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Writings of Andrew Schiestel
Andrew Schiestel is a writer and entrepreneur living in Yorkville (Toronto), Canada. He studies people, places, products and food of the Mediterranean Basin. And he writes stories: some fiction, some nonfiction, and others, a blend of both. He's on Instagram at @AndrewSchiestel and can be reached at andrew.schiestel@gmail.com.
Andrew Schiestel
, on
The Elephant And The Turtle
Over the Hillside
The Door Down the Hall
British Conversations in the Spanish Mountains
Don't Cry for Me
A Morning in Yorkville
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Tom's eyes shuttered open. It was the wee hours of the morning; Tom was lying on his back in bed. The noise was distinct: a person brazenly banging their knuckles on a neighbour's door; which one on the floor of Tom's condominium it was difficult to ascertain but it wasn't the adjacent one.
This wasn't the first time this contemptuous interruption had occurred. About a month earlier, on a Saturday night too, Tom endured hearing a neighbour's door open and shut—likely the same one—repeatedly at odd hours throughout the night. Each episode would begin with the forceful banging on the door.
Before the pandemic, and intermittently when municipal By-Laws would permit during it, his condo would receive a desirous spectrum of short-term rental users: travellers, businesspeople, family members providing auspices to hospitalized loved ones, and those engaging in prostitution.
"Bang! Bang!"
His eyes flickered open again. There was respite between the first interval—enough for Tom to get a little more slumber but not enough to enjoy it.
He contemplated calling Concierge, but the intervals were so intermittent. "What?" He said to himself, "The Concierge would need to show up at the exact moment someone happened to be rebuking their fists on a door?" Mathematically unlikely, he concluded.
Then he heard the door open faintly in the distance. Then it shut. About a half-minute later the door opened again. And then it shut again. There was no fist banging this time, only the opening and the closing of the door.
Tom's curiosity got the best of him—He got out of bed and dressed himself. "Am I going to walk in on a pimp, a couple ruffians, something else?" He pondered to himself.
He put his moccasins on.
Ever so quietly he opened his door.
Even more quietly he closed his door behind him, being sure to do so with the handle dropped to the bottom as far as it would go so as not to trigger the latch-clipping sound.
The format of the residence-level floors in the high-rise building were all but a complete square if it weren't for one fraction utilized for the building's stairwell. The units were situated along the perimeter of the building; the hallway existing one stratum into the structure.
Tom turned the first corner.
He heard the door shut again; the noise palpably louder as he came nearer.
He walked down the next corridor. He heard the door in question open. The sound gaining prominence. He was getting closer. His heart started to beat faster. He was also coming to the floor's receptacle shoot. He thought rapidly, "Should I be holding a garbage bag? What exactly am I going to do when I see what I'm going to see?" He continued walking.
The door opened again. He came to the next corner. He heard the door close. He rounded the corner.
He stood still. There was nothing. Or no one for that matter. The hallway was bare.
Tom just stood there, inconspicuously silent. The silence went on and Tom continued to stand there in solitary. He heard nothing. The night became toweringly quiet and time slowed. He stood there, his senses reaching full acuity.
The door made a clicking sound, the door's handle lowered, and the door creaked open—Tom's heart began galloping.
Out came a cadaverous looking elderly woman dressed in a full-length white slumber gown. She turned towards Tom, looked directly at him, but kept turning until she faced the door to which she exited from. The door shut behind her. She stood looking at the door. Tom stood speechless and shocked at the moment, not breaking his stare. She reached her right hand out, gripped the handle, turned it down, opened the door, and walked back into the unit. The door shut behind her.
Tom didn't realize this, but his mouth was agape. He stood—his body stiff and his mind fixated on what was happening. "Did she even see him?" He wondered.
The door's latch made a clicking sound again. The door handle lowered slowly, and the door opened. Out came the cadaverous looking woman again; she turned towards Tom again but didn't stop and completed another turn to face the door. The door closed behind her. She reached her right hand out, gripped the door handle, lowered it, pushed and opened the door again and re-entered the unit. The door shut behind her again.
That was the last time she would exit her unit that night with Tom standing there. But it wasn't the last time that he would hear someone brazenly knocking on that door, and it opening and closing in the wee hours of the morning.
The woman was a sleepwalker.
Andrew Schiestel is a writer and entrepreneur living in Yorkville (Toronto) and London, Canada. He writes many stories: some fiction, some non-fiction, and others, a blend of both. He can be reached at andrew.schiestel@gmail.com.
Frigiliana is a little gem of a village located in the mountains in the Costa del Sol, a 15-minute drive north of Nerja, and 45 minutes east of Málaga.
I sat at a café's patio run by a British woman for 19 years who was reticent at first but gradually opened up.
"How did you get to running a café here?"
"I was raised in Madrid. My father was in film."
A British couple sat down.
"We're worried about Brexit," They explained to me as we conversed. "It split the country. Half are for it; half are against it. It was a lot about immigration."
The convivial couple was most worried that the U.K. parting from the E.U. would introduce the 90 of 180 rule: That's rule that citizens of Canada and the United States and certain other countries are under—that is, you may stay no more than 90 days in a 180-day period in the Schengen Area.
The retired couple lives in a quaint coastal city near Almería about an hour's drive away.
"We decided to do the lock down [COVID-19 travel sanctions] in England." They said. They returned to Spain in July.
As the pair left, another British couple arrived.
"We live up there," The wife pointed to the mountains.
"When we visited the place and saw the view, I wanted it," The wife became effulgent. "I didn't even care what the home looked like!"
"You can change a home; you can't change a view." I said. We all chuckled.
A short while later, a heavy set and bald garrulous British man sat down and began drinking red wine alone waiting for a guest to arrive.
"I sold my business in the U.K. and the plan was to travel the world. I've always wanted to see Australia."
"I was in the courier business for 30 years." He continued.
"The deliveries around the city were bread and butter," He said. "Is that a term you're familiar with—bread and butter?"
He emphasized to me that most of the money in the courier business is made on international shipments.
His plan was to travel to Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the United States. He would meander with no real plans.
He rented an abode in Frigiliana and was waiting to see how COVID-19 would pan out. He liked the region but didn't want to stay long-term.
"Which of the 42 restaurants do I want to eat and drink too much at today?" He dryly quipped.
When asked if he'd ever do logistics consulting, he was adamant against the thought.
"I'm done with the business!" He emphasized. "I enjoyed it at one point but I'm sick of it now."
In addition to being known for fantastic views of the horizon, traditionally architected buildings, and colourful puertas (doorways), every year in August, Frigiliana hosts a festival called 3 Cultures where people celebrate Muslims, Christians and Jewish people living harmoniously in society together.
The hero image is of Frigiliana, Andalusia, Spain in the mountains in the Costa del Sol; the sea in the background.
Tom's feet landed on the white shower towel on the carpet next to the bed laid by a handmaiden the night before. Along with an evening ritual performed by housekeeping staff came the offerings of an Italian bottle of sparkling water, a spray bottle of bed mist, a plate of assorted fruit and Swiss milk chocolate. Before slumber, Tom skipped the bed mist but ate the chocolate.
He sat at the bedside with straightened arms leaning on the duvet coming to his senses. He stretched and began pressing buttons affixed to the wall that the headboard stood perpendicularly against. Fumbling with options, one button ushered the drapes open on the adjacent wall in the capacious room at The Hazleton Hotel. If it wasn't for the nascent thralls of a Canadian-winter, natural light would have porously illuminated the chamber; another button turned on the lights.
His feet, one and then the other, stepped onto to the washroom's floor. The marble tiles warmed each foot from heel to toes, the floor's heating system still cozy from the night before. In the glass pane shower he picked up the hotel's cleansing products arranged on the carved-out cubby situated four feet above the ground. With appreciation, he returned the offerings, bent down and picked up the bottle of Korres that he had brought with him, a shampoo and body soap he discovered showering in a home along the pier in the Village of Vathy on the Island of Ithaca. Since the discovery, all the way from one of Greece's most fulcrum mythical islands, a dear friend would mail and keep Tom replete with bottles of the Natural Aloe and Dittany and the Citrus types – his favourites from the flock.
The scents of the soap enveloping his body each morning, would without fail, port him imaginatively back to the island. Like an enthralled lover experiencing simulacrum throughout the day, the soaps' lucid scents reminded him vivaciously of Ithaca. He knew his work on the island wasn't done and yearned for his return.
Yorkville, known for its affluent shopping, prodigal condominiums and exquisite dining is a fairly two-by-four block district located in downtown Toronto. This morning Tom was there to relax, experience the surroundings and write.
Tom buttoned a freshly steamed blue-collared dress shirt, pulled up blue jeans, buckled a black leather belt, tied up blue running shoes, tossed on a blue baseball cap and put on a black Moose Knuckles jacket. He kept the dress shirt tucked out.
The elevator made its way from the third floor to the ground. Entering the hallway with towering ceilings, Tom made it a point to inhale the eucalyptus oil scent permeating the corridor and started following the black rectangular mats from the batch of elevators through the lobby into the vestibule and greeted two formally dressed concierge staff manning the entrance doors: their duties to perpetually open the doors and salute guests coming and going all day.
The downtowns of many Canadian cities in December are sporadically spirited with Christmas decorations; Toronto no different. Yorkville Avenue is a quiet one-way street and this morning at sunrise there were no more than two vehicles in motion within sight.
Tom reached the district's landmark alleyway; its vocation to connect Yorkville Avenue to its counterpart to the south—Cumberland Street. Eclipsing the alley on its western wall was a sequence of outdoor advertisements, about a dozen framed posters in total, each trying to position a brand as regal in the eyes of the trodden beholder. On the eastern side were freshly cleansed windows of a restaurant and a few contemporary boutiques selling opulent female clothing, fragrances and handbags sourced from foreign lands.
Crossing Cumberland, the desolation of vehicles comparable to Yorkville Avenue, Tom entered the agora of Yorkville, a concrete pavilion, an acre's worth, that serves as a seating and walking area for locals and tourists alike. There was a variety of motifs planted symmetrically across the landscape: there were the evergreen trees fortified by half-round, two-foot tall, concrete pieces moating their bases; there was a monolithic hill in the centre of the pavilion comprised of superimposed stratified rock inclining to reach twelve feet in height—the hill would attract adults to loiter and children to meander on when the weather more simmer; there were dozens of kindred plastic objects resembling stars, hung with Christmas lights, burrowed into the ground.
Tom walked down a brick-paved aisle flanked by the furrowed stars, followed the walkway winding east, paced another 30 meters and entered a Starbucks at the south side of the pavilion.
The Starbucks was small. Tom couldn't remember a tinier Starbucks—even in his travels through Europe—than this one. But given the district's serene milieu this morning, it served his aim of reading and writing moderately. All the tables in the Starbucks—only four in total—were high-top in size. He situated in the closest one to the entrance door. Shortly after, he began reading and sipping a short Americano prepared with two long shots of espresso.
Tom turned his head to the right taking a break from his reading and locked eyes with a Caucasian woman approaching the Starbucks from the agora. A beautiful woman she was: possessing a clear and slender face, black hair, slightly above average in height and was wearing a parka and black pants. She liked Tom when she saw him. And not long-ago Tom would have greeted her and perhaps if he was travelling further away than Toronto, he would have this time, but Tom didn't approach her – there was no conjoining of their destinies, and for the time being was absorbed in his craft. She met a girlfriend inside the Starbucks who was waiting for her arrival. The woman that liked Tom would talk extra loudly and laugh frequently with her friend in lobbing distance to Tom, enough that he could hear her. And though tempting, Tom still didn't approach her and felt content with such.
Tom would continue to read and write moderately. In peace he was, somewhat in a zone, flowing and focused. He continued to sit at the table next to the front doors absorbing the surroundings and performing his craft.
After another while, in his periphery, the contours of two people approached the entrance. Tom looked up and it was a man and woman, the woman leading. Tom looked into the eyes of the woman now less than five meters away; she gazed back at him presently, peacefully and with a sense of curiosity.
The woman had fare, slightly tanned skin, was average in height, petite, and a face that was soft, natural and real. Her eyes communicated happiness, not jubilation, but certainly happiness. The depths of her eyes revealed a soul that was loving, feminine and bright. She wore a Canadian Goose parka, a scarf, black well-fitted nylon pants and running shoes.
The woman and man entered the Starbucks, the woman broke her gaze with Tom upon entrance as if her entrance was the perforation of a different microcosm. The two walked around the sparse assortment of tables, following the path to the counter and commenced ordering drinks.
Tom continued with his craft without much addenda figuring the two were a couple. Worked away Tom did on his computer, continuing to perform his craft. A moment later he overheard the two order their drinks and pay separately. The man then abruptly left the building to make a phone call from the pavilion.
"May I get your name for the cup?" The ordering server asked the woman with the bright soul.
"Maria," replied the woman, her accent Spanish.
And like a riveting jolt Tom's back straightened, his head perked, and his senses squared, as if millions of loose particles floating aimlessly simultaneously calcified into one object in the matter of milliseconds.
For some time, perhaps by premonition, and paradoxically, Tom saw himself marrying either a woman from Indian or Spanish descent. And he was fond of the name Maria. He once met a Portuguese/Swiss woman named Maria in the most random of ways: in a desolate bar in the wee early morning hours on a Wednesday in a small village in Switzerland. He would spend some time with Swiss Maria. His heart yearned for her but his mind did not – he knew she wouldn't be a good wife and mother. She enjoyed cocaine too much. And Tom knew such a vice would create a number of foreseeable and unforeseeable problems. For instance, how do you tell a future daughter not to do hard drugs if Mommy did so at a similar age, he would wonder to himself. Since that trip in the Swiss Alps he has searched for a woman where his heart and mind could nod at the choice to marry. Too many people wed when their heart or mind assent; uncommon is a couple who has received the blessings of both.
Sitting in this Starbucks in Yorkville, Toronto, on a December morning, Tom wondered if fate knocked.
And if so, so what?
He chose to act.
"But this woman is with a man," Tom said to himself, resisting the decree, hesitating, juggling the ethics of what his heart was urging him to do.
"It doesn't matter – go and explore what's there," His heart retorted, committed to getting his mind on board with the act. "You owe it to yourself to act. And you perhaps even owe it to this woman with a bright soul."
He scrambled to type down a separate thought he was in the midst of conjuring on his laptop before fate chose to arrive and fumbled saving the file on the computer; enough to call it a hesitation.
His plan was to order a drink and if fate continued to mingle, he would wait for the drink at the drink tray counter at the same time the woman would be still waiting for hers.
Finally saving the file, Tom rose from his seat and two other men entered the Starbucks and by a mere second wedged in between Maria and him in line. Tom harangued himself for fumbling or either bothering to save the file he was working on.
The man that Maria was with was still outside on his phone.
The first wedging man ordered his drink, swiped his mobile app and onward he went.
Tom thought to himself at this speed he'll be to the drink tray counter in no time, and yes, he would greet this Maria with a bright soul.
The second wedging man ordered his drink with precise speed, swiped his mobile app, and onward he walked to the drink tray counter.
Tom began approaching the ordering counter.
"Sir," The ordering server said to the last wedging man. "You're short of money on your card. The transaction didn't go through."
Tom stepped back and the last wedging man returned to the counter.
The latter wedging man pulled out his wallet, searched for a credit card, kept the card in one hand, lifted his mobile phone with the other, pressed a button to awaken the phone juggling it in one hand and his credit card and wallet in the other, with a pinky finger entered the six-digit password into the phone, the biometrics feature clearly dormant, waited a moment for the phone to reach the main screen, located the correct mobile application icon, pressed it, waited for the application to load, waited for the application to pass through the introduction screen, visually sought around the application's main screen for the order button, pressed it, stretched the phone outward, scanned the phone's application barcode against the application scanner, waited ten seconds for the server to load the desired deposit via the Point of Service terminal, accepted direction from the server to insert the credit card into the Point of Service device, waited a few seconds for instructions to appear on the terminal, pressed Enter, inserted the 4-digit passcode for his credit card with an index finger, pressed Enter, pressed the screen of his phone to awaken still juggling the phone, credit card and wallet amidst two hands, swiped the phone's application barcode again against the application scanner, received an offer from the server to acquire a receipt for the order, confirmed the offer with a "Sure," and nod, then waited, waited, waited some more and then received a receipt from the server.
How easy physical money would have been.
Off the second wedging man went.
Tom reached the counter, ordered a Green Tea, Grande in size, one bag in, no room. His phone's application had funds.
By this point the two wedging men who ordered simple drinks left the café; the only person standing at the drink tray counter was Maria still waiting for her order.
"Are you from Spain?" Tom asked her, walking up to the table.
Maria turned around, smiled at Tom as if she knew already him and said, "No, Columbia. How did you know I wasn't from here?" She asked inquisitively.
"Your accent," He smiled, mischievousness in his eyes.
She giggled, her face glowed, her eyes sparkled.
By this point the man Maria was with had returned from his phone call and had situated himself at one of the four high top tables.
Tom let things be at this point, said no more, Maria picked up her drink from the tray, gazed at Tom as she walked by, maintained a smile, and returned to sit down with the man she had entered the café with.
Tom went back to his computer, Green Tea in hand, and went back to his craft.
The two, the man and Maria, would converse, not knowing each other that well. Then suddenly the man stood up.
"I'll be right back," He said.
"Okay," Maria replied.
The man walked to the washroom.
For the second time in this act Maria was alone, this time sitting at a table six feet away from Tom. The energy between the two of them palpable.
"So are you two in a relationship?"
This was the question in this heated and opaque moment that Tom should have asked.
This was the question that would have yielded the response from Maria, "No."
And like a sequence of dominos falling that occur when simply the initial one is flicked this obvious response would naturally have yielded to another, "Would you like to grab a coffee sometime?" In which Maria's response, creating the beautiful artistic, symmetrical experience that cascading dominos create as one descends upon another, would have been, "Yes."
Tom would then acquire her number, go back to his craft and Maria would leave shortly after with the incumbent man to complete the outing she had promised, out of respect. Her soul was bright and with it came compassion for others. But after the outing she would wait for a time soon that she would be on an outing with Tom.
But Tom didn't ask that first question: the first domino was never flicked. His mind won the disputation.
The moment passed. Tom could feel the moment pass, like the ending of an epoch. Moments occur. Questions asked at different times, even by mere seconds, can produce dramatically different results and sometimes dramatically change life itself.
"So are you living in Columbia?" This was the question Tom did ask as Maria sat silent in solitude.
The question was rinsed-down, a consolation at best, more to quell Tom's anxiety of acquiescing in the previous moment.
Slight tension showed on Maria's face to the query. She was now a Canadian and wanted people to see her as such. But she liked Tom so eased her face almost fast enough to hide her subtle annoyance to the question, warmed her face again and smiled. She paused before responding, glanced at the man who was now a couple feet from returning to the table, turned back to Tom and responded, "No, I live in Canada."
Tom nodded, giving a smile. She smiled warmly back.
"Well, are you ready to go?" The man asked Maria, anxious at this point to escape the venue with her. "We're going to have fun today." He reassured her.
"Sure," Maria responded smiling at the man.
After a few more words, the two stood up, clasped their cups, the man hurriedly left the building, Maria trailed.
Tom lifted his head from the computer as she passed. Maria was looking at him. She had been for a moment already.
"Cya," she said.
"Take care," Tom replied. Maria smiled, put her head down and continued the cortege out the Starbucks.
The next morning, while driving, Tom wept. It was short but a good weep. It was the mourning of a future that wasn't to be and therefore a weep was well-earned.
"What leads to a truer life," Tom pondered. "man-made or natural ethics?"
Maria would think of Tom many times since that day wondering who the man was wearing a blue ball cap that greeted her in the tiniest of Starbucks in the District of Yorkville in the City of Toronto in the Country of Canada, four-thousand kilometres from her provenance.
Little did Tom know, nor could he have known at the time, that the day's happenstance was the impetus that would inexorably lead him back to the Island of Ithaca only five months later.
A nostos was nearing.
He would return home.
The hero image is of Yorkville Avenue in Yorkville, Toronto, taken the morning of January 1st, 2020.
"Want me to take the picture?"
The family of three—husband, wife and daughter—were going to take each other's photos in pairs; the plan was: first the mother and daughter, and following, the father and daughter.
Tom knew the plan because he heard the trio conversing while passing; the daughter initiated the idea as the party walked eastward along the southern part of Vathy's bay.
The husband, in his late forties, looked at Tom for an extended moment before responding.
"Yes, thank you." He smiled graciously.
Tom reached out and the man handed him his phone.
The three were pleasant in demeanour and clearly enjoying the day. The mother was similar in age as her spouse—wearing a light tank-top shirt, worn khaki shorts, black sandals and a modest silver-toned watch; the daughter, around 24 years of age, was a younger spitting image of the two and wore a long flowing dress with flowers imprinted and a bracelet on her right wrist; and the man wore a worn grey t-shirt, dark grey shorts, black sandals and nothing around his wrists.
Tom made sure to take several photos, both portrait and landscape in posture. He also started taking the photos early before the three put on their smiley-faces, because sometimes, you get the best photos of people that way.
"Thank you," the husband said, accepting the phone back.
"Where are you from?" the wife asked.
"Ahh, Canada."
"You all?"
"Ahh, England?"
"I was in London a year ago, March, Soho" Tom said. "But never left London. Except for Heathrow. How do you like this island?"
The three nodded.
"An incredible island," The man looked over at his wife. "The two of us visited this island 25 years ago."
"Oh wow, that's a long time ago." Tom chuckled.
"Yes, it was 1994," The man recited the year on demand like it wasn't the first time he had done so on the trip.
"Is it much different?"
"Cephalonia is much different. Ithaca not so much."
"You mean places like Sami have developed a lot more?"
"Exactly," The fellow said. "Although Ithaca clearly is getting some interesting tourists these days, like that yacht over there." He turned and pointed to a prodigal yacht, 150-feet in length, parked on the western side of the bay and chuckled, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
Tom noticed the yacht too last night when he arrived on the island. It was the largest yacht he had ever seen. It was parked south of a fleet of sailboats—a dozen from the U.K. and one from France.
"You should come for dinner sometime!" The man proclaimed with a chuckle.
"You bet," Tom played along. "Two years ago I visited Ithaca."
"Really?" The wife and husband both said almost simultaneously.
The daughter stood still listening intently, keeping very quiet.
"See the mountain over there?" Tom pointed north across the centre of the bay up at Mount Nirito in the distance. "When I arrived in Ithaca, I went into the souvlaki shop at the corner," He motioned his hand along the southern part of the bay to the southwest corner. All three nodded their heads in understanding. "I asked a Greek woman standing in line, 'Can the mountain be hiked and how long?' She said, 'Yes, two and a half hours up.' So I thought to myself, 'Two and a half hours up, two and a half hours back, throw a baguette in the knapsack, a bottle of water, maybe an orange, leave at 8, be back by 1!'"
The three laughed, following along.
"I spent five days in Vathy and was going to do the hike on the sixth and final day. It was the coldest winter Greece had seen in 16 years. The day I woke up to do the hike, it was raining outside and gosh was it cold!"
"Oh no!" The husband exclaimed; all three sinking deeper into the story.
"Yes, and when I started to make my way up the mountain there was plenty of snow! My left foot was starting to freeze as I walked. It was getting dangerous."
The three continued listening, becoming more intent.
"Near the top of the mountain, I entered a café in the Village of Anogi. The owner of the café knew I wasn't in good shape, grabbed my arm when I entered, pulled and sat me down on a wooden chair in front of a portable coal fireplace to warm up and laid out nuts and crackers to eat. And upon leaving when I tried to offer her money for them, she refused to accept it."
The three continued to listen, their attention seized.
"As I was getting ready to leave she went behind a counter and lifted up a woman's winter jacket and said, 'Put this on,' I said, 'No, I'm not taking your jacket.' She said, 'Don't worry, you're going back to Vathi, right? My brother works in the coffee shop in the square. Give it to him in the morning."
"What did you do next?" The husband asked emphatically.
"I put the woman's winter jacket on, of course! And proceeded to walk four and a half hours back down the mountain! It was 10pm by the time I returned that night to Vathy. And when I got back into the village, I went back to that same souvlaki shop and ate a big plate of souvlaki! And when standing up thirty minutes later, I'd never felt so much pain in my thighs before!"
"Oh wow!" The daughter and mother spurted out simultaneously, all three laughing, a mixture of shock and awe.
"The two-and-a-half hour hike one way turned out to be five and a half hours one way, four and a half back. It ended up being 34 kilometres in total!"
"Wow!" The husband spurted next.
"And if I had known it was going to be 34 kilometres, you bet I wouldn't have done it in the first place. I wasn't in shape for it!" All three continued laughing at the thought of it all.
"So where do you live in England?" Tom asked.
"A place called Thornbury, a beautiful country. It's in the southwest, about 40 minutes from Bristol and the ocean."
"Sounds beautiful."
"Aye mate, it really is," The husband said.
"Well, have a wonderful rest of your trip all," Tom said. "What a pleasure this has been." Tom placed his right hand, open, in front of his heart.
The family of three smiled warmly and said their goodbyes to Tom.
"See you in another 25 years," the husband quipped jovially as Tom walked away.
Tom chuckled.
The family walked back to their 150-foot yacht named Elysium.
The hero image is of the Village of Vathy on the Island of Ithaca, Greece, taken from the northwestern shore. Many sailboats anchored; the centre islet is that of Lazereto, which hosted the island's jail until the 1950s, and today a chapel.
Elysium is available for purchase as artwork at Ithacabound.com.
GreeceIthacasailing
And there was the Port of Aetos.
The ferry docked by way of a cleat hitch around a horn cleat helped by a worker at the port.
Tom disembarked the ferry and set his feet on the Island of Ithaca; he had returned.
Port Aetos was deserted if it weren't for the travellers, the vehicles waiting for the travellers, the ferry itself, a pop-stand operated by an old woman, and a few construction workers laying cement in a twenty-by-thirty rectangular perimeter that lay on the wharf.
Tom accessed a map software on his phone to check the distance he was to walk. He was staying in Vathy tonight and chose not to risk imposition by asking his host for a ride from the port.
Seven kilometres, the software read.
Tom snapped shut the waist and upper belts of his rucksack, inverted the tinier knapsack around his chest—four straps covering his shoulders in total—and began the trek up the hill towards Vathy, leaving the port.
Halfway up the tall, winding road, he turned back to the port and took a few photos of the ferry departing. The vessel was on its voyage back to Patras to complete another summer's day of work when a red Datsun sedan pulled up with its windows down. It was being driven by a middle-aged woman—tanned with brown, slightly curly long hair—leaning partly out the driver's side window.
"Want a ride?"
"I'm going to Vathy," Tom said. "That alright?"
"I'm going to the north. Can drop you off halfway." Her English was clear.
Tom unbuckled the straps of his sacks, opened one of the Datsun's back doors, tossed the sacks onto the backseat and hopped in the vehicle.
"Where you from?" Tom asked.
"My family is from the northern island."
"There's another island in the north?"
"No, same island. But the northern part."
"Ahh. Greek background?"
"Aye. In the fifties there was an earthquake on the island; a devastating one. Many people lost their homes. The countries of South Africa and Australia were welcoming to those effected. Thousands migrated and many of the families return here in the summer months. Ithaca will always be home."
The car was up over the hill, winding, bend along bend.
The two made small talk and it wasn't long until the vehicle entered a cove, a mountain in the distance, and a fork in the road. "Here's your stop. You go right, I go left."
"Ahh, thank you for your generosity." Tom hopped out of the car, opened the backdoor and grabbed his two sacks laying on the seat. As the door slowly began to shut, the Australian-Greek turned to Tom abruptly and hastily stretched her right arm out, palm-up—she was holding two small tawny objects.
"You dropped these," she said.
"Oh, the elephant and the turtle!" Tom exclaimed with relief. "A man with a kind soul from Senegal came up to me in Athens. His cousin makes them; the material is from the ocean. The Senegalese man said that they bring very good luck to those who hold them." She gave them back to Tom with indifference, smiled, Tom shut the door, and she drove away.
Good luck was on her way and she didn't even know it.
The red Datsun drove west and then north around the cove, up the southwestern side of Mount Nirito in a zigzagged pattern through the centre of the isthmus and disappeared into the north.
Tom walked the rest of the way to Vathy.
The hero image is of the sun setting on the Ionian Sea on July 16, 2019. To the left, the Island of Cephalonia; to the right and below, the Island of Ithaca.
The Elephant and The Turtle is available for purchase as artwork at Ithacabound.com.
GreeceIthaca
Three Hockey Players
In Ontario, especially in rural communities, many boys dream of playing in the National Hockey League (NHL). To many a surprise, Lacrosse is Canada's national sport, but hockey is its most populated. There's a national pride that consumes the country at all levels of competitive hockey. The Summit Series of 1972 was Russia versus Canada, two foes squaring off that would be akin, in a sports-sense, to the Cold War between Russia and the United States in a similar time period. The World Junior Hockey Championships which happen annually, when being played out overseas, will see countless Canadians up in the wee hours of the morning watching Team Canada, a group of rising teenage stars, play their hearts out for Canadian pride on television. And there is pressure too with anything less than a Championship victory considered an absolute failure not only for Canadians watching, but the players themselves. The country brings the same level of expectations to the Olympics every four years where Canada is expected to bring home gold. The Canadian players themselves, usually all of which are in the NHL, take time off from the season to represent the Great North, not for money, but for dignity, both personally and more importantly nationally.
Starting hockey when young, playing lots, and being in the great Canadian hockey system helps many youth eventually make it to the NHL, but these factors are usually not enough for many.
In Wingham, Ontario there once lived a star hockey player in high school. He was tall for his age, had an overly developed muscular system due to bailing thousands of bundles of hay on his family's farm growing up. He would score 4-6 goals per game, and was fast too, and strong too, and tough too.
Word of this star got to an NHL team and a scout was assigned to visit the Wingham Hockey Arena to watch this boy play. When word got back to the star, he decided he'd go to the local foundry that evening to work and would miss the game. He was the best player Wingham ever had. A scout never did see him play.
In Owen Sound, a 17 year old played in Junior B hockey. He was a fast player, faster than anyone he knew in the league. He would combine his speed with intuition of where the puck was going to be before it got there. This made him a great defenseman but in reality, he could have been an offensive or defensive player. He had a drinking problem too. Him and a few friends on the team would get drunk very often, everyday actually. And when he tried out for Junior A hockey in Owen Sound for the Owen Sound Attack, he was cut because he kept throwing up on the ice. He couldn't keep his liquor down. And neither could two of his buddies. He became an insurance broker to farmers, made decent money, had five kids and remained a drunk.
In St. Mary's there was an offense player who played in Junior A. He had raw torque like few others in the league, or that had been seen in years. He was tall and large like a reasonable human resemblance to a freight train. This strength made him formidable that few would dare mess with on the ice. Why bother? Players thought. He would match this strength with a serene articulation when shooting the puck, being able to pinpoint within an inch and a half where towards the net the puck would go. His big day came – the Annual NHL Draft. That day, he went in the 7th round and would be drafted onto the same NHL team with another player who would go on to become an NHL All-Star, hall of famer and club owner. This young man from St. Mary's never did play in the NHL though. The night after the After Party, he would collide his car, inebriated from all the celebratory beers after the lifetime accomplishment, into the trunk of a maple leaf tree and fracture his vertebrae.
It's true. Sometimes starting a sport early, working hard and being in a great system isn't enough.


This is an 1877 Colt Lighting D.A. with a 2 ½" Etched Panel barrel. It also has a nice fitting pair of bone grips. The serial number is matching 43228 and was made in 1883. The mechanical function is very good crisp and tight. The bore is very good, bright and shiny with strong rifling. It retain 65% original nickel finish.


text:
EATG-AVAC Webinar Series on Prevention Vaccines, Douches, Gels and Injectables
This was the third and final webinar in the new series on HIV prevention topics. We envisioned what the future of HIV prevention might look like in years to come. This webinar series was designed to update and inform the European community on scientific breakthroughs and the resulting introduction of new prevention options into European contexts.
Speakers included Professor Ian McGowan, principal investigator at the Microbicides Trial Network and Dr Stefano Vella, Head of the Department of Therapeutic Research and Medicines Evaluation at the ISS (the Italian National Institute of Health).
Ian McGowan
Microbicides Trial Network
Stefano Vella
Italian National Institute of Health

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Q: Get SQL single value from query as String I have the following code in my code behind:
Dim name As String
name.text= Staff.LoadName(StaffID)

The following query in my Class:
Public Function LoadName(ByVal ID As String)
    Dim ds As New DataSet
    Dim SQL As String = ""
    SQL="select name from Staff where StaffID='" & ID & "' "
    ds = Common.QueryDataByDataset(SQL)
    ds.Tostring()
    Return ds
End Function

But the name.Text doesn't show the value. How to I get the single value and convert it to string to display? Thanks

A: I am guessing the Common.QueryDataByDataset is from your library or some third party.  Assuming it is executing the query and populating the dataset, you should be able to change the last two lines of the LoadName function to this:
String name = ds.Tables.Item("Staff").Rows(0)("name").ToString()
return name

You should add error handling in this method.  For example, check to make sure the query returns exactly one result.  Also, this method appears to be susceptible to SQL injection: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SQL_injection

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


text:
Return to People
David Eby whining about a legitimate traffic ticket…
David Eby is the head of the British Columbia Civil Liberties Association, and a pied-piper of Vancouver's Downtown East Side poverty pimps. He is a rabid hater of the police who has represented criminals in a number of dodgy cases with scant evidence.
David used to be rather influential in the New Democratic Party (NDP). David once ran against BC's Premier Christy Clark for her seat in Vancouver's Point Grey riding- fortunately, he lost. At one point, David was a contender to run for Premier himself but the party lost patience with his antics and it is unlikely he will recover….
The Pidgin Protest: NDP MLA David Eby's Downtown Eastside Olympic Legacy
Some justify Eby's actions saying his worked helped the people of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside- but, equally, he made a mockery out of their causes…
#KeepingItClassy: David Eby Accused Of Grandstanding!
David Eby continues putting the community at-risk by grandstanding and overplaying incidents of police violence. When will this man stop!
How The Marxists Are Trying To Hijack Toronto's Gay Pride..
Dave's connection to the Marxist hijacking of Toronto's Gay Pride parade!
VANDU & Cop Watch: Vancouver Coastal Health's Tax Dollars At Work!
Dave's connections with Cop Watch Vancouver and their abusive harassment of the police!
Was Wally Oppal's "Chance" Meeting With A Hells Angel A Setup?
Dave gets himself involved in a curious case of Wally Oppal and the Hells Angels!
Conflict of Interest: Civil Liberties and Politicians Don't Mix
A discussion about the conflict-of-interest of having Dave, a politician, heading-up the BC Civil Liberties Association…
David Eby: Politician, or Civil Libertarian? (And why he needs to resign..)
An analysis of whether David is a politician or a civil libertatian, and an analysis of the shady characters he associates with…
The Curious Case of Adam Smolcic, David Eby & the Occupy Movement.
The story about how David vehemently represented a man who made a false report about witnessing a police shooting, and how this man mysteriously appeared at Occupy Ottaea…
A Love Letter To David Eby…
My rebuttal to David's love letter…
A Love Letter From David Eby…
David proves he has no sense of humour while he tries to weasel out of helping Occupy Vancouver out with its Black Bloc problem. Gets all 'politically correct' on my ass…
Civil Liberties Czar Endures Cheap Airport Wine!
David is sent out to exile in Prince George BC on the first night of the 2011 NDP convention. His plane is delayed and he is sentenced to endure cheap wine while he is waiting. Unfortunately, he doesn't realize that many of his DTES constituents must suffer with rice wine…
Civil Liberties, Politics, Ninjas & Cream Pies!
The story of when Macdonald Stainsby threw a pie in David's face after he denounced when the Black Bloc smashed-up the windows at the Hudson Bay Company during Vancouver's 2010 Olympics…
Permanent link to this article: http://www.genuinewitty.com/people/david-eby/
People Antonia Zerbisias Occupy Vancouver David Eby Occupy Toronto Curtis Nixon! Sandy Garossino Kevin Annett Zach Ruiter


text:
function greedy_construction(tuning_run::Run,
                             target::String;
                             cutoff::Integer = 10_000)
    initial_cost = tuning_run.starting_cost
    x            = deepcopy(tuning_run.starting_point)
    x_proposal   = deepcopy(tuning_run.starting_point)
    name         = "Greedy Construction"
    cost_calls   = 0
    iteration    = 1
    while iteration <= cutoff
        iteration += 1
        neighbor!(x_proposal, target)
        proposal    = @fetch (tuning_run.measurement_method(tuning_run, x_proposal))
        cost_calls += tuning_run.cost_evaluations
        if proposal <= initial_cost
            update!(x, x_proposal.parameters)
            initial_cost = proposal
            return Result(name, tuning_run.starting_point, x, initial_cost, iteration,
                          iteration, cost_calls, false)
        end
    end
    Result(name, tuning_run.starting_point, x, initial_cost, iteration,
           iteration, cost_calls, false)
end

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


I have been writing about the fact that Vancouver has a dearth of public washrooms in downtown areas and also along the major transit routes.
Let's talk about Portland's success in not only getting their very own designed bathroom available to the public, but one so cool it even has its own patent. And this is nothing new, Portland was busy installing their fifth public washroom in 2012, customized with art by students in a local primary school. You can see the YouTube of the official unveiling of the Portland Loo below.
The design process for this washroom as outlined in CityLab was unique in that Portland looked at other municipalities' public toilets and realized that the privacy of them allowed for "nefarious" activities to occur in them.
-openings at the top and bottom of the Portland loo so that it is not completely private, ensuring that pedestrians and police know if someone is in there.
Add in a graffiti resistant finish and stainless steel walls and doors and the Portland loo is complete. The cost for the first washroom was $140,000 USD, but is now about $90,000. Maintenance is pegged at $1,000 per month per location.
From the first flush of the Portland loo the design has been wildly successful and has been installed in Victoria B.C and in Smithers B.C. In fact in 2012 the Portland loo in Victoria was deemed to be the best public washroom in Canada and the Victoria Mayor was "flushed with pride".
Provide one for Metrotown please!!!
I also find it strange the number of parks, including many with sports fields that don't have washrooms.


text:
King Princess
To-Do List October 29, 2019
* King Princess with Girlpool and DenimPussy
* Alternative Media Fair
* Midsommar screening
* Yoko Ono book launch
* Interview with the Vampire screening
The Concordia Co-op Bookstore's monthly Alternative Media Fair is on today, uniting publishers, writers, zinesters, activists and others who work outside mainstream media to meet the public and present their work. 1515 Ste-Catherine W., 11 a.m.–6 p.m.
Ari Aster's Midsommar screens as part of Université de Montréal's Ciné-Campus screening series, preceded by the short film Le Réfrigérateur by UdeM alumnus Mathieu Gauvin. Pavillon J.A. De Sève, 2332 Edouard-Montpetit, Centre d'Essai, 6th floor, 4:45 p.m., $5/$4 students
The Phi Foundation for Contemporary Arts hosts the launch of a book that chronicles the major Yoko Ono exhibition Liberté Conquérante/Growing Freedom. The book will be sold at a $5 discount at $20. 465 St-Jean, 5–7 p.m., free entry
Kopfkino gets into Halloween mode with a screening of Neil Jordan's Interview With the Vampire, with free Halloween candy to snack on. 179 Jean-Talon W., 7 p.m., $5
NYC indie pop style singer-songwriter King Princess plays MTelus with openers Girlpool and DenimPussy. Check out our interview with King Princess here. 59 Ste-Catherine E., 8 p.m., $43.75
For more concert recommendations, see this week's edition of Hammer of the Mods.


text:
Q: What the heck is happening to my image? An image, at the bottom of my page is a bit pixelated for some reason. when you hover over it, it becomes normal again and it also gets bigger. This also happens when you 'unhover" it. I tried changing to position to: fixed. that helped, but I don't want the position to be fixed. Just try it out on the snippet, you'll understand my problem.
(I am using safari, macOS)
Code: https://jsfiddle.net/dnsvnr/csLoeaLb/1/
CSS

.insta {
position: absolute;
z-index: 6;
top: 0px;
left: 50%;
transform: translate(-50%, 0);
filter: brightness(0);
transition: filter .3s;
}

.insta:hover {
filter: brightness(0.5);
transition: filter .3s;
}

A: You are using big images and they are blurry when downsizing. Try to add:
 img{
  image-rendering: -moz-crisp-edges;         /* Firefox */
  image-rendering:   -o-crisp-edges;         /* Opera */
  image-rendering: -webkit-optimize-contrast;/* Webkit (non-standard naming) */
  image-rendering: crisp-edges;
  -ms-interpolation-mode: nearest-neighbor;  /* IE (non-standard property) */
 }


text:
Q: Tell the TypeScript compiler where to look for non-relative modules I'm using ts-loader and Webpack to compile my .ts files. In My Webpack config I have the following configuration:
resolve: {
  modulesDirectories: ['shared', 'node_modules']
}

This allows me to import a component that lives in the shared directory without spelling out the full relative path. Example:

import Button from 'components/Button'

Webpack will walk up the directory tree looking for a shared directory. This way, the component can live in the ../../shared/components/Buttton.tsx and Webpack will find it and bundle it.
This all works fine, however I am getting errors in my editors (both Sublime and VS Code). Also, if I run the tsc command from the command line I will get compiler errors because the TS compiler does not know how to resolve those modules.
Is there a way to tell the TS compiler to recursively look for the component in the shared directories?
I am using TS 2.1v
I noticed the new BaseUrl and paths configuration options but I was not able to use them successfully.

A:
Is there a way to tell the TS compiler to recursively look for the component in the shared directories

Not recursively. But you can go with one level using paths mapping.


Starting in late 1992, I began to create images of fighting machines that would give people a sense of what this was all about and to generate some excitement. I didn't bother trying to make my robots operational — I just wanted to make them look cool and have the illusion of working elements.
To attract entries, I placed advertisements in two publications: Radio Control Car Model Car and Art Week, a West Coast art magazine. I received a total of 70 requests for entry forms, which resulted in 17 actual entries for the first event.
Between late 1992 and early 1994 I scheduled and canceled event dates at Fort Mason Center in San Francisco several times due to lack of funds. I needed money to go forward, but was stretched too thin concentrating on the logistics of the event itself. I was exhausted from working full time, doing advertising, writing rules, dealing with trademark issues, arena design and contestant inquires and didn't have much energy left to go out and sell the event. The idea was a good one, and I had the feeling that eventually the funds would come.
I remember New Years Day, 1994. Lying on my couch with the flu, beginning to have serious doubts about the future of the project, I put together a package with images, text, flyers, ads, letterhead … everything I had done to create Robot Wars … and sent it to Wired Magazine. Within a few days Wired called me and wanted to do an article with a photo. I was overjoyed — and panicked. A photo? My robot was a Photoshop-enhanced captured image of my radio controlled tank with various stuff on it — cool looking stuff — but none of it worked!
Then I realized that the robot didn't have to work — like in the ads I placed — but it clearly needed to appear capable of serious destruction. So I went to the hardware store and bought a chain saw, and when the photographer, Bill Zemenek arrived I showed him the saw and the tank and told him that the saw sits on the tank; and he said that was cool and that it would look great. So we set up the shot. Jeff Raskin was to be the writer.
The story appeared in the February 1994 issue, and the photo was fantastic and the article was great. It listed my email address, and instantly, I had an unbelievable number of messages. I worked round the clock. I focused upon the rules, entry forms, design elements, contestant communications, poster, t-shirts, trophies, venue, etc. All of a sudden Robot Wars went from a bright idea to a widely known and embraced idea.
In June, 1994 still left me without sponsorship. I didn't want to cancel another event, so in July 1994, a partnership was formed between Profile Records and myself.
The first event was a raging success. I knew that the bigger robots would be exciting to watch but I was concerned about the viability of the little ones … and without them there weren't enough for an event.
When the first featherweight match began and I heard the excitement of the crowd, I knew at that moment that my idea was indeed as good as I had envisioned it to be.
Among the first competitors was Mark Setrakian (pictured, right), who had worked with me at ILM. I knew he would be interested in something like this "mechanical sport," as I called it. After his appearance with The Master at RW94, it was clear to everyone who was there how exciting this sport could be.
There was also Caleb Cheung, who was later to invent the very successful toy, Furby. And Mike Winter, who became a close friend over the phone before we even met. He built the X1. His daughter Lisa Winter is now a famous robot builder. There was also Charlie Tilford, a mechanical engineer with a wild joyous flamboyance and a winning robot called The Mauler. And there was the very young Scott LaValley with his exquisitely beautiful robot called DooLittle, which was prophetically named. Later incarnations by Scott were appropriately named DooMore and DooAll. Also, there was the quiet genius, Will Wright, legendary for creating the very successful games, Sim City and now the Sims. His robot was called JulieBot.
We all look back with nostalgia and amazement at that first event … it was charmed … for one thing, the arena had a mere 2 ft. high railing for protection and no one got hurt.
Each year's event proved to be even more exciting than the last. And, each year after an unbelievable amount of work to produce the events I would be rewarded by seeing people come in with these incredible creations on weight-in day.
I was very happy in those days in spite of sixteen hour days — seven days a week.


The deadline for the 2012 Cassini Scientist for a Day essay contest is now two weeks away. There's still time for your students to write essays for the contest.
The contest is open to students in grades 5-12. All students who enter will receive a certificate of participation. Winning entries will be posted on NASA's Cassini website. Winners and their classes will be invited to participate in a teleconference, videoconference, or online discussion with Cassini scientists so the students can ask their space questions to the experts at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
Complete contest rules and videos about each of the three possible essay topics can be found on the contest website.
The Cassini Scientist for a Day essay contest is open to all grade 5-12 students in the United States.
Students may work alone or in groups of up to four students. They write an essay of up to 500 words about one of three possible imaging targets (Saturn's small moon, Pan; Saturn's F Ring, or Saturn and its Rings) that the Cassini spacecraft orbiting Saturn can take this fall. Students justify their choice as to which they think would potentially yield the best science.
Winners are invited to participate in a teleconference with Cassini scientists from NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Winning essays will be posted on the Cassini website.
The contest deadline is Oct. 24, 2012 at noon, PDT. Teachers must submit their students' essays online.
NASA is offering students the opportunity to compete in two microgravity challenges: "Dropping In a Microgravity Environment," or DIME, and "What If No Gravity?" or WING.
DIME is a team competition for high school students in the ninth through 12th grades. WING is a competition for student teams from the fifth through eighth grades. Both are project-oriented activities that last throughout the school year for the selected teams.
DIME and WING are open to student teams from all 50 states, Washington, Puerto Rico, Guam, the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands and the U.S. Virgin Islands. Each team must have an adult supervisor, such as a teacher, parent or technical consultant. Teams may be from any type of organization or club, such as a science class, a group of friends, a scout troop or youth group.
Proposals are due by Nov. 1. A panel of NASA scientists and engineers will evaluate and select the top-ranked proposals by Dec. 1. The winning teams will design and build the experiments that will be conducted in the 2.2-Second Drop Tower at NASA's Glenn Research Center in Cleveland.
The 79-foot tower gets its name because when an experiment is "dropped" into it, the package experiences weightlessness, or microgravity, for 2.2 seconds. Researchers from around the world use this tower to study the effects of microgravity on physical phenomena, such as combustion and fluid dynamics, and to develop new technology for future space missions.
The top four DIME teams will receive an expense-paid trip to Glenn in March 2012 to conduct their experiments, review the results with NASA personnel and tour the center's facilities. All DIME participants visiting NASA must be U.S. citizens.
Four additional DIME teams, and up to 30 WING teams, will be selected to build their experiments and ship them to Glenn for NASA testing. These experiments and the resulting data will be returned to the teams, so they can prepare reports about their findings.
YouTube Lab-What will you do?
If you're 14 to 18 years old, come up with a science experiment for space and upload a video explaining it to YouTube. If your idea wins, it will be performed on the International Space Station and live streamed on YouTube to the world. And you'll get some out-of-this-world prizes, too.
For more information about this opportunity visit https://www.youtube.com/SpaceLab.
Author John EntwistlePosted on October 11, 2011 June 19, 2013 Categories UncategorizedTags High School Student Opportunity, High School Students, Middle School Students, Student Contest2 Comments on YouTube Lab-What will you do?
NASA has a class assignment for U.S. students: help the agency give the twin GRAIL mission spacecraft headed to orbit around the moon new names.
"Because It Flew," or BIF, is a free educational program that introduces students in grades 4-12 (ages 9-17) to the impact of the Space Shuttle Program on our planet and people. This engaging and informative project commemorates the 30-year history of the shuttle program. BIF consists of two elements: optional educational activities and the NASA Space Shuttle Art Competition. Entries in the competition are due Aug. 5, 2011. BIF is a joint education initiative of NASA, the National Institute of Aerospace and USA Today Education.
Submission deadline: August 5, 2011.
If you have any questions about this contest, please e-mail Jan Brown.


Public policy education at GW provides students with the ability to think clearly and analytically about social and economic problems and public policy. Students not only learn the basic analytical and methodological tools to engage in policy analysis; they also develop an understanding of the political processes through which policy is made and the social, economic and historical context in which problems arise and are addressed. Each student chooses a policy field that serves as an area in which he/she can apply these skills and gain substantive knowledge. However, the program is generalist rather than highly specialized; it provides students with the ability to quickly and successfully come to grips with policy problems across a wide range of issues.
The MPP program is interdisciplinary; the course of studies focuses on problems, policy alternatives, and solutions rather than on methodologies and approaches that are associated with a single academic discipline. Students have the opportunity to combine academic training with a wide array of practical experiences available in our nation's capital. The faculty have extensive professional contacts to aid students in job placement.
The MPP program is available at the George Washington University's main campus in downtown Washington, DC. It is not available as a distance-learning program.
For more information that cannot be obtained from our website, please contact our admissions team at [email protected] or Lindsey Duble-Dice, Associate Director of Admissions and Recruitment.


text:
Article in Asia Policy 24
Policy by Other Means
Collective Self-Defense and the Politics of Japan's Postwar Constitutional Reinterpretations
by	Adam P. Liff
This article analyzes Japan's 2014 landmark cabinet decision reinterpreting the constitution to allow the limited exercise of collective self-defense (CSD) in both a historical and a contemporary context and assesses its implications for the conditions under which Japan may use military force.
Print Subscription Project Muse CCC Permissions
In July 2014, a historic cabinet decision reinterpreted Article 9 of Japan's 1947 constitution to allow the use of force to aid an ally under attack, overturning 60 years of authoritative constitutional interpretations categorically prohibiting Japan's exercise of CSD. The decision was followed by a revision of the U.S.-Japan Defense Guidelines and landmark legislation intended to transform Japan's security policy. Yet the change is evolutionary rather than revolutionary. Japan's self-imposed precondition for the use of force by the Japan Self-Defense Forces (JSDF) remains uniquely strict: an armed attack posing an existential threat to Japan's security. Nor is this the first case of a major reinterpretation of Article 9. Though its original wording remains untouched, the article's effective policy significance has changed repeatedly over 70 years in accordance with shifting domestic political winds and perceived strategic exigencies. Specific to post-2014 developments, understanding what changed and why—especially how Prime Minister Shinzo Abe and his allies' push for full exercise of CSD failed—elucidates the strategic, political, and normative factors shaping changes to Japan's security policy and the U.S.-Japan alliance.
While Japan may now legally exercise "limited" collective self-defense, unique, self-imposed conditions appear so strict that the use of force in support of allies or partners outside a defense-of-Japan scenario seems unlikely.
Security legislation in effect since 2016 opens up space for more expansive JSDF logistical support for U.S. military operations, bilateral planning, and exercises, as well as new authorities that somewhat resemble collective security or CSD operations in peacetime, including use of small arms during UN peacekeeping operations and protection of foreign militaries engaged in activities contributing to Japan's defense.
Without formal constitutional revision (at a minimum), however, more ambitious efforts to fundamentally transform Article 9's interpretation or the scope of scenarios in which Japan can use force overseas are unlikely without major domestic political realignments.
Policy by Other Means: Collective Self-Defense and the Politics of Japan's Postwar Constitutional Reinterpretations


text:
u/
SuikaCider
OverviewPostsComments
newHothottop
SuikaCider commented on
Married. Kids. Job. Where do you duty if you have all this stuff to.do?
r/LearnJapanese
•Posted by
u/just-4-me
8 points · 13 hours ago
Download Anki, do reviews in your downtime
Download a pomodoro timer (productivity thing) and pick a Japanese podcast. Depending on your work environment, it might not be a problem to take a few minutes twice an hour to listen to a podcast and reset.
On that note, scheduling in general. Start small - pick one day a week, for fifteen minutes, and give it to Japanese. Maybe that's during lunch at work, maybe it's before bed, maybe it's while riding the subway, maybe it's while going to the bathroom at work, maybe it's while you're at work, maybe it's while waiting to get the kids, you know your schedule. Find small blocks of time, give them to Japan consistently, gradually work up.
Part of scheduling is taking control of what you learn. If you don't have two hours to study, don't plan two hours of learning. Your job by noon is to cover 5 flashcards on Anki, to look over one page of your textbook, to write ten kanji out. Pick your goals and bitesize them. Smaller stuff is easier to squeeze in, but it adds up.
Once per week, wake up one hour earlier to schedule a lesson on iTalki. You can get a full hour of 1:1 for $7.00 USD. It's somehow to organize your study around each week and I think the opportunity to use Japanese is motivating. If Japanese isn't a big enough priority to sleep a bit less for once or twice a week, maybe it just isn't a priority.
That is no way calling you lazy or anything. A full life is full, and to add something to a full life, something else has to fall out. If you aren't willing to pull something out, maybe you don't need Japanese.
Motivation slipping. Worth learning Japanese if not going to Japan?
u/StarvingCaterpillar
A few thoughts:
You should be talking to your girlfriend about this. You don't have to give her an ultimatum or even bring up the topic of breaking up. You're really interested in Japan and think it would be cool to spend a year or two there. Maybe there's an opportunity to do so. Discuss. Japan and girlfriend are not necessarily mutually exclusive.
I'm the opposite of you, pal. I did long distance and ultimately left a partner of 4 years because travel was where my heart is. I've lived in six countries and let me tell you, life doesn't change just because you go to a new corner of the world. It's cool for a few weeks, but once you get into the rhythm of your new job, it's the same play with a different backdrop. If you aren't happy with your life as it is now, that isn't magically going to change in Japan. You'll still be the same you.
You're putting Japan up on a really, really high pedestal. "My entire motivation to learn is that I want to go to Japan, interact with Japanese people, connect with Japanese culture". Those are all hype, extrinsic reasons to learn that are not sustainable. If you don't love Japanese because of something that comes from inside of you, you're going to be disappointed.
If you're getting a tefl that means you aren't involved in education. Do you have any idea what teaching English is like? Go YouTube a mock class of teaching in Japan. Go look at teachers complaining. It isn't for everyone, and teaching in Japan doesn't really do anything for you in terms of career after Japan.
What if you go to Japan only to find that actually Japan isn't as interesting as you thought, you hate teaching and everything to do with Japanese work + social culture... And on top of that, you left a woman that you loved for ... This?
I'm painting a bleak picture because this is the stuff you should be thinking about. If it doesn't scare you and you're still determined, even after intentionally seeking out the shitty side of this, maybe you can think more seriously about going. That's when it really becomes a matter of weighing your priorities.
It's also very possible that you skip JET for your girlfriend and then three months from now the relationship ends and you regret this for the rest of your life.
Whatever you do, it won't turn out like you expect. So you whatever lot you wind up with, what's important is that it's a lot that you choose and can accept.
On a brighter note, I study Japanese because I love Japanese literature. I love the way that Japanese authors tell stories and the attention to detail they pay. Even if I never return to Japan or have a professional use for it, I'm happy just to be able to read Japanese books while I'm on he subway to work.
You don't have to be in Japan to get something meaningful out if Japanese.
r/careerguidance
u/SuikaCider
Two offers: Big name company vs small startup. What should I be thinking about?
I live and work in Taiwan and have spent the last year working afternoons/evenings while spending mornings working internships to learn about digital marketing, SEO and blogging. I was offered two positions.
Copywriting + commercial writing for Acer
Blogging / managing SEO for a small startup
I talked to both positions about the other one and got conflicting advice; I'm sure both are partly true.
Acer says that they'll look better on a resume, have more departments = they can offer me room to grow into my own interests/abilities and can transfer me to another country if I choose to leave Taiwan.
Startup says that Acer is a very big, traditional company that will probably be unpleasant to work at as a westerner. Plus, because they're smaller, I've got more opportunity to learn and discuss with management.
Here is what I think:
I think copywriting is useful but it's not the ultimate direction I'd like to go in and I don't know how true it is that I'll be able to grow into different departments (SEO, data) within the company. That being said, it seems reasonable that if I have a few years of experience with a major company like Acer, it would be easier to downsize to something I'm more interested in later if it doesn't grow on me. This seems like a safer choice.
It's definitely true that I've got more freedom and get to call many of my own shots - but given that I don't have experience, I'm not sure if it's good that I'm calling those shots. There are very experienced people running things, but none of them know much about SEO/data, so I'm pretty well on my own here. I like he office environment and think the team communicates quite well with each other. Our indiegogo campaign hit nearly 1000% funding, so it might go somewhere. I feel like there is more risk here.
I'll be 25 soon and have worked for two years, so this is still very early on in my career.
r/ChineseLanguage
First book: 活著 or 北京折疊?
I have a copy of both books.
It looks like the language in 活著 is significantly easier, but it's also 5x longer than 北京折疊. I also have an English copy of 北京折疊 to reference.
For those familiar with both, which do you think would be the easier start?
P.S. I'm literate in Japanese, so characters are no problem whatsoever. I'd like to judge the books purely on the difficulty of their grammar.
Petrokoff
1 point · 1 day ago
I've only read 活著, but I really enjoyed the story, and it was the first adult novel in Chinese that kept my interest the whole way through. I started reading 兄弟 after I finished 活著, but 兄弟 is even more depressing, and there's a lot more death and suffering. Still, I think 余華 has very accessible novels, and he's a great author to begin reading with.
Original Poster1 point · 1 day ago
That's super encouraging! I'd like to get used to one author and stick with them for awhile, so I'm happy to hear that his other stuff I'd accessible, too.
imral
4 points · 1 day ago
I also have an English copy of 北京折疊 to reference.
This is a bad way to read your first book in Chinese. What will happen is you'll start reading the Chinese version and get stuck so you check the English, and then go back the Chinese and get stuck a few sentences later, so you go back to check the English version, and then go back to the Chinese and get stuck a few sentences later, so you go back to the English... and then end up reading several pages (or the rest of the novel) in English.
Hands down it will be 活着. 北京折疊 is significantly more complex and also describes made up things and concepts that don't really exist in the real world - that's a level of difficulty you don't need in your first novel.
活着 might be longer, but the language is simple and easy to read. Once you've got half a dozen other books under your belt and you are comfortable reading in Chinese (not just vocab/grammar, but also the mental stamina to do it for prolonged periods of time) come back and read 北京折疊.
北京折疊 isn't going to disappear and will still be there X books later when you are ready for it.
this is a bad way to read your first book in Chinese.
I really firmly disagree with this, using a bilingual text does not entail being dependent on it. I don't disagree that what you've described is a bad way it learning, but I also disagree that it's the inevitable outcome of using a bilingual text / that there are no benefits to doing so.
A problem with reading is that there is no comprehension check; you can read something and think you understand it even if you don't. Especially when you're just beginning and thinking about how sentences fit together rather than how paragraphs and scenes do.
An English text fixes that problem - it enables you to say "hey, I missed this and I misunderstood that. Let's go back to the Mandarin and figure out why".
For my first few books I'll be reading CN > EN > CN > discuss with tutor. It's what I've done for two other languages now and, for the type of learner I am at least, suits me well.
... That's a level of difficulty you don't need in your first novel.
This is what I was looking for, I'll begin with 活著. I really appreciate your taking the time to break it's difficulty down so specifically.
How do hyperpolyglots learn every language to a high level?
r/languagelearning
u/GetLang
I think you're overestimating the ability of many "hyper"-polyglots and also underestimating the amount of time they put into it.
The most multilingual person I ever met spoke six languages: Bulgarian, Russian, English, Japanese, French and Spanish. She put a ton of time into these languages and had really unique circumstances.
She was Bulgarian but had a Russian father so she spoke Bulgarian with her mom and Russian with her dad. Then, English is English, and she grew up speaking it because.. it's English. She was raised in Bulgaria so of course she speaks that, my Russian friends all spoke with her in Russian and said that her Russian was very good and (as a US citizen) I know she spoke excellent English. Like, if she didn't tell me I would have believed she was native.
In high school she began studying Japanese and then went to Japan to do her BA; she passed the N1 in her second year there. Our university in Japan required a third language so she began studying French and spent a year in France - she took a gap year to do a year abroad in France then came back for two more years of school. She passed a C1 exam after a year of studying French then a year living with a host family in France.
When she got back to Japan she began speaking Spanish because that's what there were a lot of Spanish/Latin people at the salsa club we went to, which is where I met her. Apparently she thought I was from Spain so for the first month I knew her we only spoke Spanish. I'm only at a b2 level/preparing for C1, and she spoke worse than me, but it was still natural enough that I didn't even think about asking if she spoke English.
So... She's fluent in 5 languages/maybe 6 if you wanna be flexible, but by absolutely no means did she "not put much time into them".
She has two native languages
English is basically a requirement for life; she grew up in the internet. Aside from time with her family and friends, her entire childhood was in English.
She studied Japanese for four years in school then went to Japan and did a BA conducted in Japanese = 8 years.
She did reach a remarkable level of French quite quickly, but for a year of that she was in an environment where basically everything she was doing was in French. Spend your entire waking day in a language and you'll learn a lot in a year.
Her knowledge of French enabled her to reach a conversational level in Spanish quite quickly, but it was still over the course of two years.
So I mean, that's incredible, but she has invested way more into language and has way more need to learn languages than the vast majority of people who are studying a language.
GetLang
Original Poster1 point · 1 day ago · edited 2 hours ago
How did she maintain all these languages? 6 languages is a lot especially if they are from different language families.
She maintained them by living them and using them. Fluency is somehow you develop and nurture over a long period of time, and most importantly by having a need for a language. If she didn't speak each of these language, she couldn't maintain the life she was living.
That doesn't necessarily mean they're all at an equal level - what she needs out of Russian (talking to her dad/friends) is much different than Japanese (school, life in Japan).
People on the internet might make it seem that way, but just because it seems that way doesn't mean it is that way.
Let's assume I did nothing but wanikani and got to level 60 - what would I be able to do reading/speaking/understanding japanese?
u/wordswithenemies
ThinkWindow
Wanikani also teaches you words, not just kanji. You seem to be confusing Wanikani with RTK.
No, I'm talking about WK. I did make a comparison to "knowing several thousand words".
Just knowing a lot of words, whether you know how to read them or not, doesn't magically enable you in understand a page of Japanese.
You can categorize it and say what it's about, but you still have no idea how those words are related = "Lots of stuff seems familiar to you but you have no idea what is going on"
You could still understand quite a bit, but not everything. The description
They'd be able to look at a text in Japanese and say "huh, lots of this looks familiar but I have no idea what it means".
would apply to someone who knows all of the kanji but hasn't studied any vocabulary. A person who knows all the words but none of the grammar would be able to understand a significant percentage of the text. You can try it by taking a text, removing all the grammar structures and only keeping the vocabulary words and seeing how understandable it then is.
1 point · 1 day ago · edited 1 day ago
I said multiple times that I was talking about someone who knows a lot of vocabulary but doesn't know grammar.
I live in Taiwan and the Japanese/Mandarin exchange I attend is full of people who, despite having an incredible background in characters and vocabulary, have trouble reading Japanese.
I think you overestimate the importance of vocabulary and underestimate the importance of grammar.
Will knowing a lot of kanji and vocab help? Yes. Will it make it easier to get into reading than someone without it? Yes. Will it enable you to get the gist of kanji-heavy headlines? Yes
Will it enable you to understand, to any significant degree, what's going on in a random page of text or web article? Even a very simple one? Not so much. You'll get keywords but have no idea how they're related.
That's even assuming that you'd know all the vocab in a random article from just finishing WK, which I doubt.
Edit: but.. again.. hopefully somebody wouldn't limit their studies to WK. Finishing WK and doing genki I + II while you're at it would you in a spot where I think it would be practical to begin reading. I think WK is a great tool, I just also think that language is a lot more than a pile of vocabulary. There is a lot more standing between day 0 Japanese learnet and any author for adults than 2,000 kanji and 6,000, 10,000 or even 20,000 words.
Mandarin learners, what are your motivations for learning the language?
u/ArtificialReddit
There's a lot of cool stuff I'd like to read.
Grammar explanation long or short?
u/NaoyaPersonaUser
My experience as a teacher is that even the best students need to see a grammar structure more than once. It just takes time for our brains to recognize and reproduce these new patterns.
I assume that I'm not different and just assume that I'm going to to over something more than once. I prefer a short, straightforward examination at first just so that I can recognize what I'm looking for and from there go for more complex details, trying to assimilate a bit of new information each time I see it.
Cake day
Trophy Case (3)
Two-Year Club
Gilding II
euphauric


text:
Le Düsseldorfer Turn- und Sportverein Fortuna 1895, plus communément appelé Fortuna Düsseldorf, est un club de football allemand fondé le  et basé à Düsseldorf. Évoluant au Rheinstadion jusqu'en 2002, il dispose aujourd'hui d'un stade moderne de  places, la Merkur Spiel-Arena.

Le club de Düsseldorf dispute la 2. Bundesliga, la deuxième division allemande de football, après avoir été relégué de Bundesliga en 2013. Par le passé, il a remporté un titre de champion d'Allemagne en 1933 et deux coupes d'Allemagne, en 1979 et 1980.

Cependant, son parcours sportif est des plus irréguliers, atteignant la finale de la Coupe des vainqueurs de coupe en 1979, mais évoluant aussi fréquemment à l'étage inférieur. Le Fortuna Düsseldorf a même manqué de disparaître dans les profondeurs du football allemand, étant sauvé de la faillite par ses supporters et, en premier lieu, par le groupe de punk-rock Die Toten Hosen, qui est même devenu le sponsor maillot de l'équipe de 2001 à 2003.

Repères historiques

Dates clés
 1944 : fusion avec le Düsseldorfer SC 1899 en Kriegs SG Düsseldorf
 1945 : fermeture du club et refondation sous le nom de Düsseldorfer TSV Fortuna
 1966 :  à la Bundesliga 1 (saison 1966/1967)
 1973 :  à une Coupe d'Europe (C3, saison 1973/1974)

Les prémices du Fortuna (1895-1919)
Le , un premier club de football voit le jour, dans le quartier populaire et ouvrier de Flingern à Düsseldorf, sous le nom de Turnverein Flingern 1895. Le , un deuxième club est créé à Düsseldorf dans ce même quartier, le Düsseldorfer Fußballklub Spielverein, puis en mai 1911, un troisième sous le nom de Fußballklub Alemania 1911. En 1912, les fondateurs du Fußballklub Alemania 1911 décident de renommer leur club Fußballklub Fortuna 1911 en référence à une charrette qu'ils ont vu passer et qui appartient à une boulangerie voisine du nom de Fortuna. En 1913, ce club fusionne avec le Düsseldorfer Fußballklub Spielverein pour créer le Düsseldorfer Fußballclub Fortuna 1911. Le , le Düsseldorfer Turn- und Sportverein Fortuna 1895 naît de la fusion du Düsseldorfer Fußballclub Fortuna 1911 et du Turnverein Flingern 1895. C'est ce nom que porte toujours le club actuel, appelé plus communément Fortuna Düsseldorf, bien que le club ait changé de nom durant la Seconde Guerre mondiale.

Les premiers succès du Fortuna (1919-1944)
Si le Fortuna Düsseldorf dispute sa première saison dans la Westdeutscher Spielverband (fédération de football d'Allemagne occidentale) en 1913-1914, ce n'est que dans les années 1920 que le club se structure petit à petit et obtient ses premiers succès. Le , il est officiellement inscrit au registre des associations allemandes. En 1927, le Fortuna remporte son premier titre de Bezirksmeister (champion de district) du district de Berg-Mark, se qualifiant ainsi pour le championnat régional d'Allemagne occidentale. Grâce à sa troisième place régionale et à sa victoire 2-1 après prolongation dans le match d'appui face au champion des deuxièmes, le TuRU Düsseldorf, le Fortuna Düsseldorf est qualifié pour la première fois à la Verbandsliga, le championnat national, où il échoue dès le premier tour face au Hambourg SV (1-4).

En 1929, le Fortuna remporte son deuxième titre de Bezirksmeister du district de Berg-Mark et, comme deux années plus tôt, termine à la troisième place du championnat régional d'Allemagne occidentale. Comme en 1927, le Fortuna passe l'épreuve du barrage face au champion des deuxièmes avec succès (victoire 1-0 face au Schwarz-Weiß Essen). Malheureusement, pour sa deuxième qualification en Verbandsliga, l'histoire se répète encore et le Fortuna est éliminé dès le premier tour, face au futur champion d'Allemagne, le SpVgg Greuther Fürth (défaite 1-5). En 1931, le Fortuna Düsseldorf remporte son troisième titre de Bezirksmeister du district de Berg-Mark. Dans la foulée, le , le club remporte également le championnat d'Allemagne occidentale pour la première fois de son histoire. Il est donc qualifié pour la troisième fois en Verbandsliga. Comme lors de ses deux précédentes qualifications et malgré un score plus serré, le Fortuna s'incline dès le premier tour face à l'Eintracht Francfort (défaite 2-3 après prolongation).

Il faut attendre 1933 pour voir le club de la Düssel faire mieux. Le Fortuna remporte le titre de champion du district de Berg-Mark, puis s'incline en finale du championnat d'Allemagne occidentale face à Schalke 04 (0-1). Mais les joueurs de Düsseldorf prennent leur revanche face à leurs rivaux régionaux de Gelsenkirchen en remportant le championnat d'Allemagne grâce à une victoire 3-0 en finale face à Schalke 04. C'est le premier grand titre de l'histoire du Fortuna Düsseldorf et c'est également la première fois qu'un club de la fédération de football d'Allemagne occidentale remporte le championnat national.

Retour éphémère en Bundesliga (2012-2013)
Le Fortuna Düsseldorf termine la saison 2011-2012 de 2. Bundesliga à la troisième position, synonyme de barrage de promotion face au  de Bundesliga, le Hertha Berlin.

Le , lors du match aller à l'Olympiastadion de Berlin, le Fortuna s'impose par deux buts à un. Le , le match retour se déroule à l'Esprit arena de Düsseldorf. Alors que le Fortuna et le Herta Berlin sont dos à dos deux buts partout, les supporters locaux envahissent le terrain durant le temps additionnel du match, provoquant la polémique autour de cette rencontre, bien que le match ait pu aller jusqu'à sa fin. Après une enquête de la DFB et un appel du Hertha Berlin, le Fortuna Düsseldorf est déclaré vainqueur de la double confrontation (quatre buts à trois sur l'ensemble des deux matches) et le Hertha Berlin est relégué en 2. Bundesliga.

Après 15 ans d'absence, le Fortuna Düsseldorf retrouve donc la Bundesliga lors de la saison 2012-2013. Le , à la suite d'une défaite par trois buts à zéro face au Hanovre 96 lors de la dernière journée de la saison 2012-2013 de Bundesliga, le Fortuna est relégué en 2. Bundesliga, un an seulement après l'avoir quittée.

Palmarès et statistiques

Compétitions nationales et internationales

Coupes d'Europe

Bilan

Coupe des vainqueurs de coupe 1978-1979
Le , le Fortuna Düsseldorf s'incline en finale de la DFB-Pokal face au 1. FC Cologne. Malgré la défaite, le Fortuna est qualifié pour la Coupe des vainqueurs de coupe (C2) grâce au titre du 1. FC Cologne en Bundesliga. Son parcours lors de cette compétition constitue la meilleure performance du club dans une compétition européenne.

Joueurs et personnalités du club

Entraîneurs

Anciens joueurs
  Klaus Allofs
  Josef Hickersberger
  Paul Janes
  Erich Juskowiak
  Frank Mill
  Darko Pancev
  Uwe Rahn
  Edvin Murati

Effectif actuel 2022-2023

Mise à jour au

Staff

Notes et références
Notes

Références

Liens externes

Club allemand de football du Bas-Rhin
Club sportif à Düsseldorf
Club de football fondé en 1895
Football à Düsseldorf

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


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The Cowsills is an American bubblegum pop-rock band formed during the 60s music era. They entirely composed of the Cowsill family, who hailed from Newport, Rhode Island. Among their biggest hits are "The Rain, the Park and Other Things," "Indian Lake" and "Hair." They family revived the group during the 1990s and since then they have been active performing. The band was the real-life inspiration behind the classic sitcom The Partridge Family.
More on the Cowsills here in this article!
For the Cowsill family, music obviously runs in the blood. They originated from Newport, Rhode Island. Brothers Bill and Bob Cowsill had begun their singing careers; their repertoire consisted mostly of covers of Everly Brothers hits. Their father William "Bud" Cowsill had given guitars to his sons, and while he was away at the US Navy, Bill and Bob invited their younger brothers Barry and John with plans to start their own band. Initially, Barry used to play the drums, but when John learned to play the drums he became the band's official drummer while Barry eventually took up the bass guitar.
After Bud Cowsill returned from the Navy, he and his wife Barbara went to manage their kids' music career.
Billy, Bob, Barry and John simply named themselves as the Cowsills, and the teen quartet began to play at school and church functions around town. Not long thereafter, the Cowsills performed regularly at Bannister's Wharf in Newport. By that time also, the Cowsills entered a recording career, releasing a handful of singles (including those released on Mercury label) to little success. Even a one-time appearance at on The Today Show still won't help matters.
"The Rain, the Park and Other Things" was an instant hit, reaching #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1967. It sold over a million copies and was given a gold disc. Because of the hit single, the Cowsills found popularity at last as well as a reputation as a wholesome family group.
A full-length debut album The Cowsills soon followed, and included the hit single. It charted at #31 on the Billboard 200.
The group's follow-up album We Can Fly (1968) produced two singles: the title track (#21 pop, #9 adult contemporary) and "In Need of a Friend" (#54 pop). By that time the group recruited two new members — the brothers' other siblings Susan and Paul.
Also in 1968, the Cowsills scored another big hit with "Indian Lake." It reached #10 on the Billboard Hot 100, and #17 on the adult contemporary singles chart that year. And the following year, the group scored another hit again with "Hair," their version of the hit musical's title song. It reached #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 (#19 adult contemporary).
A gaggle of screenwriters from Columbia's television department wanted to do a series based on the every day lives of the Cowsills. The proposed TV series never materialized; the producers thought that the members were too old to play the part nor they did have the acting chops so they abandoned the idea. However, in 1970 ABC eventually broadcast a musical sitcom TV series titled The Partridge Family whose plot was loosely based on the Cowsills.
At the dawn of the 1970s, The Partridge Family became a hit on the airwaves, but the Cowsills' career otherwise took a downturn. Following the release of their 1971 LP On My Side, the group finally called it quits. After their disbandment, the siblings were mostly musically-inactive and otherwise led their own lives. There was one point where Bob, John, Paul and Susan recorded some original songs which were produced by Chuck Plotkin but they were never released.
During the 1990s Bob, John, Paul and Susan reformed the Cowsills in an attempt to regain their former musical glory. Their original plan was to play the classic pop songs geared for the nostalgic circuit, but later on they decided to input some fresh original material. The success of their reunion shows led to more concerts and even an album entitled Global in 1998.
Their mother Barbara died from emphysema in 1985, aged 56. Her funeral brought all of the siblings together, their first reunion since the band's split. Their father Bud died from leukemia in 1992, aged 66.
Susan and Barry were living in New Orleans, Louisiana when Hurricane Katrina hit the city on August 29, 2005. Susan and her own family had already evacuated but Barry had not. Barry supposedly survived the storm but was in dire need of help. He called Susan and left some voice messages, but his sister wasn't able to receive them until September 1 or 2. After that, there was no sign of Barry any longer.
After four months of searching for Barry, a decomposing body was found beneath a wharf on the Mississippi River the following December. The body was later positively identified as Barry's. The coroner issued a verdict citing that his death was caused by drowning due to the floods brought by the hurricane.
Bill passed away in 2006 due to a variety of illnesses that included emphysema and osteoporosis. He was 58 years old.


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