The squid fishery in Mexico is sustainable now, largely because of the traditional use of hand lines.
Overfishing led to the depletion of California's rockfish populations, which are now returning thanks to stringent protection by the state.
All species of wild seafood will collapse within 50 years, according to a new study by an international team of ecologists and economists. Writing in the Nov. 3 issue of the journal Science, the researchers conclude that the loss of marine biodiversity worldwide is profoundly reducing the ocean's ability to produce seafood, resist diseases, filter pollutants and rebound from stresses, such as climate change and overfishing.
"Unless we fundamentally change the way we manage all the ocean species together as working ecosystems, then this century is the last century of wild seafood," said study co-author Stephen Palumbi, professor of biological sciences at Stanford's Hopkins Marine Station.
Palumbi and Stanford colleague Fiorenza Micheli, assistant professor of biological sciences at Hopkins, are two of 14 co-authors of the Science study, the first major analysis of all existing datasets—historical, experimental, fisheries and observational—on ocean species and ecosystems.
Based on current global trends, the authors predicted that every species of wild-caught seafood—from tuna to sardines—will collapse by the year 2050. "Collapse" was defined as a 90 percent depletion of the species' baseline abundance.
"Whether we looked at tidepools or studies over the entire world's ocean, we saw the same picture emerging," said lead author Boris Worm of Dalhousie University. "In losing species we lose the productivity and stability of entire ecosystems. I was shocked and disturbed by how consistent these trends are—beyond anything we suspected."
The impacts of species loss go beyond declines in seafood, the authors said, noting that human health risks also emerge as depleted coastal ecosystems become vulnerable to invasive species, disease outbreaks and noxious algal blooms.
"The ocean is a great recycler," Palumbi said. "It takes sewage and recycles it into nutrients, it scrubs toxins out of the water and it produces food and turns carbon dioxide into food and oxygen." But to provide these services, he added, the ocean needs all of its working parts—the millions of plant and animal species that inhabit the sea.
The research team analyzed 32 controlled experiments, observational studies from 48 marine protected areas and global catch data from the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization's database of all fish and invertebrates worldwide from 1950 to 2003. The scientists also looked at a 1,000-year time series for 12 coastal regions, drawing on data from archives, fishery records, sediment cores and archeological sources.
"We see an accelerating decline in coastal species over the last 1,000 years, resulting in the loss of biological filter capacity, nursery habitats and healthy fisheries," said Dalhousie University co-author Heike Lotze, who led the historical analyses of Chesapeake Bay, San Francisco Bay, the Bay of Fundy and the North Sea, among other sites.
The results revealed that every species lost causes a faster unraveling of the overall ecosystem. This progressive biodiversity loss not only impairs the ability of the ocean to feed a growing human population but also sabotages the stability of marine environments, the authors said. Conversely, the study found that every species recovered adds significantly to the ecosystem's overall productivity and ability to withstand stresses.
According to the research team, species collapses are hastened by the decline in overall health of the ecosystem—fish rely on the clean water, prey populations and diverse habitats that are linked to higher diversity systems. This finding points to the need for marine resource managers to consider all species together rather than continuing with single-species management, the authors said.
One pressing question for managers is whether losses can be reversed, the authors said. If species have not been pushed too far down, recovery can be fast, they found, adding that there is also a point of no return where recovery is unlikely, as in the case of the northern Atlantic cod.
Examination of protected areas worldwide showed that restoration of biodiversity greatly increased productivity and made ecosystems 21 percent less susceptible to environmental and human-caused fluctuations on average—an indication that ocean ecosystems have a strong capacity to rebound.
"The data show us it's not too late," Worm said. "We can turn this around. But less than 1 percent of the global ocean is effectively protected right now. We won't see complete recovery in one year, but in many cases species come back more quickly than people anticipated—in three to five to 10 years. And where this has been done we see immediate economic benefits."
The buffering impact of species diversity also generates long-term benefits that must be incorporated into future economic valuation and management decisions, the authors found. "Although there are short-term economic costs associated with preservation of marine biodiversity, over the long term biodiversity conservation and economic development are complementary goals," said co-author Ed Barbier, an economist at the University of Wyoming.
The authors concluded that restoring marine biodiversity through an ecosystem-based management approach—including integrated fisheries management, pollution control, maintenance of essential habitats and creation of marine reserves—is essential to avoid serious threats to global food security, coastal water quality and ecosystem stability.
"This isn't predicted to happen, this is happening now," said co-author Nicola Beaumont, an ecological economist with the Plymouth Marine Laboratory. "If biodiversity continues to decline, the marine environment will not be able to sustain our way of life. Indeed, it may not be able to sustain our lives at all."
Other co-authors of the Science study are J. Emmett Duffy of the Virginia Institute of Marine Sciences; Carl Folke of Stockholm University and the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences; Benjamin S. Halpern of the National Center of Ecological Analysis and Synthesis (NCEAS); Jeremy B. C. Jackson of the Scripps Institution of Oceanography and the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute; Enric Sala of Scripps; Kimberly A. Selkoe of NCEAS; John Stachowicz of the University of California-Davis; and Reg Watson of the University of British Columbia.
The study was conducted at NCEAS and funded by the National Science Foundation, the University of California system and the University of California-Santa Barbara.


text:
1-855-212-2400 info@arta.net
Know Your Cards
MyARTA
Organizational Excellence
Social Wellness
Economic Wellness
Diabetes Initiative
The first volume of "ARTA Wellness" is here!
As a special initiative for 2018, ARTA prepared a Wellness Guide on Diabetes. As we age, our risk of being diagnosed with type 2
diabetes increases. This book is not just for those with a diabetes diagnosis, but for everyone. It contains information on what diabetes is, and how to mitigate the risk of it being a personal health concern in the future.
Almost one million people in Canada are living with undiagnosed diabetes
We developed this book as an essential resource; something to be kept and referenced repeatedly. We wanted it to look and feel more substantial so that it would be a welcome addition to your bookshelf.
Our Retiree Benefits Plan is able to remain competitive with reasonable premiums because of how health-conscious our members are. We hope that this Wellness Guide educates our members on what diabetes is, how they can mitigate their risk, and how they can actively manage a prediabetes or diabetes diagnosis.
If you have not received your copy and wish to get one, please contact the ARTA office.
DIGITAL COPY OF WELLNESS GUIDE ON DIABETES
ARTA's work on ARTA Wellness: The Diabetes Volume connected us with the organizing committee of HEADing to 2022 – a grassroots initiative focused on raising funds for Canadian researchers that has partnered with the Diabetes Research Institute Foundation, Canada, Inc. (DRIFCan). Their goal is to raise $22 million by 2022 (the 100th anniversary of insulin) to fund research to find a cure to end diabetes. Learn more by clicking the button below.
Heading to 2022
On May 24, 2019, ARTA was presented with an IABC 2019 Capital Awards – Award of Merit. Specifically, the award was in the category of Communication Management – Community Relations and bestowed to ARTA in recognition of the Wellness Guide on Diabetes.
For more than 40 years, IABC's Gold Quill Awards have recognized and awarded excellence in strategic communication worldwide. The awards program is recognized as one of the most prestigious in the communication profession.
On June 16, 2020, ARTA was presented with an IABC 2020 International Gold Quill Award – Award of Merit. Specifically, the award was in the category of Communication Management – Community Relations and bestowed to ARTA in recognition of the Wellness Guide on Diabetes.
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General Inquiries: info@arta.net
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Benson and Hedges Masters 1977 – nierankingowy turniej snookerowy rozegrany w dniach 7–11 lutego 1977 roku w New London Theatre w Londynie (Anglia).

Wzięło w nim udział 10 zaproszonych zawodników.

W finale turnieju Walijczyk Doug Mountjoy pokonał swojego rodaka Raya Reardona 7–6.

Nagrody
Zwycięzca: L2 000

Łączna pula nagród: L5 200

Wydarzenia zawiązane z turniejem
 Obrońca tytułu, Walijczyk Ray Reardon w tegorocznej edycji turnieju Masters doszedł do finału, ulegając jednak swojemu rodakowi Dougowi Mountjoy 6–7.

Turniej główny

Zobacz też
 Masters (snooker)
 Światowy ranking snookerowy 1976/1977

Przypisy

1977 w sporcie
Masters

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


There are plenty of free new bingo sites offering bingo games for absolutely nothing. There is a huge competition taking place between bingo sites at the moment with each fighting to draw in new customers. Think you can't afford to play your favourite bingo games? Think again.
Free bingo is one of the most common marketing tools used by bingo sites and if you shop around you'll discover a range of excellent free bingo promotions. New bingo sites need to compete against the huge number of other sites launching at the same time, offering players free bingo is a great way of doing this.
A few bingo sites offer exclusive free rooms to new players for a limited time. They typically last around a week and the games run all day, every day. The jackpots on offer aren't typically huge, but they are still potentially lucrative. After all, what's better than getting the chance to win some extra cash without spending a penny?
A more popular offer that enables you to play free bingo games is the no deposit bonus. All UK bingo sites offer this as an incentive to sign up. Basically if you deposit a certain amount, you benefit from a percentage back, just like cashback. The amount you receive varies greatly between sites. Some offer 100%, while others offer up to 500%. The minimum deposit limit is usually £10, though few sites offer £5 minimum deposit limits.
What you need to keep in mind with the no deposit bonus offers is that they often come with strict terms and conditions. This not only includes the minimum and maximum amount you need to deposit, but also wagering requirements and how the bonus can be used.
Some will require you to wager a certain amount before any of the money you win can be withdrawn. Other bonus cash offers can only be used on certain games. That is why you need to read through the terms and conditions before you sign up to any new bingo sites.
Do any bingo sites allow you to withdraw cash?
While the majority of bingo sites don't let you withdraw your bonus money, there are the odd few which do. You may need to search a little harder but it is definitely worth it if you can find one that lets you keep the money you win.
You will find the bingo sites that will let you withdraw real cash tend to have a minimum withdrawal amount so for example you wouldn't be able to withdraw the £3 you have won in a game. You would need to continue to play the free games until you have increased your account total, or make a deposit and take advantage of the deposit bonus at the same time. Be aware though that even deposit bonuses come with terms and conditions.
The benefits of playing at new bingo sites doesn't just stop at the free bingo offered. New sites can also be really fun to play on. They offer something fresh and exciting. If you have been playing online bingo for quite a long time, it could be time for a change.
New bingo sites also tend to provide new games and promotions. They are competing in an already successful market which means they need to offer better than average rewards. Look out for VIP and loyalty schemes. Some of the newer sites have included free gifts and other prizes rather than just money for members in their VIP club.
As with anything these days, it's always a good idea to compare as many sites as you can. That way you will get a good idea of which ones are offering the best deals. With the recent changes in Point of Consumption gambling tax during December 2014, new bingo site and free bingo site numbers have started dwindling in 2015. So now is the best time to snap up existing deals from the newest bingo sites on the market.
Free new bingo sites offer excellent promotions and plenty of free bingo games. With so many deals available, it makes sense to compare the different offers before you decide which ones best suit your needs.
Be sure to check out wagering and withdrawal requirements at the new free bingo site that you choose to register at, you will not be able to withdraw free bingo funds at 99% of bingo sites until you have made a deposit. Often the minimum withdrawal amount is £30 although you may find some have a lower threshold of £10.


text:
UMW Foundation Honors 125th Anniversary with Gift of Chancellor's Medallion
byUniversity Communications
Donated by the University of Montana Western Foundation, the medallion features the seal of the University of Montana Western. The elements in the seal were inspired by the unique beauty of the landscape in Southwest Montana. The medallion, struck in silver and plated in gold, was made by Medalcraft Mint Inc., located in Green Bay, Wisconsin.
Dating back to the middle ages, the Chain of Office, anchored by the Chancellor's Medallion, is a traditional part of the regalia of university presidents and chancellors that is worn during formal academic functions including commencement. Chancellor Beth Weatherby will be the first to wear the University of Montana Western Chain of Office and Chancellor's Medallion during this year's ceremony.
"As the chair of the Montana Western Foundation Board of Directors, I am pleased that we can celebrate the 125th anniversary of the University with such a beautiful gift to be enjoyed by all when it is worn proudly by the Chancellor," said Deb Creger.
"The Foundation was thrilled to present this gift to commemorate the 125th anniversary of the University that will be passed from chancellor to chancellor in perpetuity," said University of Montana Western Foundation Director, Roxanne Engellant.
For more information about Commencement, please contact the Montana Western Registrar's Office by calling 406-683-7371.


text:
Това е списък с президентите на Гърция.

Първа гръцка република (1924 – 1935)

Дикататура (1967 – 1974)

Втора гръцка република (от 1974)

Вижте също
 Крал на Гърция
 Министър-председател на Гърция

Списъци на заемали длъжности


Norbrook is recalling batch 8254-90G (expiry date 21 June 2020) from the marketplace as a precautionary measure, as sterility cannot be assured Norbrook has confirmed none of the batch 8254-90G (expiry date 21 June 2020) recalled by the VMD ever reached the UK market.
VetSkill is recognised by the qualifications regulator Ofqual and CCEA to offer regulated qualifications.
VetSkill is authorised by the Veterinary Medicines Directorate (VMD) as a regulatory body to maintain a Register for Suitably Qualified Persons (SQPs), and by DEFRA to maintain a Register of persons qualified to implant identification microchips into companion animals.
Our aim is to empower learners to recognise and achieve their potential through the provision of inspirational qualifications.


text:
package io.fabric8.maven.docker.config;

import org.apache.commons.lang3.StringUtils;

/**
 * @author roland
 * @since 05.11.17
 */
public enum ImagePullPolicy {

    /**
     * Pull always images
     */
    Always,

    /**
     * Pull image only if not present
     */
    IfNotPresent,

    /**
     * Don't auto pull images
     */
    Never;

    public static ImagePullPolicy fromString(String imagePullPolicy) {
        for (ImagePullPolicy policy : values()) {
            if (policy.name().equalsIgnoreCase(imagePullPolicy)) {
                return policy;
            }
        }
        throw new IllegalArgumentException(String.format("No policy %s known. Valid values are: %s",
                                           imagePullPolicy, StringUtils.join(values(), ", ")));
    }
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
Trump pardons US Army officer convicted of killing Iraqi
Washington (AFP)
President Donald Trump has granted a full pardon to a former US Army officer convicted of the 2009 murder of an Iraqi detainee.
Michael Behenna, 35, a former lieutenant in the 101st Airborne Division from Oklahoma, was released from prison in 2014 after serving five years in jail.
Behenna was convicted in 2009 of unpremeditated murder for the death of Ali Mansur, an Iraqi who was suspected of belonging to Al-Qaeda.
Mansur was picked up by US troops following a bomb explosion that killed two members of Behenna's unit but was released.
Behenna later conducted his own interrogation of Mansur and claimed at his trial that he killed him in self-defense.
In granting the pardon, the White House said Behenna's case had "attracted broad support from the military, Oklahoma elected officials, and the public."
Hina Shamsi, director of the National Security Project at the American Civil Liberties Union, condemned the presidential pardon for Behenna.
"This pardon is a presidential endorsement of a murder that violated the military's own code of justice," Shamsi said in a statement.
"The military appeals court found Behenna disobeyed orders, became the aggressor against his prisoner, and had no justification for killing a naked, unarmed Iraqi man in the desert, away from an actual battlefield.
"Trump, as commander-in-chief, and top military leaders should prevent war crimes, not endorse or excuse them," Shamsi said.
? 2019 AFP


I had a computer that I needed to remote into. I didn't have any of my normal remote access tools installed on it, so I needed to find another way into it remotely.
I then tried Remote Desktop and it worked! PowerShell for the win!


text:
Peter Mukerjea
Rohit Tiwari was killed by wife over his drinking habits: Delhi Police
According to the crime branch officials, Rohit Tiwari's wife Apoorva was arrested as the main suspect basis forensic reports.
Updated : April 25, 2019, 4:07 am
CBI court rejects Peter Mukerjea bail plea
A court had earlier granted Mukerjea permission to get a bypass surgery at a private hospital and underwent the operation.
Updated : April 4, 2019, 9:12 pm
3D technology helps recreate face of murder victim in Mumbai
The forensic team reconstructs a disfigured face on the basis of jaw bones measurement, chin line, nose cavity and also analysing the skin.
Updated : March 29, 2019, 12:39 pm
UP: Body of 8-yr-old boy found on railway tracks
The body was found on Thursday evening. Police suspected that the boy had accidentally fallen from a running train.
Updated : March 29, 2019, 11:52 am
Dehradun: School buries body of 12-year-old to hide murder by students
In an attempt to hide the murder of a 12-year-old student, authorities in a Dehradun school buried the body of the victim, who was beaten to death by his seniors.
Congress infighting over Karti Chidambaram's candidature in Tamil Nadu
Congress leader Sudarsana Natchiappan slammed the party's decision of allowing Karti Chidambaram to fight the elections claiming that it would harm the party.
Two Gurugram lawyers held for extortion
A former journalist, identified as Rashpal Singh Bhardwaj, with a prominent English daily was also involved in the alleged conspiracy.
Updated : March 23, 2019, 3:17 am
Indian-American couple held guilty of human trafficking
The Indian-American couple faces a maximum statutory penalty of 20 years in prison and a USD 250,000 fine.
Bihar: Rapid Action Force jawan shot dead in Muzaffarpur
The two youth, sitting atop a bike, had blocked the movement of vehicles and were asked to move by the Rapid Action Force(RAF) jawan. Irked by this, the accused fired at Sudhir Kumar Manjhi.
Rickshaw puller arrested for raping his minor daughter
A case has been registered under relevant sections of the Indian Penal Code and the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act, the officer said.
Sheena Bora murder: Peter Mukerjea hospitalised after complaint of chest pain
Sheena Bora murder accused Peter Mukerjea has been admitted to JJ Hospital in Mumbai. He had been complaining of chest pain for last few days. He was examined by Arthur Road jail authorities were he is lodged. The authorities decided to hospitalise him. Peter Mukerjea is accused of being part of the conspiracy to murder Sheena Bora.
Sheena Bora murder accused Peter Mukerjea admitted to Mumbai's JJ hospital
Mukerjea, who is currently serving a sentence in the Arthur Road jail, had been complaining of chest pains for the last few days and was taken to the hospital after the jail authorities checked on him yesterday.
Sheena Bora murder case: In court, CBI terms Peter Mukerjea silent killer
Peter Mukerjea, arrested in the sensational Sheena Bora murder case in 2015, had moved the bail application in November last year before special CBI Judge J C Jagdale. This is the third time he has approached the court for bail.
Updated : March 8, 2019, 10:22 pm
Former Mumbai top cop interfered in Sheena Bora investigation, claim Indrani's lawyers
Former Maharashtra Principal Secretary (Home) said he endorsed the proposal to transfer the case to CBI as he found it to be in the interest of justice.
P Chidambaram grilled by ED for 5 hours in connection with INX Media
This happened shortly after he was part of a press conference held by Congress president Rahul Gandhi targeting the Modi Government over the Rafale deal.
Updated : February 8, 2019, 7:36 pm


text:
Cases of interest: August 2017
A summary of interesting or topical employment cases.
Home > Employment law > Cases of Interest > August 2017
Employment Relations (Triangular Employment) Amendment Act 2019
Employment Relations Amendment Act 2018
Compensation and cost award tables
December 2018 – January 2019
Email us a query
Lowe v Director-General of Health, Ministry of Health [2017] NZSC 115
Supreme Court - Whether relief carer meets definition of 'homeworker'
The Ministry of Health and District Health Boards (DHB) ran a scheme called Carer Support. The scheme provided respite for primary carers of disabled or elderly people by enabling them to obtain the services of relief carers. The Ministry and DHB would either reimburse or subsidise the primary carer for the amount paid to the relief carer or, alternatively, pay the relief carer directly.
At issue was the employment status of the appellant, a relief carer. In particular, whether she came within the definition of "homeworker" in s 5 (external link) of the Employment Relations Act 2000 (ERA). If she did, then she would be classed as an employee of the Ministry or the DHB under s 6(1)(b) (external link) of the ERA.
The majority held that the appellant was not a homeworker and therefore not an employee. The majority's reasons varied.
Arnold and O'Regan JJ held that the appellant was not a homeworker because the Ministry and DHB did not directly engage her to do work for them (see para 71). They held that engagement requires an event to occur which creates a relationship between the hirer and the person being engaged (see para 63). This was lacking because neither the Ministry nor the DHB had a role in selecting relief carers (see para 65).
Young J held that the appellant was not a homeworker because her provision of relief care was not in the course of the Ministry or the DHB's "trade or business" and the relief care she carried out was not "for" the Ministry or DHB (see para 85).
Link to case (external link)
Fraser v McDonald's Restaurants (New Zealand) Ltd [2017] NZEmpC 95
Employment Court - Meaning of availability provision - Section 67D of Employment Relations Act 2000
At issue was whether the individual employment agreements in question contained an availability provision per s 67D of the Employment Relations Act.
Under the roster arrangements, the employees nominated their availability rather than being asked to meet the employer's unilaterally stated expectations as to when the employees should be available. The employment agreement stated that employees would be rostered according to their availability but from time to they may be "requested" to work additional hours (see para 20-21).
The employees had been offered hours in addition to their nominated hours and turned them down. The employer did not penalise the employees for refusing to work additional hours (see para 25-26).
The Court held that the employees' shifts were to be "negotiated under a genuine consensus process". The word "request" in the employment agreement meant the employees could be asked, but not compelled, to be available for hours beyond their guaranteed hours (see para 58).
The Court held that the possibility of employees being able to arrange substitutes to work their shifts benefited the employees as much as it did the employers. There was no disproportionate advantage to the employers (see para 59).
The Court concluded that there was no availability provision.
Nel v ASB Bank Limited [2017] NZEmpC 97
Employment Court - What constitutes disparity of treatment
The employee claimed unjustified dismissal on various grounds including disparity of treatment. The employee was dismissed after making romantic advances towards a subordinate colleague. The employee alleged the working environment was "generally relatively smutty" and highlighted previous incidents of drug-taking, bullying and crude sexual remarks to a customer where no disciplinary action was taken.
The employer sought to strike out the employee's disparity of treatment pleadings. It claimed the examples of disparity provided were not "truly parallel" or "substantially similar" to the employee's circumstances. This was the standard used in United Kingdom Employment Appeal Tribunal case Hadjioannou v Coral Casinos Ltd [1981] IRLR 352, an extract of which was cited in by the New Zealand Court of Appeal in Chief Executive of the Department of Inland Revenue v Buchanan [2005] ERNZ 767.
The Employment Court held that it was unlikely that the Court of Appeal in Buchanan intended to implicitly approve the descriptors of "truly parallel" and "substantially similar": (see para 37).
The Court held that an analysis of parity of treatment is necessarily case-specific involving questions of fact and degree (see para 40). Because of this the Court held it was not necessary or desirable to define what constitutes disparity: (see para 47).
However, the Court provided the following guidance: (para 52).
"[W]hen making a disparity assessment, it will be necessary to consider whether the comparative conduct is sufficiently similar. Consideration should be given to all relevant circumstances, including context. The assessment will be case-specific. The analysis is for the purpose of determining whether the dismissal or other steps taken meets the statutory test of justification under s 103A of the Act."
The Court went on to dismiss the strike out application on the grounds it could not be certain the allegations could not possibly succeed.


text:
Tag: Helen Thomas
In Memoriam: Helen Thomas 1920 – 2013
By TMC in News, Politics
Journalism and the world lost one of its greatest on Saturday, the "Dean of the White House Correspondents" Helen Thomas died at her home in Washington. She was 92.
She had a lot of "firsts" for women in journalism. She broke down the walls of the traditional "old boys' clubs" of the Beltway:
Thomas was the first female officer of the National Press Club, the first female member and president of the White House Correspondents' Association, and the first female member of the Gridiron Club [..]
In 1962, Thomas convinced Kennedy to not attend the annual dinners held for the White House correspondents and photographers if they disallowed women from attending. Kennedy moved for the dinners to be combined into one event, with women allowed to attend. In 1970, UPI named Thomas their chief White House correspondent, making her the first woman to serve in the position. She was named the chief of UPI's White House bureau in 1974.
Thomas was the only female print journalist to travel to China with President Richard Nixon during his 1972 visit to China. During the Watergate scandal, Martha Beall Mitchell, wife of United States Attorney General John N. Mitchell, frequently called Thomas to discuss how the Nixon administration was using Mitchell as a scapegoat.
She was the only member of the White House press corp to have her own seat, all the other seats are designated for the media outlets. She often reminded her colleagues, "We are not here to be their friends."
She was remembered fondly by many this weekend.
She is a the roll model for all us who report the news,
We are the watch dogs
~Helen Thomas~
Thank you, Helen Thomas
Helen Thomas, Obituary, TMC News, TMC Politics
Professional Journalists retire Helen Thomas award
By dharmasyd
Journalists retire award named for Helen Thomas
(JTA) — The Society of Professional Journalists retired a lifetime achievement award named for Helen Thomas.
The society's board on Jan. 14 accepted the recommendation issued by its executive committee on Jan. 8 based on anti-Zionist remarks made by the longtime journalist.
"While we support Helen Thomas' right to speak her opinion, we condemn her statements in December as offensive and inappropriate," the executive committee said at the time.
On Dec. 2, in a speech to an Arab-American group in Dearborn, Mich., Thomas, 90, said that Congress, the White House, Hollywood and Wall Street "are owned by the Zionists."
The remarks raised fresh concerns about the sincerity of an apology for her remarks last summer to a video blogger that Jews "should get the hell out of Palestine" and "go home" to Poland, Germany and the United States.
The award itself would be retired, officials of the Society of Professional Journalists said.
"The controversy surrounding this award has overshadowed the reason it exists," the Indianapolis-based national group said in a statement. "To continue offering the award would reignite the controversy each year and take away from its purpose: honoring a lifetime of work in journalism. No individual worthy of such honor should have to face this controversy. No honoree should have to decide if the possible backlash is worth being recognized for his or her contribution to journalism."
The Society for Professional Journalists, established in 1909, granted Thomas its first lifetime achievement honor in 2000, and pledged to name subsequent awards for her. It has been awarded nine times since its debut. The award has no cash value.
Officials emphasized that Thomas' 2000 award was not rescinded.
Thomas, born to Lebanese immigrants, for decades was the White House correspondent for the United Press International wire service. She subsequently was a columnist for Hearst Corp., but resigned that post after her comments last summer. She recently began writing a column for a free Virginia weekly newspaper, the Falls Church News-Press.
Wayne State University, Thomas' alma mater, immediately withdrew its Helen Thomas Spirit of Diversity in the Media Award following her resignation from Hearst.
This article was made possible by the support of readers like you. Donate to JTA now.
The Week in Editorial Cartoons – BP is the New BS
By JekyllnHyde in Barack Obama, Economy
Crossposted at Daily Kos
THE WEEK IN EDITORIAL CARTOONS
This weekly diary takes a look at the past week's important news stories from the perspective of our leading editorial cartoonists (including a few foreign ones) with analysis and commentary added in by me.
When evaluating a cartoon, ask yourself these questions:
1. Does a cartoon add to my existing knowledge base and help crystallize my thinking about the issue depicted?
2. Does the cartoonist have any obvious biases that distort reality?
3. Is the cartoonist reflecting prevailing public opinion or trying to shape it?
The answers will help determine the effectiveness of the cartoonist's message.
Taylor Jones, Politicalcartoons.com, Buy this cartoon
2010 FIFA World Cup, 2010 Primary Elections, Afghanistan, Banking Reform, British Petroleum, Democratic Party, eKos, Environmental Catastrophe, Helen Thomas, homophobia, immigration reform, Iran, Israel, lies, public anger, public relations spin, soccer, south africa, Supreme Court of the United States, Teabaggers, The Week in Editorial Cartoons, Tony Hayward, wildlife destruction, wingnuts
Breaking News : Helen Thomas resigns
Yahoo News, 14 minutes ago reported Helen Thomas resigned this morning over the flap from her I/P comments. Many people called on Hearst to fire her.
The update which includes comments by Ari Fleischer and a statement by Robert Gibbs at this morning's WH briefing demonstrates the inflamatory nature of this issue.
Just shows it can happen anywhere these days, I guess.
Helen Thomas, I/P remarks
Helen Thomas on Feminism, McCarthyism & the White House Press Corps
By Edger in Barack Obama
The third segment of Helen Thomas' interview talking with Paul Jay of The Real News. In this segment Helen talks about the challenges she faced as a woman journalist in her early days as a member of the White House Press Corps, about the continuing discrimination women still face in political journalism, and about her experiences and reflections on the era of McCarthyism.
Real News Network – April 01, 2010
Transcript here
Parts 1 & 2 of this interview are here, in which Helen talked about Barack Obama's credibility and political integrity, and about the capitulation of US media to the Bush Administration and foreign policy establishment during the run up to the 2003 Iraq invasion and subsequent occupation of Iraq.
feminism, Helen Thomas, White House Press Corps
PART 2 ADDED: Credibility: Helen Thomas on her question for Obama, & media and political integrity
Part 2 added below the fold March 28, 2:50 PM PST
In part one of his interview with Helen Thomas, longest-serving member of the White House Press Corps, The Real New Network's Paul Jay asks her about her first question for President Obama.
The question, asking President Obama to name all the countries in the Middle-East that have nuclear weapons, was avoided by the President, who claimed to not want to "speculate".
Thomas claims that knowledge of Israeli nukes is very public in DC and Obama's answer shows a lack of credibility. She explains the importance of this question for U.S. policy in the region.
Finally, she confides that she has not been called on by the President since that day, but that if she does, she will ask him whether or not he has found any more information about nukes in the Middle-East since their last encounter.
Real News Network – March 27, 2010
Helen Thomas, Middle East, Nuclear Arms, US Foreign Policy


text:
About the Speaker Series
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Yoshinori H. T. Himel
Yoshinori Himel is a 1975 King Hall graduate, a part-time law teacher there, and a retired Assistant United States Attorney. He wrote his first computer program in 1955 and got his bachelor's in mathematics from Harvard. He was ABAS's founding President. ABAS, the State Bar, VLSP, the King Hall Alumni Association, and others have honored him for his pro bono work. He has been president of the Foundation since 1999.
Henry D. Nanjo
Henry D. Nanjo, Secretary, who has a decade in private practice as a litigator and over twenty years as a government lawyer, currently is Chief Counsel with the CA State Board of Equalization. He is a past President of ABAS, Asian/Pacific Bar Assn. of CA, and the APSEA Foundation. Henry is a founding member of CAPITAL, and continues to be active in a number of community and church activities.
Jerilyn Paik
CFO/Treasurer
Jerilyn ("Jeri") Paik formed the ABAS Law Foundation in 1997, and is the CFO. She serves as a co-chair of the Speaker Series and formerly chaired the ABAS annual golf tournament. When not helping her favorite non-profit, she can be reached at her law firm. She is certified by the State Bar of CA, Bd. of Legal Specialization, as a specialist in her principal areas of practice, which are estate planning, probate and trust administration. For more information about her, visit www.jplawoffice.com.
Michael K. Iwahiro
Mike was born in Los Angeles, raised in Sacramento, schooled at Berkeley, and learned hard work as a farmhand on his grandparents' North Shore, Oahu farm. Mike believes his 30+ years of experience as a business attorney helps him serve the board well. He has been with the Foundation long enough to be a part of the steady push to expand program and service offerings and looks forward to continuing that effort along with the fundraising necessary to sustain it. Email Mike at miwahiro@lawburton.com
Joshua Kaizuka
Joshua Kaizuka has been on the board since 2012 and works on a number of educational and fundraising events for the Law Foundation. He is a past President of the Asian/Pacific Bar Association of Sacramento (ABAS) and is the co-chair of the civil rights committee and co-president for Florin chapter of the Japanese American Citizens League (JACL). Josh is a criminal defense lawyer by day and enjoys touring the country on a motorcycle in his free time.
Jeannie Lee Jones
Jeannie Lee Jones was the ABAS President in 2010 and served on the SCBA as an elected board member from 2011-2014. She has previously interned for LSNC and volunteered in VLSP's debt collection clinic. Ms. Jones has helped plan and organize numerous events such as the annual ABAS dinner and the SCBA Bench Bar reception.
Kathryn E. Doi
Kara K. Ueda
Kara Ueda practices municipal law at Best Best & Krieger LLP. She is a 2000 King Hall graduate and an adjunct professor there. Kara is a past President of the Asian/Pacific Bar Association of Sacramento (ABAS). Kara can be reached at kara.ueda@bbklaw.com.
Christopher S. Alvarez
ABAS Representative - Board Member
Chris Alvarez practices labor and employment law at Fisher & Phillips LLP. He is the current President for the Asian/Pacific Bar Association of Sacramento and a board member of the Sacramento Filipino Lawyers Association.
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ASCOMP Software is software developer from Germany, providing software solutions for data-backup and synchronization, secure data deletion and encryption, and also software for homes and offices.
Design of virtual boxes set for ASCOMP Software company had primarily reflect German quality and trustworthiness.
After making several variant of standard box design we created 13 boxshots for company's software products. To make all boxes look the same qualitatively, we finalized design of three icons, which client didn't have in high resolution.
We recently ordered several icons and boxshots and are very impressed of the great work of IconDesignLab! Being able to participate in design process using the dashboard is excellent. With this we can ensure to get exactly what we need in a very short time - GREAT!


A meeting has been scheduled where residents can express their concerns to the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) about the numerous flights over our area. Residents are primarily concerned about the safety of such flights over this densely populated neighborhood, as well as the noise and pollution. More recently, there have been few flights because of temperature, season, etc., but you only have to remember what it was like last summer.
The meeting is set for Wednesday, April 26, at 7:00 PM, 90 Moonachie Avenue (not Street), Airport Administration Building, Teterboro, in the conference room. Parking is available at the site.
The Hackensack Condo/Co-op Advisory Board has been in contact with various government agencies to have planes rerouted. This request for your attendance is being made to residents of all buildings in the area through the Hackensack Condo/Co-op Advisory Board. Only with a large turnout can we hope to garner the needed attention to have the FAA reconsider their actions.
The FAA had conducted a trial where planes would be sent over Route 17, rather than over our area. However, at the completion of the trial period, they found there was "not sufficient usage" to justify it becoming permanent. In the opinion of the Hackensack Condo/Co-op Advisory Board, the test should have ensured that sufficient traffic flew over Route 17, so that a proper evaluation could have been made.
PLEASE GATHER YOUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS AND ATTEND THIS MEETING.
This meeting is being held by TANAAC (Teterboro Noise Abatement Advisory Committee).
We are the Hackensack Condo/Co Op Advisory Board, created by the city of Hackensack to represent the 65 high rise and multi dwelling buildings, regarding issues of safety and quality of life.
• Over 15,000 families of men, women and children live in the most densely populated area of the city, Prospect Avenue. On a daily basis, we live with the noise, pollution, the smell of fumes, and most importantly, the danger of the hundreds of planes that fly over our neighborhood on a weekly basis.
• In addition to the danger to our high rise buildings, these planes fly over HUMC and five schools.
• Why must planes fly in during the middle of the night?
• The current flight path into Teterboro is perverse, it should be the last place for this volume of air traffic.
• Allowing this flight path to continue is dangerous and the noise and pollution to our neighborhood is unacceptable. We live with the danger and noise pollution 24 hours a day- this simply cannot continue.
Minor point: the incident occurred during takeoff.
I don't think the plane ever got off the ground.


An elderly grandparent moving in with his daughter's family wished to sell his property to provide him with capital for his dotage. He was no longer well enough to live on his own.
The family didn't want to lose the house so the grandson has agreed to purchase it at full market value.
Associated transactions are frowned upon by most buy to let lenders these days but we found a lender happy to help. Whilst the grandson did have the deposit available in cash the lender would have been happy to allow a sizable gifted deposit as well.


Smart Send does not provide a packaging service or provide packaging material/supplies. The sender must package the goods appropriately prior to a booking being completed on our site.
Smart Send has developed an extensive list of common items sent by our customers. Please check the Packaging Guide on our site at https://www.smartsend.com.au/describegoods.cfm for the correct packaging method and whether we can transport your particular item. If your goods are not listed please click on Submit a Ticket via the link at the top of this page to receive a customised response from one of our staff.


Rose bought $120,000 of products on credit from Caudill and did not pay. Before a district court ruled for Caudill, Rose gave 440 acres of land to his son Matt, then filed for bankruptcy. Caudill began an adversary proceeding, asking the judge to pull the land into the estate under 11 U.S.C. 548. The bankruptcy trustee's similar request was settled for payment of $100,000. The bankruptcy judge approved that settlement over Caudill's objection. To get a discharge, Rose reaffirmed his debt to Caudill. He promised to pay $100,000, with an immediate $15,000; failure to pay entitles Caudill to a judgment for $300,000. Rose paid the $15,000 but nothing more. Caudill might have sought to rescind the discharge, but filed a new suit based on the reaffirmation agreement, obtaining a $285,000 default judgment. Rose failed to pay. Caudill commenced supplemental proceedings, contending that, under Indiana law, it can execute on the land that was fraudulently conveyed to Matt. Rose and Matt did not deny that the transfer was a fraudulent conveyance but argued that the settlement of the Trustee's claim precluded further action to collect Rose's debts from the value of the land. The district court and Seventh Circuit rejected that argument, observing that issue preclusion depends on an actual decision, by a judge, that is necessary to the earlier litigation. Whether the transfer of the land was a fraudulent conveyance was not actually litigated; the Trustee's claim was settled.
Where bankruptcy trustee's claim of fraudulent conveyance was settled without a judicial determination of whether the transfer was fraudulent, a creditor is not precluded from later alleging that the conveyance was fraudulent.


RT @Inspire_Us: If you figured it all out today, what would be the point of tomorrow? ENJOY the process of being a work in progress.
Oh so cookie just wants to cheat on lucious.
[email protected] could prevent the next mass shooting. 20 years post-Columbine we need to do better. Why doesn't Visa report suspicious gun purchases?


The audio listener is the point in the scene from where all the sounds are heard.
The audio listener defines the global properties of the audio environment, it defines where and how sounds and musics are heard.
If sf::View is the eyes of the user, then sf::Listener is his ears (by the way, they are often linked together – same position, orientation, etc.).
sf::Listener is a simple interface, which allows to setup the listener in the 3D audio environment (position, direction and up vector), and to adjust the global volume.
Because the listener is unique in the scene, sf::Listener only contains static functions and doesn't have to be instantiated.
Definition at line 42 of file Listener.hpp.
Get the current forward vector of the listener in the scene.
Get the current value of the global volume.
Get the current position of the listener in the scene.
Get the current upward vector of the listener in the scene.
Set the forward vector of the listener in the scene.
The direction (also called "at vector") is the vector pointing forward from the listener's perspective. Together with the up vector, it defines the 3D orientation of the listener in the scene. The direction vector doesn't have to be normalized. The default listener's direction is (0, 0, -1).
Change the global volume of all the sounds and musics.
The volume is a number between 0 and 100; it is combined with the individual volume of each sound / music. The default value for the volume is 100 (maximum).
Set the position of the listener in the scene.
The default listener's position is (0, 0, 0).
Set the upward vector of the listener in the scene.
The up vector is the vector that points upward from the listener's perspective. Together with the direction, it defines the 3D orientation of the listener in the scene. The up vector doesn't have to be normalized. The default listener's up vector is (0, 1, 0). It is usually not necessary to change it, especially in 2D scenarios.


- * (c) Copyright 2009-2012 ARM Limited.
- * substantial portions of the Software.
- * OUT OF OR IN CONNECTION WITH THE SOFTWARE OR THE USE OR OTHER DEALINGS IN THE SOFTWARE.
-/** TSI Electrode with simple data required for touch detection.
-    /** Get TSI Channel for PinName.
-     * @returns TSI channel ID for use in constructor of TSIAnalogSlider and TSIElectrode.
-     * @throws compile-time error if target is not supported, or runtime error if pin does not match any channel.
-    #error "Unknown target for TSIElectrode::getTSIChannel() - only supports KL25Z so far."
-/** Analog slider which consists of two electrodes.
-    /** Get current electrode.
-    /** Set current electrode which is being measured.
-    /** Get next electrode.
-    /** Return absolute distance position.
-    /** Return absolute precentage position.
-    /** Set value to the scan in progress flag.
-    /** Return instance to Analog slider. Used in tsi irq.


Pavo Pavo quite literally sat down with us at Studio G in their former home of Brooklyn to perform a haunting Buzzsession, directed by Brenna Perez. Their session showcased the title track from their recent album, "Mystery Hour," as well as the final song of the album, "Goldenrod." The session highlights the magical voices of Eliza Bagg and Oliver Hill, who also accompanies on guitar, as they weave intricate harmonies together. Missing the three members who typically round out their quintet, Bagg and Hill still have no trouble demonstrating their dynamic range, from a hushed whispers to a thundering crescendos.
For the first minute or so of "Mystery Hour," Hill doesn't even touch his guitar, letting the vocal harmonies steal the show. The backing track, though full of grandeur, never undercuts the strength of the vocals or attention to detail in the harmonic arrangement. When Hill finally does bring in the guitar, he plays with a slide, the slightest motions of his fingers sending the notes out of key, fully committing to the unstable tension of the song, "Mon cheri, I'm designed to be unsatisfied." The seamless blending of their two voices, contrasted with the unease of Hill's guitar-playing, serves to remind us that these songs were written, believe it or not, in the aftermath of the breakup of their relationship. "If this is meant to bend / It's sadder still to see it break," they sing in "Goldenrod," whose emptiness is felt in the lack of a backing track. It's heartbreaking, but somehow reassuring, to hear the two alone, together, still.


text:
November 21, 2013 by Tim McKee
A few weeks ago I heard the theologian Matthew Fox discuss the different paths we walk in life; in his parlance, the different vias. I was particularly struck by the way he talked about the via negativa, which he characterized as periods when we experience suffering, darkness, silence, and solitude.
Fox posited that our discomfort with the difficult is mirrored by our avoidance of literal darkness: "Everything Is Illuminated" is not just a book title — from nightlights in kid's bedrooms to flashlights on smartphones we tend to enlighten our worlds rather than face the dark in them. How breathtaking the night sky is when we are away from the city and really see the stars! And how ghoulish a face at night looks when bathed in the blue light of a computer screen. Perhaps there is something almost sinister about light if we overuse it.
For a good stretch my sister and brother in law held weekly "Blackout Tuesdays" in their home: when the sun went down, no machines were used until morning. This was inconvenient for sure — candles instead of lights; meals without ovens; questions without the easy answers found in computers. But by their reports, both parents and children went to bed with satisfaction deep in their bones — proud that they'd gone off the grid and made it, and also enlivened by the experience of living in the dark.
A few weeks ago my son Rio and I were walking in Dimond Park in Oakland, where the grass and playground eventually give way to a dirt trail that winds up the canyon. At one point, the stream we were following led to a dark tunnel. The path weaved around and over it, but Rio wanted to go straight ahead. It was a warm day, the kind when you can lift your face to the sun and find its warmth filling you up until worry has no room. The tunnel, on the other hand, looked cold and foreboding. But I followed Rio's lead, and we began walking in a tunnel so long we could not see daylight. As the creek trickled by and my hands groped their way along the walls, I started to feel strange. At first irrational thoughts shot through me: Could a train be coming? Could there be no exit at the end? Could the entire tunnel spontaneously collapse and trap us inside? Would I lose Rio forever to the dark? But then another feeling came — without the gift of sight, my other senses were more acute: the feel of the hard granite; the soft sound of water over rock. I suddenly felt like a monk walking back to his hermitage at night, the town's creek and the walls of the monastery my only guides home.
After about five minutes, I finally saw a pinhole of light in the distance. As we reached the exit, I asked Rio if he had felt scared.
"Not scared," he replied. "Just different."
A few days later my father had a catastrophic stroke and fell into a deep coma. I flew down immediately and arrived at the post-acute care center to find him in what I can best describe as a deep sleep. The nurse told me she was shocked he was still breathing on his own, as if he were waiting for someone. "His lungs are strong," she observed. "Was he a runner?"
"Nope," I responded. "Just stubborn as hell."
Even though my father showed no response when I shouted his name in his ear, I told him everything I needed to tell him. I caressed his cheekbone as I told him how much I loved him. How much I always had. I thanked him for coaching my little league baseball team for so many years. I forgave him for being such a difficult man. I stroked his earlobes. Other than the occasional awkward hug, I hadn't been physically intimate with him in 70 years. How sad that only his imminent death was allowing that kind of contact. And yet how alive I felt bestowing it upon him. I told him I would return the next morning and would be happy to see him. But I also whispered, "You don't have to hold on anymore. Maybe you should just go."
When the nurse called me at 5 am the next morning to tell me my father had simply stopped breathing, I was not surprised. I returned to the center and stood next to my father's dead body. I had never been so close to one. I touched him as I had the night before, although of course it was completely different now. I now truly understand that the skin is an organ. And yet I continued to graze his stiff cheekbone with my knuckle and did the only thing I could think of to ease his spirit into whatever realm it reaches next: I made a circle with my fingers around my own beating heart and sprinkled whatever they found there onto his corpse. I stood there in silence for a long time. Then I said goodbye.
I've tended to walk around life's dark tunnels, or hold my breath through them. End, End, End seems to be my mantra. But on that morning, I was content to touch life's cold stone.
Posted in Interior worlds, Memorable people	| Tagged darkness, death, light, loss, Matthew Fox, Tunnel | 15 Comments
July 3, 2012 by Tim McKee
Two Hands Clapping
The dogs are panting. My house is empty except for three overheated canines. It is their nature to breathe these chants. Some days I want to curse them and say, "Leave me be! My partner and son are gone; let me float totally free." But then I find the walk with them brings clarity: above creek I hear the crickets and see the fireflies. Their joy, free of leash on country road, makes me feel beneficent. If I were worthless they would get no freedom: floor-bound chez moi. But here we are, a veritable clan of creatures, trotting and smiling, a sniff here and there to investigate what the path has to offer.
But then the dogs fade to the background. I stumble into the nougat of me, unfiltered through duty and company, the twisting crawling snail that I must celebrate: see; see through; see into. Inside is an emptiness that wants to fill up — some nascent piece of me that still wonders about those breaking moments from childhood and fantasizes about replaying them. But rerun can't provide the inflate — I must find air in these very moments.
One day I found my voice. It was wavering at first, but I spoke up and ears turned because I had something to say. Part of me was afraid of this light; I'd developed an innate instinct to self-dim. But then I met Jack Hirschman. He had a peculiar habit: after he finished a poem at a public reading, he'd back away from the mic, raise his hands, and join them in resolute claps. A casual observer might have thought it tacky for him to celebrate his own poems. But if you looked closely, you saw that Jack wore a slightly surprised expression in these moments, as if shocked but delighted by what had come out of him, by what his words had done to the night. It was not egoic: he was honoring what was moving through him. Jack taught me that getting out of our own way is sometimes the most noble act.
After one reading in North Beach, I watched Jack slip out of the bar. The crowd and praise is just too much, I thought. I peeked out to the window to see where he was going. I found him on Kerouac alley, throwing a tennis ball against the mural — his own little game of toss and catch. He seemed so enraptured and childlike then, as if inhabiting his truest self and thereby transcending constructed ones.
Posted in Memorable people, The World Outside	| Tagged dogs, Jack Hirschman, loneliness, North Beach, past, shadow | 5 Comments
November 3, 2011 by Tim McKee
Not my Pinewood Derby car...
My fallout with the Cub Scouts began with Mussolini and ended with a Pinewood Derby Car.
I was nine years old and living with my parents and sister in Los Angeles. My father was an avid reader and World War II history buff; he'd often sit on the couch by the fire, thick book in his hand, oblivious to the fact that I was spying on him from just feet away, trying to get as close to him as I could.
I think my father regarded my sister and me more as miniature adults than as children. He took us to R-rated movies years before our time and regaled me not with nighttime stories of magical creatures or superheroes but rather with the finer points of Nazism and fascism. He told me how Adolf Hitler used to intentionally arrive late to Nazi rallies, the crowd's impatience roiling into nationalistic fervor once the Fuhrer finally took to the stage. He told me about Mussolini, El Duce, how he adorned Italy with statues and posters of himself and trained black-shirted fascist youth in anthems and songs.
One night I was at my weekly Cub Scout meeting; we had just finished reciting the Cub Scout Promise, and as we lifted our fingers to our brows to give the Cub Scout Salute, it suddenly occurred to me that all of my pack mates were dressed the same: identical blue uniforms, identical gold scarfs around our necks; identical merit badges adorning our breast pockets. When I returned home from the meeting, I announced urgently to my parents, "I've got to quit the Cub Scouts!" When they asked why, I revealed, as if it were obvious: "Because they're fascists!"
My parents didn't disagree; in fact, they told me I could quit, as long as I finished out the year. After all, I had the Pinewood Derby to look forward to.
I was excited about the Pinewood Derby. Each Scout would arrive home with a small wooden rectangular block, four nails, and four plastic wheels. Our task was to transform these materials into a sleek racing car that would speed down a slotted wooden track against other Scouts on the appointed night.
Unfortunately, shortly before my Pinewood Derby packet arrived, my parents announced that they were getting divorced. On New Year's Day, my father unceremoniously moved out with little more than his personal belongings, leaving my sister, mother, and me behind in a house that suddenly felt too big.
I remember one evening I was walking through the dining room when I sensed someone in the room. I took a few steps back to see my mother sitting alone in the dark. "When is Papa coming back?" I asked. "I don't know," she said, and she burst into tears.
But my mom was also a fighter. There were torrential downpours in Los Angeles that winter, and one afternoon my mom called my sister and me downstairs. She showed us how the water level on the back patio was rising so high that it was threatening to seep through the door, which would spell ruin for the house she and my father were about to sell. She made us get into our raincoats and handed us both outdoor brooms, and the three of us spent the next several hours pushing the water away from the door and toward the patio's overtaxed drains. The water almost leaked in, but in the end we saved the house.
So I had no reason to think my mother and me couldn't make a winning Pinewood Derby car. We worked on it in the breakfast nook; my mom wore a blue bandanna around her head, and I remember the smell of sawdust as we used our rudimentary tools to turn the block of wood into a race car: one handsaw, sandpaper, one paintbrush, and paint. In the end, it was a simple vehicle: triangular in shape (not a curve on it), and painted a chirpy orange and red.
The night of the Pinewood Derby, my mother was busy, so I caught a ride with my friend Greg Magnuson and his father. Mr. Magnuson knew me from sleepovers and was, I believe, aware of my parents' recent divorce. When we entered the school gymnasium, I was struck immediately by the preponderance of Dads there, most of them showing off the cars their sons had supposedly made. I sensed from their prideful grins that they had been the ones most likely wielding the lathes.
I quickly found my pack mates, and we stood in a circle sizing up each other's cars. It went well at first, but then one of my friends asked, "Hey, what did you guys do about weights?" Simultaneously, my friends turned their cars over to reveal that they had all somehow added weight to their wooden cars; some had carved out notches in the wood and glued in melted-down fishing weights. Others had used duct tape to fasten coins to their cars' undersides. I had nothing.
As it turns out, you were just supposed to "know" that a heavier car meant a faster car on the Derby's gravity-based track. My mother and I couldn't have known this; it must have been some inside information shared among fathers. In a fit of anger, alienation, and panic, I threw my car down onto the floor and ran out of the gymnasium in tears.
I didn't know where I was going, just that I wanted to get away from this world I didn't feel part of. I ran until I started to tire. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. There was Mr. Magnuson, who brought me towards him and whispered, "It's OK, Tim. Come on back inside."
Mr. Magnuson and I walked back to the gym, where we found my car and the races I was scheduled for. I lost three times in a row, even the consolation round.
In the days and weeks and months and years that followed, I did what we do with a painful memory: I pushed it down, let a thick skin grow over it, forgot about it. Until about two decades later. I was in my late twenties, in the midst of a surge of cathartic writing; I was feverishly composing a series of rants and screeds to my father, cataloging every crime he'd committed. I even sent him some of these poems.
But in the midst of this wreckage, I stumbled into a more-tender memory, the one of Mr. Magnuson and the Pinewood Derby. What lived with me from that night was not losing the races, nor my father's absence, nor the fact that my mother had been with me at every step of that boyhood ritual except the final one, when I needed her the most. No, what stayed with me was the feel of Mr. Magnuson's hand on my shoulder, the way it felt to turn into him for that tiny second.
Last week, I returned home to Bynum after being out of town for a week. I was flying in late, so when I got home, Rio was already asleep. The next morning, I went into his room to wake him up for school. I sat on his bed next to him, and he must have sensed I was there, because he lifted one eyelid and directed his gaze up towards me. He slowly brought his arm out from beneath the blanket, reached up to my face, and gently placed his hand on the back of my neck. More than any painful memory or imperfect moment, I believe it is these points of contact that make us who we are.
Posted in Love and relationships, Memorable people	| Tagged Cub Scouts, pain, Pinewood Derby, tenderness, World War II | 1 Comment
September 16, 2011 by Tim McKee
How Punk Rock Saved My Life
I found punk rock right when I needed it. My parents had just gotten divorced, and my mother, sister, and I had moved from West LA to Pasadena in November of my fifth-grade year.
I was so nervous the first day of my new school that I sauntered down to the bus stop, promptly threw up in the bushes, walked back to the house, and begged my mom to let me stay home. She complied, but the next day I faced a bus full of strangers.
Fortunately my mother had found out that her real-estate agent's son was a fifth-grader on the same bus. As eyes bore through me, I focused on the only kid sitting alone and said, hopefully, "Are you Matt?"
"No, I'm Rob," the bespectacled stranger replied, but he seemed glad to have someone fill the seat. He appeared as confused as I was; he'd just moved from North Carolina to California and was also new to the school.
Rob and I became fast friends. Some days I'd get off the bus at his house; some days he'd disembark at mine. We both got used skateboards and started listening to K-ROQ, the local alternative music station. Rob and I craved acceptance but also knew we were too proud to pander to the "cool crowd." So we naturally eschewed all that characterized them: Journey and Van Halen; long, feathery hair; hooded surf ponchos, Vans shoes. Instead we found punk rock.
What drew me to punk was not the fashion nor the speed of the music but rather its confident attitude that the alienated could collectively form a tribe. Even though I looked and spoke like a normal middle-class kid, I was angry inside: pissed that my parents had gotten divorced; pissed that I had to come home to an empty house while my mom worked; pissed that my mom and my older sister were arguing so often that the knobs on both their bedroom doors were loose from all the slamming; pissed that I'd had to say goodbye to all my friends and come to a new school where the coolest kid was a boy nicknamed "Chingi" who liked to start his morning by hitting me across the side of my head with an open palm as he walked down the bus's aisle.
And so my radicalization against the man began. Rob and I listened to songs that derided conformity and celebrated the unique. We favored the "straight edge" bands who rejected drugs, alcohol, and racism. We'd hop our skateboards and cruise down to the record shop, where we'd scour the used bin for good vinyl. When I got home, I'd finish my homework (still the good boy; it's my nature), close the door, and blare my punk. I sang along with Minor Threat's Ian MacKaye when he screamed, "I can't keep up! I can't keep up! I can't keep up! I'm out of step with the world!" And I remember goosebumps rising as I sang along with 7 Seconds:
"Hey it's 1984, With a glimpse of what's in store,
It looks like things are up to us.
No talk, just action in the streets,
That's what it's gonna take,
No calm youth in the U.S.A.
It's summertime, American riot!
I can't complain, unless I try it!
The heat is here, a teenage warning!
To those who fear, here's your warning!
The songs were like anthems to our disaffected souls. By eighth grade, we were doing what we could to signal our membership to the tribe: Rob started sporting t-shirts with President Reagan's face crossed out in red, and I was sporting a buzz cut and wearing flannel. I relished it when two six graders giggled in disbelief at how naked my scalp looked under my razor-shorn hair.
Somehow Rob and I convinced one of our parents to drop our skinny asses at LA's Olympic Auditorium, a dirty downtown joint famous for its raucous punk shows. I remember feeling nauseous as we waited in line for tickets, hoping there was a "chicken exit" like I'd sometimes seen at amusement parks beside particularly scary rides. The aggression of the scene, so energizing in music and lyric, scared the shit out of me in person.
When I think about conquering fears, walking through those doors that night was a seminal one. Finding the mosh pit was a close second. I had never slam-danced before, let alone really danced at all, but there I was, all 98 pounds of me, twisting and turning my way around an emptied-out circle where daring young punks did rounds, bumping into each other forcefully until they'd had their fill. From afar, it may have looked like 100 angry kids who'd lost their minds, chaotically flinging themselves at each other, but inside there was a strange grace and a code of honor strictly followed: you didn't intentionally try to hurt anybody, and if someone fell to the ground you immediately picked them up. I think I understood punk viscerally that night; we were all trying to release our frustration so that it didn't implode in our guts or explode through our fists, and we needed the music and our brethren to help us do this.
Now that I am a father, I'm faced with helping Rio find his own methods of transmutation. He gets angry, often, because he's a little firecracker, and he sometimes doesn't know what to do with his strong feelings. At times, he's lashed out physically, and this has landed him in trouble. Other times he has said hurtful words. I try to show him ways to release the frustration in non-destructive ways, because the last thing I want him to do with his emotions is to swallow them whole, letting them fester and ferment into the bitter juices of resentment.I've already started teaching him how to "rock out." These days, I score it a success when he stomps into his room, turns in the doorway to face the house, and screams, "Sheeeessshhh!"
A few weekends ago, I myself was feeling hot, frustrated, and hemmed in. I got some good cold beer, took off my shirt, and started pulling out some of my favorite punk-rock music. I held an imaginary guitar across my chest and stood before an invisible microphone. I went on to perform my own hour-long show, to no one in particular (although Annie told me later that she peeked in and smiled once in a while.) Though the songs were almost thirty years old, I still knew every damn lyric, every damn guitar lick, almost like they were inside me. As the beer disappeared and my arm went up and down in strums and the sweat broke out in rivulets, I felt like a teenager again — now out in the open instead of behind closed doors; now in my own home instead of in my mother's; now raising my own son who faces his own angst and the conundrum of finding ways to release it — but I swear I felt a live wire between me and the long line of those who sing loud and thrash hard rather than swallow deep and steep in silence.
Posted in Memorable people, The World Outside	| Tagged 7 Seconds, hardcore, KROQ-fm, Minor Threat, punk rock, slam dancing, teenagers | 6 Comments
August 25, 2011 by Tim McKee
Family Legends
Photo by Anna Blackshaw
I've had a number of memorable aunts in my lifetime, but only one was a badass who rode a motorbike: Aunt Cindy, who was married to my Uncle Richie for many years when I was a kid.
I'd see Aunt Cindy every summer when my parents would put my sister and I on a plane to Connecticut, where we'd spend the entire summer living with my grandparents. We'd spend part of the time at their house in Newington and the rest at their small cabin on the shores of Bashan Lake in East Haddam. My grandfather had started camping at Bashan Lake with my grandmother and their three kids in the 1940's, stopping by the mansion of the landowner Mr. Smith to pay him a few cents a night to put up a tent. Gradually my grandfather worked up the courage to ask Smith if he could pay him a monthly sum in exchange for the right to set up a permanent cabin. When my grandfather got the go ahead, he built a tiny cabin up at his house in Newington and brought it down in sections to the lake, where it still stands today.
I liked Newington, but my sister and I would eagerly await the moment when we'd see my grandmother starting to pack a cooler full of food and my grandfather gathering his fishing gear. Even their dog Sam would howl in anticipation as he saw my grandfather heading down to load the station wagon. On weekends we'd usually be joined by my Uncle Richie, who lived next door to my grandparents with his wife Cindy. Richie, my mom's brother, had become a paraplegic in his early twenties after doctors mishandled the removal of a tumor that had grown on one of his vertebrae.
Richie was a renowned fisherman on Bashan Lake. My grandfather had fitted their boat with a special chair for Richie, and we'd lower the vessel in and out of the water with a winch and chain. I'd accompany my uncle on most of his fishing expeditions, and we'd almost always return with a string of bass or trout.
Fishing became the tie that bound me to my uncle; with Aunt Cindy, the strands were numerous and ever expanding. Her curiosity and joy for life naturally aligned her with children. While other adults in my past might appear muted and gray in my memory, Cindy jumps out in vivid technicolor. She drove a baby-blue Chevy with a CB radio on which she was always talking to truckers. She rode a motorcycle whose color matched her car. She loved "fluffernutters," spreading peanut butter and marshmallow fluff onto toasted bread and letting the two layers melt and commingle before biting in. She had red hair and a smoker's laugh and a flowery bathing suit that looked out-of-place on her stocky body. She called my grandparents "Ma" and "Pop" with a sincerity that transcended "in-law." She played the guitar and sang beautifully; she once told me that old posters from her hometown in Pennsylvania advertising shows with her band in it used to say "with a voice like Joan Baez" next to her name. Some nights Ernie Olson a few cabins down would host bonfires, and Aunt Cindy would bring us and her guitar and spend hours leading the group of revelers in song while we tried to stay invisible in the background, incredulous that we were getting to stay up so late.
As a kid, I knew nothing about her relationship with Uncle Richie, other than that they seemed like best friends. And so I was surprised at age 13 when my mother told me that Cindy had left Richie and that they were getting a divorce. I never saw her again.
But last week, Annie, Rio, and I were up at the cabin (a yearly summer ritual), and I saw my cousin Billy, now in his forties. We started swapping Aunt Cindy stories — he told me that she showed him how to properly smoke a cigarette; that she'd patiently tried to teach him how to play guitar. He also reminded me that she served a pivotal role in keeping the cottage in the family back in the early 80s. What happened was that Mr. Smith and his wife had died and passed the land on to their children, who considered selling the entire lakeside property to a developer. Cindy initiated a series of meetings with neighbors who over the years had set up leases with the Smiths and built cottages that now lined the lake. Cindy researched home-owners associations and finally cobbled together a group of residents who pooled their money and convinced the Smith children to sell the land to the association instead of to the developer. Thirty years later, the Wildwood corporation still stands, and the cottages thrive.
"I wonder where Cindy is now," Bill mused. "Imagine if we could find her and invite her down here — how much she'd love to come back to the lake, and to see how we turned out."
As I sat there looking out at the lake, I wondered if Cindy could even imagine that my cousin and I would be standing here all these years later, at that place she once fought for, getting all misty-eyed over her. If not, I wish I could tell her so, because sometimes the best way to remember who we are is to hear who we've been to other people; an experience that one person might have forgotten may loom as transformative in the life of another. One night Cindy woke me up at two in the morning and with a whisper and a flashlight led me down to the fishing boat. "We're gonna get some bullheads," she told me, and my eyes widened at the thought of catching this scary-looking cousin of the catfish who fed nocturnally along the bottom of the lake. As she rowed us out under the light of the moon, I felt raw and awake to the once hidden night.
Posted in Love and relationships, Memorable people	| Tagged aunts, Bashan Lake, cottage, family, fishing, memories | 3 Comments
March 4, 2011 by Tim McKee
When I lived in Johannesburg in my twenties, I would often travel to Zimbabwe to visit a friend I'd made there named Sam Koffi. One time I asked Sam to translate his son's name, Donotso, into English.
"I can't really think of the word, but let me try to explain it, Tim." Sam described how when it rains in the rural areas of Zimbabwe, it is not uncommon to see children running out of their homes and opening their mouths to the sky, laughing and dancing for the crops they know will finally grow. "'Donotso! Donotso!' they chant. The rain has finally come. This is what I have called my son," Sam said.
"Ahh, I see," I remember saying. "So his name means 'Refreshment.'"
"No," Sam replied. "It is stronger than that."
"Relief?"
"No, not that either. I'm sorry, Tim, there is no word for it in English."
Years later in California, I asked a Hmong-American high-school student I was teaching what her name, Nkauj Nag, meant in English. She thought for a while and then responded, "You know how you feel kind of sad when it rains, but in a good way? Well, that's what my name means. How about your name, Tim?"
At first I had no real answer. I told her there was a Book of Timothy in the Bible, and that it probably carried some ancient meaning I didn't know. (Later I looked it up and found out that the root of Timothy is "honoring God.") But in the days that followed, I remembered some stories about my name. For one, my parents told me that before I was born, they had a few names on their short list — Timothy, Evan, and David — but that when I came out, they weren't sure which one to pick. As they deliberated, my three-year-old sister Jenny decided to call me "Betty," after Betty Rubble of The Flinstones; apparently I held that name for a short while.
My middle name Saunders has some juice in it too. I was named after a great-great uncle of mine, Nicholas Saunders, who was killed by the hoof of a horse that a Pinkerton guard was riding during Pennsylvania's Homestead Strike of 1892. As the legend has it, Saunders was a young Irish-American priest who supported labor rights. He had traveled to Homestead to aid the striking workers, and in so doing, met his death.
I believe our names have power; they can be an evocation that echoes through our lives. I like to think that Nicholas Saunders' commitment to social justice explains in part the presence of that in my life. No doubt this is why Annie and I gave Rio "Mandela" as his middle name; we wanted to link him directly to a person we looked up to, to someone who had made an impact on the world. It's not that we expect Rio to go to prison for 27 years for his ideals and to later become a emerging democracy's president, but, hey, those ain't bad roots to draw from.
Back in Joburg, names were complex and political. It was common during apartheid for Africans to have two names: real ones in their home language that usually carried some deep, at times political, meaning, and their Christian names. There was the notion that the latter would be useful to Africans as they navigated a white world they were officially on the margins of, especially because most white people couldn't (read wouldn't) pronounce African names. Homes that were more politically radical tended reject the charade, while more traditional folks continued to use both names, or perhaps even only the Christian one.
In the high school where I taught history and English, I encountered the entire spectrum: there was the school janitor who proudly went by his Ndebele name, Sifelani, which meant, "Why are my people dying?" Then there were students with African names that weren't necessarily political but meaningful: Mpho (Gift) was sometimes given to the only girl in a family, or to a child whose mother had had a particular difficult pregnancy; Ayanda (The Family is Growing) was commonly the name of a first child. And then there were the scores of students who went by their Christian names: Peter, Paul, and Mary seemed to show up in every classroom.
Interestingly, Nelson Mandela's Xhosa name was both difficult to pronounce and symbolically significant: Rolihlahla is a pretty good tongue twister, and it translates as "pulling a branch from a tree," or, put another way, "stirring up trouble."
One of my favorite students was a tall, sassy boy from Soweto named Churchill. I once asked him where he got his name. "My father always liked Winston Churchill," he said without a trace of irony. By the end of my time in South Africa, as the nation shifted from apartheid to a multiracial democracy, Churchill started going by his real name instead: Itumeleng. It means "Rejoice."
Posted in Interior worlds, Memorable people	| Tagged family, Johannesburg, lineage, Mandela, middle names, Names, namesakes, South Africa | 1 Comment
February 4, 2011 by Tim McKee
When I was growing up in Los Angeles, an elderly woman across the street named Hattie Hewson made homemade cookies for all the neighborhood kids. Upon our knock Hattie would emerge in a flowery housedress bearing a warm pan of buttery, chewy oatmeal cookies. It was as if she were doing it just for us, which she may have been — she lived alone and didn't appear to have a family. Our consistent glee may have been what got her through her days.
In addition to the Hattie infusions, sweet stuff was standard fare in my childhood. I remember spending hours separating my Halloween candy into piles and trading particular pieces with my sister as the arsenal dwindled. After school, there was always a kid whose household was more lenient than mine, and we'd spend hours raiding his pantry until our stomachs would feel like they literally were about to burst. When I was thirteen, I spent a summer at a northern California camp run by hippies where the food was so healthy my friends and I would spend hours talking about all the candy we'd eat when we got back home. We ended up discovering a way to break into the camp's kitchen, but the hardest stuff we could find was a cache of carob chips. We cursed for a second and then scarfed them down.
By my twenties, my relationship with sugar had become more complicated. When I was teaching high school in South Africa, I began suffering from debilitating mid-morning "hazes": I'd be in class, and suddenly my brain would feel as if it were encompassed by fog, my students' questions like vague flares. Fortunately I saw a good nutritionist who suggested that I should avoid processed foods, especially sugar, because my high metabolism would churn through them so quickly I'd be left bereft. She said that my hazes were caused by low-blood sugar and warned that I was flirting with hypoglycemia. I eliminated refined sugar from my diet and within a month the hazes were gone. I've kept my distance from sugar ever since.
Now that I am a father, sugar has returned. Rio likes candy, what do you know, and I sometimes think the sugar industry has conspired with the commercial-holiday lobby to create a constant stream of junk: Halloween is just the beginning; then there are holiday parades where people throw candy to bystanders from floats; then Christmas with its damn candy canes and stockings; then Valentine's Day with its candied hearts; Easter isn't far behind with its ridiculous chocolate eggs. I suppose summer provides some relief. Sometimes I feel like I'm holding a shield over Rio to protect him from all the sugar falling from the sky. Not that he asks for my intervention; a recent short story he dictated to me for a school competition concluded with superheroes saving the planet and then showering the earth with streams of candy in celebration.
Perhaps I wouldn't care so much if candy didn't tweak Rio's behavior. But when he eats artificially colored, processed confections, it's like he becomes a strange robot with ears that don't hear and a body that moves in jagged, jerky motions. I don't notice it when he eats what I consider sweet food: edibles that actually have some nutritional value in them. But give him some Skittles and clear the room.
It's sad to me how corrupted sugar has become; as Michael Pollan has pointed out, sweetness is actually rare in nature, so humans have always associated its taste with comfort and abundance. I know Hattie's cookies did that for me. But now confection appears in almost every bowl; I'm afraid we beat the sacred right out of sugar when we learned to "refine" it.
So here I am a sugar cynic, scoffing at the Sour Patch Kids but also trying to remember the wondrous road that used to open up when an adult offered me a sweet treat. At my grandfather's funeral in 2008, I met for the first time the son of my great Aunt Lorraine, who had passed away a few years prior and who had played an important role in my childhood. I told my cousin Bob about the icy bottles of Coke and plates full of Nilla wafers that Aunt Lorraine would offer my sister and me every time we visited. She so consistently gifted us with goodies that even now I warm at the thought of her. Bob nodded his head and choked back tears as he heard the story, no doubt recalling similar moments with his mother.
When Rio and I returned from my grandfather's funeral, we learned that our neighbor Cubie across the street had died while we were gone. In the coming months, Cubie's husband Ollie began mowing the lawn obsessively, seemingly to give himself something to do in her absence. Rio started walking over to visit with Ollie, and he'd inevitably return with tales of cookies and a few uneaten ones in his hand. I thought about discouraging the practice, but who was I to deny Ollie and Rio the pleasure of this sweet memory?
Posted in Memorable people, The World Outside	| Tagged candy, cookies, memories, Sugar, Sweetness | Leave a comment
January 25, 2011 by Tim McKee
Portrait of Alberto Morales by Anna Blackshaw
Seven years ago when Annie was pregnant with Rio, she and I spent three weeks in Oaxaca, Mexico. One of the most memorable adventures was visiting the ruins of Monte Alban, once the site of an ancient city that was a hub for the indigenous Zapotec people.
Atop the mountain we met a man named Alberto Morales who was selling handmade clay replicas of indigenous holy figures. Annie, in her indomitable style, became fast friends with this gentleman, and within minutes we had an invitation to visit him the next day in his tiny town at the foot of the mountain.
Alberto lived in Arrazola, a place well-known for its original art: small, intricately carved and painted wooden animals called alibrejes. We had seen these figures throughout Oaxaca and recognized them as well from the living rooms of people we knew back home. We took a taxi to Arrazola and exited on a dusty road at the town center with no one in sight. "Just ask people for me," Alberto had said, and so we began walking around looking for someone to ask. We were soon approached by curious children, who beckoned us to follow them to their homes to see the art they had for sale. Once there we were greeted by their mother, who gave us a quick tour of the family's alibreje operation: father and sons fetched wood and carved; mother and daughters painted; the young children solicited customers. Leaving that house, we were immediately approached by another team of children, and we continued our impromptu art tour until we finally met a woman who pointed us to Alberto's adobe.
There we got a tour of the Morales' home production line (a little bit of traditional iconography; a little bit of modern art). He then told us his version of the history of the alibrejes: for years the entire town had created handmade replicas of what the indigenous folks had used in their religious rituals back in the day. They all looked about the same (dark clay hand-pressed into figurines), and the men would hike up to Monte Alban and sell their wares to tourists. One morning a local man named Manuel Ramirez was home sick and had a dream of a different kind of art. He began creating elaborate and intricate wooden figures of the area's animals: iguanas, armadillos, frogs, coyotes, snakes. He painted these bright, vibrant colors and hauled them up the mountain. At the top, he showed his goods to his fellow salesmen from the village and they had a good laugh over his ugly art.
Surprisingly, however, Ramirez began selling his new creations at an unprecedented pace, and before the day was half over he'd sold his backpack's contents and was heading back down the mountain for lunch. Next day, same fortune.
Seeing the profits Ramirez was making, his neighbors asked him to teach them how to make alibrejes. He did so, encouraging each family to bring their own style and flavor to their creations. Before long, every man was hauling a pack of alibrejes up the mountain, and the town turned from backwater hamlet to a self-sustaining art village.
Flash forward three years. While I am at a final job interview in Chapel Hill, Annie, in her indomitable style, becomes fast friends with Sarah, the bartender at our hotel, and within minutes we have an invitation to visit her the next day in her tiny town on the banks of the Haw River. There we notice huge, colorful wooden animals gracing every front lawn. I think to myself, Those look like huge alibrejes. Sarah explains that the artist's name is Clyde Jones and that he lives right there in Bynum. Would we like to meet him? We do, and Clyde explains how many years ago he was home sick when he had a vision of chain-sawing a cedar trunk into sections and creating colorful animals. Since then he has made thousands of critters and donated them to charities throughout North Carolina. Clyde says his work is all over the world, "from Russia to Zimbabwe." People from around the globe regularly come visit Clyde's zany art palace, and it is not unusual to see smiling child sitting atop saddled blue horses and pink giraffes in his front yard.
I like to believe I receive the messages the universe sends me, but sometimes I need to hear it twice. As I sit here these years later in our living room in Bynum, staring at Clyde's red-reindeer critter under our oak tree, I think about the boldly colored iguana we bought in Arrazola that sits just a few rooms away on Rio's bookshelf. Believe in the vision you have inside you, these animals seem to be saying. Bring forth your own mad art and share it as a gift to those around you. Otherwise, the world is a little less bright.
Posted in Memorable people, The World Outside	| Tagged alibrejes, art, Bynum, Clyde Jones, Monte Alban, Oaxaca, originality | 2 Comments
At the Funeral in the Woods
This Saturday Rio went to his fifth funeral in four years. It was a very sad but beautiful day: our good friends' third child had been born still, and they had gathered us to honor their baby girl and bury her remains. The service's most heartbreaking moment came when their three-year-old daughter broke into sobs as the death of her sister became indisputably final.
There is no part of me that wishes to shield Rio from death. Even before his first funeral, he'd encountered the death of countless living beings, from the flowers outside our window to the dead deer we once found in the shallows of the river. He naturally inquired about what happened, and Annie and I answered as best we could: that death was sad but also a part of life, and that its arrival does not necessarily mean the end of life but rather the evolution of it into something else. When Annie's father Bill passed away, we comforted Rio with the notion that Bill lives on in the sky, in the flowers, inside of us. Rio thinks the same about his great-grandfather Joe, his beloved aunt Mary, and Cubie, our neighbor from across the street.
For Rio to understand the cycle of life, he needs to see death, not by peeking out from behind our backs as we tried to protect him from tragedy but by taking it in with a good, clear view. When we paid respects to Annie's sister Mary, Rio and all the children sat on blankets in the very front row. Two of the funerals he has attended featured open caskets, and I felt no hesitation as I paid my respects to my grandfather and Annie's dad with Rio at my side. He's young, but he loved those men and deserved a final look just like the rest of us.
We have taught Rio to embrace the unknown; that he can't know who will win a card game, or what a walk around the neighborhood will bring, or if a character in a book will save the kingdom or falter along the way. So why should we treat the Great Mystery any differently? If we sit around fearing death, aren't we teaching Rio to fear the unknown, which of course is life too? After all, nothing is certain.
About two years ago, Rio and I were walking in Bynum and he said, "Papa, I don't want to die."
"I know, my love, but everybody dies," I said.
"Even you?" he asked.
"Even me."
"Well I won't die!" he declared.
"Rio, you know lots of people who have died: Baba, Grandpa Joe, Cubie…"
"But they're not gone!" he insisted. "They're still here. Cubie's still here!"
"Where?" I asked.
"Up there in the trees," he said, pointing to a giant oak. "She's up there! HELLO CUBIE!"
Today I asked Rio what he was thinking on Saturday when he watched our friend stand at the podium and give, through tears, a beautiful eulogy to her daughter. "I felt sad, but I kind of felt happy too," he told me. "You're always sad when you've lost something, but you're also happy you had it." To think how less nuanced his view of loving and losing would be had we shielded him from the dark side of life.
Posted in Love and relationships, Memorable people	| Tagged cycles, death, funerals, life, parenting | 3 Comments


Automatically organize your desktop shortcuts, collect your icons in shaded areas, hide them with a simple double-click, and more. Creatives, streamers, and anyone who appreciates a clutter-free workspace will find the organizational solution they crave with Fences.
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Casarufolo Paradise is located in beautiful place, between the sea of the Gulf of Naples and the mountains of Sant'Agata sui Due Golfi.
From the center of Sorrento, the Casarufolo can also be reached on foot: once arrived at the Hilton Sorrento Palace, must continue for a further kilometer.
If you want to reach Casarufolo with car, it's recommended only with a small car.
It's also available for our customers a free shuttle service to and from Sorrento.
It's recommended a small car. The road to reach the country is narrow and uphill. free shuttle service for customers.
For those arriving by train from Naples, call Cararufolo once you get to Sorrento, to take advantage of the free shuttle.
For those who arrive in Sorrento by hydrofoil from Naples or Capri, contact Casarufolo once arrived in port to take advantage of the free shuttle.
For those arriving from Naples with a transfer or a bus, arrived in Sorrento contact Casarufolo.
Please notice that we are located in Sorrento hills, and the route to reach us may be uncorftable for unexperted drivers due to rise. For this reason we can keep you at the beginning of Casarufolo Street and the host will drive your car safely into our property.


and i kinda lost of what to do or what to say to anybody.
Even in my studies, i do 'play2' so much which resulting the worst for my GPA.
Then, i think i'm gonna let the past be a bygones and start a new wave of me.
So for those who kinda wanna know let, i bet i better introduce my self to all, right?
Firtly, i goes by the name monomic. what is monomic?, they might ask. well, it all start when i was in form 2, it was the era where the hip-hop and linkin park is at their top. so, i decide to have a name which people like eminem do. it's realy hard actualy if you don't know what you're doing. having a cool name is easy, but to have a real means of it is something else.
one day, i was thinking like if i want to be somebody comparing to eminem, what do it takes? Eminem is a singer, nope; yes he'a a rapper. what does a rapper needs? a babling mouth, a dirty minded, bling-blings, na'ah.....they needs a microphone (mic). so, there it comes the 'mic'. but then, the name is short, what the hell, people might call me 'mike'. Yup, the sound is about the same but the spell isn't. So, i continued my searching to make the name cooler. Haha.


I need you, I want you, I wish I could have you.
I love you so much and you know it. If you love me back then show it. Leave me a message.
Love can hurt u, love can love u back, love can feel like glory, love can feel really bad, if love makes you mad, if love makes you glad, take whatever you can from it, and enjoy what u can :(:).
Do you belive in love at first sight, or do i need to walk by one more time?


What is the Lloyd Cycle Station?
The Lloyd Cycle Station at Hassalo on Eighth is a world-class bike parking facility for anyone residing in, working in, or visiting the Lloyd neighborhood. With 600 secure bike parking spaces, deluxe shower facilities, lockers, and a bike repair and wash station, it'll make you look forward to riding your bike every day.