There may be (and likely are?) other threads on this topic/subject. If so, and others want to engage the "necro" trace, please do and post links here. I for one haven't time and energy in that direction; hence a supposed "Fresh Start" with this one.
I invite all reading here to join in and provide material for consideration.
Answers to any and all three questions~topics and/or others related welcome here.
What's your background in leadership?
Sorry I missed this and never got back to you. Excuse the brevity for now, but for a quick answer, there is the few years spent in Civil Air Patrol during my high school years which I mentioned up in post #3 here. There were also some occasions of lower-middle management at a few jobs/employment and a couple of ventures in self-employment/small business. I'll try to get back on the details of those later.
Oh yeah, there's also some experience as a parent and grand-parent that are more current and may apply.
One rather crude index I've used over the years ... "Would you fall on a grenade to save that person~leader?"
Assumption here is that they/him~her have characteristics rare enough to be unique and not rubber-stamped; i.e. worth preserving.
I'm talking about the person~personality here, not the "status" of the office/position held.
Over the years~decades I've had association with assorted leaders, private and public, many of whom amazed me they had gotten as far as they did, and left me wondering why they hadn't "fallen" by the wayside long ago. Not saying I'd engage in leadercide, except in very extreme circumstances (maybe) , but have known a few whom per "Darwin's Laws" should never have gotten as far as they had/did.
My favorite aphorism is "Leadership is the ability to rise above conventional wisdom". From experience, that does not necessarily mean the leader must have the wisdom, but to discern it among his staff, subordinate commanders, or other sources.
"men will follow this officer - but only out of curiosity" allegedly an assessment made of a rather green WW1 British subaltern.
and, you have in the military as leadership in combat.
3) Ran an agent net in a war zone, led a clandestine/covert special operations detachment during the Cold War, commanded a special security detachment, platoon leader, company commander, and a battalion commander in combat.
Interestingly, the ancient linguistic root of the word "to lead" means "to go forth, die."
If we are talking about direct commander/supervisor/boss then the most important qualities are being fair, looking after your guys, and knowing what you are doing. The latter can be further expanded to the use of knowledge, experience and know-how of those you lead; again tying into the concept of fairness.
When I entered the military in '61 I appreciated the "drill sergeant" approach because the orders were always clear, even if they made no sense for any reason. What I hated most when the officers became "managers" was trying to figure out what they wanted done, which is not the responsibility of the subordinate but of the person issuing the orders.
The 70's after 'Nam was probably the pinnacle of the management theory of the Army, and the worst time to be there, since getting a concrete decision became nearly impossible. It was command by consensus and committee, the very opposite of effective military leadership, made infinitely worse by the bad racial tensions within the Army at that time. Commanders were literally afraid of offending black soldiers, and therefore avoided giving them any orders at all whenever possible.
Sorry I haven't had time to get back to this thread. I'm recalling my time during the 1960s when as a high school student I was also in the Civil Air Patrol(CAP) and had a copy of manuals to study dealing with leadership and general moral/ethical character. CAP is a volunteer organization and though we cadets wear uniform similar to the USAF and engaged in military custom and drill, one of my first lessons was in use of persuasive leadership since hamfisted "drill instructor" mode could encourage cadets whom bristled at harsh treatment to just stop attending meetings. An early lesson in application of incentive versus coercion since it was hard enough to get members in the squadron and command wouldn't be pleased if I caused such to decline via driving them away.
America no longer teaches leadership in the military. It trains and produces "middle managers".
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text:
The Euro: the most important issue
An attack on Tony Blair's Evasiveness on Europe
The Rt Hon. Lord Lamont of Lerwick
The issue of Europe, and Britain's membership of the Euro are ones that William Hague is rightly fighting to see are fairly and squarely put before the British people, and at the centre of this Election. It is obvious that the Prime Minister is desperate to keep the issue of the Euro completely out of this Election. The Government should not be allowed to follow the cowardly example of their allies, the Liberal Democrats, who claim to be the most pro-European party except at General Elections when the evangelism curiously vanishes. The Prime Minister cannot be allowed to do the same.
To adopt an old remark about President Eisenhower, the Prime Minister has a straightforward way of dodging issues. No one who seriously considers the issue of the euro can possibly believe that it is anything other than a hugely important one. And yet the Prime Minister hardly mentions it. How often has the Prime Minister mentioned the euro in a press conference except in response to a journalist's question? How many times has the Prime Minister made the Euro a subject of a speech? On which day has Europe been the main theme of Labour's campaign?
The Referendum itself is an issue in this Election
Of course the Prime Minister will argue that the issue of the single currency will be decided later in a referendum. But separating the referendum and the General Election is facile.
If there is a Conservative Government there will be no Referendum – which, according to your viewpoint, is a reason for voting for or against the Conservative Party. If Labour win the Election not only will there be a Referendum, but it will also give momentum to the Government's surreptitious campaign to get Britain into the Euro.
Labour are frightened to talk about the Euro for obvious reason: British entry into the euro is overwhelmingly unpopular. For all the Government's blandishments, public opinion shows little sign of moving. Labour's plan, which fits into the long history of the British public being misled over European issues, is to keep quiet, keep their heads down, and then after the Election to hold a rigged referendum. If this election has any meaning the Prime Minister owes it to the country to spell out his position on the Euro and to tell it as it is.
The Government's Hidden Agenda
The Prime Minister maintains he believes Britain, in principle, should join the Euro but it is a question of whether the conditions are right. At Election time, of course, it is the conditions and the problems that are emphasised, and it is the principle that is played down. Away from General Elections it is the other way round, particularly at Summit meetings, when the Prime Minister tells other Heads of Government that he is keen to get Britain into the Euro as soon possible, but he needs to turn opinion around. For this reason the British Government reportedly asked the Belgian Government not to talk about its plans for tax harmonisation during its forthcoming Presidency, which he feared might influence the British General Election. For once Belgium has been keen to help a British Government.
The Prime Minister cannot be trusted on the Euro, particularly at Election time. At the last Election he proclaimed that he "loves the pound sterling". After the Election he emphasised he favoured the Euro in principle. At the 1997 Election he told the readers of The Sun the Euro was an issue of huge constitutional significance. After the Election the PM declared "there was no overriding constitutional bar to membership of the Euro". On the Euro apparently the PM stands for whatever he thinks readers of The Sun will fall for.
A Rigged Referendum
The arrangements for the Referendum that have been voted through Parliament ironically illustrate exactly why the issue of the Euro cannot be divorced from this Election. The arrangements are also so clearly and deliberately unfair, they make the Government's intentions obvious. According to the legislation forced through both Houses of Parliament, state funding for the "Yes" and "No" campaigns in any Referendum will be calculated by the number of votes in this General Election. Each pro-Euro party, however small, gets a certain minimum, which increases, according to the number of votes in this Election. The more votes for pro-Euro parties, and the more pro-Euro parties there are, the bigger the total amount of state funding for the pro-Euro campaign. So Plaid Cymru, the SNP, the Liberal Democrats, and the Labour Party will all qualify for grants for the pro-Euro campaign, and only the Conservative Party, and the tiny U.K.I.P. will qualify for funding on the anti-Euro side.
I still believe that there is a good chance that Britain, if it has a Referendum, will reject the single currency. But there is no doubt that the arrangements have been biased in favour of the "Yes" campaign. If there is to be state funding for a Euro referendum there should be equal funding for both sides. The whole reason for having a Referendum on the Euro is that the issue cuts across parties. So it is completely illogical to determine the money to be spent on either side by reference to votes for parties.
The Five Bogus Tests
Relating funding to the votes at the General Election gives the lie to the Prime Minister's unconvincing attempt to separate the Euro from the Election. Every time a Labour Eurosceptic votes Labour he increases the funding for a "Yes" campaign. And every time someone votes Plaid Cymru, SNP or Liberal Democrat they are increasing the funding for a "Yes" campaign.
The Government's talk about not joining the Euro before "the conditions are right" is mere pretence. The Chancellor's much vaunted five tests, relating to employment, investment, the City and convergence are so vague that they can be declared met, or not met, according to the Chancellor's whim. Some commentators have suggested the Chancellor will agree the tests have been met in exchange for a deal on the Labour leadership. Who knows by what crazy logic the decision will be made?
The so-called "convergence test" can only be judged seriously, over a long period of time, and even then the evidence would be inconclusive. The likelihood is that at some point in the next few years Bank of England and ECB interest rates will temporarily coincide, even if they are moving in opposite directions. When this happens the Government will no doubt declare convergence has been achieved even though it may be a passing phenomenon.
The last years of Britain?
This is the most vital election this country has faced in decades, and the result could determine whether this country remains a self-governing one. The years after this Election could be the last final years of Britain.
Some will consider that exaggerated. But consider how rapidly in the last few years the whole idea of Britishness has been diluted, and continues under threat after Labour's foolish creation of devolved assemblies. How strong will it be after a few years of Euro membership? The idea of Britain as a country will, no doubt, live on in the memory as a historical relic, but Britain as a self-governing country will increasingly be under threat in the Euro. The Euro will mean harmonisation of taxation, interference from Brussels into Government spending, and ultimately the creation of a European Ministry of Finance as part of a European Government.
German Plans for a Federal Europe
As recently as last Wednesday the German Foreign Minister, Joschka Fischer, prophesied a Federal Europe. To make the point clear he added: "I am a convinced believer in the Federal State". Note the use of the word "State". We don't need to add any alarming prefixes such as the word "super". It is clear that in Mr. Fischer's mind Euroland intends to become a state.
Mr Fischer, of course, no doubt warned by Mr. Blair, tried to tailor his remarks to any possible British readers by referring to Winston Churchill's speech in 1946 about a United States of Europe. Mr Fischer, like most Euro zealots, forgot that Churchill made it clear that he did not believe that Britain should be part of a United States of Europe.
No one should be surprised by Mr. Fischer's remarks. He has said it before, notably in his speech a year ago at Humboldt University. At that time the Foreign Office told us that Mr Fischer's remarks were "his personal opinions", and should not be taken too seriously. Today's personal opinions have a nasty habit of becoming tomorrow's European treaty. And the next European Treaty, let me remind you, is scheduled for 2004.
What Mr Fischer said closely follows the thinking of Chancellor Schroder who has outlined his own plan for a federal constitution for Europe, unsurprisingly closely modelled on the German constitution. The Chancellor has called for an elected President for Europe, more powers for the European Parliament, and most significantly of all for the Council of Ministers to be downgraded to become the Second Chamber of a European Parliament. The Council of Ministers would thus become like the Bundesrat in which the Lander of Germany are represented.
To make the Council of Ministers into a mere second chamber of the European Parliament would, of course, make it much more difficult for individual countries to block European decisions. Many British voters, like myself, will feel that states cannot simply become the second chamber of the European Parliament. The Council of Ministers already has much more legitimacy than the European Parliament made up as it is of representatives of national governments. It is with national governments that most ordinary people still strongly identify.
The British people should be profoundly grateful to the German Chancellor for speaking out so frankly about the future of Europe, and helping us in this Election. If only our own Government would speak so openly. It is now three weeks since Mr. Schroder put forward his proposals for a European Government. At no point in this Election has Tony Blair given us any hint of his Government's views on these vital issues. It's time that he stopped ducking and answered a few questions.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


What about the unused space?
Anyone have experience with the Sony WX-5900MD?
Replacing rear speakers with subs?
Where can you buy side indicators?
alpine type s in stock location?
Pocket PC GPS - Anyone have this ?
Some one stole my Hood Sensor!!
Do I need a separate amp if I replace speakers?
Are front 6.5s full range ?
Why do I have engine noise in my stereo?
Anyone want to do this Mod? 2 10" this way!
What is everyone doing for front imaging?


Going to court is a frightening proposition, but it doesn't have to be. Any lawyer can fight your case, but the right lawyer can put you at ease.
Lee M. Herman and his team of experienced attorneys give each case personal attention.


A collection of galaxy S9 cases featuring designs of musical instruments, including pianos and keyboards, guitars, violins, saxophones and more. Musical notes, cassette tapes and speakers abound in this array of designs to suit all tastes. Protect your galaxy S9 with a hip and stylish case which shows your love of music.


Coctel De Mierda drink recipe made with Zima,Swiss Almond Chocolate,Curacao,Almond extract,Blackcurrant cordial,. How to make a Coctel De Mierda with all the instructions and ingredients.
Breast Feeder. View This Recipe!
Bride's Bowl View This Recipe!
Celtic Comrade View This Recipe!
Cerebro De Los Pollos View This Recipe!


1707 – The Acts of Union 1707 are signed, officially uniting the Kingdoms and parliaments of England and Scotland to create the Kingdom of Great Britain.
1720 – Count Frederick of Hesse-Kassel is elected King of Sweden by the Riksdag of the Estates, after his consort Ulrika Eleonora abdicated the throne on 29 February. She had been wanting to rule jointly with her husband in the same manner as William and Mary in the British Isles, but after the Riksdag of the Estates said no to this, she chose to abdicate the throne in his favour instead.
1765 – American Revolution: The Kingdom of Great Britain passes the Quartering Act, which requires the Thirteen Colonies to house British troops.
1922 – Irish War of Independence: In Belfast, Northern Irish policemen break into the home of a Catholic family and shoot eight males inside, killing six.
1946 – The British Cabinet Mission, consisting of Lord Pethick-Lawrence, Sir Stafford Cripps and A. V. Alexander, arrives in India to discuss and plan for the transfer of power from the British Raj to Indian leadership.
1959 – The Party of the African Federation is launched by Léopold Sédar Senghor and Modibo Keïta.
1965 – NASA spacecraft Ranger 9, equipped to convert its signals into a form suitable for showing on domestic television, brings images of the Moon into ordinary homes before crash landing.
1972 – The United Kingdom imposes direct rule over Northern Ireland.
1976 – In Argentina, the armed forces overthrow the constitutional government of President Isabel Perón and start a 7-year dictatorial period self-styled the National Reorganization Process. Since 2006, a public holiday known as Day of Remembrance for Truth and Justice is held on this day.
1980 – Archbishop Óscar Romero is killed while celebrating Mass in San Salvador.
1989 – Exxon Valdez oil spill: In Prince William Sound in Alaska, the Exxon Valdez spills 240,000 barrels (38,000 m3) of crude oil after running aground.
1998 – Jonesboro massacre: Mitchell Johnson and Andrew Golden, aged 11 and 13 respectively, fire upon teachers and students at Westside Middle School in Jonesboro, Arkansas; five people are killed and ten are wounded.
1998 – A tornado sweeps through Dantan in India, killing 250 people and injuring 3000 others.
1999 – Mont Blanc Tunnel fire kills 39 people.
1999 – Kosovo War: NATO commences aerial bombardment against Yugoslavia, marking the first time NATO has attacked a sovereign country.
2000 – S&P 500 index reaches an intraday high of 1,552.87, a peak that, due to the collapse of the dot-com bubble, it will not reach again for another seven-and-a-half years.
2014 – A train overruns the buffers at Chicago O'Hare Airport station, injuring 32 people.
2015 – Germanwings Flight 9525 crashes in the French Alps in an apparent mass murder-suicide, killing all 150 people on board.
This page was last modified on 18 December 2015, at 06:42.


Jimmy Eadie is to become Crash Ensemble's first Creative Partner.
Jimmy will be the first in a series of Creative Partners, who will work with us to bring their skills, knowledge and drive to fulfilling our ambitions over the next few years.
A founding member of the ensemble, he has been instrumental to the group's sound over the last 18 years.
From Jimmy - "It has been an amazing 18 years working with the Crash Ensemble as Front of House Engineer, some memorable moments for me over this time; First performance of Junk Box by Donnacha, Aria 51 by John Godfrey, a keyboard performance of ik-ook by Philip Glass performed by David Adams, Zack Browning, sole injection - performed by Brona Cahill, Stockhausen - Gesang der Junglinge - at the project Mint, Gavin Bryars -Jesus Blood. Terry Riley in a small church in Drogheda, Phil Niblock..loud and unique.... Finally playing a show in Carnegie Hall. Thank you Crash Ensemble, for all the amazing music, laughs, and pure craic... I'm sure we will have many more. I look forward to contributing to Crash in my new role and remaining part of such an amazing group."


text:
Home · News
Obama White House Alumni Uplift Students with 'Black Girl 44' Scholarship
The initiative benefits college women interning in politics and public service.
Photo of Deesha Dyer by Nikki Kahn
By Donna Owens · Updated March 30, 2021
Just as 44th President Barack Obama and former First Lady Michelle Obama have remained publicly engaged following eight historic years in the White House, so too have many staffers in the administration.
Among the record numbers of Black women who utilized their talents in service to the nation was Deesha Dyer. The Philadelphia native began her White House tenure as a 31-year-old intern attending community college who rose through the ranks to become social secretary. She coordinated the 2015 visit from Pope Francis, State Dinners with world leaders from China, Italy, Singapore and Canada, and booked iconic celebrities such as Aretha Franklin, Beyoncé and the cast of "Hamilton" to perform at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
"The Black alumni of the White House and political appointees keep in touch and we're still working to make an impact," said Dyer, a 2019 Harvard Kennedy School fellow, and a sought-after speaker who now heads a social impact firm. "The goal is to help others get in the political pipeline."
Back in 2019, she founded Black Girl 44, a scholarship fund designed to assist collegiate women who've secured unpaid internships in politics and public service, but need assistance with expenses. "I reached out to all the Black women and asked each to chip in a minimum of $50. We pooled our money and were able to provide six scholarships that first year."
The private, independent scholarship has since expanded from 55 inaugural donors to more than 100 Black women, most of them former staffers in the Obama White House and administration.
"Last year showed us clearly that Black women bear the brunt of the pandemic, yet remain at the forefront of movement and change," Dyer told ESSENCE. "More than ever we need more Black women to run for office, start social justice movements, join campaigns. And with this scholarship, we can help alleviate any financial hurdles they experience along the way."
Thanks to the generosity of alums, including Obama Senior Advisor Valerie Jarrett, the 2021 scholarship will award 10 Black women a $1,000 scholarship this summer.
Scholarship winners will receive their awards via a virtual presentation, and they will take part in a remote orientation in June, in accordance with COVID-19 protocols. The students will participate in mentoring sessions, exclusive workshops, receive an Internship Survival Kit highlighting Black-owned businesses and more.
The scholarship opened this month (March 25) and closes May 1. Click here for more information or to apply.
TOPICS: Obama Administration


Previously we discussed how to use multiple Gmail id in single browser now lets see another interesting thing, the most easiest and useful tips to use multiple gtalk application just by adding /nomutex as suffix to the Target link of the gtalk icon. confused still ? The screenshot below will explain you very easily.
Right Click on the gtalk icon in start menu.
add /nomutex at the end of the Target link.
Now again run gtalk application by clicking on gtalk icon. you can see a new gtalk window, where you can sign in to your new alternate account.
cool tip. Thanks for sharing..


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Grantham Construction Ltd offers a wide range of services. and can meet your exact requirements. We provide quality and professional building services.
We can provide a full building and joinery service and take your ideas all the way from sketch to completion. Whatever your needs, from small repair works to a new build home we can provide the skills and expertise to turn your requirement into reality.
Our aim is to provide quality assured work at the right price! For more information Contact Us with any further questions you may have.
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Copyright © 2019 Grantham Construction. All Rights Reserved. Site Map.


The data revolution is here, is your business ready?
Is it enough to go on gut-instinct and "the highest paid person's opinion"? Today's businesses need data to drive their decisions.
The concept of data is not a new one. Companies around the world have been capturing and collating data for years, the challenge many are now facing is identifying the data which is relevant to their business goals and objectives.
Many agencies can collect data for you, but that is only the first stage - we add insight to construct actionable suggestions with our clients. This extra step requires us to review other factors which may be driving the movements in your data.
Our Data & Insights team works in conjunction with our Digital Strategy team to bring together the short term and long term objectives of our clients; with the correct goals, reports and analytical reviews to drive results.
To answer the questions your business has, we need to track data properly. Using this data, we can identify what makes your audience tick, as well as the strengths and weaknesses of your digital touch points.
Using a combination of the above, our analysts create reports and dashboards that gives clients a detailed review of performance and suggestions for improvement.
Big Data has become the latest buzzword to hit the world of analytics in recent years, with some of the big players harnessing the power of huge data sets and real time data to gain a competitive edge. However, it is important to recognise that for the majority of businesses big data is a distant goal on their horizons.
More often than not, any issues in analysing data sets can be traced back to the quality and reliability of the data sets being used. After all, if we do not trust that the data we are using is correct, how can we trust the suggestions derived from our analysis?
Here at Revonic we always begin with a review of the data sources available to us.
Any issues such as gaps in data or tracking, incorrect goals, reporting inconsistencies and so on; are fixed immediately to be sure all data is supporting the future plans of your business correctly.
From idea to execution, we love doing things better, it's just part of our culture.


text:
Tetê Espindola
Cristal (feat. Tetê Espindola)
Filó Machado 1996
About Tetê Espindola
Essentially an experimental singer/songwriter, Tetê Espíndola has been praised by vanguard critics, musicians, and intellectuals. She has also experienced nationwide popular success when she won at Festival dos Festivais in 1985 with "Escrito Nas Estrelas." Characterized by ecological concerns, her performances utilize elements of both acoustic and electronic settings.
Raised in a musical environment, Espíndola formed her first group (LuzAzul) with her siblings Alzira Espíndola, Geraldo Espíndola, and Celito Espíndola in their home city. In the '60s a new kind of music appeared in that distant frontier of Brazil and Paraguay. Taking influences of música caipira (Brazilian hillbilly music), especially that of Délio e Delinha, and melting it with American folk-rock, the two best regional composers and poets Geraldo and Paulo Simões provided excellent raw material for the incursions of the nascent group, who were especially suited for a kind of poetry that dealt with ecology (much before this became fashionable). Musically the group employed plenty of fingerpicked strings (mostly, they played several craviolas, a 12-string instrument similar to the guitar) and elaborated vocals that were polished daily through their familial cohabitation. The first album came in 1978 with the disastrous interference of producers foretold by the title, Tetê e o Lírio Selvagem. In that album, the delicate guitars and vocals, reminiscent of the bucolical landscapes depicted both in music and poetry, and the psychedelic scents so dear to their sound were buried under a commonplace strings and rhythm section, making the result unrecognizable for the group's fans and ununderstandable for newcomers. Tetê's trademark, a then still uncontrolled use of extremely high bird-influenced pitches (she claims to have learned to sing listening to the araras of her home state), sounded dislocated in a so behaved environment. But it's understandable that being inexperienced, the siblings were alluded by the perspective of success and made compromises that they would live to regret. As the album didn't happen, Tetê continued to promote her solo work and participate in TV series (TV Globo's Caso Verdade A Vida de Clementina de Jesus). Her first solo album, Piraretã (1980), began her association with the vanguardist Arrigo Barnabé, which would be instrumental for her future path in the area that could appreciate her rare vocal talent. In 1981, she presented Barnabé's valse "Londrina" in the MPB Shell Festival. The song was awarded for its arrangement by Cláudio Leal. At that point, Espíndola's unusual timbre had won the vanguard of São Paulo, including the poet Augusto de Campos, leaving Espíndola to be praised by Tom Jobim and many other top artists. Espíndola's biggest commercial hit was "Escrito Nas Estrelas" (Arnaldo Black/Carlos Rennó), winner of TV Globo's Festival dos Festivais (1985). More at ease in demanding/artistic situations, she represented Brazil at several international festivals, like the Concert Voice (1988, Rome, Italy), New Morning (1989, Paris, France), Festival de Jazz Latino-Americano (Cordoba, Argentina), and the Belgium Jazz Festival. In 1990, together with Arnaldo Black, Espíndola won a one-year scholarship from the Vitae Foundation with a composition based in the singing of the Amazonian birds, using her voice solely as an instrument. This research was made available in the album Ouvir (1991). In 2001, Espíndola performed in several cities of Germany and Portugal.
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Belgrade, Serbia, 03. October 2015: Belgrade Waterfront successfully kicked off the sales of its first residential units in one of the two towers of 'BW Residences', which was held at BW Gallery today, on October 3. The twin-tower complex, currently under construction, is situated in a prime location along the Sava River within one of the most anticipated projects in Belgrade.
Potential customers were provided with a choice of one to four-bedroom apartments in the first tower of BW Residences, in a variety of different layouts.
All apartments feature unrivalled quality and finishing, grand terraces, with direct access to Sava Promenade and its retail and F&B outlets, for a unique waterfront living experience.
Residents will have open access to a range of exclusive amenities including an indoor swimming pool, a yoga and lounge area, a modern health club, a children's play area and pool, roof gardens and a podium deck full of activities.
Belgrade Waterfront comprises commercial hubs, hotels, educational institutions, healthcare amenities as well as a 2 kilometre long public waterfront edge and parks featuring leisure attractions. Belgrade Waterfront will also feature a Cultural District and Historic Plaza, further making the city a cultural and artistic destination.
For more information, call PR agency New Moment at 011/3222 315 or Belgrade Waterfront Gallery on 0800 300 888, email: [email protected], [email protected] [email protected] or visit www.belgradewaterfront.com.
Belgrade Waterfront is a spectacular new city hub situated along River Sava in Belgrade, Serbia. On a site area of approximately 1 million sqm, and a total construction area of 1.8 million sqm, Belgrade Waterfront is a modern city within the city, developed by Eagle Hills. It will feature world-class residences and offices, Belgrade Mall, hotels, educational institutions, modern healthcare amenities, as well as a 2 kilometre long public waterfront edge and public parks featuring leisure attractions.


On social media recently, I posted a picture of Steven J "Bluto" Libby and myself in genie pants, our leisure wear of choice on the road circa 2014. I was in need of a chuckle today and found this gem in the archives. When not on stage, this was my uniform for the better part of fourteen months, a called strike three with the ladies, but I'd argue James Bond would've been a fan, had he A) actually existed or B) taken up gonzo journalism.


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Description Many of us prefer to store emails in the MBOX format, which organizes all messages into one file. This format is intended for storing email messages on hard drives. In fact, a MBOX file is a long text file, in which messages are organized in a string, each message starting with "From", which is followed by a space character and the sender's email address. Initially, MBOX files were used on Unix. These files are supported by Qualcomm Edora, Microsoft Entourage, Thunderbird and Mozilla clients.


My sons had the extreme privilege of going to a small school for gifted children. It sits, nestled on the edge of a forest preserve, with a bell tower and a reflecting pool. It is the kind of school my parents never could have afforded to send me to. When I say "extreme privilege," I mean it. And I did not let my boys forget that this school was a gift I paid for dearly. I wanted them to enjoy it, but never take it for granted. We are not wealthy. Choosing this education for them meant giving up vacations, shopping, certain kinds of cars, etc. Ah, our First World problems, you might say. And you'd be right. But I did feel the sacrifices. And I feel I owe you, friend, complete transparency—judge me or not.
The very thing that drew them all to the school—intelligence and giftedness—is not what turned out to be their saving grace. Don't get me wrong—they challenged each other to new heights of achievement in the best (and on occasion, the worst) possible ways. What became so very remarkable was that they showed us—their parents and teachers–how the world could be. In a best-case scenario, they did not see differences of faith, skin color, economic status, as material.
One of my favorite pictures from this time is my youngest in a yarmulke, the cap worn by Jewish males. There he was, my little supposedly-Catholic-but-really-agnostic boy, comfortably seated in the synagogue, yarmulke and all. And next to him sat an atheist, a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Muslim, a Christian. All were there to support their friend, Noah, at his Bar Mitzvah. All of them fast friends. All of them completely different colors and faiths. All of them blind to the fact that the world thought this should matter. Yes, they were still young enough to be that sheltered. They were in what we affectionately call "the Bubble." It's a protected space where the harshest rules of the world do not gain entry. It's a place where special talents are given the time and safe haven they need to grow.
My sons' former school is the Bubble. When a child graduates and moves on—whether to Andover or Eaton, public or parochial high school—we say they have left the Bubble. And leaving the Bubble is not something that's easy to do, let me tell you. I know, as I've watched my two sons struggle to do it.
The Bubble is a place where you can talk unceasingly of your fascination with arachnids, and no one will mock you. Instead, they'll probably ask you questions about this passion. And then they'll say to adults who might look askance: "That's just Luc. He likes bugs." Case closed. Where you can be the girl who asks for extra math homework, smiling as it's piled on. Where physical education focuses on fitness and your personal best, instead of how big you are and how menacing you can be on the gridiron. Do they learn football? Sure. But they also learn cricket, and yoga, and how to coach fellow students who might be just about the worst athletes they'll ever see on any type of playing field. Talk about building character.
It's an environment where kids give presentations on their faiths. And where no one judges the boy who has declared himself an atheist. Instead of arguing the differences, there is an interest in and acceptance of them. So, even as differences become apparent—as these children mature—they are not sources of conflict. They're simply—well—there. And those differences are not as important as what unites these kids—a love of learning, a sensitivity to the human condition, a desire to make their mark on this world for the greater good.
In a week where matters of import are being decided in my country's elections, where we are still reeling from shootings based on skin color and religion/ethnicity, I long for the Bubble again. I'd give anything to be heading back into the school lobby, to sit by the fireplace in the main hall and witness the happy buzz of students whose minds and hearts are afire with good things.
Alas, we're not there. We're here in the middle of the mire, in the "real world." But here's where I wax hopeful. On my Facebook feed, I see a few dozen graduates of the Bubble, courtesy of their parents' proud posts about them. I see some of them in college, studying abroad. Some at Ivy League institutions, some at small liberal arts colleges, others heavily into math and science pursuits. I see high schoolers who are killing it at music, drama, debate. I see them volunteering at soup kitchens and sleeping in the elements to raise awareness for the homeless.
While their achievements are impressive—again, they are not the saving grace. What brings tears to my eyes is the beauty these now-not-so-tiny souls bring to the world. Instead, the takeaway is their blindness to skin color and ethnicity as a defining factor for anything. It's their belief—no, actually their life experience—that proves those of different faiths can work and play together peacefully. That whether you like bugs, or math, or space travel, you have a place here. You do you, brother. Right on, sister friend.
I don't think this experiment worked because of intelligence, or sensitivity, or giftedness. I think it's what can happen when parents allow their children to rub shoulders with people who are different than they are. I know this won't work in all instances. I know that education and class do play a role. I'm old school enough to believe manners are manners, and should transcend socioeconomic status—as should basic respect. I truly don't care what your skin color or ethnicity is—I'm an equal-opportunity critic of bad social form.
I envision my sons and their classmates as the tiny bubbles that form from a larger one. If you've ever used a bubble wand, you know what I'm talking about. They are tiny bubbles launched from the mothership. And I'm praying they bring others into their way of enlightened thinking, versus bursting at the pressure as they try to spread a new way of being in the world.
Just a few thoughts from me as we vote this week to determine what kind of bubble—if any—my country will be.
Here's hoping the wind picks up, taking these beautiful bubbles to all corners of the earth. We sure could use them right about now.
(Visiting via Dale) … What a beautiful story with a powerful message for all. Here is a special school for students with special abilities – yet, you stressed the importance of life and lessons learned – not academics. I loved this phrase – how the world could be – Perfect!
Thank you! And welcome. Any friend of Dale's is a friend of mine. Come on in, the water is fine🙂.
However did I miss this wonderful one?
It has been proven that children do not see colour and race… it is taught to them. Why more school cannot just simply teach them as your bubble has, is beyond me. Why do those teachers know how to keep the hate out but as the kids get older, the teachers cannot seem to?
Thank you, Dale! I wish the Bubble was the norm. Am hoping someday it can be, with a generation far wiser than ours . . .
So do I, Kristine, so do I!!!
This sounds like a wonderful foundation for life – sad that we can't all live in that bubble forever.
I'm with you in that sentiment. Leaving that environment was as hard on me as it was on my sons.
I taught in a gifted program for many years and that was always the one thing that amazed and impressed me about those kids–their ability to simply accept each other for what they were, foibles and differences and all.
It amazes me too but is so heartening to see. For years, I was lucky enough to see it at class parties, on the playground and at lunch tables. They just don't overcomplicate it. I don't know why we do as adults . . .
My favourite line in here was "it's what can happen when parents allow their children to rub shoulders with people who are different than they are." I call it experiencing the world instead of a distorted sanitized version of it. It's what helps us be open-minded to possibilities instead of insular and afraid of what's different.
I loved this post and the environment that this school has created. I wish it was the norm rather than the exception.
Thank you for the kind words. It sounds like we think similarly on this topic. I know what my kids experienced with Rosie. I do have friends who have had a lot of diversity in their public school and it has not been so wonderful. But I think it has very little to do with ethnicity And everything to do with basic respect for your fellow human being—manners, etc.
My son went to a gifted school as well and I miss those days. The first two years were magical and what he, and his classmates, taught me was more impressive than what they were taught. It was a beautiful bubble indeed with its inclusiveness, openness, and kindness unmatched in the 'real world' since. Now his high school is as white and liberal as you can imagine. We both miss the diversity that his grade 3 and 4 classes contained. But, our children are growing up more forgiving, engaged, and understanding even when they are out of their bubble. There is hope.
There IS hope:). I agree. And I hear you on what these kids teach us. I can't wait until I see them leading in the world–in all sorts of fields . . .
So well said, Kay. I voted, and I hope for us all.
I was sure you would:). Thank you for the kind words.
Inspiring, K. I can relate to the sacrifices involved in the private school route. But what a gift for a child.
It truly is a gift—One that keeps on giving. I don't regret a penny of it!
Oh, I love this so much. Absolutely beautiful.
Thank you! I'm glad this touched you.
My son also experienced a wonderful bubble, but sadly as an institution it couldn't provide for his whole education. I saw so many beautiful gifted bubbles sent out too soon to be chased and burst. How I would have loved for those children to have that experience of acceptance for long enough to gain more strength.
Oh, that's tough to hear. I hate to think of any of these children being plucked from a nurturing environment too soon. I truly think it's essential to their growth as people. But it also encourages me that you were writing from the other side of the world and see similar children. The more tiny little positive bubbles that get out in all corners, the better :-).
So few of our kids get a truly nurturing education environment. It's partly a function of a very small population and low pop. density. We just can't sustain enough great little schools. Thankfully, communities nurture where institutions fail.
"I don't think this experiment worked because of intelligence, or sensitivity, or giftedness. I think it's what can happen when parents allow their children to rub shoulders with people who are different than they are." Exactly! Why can't the rest of the world see that? I live in hope too, that a better change is ahead.
If these kids have their way, better change is definitely ahead :-). We just have to hope there are whole lot more of them out there.
I love this. My kids had similar experiences with a twist, moving from incredible private schools in South Africa that promoted the treasures of diversity to public schools in the U.S. Two memories came immediately to mind when I was reading your piece — my son choosing not to swim at a class party in 2nd grade because his best friend didn't know how to swim and then the time during his first week of public school in the U.S. when he was admonished for saying "Yes ma'am" to the teacher. (She thought he was mocking her or being obnoxious, I guess.) We soon put both kids back into private school. Like you, having our children in private schools meant a lot of sacrifices. All worth it in so many ways. I love public schools, but for my children private schools worked best. And that view does not result from the privilege associated with private school, but rather the respect and appreciation for differences that the kids enjoyed there. My proudest moments from those years are quite simple — the time my son spent an hour helping a younger swimmer perfect his backstroke turn, and the time my daughter chose to socialize with two young and shy teammates during a field hockey tournament trip to Florida. I'm also proud that after making public school friends, they remained valued acquaintances — just as cherished as the private school classmates — in the lives of my son and daughter. I guess it's about celebrating the good and special you encounter in a variety of settings, appreciating the different and treasured traits that make people unique, and understanding that we all must choose our own ways forward. Thanks for reminding me of reasons to believe in our future; I need that now.
Why does it not surprise me that you've raised kids who would stick by their friends and show good manners? 🙂 It sounds like we both believe the sacrifices we made are worth it. And I do believe that there are some phenomenal public school environments out there. They're just not as common as they should be. We definitely have some work to do. Thanks, as always, for sharing your wisdom and your experiences here. You really add value to the conversation each and every time.
What beautiful imagery you draw on with a picture of bubbles blowing across the globe. Bubbles of peace, hope and change. Whilst one can never underestimate the complexity of the political/ financial/ racial tensions that plague our planet, I do believe the starting point for all solutions can be comprehensively simplified into one word. Respect. And who can place a value on a school that delivers respect as an underpinning fundamental of their education model? All the sacrifices you've made to ensure your boys have had access to this is worth every cost. Well done Kristine. The world bleeds for more parents willing and able to make these sacrificial choices for our children.
Thank you! Those are very kind words. I do wish that more schools and teachers got it right. Although I do believe there are many who do. But then I see photos like the one of the teachers from the Idaho school district who dressed up like Mexican people trying to get into the United States, as well as a border wall. And I think: in what world would they ever think that is OK? What you say is true. I don't regret a penny of what I spent on my boys' education.
Beautiful. Inspiring. I have a 25 year old daughter who is one of these special beings… Thanks for your writing.
Thank you 🙏🏻. I truly believe kids like these have been born at this time and place for a reason :-). Blessings to you and your daughter.
I loved this so much I wanted to share it.
Rooting for them through the ether:).
Thank you for inspiring me this morning with your perceptions and your hope.
Join me in the hope, friend:). Thanks for reading and joining the conversation . . .
Thank you for this! As always!
And thank you for reading–and commenting–as always:). I hope this one struck you . . .


Executive Presence: How to Cultivate the "IT Factor"
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"But who is the marionette?"
Avatard is an interactive robotics and video installation.
Avatard consists of a group of small robotic puppets interacting with a single human . Both are filmed in separate rooms then mixed together in a virtual environment, where the human interactor is represented by one of the puppets. The body movements of the formers as well as their voices are used to control the latter.
This project is inspired by the tradition of mechanical theatre but incorporates the idea of the digital representation of the self, the avatar. It conveys a cynical view of the common representation of artificial social interactions taking place in digitally mediated environments. It undermines the assumptions of control often associated with interactive art. Letting the users under the impression that they have control over a puppet, as if the latter was an avatar, they are left to discover that these animated figures have generative and self-regulated behaviors.


text:
Laura McHale Holland
Just In Case: twenty-one bite-sized stories
Elegant, haunting, beautiful prose in short, short stories to savor and share. Imagine a world where shadows of enchantment instantly render ordinary experiences eerie, terrifying or sublime, and where the unexpected becomes the norm. The twenty-one micro stories in Laura McHale Holland's Just in Case comprise such a place: a universe where a wife betrayed relishes her revenge; a couple chugging toward retirement takes a surprising U-turn; a much maligned character finally has his say; a cozy family scene chills the blood; a curious relative cannot leave a half-human baby alone. The short stories in this collection contain layers of meaning hidden in metaphor, revealed in raw emotion and arresting in their sudden intimacy. Magical, yet grounded this is flash fiction at its best by an author who know how to pack a gratifying punch and leave the reader hankering for more.
I believe stories can spark our deepest, truest selves—sometimes momentarily, sometimes indelibly—and I strive to do this every day. I'm now at work on a novel inspired by magical realism and folklore. It introduces a quirky, sometimes contentious cast of characters in a fictional river town where forces beyond everyday reality both help and hinder, and secrets surface, testing the community's mettle. The book is with beta readers now. Previously, I've published two memoirs, a collection of flash fiction, and an anthology on sisterhood that contains the work of 76 writers from across the globe. I also enjoy writing short plays and have had several produced locally. In addition, I edit full time for a financial services trade publication, serve as a judge for short fiction contests run by a global arts organization and occasionally copyedit novels written by local authors. I feel it's worth pursuing our dreams through all of life's ups and downs, even when they seem lost to us, and if my persistence in pursuing a creative path can help you on your journey, that will fill my heart with gladness.
Amazon Barnes&Noble IndieBound
When John Prine's first album came out, I would pass a row of park benches every day where old folks would sit quietly and feed pigeons. They always seemed lonesome to me, and Prine's song "Hello in There" captured so perfectly what I imagined their plight was. I would smile in passing if they looked up, but I never stopped and said hello even after falling in love with the song. Was I just shy? I don't know. In light of Prine's passing due to complications from COVID-19, I'm thinking of how precious life is, how we all matter, whatever our age and walk in life. And the story I'm sharing this week shines a light on an elderly couple going through a huge transition.
Ned shoves a box of kitchen utensils into the back of the Volvo wagon, closes the door and gazes at the fuchsia bougainvillea climbing his homemade trellis one last time before he walks to the driver's door.
"That's all of it then," his wife, Rosie, says when he gets in.
"Guess so." Ned starts the engine and steers the car down the drive and into the street.
Empty nesters—he riddled with arthritis, she with glaucoma—they just sold their home of forty years and are on their way to Morningside Estates, a community for senior citizens. Rosie waves to a neighbor walking two brown-and-white Chihuahuas as they drive by.
"I'll tell you something, Ned, I'm not going to miss those yappy little dogs," she says.
Ned rounds the corner and heads toward the highway. "Never was much of a neighborly neighborhood, if you ask me," he says.
"How could it be with everybody at work all the time?"
"A ghost town, really." Ned turns onto the highway.
"Lots of poppies this year, oh, and look at Debbie Swan's lavender!"
"It's a purple lake, Rosie, a purple lake."
"And beyond that, the open range, love, with wild horses running free."
"What? Oh, yeah, the riding academy. I always liked that palomino."
"It's open range today, not some two-bit riding school."
"Like our future, open range."
"Like the free range chickens we never raised."
"And the horses we never rode." Ned's eyes tear up.
"Can we stop at Trader Joe's up ahead? I want to pick up a few things."
"You don't have to cook anymore, you know."
"We'll still have a kitchen. Besides, I never made an olallieberry pie."
"I never rode that palomino either." He does a U-turn and floors it.
She braces herself, hands on dashboard. "What are you doing?"
"I'm gonna ride that horse, honey. I've got to ride that horse."


text:
The Trouble with Murder: Chapter Two
I rolled out of bed after hitting the snooze button three times. I hadn't slept well. I'd had vivid dreams that were ugly and destructive.
My life got off to a rocky and violent start. From violent, it phased to uncertain, but always it was hard. I've been seeing a therapist regularly to help deal with what that means. Normally, I'm rather well-adjusted, all things considered. I still have patterns of learned behavior I have to work to overcome, but usually I'm successful and can function without major incident in polite society.
But when I experience violence, physical or emotional, whether I'm a participant or an observer, the result is the same. The dreams, sometimes better described as "nightmares," return, and I find I can be irritable, my temper short. From the moment I'd heard the scream last night, I'd known what I was in for. Walking into that lobby,
physically confronting the attacker, and seeing Stacy Karnes's body had cracked some of the retaining walls, and my past was seeping back out. I would need to get it under control, and fast.
The coffee pot was empty, as usual. Every morning I was the last to get up, and every morning I found the pot empty. Eternal optimist that I am, I always secretly hoped there would be a cup left, but there never was. Skipping it, I went back downstairs to shower.
I stripped my clothes off and caught a glimpse before I went to the shower. Frowning, I walked back to the mirror. I didn't like what I saw. Perhaps it was merely the result of my uncharitable mood brought on by the lack of sleep and caffeine, but I didn't think so. That wasn't the whole story, in any case.
I'd noticed a slight weight gain after returning home. My family life has always been a huge source of stress for me, and stress seems to negatively affect my metabolism. The weight gain had continued until Barry Paige had been hired, at which point it exploded. See, Paige takes his position as my supervisor more seriously than necessary. In the last eight months, I'd gained thirty pounds. That's more than a woman should gain while pregnant. I'm not pregnant. It was as if the stress I was feeling from every direction had shut off my metabolism, allowing every ounce I ate to slide right down to my butt and stick. My butt and my stomach and my thighs and that place along the back of my arms. Didn't matter that I'd become more conscientious of what I was eating. I'm five-eight most days, five-nine on good days; I don't have a lot of extra height to accommodate or offset the additional weight. And in the last two years, the additional weight totaled forty pounds. All right, forty-seven.
Today it looked more like seventy. This was how I knew I was feeling unfriendly. The stress had brought wrinkles and gray hair, too, though I'm twenty-five. I have fair skin that never tans, only burns, and a smattering of freckles over my nose. It had been nearly flawless until recently. Now there are noticeable lines around my eyes and mouth. These irritate me most.
I saw the look in my eye then turned away from the mirror. My eyes fluctuate between deep green and hazel depending mostly on my mood. Just then, they were burning green: a reflection of the strong emotion I was feeling.
I stood under the water for several long minutes, until I was thoroughly soaked, then reached up for my shampoo. I knew the instant I lifted the bottle what I'd find, but (optimist, remember?) I popped the cap and held my hand open, squeezing all the same. Nothing came out but a swish of air.
Not to worry. I always keep an extra bottle of everything stashed behind the tampons under the sink. Dripping wet, I got back out and pulled the cupboard doors open, searching for my hidden cache. I couldn't find anything. Confused, I removed everything until I'd reached the back of the cupboard. The only items remaining were deodorant and body wash.
I replaced the items I'd removed and went back to the shower, colorfully cursing Bradley, the college student renting the third bedroom in the basement. He shared a bathroom with Zach and me, one he hardly ever cleaned, and he had a habit of helping himself to whatever he could find. It hadn't been until he'd brought his boyfriend home that I'd understood why he was always using my products.
A quick search of the available items in the shower left me with one option. I picked up Zach's shampoo-and-body-wash-in-one and sniffed at the top. It smelled like a man; no way around it. But I had to wash my hair with something. With a sigh, I squirted some out and lathered it through my hair. I needed to have a conversation with Bradley sometime soon. And I was seriously considering raising his rent. Had I been planning to stay past tomorrow, I would evict him instead.
I twisted my long hazelnut-colored hair up and tied it in a knot on top of my head, pinning back my long bangs. (Probably it was good Bradley wasn't home when I got out of the shower.) My hair is a hot mess as often as not. Reminiscent of a 90s-era Julia Roberts; it is thick, wavy, and has a mind of its own. Today, of course, it would have to stay up in order to cut down on the Axe smell. I did the best I could to make it look presentable then left it to air dry. Out of habit, I tucked two extra hairpins into my pocket, just in case I needed reinforcement later.
Early in life, my mother had instilled the importance of such vain undertakings as makeup, hairspray, push-up bras, and control-top pantyhose. While I'd given up most of that as a gesture of rebellion, I still can't bring myself to leave the house without mascara. And for work, I always wear complete makeup. It just doesn't feel right not to. So, I did the makeup thing in a hurry, then pulled together a passable outfit of brown slacks and a green top. I grabbed my bag and hit the door.
My first appointment was at eight. It took some negotiating, but the late walk-in client from the night before had finally agreed to come back first thing this morning. It meant coming in an hour early, but to get him out of my office, I'd agreed.
I checked my mirror and changed lanes, grimacing at the recurring thoughts of the night before. I wanted to blame the walk-in client for making me late to meet Stacy Karnes, but that wasn't fair. Sure, his timing had been unfortunate, but I should have been firmer about cutting the meeting short. I was responsible for keeping my own schedule, and I was responsible for being late.
I couldn't help but think about how different things would have been had I gotten there on time. I'd been mere moments too late to intervene before Stacy was stabbed. Had I left on time, had the lights and traffic been different, had I arrived two minutes earlier, would Stacy be lying in the hospital today? I couldn't help but think not. I realized, had I been any earlier it could just as easily have been me lying in the hospital today. Or the morgue. I also knew I couldn't help the fact Stacy had been in the lobby at that specific time. But she had been there to meet me, and that left me feeling more than a little responsible for what had happened to her. I knew this sense of responsibility and the associated guilt were the heaviest assaults against my retaining walls.
Traffic wasn't cooperating. My goal had been to stop for coffee on the way to the office, but all hope evaporated when I caught the third consecutive red light after leaving my house. If this continued, I'd be late as it was. Being late wasn't something I tolerated well under the best of circumstances. After last night, I didn't think I could tolerate it at all. I pulled my cell phone from the cup holder, wishing it were a perfectly blended, chocolate-flavored coffee instead, and dialed the office. The receptionist answered on the second ring.
"White Real Estate and Property Management. This is Sandra. How may I help you?"
Sandra York was new, having started six months ago. Overall, she did an acceptable job, but she wasn't a natural for the role, and she wasn't highly motivated to compensate for any deficiencies.
"It's Zoe. I need a favor. I have a meeting at eight; I left the info on your desk last night. Can you call the guy and let him know I'll be five minutes late?"
"There's a guy in the lobby. Let me make sure that's not him."
She put me on hold and I listened to elevator music for two minutes. I also managed to catch another red light. She came back on the line just as the light turned green.
"Wasn't him," she said. "I'll call him."
The four cars in front of me began moving. I put my foot to the gas, easing it down while I let my left foot off the clutch. The truck rolled forward, then the engine died. Hoping I'd stalled it, I twisted the key. The engine sputtered but failed to catch.
In my heart, I knew this wasn't something simple. I hit the hazard lights in response to the angry horns sounding behind me then tried the key again. The result was the same.
"Perfect," I sighed, leaning back against the seat. "Sandra, I'm going to need you to reschedule that appointment all together. I'm going to be more than five minutes late."
"Well, how late are you going to be?"
"I hope to make my nine o'clock, but I may need you to reschedule that one, too."
She sighed. "Fine. Let me know." Then she hung up.
I dropped the phone back into the cup holder.
"Yes, I'm fine," I said to the steering wheel. "No, I don't need anything. Thank you. Your concern is touching."
I was northbound on Shields in the far right lane, just south of Drake. About a block ahead there was a turnoff into a parking lot. I stepped out of the truck. A passing motorist belted his horn at me and flipped me the bird. I smiled, blew him a kiss, and waved. Shedding my jacket, I rolled down the window and took my position in the open door.
Despite how heavy a vehicle is, especially an old one like mine, I've never found them difficult to push, especially not my truck. This has been handy considering I've spent a lot of time in the past few months pushing it. I got a few more honks and hand gestures, and a kid hung his head out the window and shouted something dirty as he flew past. No one stopped to help.
Once in the parking lot, the truck picked up momentum. I jumped inside and allowed it to roll as I manhandled the steering wheel, directing it to the far right of the lot, where it rolled to a stop across three spaces. Climbing back out, I walked around and lifted the hood. I stepped onto the bumper and peered over the innards of the truck.
I have very little mechanical prowess but I figured it was merely due diligence to have a look and eliminate all obvious problems. I didn't know the names of any of the parts I was looking at or their functions, but I would have been able to tell if a hose was hanging lose or wires were sticking out somewhere. Of course, I saw none of those things. I also knew the tank had gas.
I'd found the 1978 International Scout II by happenstance. Shortly after moving back to Fort Collins, I'd listed my Mercedes for sale on Craigslist. Wanting to sell the thing quickly, I'd initially listed it low. But I realized soon enough that wasn't drawing the kind of attention I needed—just lots of looky-loos wondering why the pretty, two-year-old Mercedes was so cheap. So I relisted and overpriced it. This cut interested phone calls by more than half, down to a more manageable number and seriously interested parties.
About four people had already looked at the car by the time Stan had called and I'd met him in the Target parking lot. But there was something about Stan that I'd liked. He'd wanted to buy the Mercedes for his wife. Stan had been crazy about his wife, that was obvious to anyone after about five minutes. Her car had recently been totaled and she had been driving his truck, leaving him with his Scout. She'd hated the Scout and refused to drive it.
The Scout had been either carefully restored or impeccably maintained, I'd known from first glance. Talking around an ever-present cigarette between his lips, Stan had told me he had purchased the thing new in '77 and had taken exceptional care of it. A mechanic, he had done all the work himself. His wife may have hated it, but the Scout was a thing of beauty; hunter green with a white removable hardtop and Army-tan interior. And at that time, everything had worked as well as it had the day it rolled off the manufacturing floor.
He'd noticed my interest, and he must have already known he was dying. I had come prepared to deal, and, like I said, there was something I liked about Stan. I'd knocked a big chunk off the price and he'd thrown in the Scout.
For the next year, I took the Scout back to Stan for everything: oil changes, new windshield wipers, tire-pressure checks. He never charged me very much, and I always left the truck with him for the day, let him tool around in it for old time's sake. When he got too sick to work, he gave me the name of a new mechanic: Leonard Krupp. Krupp was old school and could work on a vehicle as old as the Scout.
But the wear and tear must have finally caught up to the thing, because it had been to visit the new mechanic routinely since. I occasionally consider offering to sell it back to Stan's wife, even though she always hated it. Sometimes I dream about driving it over to Krupp's, when it's running, and sending it crashing through the front window of his garage. I've considered pushing it into Horsetooth Reservoir more than once.
When reality finally settled back around me now, I walked back to the cab and retrieved my phone, dialing the number for the towing company from memory.
After arranging for a tow, I called Krupp to tell him the truck was coming back. He didn't answer. I left a message.
Now I needed a ride. I never bother to call my mother. Zach was at work. Friday mornings my best friend, Amy, worked out of town. I knew she'd come get me if I called her, but I reserved calls like that for emergencies only. I tried my friend Sadie, but the call went to voicemail. I didn't leave a message. Then I called Donald. Not only did he answer, but he agreed to come get me.
"Works out perfect," he said. "I was out cruising. I'll be there in ten minutes."
A small groan escaped me before I could bite it down. I knew what "cruising" meant.
Donald is a lot of things, sentimental being one of them. In addition to his daily driver, he owns a 1979 Lincoln Continental. The car had belonged to his mother before her passing more than a decade ago, but he'd been unable to get rid of the damn thing. Most days it sits at the curb outside the house collecting dust and the occasional parking ticket. Every once in a while, Donald will take it for a little morning spin, cruising up and down College Avenue, just to keep it in running order.
The truck was being loaded for transport when the road boat floated into the lot, Donald at the helm. The thing is nineteen feet long from bumper to bumper and the copper color of a freshly minted penny, with a matching vinyl roof. The tow truck driver stared openly at the Lincoln for a moment then turned to me. I smiled, waved, and climbed in beside Donald. He sailed the Lincoln home.
"What's wrong with your truck?"
I shrugged. "No idea. It just died."
"Want to borrow the Lincoln?"
Because it was Friday, I'd be lucky if my mechanic got around to looking at my truck today. Realistically, it would probably be Saturday, maybe even Monday. All said and done, it could very well be a week before I could bring it home. Did I want to drive the Lincoln for a week?
"That's generous of you, but I'll be okay. I've got the scooter."
"You sure?"
Donald glanced at me, and I noticed the childlike sparkle in his eyes as he maneuvered the Lincoln.
I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you. I'll let you know if I change my mind."
Donald tipped his head back slightly and seemed to take in a long breath.
"Say, you wearing Zach's jacket or something?" he asked. "I smell his perfume."
"Yeah, borrowed his jacket." I left it at that.
When we arrived at the house, Donald docked the copper barge at the curb and we disembarked. Donald was, as always, neatly dressed like an accountant. Donald isn't an accountant, but he always looks like one: button-down shirts, sweaters most of the year, khakis, and dark-rimmed glasses.
He cast a fond, loving glance at the Lincoln before disappearing into the house. I went into the garage.
The garage was a three-car tandem design. Two spaces were occupied by my mother's cherry red Saab and Donald's daily driver, a Ford Edge. If it were me, I would have parked the Lincoln in the garage. Monstrosity or not, the thing is a classic, and sitting exposed on the street year after year isn't doing anything good for the value. Although, I have to admit, the paint is as shiny as the day it had been applied.
At present, only the Edge was in residence. Donald works from home three days a week, including Fridays, and my mother was at her office. Despite her condition, she takes her job seriously, which is about the only thing she takes seriously, and she rarely misses work.
The tandem space was used as storage for yard equipment, an extra freezer and refrigerator, miscellaneous items, and a 1963 Cushman Trailster.
The Trailster had belonged to my paternal grandfather. He'd purchased it after developing a fondness for Cushman products during World War II. During the war, Cushmans were airdropped into war zones for use by the soldiers. My grandfather swore a Cushman Airborne saved his life. When he was no longer able to ride the Trailster, he'd passed it to my father. By that time, scooter travel had long been out of vogue. Mostly the scooter had been stored, though occasionally my father had taken the thing out for a ride. A few times, he'd even taken me.
My grandfather had taken exceptional care of the scooter, but my father, who hadn't had a caring bone in his body, had been rough with it. During his tenure, it hadn't been properly stored or maintained. Neither had he been a cautious rider. The Trailster had been wrecked more than once. The way I feel about my father has always prevented me from pouring any kind of love or attention into the scooter. But because it is a classic, and because I have a few fond memories of my grandfather, I can't bring myself to get rid of it, either. So it sits, covered in the corner of the garage.
I removed the dusty cover and stared down at the yellow scooter, scuffed and marred from misuse. A piece of the front fender was missing, the left handle grip was badly cracked, and one mirror was bent. The driver's seat was worn from use, and the material on the passenger seat had a long tear in it. The entire thing was dusty, and there was dirt caked onto the lower parts of the frame. Apparently, it hadn't been washed before it was last stored.
Grabbing the handlebars, I walked the thing out into the sunlight of the driveway. The design of the Trailster is more motorcycle than scooter, with its high handlebars and top-mounted gas tank. And, actually, because of the limited definition of "scooter" by Colorado law, the Trailster is considered a motorcycle.
I twisted the gas cap off and checked the gasoline. By no small miracle, it was still crystal clear and odor free. I went inside and pulled my backpack out of the closet. Then I stuffed my purse into it and slung it on. I got the vintage, open-faced, brown leather helmet my father had always worn out of its storage place and wiped it off, doing the same with the goggles. My father had always wanted a son. He had never forgiven me for being something else, but occasionally he had taught me all the boy things he'd wanted to teach a son. On even rarer occasions, he'd treat me like a daughter and act as if it was okay that I was his. One such occasion included presenting me with a pink, flowered helmet and taking me for a ride on the scooter. The day had ended in blood and tears (both mine), like so many before and after it. I still have the pink helmet, but I refuse to wear it.
I fit the helmet over my head, fastening the chinstrap. I prepared the kick pedal then gripped the handlebars for balance as I threw my weight down on it. The engine coughed then, with a series of crisp pops, chugged to life. Stowing the pedal, I sat astride the scooter and brought up the kickstand with my left foot. I pulled the goggles down and accelerated out of the driveway, once again on my way to work. I buzzed into the lot and parked at eight fifty-five.
"Geez, what happened to you?" Sandra asked when I walked in. She had her perfectly-painted lips slightly curled.
Sandra is thirty going on fifteen. She's petite, pretty, unnaturally blonde, and fashion savvy. She likely spent an hour on her hair alone each morning. Ditto for her makeup. In the six months she'd worked here, I hadn't seen her wear the same pair of shoes twice. I confess, I don't even own enough shoes anymore to do that for two weeks. Well, maybe two weeks. But certainly not three. Okay, definitely not a month.
"We can't all look like beauty queens," I said, blowing by her toward my office.
She took an indiscreet whiff as I passed. "Were you with a man?"
I didn't like the level of accusation in her tone. What the hell was wrong with me being with a man, if that's where I had been?
Without responding, I let myself in the door and dropped my stuff on my desk, then raised the blinds and opened the windows. It was May, and our weather was unseasonably warm, the daytime highs reaching into the eighties more often than not. Today would probably be one of those days. But this morning there was a pleasant breeze blowing and the office was stuffy. After settling myself in, I went back to Sandra's desk.
"Were you able to reach my eight o'clock?"
She shook her head. "No. I left a message, but he hasn't called back."
Weird, I thought. He was so eager last night.
"Maybe he changed his mind," I said. "Do I have messages?"
Sandra shuffled through the items on her desk and finally located a stack of pink WHILE YOU WERE OUT notes under the current edition of Cosmo. She shuffled through them, sorting out mine, then handed them to me. The picture of efficiency.
I glanced at the clock.
"Heard anything from my nine o'clock?" I asked. "He's late."
She shrugged and turned a page in her magazine.
I walked back to my office. The other offices were occupied, most with doors open and voices drifting out. The office at the end of the hall belonged to Barry Paige. Paige was the director of the Fort Collins division of White Real Estate and Property Management. He'd been doing his job a few months longer than Sandra, but he wasn't any better at his than she was at hers.
Mark White, a real estate tycoon and the owner of White Real Estate, had originally offered me Paige's position. He'd just expanded the company to include Loveland and wanted someone who would help bring growth. I would have done just that, but I'd had to refuse. Under Paige, our division had grown a measly seven percent. I would have more than doubled that number in the same time. As it was, my numbers accounted for four of the seven percent. I'm not sure White has totally forgiven me for turning him down.
When I was eighteen, in my first year of college, working as a CNA in a nursing home in preparation for what I believed would be a long nursing career, a close friend at the time, Brandi, had introduced me to a man named Matt. A few years older than me, Matt had lived in Denver and worked for Colorado Property Management Group as a leasing agent for one of the pricier apartment complexes. Taylor Swift sings a song about being fifteen and believing someone when they say they love you. The same holds true when you're eighteen. He told me he loved me and I believed him. Simple as that.
I'd finished my second semester of school and hadn't enrolled in a third, my nursing career on hold. I'd quit my job, taken a position with the same company, and moved to Denver. I'd been assigned to a different site, one that was less pricey and a good starting place. I was pretty motivated, but it turned out I was pretty good at that sort of work. Maybe it's genetic. My maternal grandfather had been a salesman all his life and could literally sell ice to an Eskimo. My mother also seems to have this gene.
Being closer to Matt, I'd believed our relationship was getting stronger. After six months, he'd begun talking about wanting to marry me. He'd officially proposed after eleven months. Of course, I'd agreed.
I'd thought my life was shaping up to be exactly what I wanted it to be. I was engaged, had begun a career, and the money was pouring in. I was making more than most college graduates. I was doing all the things I wanted: taking vacations, paying off my car, buying nice clothes and jewelry, saving for a wedding. I even bought a house, then a condo, then later a second house. I'd gotten a serious elevation in economic status and was thrilled to explore what that meant.
My success caused me to get noticed by the higher-ups and advance within the company. After working at Colorado Property Management Group less than a year, I'd been appointed to a management position overseeing nine of the properties. The Northern Denver Region, as it's called. I'd been responsible for hiring, firing, the budget, and everything else. Turned out I wasn't half bad as a manager, either, and I'd certainly liked the doubled income. I was able to pay off the condo and one house entirely and make a serious dent in the debt on the other.
Ultimately, I'd been a fool. Matt's interest in me was just a way for him to get closer to Brandi. And despite being my friend, she'd begun a relationship with him behind my back, one that carried on for several months. I'm ashamed to say I didn't catch on until Brandi wound up pregnant. A scheduling slip-up connected the dots for me; Matt was the father.
I'd been heartbroken, but mostly out of spite, I'd kept my job and stayed in Denver. Matt had prided himself on his job and his stats. So I'd thrown myself into work, and quickly climbed the ladder, earning two major promotions and an income twice as big as his.
I'd continued to immerse myself in the lifestyle of wealth and success, but it had lost a lot of appeal after that. Through the tint of heartbreak, all I'd seen were miserable people trying to ease their pain with objects, money, status, and power, myself included. For a moment, I'd almost lost myself in that world.
When I finally broke free, I knew I never wanted to go back. But after bouncing around from one minimum wage job to the next, I'd finally taken a position with a small, local company working for Mark White. I liked this job, and I did good work, but I couldn't let myself get drawn in. Accepting White's promotion would have put me a step closer to a life I didn't want.
Paige's door was closed, but I could tell the windows were open; he was in. Paige rarely made appointments so early. Actually, Paige rarely made appointments. Appointments mean work. White is one of the only people Paige meets with.
As I turned into my office, glancing at the messages, I wondered if White was meeting with Paige now.
I had three messages. Two of them were from residents in Elizabeth Tower. They both expressed concern regarding the safety of the building.
The building had been wired for exceptional security when it had been for senior living; the cameras and other security measures still in place. The only pieces of equipment currently being used were the three-dozen security cameras. The controlled access doors had been disabled, along with the rest. After Stacy was stabbed, it had crossed my mind the people living in the building would be upset. I'd even considered the idea of posting a security guard, if only for temporary measure. I didn't foresee the attacker making a return visit, but there would be no explaining that to hysterical and terrified college kids. Or to their parents.
I returned to my desk and scrolled through my address book until I found the number for a commercial security company we'd used in the past. I called and set an appointment for noon.
I had accepted that my nine o'clock had stood me up when I heard the front door. Just in case it was him after all, I went and poked my head out of my office. A woman in her late twenties trailing two children under five spoke briefly to Sandra then another agent came to greet them, leading them down the hall into an office.
Sandra saw me standing in the doorway.
"She's the first person to come in all morning," she said.
I nodded and turned away, then stopped.
"You said there was a man in the lobby this morning," I said. "When I called."
"Oh, that," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "That was a cop. He doesn't count."
The most frightening part of that statement was that I followed her logic.
"What did the cop want?"
She shrugged. "Asked to see Barry. He was here quite a while."
"Who? Did you get a name?"
"Uh, something with an E I think . . . uh . . ."
"Ellmann," I said softly to myself.
She snapped her fingers. "Yep, that's it. Ellmann."
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Labels: Excerpts
The Trouble with Murder: Chapter One


Police departments have been investing in digital policing initiatives to solve specific public safety issues. Each initiative typically involves a new proprietary system in which to process and store the information. While these systems have undoubtedly helped improve public safety, they've also had the unintended consequence of creating digital silos – unconnected, proprietary systems – that make it more challenging than ever for investigators to collect, analyze and share evidence related to a case.
Once everything is collected, they lack the tools to organize and make sense of all the different pieces – to put together the who, what, where, when and why of their cases. They worry that they're missing some critical piece of potential evidence or insight that could break the case …or that by the time they get what they requested, it'll be less relevant.
And when they share cases with other investigators, agencies and prosecutors, it's manual and time-consuming. In today's environment of increased accountability and transparency, flat budgets and heavy workloads, these inefficiencies need to be addressed.
Listen to Ed Davis, former commissioner of the Boston Police Department, talk about cases that highlight the challenges investigators face in collecting, analyzing and sharing evidence.
Would you like to take to us?


text:
Gilles Klein est journaliste et blogueur.

Biographie

Il a travaillé pour Libération, Elle (dont il a été responsable de la rubrique multimédia), Économie matin, Arrêt sur images et il a été photographe chez Sipa Press. Il a tenu une Chronique de la Planète Bleue sur la pollution marine dans l'hebdomadaire La Gueule Ouverte.

En parallèle de son activité journalistique, il s'est très tôt intéressé à Internet (qu'il aurait découvert en 1993). Il a notamment été rédacteur en chef de Pointblog.com qu'il a transformé en Le Monde du blog et a fondé en 1999 la liste de diffusion JournaLISTE réservée aux professionnels des médias.

Selon Le Monde, « en , selon l'étude internationale Edelman/Technorati » Pointblog était « le deuxième blog français le plus influent, derrière celui de Loïc Le Meur ».

Gilles Klein a tenu également un blog intitulé Le Phare.

Notes et références

Journaliste français du XXe siècle
Journaliste français du XXIe siècle
Date de naissance non renseignée (XXe siècle)
Blogueur français

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


You did your best to ensure that you retire comfortably – you saved and invested enough. Whether you decide to stay in Singapore or go back to your home country to retire, it is important that you do it right. When it comes to retiring, financial planning is essential not only for expats but also for locals.
Holland Village is a popular place for expats. What is fun about this neighborhood is its bohemian atmosphere. If your lifestyle includes shopping and dining at restaurants, there's an array of shops and food options for you. There's also a bustling hawker center for cheaper local cuisine if you are not into fancy restaurants. This neighborhood connects across the island through the Circle Line. You get all the benefits of nearby Orchard Road and if you want weekend outings with the family, the Botanical Gardens is also close by.
If you are looking for a peaceful area but is near the center, you can consider the Serangoon neighborhood. The neighborhood offers comfortable condos, spacious houses, good road connections, a plethora of restaurants and shops and more importantly, commuting is easy either by bus or rail.
If you love luxury and a sea view, it is time that you consider Sentosa Island. The neighborhood is a favorite of many expats because of activities like swimming, sunbathing, and yachting. Shopping is not a problem because you are close to the VivoCity Mall – one of the largest malls in Singapore. If you want to spend your days golfing, you will enjoy the Sentosa Cove golf course.
If you want to be close to nature, you can consider Upper Bukit Timah. Upper Bukit Timah boasts of greeneries since it is close to the Bukit Timah Nature Reserve. There are many restaurants around the neighborhood. You are also close to shopping areas. You can, for instance, consider Mayfair Modern Beauty World as a start. If you do not mind the commute going to CBD, this is the perfect place. Commuting is easy though via bus or rail.
If you want a reasonably priced but spacious home, you should consider Woodlands. It is an excellent choice for retirees. You will have this suburban neighborhood vibe. You are still near shopping centers and a plethora of restaurants. The best thing about this location is you can easily go to Johor Bahru through the causeway.
If you want to indulge in local culture, you can consider Joo Chiat. The neighborhood has shophouse-lined streets. It is perfect to get local cuisine because of its close proximity to the famous Old Airport Road hawker center. The cafes are quirky with a relaxing atmosphere.


text:
Luisa Lacalle  (1880–?), known professionally as Luz Chavita, was a Spanish dancer who gained international fame during the Belle Époque and was a leading dancer in Paris before returning to Spain to become an entrepreneur.

Biography
Luisa Lacalle was born in 1880 in Jerez de la Frontera, Spain to a poor family originally from Seville. Showing promise for dancing at an early age, she began taking dancing classes with Juana la Macarrona. By the time she was fourteen, Lacalle was dancing professionally using the artistic name Lulu or Luz Chavita. Having gained a reputation for her talent, she moved to Paris with a letter for introduction for the Count de Pradere (also known as Daniel de Carbalho y de Prat). Pradere introduced her to Antonin Perivier and , the directors of the newspaper Le Figaro. The pair frequently gave entertainments for aristocratic subscribers and invited Chavita to appear. Almost overnight, she became a sensation and was proclaimed as a new star.

Before her official debut, Chavita studied with Madame Mariquita, where she studied for the next two years. Soon after, she had her official debut at La Scala and from there she went to the Folies Bergère, where she was hired along with Juanita de Frezia, La Belle Gerrero, and Mlle Hernandez, to dance their Spanish repertoire which showed off their décolletage and bare legs. She toured Europe, visiting Berlin, Budapest, London, Vienna and other major cities and then was engaged at El Alcázar in Marseilles. By 1898, she was among the soloists performing at the Ballet de l'Opéra Comique along with such dancers as Régina Badet, , Jeanne Chasles, Cléo de Mérode and Stacia Napierkowska. The theater soon earned the reputation as the "most artistic of Paris".

At another of Le Figaro′s entertainments in 1899, Chavita enhanced her fame even more. The newspaper had sided with Alfred Dreyfus and agreed to publish documents which would impact the government handling of the Dreyfus affair. The police planned a raid to confiscate the documents, but when they arrived, Chavita began her performance, delaying the search until the documents could be safely hidden. The story was retold in newspapers ranging from Madrid to the United States. Other noted performances at the Opéra-Comique were her portrayal of Carmen in 1901 and in la Danse au temps de Gavarni (The Dance in the Time of Gavarni) in 1903 in which her polka was called exquisite.

Chavita saved all of her earnings, investing them carefully, and announced her retirement from the stage in 1905. She reconfirmed she was leaving Paris in 1908 and returned to Seville, where she bought real estate on Santa Clara Street, and later another house on Goyonetta Street. She outfitted her homes with modern refinements from Paris, took care of her parents in their old age, and purchased a vineyard in Jerez, which she administered for many years.

Death and legacy
Chavita's death date is unknown. In 1905, the ceiling of Paillard Restaurant of Paris, where aristocrats and royalty gathered to dine was painted with a tribute called Women of the Twentieth Century by Lucien-Victor Guirand de Scévola. Chavita's was one of the likenesses that was included.

References

Citations

Bibliography

1880 births
Year of death unknown
Date of death unknown
People from Jerez de la Frontera
Spanish female dancers
Belle Époque


AutoCD customers agreed to the AutoCD End User License Agreement (EULA) when installing the product. This EULA contained Limited Warranty on Media and No Warranty on Software (the Warranty section is copied below). Per the Warranty, customers have a period of 15 days to return the defective media on which the Software is distributed for a good replacement if they discover a defect in the media during the 30 day period.
AUTOCD warrants that any media on which the Software is distributed shall be free from material defects for a period of thirty (30) calendar days from the date of receipt of the Software. If customer discovers a defect in the media during this thirty (30) day period, customer may return the defective media to AUTOCD within fifteen (15) calendar days of discovering the defect, and Customer's sole remedy shall be to have the defective media replaced.
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In rare instances AutoCD may, at our discretion, issue a refund if AutoCD cannot resolve a substantial issue where the product does not conform to the product's documentation. When AutoCD deems a refund is appropriate, the refund paid will be the purchase price minus the order processing and banking fees (5% of the purchase price). In such instances, AutoCD requires that purchaser to provide enough information for us to positively identify the original purchase transaction (e.g., order number, company name, date of transaction, purchase code, number of licenses purchased, etc.).
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text:
Norman R. Aronson
Recommend Norman's obituary to your friends
Plant A Tree for Norman Aronson
Obituary of Norman R. Aronson
Norman R. Aronson Brighton: July 24, 2009 at age 87. Predeceased by his wife Shirley, son Steven and brother Seymour. He is survived by his loving daughter, Ellen (Frank) Hagelberg; grandchildren, Robert (Jackie), David; great-grandson, Ari; brother, Stanley (Connie) Aronson; nieces & nephew. Funeral Service will be held Sunday, July 26, 2009 at 2 PM in the Rabbi Abraham Solomon Chapel of Temple Beth El (139 Winton Road S.). Click here for directions to the temple. Interment, Mt. Hope Cemetery. Following the funeral, a period of mourning will be observed at 40 Split Rock Road, Pittsford, Sunday 7-9 PM, Monday & Tuesday 2-4 & 7-9 PM. Click here for directions to the house of mourning. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Temple Beth El 139 Winton Road South Rochester, New York 14610 Link to Temple Beth El or American Friends of Machon Meir c/o Ms. Chava Shulman 1327 45th Street Brooklyn, New York 11219 in his memory. Home Brighton, New York Birthplace Bronx, New York
Following the funeral, a period of mourning will be observed at 40 Split Rock Road, Pittsford, Sunday 7-9 PM, Monday & Tuesday 2-4 & 7-9 PM.
Funeral Service will be held Sunday, July 26, 2009 at 2 PM in the Rabbi Abraham, Solomon Chapel of Temple Beth El (139 Winton Road S.).
Temple Beth El Section (Range 10) of Mt. Hope Cemetery


text:
HomeBusinessTiger Shroff unveils an all-new concept store of ASICS at Ambience Mall,...
Tiger Shroff unveils an all-new concept store of ASICS at Ambience Mall, Gurugram
~Spread over 1300 sq.ft., the store focuses on three important commitments of ASICS i.e., Simplicity, Efficiency and Sustainability
Gurugram, June 22, 2022: ASICS, a Japanese sports performance brand, unveiled its store at Ambience Mall, Gurugram in an all-new avatar in the presence of its brand ambassador and Bollywood actor Tiger Shroff. Located in the Millennium City of India, the store embodies the future of retail experience for consumers.
Spread over 1300 sq. ft of retail area on the 1st floor of the mall, the store's concept is inspired by the brand's philosophy of 'Sound Mind, Sound Body' which focuses on an all-encompassing spirit that inspires the athlete in every individual, affects the material choices, and guides the customer experience.
Present on the occasion, ASICS' Brand Ambassador and Actor Tiger Shroff said, "ASICS has been creating some of the most iconic products for both sports performance and lifestyle consumers for over 70 years now. It is the perfect amalgamation of both style and technology that is in sync with today's generation, bringing them to the forefront of trend-defining concepts in the world of footwear and clothing. It is a brand that is very close to my heart and I'm excited to unveil its new look here in Gurugram today.
Commenting on the launch, Mr Rajat Khurana, Managing Director ASICS India and South Asia, said, "We are delighted to bring to our customers an all-new ASICS store at Ambience Mall, Gurugram. With the newly revamped store, we aim to provide one of the most unique shopping experiences by reimagining the retail experience through innovation, creativity, and design. At ASICS, we continue to develop our retail locations, adopting new materials and technologies to improve their sustainability while also providing the holistic shopping experience and service to our consumers.
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