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Peter Kassig in Beirut
By Joshua Hersh
Peter Kassig delivering aid in Bekaa Valley, in Lebanon; May, 2013.
Photograph courtesy Kassig family
In 2007, Peter Kassig, a nineteen-year-old from Indianapolis, Indiana, left the Army and embarked on a period of deep searching. His deployment to Iraq, as a member of an élite Ranger battalion, earlier that year, had been cut short for medical reasons, but it had left a lasting impression: he knew that waging war was not for him.
Kassig returned to Indiana, where, in the course of the next five years, he tried college and marriage, but neither took. During a break from classes in the spring of 2012, he travelled to Lebanon, and, as the crisis in Syria swelled, he decided to stay in the region. On October 1, 2013, Kassig was captured by Syrian militants, and he has been held by them since. Islamic State, also known as ISIS, which has been steadily executing Western hostages, now says that he will be the next to be killed.
Kassig was one of many itinerant idealists in Beirut, Syrian and foreign alike, who were drawn to the uprising: students gave up their classes to stand in front of tanks, doctors left lucrative practices to treat patients on the front lines, Western journalists wanted to share the war with the world. What set Kassig apart from many of them was his intense drive and restless engagement with his surroundings. While friends drank beer at bars on Gemmayze Street, Kassig grabbed camping gear and set out for the mountains. He visited the Palestinian refugee camps that dot the landscape around Beirut, thinking about ways to bring solar power and other utilities into those neglected communities. Later, as the war in Syria encroached on Lebanon's borders, sending desperate and wounded civilians into rural communities in the north, Kassig travelled to Tripoli to volunteer his services at a clinic, suturing wounds and comforting the dying. (He had received medical training in the Army and had studied to be an E.M.T. in Indiana.)
The crisis in Syria seemed to offer an opening for ambitious do-gooders like Kassig; at least, they were lured by the prospect of one. With much of the country closed off to international agencies, and the United Nations barred from operating inside the country without permission from Damascus, the humanitarian response largely fell to private donors and personal campaigns. (Alan Henning, a taxi-driver who was killed by Islamic State militants, had been using his savings and vacation time to bring aid into Syria when he was taken captive.) When I first met Kassig, in the summer of 2013, he had recently founded Special Emergency Response and Assistance, an organization that delivered medical supplies to Syria. Kassig's small team, with bases of operations in Beirut and southern Turkey, was making trips into the country's most dangerous war zones.
Kassig's involvement in the Syrian conflict was consuming, and it pulled him from the margins of the war into its depths, at a time when increasing instability caused many people to take a step back. Last September, not long before his final trip into Syria, Kassig and I met at a café near downtown Beirut. We were outside, enjoying the warm end-of-summer air. It was late. In Syria, Kassig told me, he had recently encountered new levels of danger and unpredictability, and he acknowledged that the perils of travelling there were mounting. A few weeks earlier, an American journalist, Steven Sotloff, had disappeared after entering the country by way of Turkey. (Sotloff was beheaded by ISIS soldiers this September.) Most news outlets had stopped letting their employees visit the country at all.
Kassig recognized these hazards, and he didn't try to convince me that going back was safe, or even wise. But his commitment to the relief project he had embarked on was untempered, and it was clear to me that he would soon go back. Earlier that year, in an interview with Time, he had said, "The truth is sometimes I really think I would like to do something else, but at the end of the day this work is really the only thing that I have found that gives my life both meaning and direction."
Kassig's compulsion to return to Syria was complex—a combination of genuine bravery and altruism and his own, more personal impulses. "We each get one life and that's it," he told CNN in the summer of 2012. "We get one shot at this, and we don't get any do-overs, and, for me, it was time to put up or shut up. The way I saw it, I didn't have a choice. This is what I was put here to do. I guess I am just a hopeless romantic, and I am an idealist, and I believe in hopeless causes."
At some point in the past year, Kassig converted to Islam, a process that his parents believe started before his captivity. He has assumed the name Abdul-Rahman. "I am obviously pretty scared to die but the hardest part is not knowing, wondering, hoping, and wondering if I should even hope at all," he wrote in a letter to his parents, last June. "If I do die, I figure that at least you and I can seek refuge and comfort in knowing that I went out as a result of trying to alleviate suffering and helping those in need."
Obama's Syria Strategy: Hit And Hope
On "60 Minutes," Obama couldn't, or wouldn't, hide some of his concerns about where the fight against ISIS is leading.
By John Cassidy
The Name of the Fight
What separates a war from a "counterterrorism campaign"? Amy Davidson on the semantics of the latest American action in Iraq and Syria.
By Amy Davidson Sorkin


Double R Cattle Services, Inc. - Strawberry, U-Pick | Double R Cattle Services, Inc.
Chop 6-8 strawberries until small enough to "slurp". Using a standard ice cream scoop, put 2 scoops of vanilla yogurt, 1 "scoop" of milk, 2 Tbs. of sugar and the strawberries in a blender or milkshake maker. Process until well-mixed. Enjoy.
Melt butter in an 8x8 pan. Mix flour, sugar, baking powder, and milk. Pour batter over melted butter. Pour berries over batter. DO NOT STIR! (Mama said.) Bake for about 30 minutes until batter floats to the top and is brown. This is great plain or even better served warm with ice cream.


As a result of limited capacity at their Hilversum location, Equipe decided to build a state of the art OR complex in an office building in Amsterdam to cater to the growing demand in the region. The transformation from office space to a health clinic is executed by the Royal BAM Group in cooperation with Interflow.
Equipe is a group of private health clinics operating in The Netherlands. The slogan of Equipe is 'Healthcare can always be smarter, better and friendlier' and this is also applicable on the project in Amsterdam. The building is therefore furnished with state of the art equipment.
The OR complex consists of four Flex-OR's with holding, recovery, treatment and patient rooms. A Flex-OR can be adjusted quickly with the newest technologies. Interflow created OR's with very high noise reducing capacity of 42dB(A) and a large protected area of 9,3 m2.
The OR's are provided with hermetically sealed Metaflex door systems including lead against radiation. Pictures of Amsterdam are added on the doors with Imagine door foil. This gives an extraordinary appearance to the door.
Watch the doors (from 6.47 min) in the Dutch TV program 'Het zit in de familie' from RTL 4.


Do You Know Where Your Health Insurance Premium Goes?
Every months you spending money on your health insurance. Here is a quick overview where your money goes and how much the profit of health insurance is.
On average, 87 cents of every premium dollar you pay is spent covering medical care and services that members receive like doctor visits, hospital costs, prescription drugs and more according to a PriceWaterhouseCoopers medical cost trend report for 2009. Another 10 cents funds services we provide like claims processing, enrollment and billing and provider credentialing. That leaves 3 cents of every premium dollar for profits. Kaiser Health news has reported that the combined annual profits of the top 10 health insurers are equal to just two days work of national health care expenditures or just 0.5% of the estimated $2.5 trillion the nation spent on health care in 2009.


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Mercedes-Benz R63 AMG World's Fastest Street Legal Minivan
Earlier this month, race car driver and TV host Tanner Foust piloted a tuned Mercedes R63 AMG to a new, record-setting top speed. The minivan, a type of car Foust has never raced, hit 165.5 miles per hour (266.3 kilometers per hour) over a mile of road for Optima Batteries. It happened on August 7 during this year's Sandhills Open Road Challenge 1-Mile Shootout.
Mercedes-Benz R63 AMG – World's Fastest Street Legal Minivan
There's a super-short video of the minivan crossing the finish line with the white 165.5 blazing on the board situated on the other side of the road. Stock, the R63 came with a hand-built 6.2-liter V8 making 503 horsepower (375 kilowatts) and 465 pound-feet (630 Newton-meters) of torque. However, in Foust's race car, the mill produces 700 hp (521 kW). The extra horsepower comes from a Stage 2 M156 supercharger from Weistec Engineering, which helped with the build.
We don't know what other modifications were made to the minivan, but earlier this year, a Weistec-tuned R63 hit the Bring A Trailer vehicle auction site that also featured the tuner's Stage 2 supercharger, making the same 700 hp. Other upgrades to that R63 included an upgraded intercooler and exhaust system, a lowered suspension, SLS valve-lifter buckets, Brembo brakes, and more. We expect there were additional safety features added to the racer before the event.
The record-setting top speed isn't that much higher than the R63's stock 155-mph (250-kph) limit, though it's still fast enough to set a new record. Go-fast minivans aren't that common. Even Mercedes struggled to find buyers for the R63 when it was on sale, discontinuing the oddball after just one model year in 2007. The company only made 200 examples, and at least one of them is now a race car, which would make it difficult for someone to build their 165-mph tribute R63.
Mercedes-Benz R 63 AMG 500 Horsepower Minivan
2007 Mercedes-Benz R 63 AMG Car For The Family Man
Mercedes-Benz R 63 AMG One Of The Rarest AMG Model
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Q: Trying to understand setting content providers in Android I wanna change APN settings in a phone. Looked the api and there is a content provider named ACTION_APN_SETTINGS
developer.android.com/reference/android/provider/Settings.html#ACTION_APN_SETTINGS
but i'm having a hard time figuring out how to use it. Is there any example or something that does not involve the "contacts" content provider?
Thanks.

A: You can check out the source code of the Android project.
I guess this is the code that you are looking for.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Just in from Capay. Sadly, tomatoes and peppers are winding down. We don't expect any more large deliveries but we may have a few stragglers here and there. It's been a marvelous and long season but we're looking forward to what's next.


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The Stockholm Review of Literature
Current Issue | Senaste numret
Lagerlöf | Fiction/Prosa
Fiction by Rotimi Babatunde
Fiction by Virginia Konchan
Fiction by Hillary Leftwich
Södergran | Poetry/Poesi
Poetry by Ibukun Adeeko
Poetry by Derek Annis
Swedenborg | Essä(y)er
Non-fiction by Karen Petersen
Essay by Sandra Marchetti
Project: Feminist Non-Fiction
The Cold Gap, by Nathaniel Ogle
A day after the anniversary of his wife's death, Les Ford read an email from another member of Highgate Wood PTA relaying talk that an older boy with Fragile X Syndrome was 'aggressively obsessed' with his son, Max Ford.
Genetic condition, autism, whatever—it was Max's first year of secondaryschool and Les took this to mean bullying.
Before Max came home from school that day, Les rehearsed ways to approach this 'particularly sensitive' issue and searched through the parenting books his in-laws had bought him. The books told Les to help his son think through the fix himself: it was Max's battle to fight.
But Les couldn't concentrate. He finger-traced each index, skimmed over the sentences, threw book after book on the floor, and hung his hands on the top of his head. He listened to his breathing and counted each breath to stop the swell in his throat from overflowing.
When he heard the front door unlocking he left his office and stood in the hallway. Photos of Alice looked on along the wall, and Les remembered the special bond, a kind of alliance he'd not earned or been granted, between Max and his mother. Before the door closed, Les saw the winter rain-sheets sweeping through the street outside; saw the boy's ash-blond hair, his mother's hair, rain-darkened to bronze and clinging to his head.
Max didn't look up, dropped his rucksack on the floor.
'Max,' Les said. 'How was school?'
'Fine,' Max said and stomped upstairs.
That night, after a microwaved meal around the kitchen table, Les couldn't sleep. Even with the Nytol. Eyes closed, he saw scenes from his own youth, four decades and three hundred miles away, in Amble, where he was not like the other pitmen's sons. For one thing, he'd been an unusually small child—fully-grown, he ginger-curled out at 5'2". And with a name like Lesley, not only was he a girl in their eyes, but he was a lesbian girl. Some boys sang, Lesley's a girl, a girly girl! and others chanted, Lesley kisses girls, girly girls!
Les knew he was boy, but when the latter accusation didn't come about like it had for others, he wasn't so sure he was doing boy right.
In his sleepless, sharp-edged mind, Les saw the first and only time he played for his school football team. He scored two goals—a tap-in for his side, and a botched clearance for the opposition—costing his team the match. He was towel-whipped in the changing room and chased home, and now that the boys knew where he lived, Knocky-Run Ginger became a nightly event.
His mother found him sobbing in bed.
'Why are you cryin for?' she said.
'Philip Briggs says I'm a lesbian and kicks me shins,' Les cried.
'Philip Briggs? No, he wouldn't do that. His mother's a good catholic.'
'He did!'
'Can't have. He's a good boy. Lovely singin voice y'know.'
Max Ford wasn't like his father. He didn't play sports either—most nights, Max came home from school and sat on the sofa and listened to his mother's CDs through noise-cancelling headphones—but he was pretty in the way a Nordic boy can be and he had a small group of close friends who played the same video games and liked their parents' music, and he didn't feel the need to join the noisy, kneegrazed boys. Les admired that. To him, this was the point of parenthood: to make sure your child isn't hobbled by what hobbled you.
At times, though, it didn't sit so well with Les. When Max said he'd been invited to the Gifted and Talented camping trip and he didn't want to go, or when he'd been invited to another kid's football party and he didn't want to go, Les said, 'All right, son,' but he realised his admiration for Max was scratched by resentment. How was it that Max hadn't a problem with letting expectations rule him? In this way, Les would later figure, his son was the boy he should have wanted to be.
Next morning, Les said he'd drive Max to school. He sold it with the incentive that Max could have a fifteen more minutes in bed.
He'd not been up and about at this time since Alice died, not properly. When the new year came round, a month after the burial, he opted to work a three-day week from home, and when Max trudged off in the morning, he'd often go back to bed till lunchtime. The misery exhausted him. His throat was thick from yawning. And he couldn't bear to be in darkness unless he was going to sleep. He knew light is something, a substance, but he could see through it and move through it, like it's nothing, and he knew darkness is nothing, a lack, but to him it seemed full, close, solid, like it's closing in, upping the air pressure, making it harder to breath, like the air would become toxic as it ran out. In darkness, awake, he could only look back, to Alice, and he didn't want to think about Alice. The more he thought about her, the stranger his memory of her became. She changed in his mind. Images of her reading, drinking, eating, sleeping, laughing— all began to blur into images of his own making until they cancelled out to reveal a picture of someone else, a picture, more than anything, of himself. He would rather see her in his dreams. In his dreams, she came to him as if by surprise, of her own accord. So he tried to sleep through darkness; sleep as much as his body would let him. Max and he had the same bedtime.
As the boy stayed in bed, Les lingered in the kitchen, muttering: 'You can tell me anything' … 'I'm here for you' … 'How does that make you feel?'
When he realised he was hunched by the French doors, his face buried in his hands, he got bacon sputtering in a pan, added an egg, put a bowl of beans in the halogen oven, and slotted bread in the toaster. He bound around the kitchen, setting the table. The toast popped up soft so he lowered it for a second round.
Soon enough the halogen oven pinged, the egg was done before the bacon, and Les smelled smoke. The toast had popped up black. Alarm blared.
He turned off the induction hob and stood on a chair and wafted his hand under the alarm.
When the ringing stopped, he noticed the air was thickened with heat and Max stood beneath him.
'We're gunna be late,' Max said.
With the radio murmuring and the heating dialled up, Les wound past the Hornsey townhouses where the first pink glow of morning was growing between the leafless tree branches. Max stared out the window, unaware of his father's side-glances. Les turned up the radio, but Max turned it off.
'Sorry,' Les said. 'Did you want another station?'
'Nah.'
'We could put the classical one on and play guess the composer.'
'It's good revision,' Les said. 'For the Music tests.'
'We already do that in class.'
Les heard his son's southern accent, the long a—Alice's accent.
'Oh. Well, how is it, anyway?' he said, patting Max's thigh. 'How are you finding it—being one of the big boys?'
'It's fine.'
'Fine? Don't you like the separate lessons?'
'Yeah.' He sounded uncertain.
'Is Music still your favourite, then? Or is another closing in? Did you know mine was History?'
'Yes, dad.'
'Nothing else you want to tell me?'
'Like what?'
'I don't know. Anything, really.'
'I don't know either.'
'Well,' Les said, before Max clamped his headphones around his ears.
Les gripped the steering wheel, switched the radio on. He felt his mouth hanging ajar.
Turning back onto their street, Les saw his in-laws' new Audi parked outside the house. He walked past it, looking down at his feet. At the door, he heard, 'Les?'
He turned. 'Oh, hi, Julie. Hello, Chris,' he said.
'Did you not see us?' said Julie.
'You walked straight past us,' said Chris.
'Yeah, sorry.' He hoped they were dropping something off. 'Do you want to come in?'
'I could have a tea,' Julie said.
'Have you got any biscuits?' Chris said, grabbing the porch banister.
Julie half-said her husband's name, half-huffed, and jabbed his arm.
'You've just eaten,' she said. 'Oh, Les, he's put on twenty-two pounds!'
In the living room, Les sat in the armchair by the crammed bookcase and his inlaws were on the sofa facing the TV. The TV was on, low, the odd word or clang of music coming out clear. Chris sat silent, flicking through channels, and Julie pushed herself up and took a framed postcard from the mantelpiece. 'At least she got to see some splendid places,' she said.
'Yes,' said Les. He watched his father-in-law staring at the TV—some antiques show rerun. He waited for Chris to make a joke, but he said nothing. With Alice gone, that screen between Les and his in-laws had dissolved, and he could see them clearer—how Chris can speak in wisecracks or not at all, how Julie will treat stewed tea as a calamity.
Julie said, 'And Max likes the new school?'
'Think so, yes.'
'Oh, well that's good. You get what you pay for there.'
Les nodded. 'Thanks again for helping.'
'Oh, don't, Les. There's nothing else worth spending on. It's all for Max.' 'Yes.'
'You see, when my mother died—'
But the rest of her sentence didn't reach Les' mind. He'd stood up, walked across the room to open the window shutters. He leant against the window frame and stared out at the bright grey street. Sometimes, there was no way to not remember her, to see them together. Last night's dream returned to his memory… Back when he was a broadsheet sales rep and Alice was studying for the Bar, they'd go up to the ice rink at Alexandra Palace. She was better, straight, balanced, and he hunched and wide-legged behind her, smacking over the ice, still trying to walk, not skate. He tumbled now and then and she'd arc around him. You'll get better. And she laughed but it wasn't a cruel laugh, he didn't think, so he laughed with her, itchy with embarrassment, feeling ice-burn on his palms, and she skated on, but the ice was melting—wasn't it?—and he couldn't get up, he couldn't move, and there were foxes shrieking and prowling somewhere, weren't there?… He blinked, and in the living room window, Les saw his skull-pale face: a cheek-fuzz for the first time since university, an open mouth, ginger curls loosened and thinner and dimmer, and a scar down the side of the nose, about as long as a paper clip—the cost of fiddling with his father's Stanley as a child unsupervised.
'Max needs a mother, Les. Someone to fill that gap.'
'Yes.' He went back to his chair by the bookcase.
'That's what I needed, anyway.'
Les looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw that Julie had put the postcard back. He counted the hours before Max came home. If only he could take some Nytol and sleep till then.
'When your mother died, Les, I'm sure your dad had to make changes. You know… adjusted. Didn't he?'
'He worked more, I guess. He buried his head in it. The work. Didn't follow too long after, actually.'
'You see—and don't take this—well—' Julie lifted her eyebrows, jutted her head forward when Chris said, 'Are you finding that less work is working for Max? And you, of course.'
Les stood up and went back to the window. He imagined skating down the street, between the parked cars.
'I guess so,' he said. 'I have more time for Max.'
Julie raised her voice, just louder than Les and Chris: 'Well, it's really more a question of… stability.'
'It's not like I'm going to take off again,' Les said. 'If that's what you mean.'
'No, no it'—her voice lowered—'we didn't mean that.'
'Of course we didn't, Les. No.' Chris looked up at Les and horseshoed his mouth. His eyes were watery and grey.
Les let the air out his lungs and walked to the mantelpiece. He stopped himself looking in the mirror and picked up the framed postcard. As Julie sipped her tea and took out her phone, Les unclasped the pins holding the metal sheet at the back of the frame and lifted a corner of the postcard. He saw writing and knew right away: left-handed, Alice had the letters on a decline, leaning back. The metal sheet came off with a sickening squeak. Dear Max… But Les closed his eyes, lay it on the mantelpiece and sat down. The therapist said Alice shouldn't leave anything for Max. It made parting easier. There would be no illusions. The wound could scar. But Les knew that wasn't Alice's way of doing, and he wondered what else she left around the house.
'Are you still coming to us for Christmas, then?' Chris said. He'd turned the TV off, put on his coat. Julie came back in from the kitchen, dabbing her eyes with scrunched-up kitchen roll.
'Yes,' said Les. 'We are.'
Once they'd gone, Les took the postcard and put it under the pillow on her side of their bed, unread, beside a bottle of her perfume, her earrings, her slippers, the dreamcatcher she made, and her copy of Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus, water-warped from damp-handed reading in the bath—special things he couldn't keep seeing but couldn't throw away. He was tired. He lay on the bed with the curtains open, the room full of light, and the radio on. He watched rain streak down the windowpanes. It looked like the glass was melting.
Something woke him. It was dark. He went onto the landing.
'Max?' he called.
There was no reply. He rushed downstairs and found Max on the sofa in the living room.
'Max?'
But Max couldn't hear him: the headphones.
'Max?' he called louder.
Still nothing.
He felt the need to kiss his head, but went into the kitchen to see if Max had eaten instead. A loaf of bread lay on the countertop beside a packet of butter, its lid pulled off.
After he cleared up the food, Les looked into the living room again, watched the back of his son's head, and remembered when he told Max his mother was going to die. It was late. They'd been at the hospital and Les didn't have the strength to cook so he broke Alice's rule and took Max to McDonald's. On the way home, Max cradled his head in the seatbelt. He was drowsy and Les watched the yellow slabs of streetlight shift over his son's face.
'Your mother is going to go away, Max.'
'She's gunna die?'
'Yes.'
Max said nothing, closed his eyes.
'Are you okay, Max?'
'But she—Mum never dies.'
'I know she doesn't.' Les clenched his jaw. 'But this time she will.'
From the living room door, Les could hear the music blasting into his son's ears. He went upstairs, swallowed a Nytol tablet and got back in bed.
Foxes shrieked in the night outside.
In the morning, Les drove Max to school.
'Looking forward to school today?'
'Yeah.' He said it like a question—an ascending interval.
'No?'
'Yeah.'
'Yeah as in no?'
'I said yeah.'
'So you are?'
'Yes!' Max shook his head.
'Sorry, I didn't—I hate it when that happens, too.'
Max said nothing.
'Look,' Les said, 'you'd tell me if you weren't looking forward to school, wouldn't you?'
There was a silence. Then Max said, 'Yeah.'
Parked across from the school, Les watched Max walk through the school gates. He wasn't sure who he was looking for, or what to look for, but Max seemed untroubled, his head held straight. Just till he's inside, Les thought, then I'll go.
But there was a boy by the gates looking at Max, skulking toward him. He was an Indian kid, Bangladeshi maybe, who knows—Les didn't know him. He gripped the door handle as the boy, proving Les right, rushed Max and clinched onto him. The boys scuffled, Max's rucksack slipping off his shoulders, and Les got out the car when the boys parted, Max hitched up his rucksack, and they pressed their fists together and walked inside. That must have been Mohammed, Les thought: Max has mentioned a Mohammed.
Turning to get in the car, he heard someone say, 'Mr Ford? Les Ford?'
It was another member of the PTA, twirling car keys around his finger. 'Yes?' said Les, knowing they'd met before, that the man didn't remember him.
The man zipped up his sleeveless gilet and stuck out his hand. Les shook it.
'My wife pointed you out and—well, I've got to tell you something about your lad.'
'Oh?' Les said, thinking, People who say they've got to say something must like to ruin peoples' lives.
'Yeah,' the man said. 'I don't know if you know already, but there's this kid in year 11 and he'—the man's mouth stretched at the sides and he sucked air through his teeth—'well, my wife told me not to even describe him—political correctness gone mad, if you ask me—but this kid's giving your lad a bloody hard time of it. I don't know what the others have told you, but I tell it how it is. And it's a bad one, mate.'
'Right.'
'Yeah. I mean, of course this kid doesn't know what the hell he's doing, or maybe he knows exactly what's going on, I don't know, but—well, do you want my advice?'
'Okay.'
The man took a breath, and handed each word over: 'Stamp it out.'
Les nodded.
'Stamp it out, mate. I promise you. Next thing you'll know, your lad'll be a cowering wreck, never leaving the house, and he'll be reaching for the razor blades. I hate to be the one to say it, mate, but that's what kids do these days. You've got to stamp it out.'
Down the street, a car honked. The man looked over his shoulder.
'That's mine,' he said. 'Honestly, mate. Lads respond to that kind of thing.'
At home, Les made a coffee with the complicated machine a friend—Alice's university flatmate—had donated not too long after the burial. He'd not seen that friend since. He'd not seen many friends since those first days of visits, consolation gifts, and dropped-off meals for which he had no appetite. And they were Alice's friends, really: he'd left most of his few friends up north, and lost others shifting from rep to management. At the best of times, keeping in touch with people was a chore for Les, but now it was excruciating.
He took his coffee upstairs and went into Max's bedroom. He'd not been in here for some time—a few weeks maybe. It was dark with the curtains closed, the air a little musty. When he turned the light on, Les saw the room was tidier than he expected, but CDs lay scattered on the desk by the computer, and the bed was unmade. He looked over the huge, dark prints of bands he didn't recognise and who looked to him as young as Max. Then he saw the guitar he bought for Max before the diagnosis, leaning against the radiator. Max said he was learning to play online but Les had barely heard a note.
He began to tidy the CDs, then realised he'd be rumbled as a snooper so he spread them again and sat down at the desk in front of the computer. Without really thinking, he moved the mouse and the screen lit up. There was a program Les hadn't seen before, some kind of online chat room. A long list of Max's friends, the letters of their names replaced by numbers and symbols, ran down the side. Along the bottom, there were three flashing boxes:
M4RCU$ αmΦ$ (l)°o.O(l) ..κατε.. (l)O.o° (l)
He didn't dare open the third box. But he knew Marcus, and Amos, and—well, he had to look, and if Max never found out, what's the harm? He clicked on M4RCU$ and saw the end of a conversation:
M4RCU$: the black ones r gay
mack$: you think? i reckon they look better. cost loads like.
M4RCU$: so?
He scrolled up the conversation, but there was nothing about Max's trouble with the bully.
And the conversation with Amos was equally unrevealing. Les gathered that Amos was fuming about Marcus having a thing with his ex even though they only went out for a week. If they weren't best mates, Amos said, he'd think about smacking him.
Relieved somehow, immersed now in the snoop, Les typed Fragile X in the search bar, and he wasn't surprised when nothing came up. Then he began to type retard, but he stopped himself at re. Then he typed hurt, but it led him to song lyrics. Then: pain, and he found out that someone called Andrew was the lord of all gays and he cut his thighs with a compass. Finally, Les typed bully, and read that Mr Garibaldi was in the head's office getting a warning for hurling a basketball at little Archie Gorwitz's head.
He didn't know what he had expected to find, but he'd imagined something more scandalous.
He clicked on (l)°o.O(l) ..κατε.. (l)O.o° (l):
(l)°o.O(l) ..κατε.. (l)O.o° (l): I can lend u my notes if you want?
mack$: nah it's ok
mack$: ergh. what am i even good at if i'm not good at music. it's supposed to be what i'm good at
(l)°o.O(l) ..κατε.. (l)O.o° (l): u are good!
mack$: thanks. might just fake a sicky tho. then people will still think i'm good. ha!
mack$: only jokin
Les' coffee had gone cold. He waited for the screen to darken, then he stood up,
left the room, and went to his room.
When Max came home, Les was sat on the stairs.
Max looked at him, his eyebrows slanted. 'What?'
'Listen.' Les couldn't look in his eyes. 'Will you tell me what's going on at school?'
Max thought. Then he said, 'Nothing.'
'So you're going to make me ask?'
Max's eyes widened. 'I don't…'
'Is there a boy at school giving you a hard time?'
Max shook his head.
'I need you to tell me the truth, okay? Because nothing will get better unless you tell me the truth.'
'I am telling the truth.'
'An older boy? With Fragile X Syndrome?'
'What's… Fragile X thingy?'
'It's like a learning disability,' Les said. 'Mentally handicapped, or something like that.'
'Older than me?'
'In year 11.'
'Stuart Rowntree?'
'So there is someone?'
'Yeah but he's just this funny spacker,' Max said, smiling. 'He follows me around a bit and tries to kick me but it's not bad or anything.'
There was a pause, then Les said, 'What did you call him?'
Max's mouth straightened. He looked away, picked at the flaking paint on the radiator.
'Oi!' Les yelled.
Max jumped.
Les stood up on the stairs. 'Max, you cannot say that word,' he said.
'But everybody else calls him a spacker.'
'Stop it!'
Max scowled, his head bowed.
'I can't believe what I've heard,' Les said. 'Who are you these days?'
Max shrugged.
'Are you lying to me?' Les heard his voice echo down the hall. Stood on the stairs he could see through the stained-blue fanlight to the doors across the street. 'Is this lad bullying you or not?'
Max shrugged again, shook his head.
'I don't know who I'm bloody looking at. Are you a liar as well as cruel?'
Max said something Les didn't hear.
Max pressed his lips together.
'What did you say to me?'
'Nothing!' Max pushed past Les on his way up the stairs.
Les turned and grabbed Max's shirt, pulled him back. He twisted the shirt in his fists. 'What are you, you little shit?'
Max squirmed. 'Get off!'
'What happened to you? I don't even know who you are.'
'Get off!'
Max slapped Les' chest, his face, but Les held on, surprised by his weakness—or Max's strength.
'Why are you doing this?' Max yelled.
'You're turning into a right twat, Max. I was never like this.'
'And I don't think I like who you are and I know your mam wouldn't like who you've turned out to be. You're a bad boy.'
Max yelled, 'What are you doing?'
'I've done everything for you and this is who you've become!'
Max smacked himself free and scrambled up the stairs. 'I hate you!' he cried.
'Well, I fucking hate you, too!' Les pounded the wall. A door slammed upstairs. He felt his breath at the top of his throat, shallow, like a dog barked-out. His face was full of blood. He sat down, and wondered whether that, what he said to Max, was the worse thing he'd ever said.
Night sunk in, sharpened by sleet, and Les opened a bottle of wine. Three glasses down, he looked in Max's room. He was asleep. Les listened to him breathing, hoping he'd wake up but not knowing what to say if he did. He thought about crawling into bed behind Max and feeling the boy fit against his body, but he closed the door softly and went into his own room. He found the postcard under the pillow and took it downstairs. On the sofa in the living room, he read. And here she was—Alice, alive again, in a way. He read the postcard a second time. The note was not long. It could've fit on a Post-it. He read it for a third time then laid it beside him. A moment later, he began to cry. He sobbed into his hands, grabbed his shaking forehead. He wouldn't show Max, not for many years. He knew Max would cry as well—once, from the shock, the scar unsealing, and he'd cry again, later, because he'd expected something more, something revelatory. She would return to him, but she would fall short in his expectation.
She would seem farther and stranger than before.
A week later, Les and Max had not spoken to each other and it was the last day of term. Les was in the kitchen trying to time his cooking with Max coming home.
When he came through the front door Max went straight up to his room.
Les followed, and from the landing, he heard Max snivelling.
'Max?' Les knocked on his door. 'Can I come in?'
'Go away.' His voice was muffled—buried in a pillow?
Les opened the door. Max twisted away and faced the wall. Les kneeled by the bed, rested his hand on the bed near Max's back. He didn't dare touch him.
'Max,' he said. 'Look at me, Max. What's making you cry?'
Max said nothing, sniffed. Les reached over the bed and placed his hand on Max's shoulder. Gently, he turned. His crumpled face made Les' throat thicken. He swallowed, looked away. 'What's happened, Max?' he said.
'I didn't do anything.'
'I know. But what's happened?'
'Stuart Rowntree. He was following me round, trying to kick me, and I didn't want him to do that so I told him to stop and he wouldn't stop, he kept following me, all lunch, and then, just before, outside school, a year 11 got me in a headlock and said I was picking on Stuart because he's different… in front of everyone.'
Tears burst down the boy's cheeks.
Les felt faint. He stood up.
'Come on,' he said. 'We're going into school. We're going to sort this out.'
Les strode through the empty corridors, wishing his strides were longer, and Max scurried beside him.
'Dad? What are you going to say?'
Les didn't say anything, didn't know. He heard his shoes clack over the laminated floor.
When they turned onto another corridor, Les saw a boy and a girl coming the other way. The closer they got, Les knew the boy looked different. He didn't want it to be true, what he was thinking, but Max pulled on his suit jacket, and said: 'That's him.'
Les stopped in front of them, a little out of breath. The boy, taller than Les, looked away, and the girl took his hand. 'Come on,' she said.
'Hang on,' Les said, his voice echoing down the corridor. Quieter, he said, 'Stuart? Stuart Rowntree?'
The boy looked away, blinking.
'Are you Stuart Rowntree?' Les said.
The boy said nothing.
'Yeah, he is,' the girl said. 'Why?'
'Listen,' said Les, looking up and down the corridor. 'Do you know my boy here? You know Max?'
Stuart glanced at Max. 'Yes,' he said and moved closer to the girl. 'Right. Well, I know what you've been doing.' Les saw himself pointing at the boy. 'You've been trying to hurt my son. You've been bullying him.'
The boy fidgeted.
'I don't want you doing that. You hear me? You're a bully.'
Then the boy put his hand in his mouth, and bit down. The girl, no older than Max, Les realised, said, 'Stop it, Stuart. Let's go.'
'No,' said Les, stepping in front of them. 'You need to understand you can't trouble my boy anymore.'
Stuart chomped on his hand. Les saw the red teeth marks, the strings of spittle. His beard began to itch. He looked down the corridor again and asked if Stuart had heard him, but the boy chewed on his hand, harder, and frowned and groaned like he might throw up. Then a voice called from back down the corridor. The man running toward them was big, bearded—he'd shaved his neck to fabricate a jawline. The man stopped, almost surprised by Les' size, his own size, and Stuart and the girl rushed to stand behind him. 'What're you saying to him?' he said.
Les stepped back. He saw the man's tight jeans, his flannel shirt. The old pinstripe Les was wearing made him look stunted, as Alice once said, like a boy in his father's suit, and so he'd not worn it since. He didn't have the time to think of why he'd put it on today. He pointed at Stuart. 'He's been bullying my boy.'
The man frowned. 'Bullying? No, he—'
'Yes, he has,' Les said. 'He fucking has.'
'I don't really care,' said the man. 'I saw you just now, mate. You can't talk to him like that.'
'I couldn't give a fuck about what's wrong with him, he just needs to stop—'
That's when the man pushed his fist against Les' mouth. It was a half-hearted blow, but Les stumbled and his lips swelled straight away.
'You'll regret this, mate,' the man said. 'You're sick.'
Holding his mouth, feeling blood seep onto his palm, Les watched the man lead the boy and girl away with an arm around each shoulder.
Max looked at anything but his father.
The next morning, when daybreak had first paled the dark blue sky, Les stood by the French doors in the kitchen. His lip was bruised enough to bloat into his eyeline, and he couldn't sip his coffee, only spill it in his mouth.
And he needed it. He'd run out of Nytol, barely slept, and foxes had shrieked through the night. For the past half-hour, he'd been watching the orange flash of the foxes scampering along the far garden wall. They were going back and forth from their oak tree lair in the adjoining garden. When he first moved down here, Les bored Londoners by gushing about foxes. He thought them beautiful— it was something about their rural descent—and he admired their moxie. But they're getting out of hand these days, friends had said. They're too fearless. He soon stopped gushing but—like now, as one slinked off the wall and nosed the dewclogged leaves in the garden—he'd hold his breath as if watching something he wasn't supposed to see; a secret unearthed. The fox's eyes flashed and Les pressed up against the glass. The fox was old, faded, brown almost, and scrawny. It sniffed the cold ground, the cold air, and Les felt invisible behind the glass before a neighbour opened their back door and the fox dashed off, its white-tipped tail dropping behind the wall. With the fox gone, listening in its lair, Les breathed out, and the warmth of his breath clouded up and shrouded his ghost in the glass.
The dishwasher bleeped behind him. As he unloaded it, he heard his son's bare feet tup… tup… over the kitchen floor. Max walked to the table, rubbing his eyes.
'Morning, mate,' Les said, holding a hand over his busted lip, smelling the dank dishwasher steam.
'Morning. Can I turn the light on?'
'Oh, yeah. Course.'
Max went back to the switch, then sat down at the table.
'Do you want any breakfast?' Les said.
'Nah. I'm not hungry. It's too early.'
'A yogurt?'
Les got one for himself, too, and sat with Max at the table. Together, they ate the yogurt pots, and each spoonful stretched Les' lip scabs apart. He grimaced and Max looked up at him, one eyebrow lifted. Les looked back, laughed, and shook his head. Then Max smiled, a sideways smile, and nodded.
'Yeah,' Les said. 'You're right.'
Les touched his lip with the back of his hand. He saw a blood-scrap, an imprint of the split.
Watching Max eat the yogurt, Les hoped his son would never find out that, in summer, he'd hightailed it north in the car with no intention of returning, and his father-in-law had chased him all the way. He went as far as York and when an Aston Martin undertook him, honking and growling, he pulled into a layby, realising he knew no one in the north and what he'd expected to feel, something like nostalgia slaked, was lacking. Chris came to the car door window and led Les, as if by hand, back down the A1.
He wasn't sure if Max knew already, and the way his insides turned cold when he remembered, told him that one day, somehow, he would find out. 'I was thinking,' he said, 'how'd you feel about going up to the ice rink today?'
Max stared at him. 'Yeah,' he said, as if the question was obvious.
Not long later, Les and Max were skating in the rink. The crowd screamed and laughed. The stumbling beginners. Young couples holding hands. Flamingo-legging show-offs. Little girls on their father's shoulders.
They'd had been skating for what seemed like hours. Through the huge windows along the hall walls, they'd seen the day fill with light, but now the windows had turned purple with cloud cover. They'd barely spoken, only smiled at each other, and Les would pretend to teeter to make Max laugh.
Earlier, in the drive to rink, Les worried about Max going back to school in January, about the possible complaint against him, and about the new upcoming calendar, emptied of events, of things to await. But now he'd forgotten all that. He thought about this—skating with Max.
Sweat soaked the back of his knees. His thighs shook with every thrust.
He called, 'I'm just going to get some water, Max. But I'm coming back!'
Max stuck up a thumb.
From behind the glass barrier, Les watched his son circle the rink. He began to wonder again at the things hobbling Max, things one day, in a different world, he'd fight off—or try to. And he skated on, Max Ford, and he saw Les Ford smile. Stride after stride, his happiness muffling the crowd's clatter, Max saw two smiles: he saw the split lips emerge and define as he drew closer, then blur as he passed—widening the cold gap between them—to slide along the opposite border, and come back around. Max saw Les—his mother's husband: his father. And he wondered whether, when they got home, he should disclose the letter his mother had left them slotted in the bookcase—the letter he'd found in summer.
Nathaniel Ogle was born in 1991 and grew up in Darlington, Co. Durham. He has a MA in Creative Writing: Prose from the University of Manchester, where he plans to return for the PhD course come September. His work has appeared in The Cadaverine, Black & BLUE and Now Then Manchester. He works part-time as a bookseller in London. The other part of time he spends working on a novel.
One thought on "The Cold Gap, by Nathaniel Ogle"
Pauline Culley says:
Great short story Nat – really looking forward to reading your novel when it's done.
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text:
Search Warwick
Undergraduate Student Research
BCUR Blogs 2021
History Head Start
History Postgraduate - Current Students
History Undergraduate - Current Students
Postgraduate Research Handbook
Postgraduate Taught Handbook
REF2021 Outcome
Research Fund Form(Restricted permissions)
Research Seminar 2022-23
David Washbrook
Henry Cohn
Iain Smith
Robin Clifton
Themes & Approaches to the Historical Study of Consumption (HI994)
20th-Century Consumer Society
"You've Never had it So Good": Consumer Society in the 20th Century West
Industrialisation fundamentally changed not only the ways in which people in Europe and the United States worked and lived, but also the ways in which they shopped. The advent of mass production in the early twentieth-century extended these changes: with more manufactured products available to more people than ever before, new methods needed to be developed to persuade consumers what to buy and new markets needed to be identified. At the same time, technological developments and changes in working patterns led to the emergence of new forms of consumption: mass entertainment (such as cinema) and mass spectator sport. This seminar will focus on the development of mass consumer culture in twentieth-century Europe and the United States, with a particular emphasis on advertising, gender and mass media.
Seminar Questions:
How did the advent of mass production impact on the consumer experience?
What role did advertising play in the formation of mass consumer society?
In what ways was the emergence of mass consumer society linked to changes in gender roles following the First World War?
What place does mass entertainment have in our understanding of the history of consumption?
Julia Sneeringer, 'The Shopper as Voter: Women, Advertising and Politics in Post-Inflation Germany', German Studies Review, Vol. 27, No. 2 (2004), pp. 476-501
David George Surdam, Century of the Leisured Masses: Entertainment and the Transformation of Twentieth-century America (New York, 2015), Chapter 11
Rachel Alexander, Imagining Gender, Nation and Consumerism in Magazines of the 1920s (Cambridge, 2022)
Rachel Bowlby, Carried Away: A History of Modern Shopping (New York, 2002)
Richard Hornsey, '"The Modern Way to Loveliness": Middle-Class Cosmetics and Chain-Store Beauty Culture in Mid-Twentieth-Century Britain', Women's History Review. Vol. 28, No. 1 (2019), pp. 111-138
Richard Hornsey, '"The Penguins are Coming": Brand Mascots and Utopian Mass Consumption in Interwar Britain', Journal of British Studies, Vol. 57, No. 4 (2018), pp. 812-839
Siegfried Kracauer. 'Popular Advertisements' [1949] in Siegfried Kracauer, Selected Writings on Media, Propaganda, and Political Communication (John Abromeit, Jaeho Kang and Graeme Gilloch eds.) (New York, 2022)
Paul Lerner, The consuming temple: Jews, department stores, and the consumer revolution in Germany, 1880-1940 (Ithaca, 2015)
Janet Ward Lungstum, 'The Display Window: Designs and Desires of Weimar Consumerism', New German Critique, No. 76 (1999), pp. 115-160
J. Winship, 'Culture of Restraint: The British Chain Store, 1920-1939' in Peter Jackson, Michelle Lowe, Daniel Miller and Frank Mort (eds.), Commercial cultures : economies, practices, spaces (Oxford, 2000)
For Undergraduate queries: HistoryOffice@warwick.ac.uk
For Postgraduate queries: PGHistoryOffice@warwick.ac.uk
For Research queries: HistoryResearch@warwick.ac.uk
For all other queries: WarwickHistory@warwick.ac.uk
Department of History, University of Warwick,
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Coventry, CV4 7EQ
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Last revised: Mon 8 Aug 2022


With about 150 million active users, the mobile photo-sharing app Instagram has become a popular way for people to document their lives.
It lends itself particularly well to travel, when even the most reluctant photographer can be tempted to take a few pictures.
The most Instagrammed places in the world last year included an airport, amusement parks and a Las Vegas casino.
CNN journalist and avid Instagram user Jethro Mullen has racked up nearly 800,000 followers on the app.
Here are his tips for getting the best out of your phone camera when you travel.
Everything looks better, or at least different, when seen from above.
Viewing platforms, sky bars, cable car rides and overhead walkways are great for expansive perspectives.
If you're shooting through a window, get your lens as close to the glass as possible to reduce unwanted light reflections.
Nobody knows a place better than the people who live there.
you can see in photo no. 2 above.
Don't tune out while in transit.
Architecture and human activity at airports and rail stations often provide rich photo opportunities.
And the views from planes, trains and automobiles can be compelling.
Window seats offer great shots.
Avoid hopping from landmark to landmark.
Take some wrong turns, wander, see what you find.
A number of gadgets allow you to get more out of your phone camera.
Lens attachments, like the Olloclip, provide fisheye, wide-angle and macro options.
Make sure you check any gear you buy is compatible with your make and model of phone.
Native Instagram filters can undoubtedly jazz up a run-of-the-mill image.
But their effects can be heavy, bludgeoning subtler elements of a photo.
a gentler manner with brightness, saturation, contrast and other aspects.
I edit nearly every Instagram I take using these tools.
Get low for good water shots.
colorful umbrellas, raindrops on windows.
What's more, the sky can be at its most dynamic before and after stormy weather.
To optimize puddle shots, turn your phone upside down so the lens is closer to the water's surface.
Think about where you want to be for the often rewarding light conditions at the start and end of the day.
Consider how the sunlight is likely to interact with the surroundings, like trees, buildings or water.
Apps like Sun Seeker can tell you the sun's predicted path through the sky.
In outdoor areas where your surroundings feel cramped or cluttered, try tilting your head back and seeing what lies above.
In cities, clusters of skyscrapers or geometrically arranged facades work well.
Natural surroundings, like forests of tall trees, can also be eye-catching.


Another episode in my Craft Room Organization Series features my Die Cuts & Ephemera storage. I have been asked so many times how I store these essentials because honestly, they are quite tricky! After my recent destash of supplies, I managed to pare my collection down to these and store them attractively in my craft room. I showcase my two main storage methods plus share ideas how I pack them for travel, use them daily and more!


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Our well-equipped facilities and excellent excellent management throughout all stages of creation enables us to guarantee total buyer satisfaction for Disposables , disposables , Disposable Swab , Our well-equipped facilities and excellent quality control throughout all stages of production enable us to guarantee total customer satisfaction. If you are interested in any of our products or would like to discuss a custom order please feel free to contact me. We are looking forward to forming successful business relationship with new clients around the world.


Following a difficult race at this years' London marathon, I was left with a want to prove a few things to myself. I needed to know that I have the ability to pace these legs of mine, and attempt to combine push with enjoyment. Hard experiences can cloud the reality of times that have passed, and I had an urge to blow these away.
After learning that a few of the WMN RUN 100 ladies were already due to run this race, a few of us spoke of wanting to run it too, in the lead up to Race to the Stones. A spark was lit. I went home, contacted the organisers, and put forward those that wanted to take part. Signed up to our next marathon minus the apprehensive build up, with the last minute nature denying us of an onslaught of pre marathon doubt. Those who had never experienced this distance before were assured that their ultra training so far would be enough, that they could take it easy, at their own pace, and as a training run.
Under a surprise lot of sunshine, good lucks were given, embraces were shared, the gun went, and we were off. All I wanted to do with this race was stay at the front, and try to maintain first lady. It was a rarity, but this aim didn't consist of any times, paces or splits, and allowed me to regain the notion of why I love running. Realising that this isn't to always feel like I'm killing myself off. That there is a happy medium in there somewhere.
I ran the majority of the race with a gent called Edward; rambling as we went, talking when we wanted to, and despite the three killer ascents of Broomfield Hill, allowed ourselves to enjoy it. I crossed the finish line to first lady, grateful of the silver plate I received, but even more made up to see the staccato of achievement as of our ladies crossed the finish line. A Boston qualifier and a third place for Amelia (left), a multiple marathon for some, and a first experience for others. All this, and the first big marker for our project in the bag.


Teachers of SIS collaborated to bring that million dollar smile on all the faces of the Children at its Campus on 13th November, 2014. Celebrating the Children's Day to mark the birthday of the First Prime Minister of India, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the teachers started with a melodious welcome song that brightened the young hearts and paved the way for a day that turned out to be an unforgettable one in their school life.
The teachers from KG wing, Primary, Middle, Secondary and Senior Secondary enthusiastically participated in the meticulously designed programme that gave every student in the school an opportunity to witness their teachers perform before them.
Teachers formed a cohesive unit to sing songs like Bache Manke Sache…; Give me some Sunshine…; Tu Mera Dil, Ek Din Bik Jaye Ga…; Teachers also invited the students to participate in fun games like Truth and Dare; Find your Partner; Quick head; etc.
Middle School teachers led by Mr. Jasmir Faisal presented a Mime that conveyed the message "We should not blindly follow anyone." Another Mime was presented by the Senior Secondary Teachers led by Mr. Tono Fernandez and Mr. Shamsudheen on the problems of using Mobile Phones carelessly.
A skit scripted by Mrs. Fatima Rizna of the Middle Section on the "importance of Education" was presented Mrs. Celina and her team of teachers. Mr. Shakir Hussain, coordinator of the Secondary Section along with Mr. Adam Shaikh, Mr. Shijo Varghese, Mr.Kamarudheen, Mr.Johnson and Mr. Sajish Kumar to perform a humorous skit that sent out a message to the students that skills and knowledge are two sides of the same coin that every student should carry with them when they step into the professional world.
Mrs. Sini Saji (Coordinator Sr. Secondary Section) and Mrs. Elizabeth, organized Fun & Dare in which the children and the teachers spoke their heart out to create an ecstatic atmosphere that enlivened the audience.
The most fascinating and energetic event was the Staff versus the Student Football Match organized by the Physical Education Department. The teachers' team led by Mr. Shihabudeen Pullath (Vice Principal –Admin) showed the students what team spirit and skills are. They matched every passes and showed tremendous anticipation to foil their moves. The students cheered their teachers as they showed their youthful vigour to draw the match 1-1 at full time.
Mr. Dudley O'Connor, Vice Principal – CBSE (i) took the students of his section for a pleasure trip to the Aqua park where they spent the day in the cool blue water enjoying the rides and delicious snacks and refreshments. The teachers organized fun games for the children who participated enthusiastically and went back home with memories that will remain imprinted for a long time.
Principal – Dr. Subhash Nair, Vice Principal (Admin) – Mr. Shihabudeen Pullath; Headmistress KG Wing – Mrs. Mehajabeen, Headmistress (Middle School) – Mrs. Prabha Saji, congratulated and thanked all teachers for making the day an eventful and memorable one for their students.
The purpose of the teachers – to see joy and smile on every faces – was achieved and students went back home relishing the wonderful time they spent in the school. Values like cooperation, team spirit, compassion, integrity and love was imbibed in an informal way.


text:
package com.amazonaws.services.apigateway.model;

import java.io.Serializable;
import javax.annotation.Generated;

import com.amazonaws.AmazonWebServiceRequest;

/**
 *

 * Creates a VPC link, under the caller's account in a selected region, in an asynchronous operation that typically
 * takes 2-4 minutes to complete and become operational. The caller must have permissions to create and update VPC
 * Endpoint services.
 *

 */
@Generated("com.amazonaws:aws-java-sdk-code-generator")
public class CreateVpcLinkRequest extends com.amazonaws.AmazonWebServiceRequest implements Serializable, Cloneable {

    /**
     *

     * The name used to label and identify the VPC link.
     *

     */
    private String name;
    /**
     *

     * The description of the VPC link.
     *

     */
    private String description;
    /**
     *

     * The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must be owned
     * by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     *

     */
    private java.util.List<String> targetArns;
    /**
     *

     * The key-value map of strings. The valid character set is [a-zA-Z+-=._:/]. The tag key can be up to 128 characters
     * and must not start with aws:. The tag value can be up to 256 characters.
     *

     */
    private java.util.Map<String, String> tags;

    /**
     *

     * The name used to label and identify the VPC link.
     *

     *
     * @param name
     *        The name used to label and identify the VPC link.
     */

    public void setName(String name) {
        this.name = name;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The name used to label and identify the VPC link.
     *

     *
     * @return The name used to label and identify the VPC link.
     */

    public String getName() {
        return this.name;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The name used to label and identify the VPC link.
     *

     *
     * @param name
     *        The name used to label and identify the VPC link.
     * @return Returns a reference to this object so that method calls can be chained together.
     */

    public CreateVpcLinkRequest withName(String name) {
        setName(name);
        return this;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The description of the VPC link.
     *

     *
     * @param description
     *        The description of the VPC link.
     */

    public void setDescription(String description) {
        this.description = description;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The description of the VPC link.
     *

     *
     * @return The description of the VPC link.
     */

    public String getDescription() {
        return this.description;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The description of the VPC link.
     *

     *
     * @param description
     *        The description of the VPC link.
     * @return Returns a reference to this object so that method calls can be chained together.
     */

    public CreateVpcLinkRequest withDescription(String description) {
        setDescription(description);
        return this;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must be owned
     * by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     *

     *
     * @return The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must
     *         be owned by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     */

    public java.util.List<String> getTargetArns() {
        return targetArns;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must be owned
     * by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     *

     *
     * @param targetArns
     *        The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must
     *        be owned by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     */

    public void setTargetArns(java.util.Collection<String> targetArns) {
        if (targetArns == null) {
            this.targetArns = null;
            return;
        }

        this.targetArns = new java.util.ArrayList<String>(targetArns);
    }

    /**
     *

     * The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must be owned
     * by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     *

     *

     * NOTE: This method appends the values to the existing list (if any). Use
     * {@link #setTargetArns(java.util.Collection)} or {@link #withTargetArns(java.util.Collection)} if you want to
     * override the existing values.
     *

     *
     * @param targetArns
     *        The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must
     *        be owned by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     * @return Returns a reference to this object so that method calls can be chained together.
     */

    public CreateVpcLinkRequest withTargetArns(String... targetArns) {
        if (this.targetArns == null) {
            setTargetArns(new java.util.ArrayList<String>(targetArns.length));
        }
        for (String ele : targetArns) {
            this.targetArns.add(ele);
        }
        return this;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must be owned
     * by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     *

     *
     * @param targetArns
     *        The ARN of the network load balancer of the VPC targeted by the VPC link. The network load balancer must
     *        be owned by the same AWS account of the API owner.
     * @return Returns a reference to this object so that method calls can be chained together.
     */

    public CreateVpcLinkRequest withTargetArns(java.util.Collection<String> targetArns) {
        setTargetArns(targetArns);
        return this;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The key-value map of strings. The valid character set is [a-zA-Z+-=._:/]. The tag key can be up to 128 characters
     * and must not start with aws:. The tag value can be up to 256 characters.
     *

     *
     * @return The key-value map of strings. The valid character set is [a-zA-Z+-=._:/]. The tag key can be up to 128
     *         characters and must not start with aws:. The tag value can be up to 256 characters.
     */

    public java.util.Map<String, String> getTags() {
        return tags;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The key-value map of strings. The valid character set is [a-zA-Z+-=._:/]. The tag key can be up to 128 characters
     * and must not start with aws:. The tag value can be up to 256 characters.
     *

     *
     * @param tags
     *        The key-value map of strings. The valid character set is [a-zA-Z+-=._:/]. The tag key can be up to 128
     *        characters and must not start with aws:. The tag value can be up to 256 characters.
     */

    public void setTags(java.util.Map<String, String> tags) {
        this.tags = tags;
    }

    /**
     *

     * The key-value map of strings. The valid character set is [a-zA-Z+-=._:/]. The tag key can be up to 128 characters
     * and must not start with aws:. The tag value can be up to 256 characters.
     *

     *
     * @param tags
     *        The key-value map of strings. The valid character set is [a-zA-Z+-=._:/]. The tag key can be up to 128
     *        characters and must not start with aws:. The tag value can be up to 256 characters.
     * @return Returns a reference to this object so that method calls can be chained together.
     */

    public CreateVpcLinkRequest withTags(java.util.Map<String, String> tags) {
        setTags(tags);
        return this;
    }

    /**
     * Add a single Tags entry
     *
     * @see CreateVpcLinkRequest#withTags
     * @returns a reference to this object so that method calls can be chained together.
     */

    public CreateVpcLinkRequest addTagsEntry(String key, String value) {
        if (null == this.tags) {
            this.tags = new java.util.HashMap<String, String>();
        }
        if (this.tags.containsKey(key))
            throw new IllegalArgumentException("Duplicated keys (" + key.toString() + ") are provided.");
        this.tags.put(key, value);
        return this;
    }

    /**
     * Removes all the entries added into Tags.
     *
     * @return Returns a reference to this object so that method calls can be chained together.
     */

    public CreateVpcLinkRequest clearTagsEntries() {
        this.tags = null;
        return this;
    }

    /**
     * Returns a string representation of this object. This is useful for testing and debugging. Sensitive data will be
     * redacted from this string using a placeholder value.
     *
     * @return A string representation of this object.
     *
     * @see java.lang.Object#toString()
     */
    @Override
    public String toString() {
        StringBuilder sb = new StringBuilder();
        sb.append("{");
        if (getName() != null)
            sb.append("Name: ").append(getName()).append(",");
        if (getDescription() != null)
            sb.append("Description: ").append(getDescription()).append(",");
        if (getTargetArns() != null)
            sb.append("TargetArns: ").append(getTargetArns()).append(",");
        if (getTags() != null)
            sb.append("Tags: ").append(getTags());
        sb.append("}");
        return sb.toString();
    }

    @Override
    public boolean equals(Object obj) {
        if (this == obj)
            return true;
        if (obj == null)
            return false;

        if (obj instanceof CreateVpcLinkRequest == false)
            return false;
        CreateVpcLinkRequest other = (CreateVpcLinkRequest) obj;
        if (other.getName() == null ^ this.getName() == null)
            return false;
        if (other.getName() != null && other.getName().equals(this.getName()) == false)
            return false;
        if (other.getDescription() == null ^ this.getDescription() == null)
            return false;
        if (other.getDescription() != null && other.getDescription().equals(this.getDescription()) == false)
            return false;
        if (other.getTargetArns() == null ^ this.getTargetArns() == null)
            return false;
        if (other.getTargetArns() != null && other.getTargetArns().equals(this.getTargetArns()) == false)
            return false;
        if (other.getTags() == null ^ this.getTags() == null)
            return false;
        if (other.getTags() != null && other.getTags().equals(this.getTags()) == false)
            return false;
        return true;
    }

    @Override
    public int hashCode() {
        final int prime = 31;
        int hashCode = 1;

        hashCode = prime * hashCode + ((getName() == null) ? 0 : getName().hashCode());
        hashCode = prime * hashCode + ((getDescription() == null) ? 0 : getDescription().hashCode());
        hashCode = prime * hashCode + ((getTargetArns() == null) ? 0 : getTargetArns().hashCode());
        hashCode = prime * hashCode + ((getTags() == null) ? 0 : getTags().hashCode());
        return hashCode;
    }

    @Override
    public CreateVpcLinkRequest clone() {
        return (CreateVpcLinkRequest) super.clone();
    }

}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


Disclaimer – Murphy & Weiner, P.C.
Murphy & Weiner, P.C. periodically publishes or posts articles, presentations or news spots and other information on this website to apprise clients and others about new developments of interest to existing and potential clients. Neither transmission nor receipt of this information creates an attorney-client relationship with Murphy & Weiner, P.C. Individuals or entities contacting this site should not assume that they have retained Murphy & Weiner, P.C., to represent them or render services until such time, if ever, as Murphy & Weiner, P.C., and the individual or entity in question execute a written retainer agreement. All information provided on this website is general in nature, may not be current in terms of recent developments in the law, and does not constitute legal advice regarding any specific or general matter or issue. Individuals or entities obtaining information from this website should not act on it without first obtaining advice from legal or other professional counsel regarding the law applicable to a particular set of facts. In no event will Murphy & Weiner, P.C., be liable for any direct or indirect damages resulting from an individual's or entity's use of information from this website.
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Our firm is a professional corporation and our attorneys are licensed to practice law in the State of California.


text:
Competitor "Piggyback"
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Snap names former McDonald's marketing leader Kenny Mitchell as its first CMO
Snap Inc. CMO Kenny Mitchell.
Kenny Mitchell, the former VP of brand content and engagement for McDonald's, has been named Snap's first ever CMO. Mitchell will begin in June and report to CEO Evan Spiegel.
Why we should care
Mitchell is the fourth C-level officer to join Snap's executive team since November. With this latest hire, the company is continuing to build out its top leadership and better position itself as a major player among the social media platforms.
"Throughout his career, Kenny has demonstrated his ability to successfully execute innovative, global marketing campaigns, many of which have leveraged our own vertical video and augmented reality products," said Spiegel, "He's a natural fit to join our team and lead marketing as we continue driving the positive momentum we have in the business."
Snapchat currently reaches 90% of all 13 to 24-year-olds in the U.S. and 75% of 13 to 34-year-olds, according to the company's first quarter earnings report released on Tuesday — a coveted audience for many marketers. Under Mitchell's guidance leading consumer and product marketing programs, Snap aims to attract advertisers that may not fully understand the messaging app's appeal. Before joining Snap, Mitchell worked closely with the Snapchat team to develop vertical video and AR campaigns for brands like McDonald's and Gatorade.
During his time as the head of consumer engagement for Gatorade, Mitchell oversaw the brand's Dunk AR Lens for the Super Bowl — a campaign that won Gatorade five Lions awards at Cannes.
More on the news
In addition to McDonald's and Gatorade, Mitchell has held marketing leadership roles at NASCAR and NBC Sports Group.
Snap announced on Tuesday a 39% year-over-year increase in revenue for the first quarter of 2019, and showed signs it had finally stabilized user growth — an issue that has been a challenge for the company since rolling out a major redesign more than a year ago.
Last October, Snap named Jared Grusd as its new chief strategy officer and Jeremi Gorman to serve as chief business officer.
Amy Gesenhues is Third Door Media's General Assignment Reporter, covering the latest news and updates for Marketing Land and Search Engine Land. From 2009 to 2012, she was an award-winning syndicated columnist for a number of daily newspapers from New York to Texas. With more than ten years of marketing management experience, she has contributed to a variety of traditional and online publications, including MarketingProfs.com, SoftwareCEO.com, and Sales and Marketing Management Magazine. Read more of Amy's articles.
This marketing news is not the copyright of Scott.Services – please click here to see the original source of this article. Author: Amy Gesenhues
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"This is outrageous. This is what happens when you have an unaccountable authority," Giuliani said after a TA committee meeting drew protests and three dozen speakers opposed to the service changes.
TA spokesman Al O'Leary countered that officials at the city's Department of Transportation, which is rebuilding the Manhattan Bridge, have been well aware of the changes in subway service.
But city officials say they haven't been kept up to speed on just how the changes would go into effect. The changes, including a new W line on Broadway and the suspension of most Sixth Avenue service to Brooklyn, will last about three years while the city rebuilds the north side of the Manhattan Bridge.
Under part of the plan, the TA will end service between Brooklyn and Chinatown's busy Grand Street station. The station, used by 27,000 riders a day, will be left with a shuttle to Broadway and Lafayette Street.
A final decision on service changes rests with the TA and the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. Gov. Pataki appoints the majority of MTA board members and its chairman.
"They don't have a particular sensitivity to the needs of the people of the city because they're operating basically outside of that accountability," said Giuliani, who appoints three members of the MTA board.
The mayor, speaking during a press briefing at City Hall, joined a chorus of opponents to the subway plan, including some who wondered why he wasn't more involved earlier.
Transit advocates, public officials and affected residents blasted the agency for refusing to hold public hearings. Chinatown residents predicted dire consequences for their neighborhood if subway service to Grand Street is lost. About 50 people protested outside MTA headquarters on Madison Avenue.
Wing Ho Li, owner of a bakery on Grand Street, said previous station closings cut his business up to 40 percent.


text:
ФК Тереквеш (), је мађарски фудбалски клуб из Кебање, дела Будимпеште.

Историја клуба
Тереквеш је основан 1897. године али је због тадашњих правила званично могао да учествује на такмичењима тек од 1900. године.
ФК Тереквеш је дебитовао у Törekvés debuted in the мађарској првој лиги 1903. године и сезону су завршили на трећем месту.

Достигнућа
Прва лига Мађарске у фудбалу
 Треће место (1): 1903

Име клуба
Тереквеш ФК 1900–1951: - Törekvés SC
Кебањаи Локомотив 1951–1955: - Kőbányai Lokomotív
Кенбањаи Тереквес 1955–1957: - Kőbányai Törekvés
Халадаш 1957–1958: - Haladás
Тереквеш ШЕ 1958–1995: - Törekvés SE
Тереквеш Сент Иштван ШЕ 1995–2000: - Törekvés Szent István SE
Тереквеш КИШЕ 2000–2001: - Törekvés KISE

Референце

Спољашње везе
 Профил

Терезвароши ТК
Терезвароши ТК

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


text:
Saying goodbye to an ideal Elk Point home, 17 years later
From the GALLERY: Every story in the spring 2018 Siouxland Life magazine series
Dolly Butz
Angie Taylor sits in the living room at the Stacy and Angie Taylor home, 123 Green Court Drive, in Elk Point, South Dakota.
The Stacy and Angie Taylor home, 123 Green Court Drive, Elk Point, South Dakota.
A library with hand made oak shelves is ideal for books, DVDs and collectibles.
University of Nebraska memorabilia finds a home in a basement room of the Elk Point, South Dakota, home.
A decorative shelf offers plenty of room for collections.
Angie Taylor stands in a basement hallway of her Elk Point home.
An art display.
A downstairs guest bedroom.
ELK POINT, S.D. -- Seventeen years ago, when Stacy and Angie Taylor drove up to a light beige ranch-style home with white shutters at 123 Green Court Drive, they thought the home looked small for their needs from the outside.
Inside, the Taylors were surprised to find a very spacious home -- more than 3,500 square feet of living space -- close to the Elk Point Swimming Pool and The Pointe Golf Course.
"The house is very deceiving. When you just see it from the outside it looks very small. We almost didn't come," Angie Taylor said. "But we came in, and my oldest just started running and would run from room to room. We were amazed at how large it was upstairs and then we came downstairs, and again, it was just amazing how much room."
The Stacy and Angie Taylor home, 123 Green Court Drive, in Elk Point, South Dakota.
Angie Taylor said it will be difficult to leave the house and the community, when she and her husband, who works as an IT director, relocate to Austin, Texas, for his job in May. Their two sons, Connor and Austin, will stay in South Dakota as they serve in the Air National Guard.
"We really like the community, so it's really hard to leave here," Taylor said. "There will be things to bring us back."
A decorative shelf reflects the family's taste.
The foyer of the four-bedroom, three-bathroom home opens to a roomy living room with a vaulted ceiling and bank of windows. The rich hardwood floors continue into adjoining library and open concept kitchen/dining area.
"Because we have different colored wood tones in our furniture and then there was the light wood from all the trim, we wanted a floor that wasn't just a solid color. This was just perfect because it has the light and dark. I really like it," Taylor said. "It was like we just put it down and then he got this new job. We're not going to be able to enjoy it that long."
A library with hand made oak shelves is shown at the Stacy and Angie Taylor home.
Taylor, who works as a school library aide, said the library was actually formerly used a dining room.
"My husband and his father built the book cases that are in there. That's probably my favorite space," she said, motioning to the oak bookcases. "The favorite space for the kids would be downstairs in the playroom."
The kitchen features custom cabinetry, a built-in wine rack and ample counter space. A window over the stainless steel sink offers a view of the backyard. A sliding door off the dining area opens to to a deck with a custom pergola and built-in seating.
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The dining room and kitchen.
Taylor loves the size of the master bedroom, which has carpet, a tray ceiling, two banks of windows that let in natural light and a full bath with a double sink vanity, Jacuzzi tub and separate shower. The master also has a walk-in closet.
"When the kids were little, this would be their pool in the winter," Taylor said of the Jacuzzi tub with a chuckle. "We'd turn the jets on, put some bubble bath in there. That was fun."
The master bedroom offers ample ceiling height.
Down the hallway from the master, you'll find another full bathroom and two more bedrooms at the front of the house. One has a wood floor, while the other is carpeted.
"They're good-sized rooms. Our intention was that when the youngest went to school that this would become my husband's office," Taylor said of the bedroom that has a wood floor.
A son's bedroom reflects his interests.
The downstairs includes a family room with a wet bar, a large theater room another full bath, a craft room, office area and a fourth bedroom with a walk-in closet. The family room, Taylor said, has always been a playroom.
"It started out with like Thomas the Tank Engine and Little People and has now grown up into gaming central," she of the space, which has three flat-screen TVs side by side along a wall.
A basement theater room includes comfy seating and posters of favorite films.
On the other side of the stairway is the theater room, where the family watches football games and movies on a large projector screen. The space also includes built-in storage.
Down the hall, between the playroom and theater room, you'll find a utility room, quaint room that Taylor uses for scrapbooking, cardmaking and painting; another full bathroom, more closet space, an office and a fourth bedroom.
A basement seating area and gaming room at the Stacy and Angie Taylor home in Elk Point features an international flair.
"I think we really love is the huge closet. You can pack a lot of stuff in and it's all the way through," Taylor said of the hallway closet space. "(Stacy) has a big family, so when they all come, there's a lot of room for everyone."
Other notable features of the home include a WiFi-enabled sprinkler system, large side parking area for an RV with a 220 hookup and an over-sized garage with cabinetry and a work bench.
Copyright 2019 The Sioux City Journal. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Stacy Taylor
Angie Taylor
Siouxland Life Home
Elk Point Home
Local-places
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More in GALLERY: Every story in the spring 2018 Siouxland Life magazine (2 of 13)
98-year-old former Sioux City schoolteacher began career in one-room schoolhouse, 78 years ago
Northwestern College President's home: The gift that keeps giving
ORANGE CITY, Iowa -- Greg and Michelle Christy had more than 100 guests in their home for a Christmas celebration one year ago.
Young family finds 'Bliss' in Vermillion home, neighborhood
VERMILLION, S.D. | A secret door in the kitchen of Nate and Krista Welch at Vermillion leads to quite a surprise.
A house of peace opens near Newcastle
NEWCASTLE, Nebraska -- The Rev. Jim Kramper moved into his dream home near Newcastle during the fall.
PARTING SHOT: How I lived life like a cat
The next time you think you want to turn your home into a spa, remind yourself you could be living like a cat.
"The first day of school, I was there, looking at things, opened my desk, and there was a big snake inside the desk," said O'Connor, who turned 98 in March. "I went and got (my brother-in-law), and the snake had curled itself under the back of the desk. I was a little leery of that desk."
DIY projects give Dakota Dunes home fresh, stylish look
DAKOTA DUNES -- Less than seven hours after giving birth to her son, Brooks, Kelsey Beiermann woke up her husband, Chase, who was sound asleep…
Interior designer polishes home on Sioux City's north side
When the new owners of a mid-century modern home began the restoration and remodeling process nearly four years ago, they turned to Amy Macfarlane, whose work touched every room and added fresh colors and new styles throughout.


When you stay at South Point Chalets in Mahe Island, you'll be within a 10-minute drive of Anse Intedance Beach and Takamaka Beach. This guesthouse is 2.3 mi (3.6 km) from Anse Bazarca Beach and 3.2 mi (5.2 km) from Baie Lazare Beach.
Make yourself at home in one of the 6 air-conditioned rooms featuring kitchenettes with refrigerators and stovetops. Rooms have private patios. Wireless Internet access (surcharge) keeps you connected, and DVD players are provided for your entertainment. Conveniences include safes and separate sitting areas, and housekeeping is provided daily.
Take advantage of recreation opportunities such as an outdoor pool, or other amenities including wireless Internet access (surcharge) and babysitting/childcare (surcharge). Additional features at this guesthouse include wedding services, tour/ticket assistance, and barbecue grills.
Enjoy a satisfying meal at South Point Chalets serving guests of South Point Chalets. Continental breakfasts are available daily from 8:30 AM to 10:30 AM for a fee.
Featured amenities include multilingual staff, laundry facilities, and a safe deposit box at the front desk. A roundtrip airport shuttle is complimentary (available on request).
Airport shuttle service is available on request. Fees may apply. Contact the property in advance to make arrangements. Guests planning to arrive outside of the posted hours must contact the hotel in advance to arrange check-in. Contact information can be found in the reservation confirmation received after booking.


text:
Motivational group Sweethearts & Heroes Returns to WVCSD
Sweethearts & Heroes, describing themselves as a student empowerment and empathy activation team, will make a return visit...
03 Jan 2023 | 04:41
Sweethearts & Heroes director and co-founder Tom Murphy, left, and retired U.S. Army sergeant Rick Yarosh, a HOPE expert and motivational speaker who was severely burned while serving in Iraq.
Sweethearts & Heroes to offer bullying and suicide prevention strategies to Warwick students
Warwick Valley students will welcome Sweethearts & Heroes next week, a student empowerment and empathy activation team that...
21 Sep 2022 | 11:06
Alan Mack at Fort Campbell in 2002 after Operation Anaconda. He stands in front of his helicopter, which sustained RPG damage during combat.
New book "Razor 03: A Night Stalker's Wars" will be released by Deputy Commissioner of Emergency Services Alan Mack
Orange County Deputy Commissioner of Emergency Services Alan Mack is releasing a book about his experiences as a U.S. Army...
31 Aug 2022 | 12:03
Neuhaus to be promoted to U.S. Navy commander
United States Secretary of Defense Lloyd J. Austin III recently announced that Orange County Executive Steven M. Neuhaus...
Warwick military veterans Jose Morales, Carmine Garritano, Stan Martin, Warren McFarland and Tom Brennan will participate in the June 14 Flag Retirement Ceremony open to the public at the Warwick American Legion Building. They are shown during the COVID-delayed Warwick Middle School's Valentines for Veterans event held May 25.
Veterans invite Warwick community to flag retirement ceremony
WARWICK – Local military veterans are inviting the community to a special retirement party. Veterans from World War II, the...
Deployed: Neuhaus tells of his two months at war
Assignment to a NATO military base "way below ground" in Italy surprised Orange County Executive Steve Neuhaus when he was...
County Executive Neuhaus returns after deployment overseas with U.S. Navy
Goshen, N.Y. – Orange County Executive Steven M. Neuhaus has returned to the U.S. from his deployment after being on active-duty...
Steve Neuhaus in previous deployment to Iraq
Neuhaus will deploy with U.S. Navy
Goshen, N.Y. – Orange County Executive Steven M. Neuhaus released the following statement on Monday, March 7, about his upcoming...
08 Mar 2022 | 07:25
Goshen. Orange County to participate in Operation Green Light in support of local veterans
In anticipation of November's Veterans Day holiday, Orange County Executive Steven M. Neuhaus has announced that the front...
27 Oct 2021 | 12:42
Rabbi Pesach and Chana Burston hosted a community Summer Social BBQ in their backyard with Hasidic influencer Shloime Zionce. Photos provided by Chabad of Orange County.
'An ambassador' of sorts 'comfortable in (his) own skin'
Ninety people from across Orange County gathered for a Summer Social barbecue at the backyard of Rabbi Pesach and Chana Burston,...
Jose Morales, commander of Warwick Post 4662 of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and Stan Martin, commander of Nicholas P. Lesando Jr., American Legion Post 214 in Warwick. Provided photos.
Veterans open American flag retirement ceremony to entire Warwick community
Local military veterans are inviting the community to a special retirement party.
Veterans from World War II, the Korean War,...
Lucy Mercado, the founder of Support Our Heroes Foundation.
'I am reaching out to you for help'
My name is Lucy Mercado. I am the founder of Support Our Heroes Foundation. I am reaching out to you for help.
I started...
26 Nov 2019 | 07:32


130 VGQ young (almost 100% #5's & #6's with a few older and younger) Droughtmaster cows that have been vet preg-tested in calf. They have an estimated weight of 380 – 620 kg to average approx 460 kg.
Good well bred young cows PTIC to Droughtmaster bulls.


Due to popular demand, we have added another felted tote bag class to our Fall Fiber Arts Schedule. On September 28, we will be meeting in our fiber arts studio to felt one of a kind tote bags. They are truly functional art pieces.
No previous fiber art experience is required to make these gorgeous bags. The class will be taught by local fiber artist Karen Simpson. We will be using the wet felting method, which allows us to create unique fabrics from colorful wool and natural alpaca fibers using warm, soapy water and rubbing.
The class will meet from 9am to 5pm, with lunch provided. The class costs $80, and $30 for materials. We hope you can join us for this fun day. Preregistration is required, a $25 deposit will reserve your space. You can sign up in the shop, by phone, or online.
We also have a few spaces left in our October Weaving a Shawl on the Triangle Loom. It is scheduled for October 25-27.


Even since the early days of the Internet, site visitors have applied strict criteria to how content is delivered. Even on dial-up connections, it was important, from a marketing perspective, to get a visitor's attention almost instantly. With today's high-speed connections and advancements in both content creation and delivery, the pressure to capture someone's interest within the first few seconds of clicking through to your pages is even greater. And in this context, the importance of above the fold content comes very significantly.
What Does Above the Fold Content Mean, Anyway?
If that term is new to you, it's one you need to learn and understand if you are to be successful in any online marketing initiative. "Above the fold content" refers to the first thing(s) that people see when they click through to view your page (i.e. check Wiki page). In other words, it's what they see before they start scrolling. Anything they need to scroll to view is considered "below the fold". And if what they see first isn't interesting enough, it really doesn't matter what you place below.
What you present above the fold is vital to securing enough interest in your content to motivate someone to scroll down or follow any call(s) to action you present at the top of your page. With that in mind, here are a few great ideas for creating "above the fold content" that will pique the interest of even the shrewdest of site visitors.
It is imperative these days that your website is built with responsiveness in mind. Yes, we're throwing a lot of terminology at you right now. But understanding these terms and implementing them properly will contribute greatly to your success. Responsive websites are those that display correctly and logically on any size screen, over any browser, and on any platform (Windows, Mac, Android, iOS, etc.). You can find a number of good examples at Awwwards.com.
Responsive design has ostensibly eliminated the need for separate mobile websites. Because the same design is implemented on desktop PCs as on smartphones and tablets. This has made website design simpler and more affordable over time. If you don't know if your site is responsive, ask your web developer or IT manager.
Visual content can have a powerful influence on the way people interact with your content. Sites like EssayPro.com of above the fold visuals by presenting the key pain point associated with their service in pictures. In this case, the EssayPro image of a frustrated student laboring over a difficult writing task is a huge motivator too, at a minimum, check pricing or investigate service options.
If your ad-based content directs site visitors to specific landing pages, it is important to place opt-in boxes above all other content on the page. If they clicked through in the first place, they are already interested in what you're offering. So why not ask for their email address upfront? Get right to the point with a clear call to action and couple it with the promise of solving whatever problem got them to click through in the first place. This article not only provides some great examples of how and why this works, it even utilizes the very strategy they promise to teach. This is both smart design and effective marketing strategy.
Whenever possible, you want to use your own branded content, especially above the fold. Unique visuals that define your brand are the perfect introduction for both new and returning visitors.
Mix up your visuals on different pages but keep everything above the fold tethered directly to your brand message. You want what people see on each page to be both familiar and unique as they click through. For example, the sites like NeilPatel.com display their main website analyzer tool at the above the fold position so it gets the maximum attention. Take a look and get the needed inspiration.
The content that has the most impact on-site visitors will always be the first thing(s) they see. Maintain high levels of congruity between the content that lands people on your page and the page content itself, but also be consistent with your branding. Well-organized above the fold content creates feelings of both trust and confidence in your brand. So be careful and wise when deciding what people should see first when they visit your pages.
What Comes First: Website Content or Website Design?


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