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Pistons' pick Kennard can score, must improve on D
SVG was brutally honest in assessing his first-round draft pick, but offensive talent was too enticing to pass on.
Pistons' pick Kennard can score, must improve on D SVG was brutally honest in assessing his first-round draft pick, but offensive talent was too enticing to pass on. Check out this story on Freep.com: http://on.freep.com/2t0QZOa
Vince Ellis, Detroit Free Press Published 1:39 a.m. ET June 23, 2017 | Updated 8:57 a.m. ET June 23, 2017
Duke's Luke Kennard is introduced by NBA commissioner Adam Silver as the No. 12 overall pick to the Pistons in the first round of the 2017 NBA draft at Barclays Center.(Photo: Brad Penner, USA TODAY Sports)
Detroit Pistons president Stan Van Gundy was gushing over Luke Kennard's offensive game.
The Pistons first-round pick can shoot the three-pointer, score off the dribble and create for others.
Then he turned to Kennard's defense.
Oh, his defense.
"He's got to get a lot better, and quite honestly, in my opinion, he's got to take a lot more pride in it than he did this past year," Van Gundy said about an hour after the Pistons used the 12th pick on the Duke sharpshooter.
"Whether it was carrying the offensive load or what it was, he's got to change his entire defensive approach. That's the answer to him being able to get on the floor. He's got to do that to be able to play."
Leave it to Van Gundy to keep it real.
But for now, Van Gundy is ecstatic that they were able to add the draft's best shooter to the worst shooting team in the league.
A more athletic option – Louisville's Donovan Mitchell was on the board – but Van Gundy opted for the better shooter.
More: Pistons could regret taking shooter Luke Kennard in 2017 NBA draft
More: Scouting report: Meet the newest Piston Luke Kennard
And he was emphatic that Kennard projects to be more than a shooter.
"He can really play offensively," Van Gundy said. "He's a skilled guy with a polished offensive game. He can shoot the ball. He's got great, great footwork. I think everyone looks at him as a shooter, but what I really like is he can make plays off the dribble. He can pass the ball. We said from an offensive standpoint, going in the summer, in terms of what we wanted to work on in how we developed our players and what we wanted to add to the roster were two things: Three-point shooting and guys who can make plays, create shots for themselves and other people. He can do both of those."
The draft is the ultimate night for draft prospects and Kennard expressed the requisite excitement.
More: NBA draft analyst: Kennard is 'the best shooter in the draft'
More: Pistons' NBA draft grades: Websites laud Kennard pick
"You know, it's a dream come true," Kennard said shortly after his name was called in Brooklyn, N.Y.
"I'm sure guys have said that, but it really is. I worked my entire life for a moment like this, and to be able to go to Detroit and make an impact any way I can, I'm just looking forward to it, and it's a great opportunity."
There was some draft drama. It looked for a second that either North Carolina State point guard Dennis Smith or Kentucky scorer Malik Monk might be available.
But the Dallas Mavericks selected Smith at No. 9.
Monk went off the board just ahead of the Pistons to the Charlotte Hornets at No. 11.
SVG said the draft went according to plan – unlike most years.
"I don't think we really had a surprise in the whole thing," he said. "You never get into comparisons of guys, I mean there is a lot of good players there at 12, but I just think that in our minds Luke was the best offensive wing player on the board there. He can really play offensively."
If Kennard can find his way into the playing rotation, he should be able to help in one area.
The Pistons were the worst shooting team in the league last season, finishing 28th in three-point shooting (33%) and dead last in true shooting percentage.
Kennard offers promise as more than a shooter. He's a skilled player with the ability to score off the catch and off the bounce.
He's 6-foot-5, solid size for a shooting guard.
He averaged of 19.5 points and shot nearly 44% from three-point range. Kennard averaged more than five free throws per game, an impressive number of attempts.
Kennard, who turns 21 on Saturday, joins an organization that's coming off a down season.
After a 44-38 season and competitive four-game sweep at the hands of the Cleveland Cavaliers in the first round of the 2016 playoffs, the Pistons were expected to build on that success.
But Reggie Jackson's sore left knee forced him to miss the first 21 games.
When he returned, he was a diminished and the Pistons suffered from the down season of their most important offensive player.
There is some energy around the franchise because it is moving to downtown Detroit to play in Little Caesars Arena after spending nearly 30 years at the Palace of Auburn Hills in northern Oakland County.
More: Public funds for Pistons move to Detroit are safe for now
Before the draft, Van Gundy described a draft board broken down into separate tiers.
There is a top tier – guys probably like Washington point guard Markelle Fultz, UCLA point guard Lonzo Ball and Kansas forward Josh Jackson.
Luke Kennard walks on stage with NBA commissioner Adam Silver after being drafted 12th overall by the Detroit Pistons during the first round of the 2017 NBA Draft at Barclays Center on June 22, 2017 in New York City. (Photo: Mike Stobe, Getty Images)
Then there was the next tier.
And that's where Kennard comes in. He leaves Duke after two seasons.
He will likely be behind Kentavious Caldwell-Pope. And Van Gundy the coach, is known for being tough on rookies.
"I think playing under (Van Gundy) gives me a great opportunity to learn and develop as a player, so I'm really looking forward to that."
Contact Vince Ellis at vellis@freepress.com. Follow him on Twitter @vincent_ellis56.


RETRO KIMMER'S BLOG: MUSIC 101: WHY TAKE THE BEST ONLINE GUITAR LESSONS?
MUSIC 101: WHY TAKE THE BEST ONLINE GUITAR LESSONS?
Everyone has an affinity for music. Don't you agree? It's the one thing people from all over the world have in common. You can be tone deaf but still know how to appreciate good tunes. You can be the worst singer ever but a highly skilled bass player. No matter who, what, when, or where, people always find themselves drawn to music one way or another – they really do!
Since we're on the topic, let's talk about how music has evolved greatly over the years. It has gone a long way and it will definitely go farther. We're sure about that. We have seen many music fads and trends come and go. From blues, jazz, reggae to the more modern beats we have today such as pop, punk-rock, and EDM. Music is definitely here to stay and make people happier every day.
Music has always been beautiful – no matter the day, no matter the season. It has this way of making a connection. It helps a person get in touch with his or her soul; helps him or her build a bond with others. Music, just like everything else, isn't constant. As they say, it is only change that is constant in this world. So music, too, changes over time.
But how much of a change are we talking about?
We're talking about a rather drastic one. Allow me to tell you why.
When we talk about music and things that create music, you would probably think of stringed or percussion instruments and large pianos or a person singing do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do.
After all, we were introduced to music this way. We were taught notes, frets, and rests in our music subjects. We were taught the number of beats a whole note and a half note have. I'll bet five bucks you even had those clapping exercises; those one-ones and two-twos.
Before, band practice required a lot of work. If you're renting out a studio, setting up instruments can take 20 minutes or so – and that still does not include tuning and other band prepping rituals. Nowadays, people can do a complete band setup for half the time (and effort) required to do a setup before. Band equipment like amplifiers and mixers are much smaller than they used to.
They're also much simpler to operate. A few clicks here, a few turns there and presto! You can go live right then and there. Instruments have also become smaller and more portable.
Drums, for instance, which is supposedly the most difficult and complicated instrument to carry around and set up, have electronic versions. That's right. The younglings of today will never know the hassles of setting up drum sets thanks to electronic drums. If you've ever played BeatMania in an arcade before, then you've experienced exactly how it feels to play on electronic drums.
Another important innovation is EDM or Electronic Dance Music (check this out). You can pass yourself off as a musician without knowing the first thing about instruments these days. All you need to know is how to work a laptop and a music mixing software and you can call yourself a certified DJ. In fact, most pop songs released in recent years have integrated EDM into their track. It really makes you wonder if classic instruments are nearing their extinction.
But of course, that is something we hope never happens.
Classic instruments are timeless and we should always keep it that way – no matter how advanced, modern, or innovative we get. They are a part – a large and important part of music history. Instruments made the world happy when computers weren't around. They brought people together when social media still wasn't a thing. Overall, they made the world a happier place to live in.
Now, who wants that kind of thing to end?
What we should do is make sure that classic instruments remain alive in the hearts and minds of people. Real people deserve real music. Not to mention, it is way more fulfilling to learn an actual instrument over remixing electronic notes. When you learn to play an instrument, you teach yourself a number of good things other than just playing.
You learn that hard work always pays off.
There is a lot more to being a musician than just knowing how to play. Learning an instrument teaches you that.
But hey, technology isn't all that bad. In fact, you can always make it work to your benefit. You can learn how to play a real-life guitar, for example, with the help of the internet.
There are many music schools and training centers like Best Online Guitar Lessons Wizard that offer to teach you how to play instruments online. They often make use of video sharing applications to converse and educate eager learners.
And because they are only using an online classroom (that requires no rent), you can enjoy cheaper training fees. Get the chance to be taught by some of the best musicians all over the world when you try online guitar lessons.
It is important to note, however, that not all online music schools are great. Many, in fact, are pretty mediocre so always make sure to check online recommendations and reviews before you pick out an online school!


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MY OWN CHOICE: OFF OFF OFF THE BEATEN TRACK
by Jill Sharer
Bulgaria has some extremely well-hidden food & drink - usually smoke-filled - spots that even a health-conscious Californian can dig
The first time I came to Bulgaria, I entered via the dusty no-man's land between Giurgiu and Ruse. Standing all alone on the edge of Romania, I watched as shifty-eyed travellers shoved contraband cigarettes into their luggage and trekked down an unpaved road towards the border. From my vantage point, Bulgaria did not look terribly inviting.
Since then, my view of this country has changed dramatically. I've spent so much time here over the past three years that I now consider it my second home. And for me, feeling truly comfortable in a place involves eating like a local.
As a native of Los Angeles, I've always had a love for the less travelled spots around my city. The small ethnic restaurants with exotic dishes and the time-worn greasy spoons that are part of the history and folklore of LA are my favourite haunts. Here in Bulgaria, I've been introduced to Sofia's version of this restaurant genre.
Every city has its classic watering holes. New Orleans has Café Du Monde, Los Angeles has Phillipes French Dip Sandwiches and New York has The Oyster Bar. These are places that have been around for generations - where locals remember their first culinary experiences as childhood rites of passage. Thanks to 45 years of Communism, there are scant few of these classic restaurants here in Sofia. The Czechoslovakian Club (15 Krakra St, phone: 441 383) is one of them. Opened in 1892 as a social club for people with Czech or Slovak ancestry living in Sofia, the non-political club is often the first stop for Czech and Slovak dignitaries passing through Bulgaria. As the manager explains, they stop here for lunch, then they go to the embassy. Housed in an elegant turn-of-the-19th-century building, the club has two dining rooms - one for members and one for non-members; at least that was the theory. Now one is for smokers and the other is for non-smokers (guess which one is always full and which one is usually half-empty!). The décor of the non-members room has changed very little in the past 50 years, and neither has the menu. During Communism they served imported Czech beer here – a very rare treat at the time. My favourite thing here is actually a side dish. It's a doughy, bread-like, dumplingy thing called knedly. It has the consistency of an unbaked bagel and looks a bit like uncooked bread. It's served beside several hearty meat dishes. I also like the stewed pork with sour cabbage. It's not a light meal but it's worth the calories. Be sure to come here hungry and be prepared to leave very full.
Another rare old-timer is Vkusnoto kebapche, or The Delicious Kebapche, (20 San Stefano St, phone: 946 2027). It's an apt name for a place that serves just that. It doesn't look like much from the outside, or the inside for that matter, but the food is always great if not a bit simple. Basically it's all about the grilled meat and always has been. My fiancée has ordered the kebapche here for more than 40 years! The thing I love most about this little gem of an eatery is the familiarity of its patrons. A tiny neighbourhood restaurant it may be, but it is a regular dining spot for Sofia's creative community. Artists, actors, theatre people and filmmakers all come here for a little skewered meat and conversation. Located just a block away from the studios of the Bulgarian National Television, there are a lot of famous Bulgarian faces to be seen here. Sitting outside on a warm spring day, which I highly recommend as the smoke inside can be unbearable, you really feel like part of the city.
Just around the corner from my house is Vagabond Restaurant (5 Svetoslav Terter St, phone: 944 1465). It's another place where I know everyone and feel right at home. Situated in a quiet residential neighbourhood, it might be a little hard to find but it's worth the hunt. The restaurant is made up of several rooms in an old house, each one painted with colourful frescos. A few of the little rooms have fireplaces. On a cold night, I love to come here to sit beside the fire and eat stuffed grape leaves, they're the best I've ever had. That's not the only amazing thing on the menu here. They also have a dish called pelmeni, which is a sort of pasta stuffed with meat, the Russian answer to tortellini. It's so authentic that the owners have it prepared by an old Russian lady in the neighbourhood.
On the other side of town is my favourite Turkish restaurant, Istanbul 2000 (104 Kiril i Metodiy St, phone: 931 6026). Walking there, the only foreigners you see are usually clutching their bags tightly, which is always a good idea in this part of town. To get to this tiny café tucked away on a small street behind Zhenski pazar, or Women's Market, you traverse some of the oldest streets in Sofia. One of the few neighbourhoods to survive American bombs during the Second World War, the crumbling buildings here give you a clue as to what this city looked like pre-war. Sadly, the owner of Istanbul 2000 says that few foreigners venture down here after dark: "They're just not used to the drunk Gypsies and the occasional fist fights like the Bulgarians are." If you come while the sun is still up you should be fine. The menu here seems a bit like traditional Bulgarian food but it's not. The spices and cooking techniques are very different. They have kebabs and salads but there's no pork on the menu and less yoghurt. They also make a fantastic sort of Turkish pizza in a wood-burning oven. Though the menu may look extensive, they've often run out of many things. It's a testament to the owner's commitment to fresh food prepared correctly. For example, he doesn't serve Turkish coffee any more. He didn't feel his staff were skilled enough to make it the right way. Now that's dedication I want to see displayed by as many Bulgarian restaurant owners as possible!
Just around the corner from Istanbul 2000 is Ege Türk Lokantası. What this little hole-in-the-wall lacks in décor it makes up for in great food and colourful patrons. The first time I ate here, I read the menu – a few items listed on a chalkboard - beside a very large Turkish man with a full set of gold teeth and a neck draped with thick gold chains. He looked like a man who could eat anywhere he wanted to (who'd stop him?) and he chose to eat there. As it turns out, he picked a great place. Though Bulgarians would classify this as "fast food", it's nothing like the fast food that Americans are used to. Yes, it's prepared fast, but everything here is fresh and home-made. They have a wood-burning oven in the back where they make fresh bread and grill meats. The musaka is amazing and the meatballs on a tile are divine. This is one of those places that feels like a real find. We once asked the waitress if they get many English-speaking customers. Apparently, they get a few English speaking Arabs every so often, but very few, if not any, Brits or Americans. There is no English menu here nor are there any English speaking waiters or waitresses. So come ready to do some creative gesturing and pointing to get what you want.
On Sundays back in Los Angeles, I like to take long drives up the coast for lunch. The Sofian version of the same thing involves venturing up Vitosha Boulevard and beyond to my favourite Sunday lunch spot. Vodenitsata, or The Watermill, (Vitosha Park by the Dragalevtsi cable car, phone: 967 1058), may look like a typical Bulgarian tourist trap with every Balkan knick-knack imaginable on the walls but it's much more than that, it's part of Sofia's past. Located half way up the street, this large restaurant sits beside a chair lift that operates round the year. After a long day spent skiing I would stop here for the house speciality: a steaming bowl of polenta covered in butter and white cheese. Although I think the polenta is great, I'm happy that they now have a much larger menu. In fact, the menu is so large it looks like a book. You can get just almost any traditional Bulgarian dish here, and most are amazingly good. If you want to get a feel for how it used to be, take the chair lift up and walk back down. The surrounding forests haven't changed a bit.
When I want to feel like I've really out of town without going too far, I venture out to Brezite, or The White Birch Trees, (1 Raztovarishte St, Bankya, phone: 997 8993). It's roughly a 45-minute drive up into the mountain. Just like the name implies, the restaurant sits amid a grove of beautiful white birch trees with a large outside patio along a well travelled road. In fact, Brezite is the Bulgarian version of a roadhouse. Just like any good roadhouse worth its salt back in the United States, it attracts bikers, car clubs and day-trippers from all over. The last time I was there I shared the patio with the Citroen car club and a wedding party from a distant village. Part of what draws people here is the drive itself. The road winds through picturesque villages, past shepherds with their goats and small herds of grazing cattle. Once you arrive, it's all about the home-made sheep's yoghurt: a rare find outside of remote villages. The tarator, or yoghurt-and-cucumber cold soup, here is unlike anything you'll have back down in Sofia. They also grill meats in an outside oven and have a long list of delicious salads. It's well worth the beautiful drive.
Just like any foreign country, there are things here that just don't appeal to American tastes. For example, the brown mushy drink called boza tastes to me like something someone's already chewed up and spat out. Another example of that is the Bulgarians' love for parts of an animal that we wouldn't normally consider fine eating. Organs and innards that only make their way to the American table in the form of a hot dog are delicacies here. One such dish is a thing called drob sarma. It's rice, greens and herbs mixed with lamb's livers and various lamb innards. Normally, this is a bit exotic for me, but at Kandahar, a small family owned restaurant near Levski Stadium, (4 Evlogi Georgiev St, phone: 865 2535), they make a version of this that I absolutely love. There, drob sarma comes as a side dish with roasted lamb that is also amazing. I love to have it in the spring when lamb is in season and you can sit outside away from the smoke. The surroundings are simple and the garden small, but the drob sarma is reason enough to try Kandahar.
As much as I like all things Bulgarian every so often I like a taste of home. Not being much of a fast food eater, Pizza Hut or KFC just won't do the trick. When I'm feeling a bit homesick I like to go to The Red House Café (15 Lyuben Karavelov St, phone: 988 1888). Located in the basement and garden of The Red House Gallery, the café here feels like something you'd find in New York or San Francisco. You can get a plate of French or Bulgarian cheese and a nice bottle of wine. But its not really the food here that reminds me of home, it's the atmosphere. Red walls and the patio with black, red and white tables give it that East Village feeling. What I really like about it is that it's like a little home with a large dose of Bulgarian charm. It's a nice mix of Bulgaria and the United States, just like my life over the past years.
Issue 22 My own choice Eating out in Bulgaria Bulgarian food
BULGARIA'S LAST MONARCH
On 3 October 1918, Bulgarians felt anxious. The country had just emerged from three wars it had fought for "national unification" – meaning, in plain language, incorporating Macedonia and Aegean Thrace into the Bulgarian kingdom.
WHO WAS ALEKO KONSTANTINOV?
In Vagabond we sometimes write about people whose activities or inactivity have shaped Bulgaria's past and present. Most of these are politicians or revolutionaries.
RUSSIA BRINGS ON... VANGA
The future does not look bright according to Vanga, the notorious blind clairvoyant who died in 1996 but is still being a darling of tabloids internationally, especially in Russia.
FINDING ANTIP KOEV OBUSHTAROV
In early 2021 veteran Kazanlak-based photographer Alexander Ivanov went to the Shipka community culture house called Svetlina, founded in 1861, to inspect "some negatives" that had been gathering the dust in cardboard boxes.
MONUMENTAL WOES
One of the attractions of the Bulgarian capital, the 1950s monument to the Red Army, may fascinate visitors wanting to take in a remnant of the Cold War, but many locals consider it contentious.
PREFAB SOCIETY
With the mountains for a backdrop and amid large green spaces, uniform apartment blocks line up like Legos. Along the dual carriageway, 7km from the centre of Sofia, the underground comes above ground: Mladost Station.
WHO WERE THE BOGOMILS?
What do you do when the events of the day overwhelm you? When you feel that you have lost control of your own life? You might overeat, rant on social media or buy stuff you do not need. You might call your shrink.
Every 2 June, at exactly noon, the civil defence systems all over Bulgaria are switched on. The sirens wail for a minute. A minute when many people stop whatever they are doing and stand still.
DAY OF ST GEORGE BULGARIAN STYLE
Bulgarians celebrate St George's Day, or Gergyovden, with enormous enthusiasm, both officially and in private.
HOW TO ENJOY RAKIYA
The easiest way for a foreigner to raise a Bulgarian brow concerns a sacrosanct pillar of national identity: rakiya, the spirit that Bulgarians drink at weddings, funerals, for lunch, at protracted dinners; because they are sad or joyful, and somet
SOFIA'S PARTY HOUSE
"Where is the parliament?" A couple of months ago anyone asking this question in Sofia would have been pointed to a butter-yellow neoclassical building at one end of the Yellow Brick Road.
BLAST FROM THE PAST*
Bulgaria's courts have been given the chance to write legal history as former Prime Minister Boyko Borisov is suing Yordan Tsonev, the MP for the Movement for Rights and Freedoms, over Tsonev's referral to him as a mutra.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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Interior Design is done by Ken Freivokh design. The yacht spacious main deck provides the owner and guests the privacy of their own deck saloon and sitting/ lounge areas. In the main deck saloon there will be a comfortable dining area, lounge area and spacious bar. Below deck, aft of the engine room, there will be space for 10 guests in 5 cabins, including the owners' stateroom with sauna and gym. Forward of the engine room there will be a spacious crew quarters for 10.
She is launched in 2013.


In the deluge of recent media stories about who will lose if Congress repeals the Affordable Care Act (ACA), one crucial provision has received short shrift from journalists: the so-called Cadillac tax, written into the law as a way to raise money for government subsidies for the uninsured.
The Cadillac tax, which will affect nearly everyone with employer-sponsored coverage when it takes effect in 2020, is currently the target of bipartisan repeal efforts. Should the tax be repealed, it is not clear how the government would finance those Obamacare subsidies that it helped fund. Which makes the Cadillac tax central to the nation's health care concerns, and a valuable focal point for reporters—provided they can parse and then relay its significance.
The result? "In a few short years, the tax will affect all employer plans," says Steve Wojcik, a vice president at the National Business Group on Health, which is working to repeal the tax. If employers need to reduce the value of their plans to avoid the tax, then they will need to reduce benefits or increase their workers' share of the cost, which could result in significant increases in out-of-pocket costs for 177 million workers.
Economists, in particular, wanted the tax; MIT's Jonathan Gruber, who helped to craft the ACA, even predicted the tax might raise workers' wages from 2010 to 2019. If employers spent less on rich health benefits, the theory went, they'd pass the savings onto their workers in the form of higher wages.
However, says Wojcik, "The reality doesn't match the theory." The Kaiser Family Foundation, for example, reported that, between 2011 and 2016, deductibles for single workers increased by 63 percent while wages increased by only 11 percent.
You would think a provision with such far-reaching financial consequences for so many people would have sparked more media coverage. It's hard to say whether that dearth of attention is because taxes are hard to understand or because Cadillac Tax opponents are working behind the scenes in the halls of Congress rather than delivering anecdotes about sick people fearful of losing their coverage, as many Obamacare supporters have recently done. Whatever the reason, the press needs to start explaining the tax, and soon.
But explanations of the tax—how it came to pass, whether it will raise revenue and increase paychecks (as its advocates promised) or destabilize the employer insurance market (as James Klein, president of the American Benefits Council, an opponent of the tax, predicts), what might succeed it—have been missing from most coverage so far.
One option for replacing the Cadillac tax is to tax a portion of a worker's employer-provided coverage. Those benefits are currently exempt from income taxes. But that solution may not help workers very much: Wojcik told the Wall Street Journal, "In the end, [both taxes] would have similar effects," including pushing companies toward skinnier health plans.
Last week in the Wall Street Journal, Anna Wilde Mathews began to explore such tax proposals. Gary Claxton, a vice president of the Kaiser Family Foundation, warned that employees' insurance would have to change, meaning that higher deductibles and narrower provider networks would be coming. Perhaps that's what the framers of the ACA had in mind. Still, such changes would also affect less generous health insurance packages.
"You could be in a high-deductible health plan and still find the tax would be triggered," Klein told me. "Plans will trigger the tax, not because benefits are richer, but because the population covered by the plan is more expensive to insure." That means businesses whose employees have expensive medical care—women of child-bearing age, or older people with greater health care needs, or people with high-cost chronic conditions—are more likely to pay the tax.
Local journalists that can identify such businesses in their communities have an opportunity to present valuable anecdotes and explore the impact of the Cadillac tax in their communities. But such reporting depends on understanding the tax and its consequences.
That may be. But if the Cadillac tax takes effect as scheduled, and employers reduce the value of the benefits they offer, then those benefits and many others workers have come to enjoy may disappear.


text:
package org.getchunky.chunky.event.object.player;

import org.bukkit.event.Cancellable;
import org.getchunky.chunky.object.ChunkyChunk;
import org.getchunky.chunky.object.ChunkyPlayer;
import org.getchunky.chunky.permission.AccessLevel;

public class ChunkyPlayerChunkUnclaimEvent extends ChunkyPlayerChunkEvent implements Cancellable {

    private boolean cancel = false;

    public ChunkyPlayerChunkUnclaimEvent(ChunkyPlayer chunkyPlayer, ChunkyChunk chunkyChunk, AccessLevel accessLevel) {
        super(Type.PLAYER_CHUNK_UNCLAIM, chunkyPlayer, chunkyChunk, accessLevel);
    }

    public boolean isCancelled() {
        return this.cancel;
    }

    public void setCancelled(boolean b) {
        this.cancel = b;
    }
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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text:
Q: Article "The" for general statement I am confused why we always use article The even though it is general. For example
1) He can master THE English language (even general statement)
2) The goverment can impose THE goods and services tax to increase the national revenue (even though it is general)
3) Reducing taxes can decrease THE unemployment rate (despite General statement)
Thanks

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Simpsons Porn Story: Pulling the Plug Chapter 1
Posted on April 16, 2018 by simpsons porn
Charles Montgomery Burns sat in his office, eyes closed, resting comfortably in a large chair. He figured his rest was well-deserved. After all, he had just come home from World War 2 less than a month ago, and being a war hero was tiring.
His calm was shattered when the phone rang. Burns merely glared at it as he waited for his assistant to pick it up.
The man, a short and round man by the name of Jacobs (or was it Jackson?) came rushing in and picked up the phone.
Hello? Burns' assistant said, and went quiet as someone on the other line started talking. Mr. Burns closed his eyes again, but didn't keep them closed for long.
Sir? It's the hospital. Your mother has been hit by a car.
Mr. Burns opened only one eye, however, and used it to look at Jacobs curiously. Did the man really need to tell him this? Oh well, it was best to deal with it the only way he knew how.
Send her flowers. Burns said, closing his eye.
She's in a coma. Jacobs said, holding the phone toward Mr. Burns, They don't know if she's going to make it. The man was surprised. He knew about C. Mongomery Burns before he took the job, and he had heard that Burns was, well, cold, but he couldn't imagine that anyone would treat their own mother like this.
Mr. Burns opened his eyes and sighed. He snatched the phone from Jacob's hand and put it to his ear.
This is Monty Burns.
The doctor then spent an entire ten minutes explaining what happened when his mother had arrived in the emergency room, her current treatment and how she was doing, and the story of her being hit, which was just assumptions from her injuries. He finished up with I think you should come down and see her.
Again, Mr. Burns sighed. Fine. I'll be there tomorrow.
We aren't sure if she'll live through the night. We have her on some machines, keeping her alive, but…
This time, Mr. Burns let out an annoyed grunt. Okay, I'll be right there. He dropped the phone back on it's hook and stood up. Jacobs hovered awkwardly at the edge of Mr. Burns' desk as Mr. Burns crossed the room, picked up his jacket from the coat rack, and opened the door.
Jacobs thought that Burns had forgotten him. He wasn't that lucky.
Mr. Burns paused at the door, and turned around. Oh yes, and another thing. His eyes narrowed. You're fired.
With that, Mr. Burns was gone.
Most people hate hospitals. Monty Burns wasn't one of them. He loved them. Maybe it was the sterile environment, or the idea that the sick and injured resided there, but Mr. Burns loved hospitals. He felt comfortable in them. They were safe.
He didn't much like being told to go to every ward in the hospital, though. Go here, go there, jump through all these hoops, then you can see your mother. By the time he got to his mother's room, he was starting to dislike hospitals.
Mr. Burns opened the door and walked in. A young doctor, probably in his upper thirties or early forties, stood at the end of his mother's bed, writing something on a clipboard. The doctor looked up when Burns entered, and immediately recognized him.
Mr. Burns, good to see you. He said, offering his hand. Burns looked at it with disgust instead of shaking it. The doctor paused, a bit taken aback, then turned back to his clipboard. Uh, your mother lapsed into a coma about five hours ago. There really hasn't been much change since. Her heartbeat seems to be weak. We, we, uh… we need a decision from you. Uh, whether we keep her alive or not.
Burns didn't reply. He walked over to the edge of the bed. Gripping the railing at the side, he looked down at her. She looked tiny and fragile. There were scrapes on the side of her face, and he could see a purple bruise on her neck, which extended under the hospital gown.
The doctor bit his lip uncomfortably, but stayed there.
Monty Burns hated to admit it, but he was scared. Scared of his mother. Although it was his father's money, she was the one giving it to him for Yale. She was the one that got him into Yale. She had the influence to have him kicked out. That was the last thing that he wanted.
So, he did what his mother told him to do. When she called and asked him to run an errand for her, even if it would make him late for class, he did it. He rejected offers by his peers to go out, and instead, spent the weekends with his family.
He graduated Yale fine. He made a few friends, and had a girlfriend or two, but all he could remember was carefully trying to please his mother so he could stay in school.
It was the roaring twenties now, back when Mr. Burns was still afraid of his mother, back before there was a rift between them.
He had helped with prohibition, and he had taken the opportunity it created and made some money. His mother didn't think like that, however. It was the morals she was interested in. It was almost as if he just wanted to spite her, but Burns regularly donned a zoot suit and went out to the speakeasy that he co-owned.
Burns also knew a young lady, a flapper. His mother hated flappers. Maybe that was what drew him to them. Certainly, Burns didn't much support the idea of independent women. This girl wasn't just a flapper though. She was a regular church-goer. She had to wear a wig to cover her traditional bobbed cut, but she went. Like Burns, the only reason she was was to satisfy her parents. Sure, she didn't have the mind for business like he did, but he was fond of her none-the-less. Besides, it gave him someone to talk to in the many, many get-togethers the church held.
The night before, he and the girl had been talking. They were discussing the benefits of pretending they were in a relationship. Just an act for their parents, of course.
And they had fallen asleep listening to the radio. Burns cursed himself for letting it happen.
And of course, that was the day his parents came to his house, went inside with the key he had given them without knocking, and saw him on his couch, sleeping with a flapper.
They were outraged. Well, his mother was. His father acted outraged, but probably didn't care.
The girl had run into the bathroom, and his mother had let loose.
Who was that hussy? What's wrong with you? Don't you know that flappers are moral ingrates and are going straight to hell?
It didn't stop there, of course, but Burns had stopped listening. He remembered how he had just stood there, staring past her, trying to ignore her. It was considerably harder when she started poking him.
It was a few months before Burns would be drafted. He got a phone call from his mother. He hadn't spoken to her since that morning. Neither wanted to apologize, so neither did.
There was a reason for her calling. Burns' father was missing, assumed dead. Had been for nearly a half a year, and the lawyer was finally getting around to reading the will. Monty was a little annoyed that he hadn't been told that his father was missing back when it happened, but then, he couldn't say he was surprised. He knew better than anyone that his father never really loved his mother. He was fond of her and hoped that love would grow from that. Instead, he found that she was overbearing and obnoxious. Burns was honestly surprised that it took him so long to leave, and was unpleasantly surprised by the fact that he had done it the cowardly way.
Burns went out and met his mother, brother, and his father's lawyer. He heard the will read. He got half of what his father had, and his mother and brother got half of what remained. Burns' brother left quickly. His own falling out with their mother had been more recent, more dramatic. Monty stuck around only because he felt like his mother might apologize.
Oh, how young and foolish he'd been.
Your father was foolish. Stupid, in fact. He made enemies and they came and got him. Now he's dead. His mother had shrugged indifferently, and turned to stare out the window for a while. Monty just stood there, waiting for her to finish.
You know, Charles. Only idiots make enemies. That's why I live my life purely and work with people. I don't want to have enemies. You should take a page from my book, or you'll be killed like your father was.
She lapsed into silence again, but this time, she was waiting for a reply. He could see it in the way she stared out the window.
Yes, mater. Burns replied plainly.
Get out of my sight, you wretched boy.
With that, Burns left.
The worst memory Burns had of his mother was when he was young. He was only about seven or eight at the time. The time surrounding the one events was a blur. His father sitting in a chair, reading the paper. Little Burns asking where his mother was. His mother getting home late. His father talking about Taft's political talents. Or, well, the lack thereof.
Young Monty Burns woke up to yelling. He crawled out of bed, and down the stairs. His parents were in the living room.
I don't even know what you see in Taft! He's a lousy politician and a lousy person. His father yelled.
He's a fine politician and twice the man you'll ever be!
It went on and on. Burns watched for a long time. He can't remember when he fell asleep, but he has a hazy memory of his father putting him back in bed.
The rest of the surrounding memories are of his father working more and more often, and moping when he thought no one was around. It was pathetic, and sort of disgusting. Seeing his father like that made him hate his mother.
All this came rushing back to Burns as he stared down at his mother. The way she stood in his way, crippled his social life, made him feel inadequate, the way she pointed out his faults so easily while ignoring his own.
His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the railing in anger.
It was her own fault she got hit by a car. Burns had been sure for some time that his father was still alive. It was a long time since his disappearance, but Burns had no doubt in his mind that it was his father's work lying in the hospital bed before him.
His eyes narrowed, and he gritted his teeth.
The doctor was even more uncomfortable now. What he hoped would be a touching mother-son moment, perhaps involving tears being shed, turned into something else. The fifty-something man that came in stared down at the helpless old woman with much intense malice, with such sheer hatred, that he wondered what the old woman had done.
Mr. Burns? The doctor said finally, We need a decision.
Burns ignored him. He lowered his face, so his long nose was less than in inch away from hers.
Only idiots He snarled quietly, carefully pronouncing every syllable, make enemies.
With that, Burns whirled around and walked to the door. The doctor watched helplessly as Burns stalked over to the door.
Burns' opened the door, and for the second time that day, stopped before he left. He didn't bother to turn around.
Pull the plug. He said coldly.
The doctor watched as the door slammed shut. With a sigh, he turned to shut of the machinery that kept her alive.
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Top Menu - English Version
2022 Iran protests
Sidebar Menu Mobile En
Sudan Protests
'The martyr at the barricades': The life and death of one Sudanese protester
Abbas Farah was among scores killed by security forces in Khartoum one month ago. Using footage of the day, MEE tells the story of the young man's final moments
Abbas Farah was one of more than 100 estimated killed as Sudanese forces cracked down on protesters
Kaamil Ahmed
Published date: 3 July 2019 13:33 UTC | Last update: 3 years ago
With blood seeping through his yellow shirt, Abbas Farah stumbled with heavy, halting steps towards a barricade. Then he collapsed.
In the first hours of the deadly attack by Sudan's forces on a peaceful sit-in last month, the image of Farah, somehow still standing after being shot in the stomach, was one of the first and most powerful to emerge of the resistance Sudanese protesters were putting up against the heavily armed military council ruling over them.
Farah later died from his injuries, becoming one of more than 100 people killed on Monday 3 June. Through videos and images that have trickled onto social media in the month since, despite an internet blackout, and by interviewing those who knew him, it is now possible to tell the story of Farah's final hours - and how the sit-in he was defending was bloodily dispersed.
'A revolution of ideas'
A 28-year-old engineering graduate, it did not take long for Farah to buy into the uprising that started with economic protests in December 2018. It quickly morphed into opposition to the 30-year rule o0f Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir's, the only leader of the country Farah had ever known.
He spoke to friends and posted philosophically on Facebook about the movement, describing it as a "revolution of ideas" that had to work "for all Sudanese," including those marginalised under Bashir's rule.
Abbas Farah at the Khartoum sit-in
He was also out on the streets himself, long before protesters escalated their campaign with a sit-in on 6 April that took only days to bring down Bashir.
A former neighbour of his told Middle East Eye that one day in March they were filming from their rooftop while protesters were being chased by Sudan's notorious National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS) when they saw Farah running from the security officers.
They described Farah as someone who was always happy and welcoming to others around him.
"I moved to the neighbourhood we shared in 2007," the former neighbour said. "He was the first person from the block to ask me to join them for a football match and introduced me to everyone and always made sure I was comfortable as a new kid in the block."
When the sit-in started, Farah became a devoted attendee, first protesting against Bashir and then against the military council that replaced him.
"The blood of the martyrs and the establishment of rights is more important than the treasures of the earth," he wrote on Facebook.
The dispersal
For almost two months, the sit-in at the heart of Khartoum had become almost celebratory. Though it had come under attack from military forces and militias on several occasions, its jubilant atmosphere encouraged families to happily join the protest with their children.
But the sit-in was abruptly and violently dispersed early on the morning of 3 June when Sudanese forces stormed the camp, firing live ammunition, burning tents and raping women, according to activists' accounts.
The attack was widely blamed on the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) militia force controlled by Mohamed Hamdan Dagolo, the deputy head of the transitional military council known as Hemeti.
Footage of the crackdown showed men in RSF uniforms and vehicles taking part, as well as some wearing the uniforms of other branches of the Sudanese security forces.
On social media, a live stream captured the forces firing on protesters. At one point it turned to Farah, stumbling painfully in the opposite direction of the other demonstrators, who were running to confront the militia fighters attacking them.
The person filming grabbed Farah's wrist as he slumped down onto the barricade and called for others to come and take the injured youth. As they carried him away, the sound of bullets crackled in the background.
"I was seriously shocked when I saw the video of Abbas's death and I felt such strong grief," childhood friend Raheeg Omar, who lives outside Sudan, told MEE. She said she saw the video several hours after the attack.
"It truly was a massacre on unarmed citizens. They weren't carrying weapons. They were demanding their most basic rights."
The video was filmed in Nile Street, where the military claimed it had only cleared an area outside the sit-in. But videos that have emerged appear to show a build-up of forces and attacks on protesters inside the site.
Ths Sudanese Doctors' Committee, a protester-aligned network of doctors, said at least 100 were killed at the sit-in but the number could be higher because many could not be evacuated after the crackdown. Many bodies were thrown into the Nile.
At least 500 injured people were treated at Khartoum's overloaded hospitals as a result of the attack, according to the doctors. Most suffered bullet wounds. Some had bones broken after being beaten with brute force and others had been stabbed.
A video that emerged weeks later showed Farah being hauled out of a car arriving at Royal Care hospital, near the sit-in, almost completely limp. He is then laid onto a piece of wire railing ripped from the ground as a makeshift stretcher and carried into the hospital.
A photo from inside the hospital shows the same wire railing on the hospital's floor. Farah is still lying on it with his bloodied yellow shirt lifted up above his chest and a drip connected to his arm as three doctors try to save him.
In the meantime, the hospital itself was besieged by RSF forces, who allegedly attacked doctors and stopped the entry of paramedics and supplies.
A doctor, trying to reach hospitals to volunteer, told MEE on the day that RSF fighters were stopping and threatening to arrest doctors who tried to help.
According to friends, Abbas Farah died after bullets hit his lungs and kidney. Doctors were unable to save him.
A video from inside the hospital shows Farah's mother standing over his body, repeatedly crying his name and pressing her head onto his chest.
March of the Martyrs
In the hours after the camp was destroyed, the RSF spread throughout Khartoum, forcing protesters into their homes, dismantling barricades and pulling passers-by from their cars, creating a widespread sense of fear throughout Khartoum for several days.
But within two weeks the protests were growing again, with people taking to the streets all over Sudan despite the threat of violence. The neighbourhood resistance committee, groups set up by protesters to organise their local activity, started a march towards Farah's home to pass their condolences to his family.
"The blood of the martyr is my blood, the mother of the martyr is my mother," they chanted.
والدة الشهيد عباس فرح مع موكب لجان مقاومة اركويت اليوم #ندوات_لجان_الاحياء pic.twitter.com/jwkpXdRpJr
— wafaa tageldin #خشي_اللجنة (@tageldin_wafaa) June 22, 2019
Translation: the mother of the martyr Abbas Farah with the procession of the Arkweet resistance committees today
On 30 June, protest leaders called for a "march of millions" that brought out massive crowds around the country despite blocks on them marching to key government and military sites to protest. Their gathering points were the homes of killed protesters.
"Words cannot explain the amount of pain I have inside," said Farah's old neighbour.
"All that is keeping me going is that the fight isn't over and I have to convert all of this negativity into positivity until we all celebrate our victory soon and retaliate with peace and justice for all our martyrs."
Middle East Eye delivers independent and unrivalled coverage and analysis of the Middle East, North Africa and beyond. To learn more about republishing this content and the associated fees, please fill out this form. More about MEE can be found here.
A year of resistance and repression in one Sudanese town
Thousands take to Sudan's streets to demand end to military rule
Sudan in Transition
Sudan's unfinished revolution: A new history
Joe Gill
Sudan: The names of 100 people killed in a week of deadly violence
EU accused of 'hiding' from links to Sudanese armed groups in migration funding
A siege, then a storm: How Sudan's sit-in was cleared
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Glory Movie Review
by Chris McEneany Jul 12, 2009
Movies & TV Review
Glory Movie (1989)
"No one will ever take Charleston without first silencing the forts which protect its harbour, and the first one that must be taken is that. Fort Wagner."
Director Edward Zwick loves his heroics. From the rustic adventure of Legends Of The Fall to the atrocities and chaos of Blood Diamond and Defiance, he thrives on the elegiac nature of rugged duty and noble endeavour in the face of brutality and injustice. With 1989's celebrated and award-winning American Civil War drama, Glory, he fashioned an equally sentimental and rousing slice of history, but also one that was powerful and exciting. Based on the true story of the first black regiment in the US Army, the Northern trained 54th Massachusetts Infantry, Zwick combines legend with fact and the resulting tale becomes likeably mythic and unequivocally stirring. With three Academy Awards to its name, the film struck an immediate chord and was, in no small measure, something of a stepping stone to the mounting of massive period-based action yarns like Braveheart, Saving Private Ryan and Gladiator. Lavishly produced, it felt like a glorious throwback to Gone With The Wind or Spartacus - actually, now that I come to think of it, Glory feels like a cross-pollination of both those epics. The Civil War was also a setting that Hollywood had utilised many times before, though never with any real authenticity. And Zwick was certainly attempting to set that record straight with this painstakingly researched crusade.
The bloody battle of Antietam educates the young Captain Robert Gould Shaw (Matthew Broderick) in the methodology of senseless carnage, but his true calling comes as he recuperates back home from a wound sustained in the blistering fire-fight. Promoted and offered the task of recruiting and training the newly created 54th Mass. Regiment, he finds himself in the unenviable position of commanding a rear echelon battalion of black volunteers who, he comes to realise, are little more than a publicity stunt and hardly even considered as fit for active service no matter how well he trains them. Facing distrust and resentment from his men, and mockery from his peers, it looks as though he is doing nothing to help his regiment's cause in the least and, worse yet, possibly playing a part in their subjugation all over again. With vital supplies being kept from them and their basic pay cut down from that of their white comrades, the seeds of dissent are clearly sown. When one ex-slave, the redoubtable Trip (Denzel Washington) seeks to lash out against the injustice that, once again, shackles the black men of the regiment, he becomes a martyr and a severe thorn in Shaw's side. Shaw wants to unite his force, he wants to give them the opportunity to fight, but bureaucracy and bigotry constantly tie his hands and sideline his troops to nothing more patriotic than manual labour. As much a slave to the double-standards that plague his own army as his men, Shaw is forced to make a decision that will provide them with pride and that rare esprit de corps that they long for. Come hell or high water, he will lead them into battle ... and, consequently, into the history books. Together, they will overcome their differences and discover their true glory.
"I ain't fightin' this war for you, sir."
The screenplay from Kevin Jarre is actually culled from the real-life Shaw's own letters and from two books that comprehensively chronicle the North's black regiments and their part in the campaign. Jarre had also written for Rambo: First Blood Part II and Stephen Sommers' The Mummy, but his penchant for combining history with legend found its zenith, perhaps, in the immensely enjoyable Western romp, Tombstone. Here, he has as much genuine background to work from, but manages to rein in the extravagances that the Kurt Russell actioner would revel in, walking the tightrope between fact and fiction with altogether more delicacy, faithfulness and heart. Oscar-winning cinematographer and director Freddie (The Innocents/The Elephant Man) Francis would visually convey the ripe splendour of the blue-and-the-grey and paint it with a scenic brilliance that was both gritty and epic in scope. The battles - taking in wide-open fields and meadows, smoke-filled cottonwoods and the scorched white sand of the ultimate beach assault - are vividly portrayed with a mixture of the intimate and the grand. But it is perhaps in the massed processions and marches, the assembled throngs of troops and the simple, but indelible portraits of the leads that provide Glory with its most iconic images. Broderick framed against a torched house, seemingly becoming part of a burning cross that ironically appears in the flames. The massed array of pointed rifles about to belch lead in hot unison, and the beautifully lensed red, white and blue of the jubilee parade. Broderick's Shaw moving through men that he no longer sees as recruits but as friends, as flags billow sinuously at either side and raised caps weave through the air. A lingering look out at the ocean that a commander knows could well be his last, and the half-smirk from Trip as he and his fellow soldiers march towards destiny, Francis' camera keeping step with the ranks. And, most moving of all, the slow-motion montage of the tumbling dead as they are stockpiled in ghastly trenches. The film is filled with such massive visual vignettes that, in 1989, were powerful statements in their own right. Over the years since the film debuted, they may have been overshadowed by the likes of Schindler's List, Private Ryan and their ilk, but Glory retains its quiet beauty in the face of mass annihilation, making it still one of the most lyrical paeans to man's indefatigable love of endless butchery towards his fellow man.
"So full of hate you want to go out and fight everybody! Because you've been whipped and chased by hounds. Well that might not be living, but it sure as hell ain't dying. And dying's been what these white boys have been doing for going on three years now! Dying by the thousands! Dying for you, fool!"
Zwick, like Oliver Stone and Steven Spielberg, likes to pick handsome, bankable leads and then literally put them through hell, seemingly determined to have them age - or come of age - before our very eyes. Brad Pitt in Legends Of The Fall, Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai, Leonardo Di Caprio in Blood Diamond have all undergone that Zwickian odyssey of pain, loss and sacrifice, and Matthew Broderick, alongside Denzel Washington, who has suffered at least three times for the filmmaker, sort of provide the template for such gruelling make-or-break character arcs. When a tear runs from Denzel's eye as the punishing whip finally cuts through his resolve, the whole world suddenly sat up and took notice of a superstar on the ascension. Broderick's path was less meteoric, of course, and his performance in Glory has often been dismissed, but the time is right for some re-evaluation, I think.
"Rob, is it true? There's to be a coloured regiment?"
"So it seems ..."
"The I am to be your first volunteer."
Matthew Broderick's undeniable youth and insecurity with such a big role I believe actually aid his credibility as the often awestruck or dumbfounded Shaw. There are many moments when he looks painfully ill-at-ease, miscast even, but Broderick gets it right when it counts most. His anger with the QM for holding out on essential supplies for the regiment, and his indignant blackmailing of a senior officer for pilfering merchandise and conducting illegal hit-and-run missions if he doesn't grant the 54th some actual combat, and his confused and awkward discussion with Trip over why the man refuses to carry the Regimental Colours grant Shaw with an implicit realism and a convincing crisis of conscience. Monstrously out of his depth, the actor may seem, but it is important to note that the character he is portraying is in exactly the same position. It is hardly comfortable being between a rock and hard place and Broderick, going up against deep character actors like Washington and Morgan Freeman, whose laconic, but highly disciplined Sgt. Maj. Rawlings offers sage-like advice, devout counsel and the steadfast reassurance that would keep frightened men together in the face of anything, naturally comes across as nervous and somewhat fazed with the enormity of it all. But there is a misty-eyed idealism that Broderick brings to the part that shouldn't be underestimated. It is also uncanny how much he comes to resemble the real Robert Gould Shaw - whom we see in photographs in the supplementary material supplied on this disc - despite some rather obvious stick-on whiskers. When requesting that his men be honoured with leading the fateful charge, there is a tangible sense of destiny emanating from him, and his choked-up words with the reporter just before they move out make you genuinely believe that Shaw, a surprisingly young commanding officer, knows that this battle is about a whole lot more than simply taking an enemy fort. Suddenly, Broderick's faltering voice, vulnerability and almost comical lack of stature in uniform vanish amidst his dedication to a higher purpose.
"Don't look at me, look straight ahead! I'll eat your ass up, boyo!"
"You know, the Irish are not noted for their fondness for the coloured."
Cary Elwes, as Major Cabot Forbes, is also an initially strange choice. Incredibly dashing-looking - and still in sword-swishing Princess Bride mode - he lacks the rugged appeal of most Civil War soldiers, affecting the English refinement that his own family background evidently bestows him. Boasting very "American" good looks and recalling a better-skinned Robert Redford, he also rises above any initial doubts about his casting, though seeing him and Broderick together against the ranks of their men does sort of make you think that the 54th is being commanded by a couple of high school kids in fake moustaches.
Winning Oscars for Best Cinematography, Best Sound and for Best Supporting Actor, which went to Washington, it is surprising that James Horner's phenomenal music wasn't even nominated for Best Score that year. With that cloud-stroking choir and some of the most momentously yearning passages that he has ever written - and, boy, has he written some momentously yearning passages throughout his career - Horner goes for broke in the heart-string-pulling department. The final charge and, especially, its gung-ho, desperate last climb over the parapet, features some of the most energising and spiritually uplifting pieces of music you are likely to hear. There is a physical surge to the cue that hauls you to the edge of your seat, and if your heart is not pounding away in your chest - as a trooper from the 54th waves a flag from atop the enemy position and screams a primal yell of doomed jubilation, and Elwes gets to work with Errol Flynn-like sword-dexterity - then you may find that it has stopped beating altogether. But, despite all this ethereal clarion-calling, the score is possibly upstaged by the awesome camp-fire, gospel sing-along that the 54th strike up on the eve of their greatest hour that manages to be both hugely poignant and incredibly catchy at the same time. "Amen, brother!"
Zwick is sentimental, of that there can be no doubt - he even admits how emotional he gets during certain scenes of the movie in his excellent commentary track. He aims for the heart and hits it dead centre almost every time. Such movie-making can be viewed as manipulative - and in many cases, it most surely is - but in capturing the emotional truth of a situation such as this, Zwick is making the right statement in the only way that really matters. You have to care what happens to these men - it is that simple.
"That boy is a friend of yours, right?"
"We grew up together."
"Then I say ... let him grow up some more ..."
The training sequences, which take up the majority of the film, are nothing revelatory. We meet the cluster of front-line regular faces and get to follow them as their bicker, struggle, suffer and finally gain confidence, courage and acceptance. Andre Braugher, of Homicide fame and Frank Darabont's The Mist, is excellent as the educated boyhood friend of Shaw, Thomas Sears. Forsaking his social standing and intellect to take up arms in the fight to free his brothers from slavery, he is not the best material for soldiering, even though his heart is full of fire. The film agonises over Shaw's impartiality to his comrade's pain and the harsh reality of the situation that he finds himself in. In a later conflict, essayed with a clinical eye by Stanley Kubrick, Thomas would have been a shoe-in for Pvt. Pile, but Zwick and his writer are careful to bring everyone through these raw experiences with dignity, resolve and inner-strength. John Finn's Sgt. Maj. Mulcahy barks and terrorises the men like the time-honoured drill instructor of yore, but you never fear or loathe him for all of his yelling and violence. In this regard, the film feels sort of "safe" which, in a way, only adds to the unpredictable volatility of Trip, who often comes across as the most dangerous person in the camp.
"Come on 54th!"
An Oscar-winning turn from Hollywood royalty-in-the-making Denzel Washington provides the backbone for this fable of pride, indomitable spirit and tragic self-sacrifice. Trip is a rebel with the greatest cause of all, but he has no idea how to channel his rage. The turmoil lies in the fact that no-one else seems to know how to handle his justified bitterness, either. But Washington takes his stoic and impetuous ex-slave and embroiders him with texture and authenticity. He wants to fight for his creed, but he is also angry enough at the injustice that he sees all around him, even from the supposedly sympathetic Northerners, that he is willing to fight almost anybody. Harassing Braugher's Thomas, whom he has nicknamed "Snowdrop" for his assumed affinity with the white man, when there is no-one else to pick on, he epitomises the hopeless rage and practically direction-less thrust of their crusade. One of the most frustrating scenes in the film - that moment I touched upon earlier, when Shaw attempts to appeal to his strength of character over carrying the Colours - is also one of the greatest. Regarding the honourable task of carrying of the flag and the standard, and the whole point of the war, itself, neither man is able to articulate what they are really feeling, leading to a conversation that is purposely disjointed and seemingly unsatisfying. Jarre's script and the performances from Broderick and Washington are heavy with the importance of it all, the weight of their exchange, their potential soul-baring if you like, almost strangles the words in their mouths and chokes up any chance of the conventionally intelligent, and highly unlikely sermon that many other films would have stuffed in there. Underplayed and pregnant with morality and grief, this may not be the film's most memorable scene, but is probably its cleverest.
"I ran away when I was 12 years old and I ain't never looked back."
"What ya been doin' since then?"
"I run for President ... I ain't winning, though!"
The firing of the Southern-sympathisers' town is clearly meant to be a pivotal turning point, but it just misses the right amount of emotion and anger to have the correct impact required. There is a certain contrivance to the sequence that is not as forgiveable as all the rest of the usual "take 'em an' shape 'em" clichés of the common filmic theme of turning men into soldiers. However, it would be a heart of stone that was not touched when the union trooper (played, incidentally, by screenwriter Kevin Jarre) who initially bad-mouthed the regiment finds his voice and suddenly cries "Give 'em hell, 54th!" as Freeman, Washington (wow - what fitting names for this conflict, eh?) and their earnest, and patriotic battalion march past on their way to historic oblivion. Freeman's Sgt. Maj. Rawlings' kindly drawled "We'll be along directly," to the little drummer-boys who are clearly mesmerised by the sight of them all amassed on an, otherwise, picturesque beach and heading off to war is equally touching.
"If I should fall ... tell of what you saw here ..."
The fact that the uselessness of their assault - in strategic terms, anyway - is so bullied home speaks volumes for the new vogue of war-time realism that was ushered-in during this period. Things happen that you didn't expect to, or rather you didn't expect to happen in quite such a fashion. The violence of war is battered home with all the arbitrariness of a real battle. It doesn't matter if you are the star of the film - once the musket-balls are flying and the shells are dropping, you are just as prone to disintegration as the man next to you. We aren't talking Saving Private Ryan here, though. Zwick is not going for the extra dimension in carnage, which is something that, unfairly, begins to nag when I watch the film nowadays. The blood-letting, excepting in a couple of places - a Union commander's head erupting near the start, for example - is neither documentary in style nor prosaic. The battles don't feel toned-down, however. Once the action gets in close and considerably personal, the bayonets do some severe stabbing, twisting and puncturing. But this is not a film that is remembered for its violence, unlike Ryan, or Black Hawk Down, whose notoriety is propelled by their mayhem. Zwick even replicates the futility and imbecility of Civil War tactics. Rows of soldiers from both sides stand in line and discharge their weapons in the direction of the enemy and then stand defenceless as the opposing ranks do exactly the same to them. These Napoleonic strategies must be a joy for the thousands of battle re-enactors to replicate and Zwick, very wisely, fills his screen with such "living history" buffs. This also provides a highly plausible impression of 19th Century society even when we are taken away from the skirmish lines, and Glory easily ranks alongside other notable period entries such as Gangs Of New York, The Last Of The Mohicans and Dances With Wolves in terms of costume and cultural authenticity. And I can't recall ever having seen the famed, but rather eerie-looking Zouaves captured in a movie before this one. These guys fought on both sides of the conflict and, in their exotic and colourful European regalia, looked not unlike some form of aggressive, multi-hued clowns. Which, considering most peoples' irrational fear of those mischievous circus-pranksters, would make them doubly terrifying when charging at you!
"If this man should fall, who will lift the flag and carry on?"
"I'll see you in the fort, Thomas ..."
I love the way that Cary Elwes allows himself a half-hidden grin as the final orders are given for the formation and charge - it helps convey the genuine impression that, live or die, this is the very moment that they have all strived to get to. There is a very real, very tangible joy that he expresses in this one brief instance. But, for sheer lump-in-throat tenderness, just look at the way that Zwick has Broderick move through the ranks just beforehand. With Horner's main theme coursing through the scene like film's very own life-blood, and the heavenly voices of Harlem Boys' Choir stirring up unapologetically tragic pride in what is about to take place, Glory lives up to its title and finds that perfect elegiac note. At the risk of sounding horrifically sentimental, myself, it is not hard to imagine that the troops who undertook that fateful charge for real heard just such angelic voices, themselves, as they moved out in the direction of the enemy guns. Devoutly religious to a man and unbreakable in their resolve, they would have been under no illusion as to the foolhardiness of their mission yet completely smitten to the cause that triggered it. The ramifications of the glorious sacrifice that they were about to make would not have been lost on a single one of them and, damn right, they would have heard angels singing as they seized their God-given chance to fight intolerance.
For all of this talk of angels and destiny, Glory is a wonderful movie that flies way over and above what could be considered sentimental overkill. The weight of the matter is clearly evident in the eyes, expressions and voices of the black actors and, even for a resolutely American tale, the message of pride, conviction and total sincerity and sacrifice can be lost on no-one who watches the film.
A welcome release on Blu-ray, folks, Glory comes very highly recommended.
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Since it's the summer vacations, why not take some time to learn R. There are numerous free resources online to dive into this powerful language. For whomever wants to learn it, the challenge more related to finding the time rather than finding resources.
https://www.coursera.org/learn/bioconductor (Bioconductor is a life science packages repository).
You'll found several free books about R starting with the manuals from CRAN ("An Introduction to R" and "R Data Import/Export" for example).
Roger D. Peng who teaches the first two Coursera's courses mentioned above has written books for the students of his classes which can be downloaded for free (rprogramming, external data). For basic help and recipes for graph, I often consult the R-Cookbook.
R is an open-source version of S. Any documentation related to S or S-PLUS (which is the commercial implementation of S) can help you with the core functions in R. Hence, even if these references ( an introduction and a statistical manual) were written for S-PLUS, the content applies to R too.
For those who prefer a more active approach, you can learn the basics at your own rhythm with Code School's course. The concept is simple, read the explanations and the theory and practice the new learned concepts right away in the terminal displayed in your web browser.
I've probably mentioned it before, the R community is really active. You will easily find interesting blogs posts on various R-related subjects. One of the oldest blog writting about R that I know is the R-Bloggers.
Lastly, you'll find a number of answers to common problems on StackOverflow (where you can post your own question as well) and you'll find numerous code examples on the web. Modifying existing code is a good way to learn too! So do not hesitate to "Google" your questions!