loop diameter to find the perfect shape, size, and functionality just for you.
TOOLS: Flat-nose pliers; chain-nose pliers; round-nose pliers (marked at a 2.5mm diameter); flat jeweler's file; two bending mandrels (one small 2.35mm [3/32-inch] and one large 8mm [5/16-inch])
MATERIALS: Two 19-gauge, 2-inch (5.08cm) head pins
1 If desired, use a flat file to bevel the tip of both head-pin wires at a slight 45-degree angle.
2 Using the round-nose pliers, grip each head pin below the 2mm ball and bend each wire around the pliers' jaw at the 2.5mm mark in a complete loop.
3 Add both small loops, facing the same way, onto the small (2.35mm) mandrel.
4 With the small mandrel holding both wires, place the large (8mm) mandrel in front of the wires. Keep both mandrels parallel with a gap between them and bend both wires (with your finger) simultaneously (so they match each other) over the large mandrel.
5 Remove the large mandrel and grip both ¼-inch (6.4mm) wire tails simultaneously in the flat-nose pliers. Bend both wires slightly outward about 30 degrees to create a safety stop, which prevents the earring from falling out of your earlobe.
6 The finished earring back may
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