A week ago, or thereabouts, Michelle Obama sat down in an interview with Oprah and said, among other things, that since the election of Donald Trump, "Now we know what it feels like to lose hope." I responded a day or two later with an off-the-cuff, get-this-off-my-chest post. It was angry, as it should have been. I was angry, and I have every right to be.
But I have thought about her comments and my response and I felt that now, having thought about it some more, I should delve a little deeper.
There is no need to rehash the six years when I was homeless in this article, as I did in the first one. Regular readers know about that, and new readers can simply search this blog to find out all they need to know. I'll merely mention it as fact. This post is about what Hope really is and Who is its source. And in that context, we understand why Michelle Obama said the things she said.
Michelle Obama said that the election of Donald Trump was a cause to feel hopeless. The implication, logically, is that A: Hillary Clinton would have brought us hope, and B: We've had such hope for the past eight years that only now do we feel hopeless. You see, Michelle Obama really believes that if America has felt hope at all, it's because of her husband, herself, and their policies.
What does this mean? Well it means that, to the Obama's, hope is dependent not upon faith in God, faith in your hard work, your character, your ambition, or your determination. To them –and to liberals in general- hope is found only in the doors the government props open for you. You have no hope of ever becoming wealthy through hard work, relentless drive, healthy ambition, determined efforts and refusal to quit. No, those things mean nothing. In fact, over the last eight years, liberals tried to steal all those descriptives and make them into something they call "White Privilege. They tried to tell us that the only people who believe that those things will get you ahead are white supremacists and racists, who use those terms because we believe that no blacks possess those qualities. They ignore the existence of the Ben Carsons, and Allen Wests, and Jackie Robinsons, and Robert L. Johnson, and the Tuskegee Airmen, and Frederick Douglass, and Booker T. Washington and thousands upon thousands of successful black businessmen and women, professionals, leaders, politicians, etc.
Michelle Obama ignores the truth that most of us –whites included- came from immigrants and have family histories of having to work hard and dream big and depend only on ourselves to achieve those dreams. They tried turning those traits and requirements for success into something evil. Michelle Obama put the cherry on the sundae with her comments to Oprah.
Her statement also reflects her cursory relationship with the "faith" that she and her husband claim only when necessary and advantageous. Had she any actual depth to her self-proclaimed relationship with Jesus, she would know where the real Source of Hope is. The fact is that Michelle Obama and her husband are the ultimate Secular Humanists. There are those who claim he is a Muslim. I have my doubts. I do believe he is a Muslim sympathizer. But where real religious belief is concerned, I don't think he actually has any. He can't. To embrace a religion is to admit there is a "Higher Power" and that implies that man is not the ultimate authority in the universe. This defies Secular Humanism at its core and would serve to deny Barack Obama his self-aggrandizing view of himself as the greatest of all men.
Remember…this is the man who said, on the night of his election, that "Today the oceans begin to recede. Today the earth begins to heal…" He sees himself as a god and gods do not share their deity. This is why Michelle tells us we should begin to feel hopeless now. Because in their opinion, hope comes from men and the wrong man got elected. Hope is a government entitlement…not a characteristic of a spirit-filled believer.
Hope is packaged and distributed by Washington DC, not by hard work, dreaming big, never quitting, and having ambition. When I was homeless and losing hope, had I only gone to a government agency, I could have received whatever I needed to have hope again and I would have been just fine.
Michelle Obama…grab a cup of coffee and let me explain this to you.
My hope comes from my faith in God, His son Jesus, and in the gifts and abilities He bestowed. I have no need for the government where the use of my gifts and the pursuit of my dreams are concerned. The government's only job where my hope is concerned is to protect the Faith from which that hope springs, and to guarantee the right to pursue my happiness. The government does not provide my happiness; it protects my right to pursue it. And should I choose to pursue something foolish and empty and never find that happiness, the government is not where I go to claim some sort of warranty violation. When I was homeless, I did not look to the government for hope. I did not want Barack Obama to provide me with hope in the form of a home and a food allotment, (Which, whether you like it or not, is precisely what the EBT / SNAP program is: a government food allotment.) What I needed the government to do was to build an environment wherein jobs are prevalent and I can go to work and handle the rest. You see, when I have a job, I can buy however much or little food I want, whatever kind I want, and eat it in whatever home I decide I like and can afford. I never thought to myself: "I wish the government eggplant department would deliver me some eggplant parm today." I thought how I would cook my own eggplant parm if only I had a job that provided me a house with a kitchen and the money to buy the eggplant.
My hope was never in the government…not in my darkest hours. When I was sleeping in my car by night and doing every menial task I could find just to have gas money, I never once thought about how the government was going to rescue me. I spent my spare moments looking for a job with which to begin the rebuilding process. My hope was not in them, it was in me. And even more importantly, when my hope in my abilities and dreams and drive and ambition was waning because I had no chance to use them to rebuild my life, the Hope I needed to press on did not come from the president. It came from the King of Kings. My Hope is not in any man on this planet. It's in God. It comes from God. He is my Hope. The reason I could wake up "just one more day," every day for almost six years of homelessness was not because of my dogged determination, my stubbornness, my resolve, my ambition or drive or dreams. It wasn't even because of my undying love for my precious daughter, for whom I endured all those indignities. No…all those characteristics were fueled by the underlying hope of God through Jesus Christ.
God created me. He made me who I am. My stubbornness and ambition and drive and relentlessness was possible only because behind it all was real hope. Hope in the knowledge that the Creator of the universe was watching and was aware of my life. That He'd known of me before I was even formed in my mother's womb. That His great plan includes me and this present darkness and my suffering were parts of that plan as were every good and happy time I had experienced or would in the future. He was my hope. Not Barack Obama. Not Donald Trump.
There are those who say that conservatives and especially the "religious right" have now put their "hope in Trump." I have been accused of "worshiping Trump." Let me set you straight. I worship no man. If Trump has offered hope to me in any way, it comes in the form of his open, unabashed support of my right to pursue the very faith that gives me a Hope independent of the government. A right that Barack Obama withstood at every turn. Make no mistake, Barack Obama defied my faith. He demeaned the Christian Faith every chance he got. He fought long and hard to promote the image of Christians as intolerant, bigoted, hateful, and loveless. You know…all the things liberals Democrats became after they lost on November 8. Barack Obama mocked my faith as early as the campaign for his first term in office, when he referred to Christian Patriots as "bitter folks clinging to their guns and Bibles." He declared that America was never a Christian nation, (and while we never were an officially Christian nation, we certainly recognized and protected our Christian foundation and built our entire judicial system upon that faith.) He sent his stooges at the IRS and the DOJ out, with the order to attack and undermine Christian faith-based organizations as much as possible.
Obama demanded that he be our hope. When he smugly told small businessmen "You didn't build that!" while describing the efforts of their lifetime of hard work, he did it because he doesn't want anyone achieving or succeeding unless they owe it to the government. He speaks of dreams while simultaneously crushing dreamers. Why else would this man spend eight years declaring how we need more jobs, while enacting economic policies that rendered more people unemployed than at any other time in our history? Why? Because he wants us to be dependent on the government for our hope.
She believes it. She wants us to believe it. She demands we believe it.
Now come the liberals who are screaming bloody murder at the loss of the election. One lame excuse after the other as to why. Everything from the Russians to the FBI to the stupidity of the masses to the Electoral College. Everything except the real reasons: We wanted hope.
Donald Trump's message was not "Have hope in me!" as Obama's has been. Trump's message is "I believe in you. I'm going to do my best to get you an economy that rewards your hard work and makes it possible to take a real shot at your dreams, and then I'm going to get the government out of your way and turn you loose to see how far you can go!" Just writing that last line gave me chills. That's all I wanted when I was homeless and hurting and trying so darned hard to make my way back.
We don't have hope in Trump or even because of Trump. Trump is making room for us to have Hope in God and in ourselves. As our founding fathers wanted it. This sort of independent empowerment not only defies the will of the current administration and the liberal left…it scares the heck out of them.
I'm begging you to beg me.
I can easily imagine Barack Obama speaking these words on national TV. Even making it sound comforting and necessary, then carefully reconstructing American History to make it seem like this was the mantra that built this nation. The facts are opposite. We don't need them. We shouldn't want them. I will never beg them. My hope is in Jesus Christ, and in the abilities He has gifted me with. My hope was never in Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton, and if, in fact, it appeared I was hopeless at the thought of her winning, it was because she was of the same mindset that wanted to eliminate my real hope. My hope is not in Donald Trump either. But my hope is in the truth that Donald Trump accepts the source of my hope, and does not see himself or his role as opposing that hope. He does not see my Faith and my Hope in God as something detrimental to his view of the office. He sees it for what it is: the basis upon which this nation was born and the light that carried her through dark times and illuminated her way to the glorious bright days she has experienced, and will experience again.
Now that we have real hope.
A Letter To Michelle Obama on the topic of "Hope."
I'm trying, man...I'm really trying.
I'm trying not to demean the current president or his wife, here in the final days of his miserable, yet highly successful presidency.
Yeah, "Highly successful." Listen, I despise every policy he has put in place and I despise everything he espouses and stands for and I despise what he has done to this wonderful country of ours. But if any of you think he is some mindless dolt who flailed away for eight years and got us to this precipice because of stupidity...you have not been paying attention.
Barack Obama succeeded. His goal when he came to office was to destroy as much of this country as he could, as fast as he could, and to leave the rest so damaged that it would crumble as well. He darn near succeeded. Had it not been for Donald Trump deciding that this was the year he gave it a go, I fear we'd be talking about the late, great, United States of America. We'd be swearing in Madam Hillary and saying goodbye to what fragments remain of this nation of ours.
Obama succeeded. This mess we're in, this is precisely what he wanted. In fact, the only thing he failed in was wreaking more havoc, and doing more damage.
He ran on the slogan "Hope and Change." Only nobody has any hope, and the only changes were for the worse. Now comes his wife, madam first lady, whining to Oprah about how she has no hope now that Trump is going to be President. Well Michelle, sit back and grab a cup of coffee and let me school you about not having hope. Not that you'll bother to read this, because you don't actually gives a rat's bum about any of us. But someone else might. Someone else might read it and feel a connection, and realize that they aren't alone. For almost ten years now -since you and the naked emperor decided to run for president- we've been hearing your story. Now you need to hear mine.
I'll cut to the chase. I won't bore you with details. Unlike Barack, I don't have any stories of composite girlfriends or dog casseroles. I was born in Philadelphia to an unwed mother. (See...happens to white people too) I grew up lower middle class in Delaware. I didn't go to college right away because I couldn't afford it. Never once did I think anyone owed me a college education. Except maybe my parents. They owed me at least a little help and encouragement but I got neither. You know what? I did it on my own. Some other folks helped too. But I never took to Oprah's couch because of the emotional scars of not going off to college with my friends. I sucked it up, started a business, eventually went to college, got married, became a dad, suffered through a heartbreaking divorce and found success in the mortgage industry.
Let's start the tale there, shall we?
I was a branch manager for a mortgage lender. Not a mortgage bundler on Wall Street. Not a hedge fund manager. Not the guy who crashed the economy. I was basically a loan officer. I helped people buy a home or refinance the one they owned. I seldom did sub prime loans at all and never used the risky programs that eventually sank the industry. I did well for myself. I worked very hard in a 100% commission field. No base salary. No "safety net." Nobody holding my hand when things got tough.
I had a broken heart and a beautiful daughter. That was all I took from my marriage, but I soldiered on. I bought a house and made it a home as best I could given the circumstances. I saw my daughter once a week and every other weekend. I made a success of myself in my job and I served my customers very well.
Then came 2008, and the collapse. The collapse that George Bush warned against for seven years but the Democrats kept blocking his efforts to prevent. That collapse. I lost everything. Not a lot...everything.
I lost my job, then my career, then my home. My daughter's life was beginning to become a nightmare at her mom's house so I had to stay in Nashville, (where we lived) and I could not move to where there might have been work. I had no place to stay, so I slept in my car.
I was homeless. I was 45, had two years of college, ten years of documented success, and I was homeless.
And I was someone's daddy.
"When you're homeless, you feel like you're on the outside looking in. Like there is an invisible wall between yourself and "normal" folks. It feels like it's a slow-moving nightmare and you can't tell which part is the dream and which is reality. You want to wake up, but you're already awake.
It feels like you're watching the normal folks with their normal life, a life that you used to have as well, and you start forgetting what all that felt like. What it was like to have a kitchen, and a stove, and a bed…and an address. You try to forget about your dogs and your cat and your garden. You overhear bits of conversations about mundane home ownership and you wish you could be doing those things that the normal people complain about. You wish you still had a lawn to cut. You wish you had a driveway to seal, or an electric bill to complain about. You'd give anything for a nosy neighbor.
When you're homeless, you don't wake up on Monday mornings and have the Monday morning blues and make jokes with your coworkers about how "It's Monday again…" Because when you're homeless, every day feels like Monday. Every day greets you with the blues. Every day finds you one day further removed from humanity. One more day since your last meaningful conversation. One more day since you had clean sheets and a warm bed. One more day has passed since you had a cup of coffee in your kitchen, in your mug, from your coffee maker.
When you're homeless, you can't run home for lunch, or grill out, or hang your laundry out to dry. You can't take a warm shower at the end of a hard day's work, because you don't have a shower, and you can't find any work. When you're homeless, you can't stay indoors on a cold, rainy November Saturday and get caught up on some reading and have a nice fire in the fireplace and make some soup and watch the cold rain as it falls. When you're homeless, you try to stay dry and warm and out of sight if you can.
When you're homeless there are no pictures on your walls, because you have no walls. So you carry them in your wallet, and in your heart. They come alive at night, these pictures. They haunt you. Pictures of your little girl and the rope swing you had in the oak tree out back and how she laughed and wanted you to push her for hours. Pictures of how your beloved dog Bonnie would come over to you on the sofa and lay her chin on your leg and let out a soft little sigh and look at you plaintively until you scratched her head. Pictures of your daughter and the time you filled the Jacuzzi tub with Mr. Bubble and she was lost in the suds and laughing up a storm and having the most fun you'd ever seen. Pictures of when it was that you had a life.
Other times, it's like being on the inside looking out. You swear everyone knows. Everyone sees. You hide your bedroll in the trunk of your car but maybe they saw it when you were getting your school books. You circle the church where you hide your car at night to get a few hours of sleep. You circle it like a hawk, hunting for his prey, waiting until you don't see any headlights coming in either direction and then you race in before someone sees you. Your heart races and pounds and you swear that this time, they saw your tail lights and they've called the cops. You hurry up and back into the overgrowth until you are hidden from view. They can't see you but you swear they can. You wait, being as quiet as a mouse, barely breathing. Ten minutes go by. Then twenty. Sitting still like this means the fatigue starts to catch up to you but you fight it. After enough time passes, you let out your breath and realize that nobody saw you. You pulled it off one more time. You get changed into your sweatpants and sweatshirt and zipper into two sleeping bags and try not to let yourself admit how cold it really is. The cold has gotten into your bones by now and you never feel quite warm. Your body is warm enough with all the layers, but you're still breathing frigid air and you wake up shivering.
You feel like every pair of eyes in the world is dialed in on you when you're homeless. Do they know? Surely they know. Everyone knows. You walk with your head down, and your eyes lowered. Because even if nobody else around you knows, you know. And that's bad enough. You stop looking into store front windows because you can't bear seeing your own reflection. You hide your shame when you see your daughter, because after all…you're still her daddy. But you feel like a caged animal. Like the little people inside a snow-globe, never moving, never showing any reaction whenever some outside force shakes their world and stirs up the snow. Their smile painted on. Their faces plastic and emotionless. That's you now. Feeling less and less because feeling anything at all only reminds you of who you used to be and who you are now.
God bless Daddy. God? God who? You question Him. Sometimes you curse at Him because it feels like He's just left you here. Sometimes you cry out to Him for mercy and beg Him for hope. You pray to Him. You pray to him for your daughter. "Please, God," you beg, "Please give me a place to live again. My daughter needs me and I need her." Then you think about her life and the pain she feels. "Please God," you continue, "Please protect her like I would if I was there right now." And the tears resume, and the sobs, and the memories, and the questions, and the doubts.
When you're homeless, you don't get your daughter once a week and every other weekend. You get McDonald's for an hour every few days after school. You try hiding the truth from her, but she's smart. She finds out and then you feel even worse because you know her, and now she is worrying herself sick about you every night. When you're homeless, you are still someone's father, but you sure don't feel very fatherly.
When you're homeless, you think of the old days and the happy times and those memories are triggered by the strangest things. I was walking through the mall one hot summer afternoon, just trying to stay out of the heat. I walked past the "Build-a-Bear Workshop" store and I stopped outside and watched the little kids. There was a girl there who reminded me of my own daughter a few years before. She was finishing up her bear and doing the little routine where they tell the kids to jump up and down and turn around. I remembered all the trips we made together to this place. Back when I had a job and a home and she had a bedroom where she kept all these prized little stuffed friends. It felt like it was a million years ago. It felt like I was watching it all from some cloak of invisibility. The little girl clutched her new beloved friend as mine had done. I turned away in tears. I raced to the bathroom before the sobs embarrassed me in the mall. When you're homeless, every little thing reminds you that you used to have a home, and your daughter used to spend weekends with you, and you used to be someone.
When you're homeless, you reach a point where you want to quit. In that moment, you'd better have a reason to keep fighting. You'd better have something or someone you love more than you love yourself because believe me, when you want to give up, when you want to crawl inside a bottle and die or jump from a bridge, or just fall asleep in the dead of winter and let your body freeze…there had better be a face you see when you close your eyes that keeps you going. Because when you're homeless, just you…isn't nearly enough."
"What is it actually like to be homeless? What is the daily routine of a person whose entire existence is at the mercy of the weather, the availability of shelter, and the hours of operation of a county recreation center? What does it feel like, not from a larger statistical, "Face of the homeless problem" level…but as a man? While others are posting funny "It's Monday again" memes on Facebook, and lamenting the loss of another weekend, what is Monday like for a homeless man?
There is a routine to it. There is a pattern to the survival mode I lived in for six years. It wasn't a vacation from reality, or a break from labor. Homelessness is work. There are things you have to do each day, just to survive. Because that is the first rule of being homeless: "Survive." You have to find that perfect hiding spot, and when you do, you have to guard it with your life. That's key. You need to be safely hidden at night when you try to steal a few hours of sleep. If you can't be both safe and hidden, at least be hidden. If they can't see you, they can't roust you for vagrancy.
Hopefully, if you're unseen, you're also safe, but not necessarily. Just because the cops don't see you, or the pastor, behind who's church you hide your car each night, or the church members who happen to come back to the church late one night because they forgot something, just because none of them saw you, doesn't mean someone else didn't. Even the slightest sound is a cause for alarm. You just never know who else is out there like you are, in survival mode, looking for a place.
The second rule is "Get out of this somehow." Because few people really want to be here. True, there are those who prefer this life. Folks with mental issues that force them to the shadows and the outskirts of society. I've met them. I used to work with the homeless ministry at the church I attended, (They felt it lent some authenticity to have an actual homeless man working with the homeless men they shipped in one night a week during the coldest months) and I met the guys who preferred homelessness. They eschewed the shelters and the Mission. They avoided the places where the other homeless would gather. They seldom panhandled. Most were veterans suffering from PTSD or other mental issues, coupled with chemical dependencies, losing a daily battle with the bottle. They had a meager monthly income from the V.A. and that was how they survived.
These men weren't comfortable around others for long stretches of time. They stayed to themselves, carrying on conversations in their heads to keep themselves company. They were the loneliest of the lot. The others knew them by now and avoided them for the most part. They respected the fact that these men wanted to be alone and the code on the street is "Respect my space and respect my stuff." You didn't touch another man's backpack and if he didn't want to talk, you didn't try to force him.
There were always troublemakers who would violate these rules. I saw this as well. Guys who poked fun at the quiet ones. Guys who would rob another man of his last cigarette, his last dollar, or his last clean pair of socks. They would steal because they wanted it, and they would steal because they needed to feel superior. Even homeless people need to feel like they have some sort of power and control remaining. Sometimes stealing another guys stuff was the only way they could show it. Alpha males exist even in a homeless shelter or under a bridge.
Sometimes these guys would show their strength by ridiculing those with deeper problems. They'd find the weak spot in a man's armor and pick at it nonstop until the man broke. Often this was violent in nature. A homeless man with obvious mental illness being pushed to the brink by another homeless man is an explosive mix. You didn't want to be near that when it happened.
For the others, though, the goal was to get out of this situation somehow. That was always my goal. I wanted this nightmare to end, and end as quickly as possible. So in addition to the routine of survival, there was the daily effort to find work, and end this.
I have to admit that as I wrote those two words just now it brought tears to my eyes. Until 2008 I have never had to find work. Work always found me. I was always working. I have been industrious, diligent, and hardworking since I was a little boy. I have the natural work ethic that the grandsons of immigrants seem to always have. At eleven I started a lawn mowing business in my neighborhood, to go along with my newspaper route. (At a time in America when an eleven-year-old boy could go out at five a.m. and deliver papers and be perfectly safe.) At fifteen I started working in a fast-food restaurant.
I graduated from high school and went immediately to work full-time.
I'd never been out of work in my life. Even in college I worked thirty to forty hours a week. I'd been self-employed since 1986. I started a carpentry business and did that until 1998 when I started in the mortgage business. The mortgage business is straight commission and there is no room for the lazy. I had to go find every loan I closed. So hard work and diligence were not foreign to my nature. And yet here I was…jobless.
My routine was tiring. It wore me down. It was hard. The day started at about 4:45 a.m. You have to get up long before the sun because darkness is your ally. You can't be seen coming and going or you'll lose the spot you worked so hard to find. You essentially spend your whole day trespassing, so when it's time to try to sleep, you need to not worry about being discovered. So moving in and out requires darkness. This is hard in the summer months when the sun is up early and lingers until late in the night. When you've had four hours of fitful tossing and turning in the passenger seat of a car, you wake up tired and move toward total exhaustion by day's end. Sometimes it was that exhaustion that made sleep even possible at all. I would collapse at night and the first two hours would be unbroken. But there was always a sound or a nightmare or, eventually, the discomfort of that folded-down car seat that woke me up. The rest of my short night would be spent in a series of naps until my cell-phone alarm woke me and it was time to move on. I rose early to avoid losing my hiding spot at the church, but it was something more than that. There was so much shame involved. I just didn't want anyone seeing me living in my car.
A year later, a friend found out about my plight and offered me a spot to park on her little mini-farm in Franklin, just a few miles from the Church. Of course I took her up on it, but my habit remained. Even after I had a spot to park, and was welcome there, and was not at risk of being thrown out by the cops…I still rose before dawn. I was still embarrassed at sleeping in my car. I still didn't want anyone to see me.
Thankfully I had the luxury of a gym membership. Williamson County Parks and Rec has wonderful facilities. They have four main locations and for $225 for a year, it was a steal. Thankfully I had a paid membership when my world collapsed. After that, renewal was cheaper and somehow I managed to scrape together the $150 it took each January to stay active. So I had a place to shower. I used the necessity of my going there to work out each day, doubtless the most consistent I'd been my life. I walked about five miles each morning and then lifted weights, showered, and went out to face the day. I accomplished all this by about 7:45 a.m.
The internet is crucial when you're homeless and job-seeking. So I had to find free Wi-Fi connectivity. These days that's easy. What's not easy is finding restaurants where you can sit for hours and not spend any money while you used the free broadband.
It's not their job to provide internet to the world and not get anything in return, and so I always felt guilty. My favorite spots were the Panera restaurants in Franklin. There were always other folks there working on their laptops or having meetings and so I didn't feel out of place. I'd scrape together the two dollars it took to buy a large iced tea and then I'd rinse the cup out when I was finished and bring it back the next day for free refills without having to buy another one. It's not the way the policy is designed, I know, but two dollars was a lot of money to me.
Sometimes, just eating was an exercise in creativity. There were days when I would literally be down to no more than the change in my pocket or what I could scrape together from the ashtray in my car. I would catch a sale on Ramen noodles at the Kroger. The trick was to buy one "Cup-of-Noodles" and then use the rest of the money for Ramen noodle packages. That way I had a cup to re-use to make the Ramen. I would feel so horribly guilty taking my cup of noodles the Panera. I'd hide it in my backpack and get a cup of hot water from the coffee bar. After making the noodles at my booth, I'd arrange my laptop, and later when I'd started college classes, my school books, on the table in such a way that (I hoped) nobody could see what I was eating. It was humiliating. I felt like a thief. Looking back, nobody likely even noticed or cared, but I felt like every set of eyes in the store was watching me and knew what I was up to…and what I was.
There were days when there simply was no money at all after buying gas. Days when the refills of iced tea had to get me through until the next day. Or the day after that. I learned the value of my Sam's club membership then. When I was down to nothing, I would go to Sam's and walk around hitting all the free sample displays. I had to take my time and not go to the same ones too frequently or the sales person might recognize me. Now I don't know if they would ever have said "Hey…you've had enough!" but you just never know. I'd eat samples and walk around the store, looking at things I could never buy, remembering a better time when I'd be in this store every week, buying supplies for my office.
Back when I was a success. Back when I was someone. When I felt human.
There was one more source of food I'd rely on when things were at their worst. It was probably the most embarrassing of all, simply because of the people around me. The Kroger around the corner from the Panera in Cool Springs that I frequented, always set out cookies and coffee for their customers. They set them by the deli department. Some days, when I had no money and didn't have the gas to drive over to Sam's, I'd go to the Kroger. I felt too embarrassed to just walk in and head for the cookies, so I would pretend to shop for a few minutes, sometimes, to keep up the appearance, I'd even pick up a few canned goods. I'd walk around like a shopper, then head over and grab a couple of cookies. I'd walk around for a while longer and do it again. When I had four or five in my pocket, I'd return my canned goods to their shelves and head back to Panera. I always felt terrible taking cookies from the Kroger, mostly because this particular store was in a rather affluent area and the customers were always well dressed and well-heeled. I felt like an intruder into their neighborhood. No one ever said anything to me. I am sure nobody ever noticed me taking the free cookies. But I noticed. To me it wasn't crafty or smart. It was just survival and I was tired of just surviving.
I guess they're funny, these stories. And maybe they would be if I was 19 and this was my college life we were talking about. But we're not. We're talking about a forty-five-year-old man. Someone's dad. Having to come up with ways to find food. Even now, three years beyond this situation, it breaks my heart. It hurts to write these words about myself. It hurts to see the image in my mind of me skulking away from the Kroger with a pocket full of sugar cookies, and calling that my dinner.
Beside finding food, part of each day was the job search. I always did this part first, because I'd hoped that my resume would find its way into some early-rising employer's email before anyone else's did. Each day I would search the job websites. Each day I widened my search just a bit. At first I'd hoped to find something similar to what I had been doing. I knew the mortgage industry was all but dead in those days. But I had managed sales people and I had run an office and I was a very good teacher and trainer.
Each day I would send out my resume to eight or ten or twelve possible employers. Each day I would not hear anything back. I never stopped trying. I don't remember many days going by without my sending out resumes. But no one replied. The economy was terrible then. Unemployment was high, and the outlook was pessimistic. The president, for all his talk of hope, offered nothing in the way of solutions. He ignored people like me.
Days became months. Months, unbelievably, became years. Hope became a numb spot in my heart. A faded memory of a time when I had a career and when I walked upright like a man. Not the stoop-shouldered, vagabond I had become. Hiding in plain sight. Trying my best not to look homeless.
It wasn't long before I felt like maybe I could have a career as a writer. If not full-time, then at least in conjunction with whatever else I was doing. I worried that if I only wrote about my homelessness, I would be pigeon-holed into only ever writing about homelessness…or other social issues, for the rest of my life. I didn't want that.
I would write in the mornings, perhaps as a means of relieving the pressure of sending out resumes and not getting a response. I'm sure it was -in part at least- a means of just saying the things I would say if I had someone, anyone, to talk to. I wrote a lot about my divorce and my fatherhood. I wrote sometimes revelatory things about myself. My search for my own father, and the subsequent disappointments. My search for work. The way I missed my home in the country. The way I was missing my daughter growing up. I wrote to give vent to the pain that built in my heart every day.
After writing, if I had gas in my car, sometimes I would go to the little park nearby. I would walk. Walking became therapy for me much as writing had become. In fact, much of what I wrote about in those days was formulated on those early morning walks at the rec center, and often it was digested on the mid-morning walks at Pinkerton Park. I walked to think. I walked to escape from the thoughts I was thinking. I walked for hours sometimes, just hashing out my situation and trying to find the escape hatch. I walked sometimes, just to keep moving, because sitting still made it feel like this whole nightmare would catch me and consume me. I walked sometimes, just to stay away from the lot that was befalling me.
It was lonely. More lonely than I have ever been in my life. I had conversations with no one else but myself. I can understand how that can drive a person to madness if it goes on long enough. No one counters your desperate thoughts. Nobody holds your sadness in check. You voice those things to only yourself and nobody says "Come on man…I'm here. You aren't entirely alone." I had friends I could call, but they all lived somewhere else. Or the ones close by had jobs and families and they didn't have time for a homeless guy sitting on a bench in a city park in the middle of the morning. They cared, but they had no idea how really desperate I was and so there was no urgency. And I felt guilty even asking them so I never did. So I walked. Alone.
Some days, there was rain and I would sit under the pavilions on the picnic tables. The rain would pour down hard enough that I was invisible under there. Had anyone come to the park, like the Franklin PD who rolled through every few hours, they would have never seen me for the sheets of rain that formed a curtain around the gazebo. Those were the days I could cry. I cried a lot but much of it stayed inside. But when it rained and I felt invisible, I could let it out. And I did.
I would walk sometimes all day, alternating between sitting on a bench and walking the trail. When afternoon came and people who had been there earlier were going home to their families and their dinner table, I would cry again. Sometimes I couldn't hide it under a pavilion roof. Sometimes I had to turn my head as a stranger walked past me on the trail. "He's going home," I would think to myself. "He's done his walking and he's going home to his wife and his family and his home." I would think of this stranger sitting at a dinner table, having a conversation, laughing, smiling. I would think of him relaxing in his favorite chair, taking his dog out for a walk, climbing into bed. Then I would think of the car, and the pain in my back and the stiffness in my neck and the shame.
Some days I would walk around downtown Franklin just to be near other people. Downtown Franklin is a beautiful little area dating back to the late 1700's. Main Street bustles with shops and shoppers and café's and artsy people walking around with seven-dollar latte's and trendy clothes, talking mainly about the music industry. I walked among them with no latte, and no trendy clothes. I remember catching my reflection in a storefront window once. I was noticeably thinner. I was clean, my clothes were clean. I had shaved. Nothing about my appearance, save maybe the weight loss, betrayed my homelessness. But I saw it. I saw it in my eyes, me…looking back at me.
I know myself well enough to recognize all those tears I was holding back and the memories that were, even in that instant, flooding my mind. I saw what no one else could have seen that day. I saw who I used to be, overlaid with who I was now and it broke my heart. After that, I no longer looked into windows. I no longer could bear seeing my reflection. It just hurt too much.
Some days I had some work. I found an odd job from a friend and I was busy trying to earn a few dollars. I built a chicken coop once for the woman who would eventually allow me to park on her property. I had never built a coop before and she showed me a picture and I set to work. When I was done, her mother said it was the nicest chicken coop she'd ever owned and she'd had them all her life. I was proud of that. In a world that was spiraling daily and tearing out my hull on the rocks of an economy that would not relent…I could build the nicest chicken coop this woman had ever seen. You take your happiness were you find it sometimes.
Afternoons often approached with a sense of impending doom. No matter what kind of day I'd had, good or bad, in the back of my mind was that car and those weeds. It was there like a specter. It was there like the feeling in your gut when your dad pulls up in the driveway and you got an "F" on your report card and he was about to find out. It was there like going to the doctor and expecting a bad report. The car. The weeds. The hiding. The tossing and turning and exhaustion. The nervousness of racing into the hiding place and hoping that no one saw you one more night.
Afternoons were the great blank spot in my day. The great void. Summer made it worse because it was light until nine p.m. and I was tired by seven. Regardless of what time the sun set, I still had to be up before five to avoid being seen, so summer months just meant I slept less. A lot of time, if I had gas in my car, I would drive to my daughter's school and pick her up. We'd go to McDonald's for a Coke and to spend time together. Not too many months after this all began she discovered I was homeless. I had left my sleeping bag rolled up behind my seat and she saw it. I couldn't lie to her any longer. It broke my heart.
And another day in my journey was over."
Is this anything like your day, madam FLOTUS? I'm pretty sure the answer is "no."
You have two lovely daughters. Have you ever cried yourself to sleep at night because they were stuck in a house with a drunk, drug addicted abuser who was married to her mom? No? Then you don't really know hopelessness. Not really.
Did you put out almost 400 resumes and get no offers? Have you ever looked at a $20 bill and wondered how you were going to buy gas, get something to eat, and maybe spend some time with your child on it? No? Then you don't really know hopelessness. Not really.
Have you ever woken up to frost inside the car you're sleeping in because it was so cold at night that your breath froze to the windshield? I have.
I also lost THREE job offers because of your husbands devastating "Affordable Care Act." Have you ever made a promise to your daughter and then had to break it because the job you were offered was rescinded before you ever even got started? I have. If you haven't then you don't know what hopelessness is. not really.
Have you ever had to walk through a grocery store and "casually" try to eat all the free food samples you could, because it's the only food you can find? Have you ever been entirely at the mercy of public restrooms, or has the county recreation center been the only place you could take a shower? No? I have. I lived like that for six years. Six years of the eight that your husband was president. Imagine a six year chunk of your daughter's lives being torn from you. Imagine going from your mid-forties to your fifties without a home of your own.
In all that time, I worked. I took odd jobs, I did carpentry, I even washed a friend's windows for $100 because I needed the money. I remained in my daughter's life because she needed me and I made this sacrifice for her sake. You want to know hopelessness...I can teach you a thing or two about it.
We've had eight long, arduous, grinding years of it. Because of the horrible policies of your husband and your party. And -in fairness- because of the tone-deaf RINO's who ignored the pleading of their own constituents, and never told your husband "No." We have suffered, madam FLOTUS. We had no hope at all. Those of us who believe in work, and earning what we get, and ambition, and who despise the idea of living off the government...we were hopeless and hurting.
Into this abyss came a lifeline in the form of Donald Trump. He is rough around the edges. He is bold and brash and not at all a velvet glove. He is a sledgehammer, not a scalpel. He LOVES this great country and believes in us...it's citizens. In other words, he is the antithesis of your husband.
He came along and became our voice. He became my voice. He gave a damn about men like me. He said what we were all thinking and feeling. ALL of us. Including those 300 or so counties that voted for your husband last time, but voted for Trump this time. Including the states that Hillary so smugly thought she had sewed up. He heard all the voices that your husband turned a deaf ear to.
He brought us hope. Hope in ourselves...not in the government.
You want to see how I slept in single digit cold or sweltering nights? How I ate cup-o-noodles dry sometimes because I had no hot water?
You want to see the tears in my eyes as I talked to my daughter and reassured her I was okay and this was going to end soon? I'll show you hopeless, Michelle. I'll show it to you in buckets full.
You lost. Your legacy didn't carry water with the American people and so your replacement will be the exact opposite, not a continuation of your failed, miserable policies.
You have attacked us, divided us, shamed us, angered us, lied to us repeatedly, indebted us, and very nearly broke us. But you didn't quite finish the job. That may be the only thing your husband failed at in his plan. The only goal he missed. He didn't break us. We're still here. We're still AMERICANS. We still believe in work, and dreams, and ambition, and only taking what we earn. You failed to break us.
You promised hope. You sucked it from us like a vacuum. Now you talk about your hopelessness as if you've ever felt that emotion. You need to never utter that word again. You need to never speak about hopelessness ever again. Because you have no idea how it feels and you embarrass yourself when you try to co-opt that word for yourself. If you want to know hopelessness, madam FLOTUS, look at the rubble I had left to rebuild from. Give me back the six years you took from me.
Better yet, respectfully...just go away.


text:
Q: Translate value before sending information is there a away to translate values in php using either google api translate or any other api...
<?php
   // 1.- Query to get information
   // 2.- build array with that query
   // Example array from query
   $data = array(
          '0' => array (
                   'name' => 'Zapatos',
                   'color' => 'Verde'
                 ),

          '1' => array (
                   'name' => 'Casa',
                   'color' => 'Rosa'
                 ),
           );
       // Now that the array has been build, lets make a translation
       // Which I have no idea how to do that but the final array should be

$final = array(
          '0' => array (
                   'name' => 'Zapatos',
                   'color' => 'Verde',
                   'name_en' => 'Shoes',
                   'color_en' => 'Green'
                 ),

          '1' => array (
                   'name' => 'Casa',
                   'color' => 'Rosa',
                   'name_en' => 'House',
                   'color_en' => 'Pink'
                 ),
           );

is this process possible or am I just dreaming?
I have very little knowledge on how exactly Goolge API works since I only use the Google Translate widget and the translation is after you present the information but in this case we need to make a translation before presenting the information...

A: Google translate API is a paid service. You need to get a api key from google api services :
google translate API
After that, you can make a curl to google api after getting your results from query :
sample url for curl :
https://www.googleapis.com/language/translate/v2?key=INSERT-YOUR-KEY&source=en&target=de&q=Hello%20world&q=My%20name%20is%20Jeff
You will get the results as JSON object,do json_decode and add results to your array.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


text:
Q: Javascript function does not execute completely I have a javascript function named showInput()
And this function executes only till the point where "alert('this runs');" is written.
Another way to explain is, when i try to figure out the error, I placed the alert function at the same place as in the screenshot, and this alert function did not run.
What is the error here? I have never seen anything like this happening before.
The function runs for first four commands and then exits.
Could it be because of my RAM because, I am using mint 18 with 80 gigs HDD and 2 GB RAM.
Please help me. I am stuck with this bizarre problem for weeks.
This is the javascript code

Now the cakephp3 code:

  <?= $this->Form->create(); ?>

First Step

<?php   echo $this->Form->input('firstname');?>
<?php   echo $this->Form->input('lastname');?>
<?php   echo $this->Form->input('mobile');?>
<?php   echo $this->Form->input('address'); ?>
<?php   echo $this->Form->input('pincode'); ?>

       <button type="button"  id="firstBtn" class="next1">Next</button>

Second Step

      <?php echo $this->Form->input('lib_name'); ?>
      <?php echo $this->Form->input('lib_city'); ?>
      <?php echo $this->Form->input('lib_address');   ?>
       <button type="button" id="secondBtn" class="next">Next</button>
        <button type="button" id="secondBtnBack">Previous</button>

Third Step

            <?php   echo $this->Form->input('username'); ?>
            <?php   echo $this->Form->input('password'); ?>
        <button type="button" onclick="showInput();"  id="thirdBtn" class="next" >Next</button>
        <button type="button" id="thirdBtnBack">Previous</button>

Fourth Step

        Useranme:

        Password:

         First Name:

        Last Name:

        City:

        Address:

        Pincode:

        Lib Name:

        Lib City:

        Lib Address:

       <button type="button" id="fourthBtnBack">Previous</button>
       <input type="submit" id='sub_btn' value='Send Mail!' class="next"/>

</form>

This is the screenshot of the function

A: First try to debug the error.

*

*Comment the alert and check function fully work or not.

*Put alert one or two lines down and check top code works or not, bottom code works or not.

*Then you can figure out where is the problem.

Your RAM is not an issue for work like this as i think.

A: I don't have any experience with CakePHP, but I don't see a $this->Form->input('city');, so I think you don't have an element with the ID of city (I do see one with lib_city).
Since your Javascript tries to read a value from an element with an ID of "city", I think it's failing on that line and not executing anything after that. In fact, if you look at your Javascript console (F12), it'll probably say something to that effect.
If I'm right, don't forget to apologize to Maharshi, who was actually the first one to identify the problem.


text:
Under-19 final: Manjot Kalra Manjot takes centre stage as India beat Australia to win a record 4th World Cup
Manjot Kalra scored a famous ton as India dispatched Australia by eight wickets to win the 2018 Under-19 World Cup at Bay Oval in Mount Maunganui, New Zealand on Saturday.
It was India's 4th World Cup win. (Twitter)
Needing 217 to win, Rahul Dravid's boys made light work of the target and comfortably won the game in 38.5 overs. Manjot led from the front with 101 not out off 102 balls, hitting eight fours and three sixes.
He was nicely supported by captain Prithvi Shaw (29), Shubman Gill (31) and Harvik Desai (47*). Manjot shared 71-, 60- and 89-run stands with these three batsmen to take India over the line.
It was India's fourth World Cup trophy, which is a record in the history of the tournament.
After choosing to bat first, Australia were bowled out for 216 in 47.2 overs. Their batsmen got good starts but couldn't really convert those into big runs. Jonathan Merlo, however, was the exception as he made a solid 76. If it wasn't for his innings, Australia's challenge would have been far weaker.
India's bowlers had a great day at the office with Kamlesh Nagarkoti, Anukul Roy, Shiva Singh, Ishan Porel all taking two wickets each. Shivam Mavi chipped in with one wicket.
Man-of-the-Match Manjot was pleased as punch at the post-match presentation. "I enjoyed it a lot. The conditions were good. Not a difficult wicket, it was flat and good to bat on. It's been a great environment within the team and I've enjoyed that," he said.
Shaw was ecstatic too. "I really can't express what I'm feeling now. All credit to our support staff, they've really been supporting us for the last two years. And full credit to the guys as well," he said.
"Rahul sir is a legend. It was the final, a very crucial hundred from Manjot. Gill was batting really well. And the two pacers, Mavi and Kamlesh, who've been excellent throughout the tournament. Thanks for all the support from India. Great memories here. We're looking forward to going back."
Manjot KalraCricketIndiaAustraliaUnder19 World Cup
Pacers give India an edge in U-19 World Cup final: Prithvi Shaw

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Maintenance and facilities management platform Infraspeak raises €10 million
Dan Taylor 07 December 2021
Porto-based Infraspeak has raised €10 million in new capital. The startup offers a top-to-bottom facilities maintenance solution that aims to replace legacy systems by bringing all existing assets, IoT devices and hardware, and third-party software(s) under one umbrella. The funding will be used to further grow the business, primarily through strategic hires, as well as fuel entries into the French and DACH marketplaces. To date, the startup has raised a total of approximately €14.7 million.
Founded in 2015, Infraspeak is active in the highly competitive smart building management space, however with a definitive leaning towards maintenance. Through a series of data collection points, the generation of insights, and the output of predictive maintenance recommendations, the startup is helping technicians and facilities managers ensure minimal downtime and maximum customer satisfaction.
The company counts Siemens, Mitsubishi Electric, Ale-hop, Engie, Penguin FM, IHG Hotels, Hilton Hotels, and Keppel Data Centres amongst its client base, with its technology present in over 50,000 buildings in the hospitality, healthcare, education, transportation, and 'other' sectors.
"The future of facilities management software is around flexibility, intelligence and integration. Flexibility to allow each team to adapt their software to any kind of operations; Intelligence to proactively transform the thousands of data points collected daily into actionable insights for staff and management; and Integration to allow the plethora of people, processes, IoT and software to intercommunicate efficiently with each other," explains co-founder and CEO Felipe Ávila da Costa.
The €10 million Series A1 round was co-led by Indico Capital and Knight Capital, with existing investors Innovation Nest and Caixa Capital also participating.
Knight Capital's Arthur Nobel concludes, "The facility management industry is a large yet underexplored market by technology startups. Infraspeak, as the leading European innovator, has managed to build an operating system that enables the facility management industry to act on its digital transformation objectives, ESG goals and digitize the frontline workforce. We are fortunate to back Felipe and Luis, and believe in a future where the facility management ecosystem collaborates on Infraspeak."
Using optical sensors and AI to optimise food production, agtech Gardin raises $10.8 million
London-headquartered agtech firm Gardin has…


text:
1856 Victoria Cross Queen Victoria institutes Britain's highest military decoration, the Victoria Cross.
1917 K13 Just after noon HMS K13, on trials in the Gareloch, signaled to nearby HMS E50 her intention to dive. As the submarine submerged the engine room began to flood. The submarine became uncontrollable and came to rest on the bottom with the engine room and after torpedo room flooded.
The crew of E50 witnessing K13's rapid dive closed in on the area discovering traces of oil and escaping air breaking the surface. The first rescue vessel arrived around midnight. Divers were sent down to inspect the submarine and just after daybreak on the 30th morse signals were exchanged between the divers and the trapped crew. At 1700 an airline was successfully connected, empty air bottles recharged and ballast tanks blown. With the aid of a hawser slung under her bows K13 was brought to within 8 feet of the surface. By midday of the 31st K13's bow had been raised ten feet above the water. By 2100 the pressure hull had been breached using oxyacetylene cutting equipment the survivors being transferred to safety. K13 was finally raised on 15th March, refitted and returned to service as HMS K22.
1918 H23 Launched
1931 Rover (N62) Completed
1940 Talisman (N78) Launched
1942 Unbroken (P42) Completed
1943 Sea Wolf (N47) HMS Sea Wolf arrives as Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada to aid in A/S training.
1943 X9 Completed
Trials with HM Submarine Seraph Read
In 1944 the Royal Navy succeeded in modifying one of its conventional submarines, Seraph, to match the performance of the radically new Type XXI fast boats that intelligence showed Germany was developing.1 If the enemy had succeeded in getting the Typ XXI to sea in large numbers, they would have revolutionised submarine warfare, and severely tested Allied anti-submarine defences.


text:
Railroad Stimulus: How to Spend $14 Billion to Improve U.S. Rail
Yesterday, the President announced the White House's vision for spending the $9.3 billion in stimulus allocated for rail. The White House wants commuter rail in America called to catch up to European-style high-speed tracks, according to President Obama. "Now, all of you know this is not some fanciful, pie-in-the-sky vision of the future," Obama said. "It is now. It is happening right now. It's been happening for decades. The problem is it's been happening elsewhere, not here." The plan laid out by the White House focuses on 10 regions of the country including the Northeast, California and Southeast corridors. This high-speed rail system will "be able to pull people off the road, lowering our dependence on foreign oil, lowering the bill for our gas in our gas tanks," the administration says. "We're also going to deal with the suffocation that's taking place in our major metropolitan areas as a consequence of that congestion. And we're going to significantly lessen the damage to our planet." The administration did not address what kind of high-speed trains, where is the money needed most and whether the U.S. upgrade existing tracks or lay down new lines. Here, PM reports on the state of rail in the U.S.
By S.E. Kramer
Photograph by Michael Smith/Newsmakers/Getty Images
High-speed rail has long been a dream to those looking for an outside fix for airline and car congestion. With stimulus spending, some money to start building those lines—$9.3 billion so far—is now available. The Federal Railroad Administration has not yet announced what sorts of projects it will prioritize when it allocates the funds, but according to Rob Kulat, a representative for the administration, many of its choices will depend on what the states want. States will submit proposals and the FRA doles out funding after evaluating them. The cash infusion is sparking an important debate among rail advocates all across the country—is it better to retrofit existing but slower lines to speeds of 120 mph, or to lay new, European-style high-speed tracks so that new trains can go twice as fast?
The California High-Speed Rail Authority is betting on high-speed rail. The Authority is planning to build an 800-mile steel-wheel bullet train between San Francisco and Los Angeles. This new line is designed to make train travel as convenient as airplane travel, says Quentin L. Kopp, chairman of the Authority. The state's plans were designed "in the context of California having 50 million people by the year 2030," Kopp says. "The equivalent of what the high-speed rail will deliver would require 3000 new miles of freeway plus nine runways and 90 new gates at airports."
While Amtrak could potentially upgrade the speeds of its existing California-based trains to 110 miles per hour (from a 79-mph average), at that speed they won't get travelers from San Francisco to Los Angeles in 2-1/2 hours—as fast as an airplane would if you count time for check-in, security and transport from airports to city centers. Still, the price for the bullet train line is far higher than all available funds from the stimulus. This project will need at least $27.5 billion ($12 billion to $16 billion in federal dollars, $9 billion from bonds raised by the state of California and $6.5 to $7.5 billion in private capital) just for the first phase—building track that will run from San Francisco to Anaheim (San Diego and Sacramento are not included in this phase). The total cost for the project is estimated to be between $40 billion and $45 billion.
This kind of hefty price tag has experts outside California thinking twice about a future American landscape full of high-speed trains. The U.S. doesn't need new 200-mph-train routes to divert passengers from airlines, says John Stilgoe, Harvard professor and author of Train Time. Stilgoe believes that there will be a huge resurgence in train travel in the next fifty years, without high-speed projects that require entirely new track to be laid down. His research models, based on real-world travel patterns, show that "a lot of people want to travel at [speeds no faster than] 100 miles an hour for distances up to 150 miles," he says. "Improving the current train infrastructure, and in some places really upgrading it (so there can be Acela trains between cities like Chicago and St. Louis or between San Francisco and L.A.) can be done with existing technology."
Cliff Black, Amtrak's head of communications agrees. "Absolute top speed is not as important as reduction in operating time," Black says. "An incremental speed improvement from 79 mph, which is our normal top speed outside the Northeast, to 110 mph will give us many hours of reduced running time over a broad spectrum of routes."
While Amtrak plans to spend most of the stimulus money earmarked for it specifically on projects that fix deteriorating infrastructure, such as replacing a 102-year-old drawbridge in Connecticut, it will use some of the funds to upgrade running times. For example, $60 million of Amtrak's $1.3 billion is dedicated to advanced signaling technology that will help minimize delays on routes between New York and Washington and between Indiana and Michigan.
While trains are expensive, so are roads, highways and airports—California's plan relies on the idea that investing in trains now could save money on other transportation infrastructure changes that it would otherwise need to make down the road. Other parts of the country, however, have dense networks of neglected railroads that need to be repaired and upgraded. The best solution for rail in the United States is not likely to be found in one technology—with bullet trains, maglevs or advanced signals winning out. The way trains have historically been successful is when they serve the transportation needs of local populations (see the Long Island Railroad, Philadelphia and Reading Railroad)—accommodating growth and competing with road traffic and local airlines.
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Make your next weekend sales event an event like no other. Whether you are trying to build your business, liquidating some inventory, or making your final curtain call, a weekend event is the best place to start. Imagine increasing your sales by 40% by strategically placing signs & sign walkers throughout your community. Also if you're looking for a custom designed sign, you've come to the right place. Of course we print signs at a low cost but why not give them some style while we're at it? Our design team can interpret your vision or help you dream up one and convey it through wood, metal, plastic, glass; you get the picture. We pride ourselves on providing you with a service rather than just taking your order. We're the professionals and we'll make sure your dollars are well spent!
Our experience with Coroplast covers the gamut – 4mm white is our specialty – but we also print 4mm yellow, 6mm white, and of course 10mm white for human directional arrows. Your coroplast signs will be printed and cut to your specifications. You will get the best price imaginable. We won't save you a million, but we'll save you a few bucks on your next order.


Lawmakers voted 90-25 to give the legislation preliminary approval.
COLUMBIA — South Carolina House lawmakers are closer to passing legislation to offer job tax credits and other incentives to professional sports teams.
Legislators debated the Professional Sports Team Investment Act on the House floor Tuesday. Lawmakers voted 90-25 to give the legislation preliminary approval.
The bipartisan-backed proposal comes after talks between state officials and Carolina Panthers' owner David Tepper who has expressed interest in expanding the team's operations into the Palmetto State.
The proposal would allow the NFL team to be eligible for tax credits and exemptions, incentives they wouldn't have been eligible for under current laws. Football players don't practice enough hours to be considered full-time employees in the state.
The bill's author, House Majority Leader Gary Simrill, said the possible move is emblematic of what South Carolina is becoming.
April 19, 2019, 12:11 p.m.


scientists at the Technische Universität Wien (Vienna University of Technology) believe they have found a very elusive particle: a glueball. Glueballs are unstable particles made up entirely of gluons, the bosons that carry the nuclear force that makes protons and neutrons stick to each other inside atomic nuclei.
The gluon is usually considered analogous to the photon. They are both massless, and just as photons carry the electromagnetic force between charged particles, gluons carry the strong nuclear force between quarks. Unlike photons, there are eight different varieties of gluons and they can interact with each other to form bound states – the mysterious glueballs.
Glueballs are made of pure force and they are too short-lived to be detected directly. For this reason, scientists have been trying to formulate a precise theoretical description of the decaying process of glueballs. By studying the particles that should be produced during decay, they hope to have enough information to identify glueballs in experiments.
Professor Anton Rebhan and Frederic Brünner from TU Wien have used a new theoretical approach to calculate glueball decay by applying some very sophisticated physics. They analyzed possible decaying patterns by using extensions of the quantum theory to more than three dimensions with the inclusion of gravitational interactions between particles. Gravity is currently not included in general quantum theories, and the reconciliation of general relativity with quantum mechanics is one of the unsolved problems in physics.
Brünner and Rebhan's decay model is consistent with one of the two experimental candidates for glueballs. The particle is called meson f0(1710) and it has been found in a significant number of experiments across the world. More data on meson f0(1710) should hopefully be collected in the next few months, both at CERN and at the Beijing accelerator (BES-III).
If f0(1710) is proven to be a glueball, there will be interesting consequences beyond particle physics. Finding evidence of gravitational interactions beyond the 4-dimensional space-time could take us a step closer to the unification of all the forces in a single theory.
The paper was published in Physics Review Letters.


text:
Q: Como inverter uma image dentro de uma @keyframe? Bom eu estou a usar esta @keyframe, mas após o descer para a direita eu gostaria que a imagem fosse invertida, este código faz a inversão como eu quero:
img {
//      -moz-transform: scaleX(-1);
//      -o-transform: scaleX(-1);
//      -webkit-transform: scaleX(-1);
//      transform: scaleX(-1);
//      filter: FlipH;
//      -ms-filter: "FlipH";
//    }

E esta e a minha @keyframe:
@keyframes move {
  0%   { top: 750px; left: 0px; transform: translate(0, 0); } //posição inicial
  10%  { top: 750px; left: 100%; transform: translate(-135%, 0) } //vai para a direita
  15%  { top: 1100px; left: 100%; transform: translate(-135%, -50%) } //desce do lado direito
  25%  { top: 1100px; left: 0px; transform: translate(35%, -50%) } //vai para a esquerda
  30%  { top: 1500px; left: 0px; transform: translate(35%, -120%) } //desce do lado esquerdo
  40%  { top: 1500px; left: 100%; transform: translate(-120%, -120%) } //vai para a direita
  45%  { top: 1500px; left: 100%; transform: translate(-120%, -50%) } //desce do lado direito
  55%  { top: 1500px; left: 0px; transform: translate(35%, -50%) } //vai para a esquerda
  60%  { top: 1910px; left: 0px; transform: translate(35%, -120%) } //desce do lado esquerdo
  70%  { top: 1910px; left: 100%; transform: translate(-120%, -120%) } //vai para a direita
  75%  { top: 1915px; left: 100%; transform: translate(-120%, -50%) } //desce do lado direito
  85%  { top: 1915px; left: 0px; transform: translate(35%, -50%) } //vai para a esquerda
  90%  { top: 2320px; left: 0px; transform: translate(35%, -120%) } //desce do lado esquerdo
  100% { top: 2320px; left: 100%; transform: translate(-120%, -120%) } //vai para a direita
}

Eu queria usar aquele código (ou um que faça o mesmo) para inverter a imagem depois do código que diz que "desce do lado direito" após os 15%.

A: Problema resolvido.
É apenas necessário adicionar scaleX(-1) após translate.


Williams Mullen White Collar Investigations attorney John S. Davis was quoted in MainJustice regarding Neil MacBride, the U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia, deciding to step down on Sept. 13. John recalled his impression of Mr. MacBride, which he gleaned when overseeing the Wikileaks case as Assistant U.S. Attorney. The story is available here.


Steel in construction gained prominence in the twentieth century and especially after the Second World War. In the recent past, steel framing has been growing around the world. In fact, in some places, steel is replacing timber as the primary material for construction of both residential and commercial buildings. According to Steel Framing Alliance, the use of steel framing in commercial structures has been increasing by forty per cent every year. The same report indicates that in the last decade alone, over five hundred thousand residential structures have been made using steel structures. Below are some of the reasons why you should consider steel framing in your future building.
Steel will offer you more freedom to explore various designs for your building regarding color, texture and shape. In addition, it combines strength, durability and precision to give you broader options for developing new solutions. The long spanning ability provides an ample space that does not require columns or load-bearing walls. Unlike other construction materials like wood, steel can be bent to a certain radius to create segmented curves for arches and domes. Steel can be modified to the required specification while still in the factory, which eliminates the risk of onsite variability.
Time is very valuable, and you may not want to waste a lot of it in constructing your structures. As mentioned earlier, steel framing can be assembled inside the manufacturing plant and therefore minimize on-site labor. This also cuts the construction time significantly, enabling you to erect a whole structure in a few days depending on the scale of the project. For small structures, steel framing does not require much contact with the earth and therefore eliminating the need for excavation. Compared to concrete, steel is relatively lighter requiring smaller and simpler foundation. These factors translate to significant resource efficiencies such as accelerated schedules and reduced on-site management cost.
Nowadays, the functions of a building can change dramatically. For instance, you may need to increase the floor loads on your building. Concrete structures will require repositioning to make any changes on interior layouts according to your requirements. However, steel can adopt any changes enabling expansion while at the same time extend the lifespan of the structure. Additionally, steel framing allows you to easily access and alter wiring networks such as electrical systems etc.
Unlike other construction materials, steel can be recycled and used for other purposes. Actually, it can be recycled endlessly with less wear and tear and maintain its properties. According to Worldsteel association, thirty per cent of the steel currently used is made from recycled steel. Steel Recycling Institute indicates that steel is arguably the most recycled product since eighty million tons are recycled every year.
Steel is relatively lighter than other construction materials such as concrete and offers less extensive foundations. This significantly reduces the environmental impact during construction. Steel is also energy efficient. According to the Steel Recycling Institute, in the last two decades, steel has reduced energy intensity by over 28% and a considerable amount of CO2 emission during transportation. During hotter climate, steel roofing can radiate heat quickly providing cooler environments. Conversely, in cold climates, steel can be easily insulated to offer more warmth.
One of the main reasons why most people avoid using steel is the initial cost. Compared to other construction materials like timber, the initial cost of using steel in construction is comparatively high. However, in the long term, steel is much cheaper than wood or even concrete. For instance, if you want to demolish your structure, the waste materials can be used in the construction of other structures. Steel structures are also easier to maintain since they do not rot or get damaged by pests. It is important to note that insurance companies charge less for steel structures.
Steel has a long lifespan and can withstand extreme weather condition such as strong winds and earthquakes. In addition, they are resistant to fire compared to wooden frames. However, due to its recent popularity, there are a lot of counterfeits in the market. Ensure you choose genuine steel for more functionality and durability.


The First Army Detainee Ops Smart Card is a quick-reference card that reinforces critical operations training for personnel that are deploying for MP guard force duty at military detention facilities. Contains essential training reminders, visual language panels that illustrate detainee Searching and Restraining techniques, Language Hot Card panels in Arabic, Pashto and Dari, cell shakedown planning and procedures, Contraband awareness, cultural sensitivity and situational awareness reminders, and more. Developed in close consultation with experienced military trainers and advisors.
Sale restricted to US Military personnel only, please contact our sales staff to order.


text:
Hillywood
Mobile & Tab
Contract Based
Historical & Mythology
Bollywood Cricket
Virat Kohli dislodges Shah Rukh Khan as most valuable celebrity
December 21, 2017 Ruby Singh	Comment(0)
CHENNAI: Indian cricket captain Virat Kohli isn't just the most valuable player going around in world cricket, he's also India's most valuable brand with a celebrity value of $143 million.
Kohli has dethroned Bollywood superstar Shah Rukh Khan, who held the title of the country's most valuable celebrity brand from 2014, according to a report by corporate advisers Duff & Phelps.
Kohli, along with Deepika Padukone and Ranveer Singh, has led the ascent of millennials to the top of the rankings. Former captain Mahendra Singh Dhoni slipped from 9th place last year to 13th this year. This year saw PV Sindhu make an entry at 15, the first time a female sportsperson has made it to the top 15.
"For the first time since 2014, Shah Rukh Khan has slipped from the top ranking and has been replaced by Virat Kohli. Kohli is now the first choice of brands to engage and attract consumers, fuelled by his extraordinary on-field performances and off-field charisma," said Varun Gupta, Duff & Phelps MD and regional leader, India, Japan and Southeast Asia.
Abhishek Ganguly, managing director of Puma India, which Kohli endorses, said, "Virat has transformed the way fitness is looked at in Indian cricket. He has emphasized the role of an athlete and reshaped cricket in the millennial culture. He is a youth icon with effortless style." Kohli signed an eight-year deal with the brand early this year, making him the first Indian sportsperson to sign a Rs 100-crore endorsement deal with a single brand.
The report also observes that companies are signing endorsement deals to draw in millennials. For instance, this year Coca-Cola chose to not renew its contract for Thums Up with Salman Khan for the first time since2012. It, instead, signed Ranveer Singh. Similarly, Honda roped in upcoming actress Tapsee Pannu as its brand ambassador for scooters for young riders. Juhi Chawla was replaced by Parineeti Chopra in the Kurkure ad, while Lays Chips' previous ambassador Saif Ali Khan was replaced by Ranbir Kapoor.
TOP COMMENT
Why can't we have an industrialist or a scientist as a valuable celebrity. Comparatively, they do very valuable service to the nation, Varun Hegde.
Alia Bhatt as Sehmat in Raazi: Who was the real Sehmat Khan?
April 10, 2018 April 10, 2018 Ruby Singh
There is something riveting about spy stories. The thrill of the cat-and-mouse chase, the action, and the carefully crafted intrigue is the perfect recipe for a commendable espionage thriller. The trailer of Meghna Gulzar's spy thriller Raazi, starring Alia Bhatt and Vicky Kaushal, has just hit the web. Alia plays the role of a spy, […]
It is impossible to fake on camera: Salman Khan
September 5, 2018 Ruby Singh
Superstar Salman Khan believes it does not matter how good one is as an actor, one cannot afford to fool the audience by being a "fraud" on camera. The 52-year-old star, who has a huge fan base, says it is necessary for an actor to be real and give the audience an insight into their […]
IPL 2018 Report Card: Delhi Daredevils' Rishabh Pant, Shreyas Iyer stand out; Jos Buttler plays a blinder for Rajasthan Royals
May 3, 2018 May 3, 2018 Ruby Singh
The Delhi Daredevils won their second match of the season under their new skipper Shreyas Iyer on Wednesday, beating the Rajasthan Royals by four runs via the Duckworth-Lewis-Stern (DLS) method in a rain-interrupted fare. The match at the Daredevils' home ground of the Ferozshah Kotla was first reduced to 18-overs-a-side due to rain before the […]
PM Modi Gets Emotional At BJP Meet Says- 'We Rule 19 States, Even Indira Gandhi Had 18'
BJP clinched Himachal Pradesh convincingly, but picking CM proves tricky: Brief rundown of key candidates in fray
Swara Bhasker trolled for abusing 4-year-old kid who called her aunty, complaint filed
NMML becoming Nagpur Memorial Museum and Library: Congress leader Jairam Ramesh
Post Balakot strike, Indian Navy hunted for Pakistani submarine for 21 days
Suhana Khan looks drop-dead gorgeous in new selfie. See pic
Arun Jaitley Unlikely To Remain Finance Minister: Report
Science says couples in lasting relationships typically wait this long to start having sex
Manikarnika director Krish: Kangana Ranaut is lying. I am sick and tired of her
AgustaWestland: BJP turns PM Modi into Batman for bringing back Deepak Talwar in late-night swoop
Google Asks Indians Why They Keep Proposing To Google Assistant. See Best Replies
Goa Should Have Austria-Like "Flying Buses", Says Nitin Gadkari
2018 Uttarakhand Leaks | Powered by DTWS.


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Upload email addresses to MailChimp from lead and contact list views.
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If you turned Lead creation on, new MailChimp Subscribers will become new Salesforce Leads.
Ensure your Lead assignment rules are set up to handle new leads from MailChimp. The Lead Source will be defaulted to MailChimp in the MailChimp for Salesforce system.
In Enterprise and Unlimited editions, define a Lead Process in Salesforce. Lead Assignment rules only work when at least one Lead Process has been defined.
When running queries, MailChimp excludes Salesforce contacts that have selected the Email Opt Out option. MailChimp also does not unsubscribe an address if the subscriber selects to opt-out in Salesforce after being imported into MailChimp. Once a subscriber is imported into MailChimp, they can be unsubscribed only from within MailChimp. While hourly sync can pass over updated field information from Salesforce into MailChimp, it isn't possible to remove subscribers from your MailChimp list when syncing.
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A: The current best practice is to use the Salesforce Contact Email fields (Alternate Email, Work Email, Personal Email, Preferred Email, Email) to track what the preferred email is for a particular contact.
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text:
CHARLIE CONNELLY: The inoxerable rise of the literary prize
Conor Matchett
The 2017 Man Booker prize shortlist. Picture: Getty Images
2017 Getty Images
Politics, pignappings, and prosecco... Charlie Connelly lifts the lid on the world of literary prizes - including his own track record.
Kurt Vonnegut never won the Nobel Prize for Literature and he thought he knew why. He once managed a Saab dealership in Cape Cod that went to the wall, he explained before citing what he said was an old Norwegian proverb: "Swedes have short dicks but long memories".
I've thought about Vonnegut's theory recently given the rash of literary award announcements over the last month or so. Preti Taneja won the Desmond Elliott prize for debut novelists with We That Are Young while the Orwell Prize for political books was awarded to Darren McGarvey's Poverty Safari and Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient carried off the public vote to select the Golden Booker, a 'best of the Booker' poll to mark the 50th year of Britain's most famous literary award.
The English Patient won the Booker in 1993, the same year Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children was selected as the Booker of Bookers to mark the prize's 25th birthday. Midnight's Children, which won the Booker in 1981, also took the Best of the Booker award in 2008, the Booker's 40th anniversary. These are a lot of Bookers for your buck, blowing the Booker bugle in a manner that has more than a hint of self-reverence while also demonstrating the frequently bizarre nature of literary awards.
The Booker was first contested in 1968, the brainchild of Tom Maschler, a publisher at Jonathan Cape who persuaded wholesale goods dealers Booker McConnell to put up a £5,000 prize for the year's best work of literary fiction. The first winner, Something To Answer For by P.H. Newby, is all but forgotten today beyond being a recondite piece of literary trivia.
Indeed the prize itself was a much lower-key affair in those days: Newby was a part-time novelist whose day job was running BBC Radio 3 and who was slightly alarmed by the potential of the attention to disrupt his regular employment. Rather than the hashtag-heavy social media countdown, breathless hyperbole and saturation coverage of the announcement we know today Newby was notified of his win by letter, with the judges describing Something To Answer For in the official announcement as 'a considerable novel', a flaccid adjective for a prize declamation that could apply to its physical size as much as its quality.
Literary prizes in Britain were few and far between before the arrival of the Booker, while today barely a week passes without a slightly embarrassed author picking up a piece of engraved glassware and posing for photographs before they've settled on a way of holding it that doesn't look incredibly awkward. The canapé industry is practically funded by such literary prizegivings.
There must be people working in publishing who haven't had to shop for food in years, they just circulate between ceremonies hoovering up the tiny hamburgers and slivers of salmon on little biscuits.
For all P.H. Newby's bewildered reticence, authors do generally benefit from winning literary prizes.
The cash is always helpful, of course, with some awards offering life-changing sums.
There's £50,000 for the Booker prize winner, for example, while the Dylan Thomas Prize for authors under 40 is worth £30,000. The Dublin International Literary Award, meanwhile, comes with a whopping 100,000 euros.
There are usually knock-on effects in terms of book sales too. When Anne Enright was shortlisted for the 2007 Booker her novel The Gathering had sold barely 800 copies, but winning the prize rocketed the book immediately to the top of the bestseller lists. The following year Aravind Adiga won with The White Tiger, again a title whose sales figures were firmly in three figures before the shortlist was announced, but one that went on to sell more than a million copies.
It doesn't always work out so well for authors, however. Richard Yates' Revolutionary Road was nominated for the 1962 National Book Award in the USA but didn't win, with Yates subsequently blaming missing out for a subsequent career decline.
Even winning doesn't always turn out to be a happy ending either, bringing with it additional pressure to succeed and a place in the spotlight that some authors would rather avoid. James Alan McPherson became the first African-American winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Literature in 1978 with his collection of short stories Elbow Room but found success hard to bear, particularly the pressure that went with being the first black writer to win.
"I stayed at home and hid out," he said later. "You should be allowed to take joy in what happens to you but I was scared of the backlash. Some whites get resentful when someone from the lowest levels of society starts winning 'their' stuff so I've been very careful about protecting my privacy ever since those years."
Literary awards are decided not by anything as transparent as a reliable points system, Queensberry rules or Hunger Games-style combat. Most are awarded by a committee or a public vote, making them by their very nature subjective. The Nobel Prize for Literature, of all awards, should be above reproach yet, Vonnegut's tongue-in-cheek assessment aside, it was widely accepted that Graham Greene didn't win the Nobel prize because he had a long-standing dispute with a member of the committee.
Imagine how Thomas Pynchon must have felt when his Gravity's Rainbow was selected by the Pulitzer literary committee as 1974's winner only to be overruled by their board who dismissed the book as 'turgid' and 'unreadable', meaning no award was presented that year. Three years later the same thing happened to Norman Maclean with A River Runs Through It.
Public polls, as we know only too well, are flawed and open to abuse, with social media-savvy authors orchestrating effective voting campaigns that make some awards as much a tip of the hat for crowd control as literary merit, but it's the committee-selected bunfights that cause the most discussion among readers, writers and publishers.
A particular bugbear of mine is the P.G. Wodehouse Award for comic fiction, which is notable for repeatedly selecting books that are not remotely witty, let alone funny. The roster of winners includes such gag vacuums as Ian McEwan and Geoff Dyer neither of whom would remotely recognise a funny line if it put on a bowler hat and teamed up with Oliver Hardy. When Will Self won in 2008 his prize, a Gloucestershire Old Spot pig, was briefly stolen in protest by Julian Gough, a genuinely funny and original writer who had made the shortlist but lost out to Self and carried out an appropriately witty pignapping raid.
That's not to say literary prizes are worthless. Far from it. Even if you might not agree with the winner there is for the reader a certain amount of separating wheat from chaff that's very useful
when so many books are published every year.
A Booker prizewinner is almost without exception worth reading, ditto Costa Book Award winners.
For me the Women's Prize for Fiction, the Samuel Johnson Prize for non-fiction and the Booker International award all provide consistently excellent winners, while the current popularity of nature writing means the Wainwright Prize maintains an extremely high standard.
If there is one valid criticism of the current awards system it's one articulated by Kevin Duffy, co-founder of the Hebden Bridge-based publisher Bluemoose Books, earlier this month. I'd been particularly pleased to see the Bluemoose-produced The Gallows Pole by Benjamin Myers win the Walter Scott Prize for historical fiction as it is an outstanding book by a brilliant writer at an excellent small publisher that saw off strong challenges from much larger, better-resourced publishing houses.
You'd be forgiven for not hearing about it though, as Myers' scooping of the £25,000 prize seemed to pass almost completely under the radar. I only found out myself because I follow Myers on Twitter having read and loved his now award-winning, pungent, visceral and earthy account of the Cragg Vale Coiners, an 18th century gang of Yorkshire currency forgers, and the land on which they both menaced and protected the local population.
With so many prizes awarded at the moment, not to mention the added distraction of the World Cup, I thought Myers' win had just passed me by but Duffy has argued otherwise in a blog for trade magazine The Bookseller. He noted that the announcement had been made in Kelso at the Borders Book Festival, while similar – but much less lucrative – awards received more recognition because they were able to waft prosecco and crudités under the noses of the London literary establishment.
"A book that was turned down by every publisher in London," Duffy wrote of The Gallows Pole, "published by a husband-and-wife team in Hebden Bridge (who re-mortgaged their house to publish new writers and have had their books optioned by Hollywood and sold in more than 80 countries) and went on to win the world's leading literary prize for historical fiction – its previous
winners include Hilary Mantel, Robert Harris and Irish laureate for fiction Sebastian Barry. Surely that should
raise the literary beak from the
leather-bound halls of the
metropolis?"
There is a tangible cliqueness about the London publishing world. Inevitably the major players in the industry are gathered in the capital, but the lack of coverage for such a prestigious award because it came via e-mail from the Scottish borders rather than on a South Bank terrace overlooking the Thames is a concern.
For Myers the award should be life-changing – he's said he'll use the cash to buy himself more time to sit in his garden listening to birdsong – and Bluemoose should be sharing the prestige too, not least clocking up serious sales, because The Gallows Pole isn't just a great historical novel, it's a great work of fiction.
As an author I've been shortlisted three times without winning a single thing and so I can declare with some authority that shortlisting is easily the best outcome.
You get to go the ceremony, you get fed, you develop your increasing penchant for prosecco and for once you don't feel like a gatecrasher.
By not winning you don't have to make a speech and you don't have to pose awkwardly for photographs or cart a heavy piece of engraved glass home on the train.
OK, you'd mentally spent the prize money you didn't win, but as long as you'd not actually spent it it's still all good.
You haven't had to bankrupt a car dealership to avoid winning, either.


Watch this YouTube video to learn more about the Group Health Nurse Navigator study, which resulted in improved patient experience and reduced problems in care. Study co-author Ed Wagner comments.
Nurse navigators in early cancer care: a randomized, controlled trial.
The Nurse Navigator study set out to determine if a nurse navigator intervention improves quality of life and patient experience in newly-diagnosed patients. Learn more about this randomized controlled trial in a paper co-authored by Ed Wagner. Group Health was so impressed with this work that it incorporated an oncology nurse navigator into usual care for women newly diagnosed with breast cancer at its Capitol Hill campus—even before the research was published.
Self-management: Enabling and empowering patients living with cancer as a chronic illness.
People with cancer are living longer, and their cancer may be managed as a chronic illness due to recent improvements in the early detection, diagnosis, and treatment. Read this article, co-authored by Ed Wagner, that proposes a model of care that oncology practices can use to enable and empower patients and families.
As part of AHRQ Multiple Chronic Conditions Research Network efforts, MacColl's Karin Johnson and Judith Schaefer co-developed a conceptual model to guide research on delivery of effective healthcare for people with multiple chronic conditions.
Funded by the California HealthCare Foundation, and featuring guest editors Ed Wagner, David Stevens MD, and Judith Bowen MD, the October 2010 Chronic Care and Education Supplement to the Journal of General Internal Medicine is available in its entirety free of charge.
Thomas Bodenheimer, MD, professor at the Center for Excellence in Primary Care in the Department of Family and Community Medicine at UCSF, discusses the essential elements of primary care - the 10 "building blocks" - in a webinar produced for our PCT-LEAP project.


text:
Q: How to use complex nested xml content as input to django to render HTML file I am trying to input the nested xml contents into django from external file and render it to HTML for display using for loop. Like all the steps in steps tag should be displayed appropriately with their related header and content.
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" ?>
<short_desc> Ramdon </short_desc>
<description> Ramdon </description>
<other_value>
    <template> Ramdon </template>
</other_value>
<steps>
    <step01>
        Something
        <content>
        Some Random content
        </content>
    </step01>
    <step02>
        Something
        <content>
        Some Random content
        </content>
    </step02>
    <step03>
        Something
        <content>
        Some Random content
        </content>
    </step03>
</steps>

Any ideas on how to get this done in django/python3. Thanks in Advance
Regards,
sam