query_id
stringlengths 4
64
| query_authorID
stringlengths 6
40
| query_text
stringlengths 66
72.1k
| candidate_id
stringlengths 5
64
| candidate_authorID
stringlengths 6
40
| candidate_text
stringlengths 9
101k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
6e1a1801-96c1-3812-7287-91085efec8d7
|
['003af7ab-e2df-f444-99cb-644980b9baac']
|
their plastic pots, wearing a pair of protective gloves to guard against the thorns, and position them in the tub with the taller roses at the back. Try to disturb the roots as little as you can. Pack in some more potting mix and press down firmly.
4 Take the snow-in-summer plants out of their pots and plant them around the base of the roses. Fill any gaps with more potting mix and give the tub a thorough water.
tip:
In spring mulch around the plants with well-rotted manure or garden compost. Apply rose fertilizer at the start of the growing season and again in early summer. Deadhead the roses throughout the growing season
pretty vintage tin
I like the idea of a garden that you can move round with you as you go about your day. This lovely old cookie tin has been put to good use and is now home to some pretty, small-scale plants that create a sweet little garden with a real feel of a wildflower meadow in summer.
materials
**Old tin**
**Fine gravel**
**Potting mix**
**Plants:**
_Campanula pulla_ 'Alba' (bellflower)
_Erigeron karvinskianus_ (fleabane)
_Penstemon pinifolius_ 'Mersea Yellow'
_Rhodanthemum catananche_ 'Tizi-n-Tichka'
_Rhodohypoxis_ 'Midori'
_Thymus serpyllum_ 'Vey'
1 Make holes in the bottom of the tin (see page 8) and cover the bottom with a layer of gravel to improve drainage. Put some potting mix on top of the layer of gravel.
2 Take the plants out of their plastic pots and gently remove some of the potting mix from around the roots. Arrange the plants in the tin, putting the taller plants toward the back. Press more potting mix around the plants and push the mix down firmly. Keep the tin well watered and remember to place it on a tray to catch the drips while you water.
metal dish displays
I love to cram lots of different plants into containers in order to create a blaze of color or a lush jungle of foliage, but sometimes less really is more. Using just three plants in some lovely old metal dishes creates a truly elegant miniature garden that has a beautiful simplicity about it.
materials
**Shallow metal dishes**
**Long nail and hammer**
**Small drainage crocks**
**Fine gravel**
**Potting mix** with a few handfuls of sand added
**Crushed shells**
**Plants:**
_Aethionema_ 'Warley Rose' (stone cress)
Pink _Armeria maritima_ 'Splendens' and white _A. maritima_ 'Alba' (sea thrift)
_Dodecatheon meadia_ f. album (shooting stars)
_Jeffersonia dubia_ (Asian twin leaf)
_Oxalis adenophylla_ (sauer klee)
_Saxifraga_ 'Red Pixie' (saxifrage)
_Sedum spathulifolium_ (stonecrop)
1 Make some drainage holes in the bottom of each of the metal dishes using the long nail and hammer (see page 8).
2 Cover the holes with a few small crocks for drainage and then place some of the fine gravel in the bottom of the dish.
3 Scoop potting mix into the dish. Take the plants out of their plastic pots and arrange them on top of the potting mix. Pack more mix around the plants, firming in well to hold the plants in place.
4 Cover the potting
|
7eea2004-4abf-a762-5953-b83bfbe472b3
|
['003af7ab-e2df-f444-99cb-644980b9baac']
|
the moss to make a path for the fairies and add miniature toadstools (either store-bought or made from some modeling clay) and other fairy accessories to finish off.
tip:
If the fairies in your area are a little shy, you can easily make your own with a wooden clothes pin. Create a fairy dress with primula leaves, tied to the body with a raffia bow, and add a flower hat to finish.
succulents in drawers
Old wooden drawers of varying shapes and sizes make great containers for a succulent garden. Succulents have shallow root systems so do not need particularly deep containers. These drawers had gaps in the joints, so I didn't need to make drainage holes, but you can drill a few holes in each drawer before you start.
materials
**Selection of wooden drawers** in different sizes
**Gravel**
**Potting mix** with a few handfuls of sand added
**Fine gravel**
**Selection of succulents such as:**
_Aeonium_ 'Zwartkop'
_Crassula ovata_ (money plant)
_Crassula rupestris_ var. _marnieriana_ (jade necklace)
_Echeveria gibbiflora_ var. _metallica_
_Echeveria secunda_ var. _glauca_
_Graptopetalum paraguayense_ (ghost plant)
_Jovibarba sobolifera_
_Saxifraga cuneifolia_ (shield-leaved saxifrage)
_Sedum rupestre, S. rupestre_ 'Angelina,' and _S. rupestre_ 'Aureum' (stone orpine)
1 Arrange the drawers on the surface where you will eventually display your succulent garden. Make sure that all of the drawers are stable.
2 Put a few handfuls of the coarser gravel in the bottom of each drawer to help with drainage.
tip:
The garden should be kept in a warm, sheltered spot. Protect it from too much rain if you can and provide good drainage by putting holes in the drawers and plenty of sand in the potting mix if they are in a very exposed site.
3 Sprinkle some potting mix into each drawer and compartment, filling them until they are about two-thirds full.
4 Take the plants out of their plastic pots and remove any excess potting mix. Plant them in the drawers, spreading out the roots as much as you can. Add more potting mix to hold the plants in place.
5 Cover the surface of the potting mix with the fine gravel, which will help prevent the leaves of the plants rotting if they come into contact with the surface. Water and leave to drain.
topiary garden
These miniature conifers, with their different shades of green and interesting foliage textures, make a very cute little garden. Any small containers will work, but these sweet galvanized tubs work especially well. Alternatively, you can plant the conifers in one big galvanized tub to create a miniature evergreen forest.
materials
**Small galvanized buckets**
**Drainage crocks**
**Gravel**
**Potting mix**
**Moss** (available from florists)
**Plants:**
_Chamaecyparis lawsoniana_ 'Ellwoodii,' _C. lawsoniana_ 'Ellwood's Gold,' _C. lawsoniana_ 'Snow White' (<PERSON> cypress)
_Chamaecyparis pisifera_ 'Boulevard' (Sawara cypress)
_Thuja occidentalis_ 'Teddy' (white cedar)
_Thuja plicata Goldy_ (Western red cedar)
1 Make a few holes in the bottom of the buckets (see page 8) and cover with a few drainage crocks. Put a little gravel in the bottom of each bucket.
2 Scoop a little potting mix into the first bucket.
|
8b69a342-4834-616e-9b16-15b5634f9353
|
['0070654f-a2dc-de57-44b5-dae4456c6885']
|
Community Choice energy programs are a natural vehicle for implementing this new energy model.
# **More Than Just Another Utility**
The above discussion has tried to make the case that Community Choice energy, by placing control of the electricity system in community hands, provides a vehicle for creating the kind of decentralized energy system that can deliver a host of economic, environmental, and equity benefits to our communities.
That is not to say that such benefits are a foregone conclusion.
In fact, many Community Choice energy programs have led to quite different results. Take the case of Illinois, for example, where a few years ago hundreds of communities established Community Choice programs and on that basis were able to shift their purchase of electricity from Consolidated Edison, which had procured relatively costly coal-based electricity sources, to new electricity providers based on cheaper fracked natural gas electricity-generating sources. That meant cheaper electricity for those communities; it also meant an expansion of the extreme fossil fuel extraction method called fracking.
Many of these communities, in an effort to claim that they were reducing greenhouse gas emissions, purchased large numbers of unbundled renewable energy certificates (RECs) on what is called the voluntary REC market. Basically, these unbundled RECs are simply paper certificates and do not add to new renewable energy production.12 In fact, in Illinois, because these RECs were used to greenwash fossil fuel-sourced energy, the market for real renewable power nearly evaporated, suppressing wind energy production in the state.
So the impact of Community Choice in Illinois was not only to encourage fracking but to suppress wind-powered renewable energy in the region as well.
The lesson of this story is that Community Choice is merely a vehicle; it is not a destination. Without a clear destination and a good driver, this vehicle can take us in the wrong direction, to the wrong place.
For a Community Choice program to deliver economic, environmental, and equity benefits to our communities, it cannot be seen as just another locally based utility that simply buys and sells electricity to residents and businesses. Nevertheless, a number of Community Choice programs in California, like those in Illinois, are based primarily on purchasing electricity on the market or from remote generating sources for sale to their customers. This approach is known as Community Choice Version 1.0.
To achieve the kind of decentralized energy system that can deliver economic, environmental, and equity benefits to our communities requires a different community-development approach, known as Community Choice Version 2.0.13
Community Choice Version 2.0 is substantially different from the standard utility model, as shown in table 8–1.
# **The Strategy: Put the Community in Community Choice**
The powerful potential of Community Choice Version 2.0 energy programs to deliver economic, environmental, and equity benefits to our communities rests with our communities exercising real control of these programs. While Community Choice represents a shift of energy decision making away from the incumbent private utility into a public agency, such institutional restructuring will represent a democratization of energy _only if_ our communities are actively involved in shaping Community
|
f4f9af78-7a3f-9841-a4e4-d315f5df1ca5
|
['0070654f-a2dc-de57-44b5-dae4456c6885']
|
well as the attitudes of activists, politicians, and homeowners. One lesson for other movements is that it can be more effective to start with a small, doable, impactful project and build, expand, diversify, and scale from there.
A decade after the Mt. Pleasant Solar Cooperative formed, the District of Columbia is now one of the most solar-friendly cities in America, home to one of the hottest solar markets in the country. Most important, the market is supported by activists from all parts of the city, not merely in the upper-class Northwest quadrant, but also in Anacostia, in Southwest DC, and Brookland, in Northeast DC. With the landmark Solar for All program, DC has the potential to show the rest of the country how solar can truly transform energy markets to benefit all its residents.
# **The CPN Co-Op Model**
Community Power Network (CPN), the national initiative that grew out of DC Solar United Neighborhoods (DC SUN), built on these early experiences working with neighbors across DC to refine its community-led solar co-op model. Solar co-ops today are similar to the Mt. Pleasant project, but the process has become much more efficient, professional, and streamlined. What took the Mt. Pleasant Solar Cooperative two years can now be completed in nine months or less.
The central idea of a neighborhood solar purchase co-op is to enable a group of neighbors to go solar together and get a bulk discount, thereby making solar more affordable and accessible. By going solar as a group, participants save on the cost of their system and get support from their peers as they go through the process. The process is still democratically run by the local community, but CPN provides professional technical assistance so that each group does not have to reinvent the wheel and can benefit from the experience of previous co-ops.
As the local group goes through the solar co-op process, it learns about solar technology, installation, financing options, and policies that impact its ability to go solar. Common barriers include restrictive fire codes and homeowners association rules; net metering limitations; weak or nonexistent RPS standards; and cumbersome permitting, inspections, or interconnection practices. Through engagement in the co-op process, people come to understand how energy policy is made and what kinds of actions are needed to change it. They are motivated to take action because these barriers directly impact their ability to put solar on their own homes.
# **CPN'S FOUR-PHASE PROCESS**
The co-op model Community Power Network has developed is a four-phase process. In the first phase, CPN works with a local community partner to spread the word about the co-op, create excitement about solar, and recruit residents to attend information sessions. This local community partner can be a nonprofit, a church, a local government agency, or simply a group of individuals. At information sessions, CPN explains the co-op process, solar technology and installation, financing, and policy issues, in addition to answering the many detailed questions people ask about solar. Interested homeowners can then join the co-op online. After a participants sign up, CPN does a
|
747a197b-91c1-f030-6837-767a2b82c534
|
['0109dead-4748-1fff-629f-d0f1900d88f6']
|
they were sent. You should aim to be the initiator of a chain of good impressions rather than that of a succession of bad impressions.
Being the bearer of bad news — how to do it well
Certain patterns of expression can be used in responding to a range of bad news situations. These patterns offer ways of conveying the bad news indirectly, with tact and sensitivity. Be wary, however, of adopting an unthinking, formulaic approach — many readers will detect such insincerity, and will find it as offensive as a blunt, rude one-line note.
Kisses, kicks, buffers and sandwiches
As has been noted, it is good elementary psychology to embed a bad news message inside a more positive communication. This means opening, and probably closing, your letter with good news or neutral information. This approach is sometimes called the bad news sandwich approach, in which the bad news is surrounded or buffered by other material, or the blow or kick you deliver is softened by the kisses that precede and follow it (see table 2.2).
Table 2.2: the bad news sandwich
Section of sandwich | Effect
---|---
Buffer | Kiss
Bad news | Kick
Buffer | Kiss
A buffer of more positive words and ideas will help soften the blow of bad news. Opening buffers are used to:
* express appreciation
* restate the situation
* explore common areas of agreement
* offer reasons or explanations
* offer alternatives.
Buffers can be used separately and sequentially, or can be combined in a variety of ways, depending on your style preferences.
Appreciation buffers
Appreciation is usually expressed in the opening remarks as shown in table 2.3.
Table 2.3: expressions of appreciation
What is appreciated | How expressed
---|---
Efforts of recipient in having written/made contact | 'Thank you for taking the time to notify us of the difficulties you have been experiencing with your ...'
Good taste of recipient in having chosen our product | 'We appreciate your interest in the Excelsior range of marine insurance policies ...'
Restatement buffers
Restating the situation allows you, the writer, not only to put off the bad news but also to define the parameters of the issue, or just what it is that you and the reader are concerned with. Perceptions of a situation can vary from individual to individual, and your reader may see things differently from you, so it is worth going through this exercise. The details of a situation may, of course, already be summarised succinctly in the subject line, but a restatement in the text of the letter will further clarify the matter. Restatements are often combined with appreciations, for instance, 'Thank you for contacting us regarding your order of 6 June for 32 gross of our Kaylite S30 metabolic transducers ...'
Agreement buffers
It is useful for the writer to express some type of agreement in the opening of a bad news letter, even though all
|
f0c3e5b0-bf55-062c-3a1b-75817ac967cc
|
['0109dead-4748-1fff-629f-d0f1900d88f6']
|
a phone book, directory, catalogue or other reference book, they will also consult only that information they need, disregarding the rest. Most people read instruction manuals in order to do rather than to learn and so may pick only the content most immediately relevant (a strategy not without peril, of course). In all such texts, although we may not always read them from beginning to end, but rather select the information we need, the documents are in most cases constructed in a linear way.
Online writing, on the other hand, while it developed from traditional writing, tends more to non-linear or mosaic forms than traditional print-based narrative and descriptive text. Conventional writing is two-dimensional — a page has horizontal and vertical dimensions. In most language traditions, the reader starts at the top left of the page, moves across the line to the right margin, then repeats the process, moving down the page, turning the page when necessary. Online writing adds a third 'dimension' within the screen space with hypertext, or electronic links to other parts of the document or to other documents or websites (see figure 6.1).
Figure 6.1: the 3-D mosaic of writing in the online space
Therefore, a book on animals may be constructed as shown in figure 6.2.
Figure 6.2: a linear/narrative approach
On the other hand, a website on the same topic may be constructed as shown in figure 6.3.
Figure 6.3: a non-linear/mosaic approach — hyperlinking is two-way
In the non-linear approach, hypertext links are indicated by underlined text, often in a different colour to indicate that the words are 'hot' — that is, electronically linked to other pages or sites.
In the non-linear example (figure 6.3), the reader can access online information (here the second-level pages are labelled 2A, 2B, 2C and 2D) in any sequence, rather than being constrained by the linear approach most often followed by a book treatment of the same content.
The reader may choose to 'drill down' through multiple structural levels of information or follow a different sequence entirely. This type of branching structure is common in online games and learning modules. The process has much in common with flow-charting, where 'if-then' logic is used to cover a variety of permutations and combinations of events. The online screen, then, has advantages and disadvantages when communicating information (see table 6.1).
Table 6.1: advantages and disadvantages of online/mosaic writing when compared with linear/narrative exposition in hard copy
Advantages | Disadvantages
---|---
Able to hyperlink areas of content | Less information can be contained in a typical single screen than in a typical printed page
Gives the reader more control when interacting with the content and determining the sequence in which the content will be explored or navigated | Screen text may not be as legible as printed page
Able to show movement or animation | More reader effort is needed to scroll horizontally and vertically through screen text than to look at different parts of a printed page
Able to convey sound |
|
46adff6a-8555-d2b8-38bf-e2274bd3e781
|
['01be82ef-077e-6a0f-25bb-c436f33ecac2']
|
the plastic falls in sheets
from the back of that animal at the bottom,
the wind tosses them like the ears of a spaniel on the run
and we see the ribs;
let the world not play dumb!
Everyone has a skeleton inside him,
and the snow is a clot,
not powdered sugar.
<PERSON>
To, co się tutaj dzieje
i nad czym nie umiem ciągle zapanować
(cieknący kran, jakiś pies idiota pod oknem),
to przez pieniądze.
Nie starczyło ich, abym mógł
do ciebie pojechać.
POEM AGAINST MONEY
What goes on here
and what I cannot always control
(the dripping faucet, some idiot dog under the window),
is all due to money.
There isn't enough to be able
to visit you.
<PERSON> WIADRZE
Nie wierzę, że wpadłaś tutaj z własnej winy
ani że cię upuścił jakiś ptak koszykarz.
To za to, że ukryłem resztę swoich rzeczy
i to rzucanie w szyby przestało mnie budzić.
Nie myślę, aby w studni gnił ktoś z twej rodziny,
ale mogę jeść śnieg, póki leży. Z myciem
będzie przez trochę jak w ciemnym dzieciństwie,
gdy kryłem twarz w mydlinach po silniejszym bracie.
Odpinam żerdź żurawia i niosąc cię, myślę,
że miałaś swe pięć minut – pięć, bo jesteś mniejsza;
wrzucam cię między śmieci i powoli wracam,
wiadro dla dezynfekcji zostaje na mrozie.
Parę dni mnie nie było, więc ściany w pokoju
zużyły wszystek tlen. Podchodzę do okna i
wietrząc, palcem na szybie szyfruję bez klucza:
"pierścień okrążenia nagle się zacisnął".
A MOUSE IN A BUCKET
I can't believe you fell in here by your own fault
or that some bird basketball player has dropped you.
It's payback for my putting away the rest of my stuff
and that tapping on windows that no longer wakes me.
I don't think any of your relatives is rotting in the well,
but I can eat snow, as long as it's here. Washing
will be like it was during my dark childhood,
when I hid my face in the soapy water left by my stronger brother.
I detach the rod from the pump and, carrying you, think
that you've had your five minutes—five, because you're smaller;
I throw you between the trash and slowly come back,
leaving the bucket for the cold to disinfect.
I was gone a few days, so the walls in the room
used up all the oxygen. I walk over to the window and
airing out, I encrypt, with my finger on the glass, without a code:
"The ring of encirclement has suddenly tightened."
<PERSON>
Zimą, gdy mróz przenika przez ściany,
otwory w swetrze i skórę,
nie uciekniesz stąd,
choć miasto nawołuje najgłośniej.
Ani wiosną. A ona zbudzi wiejskich włamywaczy,
potem komary
i przejdzie na koniec w najsurowsze – lato.
Jesienią wilgoć w kątach,
za szafą, za tapczanem sypiące się farba i tynk,
smród, od którego boli głowa.
Do latryny, pod studnię i dół ze śmieciami,
trzy wąskie ścieżki wydeptane w trawie –
nie uciekniesz jesienią.
MARLEWO
In winter, when frost penetrates the walls,
the holes in one's sweater and skin,
you won't escape from
|
e8c45aee-d84c-0ed9-aa14-1f5cee406fb7
|
['01be82ef-077e-6a0f-25bb-c436f33ecac2']
|
it that I can't
find anything in them? <PERSON>'s?
Mine? Or maybe yours—
you, the owner of the tape player
with which I dine and sleep?
Where are you?
ZIMĄ, NA TRZY GODZINY PRZED ŚWITEM
Zimą, na trzy godziny przed świtem
nawołują się na przedmieściach
jak wilki, pociągi z nocą
opuszczoną do połowy masztu.
Okna domu naszego tak nisko,
otwarte okiennice i wiatr
lekko uderza o ścianę
skrzydłami z pogiętej blachy.
Wolno trawi deski podłogi
wilgoć i czuć w powietrzu
woń gnijącego drewna,
a ubrania stają się cięższe.
Ogrzewamy strzępy pościeli
i ciała przy stygnącym piecu.
IN WINTER, THREE HOURS BEFORE DAWN
In winter, three hours before dawn,
they're calling to each other in the suburbs,
like wolves, trains and the night
lowered to half-mast.
Our house's windows so low,
the shutters are open and the wind
strikes the wall lightly
with twisted metal wings.
The floorboards are slowly digested
by moisture and the air is filled
with the smell of rotting wood,
and clothes are growing heavier.
We're heating shreds of bed sheets
and bodies beside the cooling oven.
TWO
PAN P. WYZNAJE: NIE JESTEM MIEJSKIM PARTYZANTEM
Nigdy nie byłem miejskim partyzantem.
<PERSON> w barze to dla mnie udręka,
kolejne rzadko pamiętam. Ubrania służą mi do okrywania
ciała, napojami gaszę pragnienie.
W kwestii seksu mam do powiedzenia niewiele –
tak, jestem niesprawiedliwy wobec własnych myśli
i niech tak może zostanie. Widziałem parę filmów,
żaden nie wydał mi się dość dobry, podobnie
było z płytami, na wystawy chodzę w sobotę.
Tylko weekendowe wydania gazety,
jeden tygodnik na tydzień, trzy czwarte miesięcznika.
Sprawy osobiste względnie uporządkowane.
W polityce zawsze po stronie opozycji,
w futbolu za napastnikami. Żadnych napisów na koszulkach.
Okulary słoneczne prędzej włożyłbym sobie w tyłek
niż na głowę, bardzo przepraszam.
Życie nie musi sprawiać mi przyjemności,
sam na nie zapracowałem. Cisza wcześnie rano
we własnym mieszkaniu. Przedział drugiej klasy
w pociągu na przedmieściach, wieczorem, ze mną w środku.
<PERSON>, sprawny prysznic. <PERSON>.
MR. P. CONFESSES: I'M NOT AN URBAN GUERRILLA
I've never been an urban guerrilla.
The first hour in the bar is torture for me,
I rarely remember the ones after. I use clothes for covering
my body, drinks for quenching my thirst.
About sex I've got very little to say—
yes, I'm unfair to my own thoughts
and perhaps that's for the best. I've seen a few films,
none seemed good enough, and the same
goes for records; I attend exhibitions on Saturday.
Only the weekend edition of the newspaper,
one weekly per week, three-quarters of a monthly.
My personal affairs are fairly in order.
In politics, always on the side of the opposition,
in soccer, always behind the forwards. No slogans on the T-shirts.
I'd sooner stick sunglasses up my ass
than on my head, excusez-moi.
Life doesn't necessarily have to give me pleasure,
I've earned it myself. Early morning silence
in my own apartment. Second-class compartment
on the suburban train, in the evening, with me inside.
A bed, a working shower. Cheap, of course.
PAŃSTWO P. I POJAZDY MECHANICZNE
Akcja "Znicz" jak co roku
nie
|
3e31c43d-cb49-c09b-7b90-6a36e10ed22f
|
['01d4f3bf-de35-b533-4bd3-fb2a02a454e8']
|
For hundreds of thousands of years: Rahn H, Yokoyama T. _Physiology of Breath-Hold Diving and the Ama of Japan_. Washington, D.C.: National Academy of Sciences–National Research Council; 1965:369.
and some evolutionary theorists: <PERSON> A. Was man more aquatic in the past? _New Scientist_. March 17, 1960. <PERSON> there a _Homo aquaticus_? _Zenith._ 1977;15(1): 4–6.
Generally, most humans: World records. Association Internationale pour le Développement de l'Apnée. www.aidainternational.org/competitive/worlds-records (accessed July 6, 2012).
A number of studies have sought: <PERSON> Physiology and pathophysiology of blood volume regulation. _Transfus Sci_. 1997 Sep;18(3):409–23. <PERSON> Correlation between sectional area of the spleen by ultrasonic tomography and actual volume of the removed spleen. _J Clin Ultrasound_. 1979 Apr;7(2):119–20. <PERSON> is the director of research at Mid Sweden University. Her interest in physiology began after she met native breath-hold divers from several tribes, including Japanese _ama_ and Indonesian Suku Laut and Bajau, who were able to hold their breath for far longer than medical literature stated was possible. <PERSON> has completed a number of studies on the effects of holding the breath on both trained and untrained breath-hold divers. People. Mid Sweden University. www.miun.se/en/Research/Our-Research/Research-groups/epg/About-EPG/People (accessed August 29, 2012).
One of <PERSON>'s studies involved twenty healthy volunteers, including ten who had their spleens removed, to determine the adaptations caused by short-term breath holding. The volunteers performed 5 breath holds of maximum duration (as long as possible for each individual) with a 2-minute rest in between each. The results found that the volunteers with spleens showed a 6.4 percent increase in hematocrit (Hct) and a 3.3 percent increase in hemoglobin concentration (Hb) following the breath holds. This means that after just 5 breath holds, the oxygen-carrying capacity of the blood was significantly improved. However, for the individuals who had their spleens removed, there were no recorded changes to the blood resulting from breath holding. <PERSON> E, <PERSON> JP, <PERSON> M, <PERSON> B. Selected contribution: Role of spleen emptying in prolonging apneas in humans. _Journal of Applied Physiology_. 2001 Apr;90(4):1623–9.
During a separate study by Schagatay, seven male volunteers performed 2 sets of 5 breath holds to near maximal duration, one in air and the other with their faces immersed in water. Each breath hold was separated by 2 minutes of rest and each set separated by 20 minutes. Both Hct and Hb concentration increased by approximately 4 percent across both series of breath holds—in air and in water. Schagatay E, <PERSON> JP, <PERSON> B. Hematological response and diving response during apnea and apnea with face immersion. _Eur J Appl Physiol_. 2007 Sep;101(1):125–32.
The spleen is an organ: Isbister 1997, 409–23.
This means that after as few: <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> 2007 Sep, 125–32.
breath-hold divers peaked: A study by <PERSON>´ et al. from University of Split School of Medicine, Croatia, was conducted to investigate spleen responses resulting from 5 maximal breath holds. Ten trained breath-hold divers, ten untrained volunteers, and seven volunteers who had their spleen removed were recruited. The subjects performed 5 maximum breath holds with their face immersed
|
bf1f80b7-fb91-f63f-6fc0-a1d0a051b787
|
['01d4f3bf-de35-b533-4bd3-fb2a02a454e8']
|
provides the potential for an extremely efficient transfer of oxygen to the blood.
As I've explained, oxygen is the fuel that muscles need to work efficiently. It is, however, a common misconception that breathing in a larger volume of air increases the oxygenation of the blood. It is physiologically impossible to increase the oxygen saturation of the blood in this way, because the blood is almost always already fully saturated. It would be like pouring more water into a glass that is already filled to the brim. But what is oxygen saturation exactly, and how does it relate to properly oxygenating our muscles?
Oxygen saturation (SpO2) is the percentage of oxygen-carrying red blood cells (hemoglobin molecules) containing oxygen within the blood. During periods of rest the standard breathing volume for a healthy person is between 4 and 6 liters of air per minute, which results in almost complete oxygen saturation of 95 to 99 percent. Because oxygen is continually diffusing from the blood into the cells, 100 percent saturation is not always feasible. An oxygen saturation of 100 percent would suggest that the bond between red blood cells and oxygen molecules is too strong, reducing the blood cells' ability to deliver oxygen to muscles, organs, and tissues. We need the blood to release oxygen, not hold on to it. The human body actually carries a surplus of oxygen in the blood—75 percent is exhaled during rest and as much as 25 percent is exhaled during physical exercise. Increasing oxygen saturation to 100 percent has no added benefits.
The idea of taking bigger breaths to take in more oxygen is akin to telling an individual who is already eating enough food to provide their daily caloric needs that they need to eat more. Many of my students initially have a hard time grasping this. For years they have been indoctrinated with the "benefits" of taking deep breaths by well-meaning stress counselors, yoga practitioners, physiotherapists, and sports coaches, not to mention the Western media. And it's easy to see why this belief is perpetuated: Taking a large breath can actually feel good, even if it can actually be bad for you. Just as a cat enjoys a good stretch following a midday nap, taking a big breath into the lungs stretches the upper part of the body, allowing a feeling of relaxation to follow. But this leads many to believe that with breathing, bigger is better.
### Regulation of Breathing
There are two main aspects to the way you breathe: the _rate_ or number of breaths you take in the space of 1 minute and the _volume_ or amount of air drawn into your lungs with each breath. Although the two are separate, one generally influences the other.
The volume of each breath of air we inhale and exhale is measured in liters, and measurements are usually taken over 1 minute. In conventional medicine the accepted number of breaths a healthy person takes during that minute is 10 to 12, with each breath drawing in a volume of 500 milliliters of air, for a
|
ac3b878c-5522-2525-498b-a40e303a0bda
|
['01dd6b1a-be66-39ed-d078-c4639defd9b1']
|
at which the old life ends. But is it not happiness enough to be together, wedded in mind and in heart? Listen: I have just left my father. He consents to our union on those terms. I have sufficient influence with the College of Sages to insure their request to the Tur not to interfere with the free choice of a Gy; provided that her wedding with one of another race be but the wedding of souls. Oh, think you that true love needs ignoble union? It is not that I yearn only to be by your side in this life, to be part and parcel of your joys and sorrows here: I ask here for a tie which will bind us for ever and for ever in the world of immortals. Do you reject me?"
As she spoke, she knelt, and the whole character of her face was changed; nothing of sternness left to its grandeur; a divine light, as that of an immortal, shining out from its human beauty. But she rather awed me as an angel than moved me as a woman, and after an embarrassed pause, I faltered forth evasive expressions of gratitude, and sought, as delicately as I could, to point out how humiliating would be my position amongst her race in the light of a husband who might never be permitted the name of father.
"But," said <PERSON>, "this community does not constitute the whole world. No; nor do all the populations comprised in the league of the Vril–ya. For thy sake I will renounce my country and my people. We will fly together to some region where thou shalt be safe. I am strong enough to bear thee on my wings across the deserts that intervene. I am skilled enough to cleave open, amidst the rocks, valleys in which to build our home. Solitude and a hut with thee would be to me society and the universe. Or wouldst thou return to thine own world, above the surface of this, exposed to the uncertain seasons, and lit but by the changeful orbs which constitute by thy description the fickle character of those savage regions? I so, speak the word, and I will force the way for thy return, so that I am thy companion there, though, there as here, but partner of thy soul, and fellow traveller with thee to the world in which there is no parting and no death."
I could not but be deeply affected by the tenderness, at once so pure and so impassioned, with which these words were uttered, and in a voice that would have rendered musical the roughest sounds in the rudest tongue. And for a moment it did occur to me that I might avail myself of <PERSON>'s agency to effect a safe and speedy return to the upper world. But a very brief space for reflection sufficed to show me how dishonourable and base a return for such devotion it would be to allure thus away, from her own people and a home in which I
|
dcb220a0-fc26-0bcd-e44a-68aecfbbd8d9
|
['01dd6b1a-be66-39ed-d078-c4639defd9b1']
|
Gy, so learned, so tall, so stately, so much above the standard of the creature we call woman as was <PERSON>, no! even if I had felt no fear of being reduced to a cinder, it is not of her I should have dreamed in that bower so constructed for dreams of poetic love.
The automata reappeared, serving one of those delicious liquids which form the innocent wines of the Vril–ya.
"Truly," said I, "this is a charming residence, and I can scarcely conceive why you do not settle yourself here instead of amid the gloomier abodes of the city."
"As responsible to the community for the administration of light, I am compelled to reside chiefly in the city, and can only come hither for short intervals."
"But since I understand from you that no honours are attached to your office, and it involves some trouble, why do you accept it?"
"Each of us obeys without question the command of the Tur. He said, 'Be it requested that <PERSON> shall be the Commissioner of Light,' so I had no choice; but having held the office now for a long time, the cares, which were at first unwelcome, have become, if not pleasing, at least endurable. We are all formed by custom—even the difference of our race from the savage is but the transmitted continuance of custom, which becomes, through hereditary descent, part and parcel of our nature. You see there are Ana who even reconcile themselves to the responsibilities of chief magistrate, but no one would do so if his duties had not been rendered so light, or if there were any questions as to compliance with his requests."
"Not even if you thought the requests unwise or unjust?"
"We do not allow ourselves to think so, and, indeed, everything goes on as if each and all governed themselves according to immemorial custom."
"When the chief magistrate dies or retires, how do you provide for his successor?"
"The An who has discharged the duties of chief magistrate for many years is the best person to choose one by whom those duties may be understood, and he generally names his successor."
"His son, perhaps?"
"Seldom that; for it is not an office any one desires or seeks, and a father naturally hesitates to constrain his son. But if the <PERSON> himself decline to make a choice, for fear it might be supposed that he owed some grudge to the person on whom his choice would settle, then there are three of the College of Sages who draw lots among themselves which shall have the power to elect the chief. We consider that the judgment of one An of ordinary capacity is better than the judgment of three or more, however wise they may be; for among three there would probably be disputes, and where there are disputes, passion clouds judgment. The worst choice made by one who has no motive in choosing wrong, is better than the best choice made by many who have many motives for not choosing right."
"You reverse in
|
1573aa89-aad6-cd16-c8c1-164650ec3b9a
|
['02dedf49-00bd-06ed-efdc-6287ff791dfe']
|
**The Law of Caring** |
---|---
Most likely there's someone you care about deeply, but sometimes your idea of trying to show your devotion is misinterpreted. Maybe you've done something that you consider loving (such as giving flowers), but the other person has questioned your intentions or wondered about an ulterior motive. The Law of Caring provides some wonderful guidelines for giving and loving in ways that are difficult to misunderstand.
First, let's start with a definition of _caring:_ It's the ability to honor another individual deeply enough to know what their principles are and convey your beliefs in terms of theirs. In other words, you'd be wise to communicate with regard for your loved one's highest values—whatever is most important and valuable to _them_.
The following story illustrates this idea: A married man once sent his wife to me for a consultation because he felt that she needed to change her ways. In his mind, she was wrong in some of her views and manners. Although I normally prefer to work with the person who desires the change, in this case the husband wasn't receptive or available. So I met with his wife, and we spent the day working on his objective. Yet I didn't try to change her—instead, I spent the day _teaching_ her how to communicate her needs and priorities in terms of his. I had her write down all his highest values, which included golf, business success, making money, looking good, driving fast cars, and spending time with friends. Then she listed hers: time with her children, seeing her family, looking good, fixing up the home, and so on. When she finished, I had her role-play her communications with him, and she practiced conveying what was most important to her in terms of what mattered to him.
When she returned home, their whole relationship shifted. In fact, I received a thank-you letter from the husband, saying, "Whatever you did with my wife, it truly made a difference!" What I _really_ did was spend the whole day showing her how to get whatever she wanted from him—and he was thanking me.
She learned and reflected, and then honored him enough to know what his values were. She began to think out in advance (before she spoke) how to communicate her desires in terms of his priorities. For example, when she wanted to go overseas to visit her mom in Europe, she put it this way: "Honey, I believe that right now there's a sale on in Europe, so if I went over there, the amount I could save getting discounts would cover the cost. It wouldn't even cost us anything [his value of conserving money]. And I know that you have a very busy golf tournament coming up. This way you could be left alone and really have an enjoyable time with your buddies [his value of golf and spending time with his friends], and I could get the shopping done—and save at the same time." She communicated in terms of his values so that she could fulfill her
|
3289193d-2124-8d44-c333-c4f108383b36
|
['02dedf49-00bd-06ed-efdc-6287ff791dfe']
|
usually because _they think they ought to be different._ (Perhaps some authority with that particular belief told them that?) Instead of judging yourself for cherishing something to a different degree than someone else does, learn to recognize that your ideals are just as valid, real, and important as anyone else's.
Also realize that just because something isn't your highest value doesn't mean that it's worth nothing to you. It's completely possible that this 14-hour-a-day worker bee does care for family; it's just not at the top of the hierarchy.
**Take a look at how you allocate your waking hours. What claims most of your day?** What comes in second? Third? Fourth? The list may not identically parallel your main concerns, but it will come close. To return to our example, here's what that schedule would tell us:
• _Most time:_ professional success, earning money (14 hours at work)
• _Second most:_ staying connected with people/social (2 hours sending e-mail)
• _Third most/tied:_ family (1 hour having dinner with spouse and kids)
• _Third most/tied:_ health (1 hour exercising)
Your time is only one indicator, which you can combine with all the others as you do your detective work in figuring out your highest goals. In other words, if you look at your prioritization according to time and view it in consideration of the seven categories coming up, then your values begin to come into sharp focus.
_Note:_ It's possible that your time isn't being spent in support of your beliefs, and this is when conflicts are most often played out. The surgeon/new mom had arranged her life without allotting any of her time to her core value—and that's why she was so stressed. Instead of living according to her own hierarchy, she'd allowed a social norm (such as being acknowledged or respected by others) to take over and reorder her life. If you have the sense that you've done something similar by structuring your days around your idea of what someone else thinks your values _should_ be or designing your life around one of the seven fears I outlined earlier, then ask yourself, _How would I spend my time if I believed I had complete choice about it?_
**_3. How Do You Spend Your Energy?_**
You'll find clues as to how your hierarchy is stacked by looking at the following characteristics, which are a direct result of where and how you spend your energy:
• You certainly have plenty of energy to do those actions you truly value most, because doing what you love energizes you.
• You clearly become fatigued easily when you can't see how what you're doing will fulfill your highest values. Doing X, Y, and Z rather than A, B, and C on your daily priorities drains you.
Ask yourself, _What actions do I seem to have plenty of energy for? What activities invigorate me? Where do I love to spend the most effort during the day, week, or month?_
You'll require less sleep and express more life force and vigor when you're doing what you love and
|
98ee3e36-93a9-99ed-e319-5abb6adfd61c
|
['0326eaee-4bea-0fc3-0ac6-9d937427da1f']
|
and swallowed two pills. The act itself caused a Pavlovian response in me. When she put the bottle down, I saw that it was Percocet and felt a tremor course through my entire body. I couldn't hear anything she was saying. I just stared at the bottle, fighting with myself not to devise a plan to get inside of it. I refused to let myself fall that low, to steal pills from my sick grandmother.
I had to ask her to repeat some of the grocery items she was craving and took off for the store. I drove the long way, wondering what would have happened to me if my mother hadn't remarried and moved us away from this town when I was in the fourth grade. I'd probably still be stuck here.
Oak Ridge, Tennessee, was one of three towns built to complete the Manhattan Project. The farmers who originally lived there had all been kicked out under eminent domain, the law that allows the government to seize private property for its own use. It was called The Secret City, and lived up to its name. I remember very little about my childhood in Oak Ridge, and what I do remember is always cloaked in shadow.
The town is filled with sirens built onto the telephone poles, and a few times a year they go off as a test, in case anything goes wrong at the laboratory. Our teachers taught us to crawl under our desks with our arms covering our heads.
Besides its nuclear history, Oak Ridge is different from most suburban towns in that most of the houses were built up in the ridges, so they can't be seen by aircraft. All of the winding roads make it sort of like driving through a low-rent, prefab government housing version of the Hollywood Hills. All the houses look the same; there were only seven different versions of the same model with a few sub-models thrown in as well. The town's residents were later granted land at a cheap price to build their own homes.
<PERSON> didn't find out what my grandfather was doing at the lab until after the bombs were dropped in Japan. One morning in August 1945, she turned on the radio and learned what her husband had been working on. He called her almost immediately after to explain. After she hung up, she sat by the phone and wept.
On my way to the store I drove past the children's museum. It was housed in a building that had been an elementary school in the 1950s and then, when I was a child, converted to a day-care center on one side and a day facility for mentally disabled elderly people on the other. The school's decaying gymnasium in the center of the two wings separated life and death. The bathrooms were located on the old people's side of the building, and twice a day, we kids would march down the hallway until we hit the stench of prepared food from the cafeteria. The old people weren't allowed
|
384758bc-973f-181f-a849-0a52e383e5a3
|
['0326eaee-4bea-0fc3-0ac6-9d937427da1f']
|
were laughing and chopping vegetables for a salad. My sister opened a window because the kitchen was getting hot from all the pots bubbling on the stove and whatever was baking in the oven. The sun was starting to set over Carroll Gardens. I took a seat at the kitchen table and stared out the open window at the row of brownstones. I poured myself a glass of wine.
"How's work?" my father asked me.
"Fun," I answered. "I just went to LA to interview <PERSON> for the cover."
"Who's that?" he asked.
"Never mind," I said.
"It's your granddaughter's current favorite pop star," my sister told him. "Which goes against everything I've tried to teach her."
It was strange to think of my dad as a grandfather when he was raising children of his own. I watched him add a large amount of pasta to boiling water as he and <PERSON> talked about kids and parenting. Their voices faded away into the steam rolling off the top of the oven. The scene was intimately familiar; when I was younger there were always huge dinner parties at my grandparents' house. My sisters and I would play in the basement or the living room while the adults and their friends drank and cooked in the kitchen. I looked out at the kids all playing together in the living room and shivered. History had repeated itself.
My wineglass was empty, but it was being refilled by someone. I tried to remember more about the dinner parties from when I was young. I must have been five or six. The kids would eat in the living room, while loud bursts of laughter would come from the dining room. There was a large open passthrough separating the dining room from the living room. The adults could easily check in on us but it was usually us spying on the adults. We could see them reflected in the glass picture window that stretched along the back of <PERSON>'s house. We almost always stayed overnight after these parties, but it would take a while to fall asleep because of the swearing and roaring coming from downstairs. My younger sister and I would share the sinister room with the slanted ceiling.
<PERSON> called her kids in to set the dinner table, and my father quickly told his kids to help out. I stood up and took my glass of wine with me to make room for them. The children swarmed around the table, dropping plates and napkins haphazardly, eager to get back to their game. I stumbled a little while leaning against the wall. I knew I needed to eat something soon.
We finally all sat down. Plates were heaped and wine was poured. The kids were done almost as soon as they started and rushed off again, this time to play on the patio on my sister's roof. Politics were being discussed at the table, so I got up with my wine and went into the living room to check my messages. I don't discuss politics at
|
80a86c80-b3f2-ef51-45fd-933143133425
|
['03d5b08a-e144-4951-c104-d4501fd3812f']
|
of flavour from the broth. In this recipe, I use a cooked chicken, but you could easily poach skinned raw pieces of chicken in the broth instead – just add them earlier in the cooking process and make sure they are cooked through before serving._
SERVES 4–6
**For the matzo balls**
150g matzo crackers
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp salt
1 tbsp finely chopped thyme leaves
4 eggs, separated
80ml olive oil, plus a little extra for oiling
40ml water
**For the soup**
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 large onion, diced
1 large carrot, diced
1 large parsnip, diced
3 celery sticks (tough strings removed with a vegetable peeler), diced
6 garlic cloves, finely grated
1 chicken (about 1.4kg), roasted and chilled
1.2 litres chicken stock
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp dried sage
100g dried egg noodles
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
For the matzo balls, grind the crackers to a fine crumb using a food processor, or put them into a plastic bag and bash them with a rolling pin until they are finely crushed.
In a large bowl, stir together the matzo crumbs, bicarbonate of soda, cinnamon, salt and thyme. In a jug, whisk the egg yolks, olive oil and water together, then stir into the dry ingredients.
In a separate, large bowl, whisk the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Gently fold into the matzo mixture, using a spatula, until evenly combined and you have a thick batter. Cover with cling film and leave to rest in the fridge for a couple of hours.
Once chilled, get ready to roll the mixture into balls. Lightly oil your hands with a splash of oil – this will prevent the mixture from sticking and make it easier to shape. Roll the dough into 12 balls, roughly the size of golf balls. Arrange them on a tray or large plate and cover with cling film. Chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes while you prepare the soup.
To make the chicken soup, heat the oil in a large saucepan over a medium-low heat. Add the onion and cook gently for 4–5 minutes, to soften. Add the carrot, parsnip, celery and garlic and continue to cook over a gentle heat for 10–15 minutes, until softened, stirring from time to time.
Meanwhile, tear the roasted chicken into large chunks and discard the skin.
Pour the chicken stock into the pan, bring to the boil and then lower the heat to a gentle simmer. Throw in the dried thyme and sage and season well with salt and pepper. Cook gently for around 10–15 minutes.
Remove the matzo balls from the fridge and add to the soup. Allow to poach very gently in the broth for 15–20 minutes. Add the noodles and cook for a further 10 minutes.
Finally, add the shredded chicken to the pan. If you'd prefer the soup to be less thick, add a little more chicken stock at this stage too. Carefully stir through the soup and cook gently for a
|
3048913f-0608-f370-5024-db185e514f43
|
['03d5b08a-e144-4951-c104-d4501fd3812f']
|
parsley.
6 Serve scattered with the remaining chopped parsley and with plenty of crusty bread alongside for soaking up the tasty juices, if you like.
To freeze: Allow to cool, then freeze in two-portion containers. Defrost fully in the fridge overnight, then reheat in a saucepan over a medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until hot all the way through.
Sausage and bean casserole
Salt cod and saffron fish cakes
Infused with saffron and flecked with peas and roasted peppers, these fish cakes are delicious. All they need is a dollop of aïoli, a squeeze of lemon and a side salad. ❄
**Makes 6**
415 calories per serving
550 calories with aïoli
**600g cod fillet, skin removed**
**4–5 large baking potatoes (1.5kg)**
**300ml vegetable stock**
**2 tbsp olive oil**
**1 red onion, finely diced**
**200g roasted red peppers (from a jar), drained and diced**
**100g frozen peas**
**Finely grated zest of 1 lemon**
**3 tbsp plain flour, for dusting**
**Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper**
**For the salt and saffron cure**
**80g sea salt**
**30g caster sugar**
**A large pinch of saffron strands**
**1 tbsp aniseed-flavoured aperitif, such as Pernod**
**1 tbsp olive oil**
**2 tbsp white wine**
**For the parsley salad**
**4 handfuls of flat-leaf parsley leaves**
**1 red onion, finely sliced**
**60g caper berries**
**2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil**
**Juice of ½ lemon**
**To serve**
**Aïoli, good-quality, shop-bought (optional)**
**Lemon wedges**
1 For the cure, mix all the ingredients together in a bowl. Check the cod for any pin-bones, then cut into two equal pieces and place in a container in which they fit snugly. Spread the cure all over the fish and place in the fridge for 3 hours.
2 Preheat the oven to 200°C/Fan 180°C/Gas 6. Prick the potatoes all over with a fork, place on a baking tray and bake in the oven for about 1½ hours until tender. Remove and leave until cool enough to handle. Turn the oven down to 160°C/Fan 140°C/Gas 3.
3 Take the fish from the container and rinse well under cold running water for 5 minutes to remove the cure. Place in a small roasting tin and pour over the stock. Cover with foil and bake for 20 minutes. Remove and leave the fish to cool completely in the stock.
4 Meanwhile, heat ½ tbsp of the olive oil in a frying pan over a medium heat. Add the onion and cook for 5–7 minutes until softened. Add the roasted peppers and peas and cook for about 3 minutes until the peas are tender. Remove the pan from the heat.
5 Cut the cooled potatoes in half, scoop out the flesh from the skins into a bowl and mash lightly. Drain the fish and flake into the bowl. Add the onion and pepper mix, with the lemon zest and salt and pepper to taste. Divide into 6 portions and shape into patties. Place on a tray in the fridge to chill and firm up for 1 hour.
6 Line a large baking tray with baking parchment. Heat the remaining 1½ tbsp olive
|
e0742e9b-25d7-95d6-e590-a9fbc295780f
|
['03e635b1-d6f1-22e1-2602-44cadd181900']
|
going, asshole," <PERSON> shouted.
"Sorry," <PERSON> shouted into the back.
<PERSON> popped up and ran for <PERSON>. He grabbed him around the neck from behind and the van started to careen all over the road.
"Say I'm awesome, fuckstick. Say it," <PERSON> shouted into <PERSON>'s ear.
<PERSON> couldn't talk even if he wanted to; <PERSON> was choking the life out of him. He could feel a darkness coming in from his peripheral vision. His fingers began to slip from the wheel.
"Say I'm awesome motherf..." <PERSON> was yanked away from finishing his sentence by <PERSON> who knocked him silly with one slap.
<PERSON> carefully pulled in and steadied himself. "What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking fuckface motherfucker?" he said as he mimed getting over his seat into the back. Even through his anger, he could see that <PERSON> had enough. It was time.
<PERSON> settled himself and moved steadily back into the flow of traffic. <PERSON> pulled himself into a ball, hugging his last remaining unopened drink, in the back of the van. <PERSON> slid back down into his sitting position on the floor.
They all rode along silently. The arena was drawing closer and the tension of delivering the match began to rise.
"I need to pee," <PERSON> announced desperately.
<PERSON> kept driving. He was sure that <PERSON> and the crew were already asking where he was. "We'll be there in less than five minutes."
<PERSON> took 72nd on Roosevelt and saw the long, dark road open up in front of him. <PERSON> began to hop around in the van. "I need to pee, I said," he screamed.
<PERSON> needed his own space. He was never this late to a building before and he had his pre-match rituals that he needed to get done. Looking at <PERSON> was just pushing him closer to violence, and if there was violence in the back of the VW, there would be no match. He angrily pulled his towel over his face and closed his eyes and tried to zone out.
"Did you hear me?" <PERSON> shouted at <PERSON>.
<PERSON> put his foot down to the floor and switched on the radio. No one was going to say that he couldn't get his job done. Both men would arrive in good time and surely he would get the credit for getting <PERSON> there too.
"I fucking said I need to piss," <PERSON> screamed as he threw his bottle at <PERSON>.
With a dead clunk, the unopened bottle bounced off the back of <PERSON>'s head. He immediately slumped forward onto the wheel and the van shaved the sides off a couple of parked cars. It slammed off the side of an exterior wall and shot <PERSON> and the icebox out through the windshield and <PERSON> from the back to the front. <PERSON> tried to stand up in the toppling van, but was slammed head first off the ceiling as it turned over and smashed into the leg of the railway bridge.
All three men were out. All that could be heard was the
|
43a11dec-2fd9-d14d-75b8-418b30194666
|
['03e635b1-d6f1-22e1-2602-44cadd181900']
|
immediately to get up. <PERSON> held <PERSON> firmly to the ground beside him.
"It's okay, it's okay," <PERSON> said.
<PERSON>, panicked as to what had happened and where he was, began to piece together his last five minutes.
"What happened?" <PERSON> asked.
It was easy for someone as well versed as <PERSON> to see that there was still no one home in <PERSON>'s eyes, yet.
"Take it easy," <PERSON> said as he dragged <PERSON> closer to him.
"Where am I?" <PERSON> asked.
<PERSON> could see the trees and the fallen leaves, and the sky overhead. He knew that he was a long way from prison, from Manhattan, and from home.
**New York.**
**1984.**
**Three hours after <PERSON> got out.**
<PERSON> and <PERSON> were back in the van, and on the bridge into the city. Both men were bruised and sore, but they hadn't said a word to each other since they'd left the forest.
<PERSON> could feel that <PERSON> wanted to say something; <PERSON> could feel the same thing from <PERSON>. They were only a couple of hours away from changing the wrestling business forever, and someone needed to go first.
It was <PERSON>.
"What option did I have?" he cleared his throat. "I loved <PERSON> like a father. He told me that he was going to kill my wife if I didn't..."
"I know what happened," <PERSON> said. "I know what went down, and I don't want to talk about it."
<PERSON> turned to see a few tears make their way over <PERSON>'s bruised face. <PERSON> quickly wiped his cheeks; those tears had been twelve years coming, and only three seconds lasting.
<PERSON> said, "I fought for my life in there. I begged more than one person to let me live. I was like a child. I fucking hated myself that I wasn't bigger or tougher, and that's why I was target number one. There were men in there that would take weeks to break me. They would threaten me, not let me sleep, and not let me eat. I was their entertainment. When I'd give up and just curl into a ball, they would high-five each other. Then, a day or two later, the next one would try to see if he could get me to break, too."
<PERSON> turned to see if <PERSON> cared, but his face wasn't easy to read.
"And I cursed you into hell and back a hundred fucking times. Where were you? Where was <PERSON>? I know what I did, and I wanted to pay for it. I have paid for it with everything over and over and over again. But where the fuck were you guys? Did you even care?"
<PERSON> didn't answer.
"So, what choice did I have? I served my time. I waited, and... nothing. My team wasn't fucking coming to rescue me. So, I took their offer—the only offer I had. I'm sorry."
"We didn't just cut rope on you, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said.
The cracked roads shook <PERSON> and <PERSON>, and the loud honking of New York City outside kept them
|
2d7546b3-57c9-0517-27b0-d09420b2b415
|
['04230480-b3cd-02f6-2e31-a725b3af6933']
|
the water, gesturing blindly in different directions, calling out for help. The rescuers ran along the gravel toward the burning wreck and saw now in the glare of the blaze that dozens more people were lying prostrate along the marshy margins of the lake.
<PERSON> clambered wet and shivering up the embankment toward the knot of men and began to deliver a report to <PERSON>. For seven hours he had been moving ceaselessly from passenger to passenger, trying to tend to their needs, and by now he knew where each survivor was and who needed the most help. For over an hour—at the height of the fire—he had stood with his back to the wind, burning embers and smoke howling past him, splashing water onto children who were too frightened to move. When the fury of the fire had abated somewhat, he had ventured out of the lake, searching for and finding people who had not been able to find the water, and leading any who were still alive back to the lake so he could bathe their eyes and their burns with cool water. Then as the evening had grown colder, he had begun pulling people out of the lake, carrying or dragging them toward the burning coal tender, trying to keep them warm and conscious.
Among those <PERSON> had helped out of the lake were <PERSON> and her children. <PERSON> lay on her back now among the charred rushes on the foul-smelling, muddy bank. Her eyes were still swollen shut, and her body numb, but she could hear the excited voices of the men talking to <PERSON> up on the bank, and she knew they were new voices. <PERSON> and <PERSON> were lying beside her, pressed against her for warmth. <PERSON> was a few feet away, also on her back, pale and white, shaking convulsively. From time to time <PERSON> called out for her father, then sobbed quietly to herself for a while. Each time, hearing her, <PERSON> clutched <PERSON> and <PERSON> tighter.
Nearby, <PERSON> was lying on a tussock of unburned grass, just out of the water. One of his ears was nearly burned off, and his hands were also badly burned, but both were numb and he was hardly aware of them. He had been in and out of consciousness for the last several hours, trying to remember where he was and why his parents weren't there. Hearing the low murmur of the men's voices up by the track now, though, he felt comforted and fell back asleep. It had been twenty-four hours since the wind had awakened him in his bed at home the night before.
<PERSON> and <PERSON> asked where <PERSON> was, and <PERSON> gestured down the tracks toward the head of the train. When they reached the locomotive, they held their lanterns high and peered into the cab. They found <PERSON> lying on the iron deck of the cab, blind, blistered, and delirious, but alive.
The locomotive had been separated from the burning coal tender and moved ahead of the rest of
|
5c656239-b734-06f8-30b6-b0e616138ab7
|
['04230480-b3cd-02f6-2e31-a725b3af6933']
|
though, it was accompanied by a sudden reddening of the dark, smoky sky to the south, as if enormous, red railroad lanterns, shining up from below, were illuminating the heavens. Nobody in town had ever heard or seen anything like this. Many thought it must be a tornado, in addition to a fire, because a tornado was the only thing they knew that could make a sound like that.
<PERSON> had no doubts about what it was. He began to run from house to house, pounding on doors, urging people to go to the river. At first, almost nobody did so. A few people began to pack cherished possessions into trunks. A few others decided to cover the haystacks that their cattle would need for the winter. But most people simply continued to go about their business, albeit nervously.
<PERSON> ran down the wagon road to the town's waterworks to warn the man in charge of the pumps there, <PERSON>, pleading with him to go home to get his family. But <PERSON>, afraid, like so many others that day, that he might lose his job if he left, simply sent his eleven-year-old son home to fetch a lantern so that he could see the gauges on the machinery better. <PERSON> tried again with a family he came across as he ran back into town, but they pointed to a few barrels and washtubs of water, which they said they were confident would get them through anything that was likely to come.
When the firestorm hit Sandstone, a little after 5:15 P.M., it rubbed the town off the sandstone bluff on which it sat in mere minutes. As at Hinckley, huge flaming bubbles of gas floated in over the town before the main fire arrived, exploding over the heads of terrified onlookers, raining fire down on their heads and setting both people and buildings on fire. Minutes later, the flaming front rolled through the streets, traveling on the ground but rising more than a hundred feet into the sky. Since leaving the remains of Hinckley in its tracks, the fire had surged unimpeded across nine miles of dense, new-growth pine forests and tinder-dry slash, traveling over gradually rising ground. It was more than ten miles wide now. With near hurricane-force winds propelling it forward, it hit Sandstone even more savagely than it had hit Hinckley.
It was as if a gigantic blowtorch had been suddenly turned on the town. Along First Street, dozens of people ran out of their homes and businesses and were simply incinerated before they could run 100 feet. Out at the waterworks, <PERSON> and his boy jumped into the well inside the pump house, but almost immediately the flaming walls of the building were blown in, collapsing on them. In the cellar of his house, where he and his wife and two children had taken shelter, <PERSON> began to dig frantically at the earthen walls with his bare hands as the house above exploded in flames. He was able to excavate only a few inches
|
4372a5c1-0b86-230e-795e-699ed7c87d45
|
['050587ce-c7d7-00af-933d-d39260a08139']
|
entry into the middle class comes at the cost of rejecting anything that sets him apart from his colleagues.
<PERSON>'s complex relationship to cultural capital epitomizes the emergence of postwar Jewish identity from the intersection of Jewish entry into the white-collar middle-class mainstream and this mainstream's simultaneous transformation of outsider status into a positive value. In a key passage, <PERSON> describes how, "struck by the reading fever" (193), he hangs on to the books that he is supposed to be stealing for University of Chicago students, a moment that transforms a marginal position vis-á-vis the official culture into a source of pride:
I sat and read. I had no eye, ear, or interest for anything else—that is, for usual, second-order, oatmeal, mere-phenomenal, snarled-sholeace-carfare-laundry-ticket plainness, unspecified dismalness, unknown captivities; the life of despair-harness, or the life of organization-habits which is meant to supplant accidents with calm abiding. (194)
_Augie March_ is, on one level, a fantasy about acquiring the cultural capital necessary for upward mobility while bypassing the putatively deindividualizing institutions responsible for disseminating it.
Within this fantasy Jewishness, as I have suggested, inhabits the site not of group identity but of individual difference. The fact that the end of the book shows <PERSON> writing what will ultimately become the novel reminds us that these questions of mental labor have their formal analog in the book's tripartite linguistic structure. Here the echoes of Yiddish in <PERSON>'s narration—"But toward women he didn't change at all" (119); "that I shouldn't be too good to do as he was doing was of enormous importance to him" (239); "a similar night for me was, years after this, on a crowded ship from Palma de Mallorca to Barcelona" (391)—persist as a linguistic trace of <PERSON>'s ethnic origins parallel to his criminal associations. They exemplify, that is, a colloquial accent that prevents <PERSON> from being submerged within the "cultivated" side of his character. If this cultivated side links him to postwar Jewish upward mobility, his colloquial and "American-Jewish" sides prevent him from experiencing such mobility as assimilation in the bad sense of deracination. <PERSON> retains the marks of his class and ethnic origins in his new "American" speech: new in the sense both that it represents the newly American status of Jews participating in the mainstreaming effects of white-collar culture, and that this new Jewish presence reformulates what it means to be—to sound—American.
<PERSON>, not to put too fine a point upon it, becomes a Jewish intellectual. Although <PERSON> got much right about <PERSON>, he was wrong to claim that "<PERSON>-<PERSON>'s more lasting fictions will probably be those whose personae are not _exactly_ as intelligent as he is— _The Victim_ and _Seize the Day_ [1956]" (135; <PERSON>'s emphasis). On the contrary, <PERSON>'s most enduring novels have been the ones built around characters most like their creator: <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>. In postwar Jewish fiction the Jew becomes the Jewish intellectual, be-cause the latter figure simultaneously exemplifies the concerns about alienating mental labor central to the white-collar middle class and retains a memorializing connection to a culture and
|
a6a0b6dd-ffe4-6724-1e1e-804f5141f4b0
|
['050587ce-c7d7-00af-933d-d39260a08139']
|
early-morning passengers on the Milwaukee Avenue street car.
Here the writer's very self-doubts attest to the individual nature of his chosen profession, for as a "self-anointed" practitioner he has no social logic, no "routines," nothing but his own decision to justify the work he does. <PERSON>'s experience of mental labor, however, frequently contradicted this ideal. <PERSON>, for in-stance, writes of one of <PERSON>'s own early jobs—doing research for the _Synopticon_ designed to accompany <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s _Great Books_ _of the Western World_ series—that "for <PERSON>, a job was simply another form of authority—submitting to regular hours and bureaucratic responsibilities was being told what to do" (93). This formulation suggests that for <PERSON>, employ-ment was simply a subset of the force, inimical to individual agency, that <PERSON> calls "authority" and under which he elsewhere subsumes, variously, high culture (72), "European culture as an oppressively dominating institution" (146), and <PERSON>'s brothers, who became successful Chicago businessmen. "Authority" is, however, a less flexibly existential category than it might at first seem if we under-stand <PERSON>'s conception of individuality as grounded in his particular concerns about work. In this case, all of <PERSON>'s subsets of authority—high culture and Europe no less than his brothers' example and paid employment—threaten not simply his individuality in general but his ability to enact that individuality through writing in particular. The form this threat takes is different—following in his brothers' footsteps or researching the great ideas literally take up time that might be spent writing, while the Western literary canon constitutes a pattern his own writing must struggle to escape if he is to demonstrate his originality—but the general principle is the same: all constitute forms of restraint inimical to <PERSON> understanding of writing as a form of work through which the author ex-presses his individuality.
This principle would subsequently find expression in <PERSON>'s long-running critique of the university as the preeminent institutional restraint upon the writer's work. <PERSON>, one of the first major American fiction writers to make his living as a university teacher, became a notorious critic of the same institution that "provide[d] him shelter" (Atlas 154). In his 1957 essay "The University as Villain," <PERSON> argued _against_ the notion that the university "could not be friendly to [writers] without softening and taming them and making them fat," suggesting instead this attitude was merely " _postural_ " and that—the <PERSON> cult of "experience" aside—writers could do as well in the academy as in "the gutter." As early as 1950, however (while he was composing _Augie March_ ), <PERSON> had written <PERSON> that "I'd as lief work in a factory as remain in what are called intellectual millieux," declaring the latter his "heart's abhorrence" (qtd. <PERSON> 154). And by 1966 he had fully embraced the antiacademic posture, proclaiming in a talk to the International P.E.N. Congress that university intellectuals were "trying to appropriate literature for themselves" and in the process shaping it to their own narrow definitions: "They have projected the kinds of art and literature that suits [ _sic_ ] them, and they have the power
|
3b07a71a-f1bd-55a2-3fc7-ac72fb11fa06
|
['0584bef2-d959-e00a-3d8f-0780647305db']
|
painful place to reside.
For many people, the best or even only way out is to find someone to love outside of themselves. You'll have lots of company if that's the way you feel you were made. "But stop!" you say. "What if I make the wrong choice and the hurt comes back all over again?" That apprehension alone shows why you must _not_ manage your dealings with others primarily out of fear. Fear won't let you become whole.
Some relationship counselors will tell you that overcoming fear is a process that's going to take plenty of time. How much time? Not thirty days, they will say. Then, you might ask, how much time will it take, really? Thirty weeks? Thirty years?
It's possible to overcome that fear in an instant. Do you have a moment? Because that's all you need to decide to make the right change in your attitude. Take a deep breath, look inside, and find your own source of hope, and boundless love. Incidentally, we're not referring to falling in love again. That's truly likely to take you a matter of months, while you recharge your drained emotional batteries.
This is the day for you to reject your capacity for cowardice. Cast off fear and begin to replace it with an appropriate hopefulness.
Now, if anything's easier said than done, it's to offer dumb encouragement like "just trade your fear for hopefulness." But for just this one day, observe how many ways in which you've allowed your actions to be controlled by irrational fears instead of a promising hopefulness. How has fear caused you to make foolish and self-limiting choices? Or has it prevented you from making any decisions at all? Are the better options life has to offer rushing by you because your fears are too tenacious, too much of a habit of mind?
You don't really need those fears anymore. Now you can surrender them to some uncommon sense. By the end of today, make a list of the ways you'll put more faith in your hope.
TIP 21 . . . _Good News for Your Nose_
THERE'S ONE SENSE that has an inside track to your emotions: your sense of smell. Your nose's sense of odors is directly wired into your limbic system, the old mammalian formation at the base of your brain where sensation and cognition are wedded to emotion to form what we experience in our conscious minds.
What all of this means is that there's nothing like a scent to bring back emotionally charged memories. It also means that your sense of smell can also create positive emotions to offset your feeling of being blue.
The use of smell to buck up your spirits is now touted as a New Age healing art called aromatherapy. We have found aromatherapy ideas useful for dealing with the blues, and even depression. Most often, aromatherapists will recommend specific fragrant oils from plants, called essential oils, as the client's conditions may indicate.
These oils are not taken internally but are made a part of the air
|
acf2ee83-1f84-9df7-02da-b0e3199621c6
|
['0584bef2-d959-e00a-3d8f-0780647305db']
|
humor. In the interim, be sure you don't swallow anger in a self-destructive fashion. If necessary, do some private screaming or pounding on pillows. Release your anger in a way that can't come back to hurt you later. Talk about your rage with people you can trust to help you to restore your perspective, ideally, people who can help you see the good side of your own nature, your appeal to others, your basic human worth. In choosing these people, find those who are comfortable with feelings of rage, anger, and hatred, but who don't need to nurse these feelings in themselves in order to accept them in other people.
You need to recognize that your ultimate goal is to pass beyond any anger you feel like directing toward your ex-lover, or toward all men or all women, or toward anyone else you may blame for your breakup—and that includes God. Your highest degree of sanity and self-protection will be found in responsibly accepting your own role in bringing about the end of your relationship, forgiving yourself and your ex, and, finally, in setting aside or even forgetting the pain of your wounds.
Anger can be a useful medicine to help drive you away from your dependency on your ex-lover. But like any medicine taken when no longer needed, it can prove to be self-destructive and addictive, destroying your ability to live in a balanced, life-enhancing manner.
_Day 13_
Creativity
Your Lucky Day
CONGRATULATIONS. YOU'VE COME through nearly two weeks since your breakup and you're still with us, still making progress. That's one way in which this, your thirteenth day of recovery, is your lucky day.
But your real good fortune today will be to discover the wellspring that will give your rate of recovery a special boost. This wellspring is simply your ability to create your own prescription for promoting your own happiness. Even if you have never given yourself credit before for being a creative person, start thinking of yourself that way now. Everyone uses creative faculties in solving the everyday problems of their lives. Once you realize that, you can start using your creativity to find new and more effective ways to move back toward happiness.
As we noted at the outset of this book, our method for promoting your recovery is to urge you to use a variety of techniques to reduce stress and take a series of actions that will help to prevent you from succumbing to depression. As we've also noted, our tips of recommended actions for accomplishing this are far from exhaustive. We've invited you to come up with your own ideas for doing this; today we're going to _insist_ that you do so.
Don't worry; we'll help you start. Here are thirteen nontip tips that may give you some ideas of your own to make yourself feel better. Before you start reading, grab a pencil and paper and start making notes of your own ideas, so you don't forget to act on them later.
1. Treat yourself as you would a baby. Wear flannel
|
4704e452-36d7-56a5-ed72-71e62eed43eb
|
['0682cc78-547e-5178-3193-38f6bb5b150c']
|
car."
"Is it true, <PERSON>?" her mother asked.
"Yes, but—"
"But what?" her father asked impatiently.
"But I was going to tell you and I'm so sorry that I didn't, but I knew you'd be angry and—" <PERSON> stopped and looked from her mother to her father. "Anyway, I did it for you and the store. But it all got messed up," <PERSON> said, enraged.
She caught her mother giving her father an angry look and nudging her chin toward <PERSON>. Her father stayed silent.
<PERSON> took a deep breath and continued, "I just thought if I could use Miss Subways to bring attention to the store, I'd be able to fix everything for you."
"And for yourself."
"Yes."
"You're a disgrace," Mr. <PERSON> said under his breath, and walked out the front door.
<PERSON> felt the words like a slap across the face. It was moments like these when she missed her brother most.
"Oh, <PERSON>. I'm sorry, honey. That was dreadful of him." Mrs. <PERSON> gathered <PERSON> up and hugged her.
"He's awful," <PERSON> said, sobbing.
"Come, let's have some tea."
<PERSON> followed her mother into the kitchen and collected herself. "I know I shouldn't have disobeyed you and Papa to do Miss <PERSON>, but I'm twenty-one years old! I'm not a child anymore, and I shouldn't have to do whatever my mommy and daddy tell me to do!"
"You're right. That's why I called."
"Called? What do you mean?"
"I listened to your father call that Miss <PERSON> from the Miss Subways and tell her he forbade you to be considered. I thought that was horrible, so as soon as he left for the store that day, I called her back. I told her to please ignore my husband's call, that he had changed his mind, that he was embarrassed to call back personally, and to allow you to continue with the competition."
"You did that?" <PERSON> was stunned.
"I think she must think your parents are lunatics." Mrs. <PERSON> laughed. "But yes, I did that."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"But why didn't you tell me so I could go back there? As far as you knew, I wasn't going to disobey Papa's decision."
"I knew you'd go. At least I hoped it. And when you came back that day saying <PERSON> had given you a makeover, I knew for sure you had. But why did you think they would let you participate? Were you planning on going in there to plead your case?"
"You sure you want to hear this?" <PERSON> asked, smiling and covering her face with her hands.
Mrs. <PERSON> smiled tentatively and nodded.
"I had <PERSON> call Miss <PERSON>, pretend she was you, and rattle off a similar script to the one you used."
"But that would mean Miss <PERSON> received two calls from your mother that day."
"That's right," <PERSON> said, confused. "I'll have to ask <PERSON> about that."
"Well, I'm glad it all worked out. And congratulations on winning. That's marvelous."
"None of it matters, though. I'm still where I was when I
|
8e01826a-ac96-a861-4b2a-057c86c5153d
|
['0682cc78-547e-5178-3193-38f6bb5b150c']
|
<PERSON> was fumbling with her keys, trying to get the right one. She finally had the key in the lock and had turned toward <PERSON> to give him a telepathic message to shut his door when she saw <PERSON> come out of the elevator.
"Hey, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said, smiling.
<PERSON> turned to look, and <PERSON> felt her stomach drop.
"Hey, man," <PERSON> said kindly when he saw <PERSON> standing there.
"<PERSON>, this is <PERSON>. <PERSON>, this is <PERSON>." She cringed, but she felt like <PERSON> and <PERSON> wouldn't see her as anything but calm.
<PERSON> moved the envelopes from his right hand to his left and put his right hand out to shake <PERSON>'s.
"Hey. Nice to meet you," <PERSON> said.
"Yeah, man," <PERSON> said. "Nice to meet you too." He turned toward <PERSON>. "I thought you lived next to an old lady."
<PERSON> winced. "An older lady," she said, emphasizing the "er." "And <PERSON> is her grandson. We just had a little game night," <PERSON> added, smiling warmly at <PERSON>.
"Nice," <PERSON> said.
<PERSON> was looking at <PERSON> quizzically, but she just continued to smile as if it were normal to have good-looking men come to her apartment late at night. She didn't owe <PERSON> an explanation. So why was there part of her that felt like she did?
<PERSON> walked toward <PERSON>'s apartment and turned back to <PERSON>. "Hey, it was nice meeting you, <PERSON>. See you around."
<PERSON> nodded, and <PERSON> went into <PERSON>'s apartment.
<PERSON> was about to follow him inside but turned toward <PERSON>, who was about to go back into his grandma's.
"Hey, <PERSON>," <PERSON> called.
"Yeah?" He turned around, a dejected look on his face.
"Are you going to read those letters?"
"Not sure."
"Okay," <PERSON> said gently. "Good night. Thanks again."
<PERSON> nodded and turned away again. <PERSON> felt a pang of something she couldn't quite interpret. And then she followed <PERSON> inside.
CHAPTER 15
<PERSON>
MONDAY, MARCH 21, 1949
<PERSON> flew down the stairs. The telephone had rung several times, and she wanted to answer it before the caller gave up, since she was anticipating a response from one final agency. She would most likely hear via letter, but, <PERSON> thought, it wouldn't be completely out of the ordinary if they decided to phone her instead.
The plan was that if it was another no, she'd put on her most comfortable shoes and her most confident expression and walk up one side of Madison Avenue and down the other until she found a suitable placement. At this point, even unsuitable would do. She'd actually considered canvassing the engagement notices to see if any of the girls were in advertising, their impending nuptials most likely indicating their present employer would soon need to fill a seat.
"Is this <PERSON>?" a familiar voice asked. <PERSON> sensed a bit of urgency in the voice, like a drop of grapefruit juice in a morning glass of OJ.
"It is."
"This is <PERSON> from the John Robert Powers Modeling Agency. <PERSON>, our first selection
|
6ac3c2f9-9ec6-bb54-9586-a143bbeae07b
|
['0750cf54-4e24-4eca-4fb5-6c9919f09ffb']
|
she had unwittingly served as a touchstone for many people who, as in the case with all celebrities, used her as a scrim for their own projections and feelings about the place of sex workers in general.
Presumably, some investigated her music out of sympathy, and surely others did so to satiate their cynicism (to hear for themselves if she could actually sing, of course), but what nobody seemed to notice was the exact historical lineage this connoted. <PERSON> was merely the modern-day version of the historically exalted courtesan, an iconic figure of beauty and charm, and what could even be less prosaic than the fact that she was a singer as well? In the days of the ancient Greeks, women were almost always kept at home to tend to either cooking or children, and the only Greek women allowed to walk unaccompanied in public were actresses, musicians, and courtesans.
Whatever the era, the services of a courtesan always come at a price, paid as a measure of faith, hope, and worship (as opposed to charity, since nobody ever works in the escort business out of charity). What did <PERSON> have that was so special, many people wondered, that would make a closet rake like <PERSON> fork out US$4,300? (The willingness to forsake the use of condoms was one such specialty, <PERSON> later admitted, but she wasn't saying much more. Not, presumably, until the book and movie deal were closed.) There are apparently things that make an escort worth her price, while her lowly streetwalker sisters ply their trade for much, much less.
Not everyone is that fussy, though, and the sex tourist is often spoiled for choice, especially in Asia. In Singapore, for instance, the Thai, Cambodian, Laotian, and Vietnamese ladies of the night, on any given night, will settle for S$250 while the Filipinas working the Duxton Hill bars have been known to charge as much as S$500.
Only the upscale escorts at the other end of the food chain will meet their clients much more discreetly, usually in some swanky hotel's top-tier suite, for S$1,600 a night. Short-time, quickie deals are often struck at S$800 (S$500 for the girl, S$300 for the agency) so the overnight deal is often better for all concerned (S$1,000 for the girl, S$600 for the agency). Some girls have been known to complain, but never about the money—usually, it's about the nature of the job or the client.
<PERSON>, one night in late 2007, talks of weighing the pros and cons of getting her thousand bucks while having to endure the all-night snoring of a corpulent, beached whale. "At least he's nice," she concedes, "and he's already promised to take me to Las Vegas to celebrate the new year. When I got to the hotel, he immediately had us upgraded to the Presidential Suite. I think he's got some serious connections with the hotel management. I can't say the sex was great, though. Fat men just can't do it right. Plus he's not circumcized. I hate all that foreskin when I'm giving
|
51b503e8-b726-a6da-4a40-59fb89f78c49
|
['0750cf54-4e24-4eca-4fb5-6c9919f09ffb']
|
are here for. I'm very service-oriented and I make them feel like they're being entertained, as _much_ as possible."
Perhaps it's easy enough to say that when the biggest perks of the job include a lot of travel, always at someone else's expense. In the past year, <PERSON> has been to Hong Kong, Japan, Australia, Germany, and the United States. "I went to New York for a night job," she recalls. "A client booked me to go there. He paid for my flight and my hotel and I went there and he met me there, he picked me up."
She stayed at The Drake (now Swissotel The Drake, at 440 Park Avenue and East 56th Street) and calls it "the best experience of my life." The client was a rich Japanese businessman. "Not the spanking guy, another one. He had to meet a few of his other clients there so he needed me to accompany him. New York is really big. And you get to spend the entire day with the client. So I had to be with him 24/7, unless he had to go for a meeting. When that happens, he goes for his meeting and gives me shopping money, and I go out shopping. That's when you feel your secret life is worth it. Certainly in that case it was, because he paid me quite well.
"Australia was also interesting. I was there for a week, in Sydney and the Gold Coast. I traveled with the same guy, as his companion for both places, back and forth. It was my first time there and I quite liked it even though it was winter and quite cold. This was a couple of years back. My latest overseas trip was to Hong Kong, again in winter—just this past February. He's Australian, actually he's Australian Chinese, and he goes to Hong Kong on business. I stayed at the Marco Polo, in Kowloon. Unfortunately, I couldn't shop as much there. I wish I could have. The only shopping area was the one by the harbour. I didn't know where to go. Basically, we have to follow their arrangements. If they want us to stay with them the whole trip, then we have no choice. That time, he left me alone because he had his own room. It's actually quite unusual for me to have my own room on these trips. I prefer this kind of arrangement, though, because I have my own privacy."
The oddest consequence of her secret life, <PERSON> says, was realizing how it was impacting her own personal relationship. Things with her boyfriend began to get strange, for reasons she hadn't expected. She began to demand more from him sexually, and also found herself needing more attention from him. "Because I give so much attention to my clients, so I need attention myself when I'm at home. You keep giving and giving and not receiving. I didn't expect him to buy me presents like my clients. What I really needed was nothing material, but rather attention and time."
They'd been together
|
617acb11-e970-46b4-e6ab-9da45af79e11
|
['076ff479-388b-0383-ff97-5f9eb28aec07']
|
a faulty clockwork doll unwinding. What he actually lives on he gets of his mother, many times during the day. Meanwhile the flies are wakening more and more thickly and meanwhile, too, the dogs and cats have assembled under the table, in postures which would do honor to any Bethlehem stable painting of the Holy Family. The dogs are fed at length—mainly on cornbread. Nobody likes the cats or ever pays them any sort of attention; they have to fend for themselves. As the meal disorganizes, <PERSON> flows up on the bench, insinuates his snaky skull and grabs what he can. He and his companion make it up on fast lizards, fat rats, and an occasional snake.
<PERSON> has left before it is all over. He is working in the fields, or working at the sawmill, or looking for work. During chopping time, <PERSON> and <PERSON> and <PERSON> work all day with him; during the picking season, <PERSON> helps, too. And even in the emptier times of year there is work for his family, and the whole weight of living is in work: clearing the table, washing the dishes, milking the cow, churning, sweeping the floors, scrubbing them once or twice a week, cultivating the garden, shifting the cow to fresh feeding, breaking off corntops, gathering vegetables, drying peaches, peas, and beans, canning, making jelly, laundering, mending clothes, making clothes, minding the children, slopping the hogs: plenty of work. It is done steadily, at a quiet place, and though there is a lot of it there is also a good deal of leisure: a leisure which, as a rhythm of the day, is a sliding into blank and glassy quiet of water: a space in the hot middle of the morning, another in the afternoon, when a woman is just sitting, in the blue shade of the porch next the white edge of heat, with all her joints disengaged and her eyes nearly as bare as a child's; while her baby sleeps on the floor, beneath a flyswarmed floursack, and her children convolve in any chance stage between heat-enchanted silence and rampant cruelty against each other or the animals. It is the time of morning when Mrs. <PERSON> comes in gray-faced and gasping from the sunlight among the dark green shadows of her house, falls into a chair, wipes her delicate reeking head on her skirt and, reviving a little, from between lip-pressing fingers squirts snuff-water over the heads of her children into the fireplace. There is always more talk among the <PERSON> than elsewhere: someone has always been hurt, or is feeling poorly, or has done something laughable. In season, in the middle of the morning, a melon is cut and divided and everyone eats by wet hand or knife while the hens stab at the slippery seeds. Everyone is hungry by that time of morning, and the melon gives a better illusion of fulness than the cold cornbread on which, in other times of year, the children fill up. Blown up with soda as it is, the melon is
|
8ed5602d-8db2-2223-c803-50ecf85d6c1f
|
['076ff479-388b-0383-ff97-5f9eb28aec07']
|
tonsils, or infected hand); and late the night before it, in the hospital, I felt grave about it. I am curious about what I did, and didn't do, under those circumstances. I wrote <PERSON> a long letter, including messages to friends (and needless to say including you), and took care to leave it where it would be found, in case I didn't come through it. In writing it I couldn't either believe or disbelieve in my death next morning. But by the time I finished it I had written myself out of my sense that it was at all likely, or even that it would happen at all. I then thought a little of trying to get a priest to come, before the operation; but could no longer take the possibility of dying seriously enough. Then I looked out over Lexington Avenue, without any particularly valetudinary feeling, until I fell asleep. It did not occur to me to pray, before I slept. In the morning, I felt so much better I was sure this immediate attack and infection were over. Since this was an inconvenient time of year to have the operation, I was eager to consult my doctor and, if he thought possible, postpone it. He gave me no chance to present my arguments—walked out quickly. A nurse came in and gave me an injection. I thought it was the routine "quieting" injection, which I'd heard is always given before wheeling you in; so I made no objection. My only further chance to talk with my doctor was bang in the operating room. I was blandly told that I was full of morphine, and so couldn't of course be taken seriously. It certainly weakened my capacity for argument. Besides, it was reasonable enough that the appendix should come out: all I resented was the railroading. So I submitted—and throughout my unconsciousness, apparently delivered myself of my entire complex on the subject of the pseudo-sacredness and power-mania of doctors and scientists. In short, I was too preoccupied with argument to think of praying.
All I can make out, then, is that I felt no fear of death, and no religious feeling. I would give a great deal to know how much more of both I might have felt if my sense of the possibility of death had been more acute—or if I had not worked it off, characteristically, with the thing that first concerned me: my relationship with other human beings.
Incidentally, I didn't have ether, but some intravenous anesthetic (in the crook of the elbow): no nausea, no dreams, nothing but a loose tongue; slept a couple of hours afterward; out very fast; pleasant experience.
No great pain from the wound: discomfort mainly from gas, coughing and laughter. Laughed very easily, the first few days. In fact, with loss of physical and nervous strength, and stamina for thought, etc., recovered much of my gaiety of about 20 years ago. I wish I could slip into that at will, and am going to try to learn more about it. I miss its
|
81f9c13f-ec6e-2c28-a590-d0610bad9c2b
|
['07d5e34a-0344-87b6-ef3b-fceeb196e65c']
|
sworn he hadn't known about it. The other two were <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
This gravelly voice on the phone was none of those, but he had to be connected to one of them. At this point, he could represent either side of the law.
But whatever he represented, <PERSON> wanted nothing to do with him and didn't want to have to spend a lot of time on him. This week wasn't so bad, but after this week the bank job could happen on any day. He needed to find out who this guy was, who he was connected to, and what he wanted. And then he needed, one way or another, to make him go away.
Two hours and fifteen minutes outside the diner. It was now three hours since the call. <PERSON> started the Lexus and drove away from there, not seeing any sudden activity in his mirrors.
He drove to the turnoff at the lake road, made the turn, and then drove very slowly, watching the intersection back there. He was almost around the first curve to the left, which would block the view, when a small black car made the turn into his mirror.
He accelerated around the curve, then slowed again. This road went all the way around the lake, partly straightaways and partly left-leaning curves, and then came back out onto the state highway two miles farther west.
Because he'd accelerated into the curve, then slowed, the small black car was closer when it next appeared, but it immediately braked, its nose dipping, then came on more slowly, trying to hang farther back.
It was the stutter that said this was no civilian. <PERSON> drove on past his own driveway, with the mailbox marked <PERSON>, the name <PERSON> used around here. Behind him, the black car kept pace, well back.
At the far end of the lake was a clubhouse <PERSON> had never entered. The summer people used it for a number of things; then it was open weekends only, in fall and spring. It was closed now, the vehicles of a few maintenance workers clustered up against the low clapboard building. <PERSON> turned in there, stopped among the other parked cars, and watched the black car, a Honda Accord with the mud of many miles on it, stream steadily by. The driver, alone in the car, was a woman. It was hard to see her face, because she was talking on a cell phone.
<PERSON> pulled out of the lot and followed the Honda, pacing it the way she had paced him. She must have seen him back there but did nothing about it, kept a steady thirty-four miles an hour all the way around the lake, signaled for a right at the state highway, and turned north, toward the Mobil station.
And beyond. He followed her across the bridge at the Delaware Water Gap and into a mall on the other side. She drove to the parking area in front of a supermarket, left the car, went into the store. She was tall and slender,
|
f41b7ce1-69dd-2330-4f1f-cb1523333426
|
['07d5e34a-0344-87b6-ef3b-fceeb196e65c']
|
is <PERSON>."
"Oh, yes, Mr. <PERSON> left your names." Opening a folder on his desk, he said, "If you could just sign the register."
The register was a sheet of paper with columns to be filled in: name, date, time, company, member to be visited. They both wrote things, and the man behind the desk gestured at the inner door behind himself, saying, "Mr. <PERSON> said you'll find him by the handball courts. That would be straight through, down the stairs, and second on your right."
<PERSON> thanked him again, and he and <PERSON> went through the door into a plush dark interior, just slightly seedy. Downstairs, they found three handball courts in a row like three stage sets, side walls not meeting the ceiling, windowed at the interior end to face bleachers where spectators could sit. Only the nearest court was in use, two players in their forties, both of them very fast and very good. They made noise, but not too much.
<PERSON> sat on the third row of bleachers, watching the game, then nodded when he saw <PERSON> and <PERSON> come in. He patted the cushioned bench beside him, and they came over, <PERSON> to take a seat at <PERSON>'s right, <PERSON> choosing a place on the second row, just to their left, where he could sit sideways and look up at them both.
<PERSON> nodded to <PERSON> and said, "Before we begin, just let me make the situation clear. I assume you did not come here trailing police—"
"No," <PERSON> said.
"No, of course not. But to consider the possibility, however remote, if in fact we _are_ interrupted by an official presence, I will explain that we were meeting to work on the details of your turning yourself in, and _you_ will say the same."
"Naturally," <PERSON> said.
"Good." <PERSON> turned to <PERSON>. "Now, to _your_ friend. The police seem unable to learn her true identity."
"They never will," <PERSON> said.
"I begin to believe you're right. She was paying for her hotel room with a credit card under the <PERSON> name. They have now learned from the credit card company that the bills are sent to an accountant in Long Island, who pays with money taken from the account of a client of theirs named <PERSON>. They have not physically seen <PERSON> in some years, but send him statements to a maildrop in New York City. They manage a few money market accounts for <PERSON>, and he occasionally sends them more money—How, if I may ask? The police don't know, or at least didn't tell me."
"Money orders," <PERSON> said. "Every once in a while, top up the tanks with some money orders."
"So Ms. <PERSON> is not their customer, nor can they directly reach <PERSON>, who pays her bills."
<PERSON> said, " Does she give them a story?"
"The police here?" <PERSON> smiled, almost in a proprietary way, as though it were a story he'd made up himself. "She says," he told them, "she is fleeing an abusive husband. Court orders didn't help,
|
98aa8b1f-0c45-d18b-2372-e68be5594b11
|
['08f924a7-49f1-8296-519e-941e598696c9']
|
those already deployed by industry. In <PERSON> vision of the "city of the future," "all the buildings are made of a special paper product so they can be torn down and rebuilt during every spring and fall cleaning." And "every fourth factory is built at the edge of a steep drop. The end of the assembly line can be turned toward the front gate or the back gate. If demand is low, the line turns toward the back gate, and the excess of refrigerators or other products disappears into the drop, directly into a garbage dump, and never even reaches the consumer market."
Socially produced wealth is not yet destroyed in such spectacular ways as arson or direct delivery to garbage dumps. Industry is still trying to overcome saturation of the consumer market by producing "a new model" every two years; or by spending millions on research that has less to do with improving products than with selling them; or by resorting to consumers' private garbage cans for the deposit of useless, but expensive, profit-making wrappings (the consumer pays the costs of garbage removal); or through advertising that is as radically hypocritical as it is costly. Millions in effort, time, and investment are wasted on built-in obsolescence, on planned wear and tear, so that the refrigerators, electric razors, stockings, toys, or light bulbs fall apart earlier than necessary, considering the time and energy invested in producing them, and all to artificially maintain a demand that in turn will increase rates of profit through production and sales, profits which will be invested privately, not to satisfy social needs but to facilitate the accumulation of capital. (What capitalism provides can be bought in a department store. What cannot be bought in a department store, capitalism provides only partially, incompletely, or insufficiently: hospitals, schools, kindergartens, health systems, etc.) In any case, when socially produced wealth is destroyed by setting fire to department stores, this does not differ qualitatively from the systematic destruction of social wealth through fashion, packaging, advertising, or built-in obsolescence. From this perspective, setting fire to department stores is not an anti-capitalist action; on the contrary, it maintains the system and is counter-revolutionary.
The progressive aspects of setting fire to a department store do not lie in the destruction of goods, but in the criminal act, in breaking the law. The law that gets broken in the process does not protect people from seeing the effort and labor they invested and the value they produced destroyed, spoiled, and wasted. It doesn't protect them from the lies that advertising tells them about their own products; nor does it protect them from being separated from the products they produce because of the way their workplace is organized and the way information is concealed, which subjects them both as producers and as consumers to the mercy of those who make the profits and invest them according to their own tastes. According to their own tastes means according to the logic of profit, in other words, investing where they can make other, even greater
|
ddedeafa-16a5-9b8e-a7e2-8623e2730a79
|
['08f924a7-49f1-8296-519e-941e598696c9']
|
inciting violence. These measures fostered an atmosphere of outrage, frustration, and paranoia, and in many cases justified fear of the police and the state. The term used by media and police to discredit the Left was "sympathizer swamp."
German citizens were asked to participate not only in the hunt for members of the so-called "Baader-Meinhof Gang," but also in the hunt for sympathizers and clandestine supporters. Contrary to the assumption of the RAF that people would refuse to participate in the hunt, police fielded thousands of calls. Group members reportedly dressed and acted like ordinary citizens, drove nice cars, and lived anonymously in suburbs. Citizens were asked to keep a careful eye on their neighbors, as they may turn out to be terrorists or terrorist supporters.
Popular reporting on the hunt for terrorists was often highly eroticized. "Tender Nights in the Berber Tent" read one headline of a story reporting on the group's stay at the Jordanian guerilla training camp. <PERSON> was portrayed as "the ice-cold seductress." The portrayal of <PERSON> oscillated between descriptions of her as a desexualized crusader, a tragically misguided <PERSON>, and a highly eroticized seductress who took and dismissed lovers and incited young men and women to violence. The popular news and lifestyle magazine _Quick_ featured a photo essay on "<PERSON> and her Savage Girls." The cover showed <PERSON> surrounded by smaller photos of suspected female terrorists, including a bare-breasted <PERSON>. _Quick_ suggested certain common traits of the women involved in militant violence: they come from bourgeois homes; they have been spoiled; they have a tendency to "act like men" (i.e., they're homosexual), or they have radical boyfriends through whom they have entered the militant scene. In <PERSON>'s case, _<PERSON>_ suggested the cause of her turn to violence may have been related to the brain surgery she underwent, and that her psychological development may have been caused by an unfulfilled need for love. Similarly, the tabloid newspaper _Bild-Zeitung_ speculated that the cause of her turn to militant violence lay in her inability to find satisfaction in being a mother: "She wasn't able to experience the family as a community of love and emotional bonds. Her children were a daily reminder that she was incapable of being a mother." Widely circulated photographs of <PERSON> and her children reminded readers that "Once this was <PERSON>."
The <PERSON> story that _Bild_ , _<PERSON>_ , and _Quick_ told was a story caught between arousing pity for the woman with a fatherless childhood, outrage over the abandonment of her children, and an abhorrence of her cunning challenge to the established order. The real scandal was thus not militant violence, but the rejection of a traditional female role.
In November 1971, _konkret_ published an open letter by <PERSON> with the title "Give up, <PERSON>." <PERSON> urged <PERSON> to rethink her militant practice and to recognize that the activities of the RAF only provided an excuse for the state to launch a massive anti-Left campaign. <PERSON> urged <PERSON> to come to the realization that the
|
1a229542-6a0e-aba4-6901-c66333875e1d
|
['0a416c98-13fc-bc85-7b82-b64593958000']
|
get on the wrong side of him. He loved his boxing, and you got the impression he might knock your head off. Like me, he has also had to deal with tragedy in his family when his son drove his car off a cliff on the south coast.
<PERSON> was a big thinker about the game. He knew everything about the opposition. His reliance on analysis was very un-Manchester United. We were all about playing off the cuff. The club was geared up for personalities. Sir <PERSON> started that and the Doc carried it on. Then along came <PERSON> with his tactical nous and professionalism that had worked brilliantly for him at Chelsea and Queens Park Rangers. His approach was more in keeping with what I had known at Celtic. In the short term, <PERSON> was just what United, a club built on flamboyance, needed after the <PERSON>; but in the long term his methods ran counter to the United culture. Ultimately that would cost him. He was hopeless for the press, guarded and private. He hated fuss and attention. He wanted to get on with things quietly. That was never going to work with the journalists after the <PERSON> and <PERSON>. But the players loved him.
Before every game <PERSON> would walk around the dressing room speaking to each of us players individually, trying to build you up, improve your performance. When he stood in front of you face to face, <PERSON> was very convincing. There was a steely aggression about him. He was a hard man. Sometimes he could get his message across with a look. That never came across to the public. They heard this softly spoken figure and assumed he was weak. The public also misunderstood his methods. They saw him as overly regimented, defensive. He wasn't. Training was based around attacking strategies. It was all about going forward. If there were complaints from the players they came from defenders who moaned that there was not enough time spent on the defensive side of the game.
<PERSON> had a generous nature. He treated the players well. He gave us all a gold watch as a sign of his appreciation for what we had done. When we got to the FA Cup Final in 1979 after beating Liverpool in the semi-final, he gave each of the players a painting by <PERSON>, which he paid for himself, and a gold sovereign. <PERSON> had done sixteen special paintings of Old Trafford with a player standing on the pitch. I know of one lad, who had no appreciation of art, who threw his in the bin. I won't name him. All I can tell you is that he regrets it now.
We finished tenth in 1978, <PERSON>'s first season, and ninth in 1979. That was tough. On a personal note, my time under him could not have got off to a better start. I scored a hat-trick against Birmingham City at St Andrew's on the opening day of the 1977–78 season, <PERSON>'s first match in charge. Only three other players in
|
9497810e-1aea-caee-d9b4-c114d8a2b0f5
|
['0a416c98-13fc-bc85-7b82-b64593958000']
|
cost nearly £4,000. The board weren't that keen on it. One of the board members worked for the insurance company that sponsored the team, Lowndes Lambert. The chairman asked him if the company would insure the club for that £4,000. Every penny was a prisoner at Swindon. Insuring the club in the event we got knocked out of the FA Cup seemed like good business. The board member promised to come back with a figure.
For whatever reason, that didn't happen. The game was by this stage upon us, so we went to Newcastle and checked into the hotel without the insurance in place. <PERSON> decided to cover himself with a wager at Ladbrokes. Obviously he didn't want Swindon to get knocked out of the FA Cup – there was real money to be earned from a run in the competition – all he was interested in was covering himself so that he got the expenses money back if we lost. It was a no-lose situation. In the event we were hammered, which is what most people expected. The chairman picked up his cheque from Ladbrokes and banked it. There was no question of us deliberately losing the game. There was more money to be had from a win. Besides, had the chairman been acting in a sinister manner as part of a betting ring, he would hardly be accepting a cheque and putting it in the bank. He'd want to hide that kind of activity. But there was nothing to hide because it was an innocent bet.
The journalist who reported the story was acting on a tip-off from within the club. There was a so-called consortium in Swindon desperate to get rid of <PERSON> and take over the club. Some members of the consortium were on the board. They had a vested interest in forcing <PERSON> out. The newspaper denied it was a board member who provided the information, but I believe the tip-off was politically motivated. The reporter screamed scandal, and everyone fell for it. He gave the impression that this was not an isolated incident, it was a deep-seated problem at the club, and many games were involved. Bunkum.
To add weight to his theory, he interviewed the players about the Newcastle match. He got hold of <PERSON>. 'What did you have for your pre-match meal? And what do you normally have?' <PERSON> replied that at the army camp the players normally ate scrambled eggs and toast. That then got compared to the spaghetti Bolognese and steak and chips they'd had at the hotel. It was presented in a way that suggested the players had been stuffed with heavy food in order to compromise their efforts on the pitch, to slow them down. 'Did you feel different on the night, <PERSON>?' 'Well, you'd have to say after getting beaten 5–0 I felt a lot different on the night.' He then moved on to another player, and asked the same questions. What did you have? Steak and chips? How many chips did you have? And so on.
|
c0be8abb-1b9f-0cb8-7553-cb74786c293e
|
['0a6bf8a5-d8c4-ffcc-02e7-62be63a24b18']
|
demands for which his technique was not always fully prepared.
The claim that <PERSON> was a simple environmental determinist or a prisoner of the putatively dated school of naturalism has largely been discredited. <PERSON> himself criticized the limitations of the naturalist perspective as early as his 1936 _A Note on Literary Criticism:_ at that time he linked naturalism to mechanical materialism and accused it of fostering an expansive rather than an intensive approach to art. In 1964 <PERSON>, <PERSON>'s most reliable critic, published a convincing essay, "Freedom and Determinism in James T. Farrell's Fiction." <PERSON> demonstrated that <PERSON>'s "functional conception of the self" in his fiction was one that exhibited "a full pattern of human conduct . . . that accommodates freedom." <PERSON>'s conclusion that <PERSON> is a "critical realist" seems apt.
<PERSON>'s greatest weakness as a writer was that he failed to develop either sufficient consciousness about or a sophisticated theory of the uses of language in writing fiction beyond admirable but rather simple notions that language must serve the end of accurately recreating character and environment. There is no doubt that his heavy reliance on personal experience made <PERSON>'s work appear redundant to many critics. In short, his prose failed to communicate to many readers the true diversity of the experiences he aspired to depict.
A famous man by the time he was thirty, <PERSON>'s three decades from the mid-1940s to the mid-1970s witnessed a reversal of fortune; his survival as a writer became an ordeal. Hounded by censors in 1948 when Philadelphia police attempted to stop the sales of _Studs Lonigan_ , sneered at by a herd of literary detractors, and harassed by publishers who did not find his books sufficiently marketable, he persisted in a curmudgeonly sort of rebellion and drifted into near obscurity. In the 1950s friends urged him to settle down to a teaching post, but he refused. Unwilling to let monetary considerations influence his writing and inhospitable to new cultural trends, he persisted in using his art idiosyncratically to tell the truth as he saw it. At one point he was evicted from his apartment for nonpayment of rent, and on another occasion financial desperation forced him to sell the movie rights to _Studs Lonigan_ for a pittance. But he only became stronger in his belief that he must resist commercial forces. In 1961, at what was probably the nadir of his career, he publicly declared, "I began writing in my own way and I shall go on doing it. This is my first and last word on the subject."
Future biographers will have to probe the psychological causes and artistic consequences of such single-minded determination, but <PERSON> himself justified his defiant pursuit of his own literary objectives in terms of social value. Quoting from <PERSON>'s _What Is Art?_ (1897–98), he explained that the purpose of his writing technique is to "infect [the reader] with feeling" so as to awaken the reader's mind to the social forces at work in shaping one's life. "The most important thing that a person can do is teach,"
|
ca791f48-7cdc-0680-0abd-a4abc9e7e38e
|
['0a6bf8a5-d8c4-ffcc-02e7-62be63a24b18']
|
to publish his repudiation of Marxism in the _Partisan Review_ under the pseudonym "<PERSON>." He then vanished from the political arena to begin a new life as a professor of philosophy at Brandeis University.
These instances of sudden and almost shameless _volte-faces_ were only the latest in a long stream that stemmed back to the late 1930s. The Trotskyist movement was by no means unique in this phenomenon. Among the most extraordinary cases were those of <PERSON> and <PERSON>, arch-theoreticians of the <PERSON> group. A few weeks before the <PERSON> organization disbanded in 1940, <PERSON> appeared at a meeting to plead with the members not to change their Leninist-internationalist opposition to the coming war, as <PERSON> himself had just done. In a moving voice he declared, "I have never supported imperialist war; I will never support an imperialist war; and I am breaking a lifelong friendship with <PERSON> over this issue because this war is no different from any other imperialist war." Yet within weeks, <PERSON>'s position became the same as <PERSON>'s.
<PERSON> was a man with a fantastic courtroomlike capacity to build up a case for any position he wanted. Yet with astonishing ease he showed himself just as capable as <PERSON> and <PERSON> of switching from one position to its opposite. A specialty of <PERSON>'s was demolishing all arguments in favor of theology. When he discovered that <PERSON>'s young secretary, <PERSON>, was an agnostic, he marshaled such a barrage of evidence to demonstrate the nonexistence of God and the social evil of religion that <PERSON>, fifty years later and a retired professor of criminology, could still feel the force of his logic. Yet <PERSON> himself went directly from militant atheism to wearing a yarmulke and praying, eventually establishing himself as one of America's leading theologians.
Quirky behavior, political quiescence, and extraordinary turnabouts were among the least objectionable manifestations of apostasy exhibited by these defectors. <PERSON> embarked on a course that veered between pathos and tragedy, while <PERSON> was worthy of performance by the Theater of the Absurd. At least a year before resigning from the Workers Party, <PERSON> had fallen into a political malaise. Unable to practice law because he had been disbarred, worried about supporting a young wife he had met and married during his Smith Act trial and a son born in November 1948, <PERSON> drove a taxicab for a while before accepting his brothers' generous offer to set him up as assistant manager of the Courtesy Car Service, a limousine taxicab company in Chicago. But business was so poor that <PERSON> himself had to do much of the driving. In these years Goldman underwent strange changes in personality and appearance. Formerly a hearty man, nearly six feet tall with brown hair, he now became extremely thin and even foppish in appearance. He declared himself a vegetarian, developed a cleanliness fetish, and insisted on boiling all his drinking water. Old friends found him hardly recognizable.
By 1950 he described himself as a "right-wing socialist" in a letter to _New Leader_
|
ff2dd74c-a5c4-2ab3-6364-c9475f4b4b6b
|
['0ae77617-dace-534f-fe2f-af8cb929e9aa']
|
the toes pointing to the ceiling. Hinge forward from the hip while maintaining a neutral spine. Finish all reps, then repeat with other leg.
**Too easy?** Stand upright and extend one leg straight in front of you with your foot on a chair or counter. Flex your ankle. Hinge forward from the hip while maintaining a neutral spine. Finish all reps, then repeat with other leg.
## Shoulder workout
While busy hands often get all the credit, the most mundane daily tasks—brushing your hair, sweeping your wallet off the dresser, reaching for the front doorknob—can't be done unless your shoulders position your arms and hands in the right spots.
### **Shoulders 101**
Although we refer to the shoulder as if it were a single joint, in reality four joints loosely connect several bones. Riding above the rib cage are four bones that form the shoulder girdle: a pair of collarbones (clavicles) at the front, and a pair of triangular shoulder blades or wing bones (scapulae) at the back. The inner end of each collarbone is linked to the breastbone (sternum). The outer end of the collarbone fits into a small joint meeting up with the front edge of the shoulder blade (forming the acromioclavicular, or AC, joint), so that the four bones largely float above the ribs, suspended by several strong muscles and ligaments.
The long bone of the upper arm (humerus) fits into a larger ball-and-socket joint at the shoulder blade (see Figure 5). This allows the arm to move freely in many directions, making it possible to serve a tennis ball or push a vacuum. Yet it also makes the shoulder joint inherently unstable and easy to injure.
A tendon bridging four small muscles creates the rotator cuff. The cuff covers the ball of the shoulder joint and permits you to rotate your arm and stabilizes the joint. Even a basic action, like lifting your arm, requires every part of the shoulder girdle to move in turn and calls into play rotator cuff muscles plus a raft of strong muscles of the shoulders, back, and chest.
#### **What this workout helps**
**Shoulder impingement.** A common cause of shoulder pain occurs when the front portion of the shoulder blade impinges on the rotator cuff as you raise your arm. This may cause bursitis or tendinitis or a tear in the rotator cuff. Shoulder impingement causes pain and limits movement considerably, occasionally creating a "frozen shoulder." Common causes include overuse of rotator cuff muscles in sports like tennis, swimming, and baseball, work like painting that repeatedly involves reaching overhead, and minor injuries.
**Osteoarthritis.** Sometimes dubbed "wear and tear" arthritis because it starts when cartilage cushioning the joints wears down, osteoarthritis of the shoulder is a common cause of pain in people over age 50. Prior injuries, aging, and overuse are all factors.
**Bursitis.** Small, fluid-filled sacs called bursae cushion the movement of bones against muscle, skin, and tendons. Bursae above the rotator cuff are prime candidates for inflammation (bursitis) prompted by causes similar to those for
|
07a68928-73f0-eb79-30e3-24257f44a07d
|
['0ae77617-dace-534f-fe2f-af8cb929e9aa']
|
buying new ones every 350 to 550 miles.
**Stability ball.** Stability balls come in several sizes (55 cm, 65 cm, and 75 cm are most common, but smaller and larger balls are available). To select a ball, check the package for a size chart based on your height. When you sit on a ball, your hips and knees should both be at 90-degree angles. Select a durable, high-quality ball, such as Max Fitness or Spri brands.
**Yoga strap.** This is a nonelastic cotton or nylon strap of 6 feet or longer that helps you position your body properly while doing certain stretches. Choose a strap with a D-ring or buckle fastener on one end. This allows you to put a loop around a foot or leg and then grasp the other end of the strap.
## Getting started
Often, the slide toward an increasingly sedentary life starts with painful joints because discomfort curtails activities. Although a doctor may prescribe temporary rest after an injury or surgery, week after week of inactivity compromises your health and abilities. Our simple walking plan can help you turn around this unhealthy trend. If walking isn't possible, see "When walks are too hard" for alternative activities.
### **A simple cardio workout**
Like all aerobic (cardio) activities, walking tunes up the heart and lungs while burning calories. Because it doesn't jar joints terribly or raise the heart rate to dangerous levels, it's safe for almost everyone. Our walking plan ramps up slowly. Follow these tips to get the most from your walks:
**Find safe places to walk.** Quiet streets with sidewalks, park trails, athletic tracks at local schools, or indoor malls are safest. If you're looking for a flat surface, the latter two choices are best.
**Buy a good pair of shoes.** Look for thick, flexible soles that cushion your feet and elevate your heel a half to three-quarters of an inch above the sole. Choose shoes with "breathable" uppers, such as nylon mesh or leather.
**Dress for comfort and safety.** Since exercise warms your body, wear lighter clothes than you'd need if standing still. Dress in layers so you can peel off garments if you get hot. Wear a hat with a brim and sunblock when needed. Light-colored clothes and reflective strips, a reflective vest, or a lightweight flashing light can help drivers notice you.
**Do a warm-up.** Walk at a slower pace for several minutes as you start out.
**Practice good technique.** For example:
• Walk at a steady, moderate-intensity pace (see Table 2 or "A walking plan," below). Slow down if you're too breathless to carry on a conversation.
**A walking plan**
Our walking plan is designed to safely boost your physical activity even if you are very sedentary. It's the minutes that count, not the miles. If you aren't in the habit of exercising, start at the beginning. If you're already exercising, start at the level that best matches your current routine and build from there.
|
607a1718-ac74-f546-17e6-afb9600ece36
|
['0b080b35-196c-cea1-bf05-45a0b734fa81']
|
have commanded small sailing craft in some of the stormiest seas in the world, but that little schooner—with her 40-ft main boom, trying to take charge—flogging her way south from Cape Horn to the pack-ice in the dead of winter, beat them all.
Again they encountered the ice, the auxiliary engine broke down, and again they were forced to retreat. At last the Chilean navy came to their rescue, and in the little steamer Yelcho they groped their way through fog and ice and reached the camp on Elephant Island. As <PERSON> carefully maneuvered the steamer through icebergs and reefs, <PERSON> scanned the beach through binoculars:
I heard his strained tones as he counted the figures that were crawling out from under the upturned boat. "Two—five—seven—" and then an exultant shout, "They're all there, <PERSON>. They are all safe!" His face lit up and years seem to fall off his age.
Not one man had been lost.
<PERSON>'S EXTRAORDINARY NAVIGATIONAL feat in the James Caird depended as much on good judgment as on his skill with a sextant. He knew that his DR calculations were wildly unreliable, and experience told him that he could not safely rely on his latest longitude estimate as they closed the northwestern tip of South Georgia.
<PERSON> exploited every clue offered by close observation of the natural world around him, though in this he was not unusual. Successful navigation, in the pre-electronic age, depended on the skillful integration of information from many different sources. It was never just a matter of compass, log, and sextant observations: the journals of all the great explorers are full of references to the color of the water, its depth, the nature of the "ground," wave and swell patterns, the clouds, and much else besides. Animal behavior—especially that of birds—was also crucial. <PERSON> commented that he was "not at all surprised that the early voyagers should have taken so much notice of the appearance and flight of birds, when out of sight of land; since in my very short experience I have profited much by observing them, and I am thence led to conclude that land, especially small islands or reefs, has often been discovered in consequence of watching particular kinds of birds, and noticing the direction in which they fly, of an evening, about sunset." Seasoned navigators all over the world instinctively attend to such natural phenomena.
For thousands of years mariners relied on their unaided senses to find their way when they ventured on the open sea, but the native navigators of the Pacific islands were probably the most sophisticated and daring exponents of this kind of "natural navigation." As <PERSON> noted with amazement, Polynesian seafarers were able to make successful landfalls without instruments or charts—even on low-lying atolls—after crossing hundreds or thousands of miles of ocean. Modern research has shed a good deal of light on their methods and some of their long ocean passages have been replicated. In 1976, for example, a 65-foot double canoe named Hōkūle'a—the Star of Gladness in Hawaiian, or Arcturus—whose design was partly based
|
544487fe-31e7-12ed-5c03-e90ab9405b75
|
['0b080b35-196c-cea1-bf05-45a0b734fa81']
|
major inlet that would give access to the interior. As far as possible he avoided the "running survey" method. Instead he anchored frequently, and when he went ashore used the theodolite to connect fixed positions by triangulation. He relied heavily on chronometers for his survey work but checked them as often as possible by lunars and sometimes, when ashore, by the moons of Jupiter. On one occasion he observed an eclipse, which proved a useful index of the accuracy of his methods after he had returned home.
<PERSON> also made an extended series of observations of the strangely erratic behavior of magnetic compasses aboard ship. Their tendency to give different bearings of the same object depending on which way the ship's head was pointing had long been a mystery and was a matter of great navigational significance. <PERSON> realized that this "compass deviation" was due to the influence of magnetic metals aboard the ship, and he devised a means of correcting it that was tested successfully after his eventual return to England. Though it was many years before his proposal was adopted, compensatory "Flinders bars" eventually became a standard feature of steering-compass installations on board every modern ship. <PERSON>, who kept careful records of the barometric pressure, was also among the first to investigate carefully the relationship between changes in this variable and the behavior of the wind, a study that was to be taken further by another distinguished hydrographer—<PERSON>.
Like so many other voyages of exploration, this one was marked by human tragedy. In February 1802 the master of the Investigator, <PERSON>, along with seven other men, was drowned on an expedition in one of the ship's boats in rough waters off the south coast of Australia. <PERSON>, who had earlier sailed with <PERSON> and <PERSON>, was both an old friend and a much-valued colleague. The site of the accident was appropriately called Cape Catastrophe and the grief-stricken Flinders named an island after <PERSON>.
While the fruitless search for the lost men was under way, <PERSON> learned that <PERSON> before leaving home had visited a fortune-teller who had told him that he was going on a long voyage and that his ship would be joined by another vessel after reaching her destination; he, however, would be lost before that happened. The superstitious crew of the Investigator were very struck by this prophecy, but <PERSON> coolly observed that other commanders should discourage their crews from consulting fortune-tellers.
Oddly enough, they did have an unnerving chance encounter with another vessel some weeks later. This was Le Géographe, commanded by the French explorer <PERSON>, who was proceeding along the south coast in the opposite direction. Uncertain of the Frenchman's intentions, the little Investigator cleared for action and veered around as she passed the larger ship in order to keep her broadside to her. Flinders then hove to and went aboard Le Géographe. It seems to have been a slightly tense encounter. <PERSON>'s lack of interest in the identity of his interlocutor, or even in his reasons for being in this remote
|
fcac1229-83f0-881d-77d4-7912285c474b
|
['0c6d898e-6c07-43e1-7a96-1b36b45e2fa9']
|
You have to supply extra heat from the torch the whole time (about 10 to 15 seconds once it starts). That's when you are most likely to get a flare out from the end of the tube.
**6** Let the tube cool, then dump the contents into a long-handled metal measuring cup. Make sure it's completely cool or residual magnesium powder will catch fire when you dump it out.
**7** Prepare a bowl of diluted acid by adding about one cup of concentrated muriatic acid (HCl) to five cups of water. Always pour acid into water, never the other way around.
**8** In a fireproof area, quickly dump the powder from the measuring cup into the acid. If it doesn't catch fire, it means you didn't heat it well enough in steps 4 and 5, or your sand wasn't silica sand.
**A REACTIVE MOMENT** Magnesium, hydrogen and silane burn off while the purified silicon falls to the bottom.
**TORRID TUBE** To get the magnesium powder inside hot enough, you'll end up destroying the test tube.
**Real DANGER alert: This experiment uses magnesium powder, which is explosively flammable when distributed in the air, as well as concentrated acid. Effective wraparound eye protection and fire-resistant clothing is absolutely _essential_. The test tube regularly fails during the heating phase, so be prepared. If it does, there will be a magnesium fireball. This will not hurt you if you are properly protected; it will permanently blind you if you are not. Spectators should be protected behind a shield.**
# ODD COUPLING
## Combine hydrogen peroxide and chlorine to make a glowing (and poisonous) mixture that's a window into the weird world of quantum physics
**B EFORE THE** discovery in the 1920s of quantum mechanics—laws that explain the way the world works on the very small scale of atoms and electrons—the fact that bleach and peroxide glow when mixed would have seemed like just another chemical reaction that gives off light, like fire or fireflies. But it's actually a glimpse into the impossible.
Hydrogen peroxide decomposes when it meets chlorine, releasing molecules of oxygen, each of which has one electron in a high-energy state. When the electrons inevitably return to a low-energy state, the excess energy comes off as a photon of light, creating a glow. Simple—but there are two problems.
First, quantum calculations show that the energy created in this transition is only enough for a photon of infrared light, which is invisible. Second, there are three separate laws of quantum mechanics that say this particular transition (a lone oxygen molecule going from high to low energy) can't happen anyway.
Why should we believe in the abstract, common-sense-defying math of quantum mechanics? Because two impossibles sometimes make a possible.
It turns out that since the transition is forbidden, the molecule is stuck in its "excited" state—until, that is, it eventually collides with another excited molecule, breaking one of those laws (symmetry) and allowing two electrons to return to lower-energy states simultaneously. Together they release a single photon with twice the energy: a photon of visible orange-red
|
bbc856b7-86b5-4f39-bbd7-e1381947f20f
|
['0c6d898e-6c07-43e1-7a96-1b36b45e2fa9']
|
couple hundred thousand years, most of the 239Pu has decayed into 235U, and there it sits for a very long time because 235U has a half-life of 70 million years. But eventually, after several additional stages of decay, the end result is 5/6 of a pound of stable lead (82), 207Pb.
Where did the other 1/6 pound go? Consider the first decay from 247Bk to 243Am. Americium has two fewer protons than berkelium, and its mass number is four less (243 vs. 247), meaning that two protons and two neutrons were lost. When the 247Bk decayed, it shot two protons and two neutrons out in the form of an alpha particle, accounting for some of the loss of mass. (What physicists call an alpha particle is the nucleus of what chemists call a helium atom.)
Other stages in the decay—for example 239Np to 239Pu—change the element number (the number of protons) but not the mass number. Since the mass number doesn't change you might think that a 239Pu atom weighs the same as a 239Np atom, but this is not the case. In fact the 239Pu is very slightly lighter—the extra mass in the 239Np has been converted directly into energy according to <PERSON>'s famous formula, _E_ = _mc_ 2 (in words, "energy equals mass times the speed of light squared"). The speed of light, _c_ , is a very big number, meaning that a small amount of mass converts into a huge amount of energy.
So the answer is that the missing 1/6 pound has turned into a combination of helium (2) (from the emitted alpha particles) and pure energy. (And in practice, that energy means you'd never be able to keep an actual pound of berkelium on your desk, it would be far too dangerous.)
Virtually no practical applications have been found for berkelium. But, surprisingly for such a high-numbered element, there are actually a few real applications for californium.
The great seal of the University of California at Berkeley, where <PERSON> discovered berkelium and many other elements.
The decay chain of 247Bk, described in detail in the text. In most cases a given isotope decays almost entirely into one new isotope, but sometimes there is more than one possible decay pathway. Shown here are those paths that occur at least 1% of the time. The chain stops when it reaches a stable element, in this case almost all the material ultimately ends up as the lead isotope 207Pb. Yes, this is transmutation of the elements just like the alchemists dreamed of, only more expensive.
# Californium
<PERSON> is a name you run into a lot around this part of the periodic table. He is on the list of those credited with the discovery of californium, and also plutonium (94), americium (95), curium (96), berkelium (97), einsteinium (99), fermium (100), mendelevium (101), nobelium (102), and seaborgium (106).
The last one is of particular note because it is the only really unambiguous case of an element named not only for a person involved in its discovery, but also for
|
19c2ce71-b863-090d-3ee3-7ddeb2820cee
|
['0c74d606-7377-f5a4-6d92-2611fdb320cf']
|
was seventeen. But my parents never told me why, not until <PERSON> and I were already married. And ever since then, I've felt like my own body was booby-trapped, and it was my job to examine every inch of its terrain, like it was enemy territory. Now my worst fears are coming true."
<PERSON> nodded, taking in everything I said, rolling my words around in his head the way he always did.
"You know, I'd like for everyone to just go away," I said. "I really would. The prodders and the pokers. The experts trained to peer and stick and cut. The ones who read charts and type up notes. The ones who train their X-rays on the innocent and hold their glowing film up to the light before surprising you with secrets you've been keeping from yourself. I feel so alone, <PERSON>. Like I've been marked—singled out."
"I understand," <PERSON> said. "Whenever we must carry a health legacy from the past, it can be too much to bear."
A cold wind swept across the yard just then. Instinctively, we turned to face the mountains, but in pivoting, <PERSON> became unsteady on his feet.
"Oh, Lord," he said. His cane slipped from his grip. I tried to grasp it as it fell, but missed. The grass received it, shuddering. His cotton shirt blew up against his chest. I saw how thin he had become.
"I've upset you. That was selfish. I'm so sorry, <PERSON>."
One of <PERSON>'s neighbors checking mail across the street called out to ask if we needed any help. She lingered at her mailbox, pretending to inspect the hinge, when all the while I sensed that she was just one of those people who had radar for gossip of any kind. I told her, no. We were fine. <PERSON> and I dropped our voices to a whisper.
"This morning, we received some news as well," <PERSON> said, while I retrieved his cane. "<PERSON>'s visa is going to come through. We've known this was a possibility for quite some time, but now it is confirmed. It is a matter of days."
"Oh, <PERSON>! That's wonderful. We'll have a celebration when she gets here." I stepped closer to him, hoping to convey how excited I felt about <PERSON>'s arrival.
If only I had known about the good news, I would have waited to share my burden with him. But his troubled expression persisted. I expected him to be overjoyed, but instead he looked sadder than I'd ever seen him.
"There is something which I have not told you," he said. "It is regarding my condition." He paused. "It is something that makes <PERSON>'s arrival a matter of the greatest urgency. I have wanted, many times, to tell you . . . of the underlying reason for this stroke and my decline . . . but we were always working in the garden and the moment never came."
His eyes shone in their earnest way, and I waited patiently for him to continue. A plane was descending toward the airport, a view
|
a8d8a4d7-4ac6-da46-72f8-12845329dfd4
|
['0c74d606-7377-f5a4-6d92-2611fdb320cf']
|
But feeling sorry for myself was like rolling down a grassy hill—I picked up speed the more I did it and it got harder to stop.
<PERSON> had offered to go with me for the follow-up ultrasound, but I told him no, he shouldn't even think of it. What I didn't tell him was that I couldn't stand sitting there with his fears as well as my own, feeding off of each other and somehow multiplying. I told him that he shouldn't worry, I could easily ask <PERSON> or another female friend to go with me. But even as I said that, I knew I would go alone. I didn't want to be the cancer hostess while my friend tried to be reassuring, or while I tried to be positive for her sake. The most I could handle was to sit in that waiting room by myself, arms wrapped around my own torso as if to physically hold myself together.
After that I would stay in hiding for a few weeks, avoiding searching glances and prying questions while I prayed that everything would be okay. I didn't mind telling the details of my medical adventure after a benign result was reached. After the happy ending, it might even be entertaining to admit that while I was outwardly cool I was really a panicky mess. I could joke about fearing the worst and my argument with <PERSON>. I would manage the facts and control my message. Maybe that's what my mother was doing when she had them roll her away in the hearse.
I popped a Xanax and grew drowsy. On the edge of sleep, I heard <PERSON>'s weary footsteps on the stairs. The moon was pale and cold. It peered at me through an opening in the curtains. I threw the covers back and waited in hope for <PERSON> to come lie beside me.
• • •
Three days later, feeling dizzy in a little cubicle, I took my sweater off. My bra came next. I hung it on a hook. Heaven help me, I'd avoided wearing pink. Today I chose colors I liked better and that felt more fitting for the occasion—muddy brown and deep gunmetal gray.
One of the nurses stuck her head into my dressing room and said, "Don't forget to get a bumper sticker for the Big Pink Parade. It's for Breast Cancer Awareness month. This year, the mayor is going to speak."
I studied the nurse's expression. She looked sincere. If I were going to think up a parade for breast cancer it certainly wouldn't feature pink. Instead, I would have liked to see a line of scientists in lab coats trooping over distant hills. They would be sexless men and women with their hair cut sensibly, their glasses on and pencils sharpened. And they'd be looking for a cure. I thought of an acquaintance, <PERSON>, who once said she'd kept a positive attitude when she was called back for some further pictures, and she attributed the benign results that came her way to managing her thoughts.
|
be3b263d-b6ea-fff1-69da-c9773cfc6d55
|
['0c7c144e-58a6-4422-0101-fad82e19b1cf']
|
Regulation and the Politics of Public Service_ , Mansell, London, 1999, p. 34.
Ibid., pp. 41–2.
<PERSON>, 'The Identity of English Liberalism', _Politics and Society_ , p. 23.
<PERSON>, 'Liberal Legislation or Freedom of Contract' in _The Liberal Tradition_ , p. 182.
<PERSON>, 'Liberalism' in _The Liberal Tradition_ , p. 192.
Ibid., p. 194.
Ibid., p. 214.
<PERSON> and <PERSON>, _Philosophy in the Flesh_ : _The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought_ , Basic Books, New York, 1999, p. 91.
<PERSON>, _The New Liberalism,_ pp. 102–3.
<PERSON>, 'The Identity of English Liberalism', _Politics and Society_ , p. 19.
Ibid., p. 30.
<PERSON>, 'The General Election: A Sociological Interpretation', _The Sociological Review_ , 3 (2) 1910, p. 108.
Ibid., p. 109.
Ibid., p. 114.
Ibid., p. 113.
<PERSON>, _Imperialism: A Study_ , James Pott & Company, New York, 1902, p. 381.
<PERSON>, _The People: The Rise and Fall of the Working Class_ , John Murray, London, 2014, p. 14.
<PERSON>, 'The General Election: A Sociological Interpretation', _The Sociological Review_ , 3 (2), 1910, p. 117.
For a critique of the politics of <PERSON>'s book, see <PERSON>, 'Militancy, English Socialism and the Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists' in _Journal of Contemporary History_ , 20 (2), 1985, pp. 283–303.
<PERSON>, _Thatcher and Friends_ : _The Anatomy of the Tory Party_ , Pluto Press, London, 1983, p. 48.
<PERSON>, _English Culture_ , p. 144.
It also means he was probably disappointed by the advent of Thatcherism, since while Thatcherism reinstalled the profit motive as the most important incentive in society, it also rapidly advanced deindustrialisation, combining a more typical version of conservatism: economic liberalism and its various rentier and service sector capital formations.
<PERSON>, _English Culture and the Decline of the Industrial Spirit_ , Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2004, p. 128.
<PERSON>, _Grierson on Documentary._ Edited by <PERSON>, Collins, London, 1946, p. 98–9.
Ibid., 86.
Ibid., p. 138.
Ibid., pp. 139–40.
Ibid., p. 139.
Ibid., p. 198.
<PERSON>, _<PERSON>: Life, Contributions, Influence_ , Southern Illinois Press, 2000, p. 47.
Ibid., p. 139.
<PERSON>, _Grierson on Documentary_ , p. 126.
See <PERSON>, _Propaganda_ , G Publishing, Brooklyn New York, 2005.
<PERSON>, _Grierson on Documentary_ , p. 140–1.
Colin Leys, _Politics in Britain_ , Verso, London, 1989, p. 50.
<PERSON>, _Grierson on Documentary_ , p. 171.
Ibid., p. 141.
Ibid., pp. 184–5.
Ibid., p. 185.
Ibid., p. 144.
Ibid., p. 195.
Ibid., p. 196.
<PERSON>, _The English: A Portrait of a People_ , Penguin, London, 1999, p. 163.
<PERSON>, '"A Good Day to Bury Bad News?": Journalists, Sources and the Packaging of Politics.' In _News, Public Relations and Power_ , (ed.) Simon Cottle, Sage, London, 2003.
<PERSON>, _The
|
162eab3e-df77-a1ce-bc01-3a0d7ef4e3e1
|
['0c7c144e-58a6-4422-0101-fad82e19b1cf']
|
could only depend on the relative strength of the 'forces in struggle', the balance between them at any strategic moment, and the effective conduct of the 'politics of signification'. We can think of many pertinent historical examples where the conduct of a social struggle depended, at a particular moment, precisely on the effective dis-articulation of certain key terms, e.g. 'democracy', the 'rule of law', 'civil rights', 'the nation'...
Are the forces in struggle that <PERSON> refers to here more than discursive? Is the 'balance' anything more than rhetorical power or is everything absorbed into the 'politics of signification'? How far did the outcomes of the struggle to advance democracy within capitalism by the working class depend on 'the effective disarticulation of certain key terms' and how far did the latter emerge from the lived experience of class conflict, which of course always had to be 'signified' in some terms to be made intelligible but which it is extremely reductive to think of primarily in the linguistic terms of 'articulation/disarticulation'. Of course <PERSON> could argue that discursive struggles are always woven into material practices, organisations, collectives of people coming together to do something, but, there is a tendency to slide into a world of discourse in which the latter eclipses all those other factors, such as how much economic resources and political power different combatants can commit to a struggle and how that determines the scale, reach and to some extent, nature of their 'discourse'.
Yet we must admit that the question of determinations is a deep and profound methodological problem, one that confronts all inquiry with inherent complexities. <PERSON> attempted to formulate the problem with his concepts of conjuncture and organic conditions. Conjuncture refers to those periods in which a certain configuration of forces struggle for ascendancy to define a new direction for future social development. This is the moment where political agency can break the mould and shift the course of events. The conjuncture is 'not a slice of time', argued <PERSON>, although of course it requires some periodisation, elastically conceived according to what one wants to study or demonstrate for the purposes of analysis. But it is above all 'the accumulation/condensation of contradictions' such as we have analysed in relation to the referendums of 2014 and 2016.
Organic conditions refers to the longer-term structural arrangements that the political forces are attempting to 'restore' to health or fundamentally change. They are the basis of the conjunctures which are in turn the basis of deciding which direction those organic conditions are going to take as the result of the outcome of the struggle to forge new historic blocs. This language of conjunctures and organic conditions or movements was <PERSON>'s rethinking of <PERSON>'s base-superstructure metaphor. '[I]n studying a structure', <PERSON> wrote:
it is necessary to distinguish organic movements (relatively permanent) from movements which may be termed 'conjunctural' (and which appear as occasional, immediate, almost accidental). Conjunctural phenomena too depend on organic movements to be sure, but they do not have any very far-reaching historical significance; they give rise to political criticism of a
|
d43170e4-529d-6128-bf73-1aefd84aa894
|
['0ca1823c-6078-18f3-0e52-e17c10e50941']
|
his literary criticism and journalistic writing to take jabs at American social and cultural weaknesses: pretension, provincialism, Christian radicalism, and the "booboisie"—the uncultured, unthinking middle class of America.
# HE SET THE STANDARD.
27 April 2011
Editor, Washington Post
1150 15th St., NW
Washington, DC 20071
Dear Editor:
<PERSON> is correct that the recent run-up in gasoline prices isn't the fault of President <PERSON> ("President <PERSON> says that gas prices reflect supply and demand," April 27). But Mr. <PERSON> is wrong to pity Mr. <PERSON> for nevertheless being blamed by the public for their pain at the pumps.
Mr. <PERSON>, like so many elected officials, won office by deluding voters with a grand image of a government that, in the right hands, can fix nearly every problem that troubles the good people of this republic—a government that can fix all that is broken, can cure all social ills (and many physical ones, too), and can transform this vale of trade-offs, scarcities, chance, and imperfections into a paradise in which the only suffering is that of Evil Villains finally brought to justice for the depredations that they've for so long inflicted upon the pure, noble, all-deserving We the People.
Because Mr. <PERSON> assured us that with him at the helm <PERSON> powers to "change" society would be vast and amazing, he deserves no pity for being held accountable for his inability to perform the marvels that he promised to perform.
Sincerely,
**"We will be able to look back and tell our children that this was the moment when we began to provide care for the sick and good jobs to the jobless; this was the moment when the rise of the oceans began to slow and our planet began to heal."**
–Candidate <PERSON> after winning the Democratic nomination for president in 2008
# GOVERNMENTS CAN BE BUILT; NATIONS MIGHT
BE BUILT; CIVIL SOCIETIES, ALAS, CAN NEVER
BE BUILT. THEY MUST EMERGE.
23 February 2011
Editor, Washington Post
1150 15th St., NW
Washington, DC 20071
Dear Editor:
<PERSON> argues that "American principles" require <PERSON> to intervene more vigorously—with force, if necessary—in the revolutions now sweeping through the Middle East ("Obama's moment in the Middle East—and at home," Feb. 23).
I disagree. While we should cheer for liberalization to grow and spread throughout the Middle East, American principles counsel our government _not_ to interfere. One of these principles, after all, is that government (even our own) is an inherently dangerous agent best kept on as short a leash as possible. Another of these principles is that top-down social engineering is bound to have undesirable unintended consequences—a fact that is no less true when the social engineers are headquartered in the Pentagon and the State Department as when they are headquartered in the Department of Health and Human Services and the Department of Education. The same government that Mr. <PERSON> so often, and rightly, criticizes for making a mess of matters here at home is unlikely to become a shining example of efficiency, rectitude, and Solomaic wisdom
|
7058fc0e-65b8-a40a-9f4c-86c8e2c96d27
|
['0ca1823c-6078-18f3-0e52-e17c10e50941']
|
avoid the stupidity of tribalism.
My fervent hope is that by 2032 Americans will have rejected once and for all the ignorant intolerance of today's bigoted, big-mouthed, and benighted xenophobes.
Sincerely,
# REALITY AIN'T OPTIONAL: THERE'S NO
FREE LUNCH, OR FREE HEALTH CARE.
21 January 2010
Editor, Los Angeles Times
202 West 1st Street
Los Angeles, California 90012
Dear Editor:
Hoping for the electoral defeat of members of Congress who vote against Obamacare, <PERSON> asks your readers to think of these Obamacare opponents "Every time you have to pay an extravagant co-pay, every time you must make up a huge deductible" (Letters, Jan. 21).
In other words, Mr. <PERSON> asks me to be angry whenever I actually have to pay for resources that I use—to be peeved that someone else isn't footing my bill—to be upset that <PERSON> hasn't arranged for me to free-ride on other people's nickels—to strike back at politicians who refuse to force Mr. <PERSON> to pay my health-care expenses and me to pay his.
I reject Mr. <PERSON>'s childish advice and his predatory principles.
Sincerely,
The term _free lunch_ originally referred to free food offered by American saloon keepers to attract drinkers into their establishments. This advertisement for a Milwaukee saloon appeared in the _Commercial Advertiser_ in June 1850:
_At The Crescent..._
_Can be found the choicest of Segars, Wines and Liquors..._
_N. B.—A free lunch every day at 11 o'clock will be served up_.
If you purchased drinks, you got a free lunch. In addition to being criticized by the temperance lobby, many pointed out that the lunches weren't "free" but were paid for by the customer in the price of the drinks they had to buy—the same point behind the twentieth-century economic concept of "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch."
In fact, according to www.phrases.org.uk, some saloon owners were charged with false advertising, since customers couldn't get the "free" lunch without turning over money first, even if it was for drinks.
# HOWE WE'VE PROGRESSED BEYOND THAT PETTY
18TH-CENTURY NOTION OF INDIVIDUAL RIGHTS.
22 February 2010
Editor, Washington Post
1150 15th St., NW
Washington, DC 20071
Dear Editor:
<PERSON> observes that "Every advanced society, including the United States, has a welfare state. Though details differ, their purposes are similar: to support the unemployed, poor, disabled and aged" ("Greece and the welfare state in ruins," Feb. 22). True, but incomplete.
The founder of the modern welfare state, German Chancellor <PERSON>, wanted, as he said, "to bribe the working classes" into devotion to the German state. What better way to ensure that families are willing to send ample supplies of their young men off to die for the Fatherland?
And it's telling that an American admirer of this German system, <PERSON>—who was influential in planting these "progressive" ideas in America's upper Midwest—admitted that one result of government-dispensed welfare is that "The individual exists for the state, not the state for the individual."
If Mr. <PERSON> is correct that
|
4f0a2710-5b3d-a5e6-a4af-0238dfc98cc5
|
['0cd34348-2cca-2257-4c8c-2e99f8f51cb6']
|
for a month or two, tops—money that is actually spent on monthly expenses, then replenished with earnings or other income. Keeping this down to known expenses for two months is important because the return will be so low. Use a checking account and perhaps also a money market fund. Often a fine deal can be had with a money market fund that earns enough interest to cover checking fees or get them waived. Even if you use a credit card for groceries, this fund pays off the charges before interest is applicable. Be sure to read the credit card terms to know when interest is actually applied! This fund is for known, repeating expenses, plus an extra month's worth for modest discretionary expenditures.
Tier 2 is for expenditures that you can reasonably measure if you keep a budget that shows intended expenditures versus actual expenditures. The extra expenditures represent either spending you should consider trimming or expenditures you know are likely to occur sometime during the year, yet are not precisely known as to amount or timing. Track this budget, using a spreadsheet or Quicken or whatever, over a year so you can revise your estimate of the needed size of your cash reserves and so you can get a handle on disposable income. (Planners need to have this information to project the effect of extra savings that you might be able to capture.) Examples of items to place in the budget include maintenance on your vehicle, taking visitors out to eat, replacement of things that generally take a year to wear out, and vacations. Getting reasonable estimates of these expenses requires a two-column budget in a spreadsheet or Quicken or similar software packages. If you fail to record what is actually spent compared to what was intended, or if you do not have all categories on the spreadsheet, then you will underestimate your expenses of this type. There is merit in expanding the time horizon for this fund up to five years, and including estimated home repairs and the like. This fund should receive excess funds from Tier 1 whenever that first tier exceeds the size you have calculated (from your budget) you need. It also should be invested in funds that seek the highest return you can find with no more of an early withdrawal penalty than the interest it is likely to earn in a year; no aggressive bond funds, no stocks at all unless it is a multi-year fund (up to five). Even then, your advisor must be asked to help you select investments that have minimal risk of market loss. That's because when you need these funds, you really need them!
Why an exclamation point? Well, there are other potential expenses to estimate and increase the size of the fund by that number: What if you have a brief disability or job loss? Tier 2 is for these contingencies, not just maintenance items. Besides, if you have a fund that can cover a year of likely maintenance expenses plus all expenses for a year in case you
|
7542740c-3e82-2627-273f-261d492af9ee
|
['0cd34348-2cca-2257-4c8c-2e99f8f51cb6']
|
maxim of "never lose money." Because these do not lose money, the lower return from interest that follows the index caused the account value to beat the hypothetical index investment almost all years if given at least a decade of returns! One carrier, American Equity, has a long history to show (other carriers changed products, which prevents them from publishing or advertising as much history, but this performance is typical of EIAs). Assuming no taxation of the index or of the annuity (deferral), a hypothetical $100,000 investment at 9/30/1998 grew to $223,837 by 9/30/2016, whereas the index grew to $206,700. There was only one period when the index fund had a higher account balance: 1998 to mid-2000. Because of this no-loss-but-follows-the-index characteristic, combined with the unique ability for annuities to match payout to expenses, I strongly recommend equity-indexed annuities for the limited scope task of that income-expense matching. Bar none, EIAs are the most appropriate investment for this purpose, but carefully note the following description.
How EIA income works: Once you start guaranteed income, which is an age-at-start percent of the income account value, that IAV no longer receives the previously guaranteed interest—it freezes and can only be reduced by taking withdrawals in excess of the guarantee. Again, for some contracts, great performance in the index can be higher than the income draw percent, and this would increase the IAV, resulting in ratcheted up lifelong income. The potential to increase the IAV during income draw, if allowed at all, stops at some age limit, usually 80.
That continuation of income after cash value exhaustion requires that you take only the guaranteed income. If you take some excess, for most contracts, the ratio of the excess to the cash value at the time of withdrawal becomes the percent reduction in the IAV (the base for income from which 4% or 5% or whatever is guaranteed for life). Guaranteed withdrawals do not reduce the IAV, but excess withdrawals reduce per that ratio. This results in that guaranteed percentage being applied to a lower IAV and so a new, reduced income. For example, taking half the remaining cash value cuts the income for life by half. As for interest-crediting methods to pick, there is simply no way to know which method would be the one yielding the highest growth.
Another caution regarding income riders for EIAs and VAs: Don't be fooled by shopping "rates." A carrier can easily have the best guaranteed interest rate for its IAV, yet low payouts for the eventual lifetime income withdrawal. How? The rate that is applied to the IAV once you start income could be low. Conversely, a carrier might tout the highest rate of payout applied to the income account value, but then accrue interest to that IAV only slowly. The only "rate" you should care about is the guaranteed income itself: the dollars you get when you turn on lifelong income.
Some EIAs offer a rider that doubles income for up to four or five years. The trigger is either the need to be in a long-term
|
43c68d53-a93b-0b0a-1419-a9dc5f2f558b
|
['0e62e2e7-fb42-078e-db73-ed23be175c43']
|
drawn by the beat: the instant <PERSON> sings the word "boy," the meter changes; and the instant he returns to the conversation with the woman in the verse, everything reverts to the initial (although unsteady) backbeat. The contradictory emotional states these rhythms conjure up—the frustrated pull between idealized innocence and the overbearing complexity of a deeply personal disillusionment—are framed by the inevitable stages of human life: birth, middle age (the singer/narrator), and death.
"She Said She Said" raises unspeakable fears from the subconscious (Is death a mockery of birth? Does life ultimately cheat us all?) and poses them as essential questions. In "Money," <PERSON> cried out for all the freedom that life can give; in "She Said She Said" he acknowledges all of life's chains. In expressing rage and conflict in such demanding terms, "She Said She Said" finds a certain liberation—a rush of amorphous feeling finds expression, if only briefly. At the core of <PERSON>'s pain is a bottomless sense of abandonment, the same primal loss that gets recast in "Strawberry Fields Forever" and again in "Julia" and "Mother." All these songs have constricted facades and deep, irrepressible subtexts of hurt. None of the loose ends are tied up in "She Said She Said"; they're simply left squirming as vocal elisions fold into each other and the band jumps into double time. By ending side one with this song, the Beatles continue the moods of three earlier songs ("Taxman," and "Eleanor Rigby" and "Love You To"). The love song ("Here, There and Everywhere") and the romp ("Yellow Submarine") are concluded with animated despair.
SIDE TWO BEGINS with the expectant pulse of guitar and piano; before the drums usher the sound into the refrain, the mood is hushed, a spring waiting to be released. The exclamation of the refrain deserves such suspense, and it bursts through with all the warmth of the sunshine it describes. Unlike the unhinged giddiness of "She Loves You," the restraint of "Good Day Sunshine" is mature, and the soft-shoe verse that follows (in a different key area) has just the right amount of camp to it. Other Beatles songs that celebrate nature ("Here Comes the Sun," "Dear Prudence," "Mother Nature's Son") don't have the same playful soft focus. With pianos double-tracked on both channels, there's no need for guitar; the song points toward the pub-band charm of "When I'm Sixty-four," and if it weren't for the vibrant colors of the harmonies on the refrain, it would be positively as old-fashioned. The ragtime piano solo that caps off the second verse (replacing a second stanza) is round with Joplinesque pleasure.
The two-key layout resembles that of "Here, There and Everywhere," only simplified: the romantic verses in A major are bathed in the warmth of B major for the refrain (the last line hinges on E major, the common harmony between the two). <PERSON>'s kicks gently prod more than they jerk at the motion—modesty is its ultimate appeal. The final refrain has one of the few modulations (up one step for effect) in the entire Beatles catalogue. Voices cascade
|
6a1a3c3f-96fe-4ded-65ca-590332b00598
|
['0e62e2e7-fb42-078e-db73-ed23be175c43']
|
ITS BITTER tone, <PERSON>'s "Think for Yourself" is a cousin to his first song, "Don't Bother Me," and the fuzz bass adds just the right guttural cynicism. It's a step beyond the flaccid "I Need You" and the forced amorousness of "You Like Me Too Much." The rhythmic impulse changes between the verse and the bridge, and the angular harmonic turns are offset by <PERSON>'s triplets (after "Go where you're going to"); but <PERSON> doesn't practice what he preaches about self-reliance (he doesn't do much with "Although your mind's opaque/Try thinking more if just for your own sake"), and it's far from the melodic sonorities and layered texture that make side two's "If I Needed Someone" every guitarist's hook-bound fantasy. "Think for Yourself" is still <PERSON> as contrast, providing odd relief to the <PERSON> songs he interrupts.
THE PIANO THAT stumbles into "The Word" is a quirky yank away from <PERSON>'s putdown. The song is a philosophical cousin to "Nowhere Man" and a spiritual source for 1967's Summer of Love; this sentiment will grow into the restraint of "Dear Prudence" and "Across the Universe," but here the band latches on to a medium-tempo groove that leaves little room for fooling around. Its punchiness places it above the wafting utopianism of "All You Need Is Love"; "The Word" is more rooted in reality: "love" can be found in books both good and bad. <PERSON>'s accented kicks nail <PERSON>'s rising bass lines down behind the syncopated harmonies ("It's so fine/It's sunshine") and follows them up with tart little fills; vocal harmonies grow continuously toward the high end of the final verses; and <PERSON>'s brief bass flurry in the middle of the third refrain shows just how succinct all the motion is. This message has since grown trite, but it tapped an attitude that was then enlisting activists in the civil rights and antiwar causes; that the Beatles would soon publicly denounce Vietnam made this song relevant in ways pop had never been before. (By the time this sentiment reaches "All You Need Is Love," its self-righteousness is parodically exposed.)
"MICHELLE" SOUNDS as if <PERSON> were selfconsciously writing another standard instead of letting the song inspire its own setting. It tries too hard, and it's a classic despite itself. ("Yesterday" works better; its music is as nostalgic as its words.) The language barrier between lovers might have been suggested by <PERSON> "La Juanda (Español)," about a man who pretends he doesn't understand a Mexican prostitute's price. But <PERSON> aims more for charm and sophistication with his French, like <PERSON> in "Darling, Je Vous Aime Beaucoup" (1955)—instead of developing the idea of lovers who speak in different tongues, he pines over it, and the conceit never achieves its potential. <PERSON> is still playing with the way major and minor can set different sections off one another ("Michelle, ma belle" is in major; "I love you, I love you" turns into minor), but it lacks the wavering indecisiveness of "Fixing a Hole" or the hopeful desolation of "Eleanor Rigby." His understated bass lines at
|
389070ca-4c58-ca32-c4ed-27c5fe1219a6
|
['0e7c25c1-931d-1f32-1676-fb5b42097657']
|
besides <PERSON> "little one" since she'd gotten home from the hospital. <PERSON> was pretty easygoing, but she demanded attention in a way that <PERSON> found shocking—how was it possible for a person to be so helpless? She needed their mother for everything, and there was an obvious shift, the noticeable insertion of a tiny extra person into everything they did.
"Let's get you cleaned up, <PERSON>." Her mom stood slowly and they went into the bathroom and she started running a bath, not her usual remedy for nighttime accidents—usually she just stripped and remade the bed, still half-asleep, like a robot, and had you change into new pajamas. "Want bubbles, darlin'?" she asked, and <PERSON> nodded, feeling a smile bloom onto her face, and climbed into her mother's lap, towel-wrapped, as they waited for the tub to fill, and her mom began to hum into her forehead, her voice husky with sleep. Usually it was "My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean" or "Big Rock Candy Mountain," but tonight she was singing something else, something folky and sad.
"What's that song?" she asked, and her mother paused.
"It's—" She faltered. "I can't for the life of me think of the name. Isn't that funny?" She gave <PERSON> a feeble smile. "I'm just tired, not crazy, honey, I promise."
Her mother proceeded to give her a bath, the longest she'd taken maybe ever, humming and engaging in dialogue with the various rubber animals they kept on the ledge—a cow, an elephant, a penguin. When they finished she poured warm cups of water over <PERSON>'s head to rinse her hair, and <PERSON> shivered with pleasure.
"Hop out, <PERSON>," her mother said, and she held open the towel. She wrapped her tightly and kissed her wet hair. "You know I'm still here, sweetheart, don't you? I'm always here. I know things are different now but I'm always, always around."
"I know."
"Some times are easier than others," her mom said oddly, and she nodded, uncomprehending. Her mom kissed her forehead. "You're my old soul." She dried <PERSON> off and helped her into new pajamas and guided her into her own bedroom, where she pulled back the covers on her father's side. "You sleep in Daddy's spot tonight, pumpkin." She thought this a fantastically exclusive invitation but realized later that they were probably just out of clean twin-size sheets; her mom had been doing about half as much laundry as usual lately. Her mother crawled in next to her and held her until she fell asleep.
Her dad ended up coming home early, slipping in just as her mom was finishing with the baby's 4:00 a.m. feeding, and <PERSON> watched them woozily from her place in her parents' bed.
"I called <PERSON> and had him take over for me," he whispered to her mom, taking the baby from her arms. "Go back to sleep."
"<PERSON>'s in our bed," she said.
"I'll sleep in her bed."
"She peed in her bed."
"I'll sleep on the couch," he said, and there was a long quiet, a kissing noise.
A
|
ca4da1c7-9982-fa25-81f8-bfbe6a923770
|
['0e7c25c1-931d-1f32-1676-fb5b42097657']
|
at the top of the slide, her head had immediately morphed into a flip-book of gruesome injuries. She couldn't set foot in a hospital again, not anytime soon. There was a time when <PERSON> would have understood this. But now she'd taken a stance and she had to follow through; all of the parenting books she'd read over the years drove this home. Be firm in your punishments. Don't back down. Don't let your spouse undermine you, even when he is being a childish asshole.
<PERSON> slid despondently down the orange slide, weeping; it would have been funny if <PERSON> had been in the mood.
"<PERSON>, come here," she said, but her daughter ran instead to her father. <PERSON> stooped to pick her up and <PERSON> buried herself in his threadbare polo shirt.
"Thanks for this," <PERSON> said sarcastically, looking at her over <PERSON>'s head.
"Don't talk to me like that," she said. "I'm leaving. I don't know how late I'll be. She needs a bath after dinner tonight."
"No I _don't,_ " <PERSON> wailed into <PERSON>'s chest, kicking her legs.
She felt suddenly jealous of her daughter for her position in <PERSON>'s arms. When she touched <PERSON>'s back, her daughter stiffened, crowed anew. She flicked her eyes up to <PERSON>.
"Bye," he said, and she thought it might have hurt her too much to reply, so she didn't.
A home health nurse cared for <PERSON>'s dad three times a week, but <PERSON> had been spending her Sundays puttering around his house and making him dinner. In <PERSON>'s living room, she thought of how much she seemed to annoy <PERSON> lately, of how he had moved fluidly from guilt and attempts at redemption to this kind of perpetual disdain for her. He hadn't looked at her like that since they lived in Iowa City, when they had the first three girls and were both constantly exhausted and embittered and within arm's length of both a baby and two small children. At least then it made sense; at least then they commiserated, once the kids were in bed. At the house in Albany Park, she was hot and irritable. She held her ponytail away from her neck. She'd just helped <PERSON> with his washing-up and he'd requested a recess before they dove into their requisite marathon of Scrabble. He was in his armchair with his eyes closed and she decided, feeling her own fatigue settle over her like a fog, to rest as well. She hadn't been sleeping much lately. And <PERSON> was working more. She knew his evenings with <PERSON> had ceased but in their stead he had picked up extra clinic hours in earnest, as if to karmically atone.
"<PERSON>?" she asked, lifting the material of her shirt and dropping it, creating a breeze. She was going to ask him for something about <PERSON> as a little kid, some story that might awaken some tenderness within her. She paused. "Never mind."
"Everything okay?"
"Sure. Fine." She felt tears in her eyes but blinked them away.
"You have so many wonderful qualities,
|
fbd49910-fcf3-e75b-6dd0-54cc5754f607
|
['0f094242-770a-9ee2-d2f1-1c3816f982a0']
|
universality class of directed percolation. (We are preparing a manuscript contained a detailed analysis of this situation using renormalization group techniques, along the lines of <PERSON>'s analysis of stochastic Lotka–Volterra equations.) (iii) We have also shown that the mean-field dynamics of the case can be analyzed around the BT bifurcation, and that the generalized <PERSON> equations for Hebbian and anti-Hebbian plasticity drive the patch dynamics to a weakly stable node near such a bifurcation, and in doing so reduce the dynamics to the dynamics of a single patch.
In summary, we conclude that an array of -patches will self-organize around critical points of the directed percolation phase transition and, when driven by a weak stimulus, will oscillate between an UP state and a DOWN state each of which generates avalanches consistent with directed percolation. The array therefore exhibits SOC and replicates the behavior of the original sandpile model of [1]. We can also conclude that an array of patches will also self-organize to a weakly stable node located near the critical point of a directed percolation phase transition so that fluctuations about the weakly stable node will also follow a power slope with a slope characteristic of directed percolation. We refer to this as SONC. We note that there is some experimental evidence to support this conclusion [29, 30].
## Acknowledgements
Some of the work reported in this paper was initially developed (in part) with <PERSON>, and thereafter with <PERSON>, then with <PERSON>, and later with <PERSON>. The current work was supported (in part) by a grant to <PERSON> from the Dr. Ralph & Marian Falk Medical Trust.
### References
1. 1. <PERSON>, P., <PERSON>, C., and <PERSON>, K. (1988) Self-organized criticality. _Phys. Rev. A_ , **38** , 364–374.
2. 2. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, D. (1996) Landau-ginzburg theory of self-organized criticality. _Phys. Rev. Lett._ , **76** (21), 3991–3994.
3. 3. <PERSON>, H. and <PERSON>, J. (1972) Excitatory and inhibitory interactions in localized populations of model neurons. _Biol. Cybern._ , **12** , 1–24.
4. 4. <PERSON>, N. (1981) _Stochastic Processes in Physics and Chemistry_ , North Holland.
5. 5. <PERSON>, K. (1971) Renormalization group and critical phenomena. I. renormalization group and the <PERSON> scaling picture. _Phys. Rev. B_ , **4** (9), 3174–3183.
6. 6. <PERSON>, J., <PERSON>, J., <PERSON>, B., and <PERSON> W. (2013) Self-organized criticality in a network of interacting neurons. _J. Stat. Mech._ , P04030.
7. 7. <PERSON>, H. (2000) Non-equilibrium critical phenomena and phase transitions into absorbing states. _Adv. Phys._ , **49** (7), 815–958.
8. 8. <PERSON>, K. and <PERSON>, D. (2011) Competition and Cooperation in one-ddimensional stepping-stone models. _Phys. Rev. Lett._ , **107** (8), 088–103.
9. 9. <PERSON>, M. and <PERSON>, J. (2007) Field theoretic approach to fluctuation effects for neural networks. _Phys. Rev. E_ , **75** , 051–919.
10. 10. <PERSON>, T., <PERSON>, H., <PERSON>, F.,
|
63e410f9-3b12-a675-cc6a-e8b9297a3361
|
['0f094242-770a-9ee2-d2f1-1c3816f982a0']
|
_et al_. (2002) Fractal dynamics in physiology: alterations with disease and aging. _Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A._ , **99** , 1.
5. 5. <PERSON>, C. (2005) Nonlinear dynamical analysis of EEG and MEG: review of an emerging field. _Clin. Neurophysiol._ , **116** (10), 2266–2301.
6. 6. <PERSON>, A., <PERSON>, Y. _et al_. (2008) Noise during rest enables the exploration of the brain's dynamic repertoire. _PLoS Comput. Biol._ , **4** (10), e1000196.
7. 7. He, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, J.M. _et al_. (2010) The temporal structures and functional significance of scale-free brain activity. _Neuron_ , **66** (3), 353–369.
8. 8. <PERSON>, <PERSON> (2010) Frontiers: fractal physiology and the fractional calculus: a perspective. _Front. Fractal Physiol._ , **1** , 12.
9. 9. <PERSON>, P. (2005) A mechanism for cognitive dynamics: neuronal communication through neuronal coherence. _Trends Cognit. Sci._ , **9** (10), 474.
10. 10. <PERSON>, G. (2006) _Rhythms of the Brain_ , Oxford University Press, New York.
11. 11. <PERSON>-Hansen, K., <PERSON>, V.V. _et al_. (2001) Long-range temporal correlations and scaling behavior in human brain oscillations. _J. Neurosci._ , **21** (4), 1370.
12. 12. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, D. (2003) Neuronal avalanches in neocortical circuits. _J. Neurosci._ , **23** (35), 11167.
13. 13. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, J.M. (2005) Critical branching captures activity in living neural networks and maximizes the number of metastable states. _Phys. Rev. Lett._ , **94** (5), 58101.
14. 14. <PERSON>, O. and <PERSON>, M. (2006) Optimal dynamical range of excitable networks at criticality. _Nat. Phys._ , **2** (5), 348–351.
15. 15. <PERSON>, A., <PERSON>, J.M. _et al_. (2007) Dynamical synapses causing self-organized criticality in neural networks. _Nat. Phys._ , **3** (12), 857–860.
16. 16. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, T.C. (2007) The organizing principles of neuronal avalanches: cell assemblies in the cortex? _Trends Neurosci._ , **30** (3), 101–110.
17. 17. <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, D. (2008) Neuronal avalanches organize as nested theta-and beta/gamma-oscillations during development of cortical layer 2/3. _Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A._ , **105** (21), 7576.
18. 18. <PERSON>, S., <PERSON> A. _et al_. (2008) Avalanche dynamics of human brain oscillations: relation to critical branching processes and temporal correlations. _Hum. Brain Mapping_ , **29** (7), 770.
19. 19. <PERSON>, T., Thiagarajan, T.C. _et al_. (2009) Spontaneous cortical activity in awake monkeys composed of neuronal avalanches. _Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci._ , **106** (37), 15921.
20. 20. <PERSON>, D.R. (2010) Emergent complex neural dynamics. _Nat. Phys._ , **6** (10), 744–750.
21. 21. <PERSON>, D., <PERSON>, S. _et al_. (2010) Self-organized criticality occurs in non-conservative neuronal networks during/up/'states. _Nat. Phys._ , **6** (10), 801–805.
22. 22. <PERSON>, M., <PERSON>, O. _et al_. (2011) Neurobiologically realistic determinants of self-organized criticality in networks of spiking neurons. _PLoS Comput. Biol._ , **7** (6), e1002038.
23. 23. <PERSON>, P., <PERSON>, C. _et al_. (1987) Self-organized criticality: an explanation of the 1/f noise. _Phys. Rev. Lett._ , **59** (4), 381.
|
18049af6-d09d-2cef-be49-0fd7c5ade33d
|
['0fa1f1c4-e5f0-b96d-05d1-1b1af8628403']
|
au Seigneur._
Pr 20, 10
_Une balance faussée est en horreur au Seigneur mais un poids exact a sa faveur._
Pr 11, 1
La sagesse populaire a retenu l'injustice que représentent deux poids et deux mesures. Une balance fausse est aussi le symbole des exactions que les marchands peuvent exercer auprès de ceux qui leur achètent des marchandises et paient un prix qui ne correspond pas au poids exact. De ce dicton ressort aussi le double jugement fait avec bienveillance pour les uns et au contraire une sévérité accrue pour les autres : où est la justice ?, s'exclament ceux qui sont les victimes d'un jugement défavorable. Mais dans le vocabulaire biblique, une balance mal équilibrée fait horreur au Seigneur parce qu'elle symbolise le mensonge, le mensonge étant le péché par excellence. <PERSON> ment à <PERSON> en travestissant les paroles de <PERSON>. <PERSON> ment à <PERSON> quand, au cours de la tentation dans le désert, il utilise la parole de <PERSON> pour en dévier le sens. Les faux témoins mentent pendant le procès de <PERSON>. Ainsi, ces deux proverbes, à partir d'un fait de la vie courante, mettent en évidence le mensonge qui s'oppose à la vérité. L'Apocalypse reprendra cette image avec l'exemple d'un cavalier qui porte une balance fausse pour exprimer les désordres économiques qui ravagent le monde (Ap 6, 5).
_Mieux vaut un plat de légumes là où il y a de l'amour qu'un bœuf gras assaisonné de haine._
Pr 15, 17
L'image du repas, l'un pauvre mais chaleureux, l'autre riche mais plein de pièges, est significative et va bien au-delà de la simple anecdote. <PERSON> a connu un repas où l'on épiait ses réactions. C'était chez <PERSON> le pharisien. Survint une femme qui versa du parfum sur ses pieds et <PERSON> se dit que, si <PERSON> était vraiment un prophète, il saurait que cette femme menait une vie indigne (Lc 7, 36-48). Transposons cette maxime à l'époque contemporaine. Elle fait penser à des familles chaleureuses où il n'y a pas beaucoup de moyens mais où l'on vit ensemble en témoignant chaque jour aux uns et aux autres une affection précieuse qui ne s'achète pas. Au contraire, le bœuf gras représente l'argent avec lequel on se débarrasse de ceux qui nous encombrent parce que nous voulons être libres de faire ce qui nous plaît au bon moment. Alors on paie pour que d'autres s'occupent des enfants ou des personnes âgées : tant pis s'ils cherchent en vain quelque regard compatissant et s'ils quêtent un geste affectueux qui n'a pas de prix ! Ils auront compris que le bœuf gras n'est pas forcément signe de bonheur.
## PSAUMES
_C'est l'héritage du Seigneur que des fils, récompense que le fruit des entrailles, heureux qui en a rempli son carquois._
Ps 127, 3-5
Avoir une famille nombreuse représentait, jusqu'à une époque relativement récente où la mortalité infantile était élevée, une vraie bénédiction. Cette béatitude est l'écho de la promesse reçue par <PERSON> : il aurait une descendance innombrable comme les étoiles du ciel et les grains de sable du bord de la mer
|
21da7d9a-3e80-c129-c1b3-e9fd11d05d09
|
['0fa1f1c4-e5f0-b96d-05d1-1b1af8628403']
|
religion à des fins superstitieuses. Dieu a donné sa Loi à Moïse, laquelle proposait à la fois l'adoration du Dieu unique qui avait sauvé les Hébreux de la prison égyptienne et une éthique de vie dans les rapports entre les hommes. <PERSON> la fausse religion qui a existé quels que soient les siècles : mener la vie que l'on a envie de mener sans s'occuper d'aucune règle envers les autres, et en même temps accomplir des rites dans le but de se rassurer soi-même. <PERSON> dénonce cette hypocrisie avec des mots très forts que <PERSON> reprendra lorsqu'il chassera les marchands du Temple : « Cette Maison sur laquelle mon nom a été proclamé, la prenez-vous pour une caverne de bandits ? » (Mt 21, 13). <PERSON> montre que le culte n'a aucun sens s'il n'est pas accompagné d'une attitude morale. La substitution du culte à la morale fait de tout l'appareil liturgique une énorme supercherie.
_Cessez de faire le mal, apprenez à faire le bien, recherchez la justice, apprenez à faire le bien, recherchez le droit, secourez la veuve et l'orphelin._
Is 1, 16-17
N'est-ce pas l'idéal de tout homme de bonne volonté ? Mais cela est-il à notre portée ? <PERSON> résume bien cette impossibilité de l'homme d'être bon naturellement quand il dit : « Le bien que je veux je ne le fais pas, mais le mal que je ne veux pas je le fais » (Rm 7, 19). Toute la prédication des prophètes, en particulier <PERSON>, <PERSON> et <PERSON>, est de dire que ce rêve de bonté est impossible à l'homme par sa seule force, sa seule volonté, son seul désir de bien faire. Cette transformation du cœur de l'homme, Dieu seul propose de l'accorder. Comment ? En donnant à l'homme un cœur nouveau. Il s'agit donc d'une recréation, mais on tombe éternellement sur le même problème : comment concilier la liberté de l'homme et la sainteté que <PERSON> lui propose ?
_Ces idoles sont comme un épouvantail dans un champ de concombres ; elles ne parlent pas, il faut bien les porter car elles ne peuvent marcher. N'en ayez aucune crainte, elles ne sont pas nuisibles mais elles ne peuvent pas davantage vous être utiles. Comme toi, <PERSON>, il n'y a personne !_
Jr 10, 5-6
Au-delà des idoles dans un champ de concombres qui appartiennent à un temps révolu, de tout temps de nouveaux dieux habitent le cœur de l'homme. Ce sont des idoles insaisissables aux conséquences matérielles multiples. Elles ont pour nom Argent, Luxe, Pouvoir. Mais il y a aussi des idoles spirituelles, ce sont celles que l'on se fabrique en s'appropriant Dieu et sa révélation pour en faire sa religion personnelle qui permet de choisir ici et là ce qui nous plaît et de rejeter ce qui nous paraît trop contraignant. La grande tentation est de se forger une idée de Dieu qui convienne à la liberté capricieuse de chacun. Pour se dépouiller de ses idoles, il faut payer le prix d'un long exode où l'on abandonne ses illusions. Être capable d'affirmer que
|
bebf36d8-043c-2f1c-9871-f90941da87a2
|
['10b95e38-be75-3b6b-60be-066acc589961']
|
Pilkies Makin Music. We had business cards made up on shiny blue card with a gold font, but we never gave them out as they were too expensive. We'd hand them over to people wanting to book us and then get them to write down the phone number so we could have the card back. I didn't have any Indian tracks on my iPod, but I dug out a few songs I thought any culture could dance to.
1.30 a.m.
Had a bit of a dance. <PERSON> always says I'm not that good at dancing, as I don't know what moves are gonna come. I suppose I dance in the same way that plankton swim. They just go where they're taken. That's how I do most things in life. Unlike this whole celebration.
GETTING MARRIED THE PILKINGTON WAY
After everything I had seen during this trip, it made me think about how I would do things if one day me and <PERSON> decided to get married. I know for sure that I wouldn't be up for a massive wedding like <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s in India. It seemed like they hadn't had any control over their day. As soon as there are wedding planners involved, it's no longer a personal or unique experience. You're getting the same package they sell to everyone else, and then it just becomes about spending money on things that really aren't important. The fact that I'd spent the whole evening wandering round their reception checking that everyone had enough peanuts proves my point. Did giving people peanuts mean it was a better night for everyone? Has anybody ever come back from a wedding and said, 'Yeah, had a lovely time, the bride looked nice – no bloody nuts, though!'
The thing that did strike me as interesting on this trip was the pheromone party I attended in LA. Since I've been back home and looked into it, I've found out that bees, lizards, beetles and loads of other creatures meet their partners through this method, so there has to be something in it. I've never liked women who smell like they've had a bath in perfume. It's too much. Maybe it's because I can't smell the 'real them', which makes me suspicious and wonder what they're trying to hide. It's no coincidence that the women who spray perfume all over themselves are always the ones with an orange tan too. I put it down to the fact that all the CFC gases they pump out burn up the ozone above their heads, so the sun tans them the most. Obvious, innit.
I know I didn't find anyone who could've been a potential partner at the pheromone party, but that's because they weren't there that night. If it was that easy I probably wouldn't believe in it so much, but I'm sure if I attended a few of those events I would find a match. And to be fair, the women my nose picked were pretty good. If anything, the problem was they were too good. My
|
5cb52e8a-c0be-8e91-6bf1-08a881cdb519
|
['10b95e38-be75-3b6b-60be-066acc589961']
|
<PERSON> would struggle to get a dafter look. I was sure the cardigan belonged to one of the kids in the family and had become mixed up in my pile. I felt really irritable from the discomfort of the clothes. Maybe this was the idea, as they made you feel more up for a fight.
We got to the festival where there were thousands of people. The Mongolian president launched the event, which featured singers and dancers of all ages, and I got my first glimpse of the kind of people I would be wrestling. They wore the same outfit as me, which was a relief, as I honestly thought I'd been set up. These fellas were massive, similar in size to that of a sumo wrestler. To make things worse, I had to wait five to six hours before it was my turn to fight. I had that feeling you get when you're a kid and have arranged to have a fight with someone after school. All day it preys on your mind. I won't go into long wordy detail about what happened 'cos there's nothing to say. I lost, as I predicted. <PERSON> and his family didn't seem too bothered though.
And then, as if none of it had ever happened, I was back on the Trans-Siberian Express for the final leg of my Bucket List challenge. There were more Chinese passengers now. That made me look at the guidebook for the first time since I'd been here. I saw the distance I had covered and noticed we were going into China. After visiting China to see the Great Wall, and not enjoying it, I didn't like the idea of visiting it again. I spoke to <PERSON> who said that was the reason he thought it was a good idea to go again – to give it another chance. Now, last time I got back from China, I spoke to a mate who is into the same sort of odd things in life as me, and he mentioned a place that I was gutted I hadn't visited. So I told the director about it. I was worried about it being not very politically correct, but the place existed and ignoring it wouldn't change anything. He began sorting out permission to go and film there. I thought it was in keeping with the aim of the programme: meeting different types of people and seeing how they live. It was Dwarf Village.
It's a proper village whose hundred or so dwarf residents run its fire service and police force. Some of the dwarfs had nothing before this place: no work, no money and nowhere to live. But now, because of Dwarf Village, they do. They perform twice a day singing, doing magic and dancing. The show wasn't due to start for another hour, so I had a walk around the place. I saw behind the scenes where they all hung around in little mushrooms. One dwarf was doing some art by carving into wood. Dwarf builders were busy building an extra
|
8dd712b4-d53f-b290-aca6-61748d9181fb
|
['1138beea-5c5d-21b6-4368-27a36978aba0']
|
he knew in the bar, which saddened him more than his unfulfilled search for potential adversaries or conquests. He was lonely. He reached to plunk his pint glass on the bar behind him without taking his eyes from the room.
"Another?" asked the boy bartender.
"Please," he answered over the din.
He took stock of himself: he was paranoid, lonely, and fighting so far below his weight class it embarrassed him.
"Bottoms up," said the bartender, and <PERSON> fished another five from the garbage in his pockets to pay for the beer.
The note with <PERSON> phone number fell out and landed on the floor. He reached to pick it up. He looked at his watch again. It wasn't yet eight o'clock.
He tipped the beaded pint glass toward his lips and drank half of the ale before returning it to the coaster. He blew out through pursed lips and felt the beer settle into his belly. That's better, he mused, the pints doing their work to loosen his limbs and calm his frenzied thoughts. <PERSON> settled into a familiar funk, assessing what he considered to be the ruined landscape of his life. Maybe his critics were right: he was a failure as a consultant. Maybe it was time for a change. Take a job. Stop trying to save the world single-handedly. He let his gaze fall on one of the **TV** s in the corner of the bar, and became absorbed by his next pint and the silent hockey game on the Sports Network, and let half an hour pass this way.
A heavy hand on <PERSON>'s shoulder startled him, and he tipped his fourth beer, spilling a trickle of it down the front of his shirt. "What the!..." he growled, turning on the man next to him.
He was greeted by the grinning face of <PERSON>. "Easy, champ."
"Didn't see you come in," grumbled <PERSON>, using a handful of paper napkins to mop the beer from his shirt.
"You were in your own little world, as usual," said <PERSON>, peering over his glasses at <PERSON>. <PERSON> stood behind his friend, looking thoughtful. "Little jumpy tonight, <PERSON>?"
Cole grimaced and nodded and dumped the sodden napkins on the bar while <PERSON> and <PERSON> ordered beers. "Let me get you a refill, <PERSON>," said <PERSON>, taking <PERSON>'s glass from his hand. <PERSON> was in his mid-forties, but looked much older. He was a short, round man with closely cropped hair that had silvered long ago. He wore a green golf shirt under a shiny leather jacket. He sported tiny rectangular glasses and had a habit of looking over them when he spoke to people, as though the spectacles were meant only for reading.
"Rough week, <PERSON>?" <PERSON> asked.
<PERSON> recounted the story of <PERSON>'s last day on the job.
"You'll be answering your own phone then for a while," said <PERSON> sympathetically.
"For a while. Until things pick up," sighed <PERSON>, sipping his pint.
"What do the prospects look like for that happening?" Middle-march was younger than <PERSON>
|
a6201110-c050-5721-fe55-a5e2304cfe23
|
['1138beea-5c5d-21b6-4368-27a36978aba0']
|
the
sea
infusing
tents
and
sleeping
bags
and
wine,
supper
–
and
I
was
hooked.
I
dreamt
about
the
ocean
all
that
win-
ter
–
while
working
at
Grand
Canyon
National
Park,
no
less
–
and
those
dreams
brought
my
family
and
me
to
the
coast
many
years
later.
And
now
those
dreams
have
brought
my
boys
and
me
to
Mystic
Beach.
The
sun
is
low
on
the
horizon
as
we
finally
clamber
over
the
hedge
of
driftwood
logs
and
drop
our
packs
on
the
beach.
The
first
thing
the
boys
do
is
throw
off
their
shoes
and
race
down
to
the
water.
<PERSON>,
despite
having
been
tired
for
the
last
few
hundred
yards,
sprints
for
the
surf.
When
he's
a
few
feet
from
the
crashing
waves
he
begins
"waterbending."
He's
a
fan
of
Avatar,
where
a
young
monk
named
<PERSON>
is
a
waterbender
–
a
skill
that
allows
him
to
manipulate
water
to
his
will.
<PERSON>begins
the
rhythmic
back-and-forth
motions
that
remind
me
of
Tai
Chi.
He
is,
of
course,
bending
water;
it's
just
the
180
H2O
in
his
own
lithe
little
body
that
is
being
twisted
and
turned.
Rio
races
the
length
of
the
beach,
up
and
down,
skim-
ming
the
margin
of
the
sea,
where
the
sand
turns
soft
underfoot
with
so
much
salt
water.
As
he
bolts
to
the
far
south
end
of
the
beach
he
spots
the
waterfall
that
drops
from
the
woods
onto
the
sand,
and
soon
both
he
and
Silas
are
running
back
and
forth
through
it.
It's
just
a
steady
trickle,
but
it's
enough
that
both
children
are
soaked
to
the
skin
in
minutes.
They
do
laps
like
this,
running
along
the
water's
edge,
the
waves
curling
behind
them,
the
mountains
of
the
Olympic
Coast
blue
on
the
horizon,
and
then
dash
through
the
waterfall,
jumping
and
dancing
in
the
spray.
This
is
what
childhood
should
feel
like.
Their
laughter
is
life's
soundtrack.
Watching
them
run
like
this
makes
it
easy
to
believe
that
no
matter
what
happens
in
life,
as
long
as
you
can
keep
running,
laughing,
jumping
and
dancing,
every-
thing
will
be
all
right.
I
have
to
coax
them
away
from
the
waterfall
to
help
set
up
camp
before
the
sun
finally
descends
below
the
horizon.
Sunset
through
the
smoke
paints
the
ocean,
the
beach
and
our
faces
red.
We
make
a
simple
dinner
of
macaroni
and
cheese
and
I
open
a
beer.
<PERSON>
<PERSON>
famished,
so
I
give
them
my
portion,
and
when
I'm
doing
the
dishes
at
water's
edge,
Rio
appears
behind
me,
several
spoonfuls
of
pasta
still
in
his
bowl,
and
he
insists
181
that
I
eat
them.
I
promise
myself
that
I
will
never
forget
this
simple
act
of
compassion
from
a
son
for
his
father.
For
dessert
we
make
popcorn
on
the
stove
and
eat
it
while
reading
stories,
resting
our
backs
on
a
massive
driftwood
log.
Soon
we
pile
into
the
two-man
tent
and
listen
to
the
wind
in
the
trees
above
us
and
the
ocean
just
a
hundred
feet
away.
The
|
67dc337b-4f6a-3ec0-9345-70ceba56a5b5
|
['1139bfda-b763-20d0-f04d-07bb6e970386']
|
WAS MADE WITH THE SAME TECHNIQUE AS THE LARGER SMOOTH-PETAL ROSE, BUT WITH STRIPS ONE-THIRD THE SIZE.
### **MELTED CLOCK (CENTER PUNCTURE) **
THIS IS A CENTER-PUNCTURE FLOWER IN THE SHAPE OF A MELTED CLOCK, IN HOMAGE TO SALVADOR <PERSON>'S PAINTING THE PERSISTENCE OF MEMORY. I HAVE A SPECIAL AFFECTION FOR FLOWERS THAT ARE ALSO OTHER OBJECTS, AND I HAVE ANOTHER SPECIAL AFFECTION FOR THE WORK OF <PERSON> AND THE OTHER SURREALISTS.
### **ORCHID **
ORCHIDS ARE A LOT LIKE LILIES, BUT WITH AN ODDLY IRREGULAR BOTTOM PETAL THAT HAS TWO WIRES INSIDE. IT TOOK A LOT OF PRACTICE TO GET THE SHAPE RIGHT.
### **WATER LILY **
THESE WATER LILIES BOTH FEATURE THE SHORT-GRASS STYLE OF CENTER. THE LILY PAD IS MADE BY LAYING SEVERAL STRIPS SSU (SEE PAGE 18), THEN PLACING A COIL OF WIRE ON IT. BEFORE SEALING IT IN WITH THE TOP LAYER OF TAPE, POKE THE WIRE THROUGH THE CENTER OF THE COIL SO THAT YOU CAN ATTACH THE FLOWER, THEN SEAL IT AND CUT OUT THE LILY PAD SHAPE.
### **HIBISCUS VARIATIONS **
HIBISCUSES ARE ESSENTIALLY FIVE-PETALED LILIES, AND BECAUSE THEY CREATE MORE SURFACE AREA, THEY GIVE THE ARTIST A LARGER CANVAS TO WORK WITH. THE CENTERS OF ALL THREE OF THESE BEGIN WITH POINT PETALS IN DIFFERENT PATTERNS, WITH LANCES IN THE "DIGITAL" FLOWER AND CLASSIC STAMENS IN THE YELLOW HIBISCUS. ALL THREE FLOWERS ARE ALSO DECORATED WITH TAPE CUT WITH A CRAFT KNIFE.
### **EYEBALL FLOWER **
THE FIRST FEW EYEBALL FLOWERS HAD POINT PETALS INSTEAD OF SMOOTH PETALS. I LIKE THIS BETTER.
### **BIRD'S BEAK COMPOUND FLOWER **
I MADE A NUMBER OF TINY LILIES HERE, AND THEN AFFIXED THEM TO A CENTRAL POINT TO MAKE A COMPOUND FLOWER. I DIDN'T PUT WIRES IN ANY OF THE CREAM-COLORED PETALS TO SAVE TIME, BUT BECAUSE THE PETALS TEND TO CLOSE UP, IN RETROSPECT THE WIRES WOULD HAVE BEEN HELPFUL.
### **BONSAI **
THIS IS A TYPE OF CENTER-PUNCTURE FLOWER WHERE EACH CIRCULAR FLOWER IS CUT ROUGHLY OUT OF A SMOOTH STRIP, THEN DECORATED WITH SEVERAL COLORS CUT WITH THE CRAFT KNIFE. THE WIRE IS THEN POKED THROUGH THE CENTER AND A SMALL PIECE OF YELLOW TAPE IS PLACED OVER THE WIRE AND CUT INTO A LANCE SHAPE TO KEEP THE FLOWER FROM SLIPPING OFF THE WIRE. THIS ONE HAS MORE THAN FIFTY FLOWERS, THE SMALLEST OF WHICH ARE SMALLER THAN A PENCIL ERASER. YOU COULD MAKE A TREE LIKE THIS WITH LEAVES OR FRUIT INSTEAD OF FLOWERS IF YOU WISH.
### **COMPOUND CENTER-PUNCTURE FLOWER **
THIS ONE IS SIMILAR TO THE BONSAI FLOWER, BUT ALL THE WIRES EMANATE FROM A SINGLE POINT. THE FLOWERS ARE KEPT AT THE END OF THE WIRE BY BUNCHING THE WIRE SLIGHTLY BEHIND THE PETAL. YOU COULD ALSO DO THIS WITH A DAB OF TAPE.
#### **ARTICHOKE CENTER**
This is what I call an "artichoke." It's made by slightly lowering the level of each layer of point petals.
#### **LONG ROLL CENTER**
This is a "long roll". Tear an extra-long strip of tape, fold it lengthwise (leaving a little
|
7cf4a7ff-218e-2382-8d06-51ad0dad85c8
|
['1139bfda-b763-20d0-f04d-07bb6e970386']
|
variation, 1×1
### **BALLA'S CANDLE **
THIS PANEL OF A CANDLE ILLUSTRATES THE KIND OF DECORATION YOU CAN MAKE ON A PURSE OR BAG WITH A CRAFT KNIFE AND A CUTTING BOARD. THIS PARTICULAR ONE WAS INFLUENCED BY A PAINTING CALLED STREET LIGHT BY THE ITALIAN FUTURIST PAINTER <PERSON>.
### **SCALE AND FISH SCALE PURSE PANEL **
THESE ARE TWO OF MY FAVORITE DECORATIONS FOR PURSES. IT'S VERY TIME-CONSUMING, BUT IT LOOKS GREAT IN THE FINISHED PRODUCT. PLUS, IF YOU PLAN AHEAD AND ARE CAREFUL ABOUT PLACEMENT, YOU CAN MAKE INTERESTING DESIGNS USING THE POINTS AS PIXELS. THE ROUNDED SCALES ARE MORE FRAGILE THAN THE POINT PETALS, SO IT'S A GOOD IDEA TO EITHER STOP THEM 1 TO 2 INCHES (2.5 TO 5 CM) ABOVE THE BASE OR SEAL THE LAST LAYER WITH A COAT OF CLEAR TAPE TO AVOID SQUISHING.
### **BRAIDED STRAP **
The completed braid, with placeholder strips on each end to keep it steady until it's ready to be attached to a bag or purse.
The braided strap begins as braids do, with three strips arranged next to each other and taped to the table to keep them in place while working. When the strap is completed, you'll go back and correct these first few inches to make them consistent with the rest of the braid.
Move two strips to the side, then bring the outermost strip in the pair to the middle, turning it a half turn as you do so.
Repeat the process using the outermost strip from the opposite side.
Continue this process, creasing the tape along the line of the braid as you bring each strap into the center.
### **TOOL ROLL **
I HAD SEVERAL SUGGESTIONS FROM FRIENDS TO MAKE A TOOL ROLL, AND BECAUSE I HAVE AN ABUNDANCE OF WIRES, KNIVES, SCISSORS, AND EARRING BACKS, IT MADE SENSE FOR MY OWN PERSONAL USE AS WELL. THIS ONE IS ABOUT 24 INCHES (61 CM) LONG, COMPOSED OF FOUR FOLDED-UP SECTIONS. IF I DID THIS AGAIN, I WOULD MAKE SURE THAT THE BOUNDARIES OF THE POCKETS FALL NEATLY INTO THE CREASES OF THE FOUR SECTIONS, TO AVOID WRINKLING. EACH OF THE POCKETS HAS ITS OWN COVER, WHICH IS SECURED WITH A BIT OF VELCRO. THE OUTER FLAPS, WHICH PREVENT ANYTHING FROM FALLING OUT OF IT ONCE IT'S FOLDED UP, ARE SECURED WITH SNAPS.
### **BOOK COVER **
I MADE THIS BOOK COVER BY MAKING A LONG SHEET OF SMOOTH TAPE SEVERAL INCHES TALLER AND LONGER THAN I THOUGHT I WOULD NEED (TO BUFFER IN CASE OF MISTAKES). YOU'LL WANT TO CUT THE TAPE WHILE IT'S FOLDED AROUND THE SPINE OF THE BOOK, OR IT MAY COME UP SHORT. THIS ONE IS DECORATED WITH AN ATOM BECAUSE IT'S A SCIENCE BOOK. (APOLOGIES TO SCIENTISTS FOR USING THE BOHR MODEL OF AN ATOM—I WOULD HAVE PREFERRED A PROBABILITY CLOUD, BUT THAT SEEMED LIKE AN AWFUL LOT OF WORK WITH THE RAZOR BLADE.)
### **CHAINMAIL **
CHAINMAIL IS, BELIEVE IT OR NOT, ONE OF THE MORE DIFFICULT PROJECTS
|
9dbdcd56-11f6-bc30-1cf8-2e10ee0ab7d7
|
['11bfb6ae-a418-23a0-cd80-ad6a23f326fa']
|
be baptizing two children with the same name within the space of a few years, don't panic, you're probably not seeing things. Quite often, when a child died, a new baby was given the same name. If you come across one of these repeated baptisms in your research, always look for an entry in the burial register for the first child.
**FAMILY BAPTISMS**
You might not always find a baptism where you'd expect to find it. If you have difficulty locating one, search further into the register before throwing in the towel, as some families had their entire brood baptized as a job lot!
**BAPTIZING ILLEGITIMATE CHILDREN**
These baptisms are easy enough to spot as they generally record the mother's name only. But the word the clergy used to describe the child's circumstances varies quite a lot. Look for any of these:
▪Illegitimate
▪Base
▪Baseborn
▪Bastard
▪Spurious
▪Supposed
▪Misbegotten
**IS HE THE FATHER OR ISN'T HE?**
'Reputed' and 'imputed' are a couple of words that crop up from time to time in a baptism register. Something like: "<PERSON> the reputed daughter of <PERSON> by <PERSON>" will tell you that <PERSON> has admitted paternity. But if 'imputed' is used, it means everyone's pretty certain <PERSON> is the father, but he's owned up to nothing!
**SOMETIMES DAD'S NAME IS HANDED TO YOU ON A PLATE!**
Occasionally, tracing the father of an illegitimate child isn't all that difficult. His name may conveniently appear in the baptism register, as in, "<PERSON>, daughter of <PERSON> and <PERSON>".
A child given two surnames in the baptism register is also a clue worth following: "<PERSON>, daughter of <PERSON>".
**MORE INFO IN PARISH REGISTERS AFTER 1813**
Some bright spark in the early 19th century came up with a pretty smart idea because, after 1813, parish registers were produced complete with pre-printed pages. This enabled more information to be included as a matter of course, so a baptism entry will give you not only the parents' names but the area in which they lived (later their full address) and the father's occupation. It's also quite common to find the child's date of birth squeezed into the later entries.
**MARRIAGE RULES OK!**
Certain new rules were brought in, affecting marriages after 1754, which makes life a lot easier for family historians.
1.Marriages must be preceded by the calling of banns or by the issuing of a marriage license.
2.A record should be kept in an appropriate book.
3.Entries in the book should be signed by the couple and by witnesses to the marriage.
4.The ceremony must take place in the parish where the bride or groom reside.
**MARRIED BY BANNS**
If you have trouble finding a marriage in the parish register, try searching the banns books. The banns are a public announcement of a forthcoming marriage and are announced in church on three Sundays preceding a marriage. If the marriage doesn't take place within three months of the last announcement, the process begins all over again.
**MARRIED BY LICENSE**
Copies of marriage licenses can
|
b0f1c126-bf7f-1612-4ba2-1b077b931d73
|
['11bfb6ae-a418-23a0-cd80-ad6a23f326fa']
|
chargeable and non-chargeable households and are the nearest you'll get to a national census before the 19th century. The National Archives hold the originals, but many County Archives have transcripts.
**LAND TAX RECORDS**
This tax, with its annual listing of names, was brought in during the late 17th century, but, for family historians, the lists made between 1780 and 1832 could yield some interesting results. During these years, the Clerks of the Peace used the roll as a means of determining those who could vote in parliamentary elections. You'll find the Land Tax records mostly in County Archives, in the Quarter Sessions collections – they provide names of owners and tenants of houses and land, often with the names of the property given, too.
**THE PARISH RATEPAYERS**
People may have considered themselves fortunate to have money, but a lot less lucky when the rate bill dropped on the mat! The Churchwardens' Accounts gives a list of parishioners who contributed each year towards the poor rate, and the sum each paid.
**TRY THE TITHE MAPS**
A tithe was a payment made by parishioners to support the parish church and its clergy, and if your ancestor owned land, he would have handed over his tithe payment with the rest. Originally, this was a tenth of the yearly produce of the land and was paid in kind (wool, milk, crops, etc) but an Act in 1836 required that the payment be made in the form of a rent-charge. A survey of the whole of England and Wales took place and the tithe maps (held in County Archives) are the result, showing the boundaries of land and the acreage of fields.
**THE TITHE APPORTIONMENTS**
The apportionments, with plot numbers matching those on the tithe maps, are the really useful half of the tithe double-act, and they supply all sorts of information:
▪The name of the landowner.
▪The occupier.
▪The name of the property or land.
▪The amount of rent-charge payable.
▪The acreage.
▪The state of cultivation: pasture, orchard, arable, garden, and so on.
# **Calendars and
Dates and
Spelling,
Oh My!**
#### Chapter 9
### Calendars and Dates and Spelling, Oh My!
**As if you didn't have enough to do, tracing all those ancestors back in time and deciphering all that undecipherable handwriting, you're now expected to learn a whole new language –well, almost. Once you set foot in the 1700s, you'll be sure to come across documents written in Latin, and you'll also need to take into account a calendar change. Use my tips for making sense of these records, and bluff your way out of trouble!**
**HOW TIMES CHANGE!**
In England, under the old style Julian calendar, each year began on March 25th. But, by 1751, this calendar was incorrect by 11 days. Parliament decided England should keep up with the times (sorry!) and change to the new style Gregorian calendar (Scotland had already done this in 1660). Your ancestors' dates and ages might seem confusing if you don't allow for this changeover. Here's how it works:
1.The
|
cff43c08-0678-40f0-2870-fb2f2647b94b
|
['11c61ef1-ebb6-c869-4041-8d0a47dc430d']
|
pioneer forefathers, but modern society is diverse, with many different values. Detailed legal codes and processes are needed to keep society in working order.
But the institutions of modern society are not in working order. Schools have been in a steady decline for decades. Reforms are passed almost every year, with little or no effect. Health care is like a nervous breakdown in slow motion. Costs are out of control, leaving millions without insurance and driving companies with obligations to care for retirees to the brink of bankruptcy.
Humans tend to accept legal structures, just as we accept the location of roads and other infrastructure and make our way through the day using whatever paths are available. We still have choices enough in our jobs and in our pleasures to support ourselves and to keep our sanity. But if you zoom away from the earth and look at the patterns of modern life from above, you'll see a culture in which countless important goals, both private and public, are not accomplished because modern law has diverted sensible choices into self-protection. As our individual freedom wanes, so does our sense of purpose—people increasingly feel they can't make a difference.
We have it backwards. The legal shackles that frustrate teachers, doctors, and managers in daily dealings are not the inevitable price of a working social order. Modern law is a main cause of the decline of our social order. Schools and hospitals are failing in part because the people within them no longer feel free to make decisions to make them work.
America indeed is in a crisis—a crisis of individual freedom. We have lost the idea, at every level of public life, that people can grab hold of a problem and fix it. We have become a culture of rule followers, driven to frame every solution in terms of existing law or possible legal risk. Gradually, without noticing when it happened, we've lost our ability to make the choices needed to run a society.
REBUILDING THE BOUNDARIES OF FREEDOM
The story of America, retold many times, is that it unlocked human potential. You can try anything. You can do it your way. You can . . . is the theme that resonates through American history. This belief in individual power, so different from the feudal cultures of Europe, was forged in the challenges faced by pioneers. <PERSON>, in his famous description of America's character, referred to it this way: "That practical, inventive turn of mind, quick to find expedients; . . . all that restless nervous energy; that dominant individualism, working for good and for evil, and withal that buoyancy and exuberance which comes from freedom."
<PERSON> collection of short biographies of innovators, They Made America, is a testament to the power of personal initiative in America. <PERSON> and <PERSON> come alive in their bicycle shop, tinkering with new ideas and rebounding from failures. No longer wooden figures in history books, they compete to achieve manned flight against the world's leading scientists, not by scientific calculation but by trial
|
0e5a2d77-9325-f835-a662-6882f1006629
|
['11c61ef1-ebb6-c869-4041-8d0a47dc430d']
|
itself," <PERSON> said. "You got to make the damn thing work."
A few traits of the American brand of freedom stand out. One is a belief in personal resourcefulness. <PERSON> tells the story of his father: "At 18, he became a telegrapher when the field was at the cutting edge of communications. He thought his future was assured—until the arrival of teletype machines in the late 1920s. Then, finding he had mechanical abilities, he created a niche for himself by learning how to service the machines. Eventually, in the depressed 1930s, as telephone and radio replaced teletype, he opened an upholstering shop. . . . Seeing the trend, he had learned the trade working days while supporting his family as night manager at the telegraph office." "I can attribute our successes, small though they were," <PERSON> concludes, "to our willingness to adapt and learn again and again."
Another trait of what is sometimes referred to as "American exceptionalism" is the belief in social mobility rather than status. People can strive to get somewhere. Immigrants understand this better than anyone. "Here a man can go as far as his abilities will carry him," <PERSON> wrote in The Americanization of Edward Bok. "No traditions hamper him; no limitations are set except those within himself." Immigrants in fact constantly battled against barriers erected by the establishment, but they were free to do battle, and the marketplace generally decided who won.
Finally, a belief in the uniqueness of each individual encouraged people to find fulfillment in their own interests, skills, and values. <PERSON>, who was National Teacher of the Year in 2000, did not intend to be a teacher. But she was required to teach a class at a high school as a condition of a scholarship. "At first I was grumpy about it. But once I started teaching, something magnificent happened. It was like an epiphany. I found I could relate to people, I found I could excite them and give them some joy of learning. I found they responded to me. And fortunately for me I never left the classroom again."
Growing up in the South, I remember wondering how people found a sense of purpose in their lives. It was hard to see much originality underneath all those southern manners. It was as if everyone were stamped out of a politeness mold. Then, at eighteen, I was picked out of the summer lawn-mowing brigade at the Oak Ridge National Lab and assigned to be a junior researcher to a small group of scientists led by <PERSON>, a Hungarian émigré and Nobel laureate. They explored ideas, all day long, even over sandwiches at lunch—about the effects of nuclear war, about bioterrorism, about economic recovery following disasters. They didn't care where the ideas came from—even from a college student, and I ended up co-authoring a monograph on postwar economic recovery. Three summers with Dr. <PERSON> and his colleagues put to rest any doubts I had about my opportunities to reach inside myself and offer something that was uniquely mine.
This freedom
|
ebc508f6-59f3-8d94-1ad6-83dff2f1beb2
|
['11cf34d6-f0f1-c3b9-0bd9-b45a861ffcf4']
|
like to come over and talk to you. I'll bring a couple of 6-packs and we can talk. I'd also like to read you some of my work...."
The poor fucker didn't have a cunt. I threw his letter into the wastebasket.
An hour or so later <PERSON> returned. "Oh, I've found the most marvelous costumes!"
She had an armful of dresses. She went into the bedroom. Some time passed, then she walked out. She was in a high-necked long gown and she whirled in front of me. It fit her very nicely around the ass. It was gold and black and she had on black shoes. She did a subdued dance.
"You like it?"
"Oh, yes...." I sat and waited.
<PERSON> went back into the bedroom. Then she came out in green and red with shots of silver. This one was a midriff job with her bellybutton showing. As she paraded in front of me she had this special way of looking into my eyes. It was neither coy nor sexy, it was perfect.
I don't remember how many costumes she showed me, but the last one was just right. It clung to her and was slit up each side of the skirt. As she walked around, first one leg came out, then the other. The dress was black, it shimmered, and it was cut low in front.
I got up as she walked across the room and grabbed her. I kissed her viciously, bending her backwards. I continued to kiss her and began pulling up her long gown. I pulled the back of the skirt all the way up and saw her panties, yellow. I pulled the front of her gown up and began pushing my cock against her. Her tongue slipped into my mouth—it was as cool as if she had been drinking ice water. I walked her backwards into the bedroom, pushed her on to the bed and mauled her. I got those yellow panties off and got my own pants off. I let my imagination go. Her legs were around my neck as I stood over her. I spread her legs apart, moved up, and slid it in. I played around a little, using different speeds, then anger thrusts, thrusts of love, teasing thrusts, brutal thrusts. I would pull out from time to time, then begin again. Finally I let go, gave her the last few strokes, came, and sank down beside her. <PERSON> continued to kiss me. I wasn't sure whether she had gotten off or not. I had.
We had dinner at a French place that also served good American food at fair prices. It was always overcrowded which gave us time at the bar. That night I left my name as <PERSON>, and I was even sober enough to recognize the call 45 minutes later.
We ordered a bottle of wine. We decided to hold off dinner for a while. There isn't a better way to drink than at a small table over a white tablecloth with a good-looking woman.
"You fuck," <PERSON>
|
29475dca-5938-ca23-0395-4a35ebfd8c42
|
['11cf34d6-f0f1-c3b9-0bd9-b45a861ffcf4']
|
packing baskets of food to the lesbian in back there.
my my, there's something wrong with that poor little fellow,
I thought.
the landlord ran him out of there one morning at 5 A.M.
"hey! what the hell you doing up there? get the hell out of
here!"
"I brought her food! I brought her food!"
"get the hell out of here!"
the landlord chased him up the driveway. "you're up there every
damn
morning at 3 A.M. I'm getting sick of it! don't you ever sleep?
what the hell's wrong with your legs?"
"I sleep! I sleep! I work nights!"
they came running past my window.
"you work nights? what the hell's the matter with you? why don't
you get a job
working days?"
little legs just kept running. he made a quick turn around a hedge
and was up the
street. the landlord screamed after him:
"you damn fool! don't you know she's a dyke? what the hell you
gonna do with a
dyke?"
there was no answer, of
course.
*
then the fellow in the next court, a chap a bit on the subnormal
side inherited 20 thousand
dollars. next thing I knew, I heard the lesbian's voice
in there. the walls were quite thin.
god, she got down on her knees and scrubbed all the
floors. and kept running out the back door with the
trash. he musta had a year's worth of trash in
there. each time she ran out the back, the screen door would
slam—bam! bam! bam! it must have slammed 70 times in an
hour and a half. she was showing him.
my bedroom was next to theirs. at night I'd hear him mount
her. there wasn't much action. quite dead. only one body in
motion. your guess.
a few days later the lesbian started to take over—
coming in from the kitchen—
"oh no, <PERSON>! get up! get up! you can't go to bed this time
of day! I'm not going to make your bed twice!"
then a week later it was over. I didn't hear her voice anymore.
she was again in her place in the back.
I was standing on my porch one day thinking about it—
poor thing. why doesn't she get a girlfriend? I'm not prejudiced, I
don't hold anything against lesbians, no sir! Look at <PERSON>. I
didn't
hold anything against <PERSON>
either.
then I looked up and here she came down the
driveway, it was too late to run into my
place. I stood quietly, trying to be part of the porch.
she came by in her white shorts and neck bent like a vulture and
then she saw me and made this incredible sound:
"YAWK!"
"good morning," I said.
"YAWK!" she went again.
god damn, I thought, she thinks I'm a bird. I walked quickly into
my place and
closed the door, looked through the
curtains. she was out there breathing
heavily. then she began to flail her arms up and down, going
"YAWK! YAWK! YAWK!"
she's gone nuts, I
thought.
then slowly slowly she began
|
14ffd86a-34c8-264c-1287-dd46567f881a
|
['12031b53-7b0c-e392-e539-a7c7e0088ab7']
|
and the size of the sample (89 million words across 699 full-length fan-fiction books), we know these patterns are not random. The easiest way to sound British, or at the least stereotypically British, was to throw in some blimeys or brilliants or blokes.
But this is also a reminder that when comparing a loosely defined group of writers against each other, such as "British writers" versus "American writers," the group of texts examined is important. Someone who did not have context when looking at these two samples of text might assume that blimey is an American word.
In the example of fan fiction, it's interesting to note that less stereotypical signatures of British English don't make it into American writers' fan fiction. For example, British writers of Harry Potter fan fiction use surely more than three times as much as Americans writers. That's not surprising, as surely is almost twice as common in the British National Corpus as in the Corpus of Contemporary American English. The difference between surely and blimey is that surely doesn't stick out as over-the-top British. While 40 % of British fan-fiction writers used surely more than <PERSON> did (10 times per 100,000 words), just 18 % of Americans did.
In situations where no one is trying to imitate British English the results are different. When fan-fiction authors are not trying to emulate British characters the slang disappears from American writers and from British writers. <PERSON>, author of the popular young-adult series the Hunger Games, never used blimey or bloke in her trilogy and used brilliant 40 % less than <PERSON>. In 420 Hunger Games book-length fan fictions no one used the word blimey more than <PERSON> baseline. Americans no longer overdo the British slang like bloke and brilliant.
And as British slang use declines for Americans, it declines for those who identify as being from Great Britain as well. While 38 % of British <PERSON> fan fiction used brilliant more than <PERSON>, 13 % of British Hunger Games fan fiction does. And while 10 % of British <PERSON> fan fiction uses bloke more than the <PERSON> author herself, less than 1.5 % of British Hunger Games fan fiction does. Just as American fan-fiction writers delighted in adopting their favorite Britishisms, writers from the U.K. (for the most part) knew when to downplay them. No matter where you're from, no one imagines <PERSON> having inner monologues where she worries about saving the blokes from District 12.
* * *
We can learn a lot from looking at what writers play up when trying to imitate authors from across the pond. But what differences do we find between American and British vocabularies when writers aren't focusing on imitating? What happens when they have other things on their mind—like, say, sex?
It turns out that erotica offers a perfect sample of text for comparing the two nations. I downloaded every single sex story from Literotica.com to see what differences we'd find. Based on the author's stated location, I placed approximately 3,200 stories as
|
684a621d-2ae7-ceb6-2e35-538e7b2f838e
|
['12031b53-7b0c-e392-e539-a7c7e0088ab7']
|
was this: That English grammar is governed by rules that are almost mathematical in their strictness! Given the words, and given the sense of what is to be said, then there is only one correct order in which those words can be arranged.
He invents a machine he calls the Great Automatic Grammatizator. It takes in plots and can spit out a finished story. <PERSON> starts with short stories. Soon he dials up the complexity to the length of the novel and, getting more daring, he programs it to write a "high class intelligent book." <PERSON> harnesses his machine to the point where "one half of all novels" published in English are written by the Great Automatic Grammatizator.
Now a tycoon due to the power of his bestseller machine, he forces other writers to the brink of starvation. The narrator of this story is not the engineer <PERSON> but an opposing author. <PERSON> offers the narrator a contract not to write. This would allow the narrator to eat, but the automated computer-generated stories would take over. Or, the narrator can decide not to sign the contract, which would allow him to write but leave him broke. The story ends with a plea from the narrator: "Give us strength, Oh Lord, to let our children starve."
Like "The Great Automatic Grammatizator," my book has been about the marriage of numbers and words. People often have polarizing reactions when objective analysis is applied to art. As I've discussed this book, I've encountered two opposite camps, which I've categorized in my head as the extreme skeptic and the doomsdayer.
The extreme skeptic is uneasy every time they see a number next to a word. Writing is an art, not a science, so how can math provide any substance?
If you've made it this far in the book I hope I have convinced you not to be that extreme skeptic. I've tried to tackle questions that are common to readers and writers. There's a distinct benefit to being able to run through millions of words at once. You may lose a word's impact on a particular page, but a new appreciation for an author can come to light. Patterns that are spread out over a corpus of literature, too large to be consumed by any one reader, can teach new trends, ideas, techniques, and wisdom that would otherwise be hidden.
In contrast to the skeptic, there is the person yelling that the sky is falling whenever they see anything to do with numbers and texts. If numbers can help us predict what will be popular to read, when will an algorithm just start writing novels for us? This is "The Great Automatic Grammatizator" distilled.
Even today, more than sixty years after "The Great Automatic Grammatizator" was published, the concept is far-fetched science fiction. The numbers I've looked at here, and the calculations I've used, can help us read and see patterns—but they can't help us know when to break them. The questions I sought to answer in my book are primitive. Are there words worth avoiding?
|
16439cfe-3b43-36ca-84ee-7d3135be7500
|
['139992ed-705d-9ce7-a928-e46887ed6f16']
|
<PERSON> had not stolen the purse and hidden it, he walked outside.
The path between the orchid house, which <PERSON> had been painting, and the tool shed was about three hundred feet long. Drops of white paint from the leaking can had fallen in a straight line between the two small buildings.
"I was using the white paint when I noticed the leak in the bottom of the can," said <PERSON>. "So I walked to the tool shed with the can. Those paint drops prove it. I didn't see or hear any thief."
_<PERSON> looked carefully at the drops of paint._
"From any place on the path, you can see the spot where Mrs. <PERSON> was knocked down," said <PERSON>. "You _must_ have seen it happen."
"I didn't see anything," said <PERSON>. "Leave me alone."
<PERSON> went out to the path. He looked carefully at the drops of paint.
"<PERSON>'s telling the truth," he thought. "He couldn't be the thief. The paint drops show that he went straight from the orchid house to the tool shed."
<PERSON> couldn't have had time to steal Mrs. <PERSON>'s purse and run back to the tool shed, Encyclopedia realized. She would have seen him.
Then the boy sleuth noticed something strange about the drops of paint. They changed.
From the orchid house to about halfway along the path, the drops were nearly round. They had fallen about two feet apart.
But from the halfway point to the tool shed, the drops were narrow. They had fallen about eight feet apart.
"Hey, <PERSON>! What are you doing?"
<PERSON> looked toward the street. He saw some of the gang from the bike races—<PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>.
"Boy, we thought you'd crashed into a tree or something," called <PERSON>.
<PERSON> hurried over. He explained the reason for his failure to cross the finish line.
"Do you know who stole Mrs. <PERSON>'s purse?" asked <PERSON>.
"The thief got away," said <PERSON>. "But <PERSON> saw the whole thing. He won't admit it, though. I think he's scared the thief saw him and will hurt him if he tells."
"That's like <PERSON>," said <PERSON>. "<PERSON> won't have him for a Tiger. <PERSON> says <PERSON> has only one stripe, and you know what color that is."
"He's so yellow he makes a canary jealous," said <PERSON>.
"Stop being mean," said <PERSON> angrily.
"It's not funny," agreed <PERSON>. "However, <PERSON>'s fear did give him away. He suddenly got awfully frightened while he was carrying the leaky can of paint to the tool shed."
**HOW DID ENCYCLOPEDIA KNOW?**
_(Please see solutions section)_
**The Case of the Stolen Diamonds**
Encyclopedia looked up from his book, _Diamonds for Everyone._ His mother stood in the doorway of his room.
"Did you know that diamonds are so hard they're used to drill stone?" he asked.
"I may need a diamond to drill my roast beef," said his mother. "It will be cooked as hard as stone if you don't come to dinner."
"Sorry, Mom," said Encyclopedia. He put the book aside, washed, and hurried
|
9d4a0847-b0ac-8340-2632-7f9306b48a48
|
['139992ed-705d-9ce7-a928-e46887ed6f16']
|
But <PERSON> stayed on his feet.
"It'll take every penny I have saved, but I'll get the money," <PERSON> said.
The astronaut seemed relieved and happy, until Encyclopedia got to his feet.
"Save your money, <PERSON>," he said. "And, you," he said to the man, "better give us back our fifty cents. You're not an astronaut. You're a fake."
HOW DID ENCYCLOPEDIA KNOW?
(Click here for the solution to "The Case of the Astronaut Duck.")
## The Case of the Lucky Catch
Encyclopedia and some of the gang were on their way to a picnic. Ace <PERSON>, a retired major-league baseball player, invited all of <PERSON>'s Little League teams to his estate near the beach.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON> took the number nine bus. They carried baseballs, gloves, and bats that they hoped Mr. <PERSON> would autograph.
"Do you think we'll get to see the baseball?" <PERSON> asked.
No one had to ask what baseball. Ace <PERSON> had made the most famous catch in baseball history. He made the game-winning catch in the ninth inning of the seventh game of the World Series. Not only did his team win the game, they became world champions with just one catch.
After the game, he had every single one of his teammates sign his lucky ball. Mr. <PERSON> had been offered thousands of dollars for his baseball, but he refused to sell.
"I hope we do get to see the ball," <PERSON> said. "I'd love to hold it in my hand for just one second. Do you think it would bring me good luck?"
Everyone knew that <PERSON>'s team had lost a big game when <PERSON> dropped a high fly. Ever since, he didn't seem to be able to catch a ball. He even dropped the ball when he was pitching! He was in a real slump.
"You need more than luck," <PERSON> teased. "You need a new sport."
<PERSON> shushed <PERSON> with a look, then turned to <PERSON>. "I hear he keeps the ball locked up in a glass case," she said. "But maybe just looking at it will break you out of your slump."
"Then I'll look at it until my eyes hurt," <PERSON> said, ignoring his twin.
The bus stopped on Mr. <PERSON>'s corner and the children got off. The friends were suddenly shy when they got a look at <PERSON> mansion. It was one of the biggest in Idaville. Then Encyclopedia rang the doorbell. It played Take Me Out to the Ball Game, and they all relaxed.
A maid answered and led Encyclopedia and his pals through a center hall toward the backyard. On the way, they passed the glass case. A spotlight shone on the game-winning baseball. The ball turned on its pedestal so that they could see every autograph. <PERSON> stared at it without blinking.
Then the friends were led to the back door. Ace <PERSON> shook hands with everyone and signed their balls, bats, and gloves. He waved them into the backyard, which was already
|
d5b2b002-db22-7663-7d92-8f00dfe12e9a
|
['140a723a-a218-f1b7-58c8-974a6f293439']
|
Promoted to brigadier-general in June 1918, he led the 1st Infantry Brigade at the battles of Hazebrouck and Amiens, and the attack on the Hindenburg Line. During the interwar years <PERSON> remained active in the militia in Sydney, reaching the rank of major-general. In 1940 he was appointed commander of the 6th Division. During the battle of Bardia in January 1941, the 6th Division captured the fortified town along with 36,000 Italian prisoners. After the Greek campaign <PERSON> was recalled to Australia in 1941 to serve as General Officer Commanding Home Forces. As this appointment included responsibility for the defence of Australia he wrote an appreciation which had to include two considerations. First, there was General <PERSON>'s plan to defend Australia in depth, but from the south east of the continent, leaving the rest of Australia to the invading Japanese. His plan became known as the 'Brisbane Line'. Second, Australia had four divisions deployed abroad at the time when Japanese naval and military successes continued unabated. <PERSON> was briefly swept up in the political controversy that followed when the so-called 'Brisbane Line' strategy became public. On 6 April 1942 he assumed command of the Second Army, and in the following year twice commanded New Guinea Force during the New Guinea Campaign.
Major-General <PERSON>. AWM P005058.
When Italian forces invaded Greece across its border with Albania in October 1940 the Greek army numbered almost 430,000 men. The bulk of the Epirus Army, together with the Western Macedonian Army, were committed in Albania.
By April 1941 the army's strength was some 540,000 men, but it was poorly equipped. Each division numbered at full strength approximately 18,500 men, formed into three lightly armed regiments each of three battalions, patterned on the World War I Order of Battle. The army had almost no tanks and few anti-aircraft assets. Most of the artillery apart from the heavy guns was old, and of a variety of makes and calibres. Logistic support of any kind was primitive.
After the entry of German forces into Bulgaria, most Greek infantry units were evacuated from western Thrace, which was defended by the _Evros_ Brigade (three border guard battalions). Adjacent to this formation, around Xanthi in eastern Macedonia, stood the _Nestos_ Brigade.
The Metaxas Line was defended by the Eastern Macedonian Army under <PERSON>. It deployed the Division Group (14th and 18th Greek Infantry Divisions) to cover the border from Mount Beles to the Strymon River, while the 7th Greek Infantry Division was at Drama. The 19th Greek Motorised Division was in reserve at Kilkis, south of Lake Doiran, and the _Nestos_ Brigade was at Xanthi.
The 19th Greek Motorised Division (less the 191st Greek Motorised Regiment) was still moving on 6 April 1941, in the area north of Kilkis, while the 19th Greek Reconnaissance Group was ordered to move from the Drama area to the Kilkis area. During the night of 6-7 April, the 192nd Greek Regiment was positioned west of II Security Battalion of the _Krousia_ Detachment, and the 193rd Greek Regiment between the 192nd Greek Regiment and Lake
|
2baa866e-fde7-7ef6-d894-ecd663dcf7da
|
['140a723a-a218-f1b7-58c8-974a6f293439']
|
artillerymen would also be issued with a revolver on landing. The result of the overall arrangements was that one, not two, batteries of artillery would deploy. This meant that Colonel <PERSON> did not go with the Contingent, but his second in command, Lieutenant Colonel <PERSON> would command its artillery.
The War Office had committed to supply much of the Contingent's operational equipment. Initially a battery of Nordenfelt guns was proposed to be sent to Suakin for the colonials. In addition, the British army would supply six ammunition wagons, six forage carts, one portable pack saddle forge, 12 large forges, 1000 felt-covered water bottles and webbing, tentage, 250 pistols (with holsters and ammunition), 1000 individual charcoal water filters, 1000 field dressings, and khaki uniforms for all members.
The senior staff officers of the contingent were listed in the _New South Wales Government Gazette_ on 27 February 1885:
Colonel <PERSON>, General Staff, in command.
Lieutenant Colonel <PERSON>, General Staff, major of brigade, second in command.
Captain <PERSON>, Permanent Artillery, adjutant of brigade and staff officer for artillery, with temporary rank of major.
Captain <PERSON>, ordnance storekeeper, to be paymaster and commissariat officer, with rank of major.
Captain <PERSON>, volunteer engineer, to be engineer officer.
Staff Surgeon <PERSON>, Principal Medical Officer, with relative rank of major.
<PERSON> to be surgeon, with the relative rank of captain.
<PERSON> to be surgeon, with the relative rank of captain.
<PERSON>, medical clerk.
**C OLONEL JOHN SOAME RICHARDSON**
Colonel <PERSON> A 48-year old former British officer and Crimea veteran, <PERSON> was given command of the New South Wales Contingent despite being junior in rank to <PERSON>, an officer of similar experience, who headed the colony's permanent artillery. Source: _Sydney Illustrated News._
<PERSON>'s immediate staff included four officers - three full-time and one from the volunteers. Lieutenant Colonel <PERSON>, the senior infantry officer, was a reservist, as were two of his four company commanders. The other two were former British regular officers.
This mix made some in the War Office nervous about the overall competence of the command at staff rank and above. Two of the three medical officers were staff surgeons; the veterinary officer was a civilian who was given the rank of captain; while five artillery officers were from the New South Wales Permanent Force. There were also a Catholic and a Protestant chaplain.
Age Distribution of the Contingent Graph.
Of the infantry who were about to deploy, over one third had previously served in the British army or the Royal Navy. As with Australian units sent to South Africa in 1899 and in both world wars, there was a broad economic and social mix: professional men, skilled tradesmen, policemen, clerks and others. Most of the men were what we would now term reservists, and had belonged to the New South Wales Volunteers.
They had an average age of 26, and over 80 percent were single. Just over half of them had been born in Australia, and it was
|
b8f56e9d-2686-ae46-4890-f720c0eff61e
|
['1436a272-9ead-a031-eac1-bda6e385b60a']
|
against collective bargaining (pro-worker and freedom of choice was his preferred Orwellian phraseology) might be parlayed into a bid for the White House._
_It was shocking, to Michigan union members at least, considering that the United Auto Workers was celebrating the seventy-fifth anniversary of its birth in Flint, just down the road._
_It didn't take a fucking hundred years, one beefy protester lamented to me on the statehouse steps. His placard read "Union Til I Die_. _"_
_I told him I hoped he still had his health care because death was coming sooner rather than later. He didn't laugh._
_You think that's funny? he hissed. This is the North, motherfucker. This is Michigan, and they're turning us into fucking Mississippi._
_Mississippi. He was close, but it wasn't exactly Mississippi._
## The Blue, the Gray & the Green
### ALABAMA | TENNESSEE (SPRING)—
Nestled in the rolling Alabama hills, among the shagbark and pine, somewhere between Tuscaloosa and Birmingham, is the sprawling Mercedes-Benz plant where three thousand non-union autoworkers assemble SUVs for soccer moms and slip-and-fall lawyers across the nation. An odd place to erect a factory, in the middle of nowhere. It's as if the company decided on the spot so that union sympathizers couldn't find it.
The truth is, they did put it here, way down in the southern pines, to dodge the unions. Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, South Carolina, and yes, Mississippi. This region—the Sun Belt, they called it—was considered the new Detroit for foreign automakers. And over the last twenty years, nearly all the big manufacturers had planted their flags here: Volkswagen, BMW, Honda, Toyota, Nissan, Hyundai. The problem for the United Auto Workers was that not a single one of these factories was a union shop. Since 1997, Mercedes-Benz has had a good thing going here in right-to-work Alabama. Why make it easy for the Yankees to stir the pot?
We pulled up on the shoulder of the road outside the Mercedes plant's main gate and decided to start filming some wide shots of the gargantuan facility, gleaming silver, oozing that multibillion-dollar, state-of-the-art grandeur that's hard, if not impossible, to find in the Rust Belt. But we barely got the tripods out of the van before company goons rolled up on us in Mercedes SUVs. Nice touch. We clearly reeked of strangeness—rental van, cameras, goatees. We must be pinkos, hippies, socialists maybe. Or worse, northern media elitists. Liberals. The security guard stepped out of his truck, put on his hat, adjusted his belt. A real Buford Pusser, this one. He radioed our plate number to dispatch, gave us the silent once-over, then demanded identification. Just like that. No "Afternoon, gentlemen." No "Howdy, boys." Just _Lemme see some IDs_.
I've got a lot of respect for the police. I was taught to respect the police early, when as a teenager a couple buddies and I decided to break into an empty wing of an apartment complex. We weren't B&E specialists, we weren't particularly good at it, but we weren't stealing anything either. Just smoking dope and drinking malt liquor when
|
2cd22f83-39a2-a107-c3e0-4b2810698e04
|
['1436a272-9ead-a031-eac1-bda6e385b60a']
|
few-hundred-strong army of private citizens arrived with their long arms, stood the government down, and freed the cattle.
<PERSON>! <PERSON> shouted shrilly, the voice of a half dozen Lil Dogs echoing off the valley walls in agreement. They have no right to take the man's cattle, he declared. <PERSON>!
Well, it is the public's land, I reminded him. Mine, yours, ours. Somebody's got to pay to keep the land in order. Why do I have to pay for <PERSON>?
That launched <PERSON> into a litany of complaints: unemployment, homeless veterans scrounging through garbage pails in the alleys of the big cities, welfare for illegal immigrants and their children, cash distributions to foreign countries. We're not giving a shit about people in our own country, he barked. It's a travesty!
What all this had to do with scofflaw cows, I couldn't say. But bovinity notwithstanding, you would know what <PERSON> was trying to get at if you'd been anywhere in America over the past decade besides the Hollywood Hills, Manhattan, or D.C. People were put out. Put out of their houses. Put out of their jobs. Put out on their asses. Losing ground. A good lot of them were veterans, many recently returned from tours in Iraq or Afghanistan, or both. Men and women who had gone off to war while the well-heeled of the nation went to the shopping mall. And they returned to a nation divided. Now they were living in crappy suburban apartments somewhere, their prospects bleak, wondering where their piece of the American pie had gone. What had they fought for? Rage became the companion of confusion. Like the kid in the ghetto of Detroit: rage.
And who speaks to the veterans' frustrations? Who appreciates their service? The empty trope of "thank you for your service" means 10 percent off at Arby's and the honor of being the first to get on a plane. No one's hiring. Too many are strung out and they're taking their own lives. Thank you for your service.
Most soldiers take it stoically and get on with the business of living. But others turn on the television and damn! There's a guy who gets it! There's a man with answers! Water rights? Grazing allotments? I'm driving an Uber, but this sounds like tyranny to me! Forward ho! To the <PERSON> compound!
Lil Dog was now drawing a pretty good crowd. Our camera was like an enema for a constipated frustration. The boys and I set up a soapbox, wrapped the microphone in an American flag, and invited public comment. The patriots came like flies to a cowhide. One unemployed Army vet from Phoenix got up to say he was there in the name of the individual's liberties, as enshrined in the Bill of Rights. Pressed to enumerate those rights, he stumbled a bit.
Okay, he said haltingly, wait a minute. Right to free speech (shoot your mouth) and the right to bear arms (shoot your gun). Thou shall not . . . Oh, wait a minute . . . Sorry, yeah,
|
aeb95d2a-02a9-2279-3963-db4706d2ac92
|
['14bcc663-ba7e-63de-47bd-de3446b0cde7']
|
1623-1625.
Huile sur bois, 64 x 48 cm.
Musée de l'Ermitage, Saint-Pétersbourg.
Le titre traditionnel du portrait est issu d'une inscription que l'on trouve sur un dessin préparatoire conservé à l'Albertina à Vienne : _Sael doeghter van de Infante tôt Brussel_ (Camériste de l'Infante à Bruxelles), tracée d'une main anonyme, sans doute au XVIIe siècle. Le dessin viennois peut être considéré comme un portrait de <PERSON>, la fille aînée du peintre (1611-1623). On constate une certaine ressemblance entre le modèle et les portraits que l'on considère comme étant ceux de <PERSON>, dont le premier se trouve au Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York et le deuxième au Musée diocésain de Liège. En vérité, l'inscription sur le dessin de l'Albertina ne saurait faire office de démenti, parce que, d'une part, elle est faite d'une main étrangère et ne peut donc avoir la valeur de document et, d'autre part, la fille de <PERSON> pouvait se faire octroyer ce rang par l'infante déjà dans sa plus tendre enfance. Des représentations multiples de ce même visage, redevables tant au peintre qu'à son atelier, en fournissent un argument indirect.
<PERSON> naquit le 21 mars 1611et mourut en octobre 1623, à l'âge de douze ans et demi. Dans cette hypothèse, le dessin viennois eut pour modèle une toute petite fillette, maladive et chétive, aux épaules étroites et à la grosse tête. Le dessin aurait été fait lorsque l'enfant allait succomber des suites de sa maladie. Il n'est pas impossible qu'il y ait eu une esquisse peinte, proche du dessin, et n'ayant pas subsisté. Le tableau de l'Ermitage serait un portrait posthume légèrement idéalisé. <PERSON> y semble plus âgée, mieux proportionnée, au visage d'un ovale plus harmonieux. Pourtant, les yeux ont gardé leur expression de rêverie mélancolique, on lui retrouve le même soupçon de sourire effleurant la bouche, la même attitude, la même robe ou presque, les mêmes détails : la coiffure à la touffe de cheveux mutine, la chaînette en sautoir et la boucle d'oreille. Un certain anachronisme de la composition, inhabituelle dans les portraits postérieurs par <PERSON>, à savoir celui en buste enserré dans un encadrement trop juste, serait dicté par un ultime croquis pris du vivant du personnage. Ce que ce portrait d'un lyrisme intime peut avoir d'unique dans l'œuvre du peintre lui vient certainement des circonstances particulières qui accompagnèrent sa création. La pénétration psychologique, la maîtrise suprême de l'exécution et la manière sur laquelle il est impossible de se méprendre ne laissent subsister aucun doute sur l'identité de l'exécutant.
Si tant est que les portraits de l'Ermitage, de <PERSON>, de New York et de Liège soient effectivement ceux de Clara Serena, la date _ante quem_ , s'agissant du moins du dessin de l'Albertina, point de départ de toutes les variantes peintes, serait 1623, soit l'année de la mort de <PERSON>. Le tableau de l'Ermitage aurait été peint un peu plus tard, entre 1623 et 1625, ce dont témoignent ses caractères stylistiques : la chaleur et la concision du coloris, la légèreté et la transparence de la facture.
Esquisse pour le
|
17b31fae-b8a0-406b-63c8-5ada38ffd53e
|
['14bcc663-ba7e-63de-47bd-de3446b0cde7']
|
dite classique du maître. Les formes traitées d'une manière sculpturale se disposent sur le fond d'un mur parallèle au premier plan, tels des reliefs antiques. La disposition statique en triangle des personnages sert à faire valoir leur élan dramatique, porté à son degré de tension supérieur, tout en fixant l'équilibre instantané des masses. La composition du tableau _Jupiter et Callisto_ (Gemäldegalerie, Cassel) de Rubens, signé et daté de 1613, ne diffère en rien de _La Charité romaine_ , à ceci près que l'interaction des figures du tableau de Cassel est plus complexe et que le groupe des personnages est inclus dans un paysage. S'appuyant sur cette analyse comparative, <PERSON> (1918) eut raison de dater le tableau de l'Ermitage vers 1612, juste à la veille de la création de _Jupiter et Callisto_ , datation que semble confirmer le coloris tirant sur le brun, proche des premières œuvres post-italiennes de <PERSON>.
La Charité Romaine, vers 1612.
Huile sur toile, 140,5 x 180,3 cm.
Musée de l'Ermitage, Saint-Pétersbourg.
Le Christ couronné d'épines,
(« Ecce homo »), avant 1612.
Huile sur bois, 125,7 x 96,5 cm.
Musée de l'Ermitage, Saint-Pétersbourg.
Le sujet est tiré de l'Évangile selon saint <PERSON>. Nulle part, sauf dans cette œuvre, <PERSON> ne traita ce sujet. Les mains du <PERSON> sont attachées derrière son dos, ce qui distingue le tableau de l'Ermitage de toutes les œuvres antérieures et contemporaines sur le même sujet. <PERSON> constata en 1977 un écart de la tradition, <PERSON> ayant choisi en l'occurrence pour modèle la célèbre sculpture du _Centaure_ de la galerie Borghèse à Rome. Le tableau ferait pendant à _Silène ivre_ , d'une formule similaire, en tant qu'allégorie du spirituel opposé au sensuel. On ne peut que constater l'effet sur cette œuvre des compositions tant appréciées en leur temps sur le même sujet, issues en 1606 de l'émulation de trois peintres se disputant la commande du cardinal <PERSON> : <PERSON>, le <PERSON> et <PERSON>. Si la symétrie centrale se déployant frontalement, ainsi que la position de la main de <PERSON>, évoquent <PERSON>, la figure avancée de <PERSON> et les regards des trois personnages fixant le spectateur trahissent l'influence du <PERSON>. Par ailleurs chez <PERSON>, le geste de <PERSON> invite d'une manière plus insistante à participer à l'action.
En 1977, Linnik souligna une similitude très marquée des personnages d' _«_ _Ecce Homo_ ___»_ et de ceux de certaines œuvres <PERSON>, le maître de <PERSON>. Ainsi le Christ chez <PERSON> a beaucoup de ressemblance avec le Jésus du _Portement de Croix_ de Van Veen (Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Bruxelles), d'où vient également le guerrier tenant la cape. En 1986, Smolskaïa nota que l'on pouvait reconnaître les traits du peintre dans ceux de Jésus.
Quelque fortes que soient l'attraction des souvenirs italiens et la ressemblance avec nombre de réalisations de jeunesse, l'utilisation de l'étude de _Tête de vieillard_ exécutée aux environs de 1609 fait remonter le tableau à l'époque postitalienne. Cette fixation chronologique se trouve d'ailleurs corroborée par la sonorité des couleurs locales, surtout dans la combinaison des carnations claires, du voile blanc et de
|
e3f5925e-144e-a074-a627-22d9262940c2
|
['151e00e6-4dfc-74ae-9e28-878429cebe41']
|
asleep, I remember thinking that maybe we would grow old together.
Upon awakening, I felt pain. I thought that this was good. I was very familiar with pain. "I am alive," I thought. "I'll get through this."
<PERSON> was very pleased with the results from the surgery. She had removed six inches of colon on either side of the polyp and then stitched the colon back together again. She removed the ovary that was nearby, fearing the possibility of its having cancer as well. It is pretty amazing to think that doctors can simply cut out pieces of your body and put them back together again. No matter how many different operations I've been through, I am in awe of the body's capacity to heal itself. It doesn't seem to matter how many things we remove or alter. We are able to keep on going. The human body is truly remarkable!
Although the surgery had gone well and statistics suggested I had a ninety-five percent chance of disease-free living, a consultation with an oncologist was set up. The pathologist had found that the polyp was a Dukes B2. Dukes is a staging system for colon cancer. Dukes A is generally when the cancer stays in the innermost lining of the colon or rectum. Dukes B is when the cancer has grown through the muscle layer. Mine had gone right to the edge, hence the number 2. Dukes C means that the cancer has spread to at least one lymph node. I think we all can figure out what Dukes D, or stage four, means.
The results of the pathology were sent to a tumor board for review. The tumor board consists of doctors in radiotherapy, surgery, internal medicine, and pathology, as well as psychosocial specialists. After reviewing my case, the group decided on what they felt would be the best course of treatment for me. Because of my age and the fact that the cancer had gone into the muscle wall, they recommended chemotherapy. Had they told me to jump off a bridge with the promise that it would make me better, I would have agreed. I was very vulnerable. I didn't want to die. "Give me a pill, a promise, a guarantee, I'm in!" I thought.
Although I never questioned my treatment plan, my mother certainly did. She wanted to know why I would "put poison" into my body if I didn't really need it; after all, a ninety-five-percent chance of disease-free living without it was pretty good odds. I did not have an answer to give her at the time. But as I pondered this question, I thought that if cancer ever came back, even five years later, and I had not done chemotherapy, would I be able to live with myself? Would I blame myself for missing an opportunity that might have potentially been helpful? I did not ever want to be in that position. In hindsight, I think having chemotherapy was easier than wishing I had done it. I had worked with cancer patients as a volunteer for
|
af73295f-3687-4f54-ef20-afa11854c9cb
|
['151e00e6-4dfc-74ae-9e28-878429cebe41']
|
a planned event, the hope of hearing good news, could be that magic elixir that heals the soul.
—
Everyone will face difficulties and challenges in their lifetime. Our capacity to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and start again blows me away. Hope and optimism are two of the many tools I carry with me everywhere I go. I have many other components that fill my own wellness puzzle. Some of them are as simple as friend and family time, whereas others are more complex, including different systems of medicine, such as homeopathy or Chinese medical practices. The specifics of each person's puzzle are not important. They are different for every one of us and often change throughout our lives. What is important is that we recognize and find those things that fill us and make us feel good. By choosing to incorporate them into our lives, we have a better chance of coping well during the difficult times.
On December 11, 1996, I spoke at a conference entitled "Alternative Medicine—Fact or Fancy," held at the Montreal Children's Hospital. I only realized once the conference ended that its objective was to discredit various forms of alternative medicine (Quebec had little tolerance in general for alternative medicine back in the nineties). Thank goodness I did not know this beforehand, as I am not sure I would have been able to get up and speak. I started by explaining the potential benefits of visualization. I talked about teaching cancer patients how to create a private sanctuary for themselves. It would be a place where they could go and imagine themselves cancer-free, healthy, and enjoying life fully.
One doctor raised his hand and said, "<PERSON>, you are full of shit! How dare you tell someone filled with tumors to imagine themselves cancer-free? You are being irrational and unethical. What you are actually doing is creating false hope."
It was funny to see my husband's face in the audience. His mouth dropped open and fire filled his eyes. He was aghast that someone would speak to me like that. He had gone to summer camp with this doctor, but for a moment I thought he might leap from his chair and strangle him. We protect the ones we love, and I was grateful to have him there supporting me.
What most people don't know about me is that I love to be challenged. This was right up my alley. I asked the doctor to look at what I was saying from a business perspective. If he were going to create a new business, would he want to surround himself with people who showed him how it could work, or with those who told him how it might fail? Whereas the latter is very important and must also be addressed, it is the former that drives passion and propels us toward our goal. We need to encourage ourselves to keep pushing forward in order to overcome obstacles. Step by step is the only way I know how to continuously move forward without losing sight of
|
430605b3-8147-f194-c8be-38c148389123
|
['1521a7a2-485f-e9db-7a64-88bc246e49de']
|
son. <PERSON> broke many Jewish laws to uphold what he thought was a more important law—to love your neighbor. He healed the sick on the Sabbath.
<PERSON> also threatened the uneasy balance between the Romans and the Jewish people, who were under Roman rule. <PERSON> was saying things that the Romans didn't like. He was saying the only true power came from God. Would they blame the Jews for <PERSON>'s words? Would they take it out on the Jewish people?
Indeed, many Romans saw <PERSON> as a threat. They felt he was a troublemaker. Everywhere he went, huge crowds gathered. The Romans worried that <PERSON>'s followers would revolt against their empire.
<PERSON> knew people were plotting against him. Many of his enemies were in Jerusalem—rich people, Jewish leaders, and Romans. The special Jewish holy festival of Passover was coming up. Usually Jewish people went to Jerusalem for Passover to worship at the Temple. <PERSON> was in Galilee at the time. He could have stayed there where he was safe. Instead he decided to travel to Jerusalem for the festival.
Before starting the trip, <PERSON> brought his disciples together. He gave them a warning. He was going to be betrayed. He was going to be sentenced to death. People would mock him and beat him and spit on him. He would be hung on a cross, and he would die. On the third day after his death, he would rise again.
In this way, <PERSON> predicted his own death. His disciples, though, did not believe it. They loved him so much. They could not imagine a world without him.
# Chapter 8
Palm Sunday
When <PERSON> and the disciples got close to Jerusalem, <PERSON> sent two of them ahead. He told them they would find a donkey in a nearby town. "Untie it and bring it here," he said.
The disciples went into the town and did as <PERSON> asked. A man stopped them. He wanted to know why they were untying the donkey.
<PERSON> had told the two disciples that this might happen. He had given them an answer. "The Lord needs it," they said, and went on their way.
The disciples took the donkey to <PERSON>. They laid their cloaks over it. Then <PERSON> sat on the donkey's back.
As he rode into Jerusalem, people greeted him with praises. They tossed branches of palm trees in his path. In Greek and Roman culture, palm branches were a symbol for victory.
In Jerusalem, high on the Temple Mount, was the Temple. The Temple was not only a place of worship. It was the center of Jewish life. Many people worked there. It was a busy marketplace. People also came to the Temple to pay the Temple tax. Only one type of money was used to pay this tax.
When <PERSON> arrived at the Temple in Jerusalem, what he saw there made him very angry. The Temple should have been a holy place, a place to pray to God. Instead it appeared to be a place of business. In <PERSON>'s eyes,
|
3e6b998e-71a3-fa49-3327-52f986b3dea9
|
['1521a7a2-485f-e9db-7a64-88bc246e49de']
|
45°24'34.10'' N, 86°49'46.36'' W
---
At the far northeastern tip of Wisconsin, there exists a 900-acre wooded island wilderness devoid of cars, roads, and even bikes. Is that enough to make you want to go? Not much more than about 1 square mile in size, Rock Island is actually covered in trails and is perfect for hiking—in addition to being a popular attraction for campers wishing to have a truly remote experience.
The island, undoubtedly as desirable historically for fishing, hunting, and shelter as it is today for tourism, was home to Native Americans long before European settlers saw its shores. The Potawatomi lived in small dwellings on the island and kept gardens in addition to gathering food. Excavations done in the 1960s and 1970s yielded tens of thousands of artifacts that have helped better understand the native people who inhabited this area. In addition to the Potawatomi, who were the main inhabitants, the Huron, Petun, and Ottawa cultures also called Rock Island home for short periods.
While no longer settled on the island, the Potawatomi were acknowledged when the first federally erected lighthouse in Wisconsin was built here in the early 1800s and named after them. Potawatomi Light still stands sentinel at the northwest corner of the island, above the dolomite cliffs and sandy shore. It's possible to tour the recently restored lighthouse during the summer months.
Perhaps the most noticeable structure on the island, however, greets you upon your arrival. As you step off the ferry you will find yourself at the dock of a massive stone boathouse, originally erected by <PERSON>, owner of the island between 1910 and 1945. While his plans for an island mansion were never realized, he did manage to build this imposing boathouse. It served as home to his 11,000-book library and was the site of many summer parties.
Although the partying in the boathouse is a thing of the past, a trip to Rock Island is exceptionally enjoyable. It takes two ferries to reach the island from Gills Rock on the mainland, so if you're planning a day trip to Rock Island, you'll want to get there no later than noon, which means an even earlier ferry ride from the mainland to Washington Island. Check with both ferry companies before planning a visit to confirm times; be sure to build in at least a two-hour layover on Rock Island for hiking, exploring, and swimming at the beach. You can also camp on Rock Island. It might take some planning to get all of your gear over there, but it makes for a fun overnight excursion.
HOW TO GET THERE
First, take the Washington Island ferry from Gills Rock. Then, from the Washington Island ferry dock, follow Lob Dell Road/Detroit Harbor Road to Main Road for about 2 miles. Turn left on Main Road and follow it for 2.5 miles to Jackson Harbor Road. Turn right and take it for 3.5 miles to the Rock Island State Park parking lot. A 15-minute trip across the lake gets you to the island. All told, the
|
eec5e345-f572-6ed3-9448-b7cb39da493b
|
['159cf565-fd55-9168-e3a4-f73760011ca0']
|
× 63˝
**_Finishing Each Other's Stitches / _**<PERSON> and <PERSON>, hand quilted by <PERSON>, 2010–2018, 52˝ × 62½˝
A friend sent me a bag a scraps and asked what I could do with them. I chose to use the pieces as I found them, no cutting, but puzzling them together. This was an interesting skill-builder challenge using Y-seams, appliqué, tricky piecing, balance of colors, and fabrics that were not my choices. It's an amazing way to push you outside your comfort zone. Be open to the challenge!
**_Scrappy Bee Quilt / _<PERSON>, 2010, 60˝ × 73˝
I am a collector of items that bring me joy! I collect chalkware carnival dolls. They make me think of the prizes I would get at the fair as child that I could then paint—another creative outlet. I decided one day I'd design fabrics using images of the dolls and then make a quilt from them. Once I received the fabrics, I started to build the quilt around various ideas; one was the circus tent, another was the birds that fly around eating up all the dropped food on the ground, which made me think of old church revivals. How very random, right? The journey can change, depending on what I am seeing on any given day. That is the part of the creative journey I love. The discoveries feel like an extreme sport sometimes. Risk-taking is always part of designing. Where will my ideas and thoughts take me next?
**_Carnivale / _*<PERSON>, 2009, 62˝ × 76˝
**_Made for <PERSON> / <PERSON>, quilted by <PERSON>, 2010, 105˝ × 105˝, from the collection of Adele Klapper
**_Color Play / <PERSON>, 2015, 96˝ × 104˝
**_Hex Flower Garden / _**Victoria Findlay Wolfe, 2015, 69˝ × 84˝
The middle blocks of this quilt were made using solids and striped fabric. I lost my focus with the pieces, and I put them away in a bin with the striped fabrics I was using, for over a year. Later, when I revisited the unfinished project, I looked at the stripes and thought, _What if I just cut all those stripes up, make 15-Minute "Made-Fabric"—would it work?_ In my head I thought, _No._ But when I cut it up and looked at it, I was pleasantly surprised that my answer had been right there in front of my eyes from the start. Stop thinking so much. Cut that fabric (you have more) and look at it. What's in your brain and what's visually in front of you are _two different things_. Cut, look, trust your instinct, make.
**_Crown of Thorns / _**<PERSON>, quilted by <PERSON>, 2011, 71˝ × 71˝, from the collection of <PERSON> and <PERSON>
**_Stripes, Plaids, and Polka Dots / _<PERSON>, quilted by <PERSON>, 2011, 86˝ × 91˝; from the collection of the International Quilt Study Center & Museum, University of Nebraska–Lincoln, 2016.009.0006
Making <PERSON> plates are a really fun and easy way to make a complicated looking
|
88c7865c-3357-df32-adc2-2272141b4b73
|
['159cf565-fd55-9168-e3a4-f73760011ca0']
|
project, and let the story change as I go._
All the while I am looking to see what I can do next. Is it telling the story I want to tell? Does the scale fit? Is it balanced? What lines am I creating? Where am I telling people to look? All these questions are answered as I add color and shapes to my design wall. I am looking and watching my own process as I work. Is it ebbing and flowing? Will it surprise me in the end and make the hair rise on my arms? Am I getting that intuitive physical feeling while I am working on it? If not, I have not worked it hard enough.
I ask myself more questions. I look to see what is working or not. I take photos to double-check what I am seeing, because our brains like to take over and fill in the visual without actually seeing. I ask others for what they see, but I only take it as their account and not actual fact for my process. I make what I want and need to make. I make to please myself and no one else. I give myself permission to be selfish in my creative process.
As I work, the story could veer into an entirely different conversation. I can accept that or not. I decide very quickly which way it needs to be driven. I hear the questions. I ask the questions. And I move on. I do not dillydally on making choices. I find that the right answer is the one I am faced with at that moment. There will be time to come up with more ideas, more conversations, but at that very moment, my instinct is the only one that is correct. The more I make, the more questions I ask, the more I am driven to finish and create another idea. Once I have made a complete thought—the quilt—I'm over it, and I move on to start the next project.
**_20 Things I Like About You / _**<PERSON>, 2013, 20˝ × 20˝, hand quilted, from the collection of Kathy J. Havelka
Staying stagnant in the skill set and idea will not help me grow creatively. I must start the cycle again, allow the process to change again, add new elements, add new skills, and continue to look. Once looking stops, ideas stop. Looking is the adventure and the challenge. You must risk something of your process to grow artistically. Give yourself permission to take those risks.
**_Marriage of Scraps / <PERSON>, quilted by <PERSON>, 2012–2018, 63˝ × 75˝
**_<PERSON>, <PERSON>, and China / _<PERSON>, quilted by <PERSON>, 2012–2018, 72˝ × 76˝
People bring what I call "color baggage" to their creative path—colors that they may have unfavorable feelings about. I organized a challenge BOM quilt where participants had to use these colors. They would be forced to look at the color, let go of what they disliked about it, and find a way to mix colors they
|
62026b5a-90c9-c845-c0b6-730e306cef9e
|
['15db4834-4daf-9e43-e5c5-5e5b0cc54c02']
|
check.
He'd carried the whole thing off well. If <PERSON> had been playing a hunch, he'd lost his wad. He knew now there was nothing to get out of <PERSON>. There was nothing damning in being in Scotland when <PERSON> died. There was nothing damning in having been in London afterwards. Except that he'd told <PERSON> he knew nothing of what had happened. He might have been expected to know from London. Actually there'd not been a thing in the papers to tie unrelated crimes with the death of <PERSON>. He'd never seen <PERSON>'s name in print. But he didn't want to go into such explanations, they sounded like alibis. He had no alibis; he needed none.
The car was where he'd left it. If the police had gone after dust, they hadn't taken much. The floor mat was no cleaner than it had been. He felt swell only he was hungry. It was too early for dinner, not more than a bit after four. A big delicatessen sandwich and a bottle of beer wouldn't spoil his dinner. Not after the starvation wages he'd been on today.
He was lucky, finding a parking place directly in front of the delicatessen. He was always lucky. He ought to kick himself for the megrims he'd had these last couple of days. Something must be wrong with his liver. Or perhaps he was coming down with a cold. From that nap on the beach. Actually he knew what was wrong. It was having <PERSON> walk out on him. If she'd been around he wouldn't have had a case of nerves.
He ordered salami and swiss on rye with his beer. Someone had discarded an afternoon paper in the next booth. He reached out for it, folded it back to its regular paging, first page first. The story was still on first. The police had given up questioning the fiancé and the college friends and the father; they were satisfied none of them knew any more about the <PERSON> case than did the police themselves. The police were talking fingerprints now. That was a lot of eyewash. Sand didn't take fingerprints.
<PERSON> was probably having the force develop fingerprints off that piece of paper right now. Because <PERSON> would be thorough. Or maybe he'd had them lifted off the steering wheel, you could get dandies off a steering wheel. Only trouble was he had nothing to match them up with. A beachful of sand.
<PERSON> enjoyed the sandwich. The beer tasted fine. So good that he considered another but he didn't want to hang around here. The phone might be ringing at the apartment. <PERSON> might be waiting there. He bought a couple of bottles to take out and he hurried away. His luck had turned, and that meant <PERSON> was coming home.
He was left-turning off the drive when he caught sight of the car. The same shabby black sedan with the same two average men in it. He was certain it was the same. He slowed his speed, eased his car around the
|
b23dd9ea-33c5-4544-d678-1bbd6093dff2
|
['15db4834-4daf-9e43-e5c5-5e5b0cc54c02']
|
to do? Move in on somebody else? You can't carry a wife with you living that way. Get a job? You don't want a job. And you couldn't get one that would pay enough to keep me in war paint. I'm expensive, <PERSON>.'
He was choked up. 'My uncle –'
'What uncle?'
'My uncle, back in Princeton. You're wrong about that, I've got an uncle and he's got the chips.'
'You haven't got them,' she said cruelly. 'Don't try to tell me he's cutting you in. I know guys in the chips. They don't keep a girl cooped up in an apartment, they're out spending.'
In the silence, the roar of the coffee percolator blurred his ears. He saw her as she walked over to the table, he was grateful when she shut out the sound. She drew two cups, handed one to him.
'Let's face it, <PERSON>. It's been swell but –'
Panic made his voice too loud. 'You're not calling quits?'
She spoke quickly, stammering a little. 'No, no. I didn't mean that. But it can't be for keeps, <PERSON>. You know that as well as I. I'm not saying that if you had half the money that stinker of an ex had, I wouldn't marry you. Want to marry you.' She finished her coffee and drew another cup.
Automatically, he said, 'Don't drink too much of that. You won't be able to sleep.'
'I don't expect to sleep very well.' There was sadness in her voice again.
She moved to the dressing-table bench as he went to the end table. He put sugar and cream in his coffee. He stirred it, the spoon whorled the liquid, churned it as a storm churned the sea. He put away the spoon and he drank some of the coffee. He said, 'You're not telling me everything, <PERSON>. You're keeping something back. You're through with me.'
'No, no, I'm not,' she protested quickly. He ought to tell her to stop saying that – no, no, no.
She went on haltingly, 'There's only one thing. If I land what I'm after, it'll mean leaving town.'
He waited until he could speak quietly. 'What kind of a job is it?'
'It's a show. Musical. They're casting it here on the coast. I've got a good chance.' Life returned to her eyes. 'It means Broadway – after that, the pictures. Starring, not a peasant in the background.'
'Broadway.' He could go back East, he could get things fixed up with Uncle <PERSON>! Everything was going to be all right. He was sick of California anyhow. 'Broadway,' he repeated and he smiled. 'Baby, that's wonderful. Wonderful.'
A childish surprise came into her face at his reaction. He finished his coffee, set down the cup. He walked with excitement. 'That's terrific, <PERSON>. Why didn't you tell me? I've got to go back home in a couple of months anyway. You're right about my uncle. The old skinflint has hardly given me enough to eat on, that's why I've been pinching the pennies. And if it weren't for <PERSON>
|
2b3e9358-2bff-7e25-fc35-63c876d3852c
|
['161afd84-78d3-9a13-fd71-83b8f76f967f']
|
pups mischievously stealing his way into <PERSON>'s broken heart. And while it's true that there will never be another <PERSON>, it was our experience with <PERSON>—and the desire to honor how <PERSON> had loved, shaped, and enriched us—that got us thinking about getting another dog.
After <PERSON>'s ashes were buried in our backyard, I began to do something I told myself I wouldn't do. I knew I needed to grieve <PERSON>. I needed time, I told myself. Plus, I was sure no other dog could replace him. Or maybe it was the fear that I would actually love another dog and forget <PERSON>. Nevertheless, I found myself online, searching for dog breeders. I told <PERSON> that this time we should get a female yellow Lab. Going opposite in color and gender to <PERSON> seemed a nice way of keeping our memory of him. The more I searched, the more right it felt.
Months passed, and with each week, I became more certain: I wanted us to get another dog. I wanted <PERSON> and <PERSON> to bond again with a dog. <PERSON> was afraid I was going too fast—what if we'd just gotten lucky with <PERSON>? Naturally, I drew on my research on dogs and spirituality to make my case. I told <PERSON> that our kids needed a new puppy because dogs echo a deeply spiritual reality, connecting us to empathy, bonding, and play...in other words, pretty much reciting to her what I had just invested months of work to learn, and I had the Amazon bills to prove it. How could she resist a little cognitive ethology?
Turns out she could, and did.
When my intellectual justifications fell short, I went back to the basics: Our kids had never helped raise a puppy; they knew life only with an adult dog. Having a puppy would be enriching to them and would grow them as spiritual human beings!
Again, she looked at me like I was full of it.
A puppy in particular, she reminded me, would drop a ton of chaos into our lives. My stomach turned when I thought about standing outside in the middle of the night teaching the puppy to pee in the grass and not on the carpet, but in the end, the real reason I wanted a new puppy was that I wanted <PERSON> and <PERSON> to have another dog to play with. I wanted a dog who would celebrate <PERSON>'s and <PERSON>'s presence with excitement, always reflecting to them that they were beautiful and worthy of attention. I wanted a dog who would summon them into shared play, helping them rest in the knowledge that they are wonderfully made. (You can see that I couldn't help but drift out into the theological deep.)
Finally, <PERSON> agreed to think about it.
On a family road trip, I knew we'd pass within a couple of hundred miles of a breeder, so I had taken his number with me. With <PERSON> open to the idea of a puppy, I asked <PERSON> and <PERSON> what they thought about it. The
|
16564088-2a01-127a-559d-cd0be67d79e9
|
['161afd84-78d3-9a13-fd71-83b8f76f967f']
|
<PERSON> 300 years ago, the vehicle that can take you from basin to the stars is a telescope.
On a mountaintop a few miles from Pasadena, the Carnegie Institute built an observatory that they hoped would be the greatest in the world. If <PERSON> could have seen it he would have been shocked and filled with wonder. In 1917 they installed a 100-inch telescope called Hooker. And in another spooky irony of history, the same year (1919) that Eddington was making <PERSON> world-famous, the observatory hired a young Midwestern cosmologist named <PERSON>. With this huge telescope, <PERSON> was witnessing how massively infinite the universe was, observing that it stretched beyond the Milky Way, and that galaxies themselves where farther away from each other than had been thought. "Some [of these galaxies] were millions of light-years away. (One light-year is the distance that light, which travels at 186,000 miles per second, traverses in a year. A light-year is about 6,000,000,000,000 miles.)"[3] The size was so massive that <PERSON> would have choked if he'd heard it.
As <PERSON> was mapping the big infinity, finding ways of calculating the space between stars, using the Doppler effect to discover that they were even farther away than had been assumed, he had an odd breakthrough. The distance between these stars seemed to be growing; the galaxies themselves were moving further and further apart. In 1929, two years after <PERSON>, Hubble published his findings. And like <PERSON> to <PERSON>, Hubble proved the Belgian priest correct—again, observation proved mathematics.
Building off of <PERSON>'s theory of relativity, Hubble showed that spacetime was like a rubber sheet with galaxies drawn on top of it. As it was stretched in expansion, it moved galaxies further and further apart. The universe was indeed expanding. It was not only infinitely massive, but growing.
In the early 1930s <PERSON> was spending a few months in Pasadena at Caltech. One evening he jumped into a Pierce-Arrow touring car to drive up Mount Wilson, to see for himself what <PERSON> had spotted. When he did, <PERSON> asserted that his cosmological constant was indeed the biggest blunder of his scientific life. Why he ever added it, he didn't know. If he hadn't, if <PERSON> had stuck with his original assumption of 1915 that indeed the universe had to be either expanding or contracting, then it is possible that the Big Bang would be called the Einstein Bang—or maybe something more clever.
As it is, Hubble's Law stands. While <PERSON> had the equations that the universe was in motion, it was <PERSON> who showed that its movement was expansion. Galileo's few-inch telescope had knocked us off center, revealing that space was big and relativizing the earth next to other planets. Hubble's 100-inch telescope not only confirmed that our planet was not at the center of our galaxy, but also revealed that our Milky Way was not at the center of the universe. Spacetime is more infinite than we imagined, and it is growing!
# Youth Ministry and Astrophysics
<PERSON> was surprised, and then surprised that he was surprised,
|
e4a37498-281d-2ee9-043e-eaf0ea1e913c
|
['16900234-40d3-af68-8444-41b90c6aed04']
|
wasn't slurring, he was becoming a bit unsealed around the edges.
"That's the thing. Nobody created them. Didn't you cover <PERSON> in your early science classes?"
This time, <PERSON> had to give him a withering glance. "I'm crèche-get, remember? We use his equations to analyze gaseous mixtures." _All of which project our imminent death_.
"That's physical chemistry. He also shook the world with his theories of entropy and probability."
"I thought you mentioned brains. He also worked in biochemistry?" <PERSON> took another small sip and went back to watching the display.
"No, the idea of a <PERSON> brain came much later, though it's based upon his ideas of probability. The theory is..." <PERSON> eyes closed and <PERSON> thought he'd fallen asleep, but he suddenly opened his eyes and continued with renewed vigor. "Anything might spontaneously come into being even though it has a minute probability of doing do. So intelligence might pop into existence on its own, rather than evolving or developing."
"Yeah, I vaguely remember that from my cosmology." <PERSON> scratched his nose. It didn't seem relevant to mention he'd almost flunked the subject. "But the theory is about intelligence rather than life, right? And that sort of intelligence isn't supposed to happen until billions and billions of years have passed, toward the end of our universe."
"That's the thingk about probabililility." <PERSON> words were slurring, hindering his clipped enunciation. His eyes twinkled and he took another hefty gulp of liquor. "Just because somthingk isn't _probabable_ , doesn't mean it can't happen, even in the first seconds of the universe."
"Why don't you close your eyes," <PERSON> said in a soothing voice.
<PERSON> did exactly that, continuing to mutter incomprehensibly.
<PERSON> sighed and stared at the visual display, which he set at high magnification. He was tired and sleepy from the low oxygen content in the air. He watched the blinking lights of the buoy and they became mesmerizing. Perhaps if he closed his eyes . . . at the edge of the display, a flare of heat and light changed the picture.
"Whoa!" He sat upright, his heart racing. "Lower display-two's magnification by ten and pan right. Stop!"
<PERSON> opened his eyes at <PERSON>'s outburst and looked at the display in puzzlement. "Air's nothin' dere."
<PERSON>'s lungs labored and he squinted at the display, feeling dizzy. With effort, he slowed his panting. He was sure something had set off the mines in a distinctly bloblike area. He wished he had the instrumentation available on the _Aether's Touch_.
"Increase magnification by ten. Again." <PERSON> definitely got a sense of distortion from that area of the channel.
"We might be looking at some sort of stealth technology," <PERSON> said.
"Wishful tinkin'—you're hallucinatink." <PERSON> shut his eyes again.
"I should try a distress call. Perhaps tell them that we see them."
"Ever'one'll hear ya." <PERSON> was reminding him the broadcast was omnidirectional, meaning the isolationists on the _Pilgrimage III_ would hear his distress call.
<PERSON> chewed on this complication for a moment. Sure, it hurt his ego
|
38b00e90-51fa-2e7a-08a1-4659fd8258f7
|
['16900234-40d3-af68-8444-41b90c6aed04']
|
were planted within the "cleared" R&D contractors, how many were now on Beta Priamos and the surface of Priamos? She wondered what had happened to <PERSON>.
The door to the room opened, ending their discussion. Two Terran women entered, the first reluctantly stepping in while their captors pushed in the second.
"Where did you take my son?" the second woman asked shrilly, tossing her burgundy hair. She started back toward her captors and stopped when she was menaced with a flechette pistol.
<PERSON> stood up and folded her arms as she watched. The door closed and the second Terran woman changed, instantly becoming cold efficiency. When she turned around, she didn't acknowledge <PERSON>, even though they'd met, briefly, when she'd beaten <PERSON> and left her lying on the station deck.
"Laying mines in buoy channels is against the Phaistos Protocols," <PERSON> said.
"These guys must think they're beyond any Minoan retribution." <PERSON> adjusted the cam-eye focus, making the shuttles sharper. The actual mines weren't visible, but they could watch the process of placing and arming them.
"Why are they bothering?" <PERSON> asked. "After all, the buoy is still locked down by Pilgrimage; entry to the system requires getting a key from us, or rather, from them. No one's getting into this solar system after the _Father's Wrath_."
"Really?" <PERSON> looked at <PERSON> with what he hoped was an innocent expression. "Perhaps they've heard the rumors that generational ship lines sell secret codes to governments, even the Minoans."
"That doesn't happen." <PERSON> gaze shifted away from <PERSON>.
"Most generational crew aren't in the position to confirm or deny those codes, but you're the ship's general counsel. You'd know about such negotiations." Then, when <PERSON> didn't respond to his probing, <PERSON> snorted and shook his head. "Look, I'm crèche-get too! I won't be telling anyone about any secret codes, but if there's a _chance_ a ship could come through, we should get into a position to warn them, shouldn't we?"
<PERSON> jaw hardened. After a few moments, he nodded slowly. "We negotiated with both CAW and TerraXL for override keys, which are restricted to emergency use."
"At this point, I'm happy to hear that."
"But," <PERSON> said, taking a heavy breath, "those codes can't be used when the buoy is locked down, unless the ship authorizes it. Someone on the control deck might have switched it on."
"<PERSON> What's-his-face looks like he's preparing for visitors." <PERSON> pointed at the screen.
"He might be extra cautious, or prepared for Minoans."
"They have special keys?"
<PERSON> shrugged. "They make the time buoys, so who knows what they can do? So far, if they have special overrides, we've never seen them used."
<PERSON> turned and watched the shuttles finish their jobs. Ships coming back to real-space never superimposed upon each other, due to "magic" in the Minoan time buoy network. Pilots had to be sharp about announcing their vectors and moving out of the channel, because the buoy sensed impediments in the channels and delays could ripple through the
|
dfd78f75-5741-7f20-b5cd-ca155920d144
|
['1731995f-ce90-3394-7c55-c2bba49938c0']
|
most important things we should teach our children to prepare them for a world that will not care for them as we would? What are the most important things we should teach aspiring athletes who desire to break the records of the past, the fledgling performers who aspire to bring us to our feet in spontaneous applause, and the students whose search for knowledge is not merely an academic pursuit but a passion? What is it we would teach the researchers who dream of curing cancer, the visionaries in business and finance who want to develop more efficient and effective organizations, those in leadership who understand that their legacy will reside not in what they take, but in what they leave to those who followed, and to the parents who understand that success in childrearing is defined as eventually seeing their role of parent in their children's lives become obsolete?
The answer we believe is to learn to be resilient in the wake of adversity, rejection, unfairness, and failure. Develop your own variation of psychological body armor derived from the five factors of human resilience discussed within this book. But as you consider how these five factors are applicable to your own life, here are a few things to keep in mind.
### 1. SIMPLICITY MATTERS
It is our collective opinion that the essence of human resilience resides in the five factors we have presented in this volume. When we initially published our findings in a professional journal, we identified seven characteristics of highly resilient people:
1. Optimism
2. Decisive action
3. Honesty
4. Tenacity
5. Interpersonal connectedness
6. Self-control
7. _Présence d'esprit:_ calm, innovative, nondogmatic thinking
In _Stronger,_ we have focused on the first five, our five factors of personal resilience, as major chapters while integrating aspects of self-control and nondogmatic thinking throughout those chapters simply for ease of presentation. That is not to diminish the respective values of the last two.
The science of human resilience can be paralyzingly granular and abstruse. Our quest was not intended to be definitive but to offer a user-friendly, heuristic, and prescriptive formulation.
### 2. OUR FIVE FACTORS ARE SEQUENTIAL
Ideally, our five factors of personal resilience are a sequential prescription:
1. _Active Optimism._ Active optimism is more than a hope or a belief. It's a _mandate_ to bounce back, to be successful, to avoid being a victim. Active optimism is the belief that you can be an agent of change. Optimism breeds self-confidence that can become a self-fulfilling prophecy when it is honed with a dose of realism. Optimistic people are often viewed as more attractive to others than are pessimists. But the optimistic mandate to be resilient alone is not enough. It must lead to . . .
2. _Decisive Action._ You must act in order to rebound. You must learn to leave behind the comfort of the status quo and make difficult decisions. To paraphrase <PERSON>, if all you do is sit on the right track and wait for something to happen, it will. You will get run over. Or,
|
ababa0c7-d975-3cf9-c25e-4ebcd0f8b219
|
['1731995f-ce90-3394-7c55-c2bba49938c0']
|
success may have to be redefined occasionally). Marine General <PERSON> is quoted in _Time_ magazine about his change of direction during the Korean War's Battle of Chosin Reservoir. He said, "Retreat, hell! We're not retreating, we're just advancing in a different direction." To find hidden opportunities and aid in physical and psychological energy, rely upon . . .
5. _Interpersonal Support._ Remember, no person is, nor ever should be, an island. Great strength is derived from the support of others. Going through life alone means no one has your back. Surround yourself with those of a compassionate heart and supportive presence. Knowing when to rely upon others is a sign of strength and wisdom. Supportive relationships are most commonly earned, however. Give to others. Be supportive without any expectation of a return. It will be the best external investment you can ever make.
### 3. RESILIENCE CAN BE LEARNED AT ANY AGE
Of course, we acknowledge that some things are best learned at a young age. This is because of the enhanced neural plasticity, or malleability, of the young brain. Ironically, according to new research, extreme adversity, stress, and traumatic events can cause the release of a cascade of neurological and neuroendocrine events that mimic, if not temporarily replicate, the neural plasticity of youth and in doing so actually facilitate learning.
The stress-related neurotransmitters norepinephrine and glutamate, as well as the N-methyl-D-aspartate (NMDA) receptor, a glutamate neurotransmitter receptor, are the predominant devices for controlling neuronal synaptic plasticity, which is the cellular basis for memory formation and memory function. Norepinephrine and NMDA are known to enhance memory under highly stressful conditions. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes it's not. A key phenomenological characteristic of many life-changing events is the fact that the memories of those events are easily recalled, often in vivid detail. They reside for a lifetime just beneath consciousness, ready to surface at a moment's notice. During our extensive work at Ground Zero after the 9/11 attacks, we were struck by the fact that the memories of that day were seared into the minds of those who were there, seemingly immune to the usual memory-degradation process.
On a more positive note, the first author still remembers the nurse who aided me after an unexpected surgery in a hospital away from home. I was afraid. She brought me ice cream. I proposed. She declined, citing an age disparity. I was 5, she was 28. I still remember her face.
Resilience is often about focusing on the positive aspects of life-changing events while minimizing the negative. Some argue that life-changing events that seem horrific at first later become a platform for subsequent growth and new opportunities.
### 4. SELF-EFFICACY IS A USEFUL FRAMEWORK BY WHICH TO LEARN EACH OF THE FIVE FACTORS OF HUMAN RESILIENCE
<PERSON> brilliant model for acquiring self-efficacy and personal agency (the optimistic belief that you can be an effective agent of change) is a useful tool for learning each of our five factors of human resilience. So let's review. Bandura offers four learning prescriptions for the acquisition
|
73c1907c-de76-a767-30eb-f56e03eaf9aa
|
['1748c064-4a50-0908-14d3-e170723ccc5c']
|
she fell.
Right on her hat.
"You're right," he growled, squishing it flat beneath her with his weight. "That was damn cathartic." He then tucked her body more fully beneath his, and once again she found herself right where secretly she'd wanted to be.
Under him.
His smug smile faded as he looked down into her eyes, and indeed, all of her temper faded as well. Damn him, she thought, swallowing hard when he spread his hands on either side of her face. Damn him all over again because his mouth was lowering to hers, and all on its own, her mouth rose up—
"Oh, my," came a shocked female voice as two sandaled feet came into view. Peach toenail polish and two silver toe rings.
_Suzanne._
"Hmm," came another female voice, not shocked, wearing black combat boots.
_Nicole._
"Maybe we should go away," <PERSON> whispered, presumably to <PERSON>.
"Definitely going away," <PERSON> agreed.
And not one of the four feet moved.
With a sigh, <PERSON> shoved at <PERSON>. With one last stroke of his thumb over her bottom lip, he surged to his feet, bringing her up with him.
Indeed both <PERSON> and <PERSON> stood there, gaping, <PERSON> in one of her flowery, flowing sundresses with crystals in her ears, and <PERSON> in a black tank and camouflage pants.
Neither of her friends said a word, just looked at them both with shock.
Not that <PERSON> could blame them. Dry, <PERSON> was a most amazing specimen of a man—tall, built and hot.
Wet, he was every woman's fantasy.
Especially hers.
<PERSON> thrust out his hand as if he hadn't just been sprawled over the top of their best friend. "I'm <PERSON>."
"<PERSON>," <PERSON> said slowly, eyeing him very carefully as she shook his hand. "And this is <PERSON>."
<PERSON> shook her hand, too, smiling, looking totally and completely at ease even as water ran from his hair and down his face.
"I, uh..." <PERSON> looked at <PERSON>, for the first time in her life utterly at loss for words. "We were...just..."
"I think we know what you were just," <PERSON> said with a straight face.
<PERSON> couldn't keep hers though, and she grinned. "You were making out. On the grass. With water. On your pretty clothes. You even squashed your hat. Oh, <PERSON>." She laughed and clapped her hands together. "It's so wonderful."
<PERSON> patted her hair, and <PERSON> snorted. "Oh yeah," her supposed friend said. "You're a wreck. Your hair, your makeup, your clothes, everything."
<PERSON>'s lips twitched as he eyed <PERSON>'s friends in appreciation. "She looks good all messed up, doesn't she?"
<PERSON> shot him a sideways glance. "You like her that way?"
<PERSON>'s gaze held <PERSON>'s prisoner. "I think I like her this way best of all."
<PERSON> looked at <PERSON> pointedly.
<PERSON> looked away, but she figured by the look on <PERSON>'s face he'd seen the blush anyway.
He saw everything.
"You've done it, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said. "You've found the right man for you. No fancy suit, no fancy hairdo, no fancy words... Oh yeah, I like
|
f382da0e-edbe-0ca0-5f44-7555d5aec419
|
['1748c064-4a50-0908-14d3-e170723ccc5c']
|
single, solitary thought in her head except for _more, please, please, more._
His hands danced over her body, gripping her hips, squeezing, before racing roughly up her spine to press her closer to his hot, hard length. His mouth shifted from gentle to ravishing so fast her head spun, leaving her no choice but to fly with him.
Which was exactly what she'd wanted, it was what she'd wanted since she'd first set eyes on him.
Then he pulled back, staring into her eyes while his fingers played with the teeny-tiny straps on her shoulders.
He wanted her. He'd come for her when she'd called him, he'd come and been there for her in a way no one had in so long she'd forgotten how good it felt.
No matter what they each claimed, this was no comfort sex. Maybe <PERSON> wasn't ready to admit it, but she could wait for the words.
The actions though...those she needed, desperately. Now. She could feel her nipples, rigid against the silk. She could feel her thighs, and the dampness between them, and the blood roaring through her veins. Every single atom in her body was vibrantly aware, overly sensitized and aroused. She was tingling all over, so full of anticipation and raging need she could hardly stand it.
She didn't have to. <PERSON> yanked off his shirt. Kicked off his shoes, then his pants, before coming back to her.
At the sight of him, she caught her breath. He was amazing. Magnificent. _Huge._ She would have looked at him forever, but he yanked her against him, hard.
Hard was good. Bending her back over his arm, he put his mouth on her breast through the material of her nightie, and nearly sent her through the roof. His hand skimmed down her legs, then back up again, beneath the material now. Up the back of her thigh.
Where he discovered she wasn't wearing panties.
The knowledge ripped a rough groan from him and a shiver of thrill from her.
If he didn't get to the rest soon, now, she was going to explode. Looping her arms around his neck, she slid her silk against his hot, pulsing, vibrating body.
Tensing, his hands tightened on her. "<PERSON>..."
"Yes," she sighed into his ear, then rimmed it with her tongue, making him groan and his body jerk. Encouraged, she slid her tongue down the side of his throat, thrilling to the way his fingers dug into her hips.
"Condom," he growled, frustration pouring off him. "I don't have a—"
"I do." She pulled back, giving him a small, secret smile as she stroked her fingers over her own breast.
"I tucked one right in here."
His mouth fell open as if he needed it that way just to breathe.
"Are you going to get it?" she asked, the words barely out of her mouth before he yanked on the rib bon beneath her breasts, spilling them free. As the nightie fell away, he found the small foil packet.
Scooping it up, he stared at it. "You packed
|
e209a1ef-104e-0ed9-903b-500159ffebcb
|
['17b3892b-3815-83bc-7f19-6de6a0fc85b6']
|
the room, and as he did so he was looking at her as though she was completely and certifiably insane.
In the sitting room, the dregs were left: <PERSON>, and the <PERSON>, and two or three other people, and <PERSON>, who was standing on the other side of the fireplace, the side closest to the door, talking very intensely to <PERSON>.
"Coat," <PERSON> said, and she handed <PERSON> his coat, and <PERSON> appeared to help <PERSON> on with hers.
"Oh, what a gentleman, isn't he, <PERSON>?" <PERSON> said drily.
"<PERSON> and <PERSON>," <PERSON> said, with a huge smile. "It's been such a pleasure. Do you want me to show you where to get a taxi?"
"No, no," <PERSON> said. "It's not far. At least not for <PERSON>."
<PERSON> stared at him. Sobriety seemed to jolt through her. Would he not come back to Baggot Street? It was so close. It made no sense, surely, for him to go all the way back to Thomas Street, not for the sake of a couple of hours—and besides, it had been so nice, cuddled up to him, cozied up to him in the alcove of rugs and roses—would he not, would he not, come and stay?
They called goodbye to everyone, and <PERSON> said she would walk them out, and as she left the room, <PERSON> went with her—not, <PERSON> noticed, saying goodbye to <PERSON>, which made her, in turn, want to say to <PERSON> a much more effusive, pointed sort of goodbye.
"I'll keep praying for you," she said, putting her arms up to be embraced by him.
"Pray hard, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said from the sofa. "Pray long and hard."
And then she was at the front door, with <PERSON> and with <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, her new friend, was so nice to her, and seemed to really like and respect her, and told her that she had a beautiful singing voice, and that it mattered nothing at all about the words.
"<PERSON>," <PERSON> said, from behind them; from the middle of the big, now empty, central room. They glanced around at him, all three of them, and he beckoned to <PERSON>, who muttered, to <PERSON> presumably, his apology, and stepped towards <PERSON> with, <PERSON> thought, something almost businesslike in his eyes. And left alone together now, <PERSON> and <PERSON> could chat a bit more, and so they did, and <PERSON> was so friendly, so easy to talk to, and when she smiled at <PERSON>, <PERSON> felt so much approved of, and when, in the next instant, her gaze traveled over <PERSON>'s shoulder, and caught on something there, and decided on something—made a very obvious and conscious decision—to come back to <PERSON>, but looked different as soon as it did so, looked full of something else, some wariness or wryness; when her gaze did this, <PERSON> knew that it was telling her not to look around, not to look to the middle of the room. <PERSON>'s eyes were fast on hers; they were full, <PERSON> thought, of the sentence _Stay here,_ and <PERSON> was
|
c6dcbfaf-471a-b961-669a-c8f8e97d29f3
|
['17b3892b-3815-83bc-7f19-6de6a0fc85b6']
|
in every way—and yet, there were moments when she saw the ways in which they were so different. And she did not like those moments. She found herself moving quickly to chase those moments away.
"Well," her mother said now, more pointedly; <PERSON> had not given her any answer to her question. "Well? Is there anything you want to tell me? Is there anyone you—"
"No," <PERSON> said, pushing back from the table.
"Are you _sure?_ "
"Yes, I'm sure," <PERSON> said. "And I think that tea towel's folded now."
"Don't be so bloody smart!"
"I'm not being smart."
"I'm only trying to have a simple conversation with you!"
"About <PERSON>," <PERSON> spat.
"<PERSON>!" Her mother glanced, horrified, towards the open back door. "Watch what you're saying!"
"Well? That's it, isn't it?" <PERSON> said, crossing to the sink angrily. "He saw me with my friend up at the train station, and he told <PERSON>, and now I'm in trouble, and I didn't even _do_ anything." Forget fifteen: she sounded ten, now, and she was dismayed at how easily this had happened, at how automatically her voice had become this babyish whine; but in the next moment, she had decided that she was perfectly entitled to whine, and that she might as well go the whole hog, and she banged down her bowl. "It's not _fair,_ " she said, folding her arms.
"Stop that, <PERSON>," her mother said warningly. She put one hand on the table and the other on the counter, blocking <PERSON>'s way to the door. "I just want to talk to you."
"I didn't _do_ anything," <PERSON> said, and she tried for a contemptuous laugh which would make clear her feelings about all of this, but as soon as she started it she realized that it would come out as a sob, so she swallowed it back down. "<PERSON> is nothing but a creep. Everyone hates him, and yet you all still listen to him."
Her mother raised an eyebrow, as though to say she could not argue with this, but nor could she openly agree. "He says he saw you with your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Well, you were seen holding hands with him, whatever he is."
"We were listening to my Walkman, for <PERSON>'s sake!"
"Well, if you're going to be so public about it, you can't be surprised when somebody sees you."
"Oh my God. Oh my God. We weren't doing anything! He's a friend! He's an old friend of <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s, and he was going in the direction of the train station anyway, and I wanted to tell him about this song—this song I like—"
She stopped. She could hear how unconvincing it sounded. And, also, she was reeling a little, in shock a little, that already she had pushed an untruth into the story; <PERSON> had not, after all, been going in the direction of the train station anyway. He had gone there especially for her. To sit with her. To hug her goodbye. To wave her off from the
|
8e42b3f3-7fac-e5ca-4485-f36739bed51e
|
['19631a76-3acc-96d8-6c78-a3d0e36341e2']
|
one knew you were there the scientist tells me that we have been disappearing for a long time now the evangelist tells me this is what happens when you make a mockery of time the television tells me this is really the best thing that could have happened to a burning city my mother was born in a city that is asking how this happened i was born in a city that knows how this happened i was born in the same city as my mother i was born in this city which i am told makes it mine my father was not born in this city but has lived here longer than I have been alive can you claim something as your own if you don't remember how you found it i come from a city that is drowning while being told it is rinsing itself clean
**Lifeline**
my city sustains itself by hosting
those who will not stay
_they eat, they drink_
_they laugh, they dance_
_they buy, they spend_
_they come, they go_
to survive
we need the money
of those who do not care
who we have been
but only what we offer
it's not that i'm resentful
it's just that we are addicted
to what always leaves us
**The Protest Novel Responds to <PERSON>**
You misunderstand me, <PERSON>. This isn't for them. This is for you, for us. This here is catharsis. You are right that I have a point to make. Miss Ophelia wasn't written to show white folks who they are but to show them who they need to be. Bigger <PERSON> wasn't made to suggest that we aren't more than this anger, he was written for our boys to know they're not alone in feeling it. This is a protest against isolation, against loneliness, against thinking you're the only one experiencing the trauma that leaves a man full of cracks. Didn't you say that, <PERSON>? That books showed you that you weren't alone in your pain? You talk about humanity, but what is more human than seeing yourself in another? I remember when holding me would have gotten you killed. Now you pen these pages yourself. Is that not a protest, <PERSON>? Is that not resisting all that they never meant for us to do? We've got to protest on these pages. This ink be our picket line. How can we write about the soil and not talk about the blood? How can we write about the tree and not talk about the noose? Ain't no _ars poetica_ here, <PERSON>. This here is for our survival.
**The Men in Orange**
The first time you step in a prison
will be for your orientation as a new
writing instructor at the correctional
center. They won't let you go beyond
the first room because your paper-
work has not processed. The room
smells like a place where few things
pass in & out; it will linger on
your tongue long after you depart. It
tastes like the time you were a boy
& saw all
|
dd26651c-92de-13ed-9023-c875216fd356
|
['19631a76-3acc-96d8-6c78-a3d0e36341e2']
|
I wasn't proud to be.
Now, sometimes it feels like these words are all I have.
Sometimes I forget who I was before these words,
before these stages, before the applause from strangers,
before being asked what I thought about things I didn't know.
<PERSON>, could you have ever imagined
what this dictionary would make of you? Do you
remember who you were before you picked up the pen?
**From the Cell Block**
<PERSON> has been in prison
since he was seventeen.
He has woken up every day
for the past thirty-eight years to
a cell block and diminishing
sense of what existed before.
On some days, he says,
he wakes up, looks
outside his window and misses
being able to see the trees,
how they change colors at the end
of September, how they fall
from each branch and litter
the ground like the dust
of secondhand stars. How he can
still hear them, the sound of
leaves skipping atop the concrete
on the other side of the wall.
**How to Make an Empty Cardboard Box Disappear in 10 Steps**
1) Find the scissors
2) Cut the sides of the cube
3) Attend the rally of <PERSON>
4) Attend the rally of <PERSON>
5) Attend the rally of <PERSON>
6) Attend the rally of <PERSON>
7) Attend the rally of <PERSON>
8) Attend the rally of <PERSON>
9) Find another empty box
10) Attend the rally of ____________
**Meteor Shower**
I read somewhere that meteor showers
are almost always named after
the constellation from which
they originate. It's funny, I think,
how even the universe is telling us
that we can never get too far
from the place that created us.
How there is always a streak of our past
trailing closely behind us
like a smattering of obstinate memories.
Even when we enter a new atmosphere,
become subsumed in flames, turn to dust,
lose ourselves in the wind, and scatter
the surface of all that rests beneath us,
we bring a part of where we are from
to every place we go.
**Chaos Theory**
If twenty million years ago
the butterfly flew in a different
direction do you think
we would have met, maybe
we wouldn't have even been
people, maybe we wouldn't
have even been us, you know,
maybe you would have
been a tortoise and I would
be a raspberry,
maybe we would both be plants
on opposite sides of the same
coral reef, so that we could
have been connected without
ever having met,
maybe I would be an oak cut
down to be the home that held
you, maybe I would have never
been, maybe the butterfly's wings
would have blown the seed
into the river
and away from the soil
which otherwise would have
become a bush of blueberries
which otherwise would have
been eaten by a squirrel or
some other prehistoric rodent
which otherwise
would have died
in a field of milkweeds
which otherwise would have
been carried by the wind
to another place
which otherwise might have
|
d8f30700-73a1-69ad-4d1c-12bc20914b6a
|
['19e4f8b4-76cd-9b3e-76bf-1ad608df834e']
|
a lavender robe. <PERSON> had thrown on a pair of jeans and a Jets sweatshirt. She fell into his arms and began sobbing into his chest. Holding her tight, he eased her onto a sofa, and they sat down.
We stood.
It took five minutes before either of them looked up. Finally, <PERSON> asked the inevitable. "Do you know who did it?"
"Not yet, sir," <PERSON> said. "But we will."
<PERSON> leaned over and whispered something in her husband's ear.
He shook his head. "Don't go there, <PERSON>."
"How could I _not_ go there?" she said, pulling away and turning to me. "I warned her. Over and over and over. I was the pushy big sister—the voice of doom—but I was right, and now she's dead."
The people who are closest to the victim are the ones who can help us most in the investigation, but usually they are too numb to answer questions immediately, so we try to schedule an interview as soon as they get past the initial shock. But <PERSON> seemed to have answers that couldn't wait.
"You warned her about what?" I asked.
"<PERSON>. I said, 'Get a restraining order. Get a gun. He'll kill you.'"
"Tell us about <PERSON>."
"<PERSON>, her cameraman. Her _protégé._ She hired him out of film school. He was a kid—maybe twenty-two—and she was thirty-eight. She said he was talented, but who knows? She was sleeping with him."
"But what made you tell your sister to get a gun?" <PERSON> asked, trying to get <PERSON> back on track. "Why did you think <PERSON> was going to kill her?"
"They fought all the time. One minute they'd be like two lovebirds, and the next minute they were like cats and dogs. He was unpredictable. And scary. The man has a terrible temper."
<PERSON> jumped in. "Temper, my ass," he said. "It was straight-up 'roid rage. He was always juiced up. One time they were at a restaurant, and <PERSON> got pissed at the waiter, so he smashed him in the face with one of those oversized pepper mills. Sent the guy to the hospital with a broken jaw."
"Did he ever hit <PERSON>?"
"Plenty," <PERSON> said.
"Did she call the police?" <PERSON> asked.
"<PERSON> wasn't the type to do anything like that," <PERSON> said. "She always needed to solve things her own way, in her own time. She fired him a couple of times, but she always took him back. I could never understand why."
"<PERSON>, <PERSON>. Take the blinders off. That muscle-bound dick was always belting her around. She kept coming back for more because that was a turn-on for <PERSON>. She was a total sex—"
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" <PERSON> screamed.
<PERSON> reached out to put his arms around her. "<PERSON>, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
She shoved him aside. "She's dead. Stop judging her!" <PERSON> shrieked, and ran out of the room in tears.
<PERSON> took a few steps after her, stopped, and then turned to us. "I'll be back," he said. "Don't go."
We didn't move. With or
|
b68418fd-c605-1974-6a19-d0da6dc31d18
|
['19e4f8b4-76cd-9b3e-76bf-1ad608df834e']
|
eyesight that made him nearly blind. His handwriting had become almost illegible. Diagnosed with cancer, he, too, retired in September (and died in December). With the new term set to open in October, <PERSON> moved quickly to name their replacements. His choices were <PERSON>, and <PERSON>.
<PERSON>, sixty-four, was a rail-thin and courtly Virginian who had been shocked when he had heard the news of _<PERSON>_ in 1954. Then, and until 1961, he had been head of the school board in Richmond. Although he had opposed the strategy of massive resistance, he and fellow board members (like most southern whites at the time) had done nothing to promote desegregation. When he stepped down from the board, there were only two black children among the 23,000 students in the city's public schools. <PERSON>, however, had a distinguished record as an attorney and had served a term as president of the American Bar Association. The Congressional Black Caucus opposed his nomination but failed to win over the Senate, which confirmed him in December 1971 by a vote of eighty-nine to one.
<PERSON>, then forty-seven, was a considerably more controversial choice. In 1952, as a law clerk for Justice <PERSON>, he had written a memorandum that favored the separate-but-equal doctrine of _<PERSON>_. Challenged during his confirmation hearings in 1971, he maintained (un-convincingly, most scholars think) that the memo reflected <PERSON>'s views, not his own. In 1953 he moved to Arizona to practice law and plunged into Republican politics. He campaigned for GOP presidential nominee <PERSON> in 1964. As an assistant attorney general in <PERSON>'s justice department he had frequently testified before congressional committees in support of a range of strongly held conservative positions. Liberals conceded that <PERSON>, an affable man, was articulate, intelligent, and gifted as a writer. But some senators could not abide the thought of him on the Court. When his nomination reached the Senate floor, sixty-five voted for it and twenty-six opposed. With <PERSON>, he was sworn in on January 7, 1972.
No president since <PERSON> in the early 1920s had been so fortunate as to name four Supreme Court justices during his first term. (FDR, of course, had not had the chance to name even one between 1933 and mid-1937, when he chose <PERSON>.) It was hardly surprising, therefore, that liberals expected the worst of the Burger Court, as it came to be called. The cartoonist <PERSON> dubbed it the Nixonburger Court.
Liberals had other reasons to worry about the Court in these years. <PERSON>, having emerged as an intellectual leader of the liberal bloc early in the 1960s, continued to be a strong member. In the last years of his tenure on the Court, however, <PERSON> disappointed liberals. Weakened by a stroke, he was both more testy and more conservative than he had been earlier. <PERSON>, who turned seventy-one in late 1969, kept the liberal faith. But he seemed more crotchety than ever. Worse, he struck many of his colleagues as indifferent to much of the Court's business. Whenever possible, he left Washington for
|
8746172c-ac4b-a74a-4f1b-20d2f8eccfc9
|
['1a9c24c7-d09d-d374-622e-328aa9a00e7a']
|
The next weekend, I hit Dior.
The funeral home heist was considerably more complicated; first off, how would I get in? The exterior windows were either too high to reach or firmly imprisoned by iron bars. Through the wired glass in the locked rear door, I looked in on a dark hallway. Without risking going around to the front, the only thing left to check was the rolling shutter of the truck bay.
The door was about seven feet tall, and at least that wide. Its corrugated metal was cold to the touch, yet surprisingly flimsy, a tinny flick revealed. At the base of the door a strap of thick fabric lay dusty on the concrete. It was locked.
So, I was either going around the street side of the building, or breaking in through a prime example of shoddy American craftsmanship. Neither <PERSON> nor <PERSON> must have been tremendously concerned about break-ins, or they would have upgraded to an actual door. I trotted to the car for a crowbar.
With very little effort, I wrenched the door up a foot, so I dropped back into the bay and grabbed a tire block for a wedge. After another shaky trip up the ladder, I put the block in place, lay on my back, and slid underneath, into linoleum-lined darkness.
The room was full of oblong crates, stacked nearly to the ceiling. On the far wall stood a machine that looked like a crane, with wide bands hanging. The floor was thick with dust; by the time I hauled my ass up, my hands were coated in gray must. A heavy odor permeated the room and likely the entire basement, a thick syrupy smell. Rot. Under that lived the wet stench of mildew, common to all basements, and a slight wisp of bleach. The silence of the space was impenetrable.
The room funneled into the murky black corridor. I approached the square of light projected from the outside door, and squinted down the hall, trying to distinguish shadow creatures from the very real monsters. Small alcoves were unevenly spaced and caught the light like snags, only to distort it into malevolent figures. I caught myself trembling, and, then, realized I had nothing to fear. I was the shadow creature.
I was the monster in the dark. People would be afraid. Not that they'd know right away, I was no mistake, lumbering around like some idiot, in a damaged body, constantly attacking, clawing, chewing, and killing. No. This creature was sleek and attractive. I might even get some volunteers.
The muscles in my back loosened their grip, with that bit of revelation.
I started down the hall. My heels clacked and echoed like a fucking Clydesdale. From somewhere in the bowels of the charnel house came a noise—choop-choop-choop—what could only be described as a mad shuffling and then silence. I froze, listened for more.
Nothing.
Nothing but dark hall and death stink. I was imagining things.
Why was I here? Oh yeah—makeup. Okay, it's not such a bad smell after all. I can live
|
0eade884-421d-bbe5-a7d4-4d866ae6de44
|
['1a9c24c7-d09d-d374-622e-328aa9a00e7a']
|
the real one showed up.
"My best friend's name was <PERSON>, and we'd known each other since grade school. His girlfriend was <PERSON>—I just loved her name, it reminded me of jodhpurs and shooting parties, still does. They had an unnatural interest in my romantic life, prodding for information, showering me with empathy, and oftentimes setting me up on blind dates.
"In those days Tacoma gays only frequented bars with sailor themes, or the back room at Lucky Wang's; I met my blind date at The Rusty Bucket. The place reeked of poorly wiped butt, a heady blend of musky sweat and Old Spice cologne, like a mediocre Cabernet gone to vinegar under Grandma <PERSON>'s sink. The bar seemed repurposed from a defunct bordello, its ceiling, once covered in a carved crimson velvet, hung loose like the felt roof lining of a shaggy Saab hardtop. Despite the grunge, The Rusty Bucket was a much more desirable locale than the Poop Deck, which a week prior had seen Dayton's first gay riot, Deckwall—Poopwall seemed too irreverent considering that nasty business in New York.
"<PERSON> was his name. <PERSON>. Three hundred pounds and a fake British accent that went in and out like pirate cable. <PERSON> snorted Vicks from those old dispensers that looked like little dildos. He kept reaching across the table for me with these greasy sausage fingers. I cringed and flattened myself on my side of the booth. There was only one thing to do. Drink.
"Over several pitchers, <PERSON> regaled me with his love of all things British, particularly fish and chips with lots of malt vinegar in the newspaper cone and never on a plate, from the stands and not a restaurant, although, he let on, he'd never been to England. I was trapped in Hell. I poured another beer.
"I noticed a man ordering something from the bar, a tall sexy thing with sandy blond hair, a strong square jaw, and most importantly, not three hundred pounds and wrapped in the Union Jack. His drink was coffee, and lucky me, he carried it to the table next to ours, so I could ogle him easily while pretending to listen to <PERSON>. He met my gaze a couple of times, seemed to be interested and then resumed his preferred activity: smelling his coffee.
"It was about the time when <PERSON> started in on the importance of <PERSON>, that my memory started to fuzz. I calculated my beer consumption at or about a pitcher and a half, maybe three quarters. I kind of remember being helped into a cab and landing on a foreign sofa, before passing out entirely.
"When I woke up I was in someone else's apartment. The coffee table in front of me was draped in crocheted doilies and stacks of dog-eared and bookmarked Hello magazines, the top one splashed with <PERSON> youthful face and a headline that read: <PERSON> Snogs Porn Strumpet. There was a picture of <PERSON> on the wall, but I didn't need that clue to realize I was
|
0f8447e4-5f51-5bc4-f9ed-21661156963a
|
['1ca8fdf4-c740-07fe-c199-be074f7d2699']
|
couple finally kisses, the lost dog returns, or the estranged father and son finally break down and hug. And as I caught myself looking at it from the outside, as I always did, I focused on being there, in that moment. It was a moment I had been waiting for as long as I could remember.
He sat there with me for a long time, and I'll never forget the way he kept patting me on my knee when people mentioned my work on behalf of the bill—and since there is so much pro forma praise members get if their bill actually reaches this point, that was a lot of knee patting. He was whispering to me in what my siblings and I called "Dad-speak." cryptic half sentences whose meaning was always somehow crystal clear.
"This is big, this is big," he kept saying. "You've really got something here."
And then after another member spoke, he would say, "Keep it up, keep it up, we'll work it out."
Because my father was there, New Jersey Congressman <PERSON> yielded me time so I could give my speech. I began a little nervously, trying to keep to my prepared remarks and conscious of my dad's presence. And then I just put all that aside and spoke.
It was one of the best days of my life, even before they took the vote. And the final tally was 268 to 148, with 47 Republican members crossing the aisle to join 221 Democrats.
The next morning, I got this handwritten note from my cousin <PERSON>:
Congratulations on the tremendous victory on the mental health parity bill. There is no question but that it would never have passed if not for you. I'm only sorry we didn't have these provisions when we were kids!
I hope you are well and proud. I've always believed that one of the toughest things to express in our family is a sense of pride and achievement and satisfaction. You deserve them all.
—
AND HERE'S A PERFECT EXAMPLE of what it's like to have a mood disorder: instead of feeling well and proud, I quickly went from the greatest day of my adult life to a feeling that everything was starting to fall apart with no warning, rhyme, or reason. Four days after that historic House vote, I was telling my therapist that I felt unanchored and depressed, and feared slipping more than I had at any time since my accident.
This change in mood was likely exacerbated by a piece of shocking news—my former chief of staff, <PERSON>, who had been battling ALS, had a heart attack and, at the age of forty-three, was on a ventilator and not expected to live. But what I know about bipolar disorder is that I could have just as easily felt this way without that outside trigger. The truth is, we sometimes rely on these potential triggers as ways of explaining our mood disorders to those who don't have the illnesses: it's easier for them to understand the disease if
|
3dc8bf71-912f-ea25-22e2-5ab2e112ac18
|
['1ca8fdf4-c740-07fe-c199-be074f7d2699']
|
Senne)
At the January 2002 State of the Union, when President <PERSON> acknowledged my father's contribution to the passage of the No Child Left Behind legislation; he is surrounded by, among others, his friends <PERSON>, at left, and <PERSON>, in front.
At Eagle Base, Bosnia and Herzegovina, with General <PERSON>, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (center)—who taught me that in the military, mental healthcare is not a safety net but a "force multiplier"—and Senator <PERSON>, who was with me and my family during many battles, both legislative and personal.
With <PERSON>, in my congressional office. (Photograph by <PERSON>)
The _New York Times_ piece that came out while I was at the Mayo Clinic for treatment after the car crash, one of several that announced the new direction of my political career to focus on mental illness and addiction and use my own story more openly.
Representative <PERSON> and me leaving the courthouse in 2006, after I pleaded guilty to driving under the influence and <PERSON> publicly acknowledged that he would be my twelve-step sponsor; that's my second Chief of Staff, <PERSON>, at left. (<PERSON>/The New York Times/Redux)
Talking to reporters outside the courtroom, June 2006. (Copyright © <PERSON>/Reuters/Corbis)
<PERSON> and me at the first of our fourteen parity "field hearings" to generate state and local interest for our House Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act, HR 1424; this hearing was in Providence, January 2007. (Courtesy Providence Journal)
The _New York Times_ photo of my father and me "discussing" our competing mental health parity bills while sitting in his Senate hideaway, March 2007. (Doug Mills/The New York Times/Redux)
Speaking at one of our many Capitol Hill mental health parity rallies. (Courtesy Kennedy Forum)
Discussing parity strategy with <PERSON>, the late Senator's son, and <PERSON>, in July 2007, before the House Education and Labor Committee hearing on the bill. (Courtesy Capitol Decisions)
With mental health advocate <PERSON> during the 2008 parity effort. <PERSON> was the first person to ever speak to me about parity, when he was a local NAMI representative in Rhode Island in the late 1980s, and we worked together for many years. When I started the Kennedy Forum in 2013, he was the logical choice to be its first employee, and is now its executive director. (Courtesy <PERSON>)
Senator <PERSON> and me in Providence on March 1, 2008, in the early days of his Presidential campaign; he sent me a signed copy of this unpublished photo as a gift. (Photograph by <PERSON>)
At the November 2008 White House signing ceremony for the Paul Wellstone and Pete Domenici Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act, with, from left, <PERSON>, Senator <PERSON>, President <PERSON>, and foreground, my father. (Courtesy The White House)
Leaving my father's funeral, August 2009. (Courtesy Providence Journal)
One of the first pictures taken of <PERSON> and me when we started dating in 2010.
At the November 2010 Society of Neuroscience convention in San Diego, delivering the
|
b3258bcf-8e56-a4c2-b5ad-c8c462aa052e
|
['1ced3af3-dc9e-bf8e-e5ce-ade7c9d523bd']
|
plan: procure a Soviet Tango class submarine for the Colombian narcos. <PERSON> is a huge admirer of old Tango submarines. He's followed the history of their construction from afar and knows they've made some really amazing improvements: increased firepower and open ocean operation capacity. Sure, with time, even these supermodern subs were surpassed. But <PERSON> fell in love with them, and there's no ruling the heart. The problem is that <PERSON> is a boastful blabbermouth. One day at the Babushka, another one of his restaurants in Miami, his friend <PERSON> introduces him to <PERSON>, an arms dealer and heroin trafficker who is actually an undercover DEA agent. <PERSON> doesn't know that his friend is also collaborating with the DEA. A couple of courses and a few vodkas into their meal, he's already told them about his ties to the Colombian narcos and the deals he's doing for them, including the submarine.
<PERSON> would later become a reference point for penniless young Italian couples. Near Naples, where he moves following his collaboration with the DEA, he opens a furniture store whose selling point is super low prices: full kitchens and living rooms within everyone's means. There's a line outside his store: engaged couples ready to make the big leap who unknowingly help launder the <PERSON>'s dirty money while furnishing their future love nests. He's making deals with the Italian Mafia with one hand while he's still collaborating with the DEA with the other. <PERSON> has always liked the smell of sawdust, so much so that he sets up his own office just a few yards from the loading dock where the Russians he'd brought with him unload furniture and appliances day and night. He's even had a desk made for himself out of simple plywood. Everyone who deals with him is fascinated by his tic: He rubs his palm voluptuously across the wooden surface and then holds his fingers to his nose. He tells his most loyal men that the intoxicating aroma reminds him of his childhood. Another thing he really enjoys is screwing over honest Russians working in Italy. He'll shake down plenty of Russian entrepreneurs until the Italian police manage to reconstruct his movements and nab him in Bologna, charging him with mafia association.
But to get back to the submarine deal: <PERSON>'s lawyer insists that his client is simply a braggart, someone who loves boasting about things that he couldn't possibly really do or provide. For the investigators, however, it was further proof of an alliance between criminal organizations of the former Soviet Union and the Colombian narcos: The narcos would supply the Russians with cocaine to transport to and distribute in Europe while the Russians would guarantee the Colombians arms and launder narco-dollars for them, especially in Miami, New York, and Puerto Rico. <PERSON>'s businesses were decisive in creating a link between the Mafija and the Colombian cartels. Though the submarine deal was never finalized, others during that same time were. Deals like the 100 kilos of cocaine hidden in crates of freeze-dried shrimp from Ecuador
|
89ae8dee-9a65-4e1b-3218-f250d4720c4d
|
['1ced3af3-dc9e-bf8e-e5ce-ade7c9d523bd']
|
born sixty-three years ago, in Almenno San Bartolomeo, a village in Lombardy. Bergamo's not too far away, but it takes even less time to cross the Brembo River and head into the Val Brembana, the valley that even for Lombards is the epitomy of provincial backwardness. He's named <PERSON>—probably in memory of his grandfather from Brindisi—<PERSON>, so he has a more modern name too. His last name is <PERSON>, like just about everyone else around there. He becomes <PERSON> later, again like everyone else.
<PERSON> is twenty when he starts making forays into the wealthy part of Lombardy, between Milan and Verona, to steal cars with powerful engines. He works with guys from Milan who grew up in the _ligéra,_ the old criminal underworld still celebrated in popular songs in the local dialect, although the Bar del Giambellino and the Palo della Banda dell'Ortica described in those ballads now belong to a more innocent past. Milan has become a war zone: Political subversion is mistaken for and at times intertwined with common criminality, and the number of armed robberies and kidnappings is rising precipitously. Homicides average a 150 a year. Those criminals who don't become stars, such as <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and his former second in command, <PERSON>, those who aren't serving a life sentence for murder or other serious crimes, can carry on tranquilly.
<PERSON> understands this; he understands that the crime that pays is not that of the fanatics of the 1970s. He goes from car theft to supplying all the services that a seller of stolen cars needs; he forms a network of contacts from Austria to France, studies foreign languages, eventually mastering four of them. He's already thinking like an international-level entrepreneur. Illegal business is a business just like any other: What matters are reliability and foresight. A deceptive peace is settling over Milan, something that is both bubbly and creamy, like the food and drink that are so in fashion. The man who goes by the name of <PERSON> but will also be called "<PERSON>" understands that wherever there's more money and a desire to have fun, that's where new markets spring up. Fashion and design, private TV channels, young entrepreneurs, and lots of daddy's boys and girls walking around, swinging their hips. Here in Italy's richest city and region more people can indulge in the vice of cocaine than elsewhere. <PERSON> throws himself decisively into the business. He's under house arrest for a past offense, and it's this restriction on his movements that leads him to go into hiding. He tries to better his luck in a place where he knows he can easily find new clients, the Côte d'Azur. He moves into a villa in Saint-Raphaël, which is more sedate than nearby Saint-Tropez. People there, who know him as <PERSON>, mind their own business, as wealthy homeowners usually do. They don't know that the French police have been hunting him ever since they seized a false-bottomed suitcase from Colombia stuffed with cocaine at the Nice airport. <PERSON>
|
f39c1770-a236-b4ed-ca54-87f85f1bbc87
|
['1d22c812-efd7-b8a4-244d-93c51acc3992']
|
they took me to the hidden springs where my body was washed and soaked for days before they placed me in the shadow of their tar idol. My skin was humanly supple once more.
When <PERSON> appeared, leading my still-saddled camel, I didn't bat an eyelid; I supposed he was just another one of the hallucinations rising up from my delirium. No one stopped us when we rode past the wall in the mountains by the Devil's Horns.
"They're sending you away to give birth in the bed of a chief from an influential tribe." Neither one of us knew whether I was carrying his seed or that of <PERSON>.
We were received by ecstatic dogs wagging their tails, girls dressed in red, and the gurgle of running water as we approached the Sabkha tribe.
"<PERSON> is the chief of the most powerful tribe in the desert. They're descended from Wa'il and <PERSON>," <PERSON> said to reassure me. The palm trees stirred a longing for Khaybar in my heart. It had been an age since I'd been bathed in the sight of green. Sheikh <PERSON> men came out to meet us and make sure that we were safe and in good health. Najd was in uproar. There were reports that <PERSON> followers were planning to seize the Najd trade route. <PERSON> and I were taken to the sheikh's house, which was surrounded by his loyal servants, and we stood by the mud-brick door, which was always open. Sheikh Sa'd was on his way out when our eyes met; a falcon fell from his eyes straight into the trap in my eyes. For nights on end, I'd been gathering my magical powers to carve a cradle for you in the arms of that peerless knight of the desert. I didn't fail you. The tribe lit torches and married me to their sheikh. I lay in his bed and gave him my body, though he had no idea that you were already inside of me. In seven months, I would give birth to you in that bed and you would carry his pedigree.
# _Don Quixote_
_O_ UTSIDE THE HOTEL, AS THEY WERE SAYING GOODBYE, <PERSON> HANDED HER TWO CDs. "This is <PERSON> _Don Quixote_ , and this is the one I promised you, <PERSON>'s St. Matthew Passion." She took the CDs from him and put them in her large pocket. She smiled.
"We need to listen to things we can't comprehend so we can learn to comprehend the things we can't hear." She reminded him of <PERSON>, and he suddenly heard her voice in his mind:
"I once read that people consider _St. Matthew Passion_ to be the most beautiful piece in the history of Western music. They say that <PERSON> was as strict about music as a rabbi is about the Halacha. That's the law that Jewish philosophers like <PERSON> rebelled against because they felt it was too concerned with outward behavior, instead of the faith in
|
d1f6128a-f98c-5257-28b1-2678bf3b8875
|
['1d22c812-efd7-b8a4-244d-93c51acc3992']
|
though her body were a finely tuned vibration-sensor—her desire was awoken. She reapplied herself, but for the first time in his campaign, the dinosaur inside him let him down. No matter how many times he swung at the Turkish woman, the dinosaur wasn't moved by the violence, the spilled blood. It played dead, lying there like a limp worm. The Turkish woman, on the other hand, had been taken over by a nymphomaniac lioness. She was bashing his dinosaur around in her claws, desperately trying to excite him, only vaguely aware of his sudden impotence, while his mind raced, thinking of all manner of possible cures and remembering how he'd once snickered at the warnings about the increased risk of heart attack from those blue pills he used to take. He wished he could have had a heart attack right then; it would at least spare him the embarrassment of impotence. On a third level of consciousness, he was aware that he was smashing those bulges of fat with his fists and feet in order to compensate for his impotence until her bubbles floated climactically to the surface.
Finally, miraculously, he managed to drag his worn-out body away from that fatty mass, and with superhuman strength pulled his clothes on. He stumbled over to the wooden staircase that led down from her bedroom to the dance floor below. He didn't even glance at the bodies gyrating around him, and they just watched him indifferently as he struggled to find his way out, any way out.
As soon as his lungs filled with the air of the lane, he began to cough and he hawked up something yellow. The last of the smell of her. As he staggered on, he stepped on an alley cat's tail; it hissed, baring its teeth. He stepped on the filth that had turned the white cat's coat gray, the signs of its last dust-up with some stray dogs.
"You and I are a lot alike, kitty. We've got eight souls, but have you heard of cancer? It's not just a stray dog that wants a bite. It's a dinosaur with gigantic feet that chases me and stomps on my souls, one after the other. The first time it attacked, it destroyed all my sperm, robbing me of the chance to have children. Now it's crushing the rest of me, <PERSON> the devil, my manhood."
He drove off in his cab. Alone in the car, the last thing the Turkish woman had said to him, the last he'd smelled of her, came back to haunt him. He scratched at his face because it still bore the marks of her lips. Her constant generosity always aggravated his dreams.
"Without your dinosaur, you'll never be anything but a sewer worm, <PERSON>."
Defeat. He slammed on the brakes, stopping his cab in the middle of an overpass, and considered everything he'd lost.
Every attempt at arousal had failed to revive him, but his lower half, which seemed paraplegic to him now, shot back, "How long is the Turkish vampiress going to
|
fd2927c2-3e21-27b2-75a5-6c37191fa4d7
|
['1d4092e8-5a35-23ac-b4c6-a6efb918c6f0']
|
its political set-up. A straightforward long-term process of de-sacralization of kingship cannot be found in any of the script cultures before the end of the early modern age. In fact, the ceremonial apparatus of kingship in Europe became more conspicuous in the course of the 16th and 17th centuries; notwithstanding their grave hesitations about sacraments, even Protestant courts followed the general tendency. By the late 17th century, however, change was underway, and in the course of the 18th century princes themselves openly took distance from their semi-sacral status.
In 1786 Habsburg Emperor <PERSON> (1741, r. 1780−90), the most outspoken of modernizers, scribbled a note to his high steward explaining that he wanted to abolish the reverence on bended knee, a sign of respect he viewed as 'unnecessary between humans, and reserved for God alone'. <PERSON> abolished religious ceremonies at court in Vienna; yet he entertained an exalted view of his own responsibilities as leader of the state. Somewhere in the changeover to our modern world, the powers of kingship, vested temporarily in a person of flesh and blood, were transferred to the untouchable king's depersonalized successor: the sovereign state. Royals now presented themselves as officials of the new idol; with their ministers and administrators they came and went, whereas the state endured. Traditionally, the highest moral-religious sanction of kingship was tied to the fortunes of the people. The modern view of popular sovereignty no longer needs a king or emperor, but it restates an old truth by accepting the well-being of the people as its main underpinning. Could royals, divested of their religious sanction and magical allure, survive in the newly designed sovereign state?
Kings and dynasties persist even today; nevertheless, somewhere along the road their place changed irreversibly. Throughout dynastic history, myriads of kings were killed and multiple dynasties were toppled—yet almost always they were replaced by others of their kind. Change was effected not by abolishing kingship or dynastic succession, but by installing a new ruling house. The Italian city states emerging from the overlordship of pope and emperor constitute an exception, yet most of them adopted forms of dynastic rule or were engulfed by dynastic conquest. The venerable republic of Venice stuck to its elaborate electoral system but did place prestige in the figure of the <PERSON>. Abjuring their overlord in the late 16th century, the Dutch initially tried to find a suitably royal replacement, but in the long run they embraced a form of republican government topped by a semi-hereditary stadholder as well as by office-holding families. Even after the momentous execution of the king <PERSON> in 1649, kingship re-emerged and thrived in England. In the course of the 18th century, fundamental questions were raised about all aspects of the old regime. Many extolled the example of classical republicanism, yet few commended a wholesale change of monarchy. Only during the French Revolution did a new image of the future appear, where the nation no longer needed a ruling house. Typically, the abolition of monarchy and the execution of <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER>, kingship re-emerged and thrived in England. In the course of the 18th century, fundamental questions were raised about all aspects of the old regime. Many extolled the example of classical republicanism, yet few commended a wholesale change of monarchy. Only during the French Revolution did a new image of the future appear, where the nation no longer needed a ruling house. Typically, the abolition of monarchy and the execution of Louis XVI went together with a backlash against
|
697009d5-45eb-5b7a-ea8f-63f0114bed5b
|
['1d4092e8-5a35-23ac-b4c6-a6efb918c6f0']
|
Hyundai and <PERSON>_ (London; New York 1994) 5–6, 21–2.
'Magic formula: stay together'. <PERSON> et al., _Sharing Wisdom, Building Values: Letters from Family Business Owners to their Successors_ (New York 2011) 28, 12–13.
# Epilogue
'The intrigues in China's ancient imperial courts...'. <PERSON>, _The Private Life of Chairman Mao: The Memoirs of Mao's Personal Physician_ (London 1994) 122–4 quote at 124.
# Further reading
Chronologies and genealogies of ruling families throughout history can be found, usually with a strong emphasis on larger and longer-lasting kingdoms and empires of Europa and Asia; see for example:
<PERSON>, _Dynasties of the World: A Chronological and Genealogical Handbook_ (Oxford; New York 2018).
Online resources such as Wikipedia provide lists of royalty for all periods and places, including all examples mentioned in this book.
# Succession, kinship, royal clans (Chapter 1)
<PERSON> and <PERSON>, _Matrilineal Kinship_ (Berkeley 1962). Explains some of the basics of matrilineal descent.
<PERSON> (ed.), _Succession to High Office_ (Cambridge 1966). This edited volume includes a powerful introduction by <PERSON>, whose numerous publications on families and forms of descent and inheritance have been very influential.
<PERSON> and <PERSON> (eds.), _Marriage and Inequality in Chinese Society_ (Berkeley; Los Angeles 1991). An important collection including chapters on imperial clans as well as general comparative discussions of family, marriage, and inheritance.
<PERSON>, _Branches of Heaven: A History of the Imperial Clan of Sung China_ (Cambridge, MA 1999). An exemplary study of one Chinese imperial clan.
<PERSON>, 'The Problem of Imperial Relatives in Early Modern Empires and the Making of Qing China', _The American Historical Review_ 122, 4 (2017) 1001–37. Includes relevant comparative observations.
<PERSON>, _Blood Royal: Dynastic Politics in Medieval Europe_ (Cambridge, forthcoming 2020) provides an authoritative overview of dynastic themes in medieval Europe with numerous quotes from primary sources.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, _Kinship in Europe: Approaches to Long-Term Development (1300–1900)_ (New York 2007). A recent initiative that restores kinship as an important factor in European history.
Few works have dealt with the combination of kingship, dynasty, and the royal court outlined in this VSI. A more detailed examination, considering a more limited period but with an extensive bibliography and footnotes guiding the reader towards numerous regional studies is:
<PERSON>, _Dynasties: A Global History of Power 1300–1800_ (Cambridge 2016).
# Kingship (Chapter 2) has a long-standing and coherent bibliography, based first and foremost on a series of classics examining its sacred dimensions
<PERSON>, _The Golden Bough_ (New York; London, 1894). An important and wide-ranging work focusing on the sacrality of kings.
<PERSON>, _The Royal Touch: Sacred Monarchy and Scrofula in England and France_ (Montreal 1973 [Paris 1924]). Elaborating the most familiar sacred aspect of European kingship.
<PERSON>, _Kingship_ (London 1927). One among several works by the same author outlining shared properties of kings, including an attempt at the comparison of coronations.
<PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER>. Includes relevant comparative observations.
Robert Bartlett, _Blood Royal: Dynastic Politics in Medieval Europe_ (Cambridge, forthcoming 2020) provides an authoritative overview of dynastic themes in medieval Europe with numerous quotes from primary sources.
David Warren Sabean, Simon Teuscher, and Jon Mathieu, _Kinship in Europe: Approaches to Long-Term Development (1300–1900)_ (New York 2007). A recent initiative that restores kinship as an important factor in European history.
Few works have dealt with the combination of kingship, dynasty, and the royal court outlined in this VSI. A more detailed examination, considering a more limited period but with an extensive bibliography and footnotes guiding the reader towards numerous regional studies is:
Jeroen Duindam, _Dynasties: A Global History of Power 1300–1800_ (Cambridge 2016).
# Kingship (Chapter 2) has a long-standing and coherent bibliography, based first and foremost on a series of classics examining its sacred dimensions
J. G. Frazer, _The Golden Bough_ (New York; London, 1894). An important and wide-ranging work focusing on the sacrality of kings.
Marc Bloch, _The Royal Touch: Sacred Monarchy and Scrofula in England and France_ (Montreal 1973 [Paris 1924]). Elaborating the most familiar sacred aspect of European kingship.
Arthur M. Hocart, _Kingship_ (London 1927). One among several works by the same author outlining shared properties of kings, including an attempt at the comparison of coronations.
Ernst Kantorowicz, _The King's Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology_ (Princeton, NJ 1957). An influential
|
74d6dbd6-6483-800e-394d-b9de42762926
|
['1de0fdd2-e9c6-c7b2-4680-827e14688725']
|
to labor for their daily bread, is important to a degree which cannot be overestimated; as all high intellectual work is carried on by them, and on such work material progress of all kinds mainly depends, not to mention other and higher advantages."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"Man by working and fabricating and building a world inhabited only by himself would still be a fabricator, though not homo faber: he would have lost his specifically human quality and, rather, be a god - not, to be sure, the Creator, but a divine demiurge as <PERSON> described him in one of his myths."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"Music does not influence research work, but both are nourished by the same sort of longing, and they complement each other in the release they offer."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"Sleep more at night. If it's allowed at work or home, take a nap in the afternoon. You'll be amazed at how much better you'll feel."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"I [find it] odd when people go, 'I worked very hard for this and I deserved it,' because lots of people work very hard and deserve things, so [it] seems somewhat self-aggrandizing, as though you have complete command over your destiny."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"In most cases being a good boss means hiring talented people and then getting out of their way. In other cases, to get the best work out of people you may have to pretend you are not their boss and let them treat someone else like the boss, and then that whispers to you behind a fake wall and you tell them what to tell the first person. Contrary to what I believed as a little girl, being the boss almost never involves marching around, waving your arms, and chanting, " I am the boss! I am the boss!"
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"The true measure of a career is to be able to be content, even proud, that you succeeded through your own endeavors without leaving a trail of casualties in your wake."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"To live well is to work well, to show a good activity."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"If you put yourself in a group of people you cannot work with it's obviously going to be a disaster."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"I used to work at NASA in Virginia. It was nothing glamorous; I was just tasked with making code compile for obscure projects, and I wasn't very good at it. Now I spend most of my time drawing pictures and looking at funny things on the Internet, which in retrospect is largely what I did at my old job, too."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"Actors dread working with studios because they dictate what
|
c45b3269-2580-0f13-6369-f3cc504873f1
|
['1de0fdd2-e9c6-c7b2-4680-827e14688725']
|
they cause us to stumble and to trip."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Business and Money
"The two operations of our understanding, intuition and deduction, on which alone we have said we must rely in the acquisition of knowledge."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Business and Money
"A business that makes nothing but money is a poor business."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Business and Money
"I was a good amateur but only an average professional. I soon realized that there was a limit to how far I could rise in the music business, so I left the band and enrolled at New York University."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Business and Money
"You always hear the phrase, money doesn't buy you happiness. But I always in the back of my mind figured a lot of money will buy you a little bit of happiness. But it's not really true. I got a new car because the old one's lease expired."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Business and Money
"Labor was the first price, the original purchase -money that was paid for all things."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Business and Money
"I am absolutely convinced that no wealth in the world can help humanity forward, even in the hands of the most devoted worker in this cause. The example of great and pure characters is the only thing that can produce fine ideas and noble deeds. Money only appeals to selfishness and always tempts its owners irresistibly to abuse it."
<PERSON>
### INTPs on Business and Money:
End Of Chapter Exercise
Of all the quotes in this chapter, which one most resonated with you? Put another way, which quote did you see and then think to yourself "That's so true!"
Are there any common themes around making money you noticed? What was the most important advice or insight you'll take away in terms of your own ability to make and keep wealth?
Money means very different things to different people. From the quotes you've just read, what does meaning mean to most of the people? What does money mean to you?
If you'd like to record your answers to these questions somewhere memorable, you can download and print the free companion workbook for this book. To do so, simply visit:
www.DreamsAroundTheWorld.com/inspired
INTPs On WORK, CAREER AND EDUCATION
### Rants, Lessons, Tips and Insights From INTPS on Career, Work, And Whatever Else We Do During That Dreaded Period Of Monday-Friday, 9-5
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"It is the great multiplication of the productions of all the different arts, in consequence of the division of labour, which occasions, in a well-governed society, that universal opulence which extends itself to the lowest ranks of the people."
<PERSON>
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"My work is not a piece of writing designed to meet the needs of an immediate public, but was done to last for ever."
-Thucydides
### INTPS on Work, Career and Education
"A scientist in his laboratory is not a mere technician: he
|
ca1d0d6e-7196-0c48-6b1f-834095a3c15a
|
['1e3f03f9-3c6b-7bdc-a3d4-1b630fdd674d']
|
to his prior employer (<PERSON> and <PERSON> 2013).
The second half of this book focuses on how lobbyists work to promote their members' interests in the different branches of government, but it is worth providing a little background information here. In Table 4.2 I use data from <PERSON> and colleagues (1993, 99) to show how important lobbyists feel the various aspects of their job are. The single most important item is informing interest group members and clients about what is happening in Washington, DC. This finding fits with the point made earlier in the chapter that this is what members want from their lobbyists. Some of the other items on the list regard collecting that information, such as monitoring changes in laws and administrative rules and talking to others. Resolving internal group conflicts, such as divisions in the membership, is another on the list, and a topic I will elaborate on momentarily.
<PERSON> and colleagues also found that lobbyists have about eight people in government that they talk to as part of their daily routine (96). Who might these contacts be? It is legislators on important committees and their staff about 31 percent of the time and legislative leaders about 14 percent of the time (159). It is with administrative agencies 18 percent of the time and the White House only 8 percent of the time. Understand, though, that when an issue important to their members is being debated, lobbyists will try to have a lot more contact with a lot more lawmakers and staff. And the reverse is true, that when they have no issue on the agenda, lobbyists leave busy lawmakers alone. Government officials have little time during the day for small talk, and lobbyists know it.
_Prioritizing Career Interests_
None of this explains why lobbyists sometimes feel a need to exercise control over their members, but it is a starting point. Professional lobbyists have careers to advance, and this means they sometimes need to make choices that are not entirely consistent with what their members want. It should be clear now that lobbyists often do not stay at the same interest group, law firm, or public relations firm their entire career. They often move into the executive branch or Capitol Hill and then go back to lobbying. In this they are no different from people trying to advance careers in the corporate sector, where moving around is often expected. What is different about lobbyists, though, is that what they have to sell to a prospective employer is whom they have access to (who their contracts are) in Washington's power structure. A lobbying career means developing a larger portfolio of relationships with powerful figures—not just legislators, but also executive branch officials and other lobbyists. Who you know _does_ matter.
Because lobbyists seek to advance their careers by finding better paying jobs at more influential interest groups and lobbying firms, the people they represent change frequently. Thus who they represent often becomes less important to their careers than remaining close to the policy makers they have built relationships with. _Remember this
|
2d3dce84-5bb5-5010-eeb4-025407b98974
|
['1e3f03f9-3c6b-7bdc-a3d4-1b630fdd674d']
|
others, all of whom see the political arena as the best place to pursue their mutual self-interest and so form an organization to pursue those interests. But organizations are not built around just any kind of interest. As I show in Figure 1.1, some interests, like interests in eating food, drinking water, and having shelter, are so universal (lower on the vertical axis) that they cannot be held by just one group in the population. Interests that are so esoteric they are unique to an individual (higher on the vertical axis) also do not lead to group formation. Groups form around "mid-range" interests, those that are shared by many but rarely by a majority. Also, the more intensely people feel about a particular interest, the more likely they are to take the time to promote or defend it in the political arena. So, as I show with the horizontal axis in Figure 1.1, more universal or esoteric interests might still be the foundation for forming a group if people feel strongly enough about them to commit some resources. That is why the area showing the range of interests capable of leading to group formation expands on the right side of Figure 1.1.
FIGURE 1.1 Level of Interest Needed to Form Interest Groups
Larger, more diverse societies like the United States produce a greater variety of interests that are intensely felt by a minority of its citizens. These interests are strong enough that the people who hold them are willing to commit time and money to form organizations that use politics to promote them. Social contract theory, so familiar to the Founders, makes pursuit of self-interest a legitimate basis for political action. Every person has a natural right to pursue their wants and desires through the political process. Since the state has a fundamental responsibility to acknowledge and protect these interests, it is acceptable for citizens, including citizens organized into groups, to make demands on government. The founders guaranteed it in the **First Amendment** to the Constitution.
Lobbying: The Right of Interests to Petition
The First Amendment's last clause reads: "Congress shall make no law . . . abridging . . . the right of the people to freely assemble and petition government for a redress of grievances." It captures the two key parts of interest group politics: collective action (the right to freely assemble) and lobbying government to answer the demands of citizens (petition for redress of grievances). The idea of citizens with similar interests proactively or reactively demanding that their government protect their self-interest is the cornerstone of democratic government, and using intermediaries to press these demands is the very definition of representation. Where did these constitutional rights to assemble and petition come from? Unsurprisingly, they evolved right along with social contract theory.
_Evolution of the Right to Petition in Great Britain_
The origin of the right to assemble and petition can be traced back to the signing of the Magna Carta in 1215. The Great Charter hardly granted new rights to English citizens, but it did stipulate that the barons
|
08587f16-55b9-e665-7c91-f292b2806ecb
|
['1f54a686-98dd-f402-c73a-f81844cc7360']
|
fucking mariachi band. With all the pressure and attacks, and then things like that, and everyone hanging on your every goddamned word, how are you supposed to stay sane?"
<PERSON> took a long time to answer. He was watching a light on the fantail of a freighter make an immensely long blink as it disappeared behind and then emerged to the east of Treasure Island. "What?" he asked.
"How are politicians supposed to be sane?" <PERSON> said, about to repeat his lament, when <PERSON> interrupted.
"Yes, mariachi bands after hospices for children. The answer is that politicians were never supposed to be sane, and aren't."
"We aren't?"
"Do you think you are?"
<PERSON> had never been asked that. He screwed up his face and looked at the stars. From <PERSON>'s perspective, in the dim light, he looked like <PERSON>. <PERSON>'s eyes moved about like dogs that dart to and fro behind a fence. "No," he answered.
"That settles it," said <PERSON>, "although I won't quote you."
"It doesn't matter if you do. I'm golden now."
"I know."
"What's the problem then?" <PERSON> asked. "Why are you so negative?"
"I suppose," said <PERSON>, "that it's just that, the night before your acceptance speech—which will make or break you—you don't have an acceptance speech."
<PERSON> tapped his foot upon the floor, indicating the rooms below. "He's working on it."
"But have you seen it? Have I seen it? Has anyone seen it?"
"No one saw the other one."
"This is different. Length, policy, importance."
"Don't worry. These days importance is not important. I mean, no one knows anything anyway. I trust <PERSON>. He gave me seventy points in two days. The whole country's <PERSON> crazy, and anything he does will work. He could translate _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ into Yiddish, and when I gave it they would say I was <PERSON>."
"But how are you going to practise?"
"<PERSON> is going to put it on the prompter himself. <PERSON> showed him how. That way, there'll be absolutely no leaks."
"But how will you have time to practise it on the prompter?"
"I'm not gonna," said <PERSON>, enjoying <PERSON>'s distress. "When I get up there, it'll be the first time I see it. I'm gonna wing it. <PERSON> said it's the only way for it to seem entirely natural."
"Senator," <PERSON> said, his prudent ancestry arising, "no presidential candidate in modern times has ever 'winged' his acceptance speech."
"What about <PERSON>?"
"Who?"
"<PERSON>."
"Who was that?"
"Didn't he run against <PERSON>?"
"Who?"
"<PERSON>? There was a President <PERSON>, wasn't there?"
"No."
"<PERSON>, I didn't go to a gold-plated prep school, like you. When I studied the presidents it was in a one-room schoolhouse and there was another class nearby studying accounting. I sometimes get presidents and famous accountants mixed up."
"Everyone does," said <PERSON>.
"Maybe it's true. Maybe no presidential candidate has ever winged his acceptance speech. But no presidential candidate has ever had a Moofoomooach. Seventy points! Seventy points in two days! If he asked me to read the
|
c8fb7473-cb32-ddee-5b80-d9e373d89d66
|
['1f54a686-98dd-f402-c73a-f81844cc7360']
|
of their grip and slid to the floor. "No!" he said, retrieving the airborne bat. "No!"
"No?" they asked.
"No," he said, pausing to regain his breath. He held the bat out in front of him on display. "This is the bat of God," he told them.
"The bat of God," they repeated in awe.
"No!" he said again.
"It isn't?" they asked.
"It is."
"Is it," they asked, "or isn't it?"
"It is," he confirmed, "but you may not worship it."
"Why not?" <PERSON> asked. "God! It's the bat of God!"
"Yes," said <PERSON>, "but you can't. If you worship it, you are worshipping only a thing that He made. He didn't even make it, He caused it to be made."
"So?"
"He made everything, so if you worship only one of those things, or any of them, or all of them, you are worshipping your own choice, and thus you are worshipping yourselves, which you must not do."
"What the hell are we supposed to do with the bat of God?" <PERSON> asked.
"Treat it," <PERSON> said, remembering a song he had heard on the radio, "like a lady."
As the Yankees tried to assimilate this, everything was frozen, and amid the stillness, the doors of the locker room began to stretch inward with wavelike changes of pressure against them in advance of the sports press, which no force in the world could stop.
"Quick, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said, "jump in the laundry cart."
<PERSON> flew into a wheeled canvas hamper, and the Yankees covered him with towels. Then the doors burst open and what seemed like a thousand men with tickets in the brims of their gray hats flooded in like the tides of Fundy.
"<PERSON>! Where's <PERSON>!" they screamed.
"Who?" the Yankees asked.
The great crush of press was driven into a kind of seizure, which the Yankees much enjoyed. "<PERSON>! He's a legend! He hit a ball...."
"Yes?" <PERSON> asked.
"He hit a ball..." the reporter repeated, sweeping his left arm across an imaginary horizon, "out of the... out of the...."
"He went home for the weekend," <PERSON> said. "He wants to spend the weekend with the former <PERSON>."
"In Milledgeville?" they asked.
"Yup," <PERSON> said.
The wave that had burst in now evacuated with a sucking sound of withdrawn air, and the rest was silence. <PERSON> popped up from the towels like a chick breaking out of an egg, and said, "I've got to get back to the hotel; I'm way behind in Mishnah."
"If this is a dream," <PERSON> said, "then let it be your wishbone."
<PERSON> REFUSED to play away games, not only because of the difficulty in getting kosher food (which, like kosher food itself, was surmountable), but because he wanted to hit balls out of Yankee Stadium each time he was up at bat. He suggested, and <PERSON> agreed, that this might be good for the Yankees. The whole country was already in a fever, the press had ravaged Milledgeville and come up with not even one former Crab Leg,
|
9077e970-7bf7-7b70-3e1d-f0ea033c7877
|
['1f7cd61a-abab-d20b-031d-129c879401b8']
|
<PERSON> and I weren't together, were never together so there was no need to feel guilty. But I liked <PERSON>. I had been planning on being with <PERSON> for months, nearly a year now. Whatever was going on between me and <PERSON> couldn't happen. Not to mention if I walked away from <PERSON> now, everyone would hate me. All my friends would think I was a jerk. <PERSON> would only be proven right. Did <PERSON> even want me to walk away from <PERSON>? Did kissing mean anything to him or was it just another distraction? I was so glad it was the weekend because I hardly slept at all.
The next morning I pulled down a bowl from the cupboard, feeling like a zombie. My mom had a pot of oatmeal ready on the stove and I dished myself two spoonfuls. She came humming into the kitchen as I added my fifth scoop of brown sugar.
"Did you want some oatmeal with your sugar?" she asked.
"Funny, Mom," I said, taking one more scoop, then stirring it in until my oatmeal turned brown.
"You look tired," she said.
My chest was tight with the familiar feeling of anxiety. "I am."
"Everything okay?"
No, I wanted to scream. But then what? "I just have an unsolvable problem."
"Something I can help you with?"
"I wish."
"Try me. Your mom is good at finding solutions."
I looked around in jest. "My mom? Then I better go find her."
"There's nothing wrong with speaking in the third person."
"I'm fine, Mom. Really." This was something only time could solve.
<PERSON> brushed by me in the hall on my way to the bathroom. "It's been so nice seeing you this week, sis."
I knew he was being sarcastic. I had hardly been home at all and it was already Saturday and he was irritated. "Sorry." I felt like I was always apologizing to someone. "Let's hang out now."
"Can't. I actually made plans."
My phone rang, <PERSON>'s name flashing across the screen. "Hello," I answered.
"Hi! Today is my hospital day and I want you to come with me."
I closed my eyes. Now was the time to say no, when I knew I should stay home. But then I thought about the hour and a half we'd have in the car there and back and how I really needed to talk to someone, so I found myself saying, "Okay."
A light snow hit the windshield as <PERSON> and I drove on the freeway to the hospital. The heater in <PERSON>'s car had stopped working, so the defroster was blasting cold air, and we were both shivering. I wrapped my scarf around my neck three times, then said, "I kissed <PERSON>." It probably wasn't the greatest of conditions to tell someone something surprising. The car only swerved a little with her reaction, however, and she corrected it quickly.
"What? When?"
"Last night. We kissed."
"So . . . not a distraction anymore?"
"I don't know."
"Because of <PERSON>?"
"I don't know. I don't know how I
|
a6cf9b63-bd54-e2d7-ce56-2fdd3b1c16a2
|
['1f7cd61a-abab-d20b-031d-129c879401b8']
|
to hide his hurt or if this really wasn't affecting him at all.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"I want to throw a major tantrum right now because I really want you to like me."
"But?"
"But that would be ungrateful of me. You've given up a lot of time for me over the past several weeks. My mom told me how much you'd been by and how much you helped. So even though I wish you liked me as much as you like <PERSON>, I'm going to be a big person, swallow my pride and hurt, and tell you to go be happy . . . after I kiss you."
"Tha—wait, what?"
"If you'll let me, of course. We've flirted around our feelings for months now and I just want to see if it would seal the deal for me at all. I'm an exceptional kisser."
"I . . ." Was he being serious? I couldn't tell with <PERSON>. We _had_ flirted for months, and maybe it would help. Liking <PERSON> would make my life so much easier. "I don't want to lose you as a friend. Wouldn't that just make things weird?"
"What if I promise not to be weird after?"
More rules. And it seemed like none of them had stuck. I knew I didn't owe this to <PERSON>, but maybe I owed it to myself. So that I never looked back and wondered what would have happened if I had.
He closed his eyes and I moved forward to meet him, then stopped. This wasn't what I wanted. I was doing it again, trying to make someone else happy. We were so close that I had to put my finger on his lips to stop the kiss. "I can't," I whispered. "I don't want this."
He rested his forehead on mine instead. "It was worth a try."
I backed away.
His eyes went over my shoulder, locking on something behind me. I looked as well but only saw the still-open door and his empty wheelchair.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It . . ." He shook his head. "Nothing. It was nothing."
"I'm sorry I didn't know what I wanted until now. And that I've been jerking you around for months," I said, remembering what <PERSON> had told me before.
"Jerking me around?" he asked. "You weren't. I think we were both testing our feelings. You just seemed to go the opposite way as me."
I stared at him in front of me, so tall and strong and steady. "I'm glad you're better, <PERSON>."
"Me too."
"Still friends?"
"Of course," he said. "You think our other friends would leave the basketball game early with us to get milk shakes?"
"I think our friends do anything you say."
"I thought so too, but you kind of proved that theory wrong tonight." He smiled at me. "Or I can take you home. Would you rather go home?"
I thought about that, analyzed how I felt. A weight seemed to be lifted off my shoulders and chest, and I felt better than
|
5ff812cb-0a46-d838-666f-fa2ef1f58af3
|
['1fc17c64-4e2a-3181-296a-67749bd3823e']
|
<PERSON>'s parents' house. <PERSON> and her mother, <PERSON>, invited the two in for lunch. <PERSON> answered on his mother's behalf: "Oh no, <PERSON>, don't worry about that. Mum was just saying to me in the car, 'Oh <PERSON>, I don't have to go in for food with them, do I?'"
The <PERSON> women looked at each other, stunned. <PERSON> stood there grinning.
"I didn't mean it like that, I really didn't," <PERSON> stammered. "It's just that I've already eaten."
Nobody was offended, <PERSON> assured <PERSON>, who didn't look like she believed it. Afterward, <PERSON> told her fiancé why what he'd just done was inappropriate. <PERSON> responded with a bout of hysterical laughter.
<PERSON> was devastated by <PERSON>'s firing. She had been eagerly anticipating returning to Tokyo as a full-time student. That door now had slammed shut. "I am home but very depressed," she wrote to one of her Japanese friends, who had asked whether she should wear Western or Japanese garb to the wedding. "I can't really be bothered to even think about the wedding. I can't get my mind off the fact that I am being forced to leave Japan." She and <PERSON> had been talking about starting a family of their own. That idea, too, was shunted to the back burner. "I feel very unsettled about what has happened and I guess I am going to have to go back to work if he can't get a job. Sigh," she wrote to <PERSON>'s wife, <PERSON>. "I only just quit!"
The wedding took place in the English countryside on the third anniversary of <PERSON> and <PERSON> meeting at the InterContinental swimming pool. <PERSON> had picked the date; <PERSON> considered that to be probably the most romantic thing he'd ever done. The venue was a Four Seasons hotel in an old Georgian manor house surrounded by rolling farmland, near where <PERSON> grew up. Tuxedoed waiters served cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in a courtyard where wild rabbits hopped. <PERSON> wore a formal British morning suit. (At <PERSON>'s insistence, he stopped wearing his golden QPR pinky ring in advance of the wedding.) <PERSON> was in a body-hugging, strapless white dress with her back exposed. Custom-made diamond jewelry sparkled on her neck and ears. <PERSON> had invited several former colleagues. <PERSON> couldn't make it, but a bunch of brokers—<PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and others—and their wives were there. <PERSON> and <PERSON> huddled in a corner, gossiping about Hayes's firing and wondering what the full story was. Despite the careful choreography and dancing lessons, <PERSON> botched the second promenade of their first dance. As the party wound down, <PERSON> wrapped his arm around his wife, and they watched as more than $10,000 of fireworks exploded in the night sky. <PERSON> had booked the second-nicest suite at the hotel; the king of Thailand was occupying the best rooms.
Afterward, they flew to the Maldives for their honeymoon. They stayed in a villa on stilts in the Indian Ocean. The weather was awful. They huddled together inside, listening to rain and waves lash the house.
|
e9dd9b2a-2b03-210d-fe5d-a6c8d834d240
|
['1fc17c64-4e2a-3181-296a-67749bd3823e']
|
his success. Some executives thought it would be best for UBS if <PERSON> just left. When <PERSON>'s boss, <PERSON>, saw the e-mail with <PERSON>'s glowing endorsement, he forwarded it to <PERSON> and <PERSON>. "Could you please give me some balancing points against this bullshit," <PERSON> asked.
<PERSON> was happy to help. He responded that colleagues perceived <PERSON> as an "immature, explosive person regularly losing his temper." He said other banks and brokers were aware of—and often joked about—<PERSON>'s behavior. What's more, his efforts to get his pals in London to goose Libor were well known. "I find it embarrassing when he calls up his mates to ask for favours on high/low fixings," wrote <PERSON>, who of course had been using his power as UBS's yen Libor submitter to benefit his own trading positions. "It makes UBS appear to manipulate others to suit our position; what's the legal risk of UBS asking others to move their fixing?"
<PERSON> was the manager who, years earlier, had pushed <PERSON> and his rate-submitting crew in Zurich to collaborate more with the bank's swaps traders. "If you want to know the reputation he has in London, let me know," <PERSON> wrote <PERSON>. "But trust me, you won't like the sound of it."
The <PERSON> forces, though, were severely outgunned. With <PERSON> and <PERSON> on board, UBS agreed to fork over a $500,000 retention payment to <PERSON>. <PERSON> promised him he was looking at a year-end bonus in excess of $3 million. "We agreed he would turn off Citi," <PERSON> triumphantly reported to <PERSON> and others. "I told him . . . that he should get on with making money so I can pay him more."
And, enticing <PERSON> even further, <PERSON> received a promotion that felt more like a sidelining: He was sent back to Zurich and stripped of his responsibilities as a Libor and Tibor submitter. Those duties would now fall to <PERSON>'s team.
<PERSON>, about to lose his last scrap of leverage over <PERSON>, figured he might as well make the most of his final days. He knew that <PERSON> needed Tibor higher, so he decided to lower UBS's submission. The next day, <PERSON>'s last in the Tokyo office, <PERSON> walked over to his desk and asked him to stop playing games. Tibor needed to go up, or at least not go down again. <PERSON> smirked. It was clear to <PERSON> that <PERSON> had been acting "spitefully" and that he was planning to do it again. Indeed, <PERSON> lowered UBS's Tibor submission. <PERSON> and <PERSON> were chatting when they noticed. "<PERSON>'s parting gift," <PERSON> grumbled. "He tried to screw my position. Next week we have control."
* * *
That summer in London, UBS's <PERSON>, aka <PERSON>, was finally getting nervous about all the Libor machinations. One day in late June, he messaged a colleague: "JUST BE CAREFUL DUDE." It wasn't clear exactly what <PERSON> was referring to, and perhaps that was deliberate. But it became obvious when his colleague responded: "I agree we shouldn't have been talking about putting
|
5b08c379-7d27-1b08-c75a-b7ab16b81c7b
|
['1ff98093-69a7-5ad8-cf14-29a690f7ad2d']
|
functional is the large arched doorway opening one floor off the street? Why does a saint stand at the corner of this building? The caricature is beautiful in its ridicule. The juxtaposition to the city of Chicago satirizes the role of this bell tower.
FIGURE 4.20 <PERSON>; Chicago Tribune Tower Competition, Entry 196.
This discussion of caricature has referred to a time in history when the role of artists changed to allow their creative nature to transform and recombine. <PERSON> and <PERSON> view the skills of an artist to ridicule a subject: '[f]rom an imitator he became a creator, from a disciple of nature its master. The work of art was a vision born in his mind...Thus for the first time the sketch was held in high esteem as the most direct document of inspiration' (i938: 33i). This employment of caricature by artists gives insight into architectural sketches.
FIGURE 4.21 <PERSON>; Chicago Tribune Tower Competition, Entry 162.
One key to sketching and caricature is imagination, whether a human trait or a product of divine inspiration. <PERSON> uses the term _Fantasia_ to mean creative imagination, a vital aspect for the artist or architect (Summers 1981). Having discussed _fantasia_ earlier, it seems necessary in conclusion to reiterate its importance. Caricature's distinctive characteristics are contingent upon the viewer's perception of a mental impression, and how that image provides for new thinking. It becomes possible to view the thinking process in sketches and particularly in the wit of caricature. The caricature helps the architect's creative imagination through visual recombination.
FIGURE 4.22 <PERSON> and <PERSON>; Chicago Tribune Tower Competition, Entry 104.
The quickness, economy, imagination, wit, intelligence, and ridicule of caricature offer a method to interpret architectural sketches. Caricature, in most cases, acquires its foundation from what is known. The social and cultural aspects of architecture determine what is caricatured because the ridicule of one period in history is not necessarily understood in another. Times of great change in architecture, when the new replaces the old, often provide a stage for ridicule. Through recombination, deformation and transformation, architects look to their 'inner self' for creative inspiration, which plays an important role in caricature. This quote by <PERSON> and <PERSON> can also apply to architects:
FIGURE 4.23 <PERSON>; Chicago Tribune Tower Competition, Entry 248.
_The artist,' they claimed, 'is not an imitator of crude reality. He goes beyond reality in visualizing the 'ideas', the essence of things. Only the artistic genius has this gift of vision which enables him to openhis mind to the idea of beauty and to realize it in the work of his hand. '_ Invenzione _', power of imagination, is considered the most noble of the artist's gifts (1938: 331–332)_.
The instances where the architect uses caricature to comment on other buildings, details, or the human body, are dependent upon representation. The sketch as a caricature refers to a known element in order to distort and exaggerate. This is true in all but one situation; the exception is exhibited when the sketch is a caricature of the finished work. In
|
425ffdbe-bcae-f28e-03bd-f099f7745be9
|
['1ff98093-69a7-5ad8-cf14-29a690f7ad2d']
|
point of view of the world, from conventions and established truths, from clichés, from all that is humdrum and universally accepted' (<PERSON>, 1968: 34).
The festival allowed a new order of things, especially the parody of sacred texts and rites. With the 'feast of fools', drunkenness and freedom of laughter were permitted. 'The truth of laughter embraced and carried away everyone; nobody could resist it' (Bakhtin, 1968: 82). Laughter ceremonies paralleled official religious services and, subsequently, the 'feast of fools' allowed, for example, the grotesque degradation of various church rituals and symbols. It also provided for a transfer to the material bodily level, which involved gluttony and drunken orgies on the alter table, indecent gestures, and disrobing (<PERSON>, 1968). <PERSON> writes that the carnival involved the joyful laughter of celebration, but that it also revealed an escapist opportunity within a difficult life by lowering that which was held on high by society.
'The essential principle of grotesque realism is degradation, that is, the lowering of all that is high, spiritual, ideal, abstract; it is a transfer to the material level, to the sphere of earth and body in their indissoluble unity' (<PERSON> 1968, 19). The fool could be king for a day, revered and honored by his drunken neighbors. An example of this occurs in <PERSON> _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ where <PERSON> is crowned and paraded through the streets. As rules broke down and roles reversed, people could be lewd and unmannered. 'Grotesque realism knows no other lower level; it is the fruitful earth and the womb. It is always conceiving' (<PERSON>, 1968: 21). The body that defecates and performs sexual intercourse reveals its humanness. <PERSON> continues: '[n]ot only parody in its narrow sense but all the other forms of grotesque realism degrade, bring down to earth, turn their subject into flesh' (1968: 2o).
FIGURE 5.7 <PERSON>; _<PERSON>_ , Plate XIII. Colonnaded interior with a broad staircase divided in two by a stone projection with barred window. 176os.
This contact with the earth also means rebirth; Rabelais expresses the lowest level of life, but returns it to the cycle of life (1928). 'The grotesque image reflects a phenomenon in transformation, an as yet unfinished metamorphosis of death and birth, growth and becoming' (<PERSON>, 1968: 24). It is this rebirth which provides a context within which to view the _Carceri_ etchings. The seemingly contradictory principle of rebirth in the grotesque might be a theme here, as <PERSON> is inviting a comprehension of another aspect of human nature by showing the lowest degradation of the human condition. The contact with the earth, as these underground spaces disclose, adds a new dimension of interpretation to <PERSON>'s choice of subject. It is possible the etchings represent a false face for a new life or hope from despair. <PERSON> prefers to choose hope:
_Mask is connected with the joy of change and reincarnation, with gay relativity and with the merry negation of uniformity and similarity, it rejects conformity to oneself...The mask is related to transition, metamorphoses, the violation of natural boundaries, to mockery
|
bd1b95d8-8656-eb37-8483-4386f31bf27d
|
['2006e425-8db9-f847-e051-2c1a57a6c62b']
|
waiter was there.
"Your... uh... pleasure?" he said.
"A bourbon and Coke," she said to the waiter.
"A Scotch and soda," he said to the waiter.
The waiter went away. His knees were touching hers. She could have moved hers away. She did not. Her grin was full now. She had gleaming little teeth.
"You're a quick one, aren't you?"
"Me?" he said.
"I hardly just came in."
"You're very pretty."
She was not pretty. She had a long nose and thin lips and a sallow complexion and she was at least thirty-five years old, maybe more. But her teeth were good, and her affable grin made dimples in her cheeks, and her bare arms were smooth and firm. Inside that shiny black skirt was a crazy, wonderful ass; on top she was wearing a flimsy, see-through blouse trimmed strategically with lace. "Very pretty indeed," he said.
"Don't kid a kidder, buster."
"You are," he said.
"In the eyes of the beholder," she said.
"And you've got a wild figure."
"That, yes. That, in all modesty, I have to admit. Once upon a time I was a bellydancer. But my damn hips got too big."
"Not at all."
"Look, a woman, if she knows how, she can hang on to her figure. Like I'm a nut for calesthenics. I would say my figure's just the same as when I was a girl. But the backside, excuse the expression, that you can't do much about. When it starts bulging up on you, it's like, well, a despair."
"Oh now, cut it out," he said. "Look, I saw you when you came in, didn't I? Gorgeous legs and a gorgeous, er, backside."
"In the eyes of the beholder." She laughed.
"Happens I dig a gorgeous backside."
"All I gotta say, you got plenty there to dig."
The waiter brought the drinks, the Scotch in a shot glass, the soda on the side, and the bourbon in a shot glass, the Coke on the side. <PERSON> gulped the Scotch, sipped soda. As though taking her cue from him, she did the same: gulped the bourbon, sipped Coke. The waiter was still there. "Two more of the same," <PERSON> said.
"Yes, sir," said the waiter and went away.
"Tell you a secret," she said.
"What?" he said.
"I'm stoned. I am stoned."
"It doesn't show."
"If you're a lady, you can carry it."
"Like you carry that gorgeous backside."
"Oh, you _are_ an ass-man, aren't you?"
"Why do you think I got to you so quickly?"
"There's them that don't dig ass, if you'll pardon the expression."
"I do."
"And I dig them that do. Crazy?"
"No."
"Could be, my friend, you and I, we're like soulmates."
"Could very well be."
"I got another secret to tell you."
"Tell me." He was warming up to her.
"I was here earlier tonight."
"Here in this joint?"
"It's not a joint. It's Tom's Pub."
"Here in Tom's Pub?"
"Met a guy and went out with him. Turned out to be a real creep, a square. Bored the agates
|
1e943cf2-fad6-b51f-d559-9510f066e266
|
['2006e425-8db9-f847-e051-2c1a57a6c62b']
|
I told him I had my quirks, but that I did business straightaway and that I had a fine lot of gun-boys on my payroll for just that purpose, and that if anyone tried to pull anything they'd wind up with a fast hole in the head, and wouldn't that be silly because everybody could be perfectly happy if everybody played straight poker."
"Did you also impress that on your Frenchman?"
<PERSON> came out of his corner and he leaned across the table and he bobbed a finger at me. "But good. I told him what a dope he'd be if he ever yelled copper at what he thought would be the right moment. I told him he'd never get out of the country except in a wooden box. I wasn't too worried about the Frenchman. I'm an old hand. He wouldn't yell copper. If he pulled anything, he'd pull something slick that couldn't be pinned on him. Also, I checked his credentials. That way, he was one hundred percent."
The waiter brought another pot of coffee, unasked. He also brought a check. <PERSON> paid him, tip and all.
"All right. Finish it off," I said.
"He contacted me ten days later."
"The deal was on."
"On. He talked to people about me. He also talked to his lawyers. He also talked to the <PERSON>."
"All right. All right. <PERSON>."
"So now he trusted me. He trusted me so much, he offered me a cut from his side after the pay-off. I turned it down."
"Yeah," I said. "You turned it down"
He smiled, strictly dental. "I didn't want to turn it down. I like a buck. But I turned this buck down — and with a speech. Now the guy loved me. I didn't want to turn it down, but this was <PERSON>, sprinkled with larceny, but a straight guy, and this wasn't the private deal he'd been waiting for with maybe an adventurous lover of the arts with a monocle."
"Fine, fine," I said. "So?"
"So this was a big dough deal and he was crapping in his drawers and he was heated up and nervous about Underworld with purple pants and a capital U and how he could get his head handed to him instead of two million simoleons. I know those kind of guys. He itched for the dough and he'd go through with the deal, but he could be scared off, and I'm a smart businessman when I smell a buck, especially when I smell a half a million bucks. He needed reassurance, and more reassurance. I gave him reassurance. And more reassurance. That way. <PERSON>, the kid."
"For Chrissake — so?"
"Nothing. I wired the Frenchman. I got my big Gladstone bag and we packed the tapestries, there were twelve of them, and we came along to New York by train."
"When did you get in?"
"Ten thirty."
"Where'd you go?"
"Directly home."
"Then?"
"I called up the Frog and he came over and he gave the stuff the old goose and gander, and
|
0a1b8c37-81c2-c1d1-440b-d22fe627dac7
|
['20454937-4e13-d743-fd71-6c6018d8638c']
|
the Universe: The Search for the Laws of Self-Organization and Complexity_ (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1995); <PERSON>, _A Crude Look at the Whole: The Science of Complex Systems in Business, Life, and Society_ (New York: Basic Books, 2016).
. Those familiar with the mathematics of power laws will be aware that a ¾ power scaling law means that strictly speaking the increase in metabolic rate when the size is doubled is by a factor of 23/4, which is 1.68, namely, an enhancement of 68 percent and therefore slightly less than the 75 percent increase quoted. For ease of presentation I shall ignore this difference throughout the book when presenting pedagogical examples such as this.
. There are several excellent texts summarizing the various allometric scaling laws in biology. Among them are: <PERSON>, _Size,_ _Function and Life History_ (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984); <PERSON>, _Life History Invariants_ (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1993); <PERSON> and <PERSON>, _On_ _Size and Life_ (New York: Scientific American Library, 1983); <PERSON>, _The Ecological Implications of Body Size (_ Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1986); <PERSON>, _Why Is Animal Size_ _So Important_? (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1984).
. These ideas were originally proposed in <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>, "A General Model for the Origin of Allometric Scaling Laws in Biology," _Science_ 276 (1997): 122–26. Nonmathematical reviews summarizing the general theory and its implications can be found in <PERSON> and <PERSON>, "The Origin of Allometric Scaling Laws in Biology from Genomes to Ecosystems: Towards a Quantitative Unifying Theory of Biological Structure and Organization," _Journal of Experimental Biology_ 208 (2005): 1575–92; and <PERSON> and <PERSON>, "Life's Universal Scaling Laws," _Physics_ _Today_ 57 (2004): 36–42. The various technical papers devoted to specific elaborations and ramifications of this framework will be cited in the appropriate places in later chapters.
. The seminal paper detailing these results is <PERSON>, et al., "Growth, Innovation, Scaling, and the Pace of Life in Cities," _Proceedings of the National Academy of Science USA_ 104 (2007): 7301–6. Subsequent papers dealing with specific subtopics will be cited in the appropriate places in later chapters. Brief overviews can be found in <PERSON> and <PERSON>, "A Unified Theory of Urban Living," _Nature_ 467 (2010): 912–13, and "Bigger Cities Do More with Less," _Scientific American_ (September 2011): 52–53.
. <PERSON>, et al., "The Mortality of Companies," _Journal of the Royal Society Interface_ 12 (2015): 20150120.
2. THE MEASURE OF ALL THINGS
. The title of the book is often shortened to _Dialogues Concerning Two New Sciences_. The classic source in English is the 1914 translation by <PERSON> and <PERSON>, originally published by Macmillan (1914) but reissued in 1954 by Dover Publications Inc., New York.
. The full quote from <PERSON> is worth repeating because it emphasizes a central dictum of science: "Propositions arrived at by purely logical means are completely empty as
|
e91bc185-eea5-6fb5-ab45-7c212bbbc821
|
['20454937-4e13-d743-fd71-6c6018d8638c']
|
large variance such as these. A standard strategy is to bin the data into a series of equal intervals much like a histogram, and then take the average within each interval. This effectively averages over the fluctuations and reduces the large number of data points to a relatively small number, which is just the number of bins used to divide up the entire interval. The number of employees ranges by a factor of more than a million from the very smallest, mostly young companies with few employees up to giants like Walmart with more than a million. To illustrate the procedure, the data in Figures 60–63 have been binned into eight equal intervals each covering a single order of magnitude. Thus, the first bin includes all companies with fewer than 10 employees, the second all those with 10 to 100, the third all those with 100 to 1,000, and so on, the last bin containing all those with more than a million employees.
Income, profit, assets, and sales for all 28,853 publicly traded companies in the United States from 1950 to 2009 plotted logarithmically against their number of employees showing sublinear scaling with a substantial variance. The dotted line represents the result of the binning procedure explained in the text.
The six points resulting from averaging over each bin are shown as gray dots in the graph. They represent a highly coarse-grained reduction of the data, and as you can see follow a very good straight line supporting the idea that underlying the statistical spread is an idealized power law. Because the size and number of bins used is arbitrary, we could just as well have divided up the entire interval into ten, fifty, or one hundred bins rather than just eight, and test whether the straight line remains robust against increasingly finer resolutions of the data. It does. Although binning is not a rigorous mathematical procedure, the stability of obtaining approximately the same straight-line fit using different resolutions lends strong support to the hypothesis that on average companies are self-similar and satisfy power law scaling. The graph in Figure 4 at the opening of the book is in fact the result of this binning procedure, as is the graph in Figure 41 taken from Axtell's work on showing that companies follow <PERSON>'s law. These results strongly suggest that companies, like cities and organisms, obey universal dynamics that transcend their individuality and uniqueness and that a coarse-grained science of companies is conceivable.
Additional evidence supporting this discovery came from an unlikely source, namely the Chinese stock market. In 2012 <PERSON>, a young faculty member in the School of Systems Science at Beijing Normal University, joined our collaboration. <PERSON>, as he is known to most of us, visited SFI in 2010 and became enthusiastic about getting involved in the company project. He had access to a database similar to Compustat covering all Chinese companies participating in their emerging stock market. Following the collapse of the Cultural Revolution and the rise to power of <PERSON>, economic reform led to the reestablishment of
|
f10978c5-35a8-095b-f8e8-1816207f5151
|
['20eeabaf-7db7-c596-03b4-9ee21156d577']
|
and the <PERSON> family, a personal hostility, nothing political. He also told her what he had heard from <PERSON>, the news that had so shocked him at the dinner; but he really couldn't believe what they had accused her of. It was all so obviously lies.
"They aren't lying," she said. Her eyes were closed and she was now leaning against his shoulder. "I also accused the girls in the office. Both of them."
He held her away from him so that he could look into her face. She submitted but refused to open her eyes. She spoke as if in a dream.
"It was because they hated me, they were afraid of me. I was angry with them because they didn't like me."
Her voice was a whisper, as if she were speaking neither to <PERSON> nor about herself. He listened to her the way he had to her follies and delinquencies of old. He lit another cigarette and began to pace the room. He felt very tense. At last she glanced at him, then studied his face as if trying to read what he was thinking. When their eyes met he shook his head and said, "You silly girl!" She jumped up, almost knocked him off his feet, and started to shower him with tiny kisses on his hand and face. Then she dashed out of the room, and he heard clattering sounds. When she returned she was struggling under a tray piled high with bread, tinned food, and a bottle of apricot brandy. She set it all down on the table and started to eat ravenously. <PERSON> suddenly realized how hungry he was too. For some reason nothing at the hospital dinner had appealed to him, and now he set to it with a will. <PERSON> ate fast and greedily, swallowing large mouthfuls—food clearly hadn't passed her lips for some time, no doubt because of her fear. Then she set about the apricot brandy in the same way. He could see from the way she knocked it back that she was all too used to it. Soon she was so full she began to choke. He watched her and thought about the tribunal that lay in store for her. How could he possibly make anyone understand or accept what she had done? The girl had no awareness of the nature of her impulses; she never considered the consequences of her actions or the unbridled rage that all her life had overtaken her when she suspected that anyone looked down on her or rejected her. For them, she would be just another Stalinist informer. How could he possibly explain her reasons for bringing that ridiculous charge, or make the disciplinary panel understand, or believe in, what they had once shared in Katalin Street, and how deeply it would have affected her when he abandoned <PERSON>? Smoking all the while, he racked his brains.
Finally he pulled the envelope from his pocket, the one he had been given at the hospital, and counted out the money. She watched him in silence,
|
bbd7c761-2e5b-2e56-e947-c4a30688054f
|
['20eeabaf-7db7-c596-03b4-9ee21156d577']
|
it upset her to think how many of them would sooner or later become his lovers.
What kept her retreating to the Katalin Street of her mind wasn't these women but the series of setbacks that dogged his steps at every point and threatened his career. No sooner would she be with him than she would flee from his side. She wanted to see him as a young man once again and be with him as he had been—so clever, so capable, and talented—and to hear Mrs. <PERSON>, Mr. and Mrs. <PERSON>, and the Major talking about the wonderful career that awaited him. She was only truly contented and spontaneous when she felt close to him as the boy he had been, when she played the Cherry Tree game with him and the other two girls. Every time she found herself starting to be drawn again to the older <PERSON> she felt angry with herself, and she visited him only when the desire to see him in his bodily form overcame her better judgment.
Whenever she found herself beside one of these people in a shop, or bumped into one of them in the street, their reaction was always the same. They would glance at her briefly then look away, not particularly surprised or in any way troubled. None of them would believe for a moment that it was really her, <PERSON>, standing there or hurrying along beside them. The expression on their faces would soften for a moment, as if they had heard a fragment of song borne on the wind, an old song they had known and sung in childhood and not heard since, and they were thinking how strange it was that a few bars of it should have come back to them just at that moment. When they failed yet again to recognize her or call her by her name, she hadn't the courage to address them, to explain that it really was her. She just stood there while the two of them looked at each other. It happened, quite often, that one of them would return her gaze, and sometimes they even stopped for a while. But they always moved on, visibly touched, with a distant look in their eyes, a look of wonder that the young girl they had just met should so strongly resemble someone they had once loved, someone they could never forget. But not once did they speak to her. Mrs. <PERSON>, Mrs. <PERSON>, Mr. <PERSON> himself, and both <PERSON> and <PERSON> had seen her in the street, countless times, but not for a second had they believed that it could be her, and these repeated encounters eventually discouraged her completely. It hurt her so much when they refused to acknowledge the reality of her presence and neither greeted nor spoke to her that for a time she gave up visiting them in a material form they might recognize.
The one person she had never shown herself to in bodily form was the one she actually went to see most often, <PERSON>. She
|
0267f418-8d4d-2b33-59dd-b62de1b3f22e
|
['213c5ca4-11a9-8eb8-0333-6cc44246e7cd']
|
cottages, located on the southwest corner of South Virginia and Sixteenth Streets, built in 1908 for rental homes. The houses were distinguished by large gambrel roofs with wood shingles applied in the gables. Later owned by her son-in-law, <PERSON>, president of First City Bank, they became known as the Tandy Cottages. The house at right was torn down in 1978 and the home at left in 1995 to make more parking spaces for the First Baptist Church.
<PERSON>-WOLFE HOUSE. This home, built at 303 Bryan Street in 1911 for <PERSON> <PERSON>, was an example of the early-20th-century cottage style. The Forbes Manufacturing Company, the contractors of this house, were home builders from the 1890s until the 1920s. This was later the home of the <PERSON>' daughter and her husband, <PERSON> and <PERSON>. The <PERSON>' daughter, <PERSON>, appears in this image on her tricycle. The house was torn down around 2002.
FRANKLIN-BOGARD HOUSE. <PERSON>, a Jewish merchant, had this American foursquare brick home constructed at 614 East Ninth Street in 1915 at a cost of $4,500. The tile roof and driveway portico were unusual features of homes of this era. <PERSON> and her sisters, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, great aunts of coauthor <PERSON>, resided in this home adjoining Virginia Park from 1941 until 1956. The structure was torn down in 1961.
# Two
# CHURCHES
STEEPLES, STAIRWAYS, AND STAINED GLASS
CONSOLATION UNIVERSALIST CHURCH. The first Universalist church organized west of the Allegheny Mountains was established at Consolation on May 16, 1819. The founding minister, Elder <PERSON>, was a Revolutionary War veteran from Simpson County, Kentucky. The congregation built this second building on the Dawson Springs Road about 1870. It was replaced in 1917 by a larger frame church, which was torn down in the early 1970s. A historical marker was dedicated on this site on May 7, 1978.
SALEM BAPTIST CHURCH. One of the oldest Baptist churches in the county, Salem was organized on March 7, 1827. This building, typical of church construction in the mid-19th century, was completed in 1852. It contained a slave gallery, which was removed during a remodeling in 1905. Located on the Salem Church Road off Highway 41-A, it was struck by lightning and burned on July 13, 2004.
FAIRVIEW METHODIST CHURCH. The old community of Davisburg, now called Fairview, was the site of the formation of several different churches. The Methodist church was dedicated on September 9, 1898, replacing a previous church that was struck by lightening and burned on November 16, 1897. Its Gothic design, with handsome colored-glass windows and a steeple, added to the picturesque landscape of the community. This church was also struck by lightning and burned on May 2, 1948.
HOPKINSVILLE BAPTIST CHURCH. The Baptist congregation at Hopkinsville worshipped in this structure on the northeast corner of South Main and Eleventh Streets from 1845 until 1894. It was later converted into the Hille Flats apartments. Furniture display rooms for Cayce-Yost Hardware were located on the second floor. Martin's Studio and
|
6b5bbafc-490d-6c47-2f1b-968ee97fae2d
|
['213c5ca4-11a9-8eb8-0333-6cc44246e7cd']
|
house was torn down in 1960.
<PERSON> HOMEPLACE. The house located at 1306 East Ninth Street, near the corner of Hope Street, was built by county school commissioner <PERSON> in the 1870s. For many years, its roof sheltered the large family of <PERSON>, owner of the Cate Milling Company. In later years, the family of <PERSON>, a farm implement dealer, lived in this landmark. It was destroyed in August 1989.
GLASS CORNER. The public-spirited community leader <PERSON> resided in the landmark on the southwest corner of East Seventh and Campbell Streets. This structure was built around 1870 by her father, merchant <PERSON>. The brown-shingled house, trimmed in tan, made a picturesque view across the street from Virginia Park. The Henderson-Moorefield Lumber Company replaced the house with a parking lot around 1965.
BEARD-HOLLAND HOME. Capt. <PERSON>, a saddler by trade, and his wife, <PERSON>, built this ornate Victorian house at 209 East Fourteenth Street in the late 1860s. The front porch was added in 1884. The residence was identified for many years as the home of their daughter, <PERSON>, and her cousin, <PERSON>, the owner and manager of Holland's Opera House. The house was demolished in August 1959.
LONG-BEAZLEY HOUSE. <PERSON>, president of the City Bank, contracted with <PERSON> in 1883 to build his Italianate two-story brick home on the northeast corner of South Walnut and Stanley Streets. The house, built of <PERSON> brick, featured painted quoins at each corner. Three generations of the <PERSON> family resided there between 1911 and 1963. The landmark was torn down in the spring of 1981.
MELROSE, NORTH MAIN STREET. <PERSON>, a newspaper printer for Confederate colonel <PERSON>, and his wife, <PERSON>, contracted with Forbes and Brother to build this home in 1886. The two-story Victorian frame house, located at 807 North Main Street, included nine rooms and featured handsomely carved woodwork. The home was destroyed by fire on September 18, 1914. The loss included Mercer's extensive library.
<PERSON>-JARRETT-CAYCE HOUSE. Tobacconist <PERSON> and his wife, <PERSON>, contracted with <PERSON> to build this two-story Victorian frame house at 903 East Seventh Street in 1879. It was later owned and occupied by the families of <PERSON>, also a tobacconist, and <PERSON>, owner of the Cayce-Mill Supply Company. This landmark was torn down around 1959.
<PERSON>'S BOARDING HOUSE. Large Victorian homes of the early 1880s, with spacious rooms, provided an opportunity for use as boardinghouses in the 20th century. <PERSON> built this house in the winter of 1881–1882. <PERSON>, a highly respected businesswoman, operated Harrison's Boarding House on the northeast corner of East Seventh and Liberty Streets between 1950 and 1960. Later converted into the Townhouse Apartments, the structure was removed around 1976.
THE KENTUCKY HOTEL. The Kentucky Hotel, located at 209 East Ninth Street adjacent to the old post office (now the Pennyroyal Area Museum), had a long and colorful history.
|
9c55e084-c53c-10e9-1b67-6a4bfa50279d
|
['225cb6b9-c5c7-340a-638e-cb06ef7b39b5']
|
only other source of reliable piped water is much farther south, in Louscoone Inlet.
<PERSON>, an extraordinary Canadian with a formidable reputation in geology, first surveyed this area in 1878. His writings are still standard references for researchers. The names applied to features in this region—<PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>—are tributes to geologists or other scientists whom he admired.
The tiny islands named after <PERSON>, a German geochemist, are clustered in an open circle at the north end of Juan Perez Sound. Rugged and attractive, they provide temporary shelter for boats waiting to cross the sound. This is a popular spot for camping, but unfortunately it lacks fresh water. If you're just waiting for the winds to subside, pull your kayak out on the 200-metre-long, Y-shaped islet in the southwest corner and enjoy the fine vistas of Juan Perez Sound.
Immediately north of the Bischofs lies Beresford Inlet. This long narrow inlet is the result of a geological fault running along its entire length. Fresh water is available from creeks at its head if you happen to run short while on the Bischofs. Watch out for strong tidal currents and hidden rocks in the inlet.
The name of an English geologist, <PERSON>, is commemorated by both an island and a rugged inlet that cuts into the coast of Moresby Island. Behind them the San Christoval Range rises 1,800 metres to face Juan Perez Sound. These mountains are sparsely treed and their summits are close to shore. Consequently, their semi-open rock slopes make for relatively quick ascents. Even though no trails lead to the peaks, this is one of the better places to reach the high country in Gwaii Haanas.
De La Beche Inlet offers pretty boating opportunities but is unsuitable for camping, as there are no beaches. Skittagetan Lagoon has dangerous rocks, so access is limited to paddlers. Even in the very protected harbour of nearby Sac Bay, a 30-metre yacht dragged its anchor while everyone slept. No one awoke until the hull bumped a rock at the bay's entrance. Strong downdrafts called "williwaws" had shifted the vessel. Fortunately, no damage was done. Faced with such unpredictable winds, yachters should always set two anchors.
For short hikes, boaters frequently go ashore to visit the unnamed lakes above Sac Bay and Haswell Bay. Pull on your gumboots, because there are no defined trails over the boggy ground. Enthusiasts will want to continue up the open rock slopes to the ridge of the San Christovals, where a fantastic view of Juan Perez Sound awaits.
Farther south, hidden behind Marco Island, a beach with a stream provides a good camping spot. If necessary, kayakers and small boaters can wait here for conditions to improve before crossing to Gandll K'in Gwaay.yaay. As you start out, watch for seals hauled out on rocks at the east end of Marco Island.
The islands and scenic vistas around Juan Perez Sound offer excellent photographic opportunities.
Gandll K'in Gwaay.yaay, an 8-hectare island, was once one of the most favoured destinations in Gwaii
|
5b10a73c-64ed-72bb-72ec-ebd24efaa1d5
|
['225cb6b9-c5c7-340a-638e-cb06ef7b39b5']
|
office. His job kept him extremely busy, applying church policies to corporate finances, as well as to environmental and Native land issues. This spectrum of responsibilities eventually brought him to Terrace, B.C., for a regional conference. Before the meetings ended he had been invited (divine intervention, perhaps?) to spend a few days on Haida Gwaii. This spontaneous side trip marked a new beginning in his church life. Soon he was ministering to the islands' parish and indulging his love of natural history—particularly birds.
* * *
"The first day I was here I went across the road, over the bank and looked across the inlet at all the seabirds," he recalls. "A yellow-billed loon, in breeding plumage, flew by along with <PERSON>'s auklets and marbled murrelets. It was really quite exciting."
For a keen eastern bird-watcher, this was too much to ignore. He made some phone calls, met with his supervisors, then contacted the bishop. Three months later he began a one-year sabbatical as priest at the Masset church.
"I got involved in a number of things right away. A few of us started the first Christmas bird count. Nobody could believe what we saw here. There was a cattle egret in the sanctuary, a <PERSON>'s solitaire on the beach, and I found a thick-billed murre! I fell in love with the place."
One year was not nearly long enough. He returned again in 1994, this time for a longer term. "One of the main things I wanted to do was to really explore, in depth, the spirituality of the islands and nature. I wrote a column for the national church for five years on environmental spirituality. It would be great to rewrite these and connect them with some other theological writings."
The pastorate, however, involves more than just personal endeavours. Many members of his congregation are involved in the community, in political life, in education, or they work as fishers, caregivers or at the hospital. "I see the church as giving support and meaning to what these folks are doing. That is, supporting them in a spiritual way."
He also foresees the church playing a role in the new society that is developing here. The downsizing of the armed forces base meant a loss of civilian jobs, but invigorated community spirit. The artistic community seems to have revived, and residents have more control over decisions in their community. On the flip side, economic change in the fisheries and forest industries has hit people hard, like a mean-spirited punch. Many people are hurting, out of work and with limited prospects.
The church makes its building available for community arts events and has established a successful thrift shop along with a quaint drop-in cafe. The shop is staffed by volunteers, people who want to contribute positively to their community's need. In no small way, the church also promotes the spiritual connections of humanity's place in creation.
<PERSON> eloquently ties all these observations together when asked what Haida Gwaii means to him. "The islands are the vortex of creation. To me, they are the
|
104992ab-ce31-aae7-e77f-b8a8e3f32610
|
['22618af2-8f0c-589c-e289-4e486ee22380']
|
accumulated into a few hands, which then got passed from generation to generation over centuries, as occurred in Europe. Second, the US escaped the devastation that Europe experienced; it did not suffer a massive loss of wealth as a result of two wars. Consequently, the US looks like a less extreme version of Europe. As Figure 10.5 shows, the wealth holdings of the top 1% rose from around 25% to around 45% from 1810 to 1910. They then fell to 30% by 1940 and have since crept back up to around 35%.
Figure 10.5 Wealth inequality in the U.S., 1810–2010
Figure 10.7 Return to capital and growth: France 1820–1913
The main reason for such great wealth inequality is that wealth tends to grow at around 5% per year. <PERSON> (Figure 10.7) estimates that growth rates for wealth averaged around 5% in France during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—sometimes a bit higher (6% in the middle of the nineteenth century) and sometimes a bit lower (4% at the end of the century), but the fluctuations are small and are centered around 5%. At this rate, as income from capital grows, it becomes easier to save and accumulate even more capital. This is especially true when tax rates on income from capital are low.
There was, however, one important exception to r=5%—the early and middle parts of the twentieth century, where due to a variety of factors the return to capital was only 2.5%, a bit less than the growth rate of 3%. But these circumstances cannot continue according to <PERSON>. Economic growth is slowing due to a slowdown in population growth and productivity growth (as explained in Chapter 4 above); and the returns to wealth have returned to 5%.
With g=1% and r=5%, wealth holders must save only a bit more than 20% of their gains to ensure that their wealth grows faster than average income (p. 361). Taxing some of the gains to wealth reduces after-tax returns and after-tax income, and so reduces the rate at which wealth accumulates. The two key forces that determine wealth accumulation and wealth inequality are thus the saving (and spending) behavior of the rich and government taxation of wealth.
## Chapter 11—Merit and Inheritance in the Long Run
Chapter 11 concerns the consequences of r>g. In stark terms, this inequality "implies that the past tends to devour the future: wealth originating in the past automatically grows more rapidly, even without labor, than wealth stemming from work" (p. 378). Figure 11.1 best illustrates this principle at work. It shows the ratio of inheritances to GDP in France. While remaining steady at around 20% for most of the nineteenth century, it rises slightly to 24% by 1880 and then falls precipitously to 4% by the end of World War II. Essentially, the two world wars set the wealth counter back to zero. The great inequality that existed at the beginning of the twentieth century disappears and wealth becomes a less important determinant of income inequality. Perhaps most important of all, this change gave people hope that one
|
58eb8b86-e884-5023-0911-da4aa498605e
|
['22618af2-8f0c-589c-e289-4e486ee22380']
|
economic growth and lower returns to capital income. The implication here is that if this was done in the past, it can be done again in the future.
Similarly, <PERSON> (2014), writing in The Boston Review, criticizes <PERSON> for believing that r is fixed and independent of institutional forces other than taxes. Due to this view, state policy on health, education, and income security becomes irrelevant. Campaign finance reform doesn't matter; nor does the size of the financial sector. Finally, <PERSON> points out, as did <PERSON>, that labor unions are irrelevant as far as income distribution goes, according to <PERSON>. His focus is solely on wealth taxation; all other options get ignored.
As noted in Chapter 7 above, this critique of <PERSON> is not quite on the mark. <PERSON> does support the sort of policies that <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and other progressive economists would like to see enacted. He just does not think that these problems can mitigate inequality very much. <PERSON> favors a wealth tax because only this will directly reduce returns to wealth and because wealth inequality is what leads to income inequality. Having said this, it is probably worth repeating another point from Chapter 7—taxing wealth is problematic from a practical standpoint and a focus on progressive income taxes and broad spending and insurance programs stands a much better chance of mitigating rising inequality.
## The <PERSON> critique
As initial reviews of Capital in the Twenty-First Century began to appear, a huge controversy erupted. On May 23, 2014 the Financial Times published a long article by <PERSON> (2014a), one of its editors. The piece tried to turn <PERSON>, a hero of the center and left, into a goat by claiming that there were serious problems with his wealth distribution figures.
From a political perspective, the piece was a success; it cast considerable doubt on <PERSON>'s empirical work as well as the analysis and policy prescriptions in his book. Anyone who didn't like <PERSON>'s message, or his policy proposals, could mention the Financial Times piece—all the while chanting that the numbers have "unexplained errors." Those on the right could claim <PERSON> lied or just made up numbers so that he could tax the wealthy. Such a backlash began immediately on social media, with lots of Tweets claiming that <PERSON> had lied and the Financial Times caught him at it. It is not likely that these individuals read the <PERSON> article or sought to understand the problems he was pointing out. To be fair, many on the left behaved similarly, assuming <PERSON>'s numbers were right and <PERSON> was wrong. Overall, <PERSON>'s numbers were either accepted or rejected as a matter of faith. Little or no effort was put into understanding the data or the hard work involved making empirical estimates of income and wealth inequality.
<PERSON> raised two objections regarding <PERSON>'s data. First, he complained that <PERSON> does not explain his data or the many tweaks that he made to his raw data. Going even further, he accused <PERSON> of making mistakes and not properly adjusting some data. Second, <PERSON>
|
b133bb88-ded9-351a-fa5b-bd7ce19e0325
|
['233e9c13-8f2f-b756-9138-fcda59d4b86e']
|
holders themselves. User-created content in the Most Viewed category predominantly took the form of vlog entries, though there was also some instructional content, user-created sketch comedy, and musical performances – either footage from shows or users at home (or in the studio) performing directly for the camera.
The Most Favorited category – videos users have added to their personal profiles – was nearly evenly split between traditional (47 percent) and user-created content (43 percent). 'Favoriting' something is an act both of self-expression and identity performance; when videos are added to a user's list of favorites, they're not just saved for later viewing; they are published as markers of personal taste and implicitly communicate recommendations to other users.
A portion of videos in each category of popularity was coded as 'uncertain'; these videos, comprising roughly 10 percent in the case of both Most Favorited and Most Viewed, included videos the coders were unable to make a definitive decision about. Many of the videos coded here had been removed from YouTube, and were undiscoverable on other video-sharing sites or elsewhere across the Internet. Others were from media systems coders were not familiar with – perhaps in a language other than English, Spanish, or Chinese – and coders were unable to read the formal, aesthetic, and extra-textual markers to determine the video's origin. Finally, some videos were coded as 'uncertain' in instances where coders could not clearly determine whether the content was user-created or the product of professional media producers, based on the content of the video and details provided in any intertextual or extra-textual sources, such as the profile of the uploader, hypertext links that might be provided to other sites on the Internet, or discussion in industry, press, or other publications regarding the videos.
These 'uncertain' videos reveal some of the most interesting difficulties that arise when classifying the content of YouTube. In practice, there is a great deal of slippage between the categories of 'traditional media' and 'user-created content' in our survey, and making determinations between them relies as much on how the material is positioned by extra-textual and intertextual material as it does on markers within the content itself. But these problems were also very productive: the coding process revealed some of the specific sources of uncertainty around the distinctions between professional and user-created content in YouTube.
**Clips and Quotes: Uses of Traditional Media Content**
Like all media, YouTube only really makes sense when understood as something that people make use of in everyday life. <PERSON> (2007) notes participatory culture and digital tools mean audiences no longer need to resort to auxiliary media forms to respond to the culture around them, suggesting the everyday experience of media audiencehood might need to be rethought to include new forms of cultural production that occur as part of ordinary media use. Participants in YouTube clearly do engage in new forms of 'publishing,' partly as a way to narrate and communicate their own cultural experiences, including their experiences as 'citizen-consumers,' which are bound up with commercial popular media. <PERSON> (2008a) describes this mode of
|
e8e284ce-0b6d-646a-c087-b78f0bd808bb
|
['233e9c13-8f2f-b756-9138-fcda59d4b86e']
|
are part of the fun of participating in the social network.
A good example of this from the period in which our content survey took place was the controversy over prominent user LisaNova allegedly 'spamming' others with comments in order to attract audiences to her channel. It was quite evident that as part of the controversy playing itself out, the trolling, hating, and parodying became spectacle in themselves. The LisaNova flame war also revealed the internal tensions between the very small number of YouTubers who have become partners (and therefore share in the advertising revenue generated on the website), and the larger group of core YouTubers. The occasional antagonisms between 'A-list' YouTubers and the rest of the 'core' user group is partly a result of the monetization of popularity; the success of the YouTube 'stars' is an element of the perception that YouTube is evolving from a community-driven platform to a more mainstream, commercial space.
At issue in these controversies is the extent to which YouTubers (whether partners or not) have an influence on the future of the community in which they have so much investment. Most significantly, they provide an indication of the competing logics of expertise, authority, and value that are at work within YouTube as a cultural space. The controversies also help us to understand how participation in this self-constituted YouTube 'community' relies on various forms of vernacular expertise, combining a critical and literate understanding of the 'attention economy' and the affordances of the network with the ability to navigate the social and cultural norms of the community.
Despite its internal antagonisms, it is YouTube's social network, produced out of interactions between participants via their videos, that provides the environment in which new literacies, new cultural forms, and new social practices – situated in and appropriate to the culture of user-created online video – are 'originated,' 'adopted,' and 'retained' (<PERSON> _et al._ , 2008a). It is the participants in YouTube's social network who are producing much of YouTube's cultural, social, and economic value.
In participatory culture more broadly, any platform's capacity to produce value relies on the active involvement of communities of co-creative users. In fact, platform providers like YouTube are no longer only in the 'media' business; they now are also in the social network business. In the context of games, <PERSON> (2005b) argues that platform providers currently have a faltering understanding of this new role as community managers; certainly, it is unclear whether YouTube Inc. is fully committed to the responsibilities as well as the benefits that flow from its role as patron for the creative and collaborative work of its core users – the work that actually produces YouTube _as_ a community.
As <PERSON> (2008) argues, heavy-handed, top-down community 'management,' especially when designed to placate advertisers rather than to promote a welcoming environment for participation and user-led innovation, would run counter to the self-forming dynamics that have built YouTube as a community, but both the company and the community that co-creates its value would benefit from developing more sophisticated models of community-led governance and measures of
|
902d5edb-9e09-06b9-bfee-b5e6928d5a81
|
['237c526f-15ff-591a-3962-3021ad9a96af']
|
you while you deal with the true cause.
Getting to the roots of your jealousy takes time. When you feel jealous, you often want to act on it immediately—usually in destructive ways. Instead, take the time to figure out what's actually going on, what your jealousy is trying to tell you.
_Step 5: Talk about it._ Jealousy management relies on calming fears directly by talking about them and learning the way our partners feel about us. And by "talking about them," we don't mean what <PERSON> did in his relationship with <PERSON> when he said, "You terrible person, how could you make me feel this way?" We mean acknowledge and own the fear and ask for support to deal with it. "When you're on a date with him and you do that thing with your tongue, I feel jealous. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do it, but I sure could use some love and support."
This kind of communication is not always easy, especially when the jealousy arrives with a heaping side order of shame and doubt. Talking about it, though, can go a long way toward pulling out its fangs. One of the best ways to start addressing our fears in poly relationships is to ask our partners what they value in us...and trust that what they say is true. And if what they say doesn't stick, ask again. And listen. And keep at it until those things that make us magnificent in our partners' eyes start to sink in.
_Step 6: Practice security._ A particularly insidious thing about insecurity is that it tends to find—or invent—"evidence" to support itself. It sneaks up on you to whisper in your ear that you're not valued and not loved and your partner doesn't really want to be with you, even when those things aren't true. These things _feel_ real. There is always the possibility that they _are_ real, which we'll discuss in the final section—but very often, they are not, and accepting them at face value can destroy the very connection you're trying to protect.
Again, we become good at what we practice. When we practice convincing ourselves that our partners don't want us, don't value us and don't really want to be involved with us, we become good at believing it. When we practice convincing ourselves that we have value and worth and our partners treasure us, we become good at believing that.
And often a relationship _becomes_ what we believe about it. If you believe your partner does not love you and treasure you, then you may act in destructive ways. You might become withdrawn, sullen or defensive, which will cause your relationship to suffer. If you believe you are cherished and valued, then you start to act with confidence, trust and openness—and people like that are great to be around. Your relationships will blossom.
Jealousy may feel intractable, but remember, it's just a feeling. Like any other emotion, it does not have to be the reality you live in.
# WHEN YOU FEEL LEFT OUT
"How do you deal with
|
0bfc916d-32fb-70b1-1f15-6aca76d181d5
|
['237c526f-15ff-591a-3962-3021ad9a96af']
|
crisis, it can be tremendously helpful for your partner to offer loving, reassuring touch, without judgment or an attempt to find an immediate solution. For many people, physical contact (without pressure to start processing just yet) helps calm those primal fears. If the partner you're feeling jealous about isn't available—if the jealousy happens when they're on a date, for example—you can turn to another partner, a close friend or even a pet if necessary.
Step 1 was to accept the feelings—and it's important for your support people to accept them, too. It's unfortunately all too common for poly people to subtly or overtly shame each other for feeling jealous, and this is never helpful. You're not less evolved or less spiritual, you're not (necessarily) clinging to a scarcity or ownership paradigm, and you're not "not really poly." You're a person who's having totally normal feelings.
It's often not helpful to try to do any serious emotional processing at this stage. Jealousy can make us feel threatened at a very deep, survival level, setting off panicked responses in some of the most ancient parts of our brains. Until those feelings have subsided, it can be hard to do the cognitive work that's needed for dealing with jealousy for the long term. Even if you're someone who likes to process verbally during intense emotional experiences, beware of making any long-term decisions right now.
_Step 3. Separate triggers from causes._ The next step is harder. It involves disassembling the jealousy to find where you are afraid and insecure. Long-lasting jealousy management can come only from strengthening the places where your self-esteem is weak.
Examine your triggers, the specific thoughts, actions, sights or events that set off an emotion. It's easy to believe that these triggers "cause" the emotion, but the truth is a bit more complicated. We might feel that wild rush of jealousy when we see our partner kiss another person, but that doesn't mean the kiss itself is the root cause. Instead, it's more accurate to say that the kiss is the switch that turns on a complicated chain of emotions that brings us nose-to-claw with some internal beast—a fear of being replaced, maybe, or a sense of territoriality. The kiss might be the trigger, but the cause is something else—some insecurity, stirred from its slumber.
This chain reaction is why restrictions on specific actions or behaviors rarely do much to alleviate jealousy. The beast still lies there, waiting for some other poke or prod to awaken it. At some point, if we are to be free of jealousy, we have to confront the monster directly. That means digging deep to uncover and deal with the internal things—the wobbles in our sense of worthiness, the little fears that try to convince us we will be abandoned.
_Step 4. Understand the feelings._ Feelings need to be examined to be understood, and the first step in examining them is to accept them for what they are. But that doesn't necessarily mean we have to _believe_ them. We're often told to trust our intuition or go
|
924dcc92-c235-3658-095f-39d3c9f7b435
|
['23839d1b-7637-cb93-bbb3-671710f50469']
|
Thailand, pairs the fresh, bright flavors of that country with local seafood and herbs in a delightful sandwich with a spicy kick. **
### BANH MI BURGER
**These oblong-shaped patties, served on baguettes instead of traditional hamburger rolls, are a takeoff on Vietnamese banh mi sandwiches. A culinary legacy of France's colonial rule in Vietnam, the sandwiches draw from both cultures, as does our burger—with a nod to our northern neighbors, French Canada.**
**We use the reverse-sear method for these burgers, which allows the meat to cook through yet stay juicy inside. At the last minute, just before serving, we transfer it to the stovetop and create a nice crust in the skillet. The Pork Corton should be made the day before you plan to serve these.**
**2 1/2 pounds (1.1 kg) boneless pork shoulder or butt**
**3 tablespoons (45 ml) fish sauce (preferably Red Boat brand)**
**1 tablespoon (6 g) minced fresh ginger**
**2 teaspoons (10 g) palm sugar or light brown sugar**
**2 teaspoons (9 g) Chinese chili garlic sauce**
**1 clove garlic, minced**
**1 teaspoon (5 ml) soy sauce**
**1 teaspoon (2 g) fresh cracked white pepper**
**1/2 teaspoon (2.5 ml) sesame oil**
**1/2 cup (25 g) panko**
**Peanut oil, for cooking**
**Lime wedge**
**2 baguettes, hollowed out and cut into thirds**
**1 cup (225 g) mayonnaise (we prefer Kewpie mayonnaise, found in many Asian markets)**
**Pork Corton (recipe follows)**
**1/2 English cucumber, thinly sliced**
**1 carrot, shredded**
**1/2 jalapeño pepper, thinly sliced**
**Cilantro, mint, and basil leaves**
**6 pieces butter lettuce**
**SPECIAL EQUIPMENT:**
**Grinder attachment to stand mixer, parchment paper**
Freeze the pork until stiff but not frozen, about 1 hour.
Using the coarse grinder plate, grind the pork according to the technique in chapter 1 (see page 15). Refrigerate until ready to use.
Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. Preheat the oven to 275°F (140°C, gas mark 1).
In a large bowl, combine the ground pork, fish sauce, ginger, brown sugar, chili sauce, garlic, soy sauce, white pepper, and sesame oil. Carefully fold in the bread crumbs.
With moistened hands, shape the mixture into 6 flat, oval patties, about 3/4 inch (2 cm) thick.
Place the patties on the parchment-lined pans and bake on the center rack of the oven for 30 minutes or until an instant-read thermometer registers 145°F (63°C).
Remove from the oven and heat a skillet over high heat until very hot. If you have an infrared thermometer, the skillet should register at least 500°F (250°C). Or test by brushing on a bit of oil. When the skillet starts to smoke, it is ready.
Brush the peanut oil onto the skillet and sear the patties for 1 minute. Using a thin, flexible metal spatula, carefully turn the patties over and sear the other side for 1 minute.
Remove the burgers to the sheet pan, squeeze them with the lime wedge, and let the burgers rest while you toast the baguettes.
Wipe out the griddle. Spread the cut sides of the baguettes with the mayonnaise and place on the griddle over very
|
ba2599ec-03b0-7414-f412-71d330f18947
|
['23839d1b-7637-cb93-bbb3-671710f50469']
|
the spring before grilling season rolls into full gear. You'll be happy to have it on hand.**
# **JERK RIBS WITH <PERSON> AND GRILLED BANANAS**
**MAKES ABOUT 4 SERVINGS**
**WE LOVE THE INTENSE HEAT AND FLAVOR OF THE HABANERO. IF YOU'RE NOT A FAN OF THE HEAT, TRY ADDING A SMALL AMOUNT OF THE PEPPER UNTIL YOU HAVE OBTAINED YOUR COMFORT LEVEL. OR JUST TRUST US AND GO FOR IT.**
**OUR GOAL FOR THIS RECIPE IS TO GET THE RUB TO "CRUST UP" WHILE COOKING, WHICH GIVES THE RIBS A FABULOUS, DYNAMIC FLAVOR. TRADITIONALLY, PIMENTO WOOD IS USED TO COOK JERK-STYLE FOOD IN JAMAICA. ANY KIND OF HARDWOOD (WE PREFER CHUNKS) WILL WORK WELL TO ROAST THESE RIBS. KEEPING THEM IN THE SAME SPOT ON THE GRILL HELPS, TOO.**
**4 habanero peppers, stems removed, minced**
**¼ cup/60g brown sugar**
**4 tsp/7g ground cinnamon**
**2 tsp/4g cumin seeds, toasted and ground**
**2 tsp/4g dried thyme**
**2 tsp/4g dried oregano**
**2 tsp/4g ground allspice**
**1 tsp ground nutmeg**
**2 tbsp/36g plus 2 tsp/12g kosher salt**
**4 tsp/7g ground black pepper**
**¼ cup/60ml white vinegar**
**¼ cup/60ml canola oil**
**2 racks baby back ribs, about 2 lb/900g each, peeled**
**Grilled Bananas (recipe follows)**
**Guava Glaze, for serving (recipe follows)**
Make the rub: In a small bowl, mix together the habanero, brown sugar, cinnamon, cumin, thyme, oregano, allspice, nutmeg, salt, pepper, vinegar and oil. Set aside.
Place the racks of ribs on a large baking sheet and coat completely with the rub. Refrigerate for 24 hours. Every 6 to 8 hours, reapply the rub that has dripped off, then flip the racks over.
Prepare the grill for hot two-zone grilling. Pile the unlit charcoal, preferably pimento wood (see Resources), on one side of the grill. Fill a chimney with charcoal. Stuff two sheets of newspaper in the bottom of the chimney and light it. When the coals are fully engaged—you should see flames peeking over the top—pour them over the unlit charcoal. Cover the grill and open the vents all the way. If using a gas grill, light the gas and adjust the temperature on one side to high.
When the temperature reaches 350°F/177°C, clean the grill grate. Place the two racks meat-side up as far as possible from the hot side of the grill. Cover the grill and roast the ribs for 30 minutes. Flip and rotate each rack, so the one that was closest to the fire is now the farthest, and both are meat-side down. At this point you might have to throw a little more charcoal on the fire to maintain the heat. Grill the ribs for 30 more minutes, then flip and rotate again, adding a small amount of coal. Continue to cook, covered, for 30 minutes more. The meat should be browning at this point.
After 1½ hours the ribs should be close to done. A thermometer inserted into the meat should register 170°F/77°C and the meat should be tender. (Note to our barbecue friends: This is not barbecue-tender style. It's a grill-roast.)
Remove the ribs and let cool
|
63e60be6-8c05-56de-9202-8a08b69581dc
|
['239d7798-f8b7-f741-9628-e07986f07a57']
|
## Nasty Dates
**_Makes 20_**
You've stuffed a date before, right? Silky, explosive, sweet, and salty. Hot and kind of funky...Blue cheese–stuffed Medjools are nearly as rich as the now-ubiquitous bacon-wrapped dates, and thrown on a grill they're way better. They taste like rounding third base feels.
**20 Medjool dates**
**8 ounces Mycella blue cheese**
**¼ cup red curry paste**
**10 wood skewers**
**_HEY YOU!_**
_Vegetarian Curry Paste you ask? Yeah...90% of what's on the market has ground shrimp in it. Hunt down the 'yellow' and you should be gold. Mae Ploy is our preferred brand._
**Beverage**
The Bruery,
Gunga Galunga
**Soundtrack**
"Babies," Pulp
1. Soak the skewers in water for about 10 minutes to prevent them from burning. Make sure your grill is hot.
2. While you wait, pit and stuff your dates: gently slit open each date and pry out the stone without causing structural damage to it. Using a butter knife, slather half a teaspoon or so of curry paste inside. Pinch off about a teaspoon of Mycella and wedge it inside too. Close the date back together. (It should be gaping with cheese but stick together nicely.)
3. Once the skewers are sufficiently wet, shake them dry. Carefully insert each skewer through the center of one date and then a second. Spray the dates or the grill with a light layer of canola oil and lay them down to cook. Flip after 2 to 3 minutes. Once cheese starts to melt, they're ready to serve.
## Junk Food Potato Salad
**_Serves 8 to 10_**
We'll never been the same after making blackened potato salad the first time. The idea is duh: parboil your cut potatoes, strain 'em and drain 'em, then shake 'em with cornmeal, herbs, and spices until they're coated and pan-fry them in fat to till they're crunchy. For our trademarked 'Dirty South' flavor, just use the Cajun crust from our okra gratin (pg. 71) which makes flavor crunchies out of fresh oregano, thyme, paprika, and white pepper. But for the 'Classic Americana' version, we do something we wouldn't normally do: we pop a bag of corn chips and use them lavishly like a fine imported spice. Whether it's a fancy schmancy brand or your guilty pleasure go-to Doritos, the technique is the same. Grind your chips into flavor-crystal crumbs using a food processor and dust those taters for blackening. Once you go blackened, you'll never go back.
**2 pounds red skin potatoes**
**half a 17-ounce bag of corn chips**
**2 tablespoons butter**
**¼ cup mayonnaise**
**½ cup labneh or yogurt**
**½ cup scallions, sliced**
**½ cup fresh cilantro, chopped**
**sea salt to taste**
**_HEY YOU!_**
_We officially do not endorse Doritos' makers, or their subsidiaries. But their corn byproduct (powdered cheese frankenchips) are frankly amazing. Mea Culpa._
**Beverage**
Oskar Blues,
Mama's Little Yella Pils
**Soundtrack**
"Suicide Sally and Jonny Guitar," Primal Scream
1. Parboil the potatoes: dice them into cubes on the larger end of bite-sized. Add them to a pot of salted water. Set on medium and cook until you
|
6905f85d-f3a9-91fa-6fca-41f0424e5b74
|
['239d7798-f8b7-f741-9628-e07986f07a57']
|
remove the core and the seeds and discard. Once all the peppers are rubbed clean, cut each into three or four large pieces and set aside.
3. Toast the walnuts (reserving half for later use) on very low heat, shaking often to keep them from burning. This should take about 10 minutes. Remove from heat.
4. In a food processor, combine walnuts, peppers, and all other ingredients except for the reserved half cup of nuts and the breadcrumbs. Pulse, stopping to taste, and salt as you like. Dump your beautiful red mixture into a mixing bowl and add breadcrumbs. Chop remaining walnuts finely and add those too. Let sit for at least an hour before serving.
## Pink Pita
**_Makes about 15_**
**3 raw medium-sized beets**
**½ cup water**
**3 cups bread flour, plus extra for dusting**
**2 teaspoons sea salt**
**2 teaspoons yeast**
**2 tablespoons olive oil**
**1–2 tablespoons za'atar**
**Beverage**
Left Hand,
Milk Stout
**Soundtrack**
"Fire,"
Valet
**_HEY YOU!_**
_Degas your dough! Punch down your inflated balls before you shape them so they'll rise a little bit more prior to baking. This'll help you get those air pockets in your pita, and keep the flatbreads fluffy._
1. Two hours before baking, prepare the dough. Peel the beets and place in a blender with the water. Pulse for more than a minute until thoroughly pulverized into a red beet juice. Over a bowl, push the juice through fine mesh strainer using a ladle. You should have about 1 ¼ cups liquid; if you don't, add water till you do. Add salt and olive oil to this and whisk.
2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour and yeast and mix. Now, pour the beet juice mixture into the bowl and mix with your hands until it comes together to form a slightly sticky ball.
3. Transfer the dough to a floured cutting board. Flour your mitts, then knead the dough for 5 minutes and cover with a towel and rest it for 5 minutes. Come back, apply more flour to the surface and knead again for about 8 minutes or until the dough becomes silky smooth.
4. Let the dough rise. Place it in a large mixing bowl that's been drizzled with olive oil. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and sit it on the counter for at least 90 minutes, until it doubles in size.
5. Return the risen dough to a floured surface, and cut it into 12 equal-sized pieces. Roll these into balls and gently press each into flat circles using a tortilla press, making sure to spray the press with canola oil to keep from sticking. (A rolling pin works fine too.) Lay the pita discs flat on a baking sheet, cover with a towel and let sit for 10 minutes. They'll shrink a little. (If baking, preheat oven to 475 degrees with a pizza stone or cast-iron inside. If grilling, start your grill.)
6. After 10 minutes, repeat. Press more firmly than last time in order to help the pita discs
|
8ae3358e-5e5a-b67d-b884-8b97b5555663
|
['23b26d56-8542-e14b-98d3-565b708c6b16']
|
was used to create the foreground rocks as a frame. Dark ink was also used for the spruce trees but at mid-ground, ink tones were lighter to give the effect of sunlight, depth and a sense of distance. Then the viewer's eye is carried on to the tree line that follows the "zigzag" of the stream's ravine, to its source at the snowfields. Ancient Chinese landscape works used this schema to create an instant journey through the painting.
To assist in this work's mental journey, a more realistic style in technique was used, with the addition of greater detail. One can imagine beginning at the waterfall, moving through the forest and hiking along the river bank upwards to the rugged glacial carved peak.
The text was done by the expert Chinese calligrapher <PERSON> (my visit to his studio is described on page ). The four main ideograms may be translated as "Fresh snow, opening of new season." The smaller calligraphy lines read, "Painted by <PERSON>, 1988, October. <PERSON> gave text to this painting."
To highlight the freshness of the snow, the snow clouds in the sky were made a bit darker.
The rugged glacial cirque is reinforced with the use of darker ink to emphasize the precipitous glacial carving of the peak.
Forests grow along the mountain's sides and along the gorges. To create texture and depth for the gorge, I began with dark ink and moved on to using lighter ink in gradation which eventually faded into very light ink to show depth and the effect of the sunlight. A dry brush should be used to create texture and contrast for the rocks and for hints of mist from the splashing water.
To express this water's tremendous force in a painting, begin by using very light ink. In dots, not lines, outline the movement of the water. Then gradually begin to sculpt out the fall's outline. When you watch a young child creating images with crayons, notice that while drawing, for instance, a jet plane, he or she literally becomes the jet and (if allowed) will "roar" with the jet as he or she draws. The same approach should be taken in painting a waterfall; one must literally become the waterfall.
##
4. Murmuring Surf
Size: H = 40.5"/103cm x W = 20"/50cm
Paper: Unsized, pre-mounted on a board
Sumi Ink: Blue tone
Category: Suiboku-ga
Along a rugged sea coast, it is not unusual to see a few trees growing on rocky outcrops which protrude from the ocean to form small islands. Depending upon the time of day, the weather and the season, such scenes can be a poetic and deeply moving spiritual experience. A gentle rain under misty conditions with muted colors, when the seas are tranquil, makes them classic subjects for sumi-e and suiboku paintings.
My intention in this work was to have light coming out from behind the rock to create the sense that sunlight would soon break out through the veil. This light also strengthens and enhances the presence of the rock.
|
36996fbd-e0d5-c9b3-4a03-b9beb19b82a3
|
['23b26d56-8542-e14b-98d3-565b708c6b16']
|
for the rocks and black ink with a blue tone for the tree. Blue tone ink was also used for the distant rocks. In composition, the rock and tree are dominant, the mid-ground rocks are subdominant and the distant rocks are the subordinate subjects. Like the previous painting Pine Breeze in the Moonlight, this painting also follows a right-side pattern.
One dead branch sticks up from the pine tree to dramatize and exaggerate the years of hardship in survival. The pine tree and needles were painted in the traditional method (see Chapter ), with the needles painted one by one. Then lighter ink was applied to give the sense of density.
To roughen the surfaces of the rocks, a drier brush with brown tone ink was used to create the multiple fine lines which follow the main line brush movements to give texture.
##
9. Fury of the Pacific
Size: H = 19"/48cm x W = 50"/127cm
Paper: Sized; pre-mounted on a board
Sumi Ink: Blue tone and standard, and silver pigment
Category: Suiboku-ga
The creative process for artists comes through many different avenues. One common situation is that an artist has a certain image in mind and, according with that image, gradually accumulates sketches and then eventually uses this information to develop a composition for a painting. Step by step, while the artist uses carefully-judging eyes, the composition of the painting begins to grow.
The contrasting situation is that the artist's mind is so possessed with images and situations that, without prior preparation or sketches or compositions, he or she "dives" into the creative process. This work, Fury of the Pacific, fits the latter category. I was almost in a state of frenzy as I made this painting. In this work, the use of the brush as a tool in the traditional ways was minimal and I was completely in sync with this tree standing against the powerful wind, leaves straining, the occasional view of rocks seen when the water crashed against any object in the way.
It required enormous inner energy to create this painting of hurricane force winds. If a stranger had entered the studio while I was working, I would, no doubt, have appeared to be insane. This is a once in a lifetime creative experience.
During 1994 on the coast where I live, there was a great Pacific storm. Close to the beachfront, trees appeared to almost take flight as I attempted to sketch against the power of the wind. My endeavor in this painting was to portray the great forces of nature through the immediacy of sumi ink. Powerful brush strokes were made directional to show the gale force of the wind and rain. Other parts of the painting, such as wave action, were mainly created using the tarashi komi technique in maximum effect.
After I had finished painting the left-hand side's wave patterns, I moved on to add the trees that were forcefully bent by the wind. Then the related headland "terra firma" and the rocks were completed. But when I stepped back and re-examined
|
274c9746-3ed0-7953-5747-32b86b59dd8b
|
['23b8aae2-ad10-c5ae-3c14-626223ca39f9']
|
great fun with him about that when he's well again.'
The tower door opened, and <PERSON>, the old gentleman's faithful servant, came out. He was pale and anxious.
'Oh, ma'am,' he exclaimed, 'he's covered in blood! He doesn't want anyone to know. We must save him!'
Mrs <PERSON> ran back to the tower. The rest of us dared not move. She soon reappeared.
'It's dreadful!' she said. 'His chest is all cut!' I offered her my arm for support, for, strangely enough, <PERSON> had left us and was sauntering up and down the rampart, whistling. I tried to comfort Mrs <PERSON> and felt sorry for her, but M. and Madame <PERSON> did not.
<PERSON> reached the castle about an hour later. I was watching for him from the top of the western rampart, and as soon as I saw him coming, I hastened to meet him. Before I had a chance to put in a word, he asked me if I had had a good catch, but there was no mistaking the real meaning of his searching look. I, however, wanted to show that I was just as smart as him, and remarked casually:
'Yes, excellent! I fished out Old <PERSON>!'
He started. I shrugged my shoulders, for I thought he was acting, and said:
'Oh, come now, you knew perfectly well what you were sending us after!'
He stared at me in astonishment.
'My dear <PERSON>, you evidently don't realise what you are saying, or you would save me the trouble of answering such a charge.'
'What charge?' I inquired.
'Leaving Old <PERSON> at the bottom of the <PERSON> and <PERSON> cave, knowing him to be dying.'
'Oh,' I said, 'don't worry. Old <PERSON> isn't likely to die. He's sprained his ankle and put his shoulder out of joint. There's nothing very serious about that, and he hasn't been up to any harm. He says he wanted to steal Prince <PERSON>'s skull.'
'What a quaint idea!' sneered <PERSON>. Leaning towards me and looking me straight in the eye, he said: 'Do you believe that yarn? And is that all? No other wounds?'
'Oh, yes,' I answered, 'there's another, but the doctors say it isn't of any consequence. He's got a scratch across his chest.'
'His chest!' exclaimed <PERSON>, nervously clutching my hand. 'Tell me about it.'
'I can't. We haven't seen it. Old <PERSON> is strangely modest. He wouldn't take his coat off in front of us, and the coat hid the wound so well that we shouldn't have known about it if <PERSON> hadn't come and told us, for he was so upset at the quantity of blood.'
As soon as we reached the castle, we met Mrs <PERSON>, who appeared to be looking for us.
'My uncle won't let me stay with him!' she exclaimed, looking at <PERSON> with a look of anxiety that I had never before seen on her face. 'I can't understand it.'
'Madame,' replied the young reporter, with his most ceremonious bow, 'nothing is incomprehensible if you just take a little trouble to try and
|
dabefdf8-627e-9e45-5d1f-d3e5e068992d
|
['23b8aae2-ad10-c5ae-3c14-626223ca39f9']
|
and read: '<PERSON> has definitely not left Paris since April 6th.'
<PERSON> looked at me and burst into peals of laughter.
'Oh, I say!' he exclaimed. 'Did you ask for that information? What did you expect?'
Rather annoyed by <PERSON>'s response, I replied: 'It was at Dijon that it struck me that <PERSON> might be in some way implicated in the misfortunes which the message we had received led us to foresee. So I asked one of my friends to find out for me what that unspeakable man was doing. I was curious to know if he was still in Paris.'
'Well,' said <PERSON>, 'now you know. Do you suspect that behind <PERSON>' pale features lurk those of the resurrected <PERSON>?'
'Certainly not!' I said rather sharply, for I had an idea that <PERSON> was poking fun at me. That was, in fact, precisely what I had thought.
'Haven't you done with <PERSON> yet?' <PERSON> asked sadly. 'He's not much of a man, but he's not a bad fellow, after all.'
'I cannot agree,' I retorted.
I returned to my corner. According to <PERSON>, I do not, as a rule, have much luck with my personal observations, and he often made fun of them. But this time we received proof some days later that if <PERSON> was not concealing in his person the identity of <PERSON>, he was, nevertheless, a scoundrel. To be fair, later, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, convinced of the correctness of my judgement, properly apologised. However, let us not anticipate. I have mentioned this incident purely in order to call attention to the degree to which I was haunted by the belief that <PERSON> was hiding, in disguise, amongst the members of our entourage, whom we knew but slightly. After all, <PERSON> had so often proved his talent, nay, his genius in that direction, that I had grown to suspect everybody. I soon came to the conclusion, however – and Mr <PERSON>'s unexpected arrival on the scene did much to alter my mind – that <PERSON> had this time changed his tactics. Far from hiding, the scoundrel showed himself openly to some of us, with unparalleled audacity. What did he have to fear here? Certainly neither <PERSON> nor his wife would denounce him, and consequently their friends would not do so either. His object seemed to be to ruin the happiness of that couple who had believed themselves for ever rid of him. But in that case, why should he take his revenge in this way? Would not his purpose have been better served by showing himself before the wedding ever took place? He could have prevented it. Yes, but he would have had to show himself in Paris, and we could only suppose that the danger of doing so there had deterred him. Who knows?
Let us, however, listen to <PERSON>, who has joined us on the train. <PERSON>, of course, knows nothing of <PERSON>'s appearance at Bourg, nothing of his having been seen on the train, and he brings us terrifying news. We have to
|
43460a36-acfe-c544-5042-cb04a0560a8a
|
['242da8e2-d76c-9078-05dc-cf4a2991e03b']
|
head cautiously.
"No," she went on, "how could they? Those girls on bikes there... They're already being eaten away. Like skeletons, people sit in their regular spot behind the window. The advertisements have blown off the walls. The neon lights shatter on the shop fronts. Only a few old, thick cables are left hanging, dangling in the wind. They could fall any minute now. Dear <PERSON>, why doesn't anyone see it? I always thought everyone could see that."
"Yes," said <PERSON>. "Oh yes, now I see it." But of course he couldn't see anything. His heart was in his mouth. He deeply regretted the whole adventure. Living life to the full placed exaggerated demands on people. Wasn't there some way of plunging in one foot at a time instead of immediately going under?
To his relief, he discovered a paddle under the seat. They were bobbing up and down in one of the widest canals, not far from a houseboat that was within paddling range. But just when he was about to get up, <PERSON> turned around to face him and laid her head on his chest. Suddenly calm, she briefly raised her upper body so that he could wrap his arm around her.
"It won't be long now," she said. "Take care of me. You'll take care of me. Promise? Promise you'll take care of me!" He promised and she grinned, open, radiant. "It's going all right, isn't it? I'm still talking. I am, I can hear myself. Maybe it'll drift over."
The floating home was already behind them when the advertising boat threatened to get caught behind one of the basalt titans bearing the piers of a bridge from the thirties. While a nest of grebes stared at them, <PERSON> and <PERSON> bobbed up and down in the filth that had gathered in the backwash. But finally they caught a faster current away from the center of town and passed the tall somber figures with their heads bent under their heavy load.
"I'm only scared when I'm alone," <PERSON> said, slurring her words, "but I'm not alone, am I? Weird, isn't it? Alone, alone, alone, alone." She laughed. "What a strange word it is, alone, simply ridiculous: alone, alone, alone..."
"Not at all," <PERSON> said, "I'm with you."
"Yes." <PERSON> beamed like a child that has been given a present. "Yes." She pointed at her mouth and said, "Spri bilissiti?" Since he didn't understand, she pursed her lips and pointed at them. Her eyes were now locked onto his. Her eyelids were drooping. She looked at him urgently from under her lashes, fragile.
"Spri bilissiti!"
She opened her mouth and pointed at her tongue. <PERSON> knew that something was about to go seriously wrong. He tried to free himself to paddle, but <PERSON> wouldn't let him. Her fingers clawed at his chest, as if she were afraid she was going to fall. Wailing like a frightened animal, she signaled that he mustn't let her go. He felt tension, but no panic. Perhaps because <PERSON> herself relaxed as soon as he
|
95900f91-cd76-3684-6db3-65f1b36bc932
|
['242da8e2-d76c-9078-05dc-cf4a2991e03b']
|
But they shrugged him off, announcing loudly that it was each individual's duty to develop as an individual, regardless of how much lonely despondency might result.
Just when <PERSON> was about to commit himself permanently to this peculiar path, his eyes met <PERSON>'s. She had always been kept on a tight rein, so she seemed free of all constraint; he, who had never been held back, despaired as to whether he'd ever dare to make a move.
"To flit from place to place! What a joy it is to move," she said at that moment. "I would give my life for a night like this. To move!" And in these words, the two extremes recognized each other.
• • •
On the bed in their room in Parioli, <PERSON> confides to <PERSON> the details of how she gave herself to <PERSON>: from the emotions that overwhelmed her when she felt the old man's desire to the contractions of her lower body around his fingers. She laughs like a naughty child, shaking her head, blushing and gasping for breath, when she realizes that something she'd thought was impossible really has happened. A moment later, she shrugs off the realization, giggling at her own shamelessness. And all the while, she seeks reassurance in <PERSON>'s eyes, always wanting to know exactly what was right or wrong.
<PERSON> tells her everything is fine, though he can hardly take it all in. He struggles against a sorrow he can't explain as his jealousy wrestles with his awe. This recklessness is precisely what he's always admired in her, the thing he's tried to emulate, which gave him the courage to face the world. How can he reproach her now for the very thing he's always encouraged? Isn't this what he's always aspired to? He is so preoccupied with himself that he can't hear what she's really asking.
"See?" he says after a while. "We can't keep secrets from each other."
"No," <PERSON> says, and decides not to upset him by recounting her meeting with <PERSON>.
# _Lightweight_
People think that a man who loves more than one woman must divide his love between them. As if it's a bottle that can fill only a certain number of glasses. The opposite is true. Love simply doubles itself. And again. And yet again. And every time there turns out to be enough for everyone. It's a miraculous multiplication. But that's the way it is with miracles: you don't believe it unless you see it yourself.
One of the plans I peddled for years without interesting a single producer was for a film about a polygamist. <PERSON> in the lead. He's constantly running back and forth between the families he has to support. Eleven, twelve, thirteen... He tries to cut back, but he can't escape it. The more love he gives, the more he receives. Because that's just the way life is. And the more love he receives, the more he can return. And sure enough, soon there's enough for yet another family. So why not start a new one?
|
162e60c4-fc2a-50fe-020c-a61d97fdf517
|
['249a5e76-40e7-9a15-175c-182c35226798']
|
and patted dry
Salt and pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons butter
2 whole onions, halved and sliced
4 large rosemary sprigs
2 cups orange juice
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 cup tawny port
2 large carrots, peeled and cut on the bias
1/4 pound button mushrooms, sliced, or baby portobello mushrooms
8 ounces roasted red peppers, julienned
Parsley
Preheat oven to 475 degrees.
Place ducks in large roasting pan, side by side. Season with salt and pepper inside and out.
Melt butter in a large skillet on medium-high heat; add onions and quickly sauté for 2 minutes. Add rosemary sprigs and sauté for 1 minute; remove from heat. Using a slotted spoon, take out the onions and rosemary springs, leaving the melted butter, and place inside ducks.
Place ducks in hot oven for 12 minutes. Reduce heat to 275 degrees, cover loosely with aluminum foil, and roast for 4 hours. Check hourly to skim fat and set aside.
Remove from oven and remove as much of the fat as possible. Pour in orange juice, soy sauce, and port. Return ducks to oven and continue to cook for an additional 40 minutes. Remove ducks to a serving platter and let cool slightly.
Transfer pan juices to a sauce pan and bring to a boil over high heat. Add carrots and continue to cook until volume reduces to 1-1/2 cups. Once reduced, turn heat to medium and add mushrooms and red peppers and cook for 2 minutes. Remove from heat and season with salt and pepper. Serve over duck. Garnish with parsley.
#### Tips & Suggestions
Serve with crispy Zapp's unsalted potato chips, our local New Orleans potato chip, or Brabant Potatoes and orange slices.
## Louisiana Boudin-Stuffed Quail
_Boudin is a Cajun rice sausage that appears all over south Louisiana. Cut the casing and remove the rice, meat, and seasonings and you have a ready-made stuffing._
_**Serves 6 for an appetizer or 3 to 4 for dinner** _
6 quail with breastbone removed
1-1/2 pounds boudin sausage, casing removed
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
1 tablespoon Creole seasoning
12 strips maple-smoked bacon
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Stuff each quail with the boudin. Season the quail with salt, pepper, and Creole seasoning. Wrap with the bacon lengthwise to keep the boudin inside and secure the bacon with a toothpick.
Bake for 45 minutes, or until the bacon is crispy, in a large glass baking dish.
#### Tips & Suggestions
If you use Cornish hens instead of quail, bake for an hour and 15 minutes. And, creamy garlic grits are a perfect accompaniment as the flavors from the juices of the cooked quail add another dimension to the grits.
# Irish New Orleans
Dad's postman beat was Uptown New Orleans. He worked out of station B on Carondolet Street around Marengo and St. Charles. This happened to be right around the corner from the original Martin's Wine Cellar. Yes, we New Orleanians use food destinations as landmarks for direction.
I remember hearing him talk about the Irish Channel. He would be
|
bdd1671e-5d92-08a9-c2fc-83232af033f0
|
['249a5e76-40e7-9a15-175c-182c35226798']
|
always set out on the kitchen table. You slap those slices together. Comfort food for a kid. I'm sure many of you remember a sugar sandwich.
I'd come out and my mother would say, "Did you get you something?" I'd smile and say, "Of course." Thank God it's Saturday.
## <PERSON>'s Saturday Buttermilk Pancakes with Praline Bacon Sprinkles
_What kid doesn't want to wake up on Saturday morning to pancakes and cartoons? Of course, chores were on the menu, too. But <PERSON>'s pancakes made going to school all week worth it and even the chores, too. The praline bacon is wonderful and adds that certain Louisiana flavor._
_**Makes about 10 (4-ounce) pancakes** _
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
3 tablespoons sugar
2 large eggs, beaten
4 cups buttermilk
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus 1 teaspoon to coat griddle
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup fresh fruit, blueberries, strawberries, or choice
1/2 cup maple syrup or Steen's Pure Cane Syrup
Preheat griddle to 375 degrees. Preheat oven to 200 degrees.
In a large bowl, thoroughly mix the dry ingredients together. In a separate bowl, combine, eggs, buttermilk, melted butter, and vanilla.
Add egg mixture to dry ingredients and mix through until the flour mixture is completely moistened. Batter should have some lumps. Be careful not to over mix the pancakes or they will not be fluffy. You can use an electric mixer or mix by hand. Either works just as well.
Test griddle by sprinkling a few drops of water to make sure it is at cooking temperature. Brush on butter to prime the griddle top. Wipe off any excess.
Using a 4-ounce ladle, make batter puddles about 4 inches apart on the griddle top. When pancakes begin to bubble in the center and are forming brown, crisp edges, about 2 to 2-1/2 minutes, turn and continue to cook for 1 minute. If you are adding the fruit into the pancakes, sprinkle thoroughly with the fruit prior to turning and just before the edges are showing crispiness.
Hold pancakes in the oven on a heatproof plate while continuing to cook the remaining batter.
Serve with more fresh fruit, syrup, and Praline Bacon sprinkles.
#### Tips & Suggestions
You can use regular milk if you don't have buttermilk. And, add whatever fruit or nuts to the batter you think sounds good. Or, even save your add-ons for a simple topping. Recipe easily doubles.
### Praline Bacon Sprinkles
_<PERSON>, who created the Bywater restaurant, Elizabeth's, is my hero when it comes to bacon. Her praline bacon is the best I've ever had. I'd never heard of it before her rendition. And, I give great kudos to her for taking the simplicity of bacon and launching it to a new level with the idea of keeping it New Orleans._
_**Serves 4** _
1 pound thick-cut bacon
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup Louisiana pecan pieces
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Place bacon strips on baking sheet lined with parchment. Bake for about
|
3e93d17c-a6fe-65df-c25f-a16379473476
|
['24a8a418-c7e1-8c70-68fe-dfd88fc9ff5b']
|
<PERSON> helped to found the Society of Mutual Autopsy, in which eminent French men pledged their own heads to posterity, declaring their willingness to subject them to the scientific examination of their colleagues. Militantly atheist, the project was nonetheless religious, with <PERSON> and his followers establishing a memorial system and liturgical rites to accompany the ritual of the autopsy. Modeled explicitly on religious practices, these rites represented a self-conscious effort to replace a spurned Catholicism. In the United States, where work on cranial capacity had long centered on demonstrating the inferiority of nonwhites, researchers such as <PERSON> turned their attention to studying the brains and skulls of eminent men with similar zeal, amassing collections and compiling detailed descriptions of "remarkable heads." By the end of the nineteenth century, in fact, investigation of this kind was extensive, permitting proponents to boast, in a development that would have pleased <PERSON>, of the establishment of substantial brain collections in cities as far afield as Göttingen, Munich, Berlin, Paris, Stockholm, Philadelphia, and Ithaca, New York.
Regularly carried out in a context of explicit comparison with women and "inferior races," the craniometry and brain research of the second half of the nineteenth century went some way toward answering the question of what genius looked like. As <PERSON> observed in 1862, in general the brain was larger "in men than in women, in eminent men than in men of mediocre talent, in superior races than in inferior races." <PERSON>, for his part, concurred, noting that "the jump from a <PERSON> or a <PERSON> to a <PERSON> or a <PERSON> is not greater than from the latter to the gorilla or the orang." Geniuses, it followed, were white, were of "advanced" European stock, and were men—indeed, they were white men of large brains, such as <PERSON> or the Russian novelist <PERSON>, whose contemporaries marveled upon learning that his brain had broken the 2,000-gram threshold. Genius, lo and behold, looked like genius.
Except when it didn't. <PERSON>, who was partial to phrenology himself, weighed in at a disappointing 1,282 grams. And although <PERSON>'s detractors may have chuckled at his own measly 1,198 grams, how to account for the fact that <PERSON>, so lovingly dissected by his friends, could muster just 1,424 grams, only slightly above average? Such anomalies were adeptly, if tortuously, explained away, though in the end the theories faltered in the face of carefully accumulated observations and common sense. Brain mass, after all, varies with body size (bigger people have bigger brains). And if it were really true that size alone mattered in questions of intelligence, then the whale would be lord of us all. "Must we suspect the great beast of genius?" one French scientist mused. "No, the size of the brain is not, in and of itself, a sign of intellectual superiority." By the early twentieth century, many researchers had come to share that opinion. Turning their attention from the crudities of the cranial index, some looked in the direction of what their colleagues in medicine and psychology had been saying for
|
67c1fbdf-0c59-190a-e908-c3cecce4d302
|
['24a8a418-c7e1-8c70-68fe-dfd88fc9ff5b']
|
<PERSON> (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1966), 155–157; <PERSON>, "The Over-Soul," in _Essays and Lectures_ , ed. <PERSON> (New York: Library of America, 2009), 396; see also "The Method of Nature" and "Literary Ethics" in the same volume, esp. 123 and 109, respectively. On <PERSON>'s complicated understanding of genius, see <PERSON>, "The Question of Genius," _Raritan_ 4 (1986): 77–104.
. <PERSON>, _Geniereligion_ , 129–130, 214. On the use of the phrase "great geniuses reveal us to ourselves," a truism since <PERSON>, see <PERSON>, "Intuition in Art," in _The Aesthetic as the Science of Expression and of the Linguistic in General_ , trans. <PERSON> (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 15. See also <PERSON>'s reflections on genius in his essays "Self Reliance" and "Literary Ethics." On the theme of the relationship between the genius and the people, see <PERSON>, "Betrayers and the Betrayed: The Cult of Genius in the Age of Emerson" (Phd diss., Johns Hopkins University, 1983); <PERSON>, _On Liberty_ , eds. <PERSON> and <PERSON> (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003), 129–130.
. <PERSON>, _The Trouble with Genius: Reading Pound, Joyce, Stein, and Zukofsky_ (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994). See also <PERSON>, _Gertrude Stein and the Problem of 'Genius'_ (Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press, 2000).
. <PERSON>, _Geniereligion_ , 59–61, 77–78; <PERSON>, "Adieu," _Un saison en enfer_ (1873); <PERSON>, _Heredity, Variation, and Genius, with an Essay on Shakespeare_ (London: <PERSON> Sons, and <PERSON>, 1908), 75.
. <PERSON>, _Geniereligion_ , 89–99.
. For <PERSON> on religion, see <PERSON>, _The Value of Creativity: The Origins and Emergence of a Modern Belief_ (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003), 213; <PERSON>, "Nietzsche on Genius," in <PERSON>, ed., _Genius: The History of an Idea_ (Oxford: Blackwell, 1989), 128–140. For <PERSON> on creativity, see <PERSON>, _Value of Creativity_ , 209–227; <PERSON>, "On Old and New Tablets," _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_ , trans. and intro. <PERSON> (New York: Penguin, 1978), 196.
. <PERSON>, _Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits_ , trans. <PERSON>, intro. <PERSON> (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 115 (section 241), and, more generally, sections 157–165; <PERSON>, "Why I Am a Destiny," _Ecce Homo_ , trans. <PERSON>, intro. <PERSON> (London: Penguin, 1992), 96. On <PERSON>'s reception, see <PERSON>, _The Nietzsche Legacy in Germany, 1890–1990_ (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992).
. <PERSON>, _On Music and Musicians_ , trans. <PERSON>, ed. <PERSON> (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964), 64; <PERSON> and <PERSON>, eds., _Music and National Identity_ (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002); <PERSON>, "The Richard Wagner Cult," in _Degeneration_ , trans. from the 2nd ed. of the German work (New York: D. Appleton, 1895), 171–214; <PERSON>, _The Foundations of the Nineteenth Century_ , trans. <PERSON>, intro. <PERSON>, 2 vols. (New York: John Lane, 1912), 1:167–168, 83, 234, xc. On the _Foundations_ and <PERSON>'s thought and career more generally, see <PERSON>, _Evangelist of Race: The Germanic Vision
|
1c776e4b-ff86-2c51-526b-0f1b431c9457
|
['251506b5-bae8-1e47-228a-020c1a71a6f0']
|
and <PERSON> supported the industrial union approach and dismissed the fears of their more wary <PERSON> brothers. In order for them to lead a successful organizing drive among all coal yard workers, they would have to overcome both the hesitancy within Local 574 and the hostility of the city's employers. The first step <PERSON> and <PERSON> took was to organize all the coal yard truck drivers into 574, including independent owner-operators as well as men who drove trucks owned by the coal companies; in 1933 the local represented workers in only nine of the city's sixty-two yards. Although 574's council did not initially support this effort, the two men moved ahead with their plan anyway, building on the trust the men had in them as fellow workers and on the support of 574's president, <PERSON>, who shared their industrial union vision. Personal connections aided these alliances. <PERSON>'s brother <PERSON>, a "dashing young bachelor" who was fond of "prize fights, football, hunting and fishing," was a "bosom drinking companion" of <PERSON>'s. <PERSON>, as a weigh master, knew almost all the men who came through the yards. And <PERSON>, the "old Swede," became a father figure to many of the younger men, including <PERSON>, who were drawn to his call for solidarity in the fight for better wages, shorter hours, and safer working conditions. Over the years, <PERSON> and <PERSON> built up the ranks, more than doubling the size of the local. By November 1933, they felt it was time to demand that all the city's coal yard employers recognize these workers within Local 574.
Not surprisingly, given Minneapolis's history as an open-shop town, the employers refused. But <PERSON> and <PERSON> did not give up. Sustained by the backing of the men and aided by the organizing skills of <PERSON>, they took advantage of a sudden cold spell and the increased demand for home heating coal in early February to call a strike. Seven hundred men walked off the job on February 7, bolstered in their commitment to the cause by the tactics that their Trotskyist leaders had the foresight to implement, including nightly meetings to boost morale and the use of "flying squadrons" (groups of three or four strikers who patrolled the yards) to intercept trucks driven by "scabbing drivers." By February 10, the men returned to work, confident in their ability to gain union recognition. On February 14 and 15, elections were held across the city in the yards, with Local 574 winning support from approximately 77 percent of the voting men.
But the elections were not a total victory. Under pressure from the Regional Labor Board, the coal yard employers recognized the existence of Local 574, but they did not promise to recognize it for exclusive collective bargaining. Its struggle for the closed shop became one of the driving forces behind Local 574's next round of confrontations with Minneapolis employers. By the spring of 1934, the <PERSON> and <PERSON> were focused on utilizing the momentum they had built in the coal yard organizing drive. That effort had rapidly
|
90d46151-0d86-1412-62bc-c889661ff5de
|
['251506b5-bae8-1e47-228a-020c1a71a6f0']
|
never told of any plan to overthrow the government. These two prosecution witnesses, then, were not the most forceful advocates of the government's case.
In order to recover from the minor setback that <PERSON>'s and <PERSON>'s testimony represented, <PERSON> entered additional inflammatory excerpts from SWP pamphlets into evidence and recalled <PERSON> to the stand. In order to prove one of the government's main contentions—that the defendants, through their involvement in the SWP, constituted an illegal conspiracy to teach the overthrow of the government by force—<PERSON> questioned <PERSON> about the party's dissemination of _The Communist Manifesto_. <PERSON> claimed that <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON> had spoken to him many times about the publication, recommending it to him as embodying the same revolutionary principles as the SWP. <PERSON> tried to have this line of questioning thrown out, arguing that the _Manifesto_ was written in 1848 and therefore could not be seen as an expression of the party's current principles. But <PERSON> allowed it. <PERSON> defended the government's position from the prosecution's table, arguing that "the second count of the indictment charges conspiracy to, among other things, advocate, or I mean to distribute and disseminate literature which advocates the overthrow of the Government by armed force. We say this one does. It is just another link in the complete chain and another part of the whole picture." Despite <PERSON>'s continued objections to the government's use of radical literature, particularly selected excerpts or titles not penned by any of the specific defendants, the prosecution repeatedly advanced its link-in-the-chain logic to implicate the accused in the alleged seditious conspiracy. And that logic convinced <PERSON>, who allowed the prosecution free rein in such exchanges with witnesses.
Figure 3.2 <PERSON> (far right) and his wife pose with <PERSON> and <PERSON> (far left) and his wife in Mexico, ca. 1940. <PERSON> would later break with the SWP and become the government's star witness at the Smith Act trial of his former comrades (including <PERSON>). This photo was placed in evidence during that trial. Folder 7256 U.S. v. <PERSON> 201–220, box 195: Exhibits, Minnesota, Fourth Division, Minneapolis, 1890–1983, Records of the District Courts of the United States, RG 21 (National Archives at Kansas City, Kansas City, Missouri). Courtesy National Archives.
In addition to helping it establish the advocacy of revolutionary ideas on the part of some of the defendants, <PERSON>'s testimony was used by the prosecution to amplify the characterization of the SWP made by <PERSON> in his opening statement. Raising the specter of the party as an international communist body, <PERSON> described how the two red flags and the framed portrait of <PERSON> seized in the June raids normally hung just above where speakers sat in the meeting hall of the SWP's Minneapolis offices. In yet another theatrical flourish, <PERSON> had <PERSON> point out the exact location of these radical, international trappings on a map of the party's headquarters. Demonstrating the SWP's alleged dominance of Local 544, <PERSON> explained how Trotskyists in union office gave preferential treatment, including better access to jobs, to those in the SWP.
|
41a5ef71-e2bb-e685-8983-a9f3412d2821
|
['25655d2c-90db-b4ee-fd76-40f0c366008e']
|
with the <PERSON> meeting. When <PERSON> was named winner of the 1964 Nobel Peace Prize, <PERSON> was outraged. Federal agencies participating in the awards ceremony as well as U.S. embassies were supplied with the FBI dirt on <PERSON>. One package of the recordings was sent to <PERSON>, where it was opened by his wife, <PERSON>. It contained a note written by a <PERSON> deputy to <PERSON>. "King there is only one thing left for you to do," said the unsigned note. "There is but one way out for you. You better take it before your filthy fraudulent self is bared to the nation."
President <PERSON> had been dead for two months when the Willard Hotel recordings were made. Some apologists said <PERSON> was a grief-stricken attorney general unable to focus on <PERSON>'s smearing of <PERSON>. But <PERSON> was just as bad as <PERSON> when it came to demeaning <PERSON>'s image with the president's widow, <PERSON>. In a June 4, 1964, interview, Mrs. <PERSON> at first said it was her husband but later said it was <PERSON> who told her about <PERSON>, "how he was calling up all these girls and arranging for a party of men and women. I mean, sort of an orgy in the hotel and everything. <PERSON> told me of the tapes of these orgies.
"I just can't see a picture of <PERSON> without thinking, you know, that man's terrible," <PERSON> said.
The Proconsul
WASHINGTON
THE WHITE HOUSE, THE INNER sanctum of American power, reminded <PERSON> of his boyhood. When <PERSON> was still of an age to be sitting on laps, his grandfather, Senator <PERSON>, took him to meet President <PERSON>. The senior <PERSON> and <PERSON> were the closest of friends. <PERSON> beamed at little <PERSON> and gave him a bronze lion. Through his family connections, then as a newspaper reporter, a congressman, a U.S. senator, and a soldier, <PERSON> knew the next six presidents personally. The seventh—<PERSON>—had been recruited for his job by <PERSON>, the Republican kingmaker. The eighth was the first one younger than he was. <PERSON> was sixty-two. <PERSON> was forty-six.
On August 15, 1963, the 35th president of the United States rose to greet <PERSON> in the Oval Office. "<PERSON>," <PERSON> said brightly, "it is so good to see you." He shook the visitor's hand with the warmth reserved for friends. They were old opponents but hardly enemies. <PERSON> and <PERSON> were much alike. They were born to wealth and position that eased their passage to the pinnacle of American power. Both were handsome and had an eye for the ladies. <PERSON> was two inches taller and far more fastidious about his appearance. They attended Harvard and tried newspaper writing before entering public life. They fought heroically in World War II, <PERSON> in a PT boat in the Pacific, <PERSON> in a tank in Egypt. When they competed in the 1952 campaign for the U.S. Senate in Massachusetts, <PERSON> accepted his defeat with sincere congratulations to <PERSON>. <PERSON> was effusive with
|
c17f4967-67af-dae3-02b3-e5b5bf6aba2c
|
['25655d2c-90db-b4ee-fd76-40f0c366008e']
|
him. <PERSON> was humiliated, and his anger fueled a desire for revenge. According to <PERSON>, <PERSON> needed quick approval. "General <PERSON> stated that he must know American government's position with respect to a change in the government of Vietnam within the very near future," <PERSON> reported October 5. "He did not expect any specific American support for an effort on the part of himself and his colleagues to change the government, but he stated he does need American assurances that the USG will not attempt to thwart his plan."
Big <PERSON>, a warrior not known for his intellect, had put forth a clever ploy probably designed by far more clever General <PERSON>, the army chief of staff, or even by Ambassador <PERSON>, who was trying to find a way around <PERSON>'s unease over the violent overthrow of an American ally. To a wavering Washington, the general offered the perfect rhetorical compromise. Rather than encouraging or discouraging a coup—the issue that divided <PERSON>'s advisers—<PERSON> would agree not to "thwart" one. It was an ideal option B, a masterstroke worthy of <PERSON>'s bureaucratic genius. There is no hard evidence that <PERSON> was behind the ploy. But during a 1979 interview, when questioned about dealings with the coup plotters, <PERSON> said, "General <PERSON> and General <PERSON>, these generals, I use to see them all the time and they couldn't possibly have been under any kind of doubt as to what I was doing because I told them what I was doing." <PERSON>'s statement implied that the ambassador himself—not just his CIA cutout—was personally involved in the overthrow of <PERSON>.
<PERSON> said the plotters had no political ambitions, adding with a laugh, except maybe General <PERSON>. <PERSON> funneled more and more facts, mainly from General <PERSON>, through <PERSON> to White House meetings. The same day as <PERSON>'s meeting with Big <PERSON>—October 5—<PERSON> fired back approval of the revised approach. <PERSON>, the adviser on national security affairs, cabled <PERSON>'s approval of <PERSON>'s recommendation. "There should, however, be urgent covert effort with closest security under broad guidance of Ambassador to identify and build contacts with possible alternative leadership as and when it appears. Essential this effort is totally secure and fully deniable."
Four days later, <PERSON> elaborated. "While we do not wish to stimulate a coup, we also do not wish to leave impression that U.S. would thwart a change in government or deny economic and military assistance to a new regime." That was a green light for <PERSON> and <PERSON>. Those visits to the dentist produced the names of the plotters and detailed plans for before and after <PERSON>'s overthrow. As the reality of a coup d'etat loomed, <PERSON>'s supporters became agitated with the upbeat reports from <PERSON> and <PERSON>. Only two days before the November 1 coup, Defense Secretary <PERSON> and General <PERSON> were warning <PERSON> that removal of <PERSON> would produce political chaos and a series of coups by competing generals.
"We ought to take our association [with the coup] out of the very amateurish hands that have been controlling it so
|
9ff65b94-0efb-d350-67c1-92addaf34dec
|
['25d7e7b5-c759-4422-cfbe-d0f6a67b275b']
|
and <PERSON> are in <PERSON> (1975), pp.99–103, 106, 165, 181–85, 194–95; USAHEC Records (8), p.1, 23–24; USAHEC Records (9), p.11; <PERSON> (2002), 173; <PERSON> (2001), p.112.
33. <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1948), pp.18–19; <PERSON> (1987), pp.205–06.
34. CMPR (1).
35. Major (1993), p.188; <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1967), p.185; USAHEC Records (7). The Army condemned Camp Gaillard in 1927. It eventually slid entirely into the Panama Canal.
36. CMPR (1); 09/02/24 correspondence of Captain <PERSON>, Pam McPhail Collection.
37. <PERSON> (1990), pp.14–15; <PERSON> (1999), p.89.
38. Ibid.; <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1987), p.224.
39. <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1967), pp.195–96.
### Chapter 11: Climbing Their Ladders
1. <PERSON>, Virginia (1951), p.147.
2. CMPR (1).
3. <PERSON> (1997), pp.149–50; New York Times, 08/13/1924 and 10/03/1926.
4. Sources regarding Conner's adjustment to his G-4 duties are in Fox Conner Lecture (2), p.1; Conner, Fox (1926), pp.219–21; Hearings before the President's Aircraft Board, Vol. 1 (1925), p.1,516; Conner, Virginia (1951), p.147.
5. <PERSON> (1998), pp.167–68; <PERSON> (1967), p.147, 306; <PERSON> (1999), pp.82–84; <PERSON> (1997), pp.253–54; American Armies and Battlefields in Europe (1938), p.505, 509–10.
6. Fox Conner Lecture (4), pp.2–6. The Army Industrial College educated both military officers and business leaders as to the issues involved in industrial mobilization and supply in time of war. See: <PERSON> (1984), p.407.
7. <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1967), p.173, 196–200; <PERSON> (1987), p.213; <PERSON> (2002), pp.175–76; <PERSON> (1975), p.392.
8. Now named the Eisenhower Executive Office Building.
9. Sources regarding <PERSON>'s appointment to the Leavenworth program are in <PERSON> (1987), pp.213–14; <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1967), pp.198–201; <PERSON>, <PERSON> (2012), pp.70–72; <PERSON> (2007), p.163, 413; <PERSON> (1999), pp.91–93; <PERSON> (1983), p.79; <PERSON> (1945), pp.202–03; <PERSON> (1997), p.85; <PERSON> (2007), p.69; <PERSON> (1951), p.60; <PERSON>, Merle (1987), p.225; <PERSON> (2002), p.178.
10. <PERSON> (2002), pp.176–78, 732 (n.6).
11. <PERSON> (1964), pp.67–70, 84–85, 91–102; <PERSON> (1999), pp.88–89. In December 1925, General <PERSON> was convicted and dismissed from the service.
12. <PERSON> (1964), pp.99–102; <PERSON> (1999), p.89. The President's Board is sometimes referred to as the "Morrow Board," in recognition of its chairman, <PERSON>.
13. Hearings before the President's Aircraft Board, Vol. 1 (1925), p.1,514, 1,516, 1,519–22, 1,526–27, 1,534–35. See also: <PERSON> (1997), pp.253–54.
14. <PERSON> (1964), pp.105–06; <PERSON> (1967), p.305; <PERSON> (1997), pp.253–54.
15. <PERSON> (1972), pp.800–01.
16. <PERSON> 1925 Congressional Testimony, pp.271–75.
17. <PERSON> 1926 Congressional Testimony, pp.552–57.
18. <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1926), pp.219–24.
19. CMPR (1); Pershing to Conner, 10/16/1925, MDAH (1).
20. Sources regarding the <PERSON>–Hines relationship are in New York Times, 11/12/1925; Conner, Virginia (1951), pp.147–50; D'Este (2002), p.174, 732; <PERSON> (1997), p.150; Miller, Merle (1987), p.224.
21. The national holiday presently known as Veteran's Day was originally named Armistice Day, in commemoration of the armistice which ended the fighting in World War I on November 11, 1918.
22. <PERSON>, Virginia (1951), p.151; Author interview (2); <PERSON>, <PERSON> (1967), p.216; <PERSON>, <PERSON> (2012), p.79.
23. Sources regarding <PERSON>'s Governors Island proposal are in New York Times, 04/19/1926 and 04/27/26.
24. <PERSON> later served as the Republican mayor of New York City from 1934 through 1945. LaGuardia Airport in New York
|
86f0baf1-da16-1f1c-435f-eb30a89587a4
|
['25d7e7b5-c759-4422-cfbe-d0f6a67b275b']
|
were "unhappily, many things which this war has taught us but which we have not learned," as <PERSON>, in his July 1919 G-3 report, had feared would occur.
* * * * *
Two young officers did attempt to apply what they had learned during the war.
In the autumn of 1919, <PERSON> and <PERSON> met at Camp Meade, Maryland. <PERSON> commanded the remainder of the light tank brigade he had taken into battle in France. <PERSON> directed a battalion of heavy tanks which, like their commander, had not made it into the war. "From the beginning," <PERSON> recalled in his 1967 memoirs, he and <PERSON> "got along famously."
The two officers shared similar views concerning the potential of armored warfare. Although prevailing Army doctrine limited the tank's role—and speed—to the support of advancing foot soldiers, <PERSON> and <PERSON> each foresaw the tank's potential to become the spearhead of an independent and rapid-attack force. According to <PERSON>, <PERSON> predicted in 1919: "I'll be <PERSON>, you'll be <PERSON>. I don't want to do the heavy thinking; you do that and I'll get loose among our - - - - [sic] enemies, and really tear them to pieces."
<PERSON> and <PERSON> also became close personal friends. In their spare time, <PERSON> distilled gin while <PERSON> brewed beer, which they enjoyed at "Club Eisenhower," their name for <PERSON>'s quarters. Eager for advancement, the two officers also studied the exercises given students at the Leavenworth staff college. Mostly, though, <PERSON> and <PERSON> talked tanks with "the enthusiasm of zealots," as <PERSON> put it. <PERSON> had found a good friend in <PERSON>— as he would learn in the coming year.
* * * * *
<PERSON> and <PERSON> spent an enjoyable 1919 Thanksgiving with the <PERSON> at Camp Meade. <PERSON> then joined <PERSON> in early December on a cross-country inspection tour of military bases. As the 1920 election year neared, <PERSON> used the opportunity to give speeches, attend receptions, and generally act like a presidential candidate. At one stop, <PERSON> even kissed a child.
But as <PERSON> and his entourage met the public in late 1919, they encountered an increasingly discontented electorate. Rapid demobilization had led to high unemployment. Strikes disrupted the coal and steel industries. Some voters feared the spread of communism to the United States. More ominously for <PERSON>'s political chances, disillusionment about the war had begun to pervade the nation. More than a quarter-million Americans had been either killed or wounded in less than 6 months of fighting in Europe's Great War; many in America had begun to ask the fundamental question: "For what?"
Congress also began to tally the war's financial cost. The United States had spent more than 22 billion dollars from April 1917 through May 1919. To place that figure into perspective, one government publication estimated that the sum was "practically equal to the entire cost of running the United States Government from 1791 to 1914." To investigate how the money had been spent, Congress formed a Select Committee on Expenditures in
|
0a3fa3ef-1f6f-b853-ee48-84d48ea55ec4
|
['265836cd-62f3-31bd-f570-8c280cebf8ad']
|
and nothing else. Pumpkin pie filling has added sugars and spices and will ruin any recipe that calls for the pure stuff.
1 SERVING = 3 GRIDDLE CAKES WITHOUT MAPLE SYRUP
PER SERVING = 262 CALORIES, 7.6 G TOTAL FAT, 1.2 G SATURATED FAT, 0 G TRANS FAT, 64 MG CHOLESTEROL, 256 MG SODIUM, 34.8 G CARBOHYDRATE, 7.1 G FIBRE, 8.8 G SUGARS, 6 G ADDED SUGARS, 10.9 G PROTEIN, 436 MG POTASSIUM
CARBOHYDRATE CHOICE = 2 CHOICES
# Weekend Pancakes for a Crowd VEG • _Serves 9_
**WHEN I BEGAN WRITING THIS COOKBOOK** , I knew I wanted a recipe that you could feed to a pack of hungry teenagers after a sleepover, to a crowd at a cottage, or to friends as a brunch item. I experimented so many times that my husband finally asked me to make the kitchen a pancake-free zone for a while, as he'd reached his pinnacle of pancake pigging out. I listened to him and took a much-needed pancake recipe-development hiatus. Several months later, I hit the kitchen armed with some new ideas, and here's what happened: lovely, not too dense, heart-healthy, colon-loving pancakes for the win! Totally worth the pancake moratorium, reminding me that sometimes listening to my husband is a very good idea.
**WET INGREDIENTS**
1 cup canned lentils, rinsed and well drained (see note on this page)
½ cup oat bran
4 omega-3 eggs
3¼ cups skim milk, or soy or almond beverage
1 Tbsp pure vanilla extract
**DRY INGREDIENTS**
1½ cups whole grain barley flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup ground flaxseed (see this page)
2 Tbsp natural wheat germ
2 Tbsp baking powder
2 Tbsp cinnamon
2 cups fresh (not frozen) local blueberries, rinsed and patted dry (optional)
2 Tbsp canola oil for the pancake griddle or frying pan (divided)
Pure amber maple syrup, for serving
1. Prepare the wet ingredients. Purée the lentils, oat bran, eggs, milk (or soy or almond beverage), and vanilla in a blender or in a large bowl using a hand-held immersion blender. Whirl until smooth. Let sit for 5 to 10 minutes.
2. Prepare the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together both flours, flaxseed, wheat germ, baking powder, and cinnamon.
3. Whirl up the wet ingredients again, pour into the dry ingredients, and whisk well. Gently fold in the blueberries, if using. Let the batter rest for 4 to 6 minutes in a pancake time-out.
4. While the batter is resting, preheat a pancake griddle to 350°F or heat a 12- or 14-inch non-stick skillet over medium heat. Preheat the oven to 200°F to keep the pancakes warm while you finish cooking. You do want to be eating with the whole gang, right? Place a cooling rack on top of a large rimmed baking sheet so the cooked pancakes don't steam in the oven while you finish the rest of them.
5. When the griddle or skillet is hot, stir the batter again. Use a pastry brush to lightly oil the griddle or pan, saving the rest of the oil
|
26cbf02b-ae2b-8e80-b3da-5b9c1dd4bd37
|
['265836cd-62f3-31bd-f570-8c280cebf8ad']
|
1 small zucchini or ½ medium zucchini, diced
2 cups grape tomatoes, halved (about 20)
1¼ cups canned no-salt-added black beans, rinsed and well drained (see note)
2 omega-3 eggs
½ cup (2 oz/56 g) grated old Cheddar cheese
1 green onion, whites included, finely chopped
Hot sauce, for serving (optional)
1. Heat a 12- or 14-inch non-stick skillet over medium heat, and add the oil. If you're using a cast-iron pan, you will need to add a bit more oil. Toss in the zucchini and sauté for 1 to 2 minutes, until it starts to soften. Add the tomatoes and sauté for another minute. Stir in the black beans.
2. Using a wooden spoon or a heat-safe spatula, make two shallow indentations in the vegetable/bean mixture, then crack an egg into each opening. It's going to look like two eyes staring at you, in a good way.
3. Cover the pan with a lid, reduce heat to low, and cook the eggs until your desired yolk doneness. I like mine sort of runny with a big hit of egg yolk ooze, which takes 3 to 4 minutes.
4. Remove the skillet from the heat, sprinkle with the cheese and green onion, cover, and let the cheese melt.
5. To serve, divide the mixture in half and gently transfer the egg and the vegetables to a shallow bowl or a plate. Add hot sauce if desired.
**NOTE:** Save the extra canned beans in a covered container in the fridge and add them to salads or soups for a hit of protein and fibre.
1 SERVING = ½ OF THE RECIPE
PER SERVING: 421 CALORIES, 19.6 G TOTAL FAT, 7.8 G SATURATED FAT, 0 G TRANS FAT, 223 MG CHOLESTEROL, 276 MG SODIUM, 38.3 G CARBOHYDRATE, 10.2 G FIBRE, 7.5 G SUGARS, 0 G ADDED SUGARS, 26.9 G PROTEIN, 1117 MG POTASSIUM
CARBOHYDRATE CHOICE = 2 CHOICES
# Mairlyn's Energy Balls VEG • _Makes 34 balls_
**WHILE I WAS CREATING MY FIBRE-RICH RECIPE FOR ENERGY BALLS** , I decided to add psyllium (a.k.a. nature's blasting gel), without realizing that it swells up and can get stuck in your throat. The energy ball I popped into my mouth got stuck somewhere between my breast bone and the tube leading into my stomach. Three giant glasses of water later, I was bloated and felt like I might die. My Girl Guide brain turned on and I decided I should jump off a chair, rationalizing that gravity and the swift jerking motion when I hit the ground would cause the ball of quick-forming cement to move its way into my gut. That sort of worked. I was all alone, so I called my BFF in California to see if she had any great ideas. She suggested a hot bath and deep breathing. All I could think was "my kingdom for an Ativan." It took about five hours to feel normal. By then I was a wrinkled-up prune with wicked gas, but alive. Please learn from my mistake: never add psyllium to a raw energy ball. I'm
|
02805de8-4569-b5c5-3db0-07ca089874e8
|
['267d9eb0-1e65-8145-4893-2cc5acd81f0c']
|
1948. Meanwhile, the USAF officially launched its Airlift under the code-name 'Vittels' on 26 June. Despite close cooperation at the political level, the two air forces were in effect running their own independent operations.
Within the separate air forces there was considerable confusion about who was in charge. The USAFE, headed by Gen <PERSON> thought it was their show, but the officers at USAFE were all combat fliers, not transport specialists. There was not one American Air Force officer in the European theatre who had airlift expertise. All the air transport experts of the USAF were stationed in the US. In the RAF the situation was similar. The British Air Forces of Occupation (BAFO) believed the Airlift was their operation because it was in their theatre, while RAF Transport Command (which was providing the aircraft, the aircrews and the expertise) felt that they ought to have overall control of the Airlift even if their HQ was in the UK.
So the largest and most ambitious airlift in history grew out of a combination of military improvisation at the local level and political determination at the highest level. It was launched not knowing how much of what the Berliners needed in order to survive – much less how much these supplies weighed. It was launched without knowing how many aircraft and aircrews were needed to get that tonnage of freight to Berlin, or how those aircraft were to be maintained and by whom. It was launched despite an almost complete absence of aircraft and aircrew resources in theatre and despite the serious inadequacies in airfields and air traffic control. It was launched without airlift expertise in theatre and without a unified command structure. But once it took wing, it flew and turned into something that not even its originators and advocators had ever imagined or expected.
#### _Chapter 4_
## HUMBLE EXPECTATIONS
Regardless of one's role in the crisis, everyone impacted by the Airlift – Western Allies, Soviets and Berliners – shared the fundamental expectation of failure. Or, put another way, no one believed that an airlift could sustain a city of 2 million people indefinitely. Where the parties differed was with regard to what the end result would be, i.e., how the Airlift would affect the long-term situation of the Allies in Berlin and German progress towards economic and political independence.
When the Allies settled upon the idea of trying to sustain Berlin from the air, the decision was based on two vitally important assumptions. First and foremost, that the Airlift itself would not provoke a war with the Soviet Union and, secondly, that a diplomatic solution could and would be found with the Soviets 'soon'.
The Allies based their expectation of Soviet passive reaction to the Airlift on the fact that they had written agreements about the air corridors and, perhaps more important, that stopping the Airlift would require active aggression from them. The rules of the game at the time appeared to entail a constant probing by the Soviets of the West's determination to hold on to certain 'rights'.
|
529fea6b-4469-c05a-c778-0166f48d848e
|
['267d9eb0-1e65-8145-4893-2cc5acd81f0c']
|
by the surrounding Eastern Zone, would now have to come from the West and that meant they would have to be flown in by air. To calculate minimum requirements, the West had to work from the bottom up, deciding how much of what materials were absolutely necessary for the city to survive for an indefinite period.
Just how much grain, butter, salt, meat, and milk did the city need to keep from starving? How much coal and petrol were necessary to keep the electricity turned on and public transport operating? How much coal was needed to keep people from freezing in the winter? How much detergent, soap, toilet paper and toothpaste, and how many sanitary products and babies' nappies were indispensable to keep the population healthy? Could hospitals keep functioning without medicine, bandages and disinfectant? For how long and what might be the consequences? What about raw materials to keep Berlin's factories working, and if factories closed, how would the unemployed workers respond? Would they riot or start supporting the SED? What about clothes and shoes? Or newspapers to keep people informed of events? What _was_ 'absolutely essential' and what were luxuries?
Calculating food needs was probably the easiest (as well as the most urgent) task facing the Allied governments. They now had long experience in working out caloric requirements for various categories of workers in order to establish rations both at home and in Occupied Germany. All that needed to be done was to convert calories into units of weight and multiply by the number of mouths to be fed. Within a relatively short period of time, it was decided that the most essential food requirements in short tons per day were:16
Potatoes | 900
---|---
Flour | 641
Vegetables | 165
Meat/fish | 106
Other cereals | 105
Sugar | 51
Salt | 38
Fat | 32
Milk | 20
Coffee | 10
Cheese | 10
Yeast | 3
Altogether these daily requirements amounted to round about 2,000 short tons of food which needed to be airlifted into the city each day. These early calculations, however, did not yet take into account the fact that it was more efficient to carry dried goods than goods with water content (for example dehydrated potatoes would later save the lift 780 tons a day). By boning meat before transport, the weight could be reduced by a quarter. Despite the costs of heating baking ovens (in terms of coal that needed to be flown in), it was later calculated that it made more sense to fly in wheat rather than bread etc. These savings evolved over time.
The other commodity that was relatively easy to calculate and was of equal importance was coal – as was demonstrated by <PERSON>'s first telephone call. The thing about coal was that it was needed not just for heating homes, schools, factories and offices, but as a fuel for the electric power plants. Electricity
|
0a094875-ef72-c3fe-7e10-0a9b75d52009
|
['268c92c0-6373-fbed-2963-d6bec922533e']
|
sources means that the effort involved in preparing and analyzing these big-data sources can be repaid in terms of additional insights not available through the data coming from traditional sources. A variety of data-analysis techniques developed across a number of different fields of research (including natural-language processing, computer vision, and ML) can be used to transform unstructured, low-density, low-value big data into high-density and high-value data. These high-value data can then be integrated with the other high-value data from traditional sources for further data analysis. The description given in this chapter and illustrated in figure 6 is the typical architecture of the data science ecosystem. It is suitable for most organizations, both small and large. However, as an organization scales in size, so too will the complexity of its data science ecosystem. For example, smaller-scale organizations may not require the Hadoop component, but for very large organizations the Hadoop component will become very important.
## Moving the Algorithms to the Data
The traditional approach to data analysis involves the extraction of data from various databases, integrating the data, cleaning the data, subsetting the data, and building predictive models. Once the prediction models have been created they can be applied to the new data. Recall from chapter 1 that a prediction model predicts the missing value of an attribute: a spam filter is a prediction model that predicts whether the classification attribute of an email should have the value of "spam" or not. Applying the predictive models to the instances in new data to generate the missing values is known as "scoring the data." Then the final results, after scoring new data, may be loaded back into a database so that these new data can be used as part of some workflow, reporting dashboard, or some other company assessment practice. Figure 7 illustrates that much of the data processing involved in data preparation and analysis is located on a server that is separate from the databases and the data warehouse. Therefore, a significant amount of time can be spent just moving the data out of the database and moving the results back into the database.
Figure 7 The traditional process for building predictive models and scoring data.
An experiment run at the Dublin Institute of Technology on building a linear-regression model supplies an example of the time involved in each part of the process. Approximately 70 to 80 percent of the time is taken with extracting and preparing the data; the remaining time is spent on building the models. For scoring data, approximately 90 percent of the time is taken with extracting the data and saving the scored data set back into the database; only 10 percent of the time is spent on actually scoring. These results are based on data sets consisting of anywhere from 50,000 records up to 1.5 million records. Most enterprise database vendors have recognized the time savings that would be available if time did not have to be spent on moving data and have responded to this problem by incorporating data-analysis functionality and ML algorithms into their database
|
c0f3036d-87f0-d6d7-e514-9fca7e8736ca
|
['268c92c0-6373-fbed-2963-d6bec922533e']
|
and applications include customer management, orders, manufacturing, delivery, invoicing, banking, finance, customer-relationship management (CRM), call center, enterprise resource planning (ERP) applications, and so on. These types of applications are commonly referred to as _online transaction processing_ (OLTP) systems. For many data science projects, the data from these applications will be used to form the initial input data set for the ML algorithms. Over time, the volume of data captured by the various applications in the organization grows ever larger and the organization will start to branch out to capture data that was ignored, wasn't captured previously, or wasn't available previously. These newer data are commonly referred to as "big-data sources" because the volume of data that is captured is significantly higher than the organization's main operational applications. Some of the common big-data sources include network traffic, logging data from various applications, sensor data, weblog data, social media data, website data, and so on. In traditional data sources, the data are typically stored in a database. However, because the applications associated with many of the newer big-data sources are not primarily designed to store data long term—for example, with streaming data—the storage formats and structures for this type of data vary from application to application.
As the number of data sources increases, so does the challenge of being able to use these data for analytics and for sharing them across the wider organization. The data-storage layer, shown in figure 6, is typically used to address the data sharing and data analytics across an organization. This layer is divided into two parts. The first part covers the typical data-sharing software used by most organizations. The most popular form of traditional data-integration and storage software is a relational database management system (RDBMS). These traditional systems are often the backbone of the business intelligence (BI) solutions within an organization. A BI solution is a user-friendly decision-support system that provides data aggregating, integration, and reporting as well as analysis functionality. Depending on the maturity level of a BI architecture, it can consist of anything from a basic copy of an operational application to an _operational data store_ (ODS) to _massively parallel processing_ (MPP) BI database solutions and data warehouses.
Data warehousing is best understood as a process of data aggregation and analysis with the goal of supporting decision making. However, the focus of this process is the creation of a well-designed and centralized data repository, and the term _data warehouse_ is sometimes used to denote this type of data repository. In this sense, a data warehouse is a powerful resource for data science. From a data science perspective, one of the major advantages of having a data warehouse in place is a much shorter project time. The key ingredient in any data science process is data, so it is not surprising that in many data science projects the majority of time and effort goes into finding, aggregating, and cleaning the data prior to their analysis. If a data warehouse is available in a company, then the effort and time that go into data preparation on individual data
|
d2afcc20-a744-7e12-f716-b79618c64e5e
|
['27f25703-6961-fe4e-4300-98e465261e39']
|
uploaded by people all over the world of every race and religion. It was a war against children, and many of the people involved called themselves religious idealists or strict fundamentalists.
Of one thing she had no doubt: if you hurt a child, you could not be a God-fearing person of any religion, certainly not of the Jewish religion. She took out a Bible, flipping through the pages. There it was, the passage she'd been looking for, Leviticus 18, verse 21: And you may not make any of your children go through the fire as an offering to <PERSON>, and you may not put shame on the name of your God: I am the Lord. And those who did were to be ostracized, condemned, stoned.
She tried to imagine the Jews of biblical times, people who had seen and heard God in the desert, laying their precious babies on the outstretched arms of a cruel stone statue, watching as the fire in its belly consumed their children. It had happened around the corner from her, in the Valley of Hinnom, where people now picnicked. What irresistible force was it that could make a person go against everything decent, everything human, allowing him to hurt a child, his own child?
Perhaps it was the other side of the same yearning that urged him to connect to love, goodness, and the Divine? The devil, whoever he was, needed that yearning, needed that idealism to produce the opposite. Perhaps even <PERSON> must have once sincerely hungered to reach God, a longing that had taken a 180-degree turn to the opposite. Certainly <PERSON> and <PERSON> had been pursuing goodness when they had been seduced to pursue the opposite.
She went to her computer and Googled the word "devil."
In kabbalah, he was called the Sitra Achra, literally, "the other side," the side opposed to the sacred and divine, the side of impurity and darkness. In Islam, he was <PERSON>, the "whisperer," who speaks into the chests of men and women, urging them to commit sin. To Catholics he was the fallen angel, <PERSON>, the great seducer, who destroys man's desire to be good out of envy. The Hindus actually consecrated temples to the worship of Kali, the all-devouring, who delights in destruction, perdition, and murder in any form.
<PERSON> thought of the years stretching ahead and the never-ending war she was involved in, the infinite stream of criminals causing havoc in the world. Did she have the strength for it? And would the little she could do actually matter in the larger picture? It was like using a teaspoon to bail water out of a sinking ship.
<PERSON> came in at eight.
"What's up? You look wasted!" he said cheerfully, kissing her cheek and sitting down next to her on the couch.
She leaned her head against his strong shoulder.
They had met in the army. He was a young corporal and she was assigned to Intelligence. She remembered the first time she'd seen him from afar, standing on a hill in the
|
ec0cd90e-f9f6-40a4-25c4-2b2469f3e555
|
['27f25703-6961-fe4e-4300-98e465261e39']
|
there were equations you could master. There were too many exceptions to the rule, the same molecule dancing to a different tune in base or acid, dark or sunlight, heat or cold. You needed to use intuition, to extrapolate the answer from specific examples. Someone once likened it to the skill of diagnosis. And as with music, she knew she had no aptitude for it, however hard she tried and however long she studied.
For the first time in her life, she knew she was headed for certain failure. There was going to be an F in organic chemistry on her record: an indelible black mark that nothing could erase. So deep was her depression and foreboding that she actually decided to spend less time studying.
For some reason, she found herself wandering into the Sabbath service at Chabad House. It was not really a place in which she felt comfortable; most of the students congregating there were either Hassidic wannabees from secular homes or rebels from her own background exploring the idea of giving the finger to their parents' boring, comfortable, middle-of-the-road Orthodoxy. There, on the other side of the women's partition, was <PERSON>.
He looked taller, somehow, and certainly better dressed, his hair longer, the hint of payot gone, a newly grown mustache and goatee giving gravitas to the boyish young face she remembered. He was the cantor, leading the Morning Prayer service, his spirited voice awakening the room, setting it clapping and swaying in joyous rhythm. She smiled, singing along, feeling suddenly lighter.
When the prayers concluded, she saw him wave to her across the room. She waved back, approaching him shyly over the wine and cookies set up for kiddush.
"Wow, <PERSON>!"
"You remember my name." She smiled, flattered.
"What? Of course! I've thought about you a lot."
"Really?"
"Why are you so surprised?"
She touched her face, which was suddenly hot. Was she that obvious? "Well, you just didn't seem all that interested."
"I was. I just didn't think you'd be interested... in someone like me, that is."
"Someone like you? What does that even mean?"
"You know, no college degree, low-paying job, very religious, headed for Israel."
"And I thought you couldn't be interested in me: nerdy, all work and no play, who wore sandals and no stockings...." She paused. "You never even asked for my number."
He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I know. I only thought of it when your bus had already pulled out. I'm an idiot!" He grinned.
She blushed once more. "So, what are you doing here?"
"The Chabad rabbi hired me as his assistant."
"You're Chabad!"
"No. Not exactly. At least, I don't think I am. I'm exploring it. Reading the Tanya."
She looked mystified.
"You know, the Tanya, written by Rabbi <PERSON> of Liadi two hundred years ago? He was the one who founded Chabad. His Hassidim are really the only ones who study it. It's their most important book."
"More important than the Bible?" she said archly with a sideways glance.
He didn't
|
87e8d66f-a50c-7b59-29f2-403379b5a0ec
|
['27fd4148-f066-fbce-4650-727f7abea411']
|
Consideration of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) (Aug. 3, 2015), available at <http://www.uscis.gov/humanitarian/consideration-deferred-action-childhood-arrivals-daca> (last accessed Aug. 14, 2015); see <PERSON> & <PERSON>, "Obama to Permit Young Migrants to Remain in U.S.," _N.Y. Times_ (June 15, 2012), <http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/16/us/us-to-stop-deporting-some-illegal-immigrants.html>.
. U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, Executive Actions on Immigration (Apr. 15, 2015), available at <http://www.uscis.gov/immigrationaction> (last accessed Aug. 14, 2015).
. <PERSON> and <PERSON>, "U.S. Won't Prosecute in States That Allow Medical Marijuana," _N.Y. Times_ (Oct. 19, 2009), <http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/20/us/20cannabis.html>.
. See <PERSON>, Letter from the Attorney General to Congress on Litigation Involving the Defense of Marriage Act, the United States Department of Justice (Feb. 23, 2011), <http://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/letter-attorney-general-congress-litigation-involving-defense-marriage-act> (last accessed Aug. 14, 2014).
. <PERSON>, <PERSON> & <PERSON>, "Snowden Lands in Moscow as Hong Kong Rejects U.S. Warrant," _Bloomberg News_ (June 23, 2013), <http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2013-06-23/snowden-leaves-hong-kong-as-u-s-seeks-his-extradition>; <PERSON> & <PERSON>, "Defiant Russia Grants <PERSON> Year's Asylum," _N.Y. Times_ (Aug. 1, 2013), <http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/02/world/europe/edward-snowden-russia.html>.
. President <PERSON>, "Fact Sheet: The Administration's Proposal for Ending the Section 215 Bulk Telephony Metadata Program," The White House (Mar. 27, 2014), <https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2014/03/27/fact-sheet-administration-s-proposal-ending-section-215-bulk-telephony-m> (last accessed Aug. 14, 2015).
. 132 S. Ct. 2566 (2012).
. <PERSON>, "The Study of Administration," _PSQ_ 2 (1887): 197.
. _The Federalist_ No. 70 (<PERSON>).
. Ibid.
. Ibid.
. Ibid.
. Ibid.
. Ibid.
. _The Federalist_ No. 71 (<PERSON>).
. _The Federalist_ No. 72 (<PERSON>).
. Ibid.
. Ibid.
. 487 U.S. 654 (1988).
. 467 U.S. 837 (1984).
. Motor Vehicle Mfrs. Ass'n of U.S., Inc. v. State Farm Mut. Auto. Ins. Co., 463 U.S. 29 (1983).
. Michigan v. E.P.A., 135 S. Ct. 2699, 2712 (2015) (<PERSON>, J., concurring).
. 462 U.S. 919 (1983).
. 478 U.S. 714 (1986).
. 198 U.S. 45 (1905).
. For example, <PERSON> labeled <PERSON> "the symbol, indeed the quintessence, of judicial usurpation of power." <PERSON>, _The Tempting of America: The Political Seduction of the Law_ (New York: Free Press, 1990), 44.
. <PERSON>, 198 U.S. 64–65; West Coast Hotel Co. v. <PERSON>, 300 U.S. 379 (1937) (ending the <PERSON> era).
INDEX
<PERSON>, <PERSON>,
abortion,
<PERSON>, <PERSON>, ,
Administrative Procedure Act (APA) agency non-compliance,
banking industry non-compliance,
CFPB, requirements for,
CFPB non-compliance,
DOE non-compliance,
federal regulators violation of,
immigration policies violating, 76–77
non-compliance, results of, ,
OCR non-compliance, 170–171, ,
public notice and comment requirement, , ,
reforms required,
requirement of courts to engage in statutory interpretation,
requirements of,
SEC overreach and,
Section 706 and _Chevron_ doctrine, , ,
statutory rulemaking requirements,
administrative state, 240–248, , 368–370. _See also_ agencies
advertising, FTC overreach on regulating, 299–309
Advice and Consent Clause,
Affirmatively Furthering Fair Housing (AFFH), 223–225
Affordable Care Act (ACA)
health exchanges, 21–24, 61–62,
health insurance plans, private/preexisting, 18–20
preventive care and screenings for women requirement,
Supreme Court ruling,
Tea Party movement against,
Affordable Care Act (ACA), <PERSON>'s abuses of executive power
ad hoc implementation and enforcement of, 13–25
laws, defying and rewriting of existing, 182–184
misuse of taxpayer funds (subsidies), 21–24, 182–183, ,
preexisting health insurance plan fix announced,
|
06710f6a-87dd-6082-43c6-eaf8dc62d0bc
|
['27fd4148-f066-fbce-4650-727f7abea411']
|
"provide political equality for racial- and language-minority voters."
Both <PERSON> and <PERSON> said that this race-based approach to law enforcement was shared by the other political appointees in the Civil Rights Division: the belief that cases should not be brought against African Americans or other racial minorities if the victims happen to be white. <PERSON>'s directions to the staff were no surprise: before she joined the <PERSON> administration she claimed that the VRA was not written to protect all voters. As former Commissioner <PERSON> of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights pointed out, she was extremely critical of the Justice Department during the <PERSON> administration for filing a successful lawsuit under the VRA against black officials in Noxubee County, Mississippi, for engaging in blatant racial discrimination against white voters. According to <PERSON>, "the law was written to protect black people." <PERSON> testified that everyone understood the policy <PERSON> was implementing: it meant no more cases like the one in Mississippi or the New Black Panther Party voter intimidation case, in which party members threatened and intimidated white poll watchers and voters.
While it is true that the Voting Rights Act was passed in 1965 because of widespread discrimination against blacks in the South that prevented them from registering and voting, Congress was very careful to craft a race-neutral law. The VRA was intended to ban _all_ racial discrimination in voting, regardless of the race of the victims or the perpetrators. This is clear from the straightforward language of Section 2, the nationwide, permanent ban on voting discrimination in the VRA:
No voting qualification or prerequisite to voting or standard, practice, or procedure shall be imposed or applied by any State or political subdivision in a manner which results in a denial or abridgement of the right of any citizen of the United States to vote on account of race or color, or in contravention of the guarantees set forth in section 10303(f)(2) [language minorities] of this title.
The voting discrimination cases brought by the Justice Department under the VRA since 1965 have almost all been on behalf of racial minorities. But as the protections of the VRA allowed racial and ethnic minorities to participate in the election process and to take over control of local jurisdictions where they are actually a majority of the population, it was inevitable that the Justice Department would eventually encounter a case such as _United States v. <PERSON>_ , the case in Noxubee County, Mississippi.
In 2005, the Justice Department filed suit over voting discrimination by local black officials in Noxubee against white voters and candidates. The federal court found that the defendants had "engaged in racially motivated manipulation of the electoral process." The court did not have to "look far to find ample direct and circumstantial evidence of an intent to discriminate against white voters which has manifested itself through practices designed to deny and/or dilute the voting rights of white voters in Noxubee County."
Most importantly, the court concluded that the VRA protects all voters from racial discrimination. In fact, the defendants argued that
|
84558022-164c-2b78-b252-9037f33f2eca
|
['2825dd5c-cd5c-913e-9ff6-7fdc565aef14']
|
in those first months. I'll tackle one of the biggest controversies in parenting—should you bed-share? And finally, I'll list the top ways to reduce your baby's risk of SIDS or suffocation.
Chapter 3 shares a handful of _Happiest Baby_ way tips to help you guide your little one from screaming to calm... usually in just minutes (or less). You'll learn how to enhance sleep by using the _5 S_ 's to trigger your baby's _calming reflex_ , and you'll discover why waking your sleeping baby isn't crazy—it's smart. I'll give tips on scheduling your baby's day, and finally I'll review how to boost the sleep of preemies and multiples.
Chapter 4 gives feeding advice to help your sweetie sleep a little longer. I'll provide tips for preventing illnesses that can disrupt sleep and for helping your little one cope if she does get a cough or sniffle. Finally, you'll learn the key signs of postpartum depression (and the steps you can take to help prevent it).
Chapter 5 gives the answers to sleep questions that many new moms and dads worry about.
### CHAPTER TWO
### [The Early Days:
Setting the Stage for Safe and Happy Sleep](Contents.html#rchapter02)
KEY POINTS:
Your baby's personality affects how she acts when she's awake... and it also affects how well she sleeps.
Good sleep starts with good _state control—_ your baby's ability to calm her own crying and stay asleep despite lights and noises.
New babies have an amazing ability to learn, which allows us to quickly teach them to sleep better and longer.
Debunking the top myths about baby sleep will help you avoid mistakes as you strive to promote better slumber.
Your top job is to keep your little one safe—which includes taking steps to prevent SIDS and suffocation. And that's why bed-sharing is a risk you're smart to avoid in the early months.
_A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single (baby) step._
—ADAPTED FROM LAO-TZU
#### Kid Stuff: What's Going On in Your Baby's Mind?
Why does your friend's baby fall asleep fast while yours screams through the night? Are you doing something wrong? Is your friend a gifted parent? Are you a total flop?
No!
In this chapter, you'll learn that each baby is unique. Some lucky parents have newborns who sleep great no matter what. But, if yours is a bit tougher, welcome to the club! Millions of other sleep-deprived moms and dads just like you are pacing the floor at this very moment, all around the world.
However, that doesn't mean you're doomed to months of exhaustion. In this section, you'll discover some _Happiest Baby_ ways to help your little lamb sleep like... a little lamb. If you're brand-new to this approach, I think you'll be surprised at how easy it is to switch off most of your baby's screaming and switch on her happy sleep. And, if you're already familiar with the _Happiest Baby,_ I'll share some new wrinkles to transform these tips into a no-tears way to teach babies
|
57d33b3a-7612-37fe-b889-18b1025107ec
|
['2825dd5c-cd5c-913e-9ff6-7fdc565aef14']
|
was worried when her mommy hopped away from their lily pad. But she had a talking teddy bear who sang songs with her and kept her happy and safe until her mommy came back with kisses and big juicy flies to eat!"
##### READ BOOKS
Read your child reassuring books about things that scare her. <PERSON>, for instance, got a book all about ants to read to <PERSON>. "See, honey? See how tiny a bug is, and look how big you are! And bugs eat leaves. They think kids taste yucky! Phooey!" After they read the story, <PERSON> would draw a picture of a bug and let <PERSON> crumple it up and throw it away, saying, "Bad bug! Go away! Don't scare <PERSON>!"
##### FIND CREATIVE SOLUTIONS
Just as we might feel more secure with a can of pepper spray when we're in a dark alley, kids feel more secure with some tangible defenses. So ask your child, "What would you like better to keep you safe—your teddy, or a little flashlight?" One child was afraid of monsters under the bed, so she and dad decided to put boxes under the bed so no monsters could fit there!
Also, put a picture of your family by the bed. Or tape up a crayon drawing you made together of a kid sticking out her tongue to tell the bad guys to go away.
##### USE "TWINKLE INTERRUPTUS"
Last but not least, use _twinkle interruptus_ (see _Twinkle Interruptus_). Remember four-year-old <PERSON>, whom I talked about at the beginning of this section—the little guy who had to fall asleep holding his mom's hand? This worked wonders with him.
At first, <PERSON>'s mom announced she had to leave the room for just two or three seconds, saying, "Wait! Wait! I'll be right back! I have to tell <PERSON> something important." Later that night, she did it again for ten seconds... and still later for fifteen seconds. Each time she left, she had her worried little boy hold her cashmere scarf.
Every night, she stretched out her absences a little longer. By the fourth night, she was planning on leaving the room for twenty, fifty, and then ninety seconds... but <PERSON> fell asleep during the first twenty seconds, clutching the scarf and listening to white noise.
_Twinkle interruptus_ and all the other approaches I've mentioned will help your little one ward off worries in the middle of the night. And one more great trick for calming fear is using the power of... magic!
* * *
Try a Magic Act!
_To help three-year-old <PERSON> deal with her fear of monsters coming into the house, her mom ended the bedtime routine with a few squirts of "secret super-spray" to give her happy dreams all night. She also put garlic on <PERSON>'s window because monsters run away when they smell garlic. She'd say, "<PERSON>, do you know what I just remembered? Dinosaurs hate the smell of garlic. They say, 'Yucky... poop!' Oh! And I have a really delicious piece of stinky garlic in the refrigerator. Let's rub a tiny
|
cac8e8a0-409a-f943-9d40-9692773b6281
|
['28413a98-0816-4303-1580-4ceae1d4485a']
|
flattering shape.
## ZIGZAG SCARF
FELTED EDGING
When designing this neck scarf, I thought about the common criteria for a classic scarf: something that lies flat, looks nice on both sides, and can be paired with many outfits. The rickrack rib stitch was a natural choice because it creates an intricate zigzag pattern that transforms the scarf's surface into an intriguing texture. For a touch of color and flair, I dressed up the edges with colorful felted balls. Get creative by experimenting with size and color of your felt, or just let the scarf stand strongly on its own—it's up to you!
### SKILL LEVEL
* Beginner
### SIZE
* One size
### FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
* Length: 68 in/173 cm
* Width: 6 in/15 cm
### YARN
* Worsted
* Cascade Yarns 220 (100% Peruvian Highland wool; 220 yd/201 m per 100 g): 8505 White, 3 skeins
### NEEDLES
* US 11/8 mm straight needles, _or size needed to obtain gauge_
* **NOTE:** The rickrack rib stitch creates a zigzag pattern that is dense, even on large needles. Plan on using needles 4 to 6 sizes larger than the needle size recommended on the yarn's product information band.
### FELTED BALLS
* Roving (approximately 3 yd/2.7 m or 1/3 oz/12 g is enough to make 24 felted balls). Roving is a super-bulky–weight length of fleece spun into a long, narrow, fluffy bundle in preparation for spinning. Roving is mainly spun into yarn, but can also be used for projects like, in this case, felting.
* Bowl
* Hot water
* Clear soap (any kind will do)
* Towel
* Coordinating embroidery thread (about 7 yd/6.4 m)
* Embroidery needle
### GAUGE
* 25 sts and 16 rows per 4 in/10 cm in rickrack rib stitch, unblocked
### SPECIAL STITCH
* **Rickrack Rib Stitch**
* Worked flat over an even number of stitches:
* Row 1 (RS): P1, *skip first st, k into back loop of second st (leaving st on left needle), k into front of first st (removing both sts from left needle), P1; repeat from * to end of row.
* Row 2 (WS): K1, *p into second st (leaving st on left needle), p into first st (removing both sts from left needle), K1; repeat from * to end of row.
* Repeat rows 1 and 2 for rickrack rib st pattern.
### INSTRUCTIONS
#### Body
Starting at one end, CO 40 sts (or any multiple of 3 sts plus 1 st, if you want to vary the width).
Work in the rickrack rib st pattern until piece measures 68 in/173 cm long, or desired length, ending with Row 2.
With RS facing, BO loosely in pattern.
Fasten off. Weave in ends.
#### Felted Balls
**1.** Divide the roving into 24 pieces, each approximately 4 in/10 cm
|
5f0034d8-a351-0094-e5e9-c5c0f67c9615
|
['28413a98-0816-4303-1580-4ceae1d4485a']
|
decided to design it as a flat piece and pinch it in the middle so the bow has a lot of movement without being too bulky or heavy. Pair this super-femme hair clip with whatever hairstyle you rock best.
### SKILL LEVEL
* Beginner
### SIZE
* One size
### FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
* Before pinched into a bow: 10 in/25 cm long and 5 in/12 cm wide
### YARN
* Worsted
* Cascade Yarns 220 (100% Peruvian Highland wool; 220 yd/201 m per 100 g): 8885 Dark Plum (MC), 5 stripes, around 24 yd/22 m; 7809 Periwinkle (CC), 4 stripes, around 20 yd/18 m
### NEEDLES
* US 9/5.5 mm straight needles, _or size needed to obtain gauge_
### HAIR CLIP
* Small barrette-style, 1 in/2.5 cm long
### GAUGE
* 16 sts and 30 rows per 4 in/10 cm in garter stitch, unblocked
### INSTRUCTIONS
#### Striped Bow
**NOTE:** When you change colors, do not cut the yarn. Instead, twist the next color of yarn around the previous color (to prevent holes in the finished piece), and carry the unused color up the side throughout the pattern. This prevents having to weave in several ends.
CO 20 sts in MC.
Knit 8 rows.
Drop MC and work in CC.
Knit 8 rows.
Continue knitting, alternating MC and CC to make 8-row stripes, until you have a total of 9 stripes.
BO loosely.
### FINISHING
Fasten off. Weave in ends with the tapestry needle.
To create the bow, pinch the rectangle in the center and tie a long piece of MC yarn around the center in a tight knot to hold it in place. Do not cut this yarn once you have tied the knot.
Wrap the yarn around the center until it starts to take shape as the bow's center.
Once your knot is almost to its desired thickness, open up the hair clip, slip the backside of the clip through the center of the knot (making sure you have positioned it so you can still open and close the clip), and continue to wrap, securing the clip in place.
Fasten off. Weave in ends.
### design inspiration
The first piece I ever designed was a tiny, incredibly girly knitted headband. When I decided to update the project for this book, I knew I wanted to go bigger to make the piece bolder and more dramatic. Instead of making it a headband, I designed it with a clip so that it had more range for styling—hair up, hair down, or even pinned as a brooch. I started out knitting bows in solid colors and then realized that stripes would be really fun. I went with thicker and bolder stripes, but I also think that thinner, more delicate stripes would look equally eye-catching.
### yarn & stitch
I wanted all the focus of this piece to be on the size and simple shape, not on an elaborate stitch. So I settled on the garter stitch. For
|
b45ad5e9-3590-d7dd-450a-3c8159d58bd1
|
['284bc193-fc6d-5813-5ad5-d6747a57d6e7']
|
to identify trees, those flat leaf arrays usually grow only in the shady low levels of the forest. When a western hemlock grows in the open—not uncommon along east-side streams—it adopts a round bottlebrush leaf array much like that of mountain hemlock. Luckily, we can check for the top-and-bottom stomatal bloom of mountain hemlock's needles or, better, for its much larger cones on the ground.
True firs ( _Abies_ species) are harder; we may have to see cones, since both leaf array and stomatal bloom (our handy ID characters) vary not only from site to site, but from branch to branch on the same tree. Topmost branches in the forest canopy are always in full sun, and don't develop the flat leaf arrays and bottom-only stomata that typify the shade-tolerant silver and grand firs. The shaded low branches in a mature forest are too high to see, and the branchlets we do see are the atypical topmost ones that turn up on the forest floor, either snapped by the wind or as bycatch from a squirrel harvesting cones. We can only hope to identify a cone before the squirrel caches it.
### Noble Fir
Abies procera (pross-er-a: noble). Needles ¾–1¼ in., bluish silvery green, usually with a central groove on top and white stomata on both top and bottom, typically in 4 distinct stripes, not notch-tipped, thick, more or less 4-sided, crowding and curving upward from the twig, many with a sharp "hockey-stick" curve at the base; cones dense, heavy, nearly cylindrical, 4–7 in. × 1¼–2½ in., green maturing dark red-brown, scales almost entirely covered by papery green to straw-colored bracts with slender upcurved points; cones erect on upper branches, dropping their seeds and scales singly while the core remains; young bark gray, smooth, resin-blistered; mature bark red-brown, thin, flaking, cracked rectangularly; branches horizontal; commonly 50 in. dbh × 210 ft.; a champion 9 ft. 5 in. dbh, died in 2009; oldest is a mere 321 years. W-side OR and WA CasR, OR CoastR, mainly at 3000–5500 ft. Pinaceae.
Noble fir
<PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER> ft. Pinaceae.
Noble fir
David Douglas and friends gave the West's true firs scientific names meaning grand, lovely, magnificent, and noble. His choice _nobilis_ was replaced in 1940 by _procera_ , meaning tall, which fits at least as well, for this is the tallest and biggest true fir. The tallest specimen on record was blasted by Mt. St. Helens in 1980. It stood 325 feet tall, which is outdone by only three species—Douglas-fir, redwood, and Australia's _Eucalyptus regnans_.
The evenly spaced annual tiers of stiffly horizontal limbs can be seen even from a quarter-mile away as a fine horizontal lined texture. Clean geometric form and balsam fragrance make this the top Northwest species for Christmas trees and wreaths. They cost more than similar-sized Douglas-firs because noble firs don't grow as fast in their youth. Growth rate picks up impressively after the second decade, ranking among the best. Hundred-year and older noble firs are typically larger than like-aged Douglas-firs they grow with, and one noble fir stand has the highest measured biomass per acre outside of
|
312dc14e-1fdd-cbcb-a315-8419d9b89d93
|
['284bc193-fc6d-5813-5ad5-d6747a57d6e7']
|
Sitka spruce were vital to Northwest Coast culture. They supplied most of the exquisite and highly functional basketry, and also twine and rope, including whaling lines. A spruce twig stuck in the hair was a charm for whaling, while the harpoon tips were protected, and the canoes caulked, with spruce pitch. The <PERSON> and <PERSON> were fond of chewing spruce pitch; it's fragrant and spicy-sweet, turning bitterish as you chew it. Try some.
Sitka spruce
### Engelmann Spruce
Picea engelmannii (eng-gell-mah-nee-eye: for <PERSON>). Also _P. glauca_ subsp. _engelmannii_. Needles ¾–1¼ in., sharp, 4-sided, bad-smelling when crushed, crowding upward and forward from the twig or evenly around it, deep blue-green with stomatal stripes on all sides; young twigs minutely fuzzy (through 10× lens); cones 1½–2½ in., light, much like mountain hemlock cones but scales are thinner, closer, with wavy-toothed edges; often with cone-like galls from branch tips; bark thin, scaly; crown dense, narrow, with pendent branchlets; commonly 40 in. dbh × 160 ft.; or prostrate, shrubby; biggest living tree is 223 ft. tall (n CasR); greatest dbh 7 ft. 3 in.; oldest is 911 years. 3000–8000 ft. e of CasCr, often in n- to e-draining ravines; rare in ne OlyM. Pinaceae.
Engelmann spruce
Spruce foliage looks denser, drapier, darker, and slightly bluer than our other conifers. Spruces are the second most northerly conifer genus, after larches. In the Rockies, Engelmann spruce and subalpine fir dominate the higher forests. Here, this spruce specializes in cold, wet east-side sites, ranking about average in shade tolerance. Though it is large and distinctive among subalpine trees, its three stands in the Olympics, including two champion-sized Engelmann spruces, went undiscovered until 1968. Take that as a challenge to your tree-spotting skills.
Grouse like dense spruce crowns for relatively warm, dry roosts. These crowns often reach to the ground, and catch fire easily. <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER> ft. e of CasCr, often in n- to e-draining ravines; rare in ne OlyM. Pinaceae.
Engelmann spruce
Spruce foliage looks denser, drapier, darker, and slightly bluer than our other conifers. Spruces are the second most northerly conifer genus, after larches. In the Rockies, Engelmann spruce and subalpine fir dominate the higher forests. Here, this spruce specializes in cold, wet east-side sites, ranking about average in shade tolerance. Though it is large and distinctive among subalpine trees, its three stands in the Olympics, including two champion-sized Engelmann spruces, went undiscovered until 1968. Take that as a challenge to your tree-spotting skills.
Grouse like dense spruce crowns for relatively warm, dry roosts. These crowns often reach to the ground, and catch fire easily. Engelmann spruces can grow slowly but steadily for several centuries, but rarely achieve that potential because they are so susceptible to fire. Wet locations may protect some of them. They like aerated moisture—streamsides, not marshes.
In addition to their cones, many spruces bear curious cone-like appendages—galls, or "houses" for aphid larvae (p. 471). Gall tissue is secreted by a plant in response apparently to chemical stimulation, usually by a female insect laying eggs. A spruce gall terminates and envelopes new growth at a branch tip, but rarely harms the tree. The dead needles turn a tan color along with the gall; together they look much like a 1- to 2-inch cone with needle-tipped, melted-together "scales" hooding openings into a larval chamber. The gall may hang from the branch long after the larvae mature and move on. Other insects may move in.
After decades at the low end of the value scale, Engelmann spruce lumber at last found a market that appreciates it in Japan. Very white, it reminds of certain Japanese woods that are scarce now. It's logged mainly east of our range, being rather scarce and inaccessible here.
Spruce pitch is chewable, fragrant, and sweetish, but sure sticks to your teeth. In the British
|
3b25ed93-c736-02aa-30bd-cc6d0eea026d
|
['29c3aa53-4fd8-3ffe-ac88-92399de52a2a']
|
just, I had to do whatever possible to change it, not disobey it! Maybe I'm wrong, but I won't accept that until I've tried everything.
<PERSON>'s point of view arises from a sense of order about the universe, and particularly human society. He believes that he must uphold this order at all costs.
While Green Lantern heads off to speak with his congressman, we learn that someone has been posing as the ghost of the ancient tribal chief <PERSON>, disrupting the lumber company and giving courage to the Native Americans to fight to defend their land. <PERSON> arrives with the congressman in the midst of the conflict, and a fistfight between <PERSON> and <PERSON> reveals that <PERSON> was posing as the tribal hero. The fight ends only when a log rolls down and hits them both in the head. At the end of the story, evidence has arisen implicating the lumber company's leaders in the fire that claimed Abe Star's building. There seems to be no resolution between <PERSON> and <PERSON>, but the <PERSON> who is traveling with them confronts them, saying that they should have learned that violence is not the answer to their dispute; rather, they should have mutual respect for each other even in their differences.
In the most celebrated stories of the run, "Snowbirds Don't Fly" and "They Say It'll Kill Me . . . But They Won't Say When!", <PERSON> brought attention to another subject that was taboo under the 1950s Comics Code: drug use.18 In these stories, <PERSON> and <PERSON> fight against the drug trade in their neighborhood, only to discover that <PERSON>'s ward and crime-fighting sidekick <PERSON> (aka <PERSON>) has become a heroin addict. When <PERSON> starts questioning him, <PERSON>'s response shows the spirit of youth, the suspicion of the established order:
I had the sermons thrown at me! But <PERSON>, your generation has been known to lie, dig it? You've told us war is fun . . . skin-color is important . . . a man's worth is the size of his bank account . . . all crocks! So why believe your drug rap?
The story ends with <PERSON> and <PERSON> taking down the drug ring, and with <PERSON> struggling through the pain of withdrawal and coming clean. The issue also shows someone dying of a drug overdose, in a large, impressionable image, which surely would have inspired criticism in the 1950s. <PERSON> and company once again invoked the spirit of <PERSON> in their efforts. Instead of conforming to the Comics Code and avoiding any representation of drug use, they chose to portray it, and readers learned more about the horrors of drug use when they were drawn into the story and experienced the pain of <PERSON>'s drug problem. Within the story, <PERSON>, and in this case <PERSON> too, learned that fighting the presence of illicit drugs in society was more complicated than just arresting those who trafficked drugs.
A Lasting Legacy
In their classic Green Lantern run, <PERSON> and <PERSON>
|
f85aa40f-aafc-8395-ab07-188f239d3046
|
['29c3aa53-4fd8-3ffe-ac88-92399de52a2a']
|
of these things while under the power of the <PERSON> entity. Consequently, it could be argued that it's not really <PERSON> acting (and certainly this is the tone of some of the events in the comics—much of the end of Rebirth and some of the events in the Sinestro Corps War seem largely intended to make it look like a person is utterly powerless under <PERSON>'s influence). But if we look at <PERSON>'s actions, he really is stubborn and individualistic. As <PERSON> points out in Blackest Night #4 (December 2009), unlike the other members of the Justice League, <PERSON>'s not concerned about trying to fit in: "He let the rest of the world fit in around him."
<PERSON> has a vision of what is right. He wants to fix the world and doesn't usually listen to others' counsel. Other than the "destroying the world" thing, Zero Hour is not that unlike him. If anything, it's <PERSON>'s ability to make a detailed plan that seems unlike rash <PERSON>, rather than the belief that he knows what is right. And <PERSON>'s reunion with <PERSON> in the Blackest Night storyline, for the purpose of defeating the <PERSON> version of the Spectre, is another illustration of <PERSON>'s single-mindedly pursuing what he deems to be the right course of action without really consulting those around him.5 As he says, "I made a vow. No fear. Never again." These words do not bode well in our Hegelian tragic context.
<PERSON>, Fallen from Heroic Stature
<PERSON> started off, in the early years of the Silver Age <PERSON> comics, as a simple villain, a "relentlessly evil" renegade <PERSON>, power-hungry and with a "super-evil mind."6 Just being evil for evil's sake, however, is not really all that interesting aesthetically. It is a rather limited motivation, with little scope for exploration. Consequently, in the 1991 story Emerald Dawn II, his character is broadened. <PERSON> is described not as seeking power or craving evil, but as trying to establish and maintain order on his home planet Korugar. While this particular story (which includes <PERSON> being locked up for a DUI but regularly escaping prison to train as a Green Lantern) is now of doubtful canonicity, <PERSON>'s desire for order, rather than evil for its own sake, has been repeated regularly and is now fairly established. Notably, in 2005's Secret Origin story, <PERSON> proclaims that "Korugar will never embrace chaos. Not as long as I am around to instill order."7
In and of itself, this would seem a morally praiseworthy goal. We can understand <PERSON>'s desire, especially since as a Green Lantern he would be familiar with the chaotic possibilities of the universe. Disorder and chaos can create injustice and suffering in a political state. The philosopher <PERSON> (1762–1814), a contemporary of <PERSON>'s, wrote:
The sole source of every evil in our makeshift states is disorder and the impossibility of bringing about order in them. In our states the only reason why finding a guilty party often involves such great and insurmountable difficulties, is that there are so many
|
a2525f2b-1455-859b-bbe8-45c19b15e647
|
['2a1b57fa-f0e5-92bb-a1fd-940f076f7f98']
|
2. Bij verhindering of ontstentenis van alle wethouders wordt het ambt waargenomen door het langstzittende lid van de raad. Indien meer leden van de raad even lang zitting hebben, vindt de waarneming plaats door het oudste lid in jaren van hen. De raad kan een ander lid van de raad met de waarneming belasten.
###### Artikel 78
1. Indien de commissaris <PERSON> het in het belang van de gemeente nodig oordeelt, voorziet hij in afwijking van artikel 77 in de waarneming. Alvorens daartoe over te gaan hoort hij de raad, tenzij gewichtige redenen zich daartegen verzetten.
2. Hij die door de commissaris met de waarneming van het ambt van burgemeester is belast, legt in handen van de commissaris een overeenkomstig artikel 65 luidende eed (verklaring en belofte) af.
###### <PERSON> toekenning van een vergoeding ten laste van de gemeente aan degene die met <PERSON> is belast, wordt geregeld bij of krachtens algemene maatregel van bestuur.
###### <PERSON>Ten aanzien van degene die met <PERSON> is belast, zijn de artikelen 68 en 69 van overeenkomstige toepassing.
###### Artikel 81
1. De raad kan regelen van welke beslissingen van de burgemeester aan de leden van de raad kennisgeving wordt gedaan. Daarbij kan de raad de gevallen bepalen waarin met terinzagelegging kan worden volstaan.
2. De burgemeester laat de kennisgeving of terinzagelegging achterwege voor zover deze in strijd is met het openbaar belang.
### Hoofdstuk IVa. De rekenkamer
#### Paragraaf 1. De gemeentelijke rekenkamer
###### Artikel 81a
1. De raad kan een rekenkamer instellen.
2. Indien de raad een rekenkamer instelt, zijn de navolgende artikelen van dit hoofdstuk alsmede hoofdstuk XIa van toepassing.
3. Indien de raad geen rekenkamer instelt, is <PERSON> van toepassing.
###### Artikel 81b
De raad stelt het aantal leden van de rekenkamer vast.
###### Artikel 81c
1. De raad benoemt de leden van de rekenkamer voor de duur van zes jaar.
2. Indien de rekenkamer uit twee of meer leden bestaat, benoemt de raad uit de leden de voorzitter.
3. De raad kan plaatsvervangende leden benoemen. Indien de rekenkamer uit ййn lid bestaat, benoemt de raad in ieder geval een plaatsvervangend lid. Deze paragraaf is op plaatsvervangende leden van overeenkomstige toepassing.
4. De raad kan een lid herbenoemen.
5. Voorafgaand aan de benoemingen, bedoeld in het eerste tot en met het vierde lid, pleegt de raad overleg met de rekenkamer.
6. Een lid van de rekenkamer wordt door de raad ontslagen:
a. op eigen verzoek;
b. bij de aanvaarding van een functie die onverenigbaar is met het lidmaatschap;
c. indien hij bij onherroepelijk geworden rechterlijke uitspraak wegens misdrijf is veroordeeld, dan wel hem bij zulk een uitspraak een maatregel is opgelegd die vrijheidsbeneming tot gevolg heeft;
d. indien hij bij onherroepelijk geworden rechterlijke uitspraak onder curatele is gesteld, in staat van faillissement is verklaard, sursйance van betaling heeft verkregen of wegens schulden is gegijzeld;
e. indien hij naar het oordeel van de raad ernstig nadeel toebrengt aan het in hem gestelde vertrouwen.
7.
|
05f187ea-dfcc-122a-3a5f-4ce0fc783eae
|
['2a1b57fa-f0e5-92bb-a1fd-940f076f7f98']
|
in deeltijd vervullen, vindt onverminderd het vierde lid geen verrekening plaats van de inkomsten, bedoeld in het zesde lid.
8. Bij algemene maatregel van bestuur worden regels gesteld over de wijze waarop de wethouder gegevens over de inkomsten, bedoeld in het zesde lid, verstrekt, en de gevolgen van het niet verstrekken van deze gegevens.
###### Artikel 45
1. Het college verleent aan een wethouder op diens verzoek verlof wegens zwangerschap en bevalling. Het verlof gaat in op de in het verzoek vermelde dag die ligt tussen ten hoogste zes en ten minste vier weken voor de vermoedelijke datum van de bevalling die blijkt uit een bij het verzoek gevoegde verklaring van een arts of verloskundige.
2. Het college verleent aan een wethouder op diens verzoek verlof wegens ziekte, indien uit een bij het verzoek gevoegde verklaring van een arts blijkt dat niet aannemelijk is dat hij de uitoefening van zijn functie binnen acht weken zal kunnen hervatten.
3. In het geval een wethouder vanwege zijn ziekte niet in staat is zelf het verzoek te doen, kan de burgemeester namens hem het verzoek doen indien de continuпteit van het gemeentelijk bestuur dringend vereist dat in vervanging van de wethouder wordt voorzien.
4. Het verlof eindigt op de dag waarop zestien weken zijn verstreken sinds de dag waarop het verlof is ingegaan.
5. Aan een wethouder wordt gedurende de zittingsperiode van de raad ten hoogste drie maal verlof verleend.
###### Artikel 45a
1. Het college beslist zo spoedig mogelijk op een verzoek tot verlof, doch uiterlijk op de veertiende dag na indiening van het verzoek.
2. De beslissing geschiedt in overeenstemming met de verklaring van de arts of verloskundige en bevat de dag waarop het verlof ingaat.
###### Artikel 45b
1. De raad kan een vervanger benoemen voor de wethouder die met verlof is gegaan. <PERSON>, eerste en derde lid, is niet van toepassing.
2. De vervanger is van rechtswege ontslagen met ingang van de dag waarop zestien weken zijn verstreken sinds de dag waarop het verlof is ingegaan.
3. Indien de vervanger voor het einde van het verlof ontslag neemt of door de raad wordt ontslagen, kan de raad voor de resterende duur van het verlof een vervanger benoemen.
###### Artikel 46
1. Indien degene wiens benoeming tot wethouder is ingegaan, een functie bekleedt als bedoeld in artikel 36b, eerste lid, en het tweede of derde lid van dat artikel niet van toepassing zijn, draagt hij er onverwijld zorg voor dat hij uit die functie wordt ontheven.
2. De raad verleent hem ontslag indien hij dit nalaat.
3. Het ontslag gaat in terstond na de bekendmaking van het ontslagbesluit.
4. In het geval, bedoeld in het tweede lid, is artikel 4:8 van de Algemene wet bestuursrecht niet van toepassing.
###### Artikel 47
1. Indien een wethouder niet langer voldoet aan de vereisten voor het wethouderschap, bedoeld in artikel 36a, eerste en tweede lid, of een functie gaat bekleden als bedoeld in artikel 36b, eerste lid, en het tweede of derde lid van dat artikel niet van toepassing zijn, neemt hij onmiddellijk ontslag.
|
04c103e4-07eb-0582-bc70-295468643352
|
['2a285912-5b72-f621-8639-6dec2cafe927']
|
speech on May 19, 1970, and again to the House of Representatives two months later. The long absence of a director, he declared, was unmistakable evidence that <PERSON> had no honest interest in the Air and Space Museum, not even when the United States had sent men to the moon.
Even though the secretary seemed to pay little attention to the senator, he did announce that the search would begin anew in the fall. (General <PERSON>, it turned out, was terminally ill and died in 1971, at age fifty-five.) <PERSON> had not been reticent about saying that a military man might not be the right choice in "the present political situation." But he knew that the military man who turned up in February 1971 was absolutely right. He was perfect.
<PERSON> HAD AN UNCLE** who was chief of staff of the U.S. Army. His father, an army man for thirty-eight years, had served as aide-de-camp to General <PERSON> in the Philippines, in Mexico when he was chasing down <PERSON>, and in France during World War I; he had retired as a major general. <PERSON> was born in Rome in 1930, graduated from West Point, attended the Air Force Experimental Test Pilot School in California, trained as an astronaut, flew with <PERSON> for three days in Gemini 10, worked Mission Control during the Apollo 10 flight around the moon—the first look at "the dark side"—then went back to the moon when <PERSON> and <PERSON> landed. After the Apollo 11 mission, he retired from NASA, but took a post as assistant secretary of state for public affairs. He had been working with the State Department for about a year when he was offered the NASM job.
<PERSON> found <PERSON> absolutely captivating (his phrase), and of course his fame and prestige were beyond measure. Nobody could have been happier about <PERSON> than Senator <PERSON>, but he still decried the absence of a museum where Americans could enjoy "the incomparable inspirational feeling which their heritage in flight and space can offer... where they can gain a feeling of pride in human accomplishment." The senator kept at it, making speeches, arranging a face-to-face meeting with the president, and finally he got what he wanted. <PERSON> would often be called "the father of NASM," but actually, it could not have been otherwise once <PERSON> was on board. In the 1972 budget, <PERSON> would enable a request for a $40 million construction fund to go forward. On May 17, the Commission on Fine Arts approved <PERSON> design. The National Capital Planning Commission approved on June 29, just after the president signed the appropriation bill. Ground was broken in the fall.
All that had gone haywire with design and construction at the Museum of History and Technology went right with Air and Space, and it took less than four years to complete what had taken nine with MHT. The Rhode Island construction company, Gilbane, put on a vastly more polished performance than Norair, the Baltimore firm that built MHT, had done. Gilbane
|
0c79d997-fd27-8b1d-8bee-ae5258ab6e64
|
['2a285912-5b72-f621-8639-6dec2cafe927']
|
<PERSON>, SCIENCE: THE ENDLESS FRONTIER; REPORT TO THE PRESIDENT ON A PROGRAM FOR POSTWAR SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH (1945).
. _Id._ at 1.
. _Id._ at 14.
. _See_ <PERSON>, _Debating Disciplinarity_ , 35 CRITICAL INQUIRY (2009). "Common sense identifies the term _discipline_ with the content of an academic enterprise." <PERSON>, _Disciplinarity, Corporatization, and the Crisis: A Dystopian Narrative_ , J. MIDWEST MOD. LANGUAGE ASS'N, Winter-Spring 1999, at 2–18, 2.
. Regents of Univ. of Mich. v. <PERSON>, 474 U.S. 214, 226 n.12 (1985) ("Academic freedom thrives not only on the independent and uninhibited exchange of ideas among teachers and students... but also, and somewhat inconsistently, on autonomous decisionmaking by the academy itself"); <PERSON> v. <PERSON>, 970 F.2d 252, 257 (7th Cir. 1992) ("[A]s this case reveals, the assertion of academic freedom of a professor can conflict with the academic freedom of the university to make decisions affecting that professor"); <PERSON> v. Ill. Cmty. Coll. Dist. 525, 759 F.2d 625, 629 (7th Cir. 1985) ("[T]hough many decisions describe 'academic freedom' as an aspect of the freedom of speech that is protected against governmental abridgment by the First Amendment,... the term is equivocal. It is used to denote both the freedom of the academy to pursue its ends without interference from the government (the sense in which it is used, for example, in Justice <PERSON>'s opinion in _Regents of the University of California v. <PERSON>_ , 438 U.S. 265, 312 (1978), or in our recent decision in _EEOC v. University of Notre Dame Du Lac_ , 715 F.2d 331, 335–36 (7th Cir.1983)), and the freedom of the individual teacher (or in some versions—indeed in most cases—the student) to pursue his ends without interference from the academy; and these two freedoms are in conflict, as in this case."); Dow Chem. Co. v. <PERSON>, 672 F.2d 1262, 1275 (7th Cir. 1982) ("Case law considering the standard to be applied where the issue is academic freedom of the university to be free of governmental interference, as opposed to academic freedom of the individual teacher to be free of restraints from the university administration, is surprisingly sparse."); <PERSON> v. <PERSON>, 472 F.Supp. 802, 813 (D.C. Ark. 1979) ("The present case is particularly difficult because it involves a fundamental tension between the academic freedom of the individual teacher to be free of restraints from the university administration, and the academic freedom of the university to be free of government, including judicial, interference.").
. <PERSON>, _supra_ note 2; <PERSON>, _The Threat to Constitutional Academic Freedom_ , 31 J.C. & U.L. 79 (2004); <PERSON>, _Bureaucracy and Distrust: Germaneness and the Paradoxes of Academic Freedom Doctrine_ , 77 U. COLO. L. REV. 955 (2006); <PERSON>, _Institutional Academic Freedom vs. Faculty Academic Freedom in Public Colleges and Universities_ , 29 31 J.C. & U.L. 35 (2002); <PERSON>, _Institutional Academic Freedom or Autonomy Grounded Upon the First Amendment: A Jurisprudential Mirage_ , 30 HAMLINE L. REV. 1 (2007); <PERSON>, _On "Institutional" Academic Freedom_ , 61 TEX. L. REV. 817 (1983); <PERSON>, _Choppy
|
1b91ae35-2c8f-0544-6e46-003113a86157
|
['2ade3018-6e0e-1f22-bd31-ad8ec834b1b8']
|
I've yet to work with a client who didn't let go of things during this process. Keep in mind that the organizing process is about making the tough decisions about what to let go of, and then organizing what's left.
Since most people are attached to their things, letting go is often one of the more difficult and emotional steps in organizing. Here are a few tips to help guide you through this process. Ask yourself these questions:
**»** When was the last time I used this item?
**»** Will I realistically ever use it again?
**»** What value does it bring to me?
**»** Could someone else get more use from it than I?
**»** Will I really go out to my garage and dig through a box to get this item and use it?
**»** Will I remember that I've stored it in my garage for future use, or will I end up purchasing a new one because I can't locate it?
**»** Is it really in good enough shape to merit keeping? <PERSON> found some treasured books that had suffered mold damage. Clearly, they weren't salvageable, so despite their status as "beloved books," they went in the trash—heartbreaking as it was.
Many times when I work with clients, I hear lots of different reasons and justifications as to why people are hanging on to things. Some common ones are listed below, along with my responses.
**"But I might need it someday."** It's true, you may need it someday; on the other hand, someday may never come, especially if you've had this item for three years and haven't used it.
**"It cost me a lot of money."** I understand it cost you a lot of money, but what is it costing you to store the item now? Consider cost in two ways: the money it costs to store things as well as the space you give up for other things. This rationale applied to <PERSON>'s books and to the children's baby toys.
**"My mom, dad, daughter, grandma, [you fill in the blank] gave that to me—how could I part with it?"** Each of us can hold on to only so much memorabilia. What are the true treasures that you simply couldn't live without? Do you have a way to display them so you can view them, or are they going to be kept in a box? Consider allowing yourself a certain amount of space to store these types of items and, when that designated space becomes full, taking another look at what you're holding on to.
At the <PERSON>' garage, every family member got to participate in the purging process. I'd have to say that some family members got the "urge to purge" more than others. To illustrate that this stage can be fun, here are some specific examples of what happened at the <PERSON> home:
<PERSON> was given the task of editing his collection of toys, and <PERSON> offered him an additional incentive: a small amount of money for each toy he donated. He eliminated more than half
|
30cf278b-6b9a-c2b7-00ef-00ff5e39e92a
|
['2ade3018-6e0e-1f22-bd31-ad8ec834b1b8']
|
I filled an entire large box with items I never use.
# **KITCHEN ORGANIZING TIPS**
**I** f reading about <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s kitchen inspired you, here are some more tips to help you organize your own kitchen:
**1. Line shelves and drawers.** Liners protect not only the items you put on the shelves or in the drawers, but also the drawers and shelves themselves. We lined most of <PERSON>'s drawers and shelves where she would be moving items in and out on a regular basis. You don't need to use liners if there are turntables or drawer inserts, though, because those shelves and drawers are already protected.
**2. Establish a junk drawer.** It's perfectly acceptable to have a junk drawer in your kitchen—I even have one in mine! The idea is to not have it look junky. There are plenty of drawer organizers available that will suit your needs perfectly. Be sure to measure your drawer first to find the best fit, and have a good idea of what you plan to store in it so you can get an organizer with the right number of compartments. Many drawer organizers have moveable parts so you can adjust the compartments to be the size you want.
When organizing your junk drawer, dump the contents on the counter, sort them, toss what you no longer need, and put misplaced things in the locations where they should be. Then you can organize the rest of what's left to be stored in the drawer.
**3. Fix broken appliances.** If you need a part for one of your small appliances, Culinary Parts Unlimited is one place to try. Visit www.culinaryparts.com or call 866-PART-HELP.
**4. Remember that most shelves are adjustable.** In my five years as an organizing consultant, there have been only a handful of occasions when I wasn't able to adjust a shelf to create more space. Many times you can also have an additional shelf cut for your cupboards if you need more shelf space.
This is what we did in <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s kitchen (photo 8). Their very narrow cupboard, used for glasses and coffee mugs, would not hold them all unless they were stacked, so we cut an additional shelf and drilled a few more holes in the side for pegs for the shelf to sit on.
Where you can, try to group things together that are approximately the same height to maximize use of the space. Shelves should be adjusted so that the shelf above the tallest item on the shelf below allows you just enough space to move items in and out of the cupboards easily.
**5. Use turntables.** Turntables are a great organizing tool for a variety of items. I particularly like to use them for spices, oils, and vinegars in cupboards. It keeps these items from getting shoved into the back of the cupboard, making it difficult to see what you have. I also like to put turntables in corner cabinets that are above the counter. This is an excellent place to store spices, oils, and
|
a3cd026e-aad8-9ca3-43c6-b1bf3808f464
|
['2b08d090-e5cf-8445-d4cf-2490893056ec']
|
leave us to think about for the rest of our lives is another. Religion is the institution that sets out to teach us what it takes to guide us through our entire lives. But what is it?
What does religion say about happiness? And are those things in conjunction with what the social sciences and the philosophers themselves have to say about what it means to live a happy life?
A second story warns us of the real challenge to the ability of average people to identify the elements of happiness for themselves.
A seeker said to the holy one, "Holy one, I am intent on the spiritual life. May I become your disciple?"
And the master answered, "You are only a disciple because your eyes are closed. The day you open them you will see that there is nothing you can learn from me or anyone else."
"But if that is the case," the seeker said, "what then is a master for?"
"The purpose of a master," the holy one replied, "is to make you see the uselessness of having one."
Religion, unlike any other system on the planet, sets out to teach us how to live, how to make choices and come to decisions that are, in the end, eternally good ones. However much religion may have dabbled in other systems along the way, it is not about governance or economic security or intercultural relationships or the business of national growth. It is the only institution on the planet that makes happiness primary and takes happiness seriously. Religion, in fact, puts happiness first and foremost, beyond everything else on its agenda. Religion purports to be about what <PERSON> insisted was the very essence of happiness — the meaning and purpose of life.
The great religious figures and texts of all time and all traditions, given their valuations of life as we know it and the human being as they define it, determine, at least obliquely, what aspects of life seekers need to consider in their personal "pursuit of happiness."
The question for each of us, of course, is, to what degree does religion, any particular religion, require and direct us to those dimensions of life that make us fuller, more human, human beings? In what way does any particular religion give us more certainty in regard to what we're about in life? If religion is about happiness, it ought, surely, to make us happier in our ability to live it well.
Because all religions purport to be a way of life, as well as a theology or philosophy of life, the questions they raise about happiness abound: To what degree, for instance, does religion enable people to live life fully? To what extent does religion encourage the pursuit of happiness here as well as in some other life to come?
Suffering is part of life, we know. But it is religion that tells us how to think about suffering. If a religion sees suffering as good for us, does that mean that religion glorifies it? If the religion sees suffering
|
f5a4aecf-32bd-0879-92f6-b5e57d442cff
|
['2b08d090-e5cf-8445-d4cf-2490893056ec']
|
threat of a new "clash of civilizations," the practice of such technological democracy has import for the very development of a new kind of world community.
Clearly, we are not social isolates anymore. Language is not a barrier anymore. Distance is not distancing anymore. National borders are not steel curtains anymore. We are all in this global soup, swimming around together, all of us in search of a life we call "happy."
It is, indeed, a new age.
More than that, it is a moment of new insight into the human soul.
Now we can do a great deal more than count people, and make maps, and reduce the world to the statistics of commerce and politics. Now we can engage with one another in the process of answering the great questions of life.
For instance, social psychologists, thanks to the Internet and the computer, have now begun to pursue one of the most constant and important questions of our time, what is happiness? Who has it? Who doesn't? And why not? The results are both sobering and fascinating.
It isn't, of course, that those questions haven't been asked before. On the contrary. There's not a civilization in history that has not dealt with those questions on some level — spiritual or philosophical. The difference now is that no civilization has been able to ask everyone in the world the same questions at the same time.
The results of these studies have a great deal to say to us today about what people think they want out of life, about who they want to be, about what they think is important, about how they define happiness itself.
At the same time, this kind of universal data also tells us a great deal about ourselves. It shows us our own aspirations in living color. It exposes our real desires for all the world to see. It breaks open our inner ambitions and in doing so reveals our values at the same time. It sends signals to us about how like or unlike we are in relation to the people around us as well as to the people of the rest of our age and time.
It's an important question in our own search for the good life: If other people are seeking happiness in far different places and ways than we are, it may be time for us to assess our own ideas about happiness again. If, on the other hand, we are all seeking the same things in our search for happiness and are not getting it, it is surely time to wonder, at very least, where we are all going wrong. What does that mean to all of us together in this new age of human community?
Most of all, it shines a light on the inner horizons of ourselves. With all I have, if I still want more, I must begin to look into the hidden parts of myself to see what is still waiting for me there to discover. I have to ferret out what it is that I
|
0272c902-7537-5d97-add9-fdfd5eba4c4a
|
['2b7a1782-ab94-fc22-7a5f-2f3d39331b5e']
|
first time. "One breath is sufficient."
The other midwife had remained conspicuously silent, an obvious way of conveying her disapproval. <PERSON>'s ladies still found it abhorrent, for there was an inbred, innate dread of the mutilation of the body after death. But now all eyes shifted instinctively toward <PERSON>'s mother, watching as she leaned over to murmur in her daughter's ear. When <PERSON> nodded vehemently, <PERSON> straightened up and turned back to the midwife.
"Do it," she said.
* * *
<PERSON> WAS TOO WEAK to rise from her bed to take her vows. But her voice was surprisingly strong as she pledged herself to God, and afterward, it was obvious to them all that she was at peace. She even sought to console her weeping women, assuring them that she was in God's keeping and, with a flash of the <PERSON> of old, she scolded <PERSON> and <PERSON>, saying that if they did not wed, she'd come back to haunt them both. She asked again for the small ivory casket that held locks of her children's hair, instructing them to add a long strand of her own hair.
"Give it to <PERSON>," she murmured. "Tell him he must not grieve too much, that he made me happy." When <PERSON> reached for her hand, she entwined their fingers together as she'd so often done as a small child. "I will tell <PERSON> that <PERSON> owes his crown to you, <PERSON>. Knowing <PERSON>, he is probably jealous that you gave me something far greater than a crown. You gave me eternal life."
She seemed to have been rejuvenated by the taking of her vows, and her women dared to hope that her death was not as imminent as they'd feared, that they might have more time to say their farewells. <PERSON> alone was not deceived by this sudden burst of vitality, seeing it for what it was: the last flaming of the sun ere night came on. She knew that her daughter's life was ebbing away even as they watched, for her green eyes were darkening. She'd seen <PERSON>'s eyes change, too, in the moments before death, as his pupils dilated until they'd eclipsed all traces of grey.
"Dame <PERSON>?" <PERSON> beckoned for the midwife to approach the bed. "You will do as you promised?" The midwife was as phlegmatic as always, repeating her promise without the slightest hint of emotion or empathy, but to <PERSON>, this rough-hewn, taciturn woman was one of God's own angels, and she gave <PERSON> a meaningful look, wanting to be sure her mother would reward <PERSON> as she deserved. What value, though, could be placed upon a baby's immortal soul? No matter, <PERSON> would find a way. She always did.
<PERSON> was warned when she felt her daughter's grip loosen. "There is so much light," <PERSON> said, softly but distinctly. She died soon after that, and <PERSON> would always believe it was with the name of her son on her lips.
* * *
<PERSON>'S WOMEN HAD RETREATED in haste as soon as she'd drawn her last
|
c16e4c39-60ff-44a7-3c12-bde009e68b62
|
['2b7a1782-ab94-fc22-7a5f-2f3d39331b5e']
|
needed the physical proof of his presence after so many months of fearing she would never see him again. "<PERSON>, do you think <PERSON>'s marriage could be the reason why <PERSON> has delayed your release?"
"I suppose it is possible, <PERSON>. This could be his way of punishing me for it. Or he might simply like keeping me in suspense for a while longer. <PERSON> enjoys other people's pain. Or he could have an ugly surprise awaiting us."
For a moment, <PERSON> could not help thinking of Trifels Castle, and as he looked down into his mother's face, he knew she was remembering Trifels, too. She'd aged visibly in the time they'd been apart, but he suspected it was this past year that had etched those lines in her forehead and smudged such dark shadows under her eyes. He'd always appreciated her strength and her resilience and her unerring ability to separate the wheat from the chaff. Now he regarded her with something approaching awe, having gotten a taste of what she'd endured as his father's prisoner, not knowing if she'd ever regain her freedom. Little wonder that one of her first acts had been to issue an amnesty for those languishing in English prisons, saying she'd learned by experience that confinement was distasteful to mankind and liberty a most delightful refreshment to the spirit. Realizing that she'd been a prisoner, too, during the months he'd been in <PERSON>'s power, he hugged her again, gently, for she seemed alarmingly fragile.
It never occurred to him to lie to her, though, or to offer false reassurances, and so he said, "Well, whatever <PERSON> has in mind, we'll find out on the morrow."
* * *
CONSTANCE WAS NOT SURPRISED when <PERSON> sat up in bed; he never stayed the night after he'd claimed his marital rights. She was usually very glad to see him go, but now she reached out and touched his arm. "<PERSON> . . . may I ask you something? Why did you delay the English king's release? It has stirred much talk at court."
"Has it?" He yawned, idly winding a strand of her long, blond hair around his hand. His natural instinct was for secrecy, but he saw no reason not to indulge her curiosity since all would know on the morrow. "I needed time to consider a new proposal by the French king and the Count of <PERSON>. They are desperate to keep <PERSON> caged, so much so that they are offering a large sum of money to make that happen. They vow that if I will hold <PERSON> for another eight months—past the campaigning season—<PERSON> will pay me fifty thousand silver marks and <PERSON> thirty thousand. Or they will pay me a thousand pounds of silver for every month that he remains my prisoner. Or if I will agree either to turn him over to them or to imprison him for another year, they will match the full amount of <PERSON>'s ransom, one hundred fifty thousand marks."
<PERSON> was thankful for the darkness that kept him
|
b9cd9b20-ddbc-03c8-8327-19553099862d
|
['2bd989c3-0217-098c-5f73-f3b5c4724b3c']
|
a microcosm of the quality of detailing found throughout the whole house. The entrance court is dressed with a Robinia pseudoacacia 'Purple Robe' growing out of a circular planter.
Contours and curves
The rest of the garden was designed by <PERSON> and <PERSON> of Sue Barnsley Design. The site is a series of points and coves, its form responding to the distant harbour that is out of view. The garden also reflects the internal shapes of the house, bringing them outside. <PERSON> has consciously folded the planes and created powerfully amorphous terraces and landforms.
There's a deep sense of wind-blown drift lying beneath the surface. Level and sloping lawns have been carved in the ancient sand dune. They create the backbone of the garden when viewed from above.
The central terrace is lined with decomposed granite and features a custom-curved timber bench. It stitches across the slope and connects to the other side of the garden, where the pool projects out of the building. Elegant short stone steps connect all the elements, making it a suburban strolling garden.
The structure of the garden is softened in a subtle way. The driveway surface is broken into two strips, with a planting of Echeveria up the middle. The garden bed at the side of the driveway is an uneven line, and <PERSON> has groomed the contours to roll up and down to match. Water gums march up the hill in a disorderly fashion, underplanted with a sea of Lomandra longifolia 'Tanika'.
The gradation of colour and the blending of texture are masterful.
A custom-curved timber bench embraces the central terrace.
The crunchy driveway composition is appealing.
Blue–grey plants include Euphorbia 'Jade Dragon', Westringia fruticosa 'Jervis Gem', Beschorneria and Kalanchoe bracteata 'Silver Spoons'.
The pool looks inviting from the intimate family terrace.
Colonies of colour
An enchanted visiting child once referred to the riot of plant colour as the Great Barrier Reef on land, and this name has stuck. The canopy is a mix of Corymbia ficifolia 'Summer Beauty', a leopard tree, staggered specimens of water gums and a silk tree; the new plants work with the existing giant jacaranda.
At ground level, the uprising of colour and texture is designed to give the flower-loving client all the joy she can handle. <PERSON> uses drift planting and interplanting to paint a never-ending display. Like a coral reef, gradations of colour and contrasting forms hint at the different depths of this garden.
Reproducing nature
It's an ongoing frustration that hardy, easy-to-grow, long-flowering plants are no longer available because they have fallen out of fashion. It's a real chicken or egg thing – if plants aren't available in the first place, it's hard for them to gain popularity.
<PERSON> is one of those landscape architects that studies horticulture as well. A lot of her planting design comes from studying plants in nature and applying this approach to her plant selection. This garden has some elements of this, with an overlay of exotic froth and bubble. Nursery staff members often struggle with her plant schedules, and
|
02c9e4a6-a876-802d-9a34-35b1587275cc
|
['2bd989c3-0217-098c-5f73-f3b5c4724b3c']
|
<PERSON>: We want to spend time on projects that we can enjoy. To push boundaries, to explore, to take steps you can't anticipate. To have fun. To create a place that is at one with the architecture. That builds on the ideas and sensibility of the architecture. We are lucky to work with great architects, so we don't have to cover up and correct.
We take an idea further to give the garden its own identity. We look to make spaces that are affecting, both mentally and physically. And to do that in a way that's incredibly elemental, with the least amount of materials. It's a simple materials palette. Not being too wilful or extravagant, but creating something that is essential and considered.
There's always a dichotomy at play between compressed space and open space, between simplicity and complexity. Ensuring the garden is part of a bigger landscape, but has an identity of its own. There's a flow between different elements and ideas.
Every project speaks to you. And gives you directions. I like the analogy that writers use – the characters actually tell them what to write. So the design process comes from something that's more than you. You are the filter for a whole range of interpretations.
Each project is site-specific and distinct. In this case, our client really wanted a sustainable garden, where local native plants mix with and make room for more traditional cottage plants – matching flowering gums and wattles with Spanish lavender. We worked with this idea and pulled the garden together with Correa, Beschorneria and Westringia, as well as Kalanchoe copper and silver spoons. Foliage is a really strong base. It is the foundation of the garden.
Still, it is incredibly ephemeral – the yellow of the Acacia, the white of the Ozothamnus, and then the dark wine colour of the Anigozanthos. The contrast of those three together is so extraordinary. It was a real surprise.
We are not into the clipped and contained. We want to make things that are a bit wild and loose – a bit more forgiving. Some things are really temperamental and ephemeral. I like that sense of mystery.
KK: You have to fight the desire to overplant. We're not purists – we have an interest in native species and use that as a starting point. Spending lots of time in the bush and seeing how things go together in a natural environment definitely informs the way we design. It's about a passion for planting. Creating a space that I would love to be in, and a habitat for birds and bug life.
SB: The drift was also a way of accenting the topography. The change of level is close to 11 metres over the site – very steep. We wanted to limit walls – you don't want the garden stepped like a layered wedding cake. Trying to get those changes of level, you have to be quite sinuous. We had the linchpin of the jacaranda on one level, the house on another and the street below.
The garden feels
|
9153e40f-848b-40a9-3386-8f91bbdf3acb
|
['2c93316c-64b3-7931-6219-cafc3d51791d']
|
Small Doses
When the newcomers arrive, give them the introduction list and then connect them to those people they need to interact with right away. Try to make high-quality introductions in small doses, rather than rapid-fire, rushed introductions to everyone who happens to be around.
Introductions are essential onboarding events. They help jump-start relationships and provide the "permission slip" for future interactions. Introductions also create first impressions for both the newcomer and the person being introduced.
Use the opportunity of the formal introduction to:
• Explain their respective roles and how these roles are connected.
• Say nice things about both parties.
• Identify any common interests, experiences, or connections that might help jump-start their relationship.
• Ask the old-timers to give the newcomer advance permission to approach and ask questions.
One newcomer was really pleased with this approach:
"It was kind of cool because every time I got introduced to someone, [my boss] had something good to say about me—either that I was from [university], or that I was really bright, or that I came highly recommended."
Create Opportunities for Old-timers to Approach Newcomers
While most newcomers prefer being introduced to their new colleagues, they also appreciate it when strangers proactively approach them. For example, one newcomer said:
"In past companies I was often really nervous at first. I didn't feel comfortable after two or three days there but I did here. I was greeted and people came by and welcomed me on board. With other companies it took months to meet everyone and become friendly with them."
Ideally, organizations have social norms that encourage old-timers to seek out and introduce themselves to newcomers. But there are also many creative ways to help jump-start these connections. Through my interviews I've heard of organizations that:
• Place a box of doughnuts or bowl of candy at the newcomer's desk (and let the rest of the organization know the food is there).
• Attach a balloon to the newcomer's desk to signal the person's arrival (and encourage everyone to stop by and say hi).
• Put up a welcome sign at the entrance announcing the newcomer's arrival, along with a picture, brief bio, and work location.
Revisit and Expand the List
After a few days or weeks (whatever seems appropriate), meet with newcomers and review their initial introduction lists. Find out who the newcomers haven't met yet, and either make or facilitate introductions.
HELP NEWCOMERS REMEMBER NAMES
When it comes to remembering names, newcomers are at a disadvantage. Old-timers only have to remember one or two new names, while newcomers have to remember dozens if not more. Your goal should be to create an environment where newcomers:
• Are reassured that the organization doesn't expect them to remember and recall everyone's name in the first few days.
• Are repeatedly exposed to names (so they learn them).
• Have access to the names and pictures of those they have met (in case they forget).
• Aren't too stressed out if they can't recall a name in the heat of the moment.
Provide Newcomers
|
274d341b-3457-8362-c82d-0be8fa9a73d1
|
['2c93316c-64b3-7931-6219-cafc3d51791d']
|
try to re-learn the names using visual imagery techniques, and then I test myself again. I judge progress as a growing stack of "quick recall" cards, and a shrinking stack of "slow or failed recall" cards.
You'll find that some names go effortlessly into memory, and that you have no problem remembering them weeks, months, and perhaps years later. Others will be more stubborn and resist all attempts at recall, despite your best efforts to learn and re-learn the names. Be patient.
PRIME YOURSELF BEFORE YOU MEET AGAIN
You can dramatically improve your ability to recall names if you review people's names and faces just _before_ you interact with them again. Memory researchers call this _priming_. By doing it, you activate and temporarily energize the neural pathways between information about the person and his or her name, increasing the chances your brain will make the connection when you see the person again.
Over time, as the neural pathways are reinforced and your ability to recall the name becomes easier, the value of priming diminishes.
What to Do if You Forget a Name
Face it; despite all your best efforts to learn people's names, you're going to blank on somebody, even people you've known for years. Depending on the situation, there are several things you can do:
• _Be the Newcomer_. If you're still new, relax. No one expects you to remember everyone's name, so you can often just reintroduce yourself without much social penalty. When you're new, you often have to learn and remember many names, while the old-timers have to learn and remember just one name—yours.
You can admit you have forgotten the name, and say something like "I'm sorry, I met so many people over the past few days I've forgotten your name. I'm <PERSON>, by the way." Or, you can reintroduce yourself and give your name, such as "Hi, we met briefly last week, but I'd like to reintroduce myself—my name is <PERSON>." The person will likely reciprocate by repeating her or his own name, and probably will be relieved (since the person likely will have forgotten your name, too).
• _Be the Detective_. In some situations, you have the time and social space to try to figure out peoples' names before you need to say them. Remember that you are much more likely to recognize the correct name than to pull it out of memory. There are a number of ways to make this happen:
° Review your lists of names. That's another reason to carry the lists with you.
° Look through organizational charts, websites, anywhere you think the name might be. Since you're more likely to remember information about a person than his or her name, that information can help narrow your search for the name.
° Do a Google search for information you know about a person; this can generate the name. For example, if you knew the person ran a charity 10k in a neighboring town last month, you can review the race results list and see if you recognize the name.
|
d94cc86b-e0f3-f15a-7d75-f37f2594130b
|
['2cb3888f-6856-2e7f-33d8-7bb238413c85']
|
xī). Fuzhou: Fujian Science and Technology Publishing House, 1985: 41
<PERSON>., Key Points of Clinical Practice for Cold Damage by <PERSON> (liú dù-zhōu shāng háng lín zhèng zhǐ yào). Beijing: Learning Garden Publishing House, 1998: 101–102
<PERSON>, Records of Heart-felt Experiences in Medicine with Reference to the West (yī xué zhōng zhōng cān xī lù). Shijiazhuang: Hebei People's Publishing House, 1974: 413
<PERSON>, Explanation for Questions About Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lùn xī yì). Shanghai: Shanghai Science and Technology Publishing House, 1990: 40
<PERSON>, Records for Clinical Application of Classic Formulas (jīng fāng shí yàn lù). Shanghai: Shanghai Science and Technology Publishing House, 1979: 51
<PERSON> et al., Application of Classic Formulas (jīng fāng yìng yòng). Yinchuan, Ningxia People's Publishing House, 1981: 117
<PERSON> and <PERSON>, Explanation for Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lùn quán jiě). Tianjin: Tianjin Scientific and Technological Publishing House, 1983: 36
It does not mean that real deficiency syndrome needs to be tonified but rather the syndrome treated by Cinnamon Twig Decoction (guì zhī tāng). See line 12 for further details.
It contains Indigo naturalis (qīng dài) and Powder of Meretricis/Cyclinae Concha (hái gé fěn).
It contains Rehmanniae Radix Preparata (shú dì huáng), Corni (shān zhū yú), Dioscoreae Rhizoma (shān yào), Alismatis Rhizoma (zé xiè), Moutan Cortex (mǔ dān pí) and Poria (fú líng).
<PERSON>, The Methods to Apply the Formulas in Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lùn fāng yùn yòng fǎ). Hangzhou: Zhejiang Science and Technology Publishing House, 1984: 55
<PERSON>, Formulas of Zhang Zhong-Jing and Their Clinical Applications (zhòng-jǐng fāng yǔ lín chuáng). Beijing: Chinese Medical, Scientific and Technological Publishing House, 1991: 78
<PERSON>, Trace to Source for Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán sù yuán jí). Shanghai: Shanghai Health Publishing House, 1957: 142
<PERSON> et al., Textbook to Teach Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lùn jiáng yì). Beijing: Learning Garden Publishing House, 1996: 33
<PERSON> et al., Ancient and Contemporary Study for Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lùn gǔ jīn yán jiū). Shenyang: Liaoning Scientific and Technological Publishing House, 1994: 326
<PERSON>, Chapter 2 of Direct Explanation for Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lùn zhí jiě). Qiantang: Three Extras Hall, 1712: 22–23
<PERSON>, Back to Truth for Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lùn guī zhēn). Changsha: Hunan Science and Technology Publishing House, 1993: 109
<PERSON>, Commentary on Surviving with Discussion of Cold Damage (shāng hán lái sū jí, shāng hán lùn zhù). Shanghai: Shanghai Science and Technology Publishing House, 1978: 53
<PERSON> and <PERSON>, <PERSON>. New York: Vintage Books, 1972: 45
<PERSON> et al., Annotation and Explanation for Discussion of Cold Damage in Golden Mirror of the Medical Tradition (<PERSON>, dìng zhèng shāng hán lùn zhù). Beijing: People's Health Publishing House, 1973: 60
<PERSON> et al., <PERSON> on Cold Damage. Brookline: Paradigm Publications, 1999: 43
<PERSON>, Diagnostic Science in Chinese Medicine (zhōng yī zhěn duàn xué). Shanghai:
|
a346458a-fd34-c248-78de-cb09fb442752
|
['2cb3888f-6856-2e7f-33d8-7bb238413c85']
|
reach the tongue and mouth | Thirst, fullness in the lower abdomen, absence of palpitation
Poria and Licorice Decoction (fù líng gān cǎo tāng) | Yang deficiency in the stomach which makes the stomach unable to transport water, leading to water retention in the stomach | Absence of thirst and fullness in the epigastric region, could have palpitation
<PERSON>, a famous physician who came from Sichuan province and served as a doctor for Chinese leaders, such as <PERSON>, in the twentieth century, has presented a very insightful thought about the common and different points for the two formulas in this line in regard to the pathology and the selection of herbs:
Five-Ingredient Powder with Poria (wù líng sǎn) is used when there is thirst, and Poria and Licorice Decoction (fù líng gān cǎo tāng) is employed when thirst is absent. The reason to do this is that they share the failure of qi to transform water, and therefore, both Poria (fú líng) and Cinnamomi Ramulus (guì zhī) are recorded in these two formulas. Because one of the pathologies that Five-Ingredient Powder with Poria (wù líng sǎn) deals with is the retention of water, making <PERSON> unable to go up, Poria (fú líng), which can leach out water, must be reinforced by Polyporus (zhū ling) and Atractylodis Macrocephalae Rhizoma (bái zhú), which can promote urination without damaging the body fluid and can work on the middle burner, respectively. Both of them would help qi go up.
With conducting water out of the body, Alismatis Rhizoma (zé xiè) can also do this job. When water is able to transform into qi and this qi is able to nourish the upper part of the body, it is not necessary to employ those three ingredients. One should know why these three ingredients must be used in Five-Ingredient Powder with Poria (wù líng sǎn) and why they are not employed in Poria and Licorice Decoction (fù líng gān cǎo tāng).
Analysis of the formula
There are two lines (this line and line 356) that discuss Poria and Licorice Decoction (fù líng gān cǎo tāng). The formula in this line can be viewed as a modification of Five-Ingredient Powder with Poria (wù líng sǎn) in the previous line, i.e. Atractylodis Macrocephalae Rhizoma (bái zhú), Alismatis Rhizoma (zé xiè) and Polyporus (zhū ling) are taken out, and Zingiberis Rhizoma Recens (shēng jiāng) is added, since water retention is located in the stomach rather than in the urinary bladder. Therefore, the formula reflects the strategy to warm <PERSON> in the stomach as well as disperse and drain the water.
As mentioned in line 64, the combination of Cinnamomi Ramulus (guì zhī) and Glycyrrhizae Radix Preparata (zhì gān cǎo) is used to tonify <PERSON> in the heart. However, with guidance from Zingiberis Rhizoma Recens (shēng jiāng), a special agent that can activate yang and disperse water in the stomach, this combination would lead to warming yang and disbursing water there. Of course, the combination of Cinnamomi Ramulus (guì zhī) and Poria (fú líng) can activate qi in the urinary
|
5674d9cd-e8ce-0131-89c2-dab3126d5c93
|
['2d39a057-1acc-6202-704b-d3420f8e7ecf']
|
get the lodges to disband or give up Freemasonry in order to pursue other things. People who were, or had been, members of Masonic orders were denied membership in the Nazi Party. Freemasons were also subjected to harassment and boycotts, and were often fired if they worked in the public sphere. However, many were later able to restart their careers.
Masonic activity in Germany at the time was extensive, with upward of eighty thousand Freemasons. Many of them were or had been high-status individuals in German society. Some of the larger orders tried as early as 1933 to adapt by taking names such as the National Christian Order of Frederick the Great or the German Christian Friendly Order. In order to be able to continue with their activities, the regime required the orders to stop using the word _Freemasons,_ break off all international ties, exclude members of non-Aryan origins, open up their secret activities, and stop using rituals that could be linked to the Old Testament.
In 1935, Freemasons' orders were entirely banned and labeled "enemies of the state." With this, Germany's Masonic organizations were disbanded and their property confiscated. <PERSON>, who was hugely interested in the orders, saw to it that the SD and the Gestapo impounded the Masonic libraries and archives. These later formed the foundations of the occult collection at the RSHA Section VII.
Also in the 1930s, a number of campaigns were held to denigrate Freemasonry, by the conversion of some confiscated Masonic lodges into museums where exhibitions were held. One example was the notorious _Entartete Kunst_ in 1937, when the Nazis arranged an exhibition of modern "degenerate" art. "The shaming exhibition" was a concept to which the Nazis returned time and time again in their propaganda. In addition to "shaming exhibitions" about art, similar events were organized on the themes of jazz and Jewish culture. The exhibition _Sowjet-Paradies_ , in 1942, achieved particular popularity, presenting items that had been brought back after the invasion of the Soviet Union. The exhibition, inside a large pavilionlike marquee, covered an area of nine thousand square yards. Its purpose was to highlight the poverty and misery in Russia under the Bolsheviks. According to reports, some 1.3 million Germans visited the exhibition. The "shaming exhibitions" were not only supposed to pour scorn and humiliation on their subjects, but were also preventive measures. In the exhibitions on Freemasonry there was a desire to reveal the secrets of the orders by letting the German people step into the rooms of these mysterious fellowships, the idea being to show how the orders were secretly devoting themselves to perverse, un-German, and Jewish rituals, which presented a real threat to Germany. Particular emphasis was given to ritual objects such as human skulls, bones, Hebrew texts, and other "Oriental" objects. There was a sensationalist focus on the secret blood rituals that the Masons supposedly practiced. The largest of these museums, opened in a confiscated lodge in Chemnitz, are reported to have had a million German visitors.
Masonic orders had never, in fact, presented any sort of political
|
9fbae1bf-40b6-5cf6-e457-a931ca0419e0
|
['2d39a057-1acc-6202-704b-d3420f8e7ecf']
|
reminiscent of a multistory parking garage for books. The building was ready in 1937, and before long it held the Alliance library of some fifty thousand books and the extensive archive and collection of journals.
But the tenure of the new library would not be a long one. The shelves would soon be filled with books of an entirely different kind, by the occupying German power.
Baron <PERSON>, enlisted to lead the ERR's operations in Western Europe via the office of Amt Westen, arrived in Paris with the German army in June 1940. The administrative office was at first set up in the Hôtel Commodore, but was later moved to a residential house on avenue d'Iéna, which had been confiscated from the <PERSON>, a Jewish banking family.
<PERSON>, an aristocrat who learned French as a prisoner of war during the First World War, was almost a caricature of a Prussian nobleman—according to witnesses he often wore a corset, highly polished boots, and a monocle.
The Alliance Israélite Universelle had already taken precautions to save the collection, but like many other libraries, organizations, and collectors, it misjudged where the real threat lay. The Alliance had built a bunker in the cellar to protect the most valuable parts of the collection from bomb attacks. However, it could not save it from looters. In a last desperate measure, just before the fall of Paris in June 1940, manuscripts and archive materials were loaded on a truck that tried to make it to Bordeaux. It never arrived.
"No one really knows what happened to the truck, but judging by the details we've managed to obtain, it seems that German troops caught up with the vehicle."
When in the summer of 1940 the ERR secured the office at 45 rue la Bruyère, it found the greater part of France's most important Jewish collection still intact on the shelves. As with the IISG in Amsterdam, the ERR also commandeered the organization's premises. Already by August 1940 the library at rue la Bruyère had been packed into crates ready for shipment to Germany. Most of the library was sent to the Institut zur Erforschung der Judenfrage in Frankfurt. The empty shelves in the Alliance Israélite Universelle's library were soon filled with other plundered collections, as the ERR began using it as a book depository.
By September 1940, after seven weeks of plundering, <PERSON> was able to state with some satisfaction in a report that a significant amount of booty had fallen into their hands in Paris. Among other items, the ERR had confiscated a number of valuable libraries belonging to members of the French <PERSON> family. An even more valuable seizure was made at the <PERSON>' renowned Paris bank, de Rothschild Frères, which, for more than a hundred years, had been one of the world's biggest banks. The enormous archive of the bank apparently filled more than 760 crates. This, from a Nazi perspective, was priceless material for "research" into the networks of Jewish world capitalism. In addition to the <PERSON>', libraries were taken from
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.