John Arthur Woolverton's contribution to the First World War is just one of many war stories for the Woolverton family, the earliest dating back to the Battle of Hastings in 1066.
In 1901 John was aboard a ship in Quebec heading to England to enlist to the Boer War when he received word that the war was over. He returned to his home in London, Ontario and worked at the Shuff Drug Store after having trained as a pharmacist at McMaster University. He later worked as a pharmacist in Winnipeg, Manitoba until he enlisted to the First World War at age thirty-five on November 24, 1914.
In September 1915, he arrived in France aboard the SS Northland and was attached to the 4th Brigade of the Canadian Corps of Engineers and assigned to water detail. As a medic he tested the drinking water and drove the tanks of water to the front by truck or horse drawn wagon. He was promoted to corporal on April 28, 1916.
He sent twenty dollars of the thirty-five dollars he made per month to his wife Alice Georgina Shuffand and three young sons, Frank, Jack and George, in Winnipeg.
In July 1918 his camp was bombed and the explosion threw him twenty feet away and knocked him unconscious. He regained consciousness and the next day he started feeling pain near his heart, which continued throughout his life.
He sailed from England on HMT Calais on April 19, 1919, and was honourably discharged in Winnipeg on May 31, 1919. After receiving a Good Conduct Medal in October 1918, Woolverton and his family moved to Penticton, British Columbia. There he worked for the Canadian National Railway Company and had two more sons—Alan and Ralph.
The family moved back to Winnipeg in 1924 where Woolverton and his wife had their daughter Anna Marion Elizabeth in 1925. John died on December 17, 1964, in London, Ontario but was alive to see his sons follow in their family's path by fighting in the Second World War. Alan joined the pre-war Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) and trained as a photographer at Camp Borden, Ontario then transferred to aircrew training and became a Halifax bomber pilot in the 428 (Ghost) Squadron out of Middleton St. George in Yorkshire, England. He was shot down over Holland in February 1944 just before his twenty-third birthday.
Ralph joined the Second World War in 1942 and graduated as an aircrew navigator in Winnipeg on his twenty-first birthday and transferred to the Royal Air Force Ferry Command in 1953, based at Dorval, Quebec.
George, Frank, and Jack worked as ground crew in the Royal Canadian Air Force.
Other wars Woolverton members have contributed to include the Fenian Raids, the Mackenzie Rebellion in 1835, the American Revolution, and the War of 1812.
James Laidlaw enlisted on May 11, 1916 from London, Ontario and served as a sergeant with the Canadian Army Medical Corps.


text:
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Why "Romeo and Juliet for the Twilight Generation" Doesn't Mean as Much as You Think
May 28, 2012 May 28, 2012 / Sarah
Over the weekend, clutchers of pearls everywhere reacted to a sound bite from the publicist of the new Romeo and Juliet movie. Said publicist foretold that the upcoming adaptation would be the first Romeo and Juliet specifically tailored to "the Twilight generation," and — more appallingly — that while the dialogue would retain "Shakespeare's flavor," it would be spoken in "understandable iambic pentameter."
Cue the outrage.
First, I've seen great performances of Shakespeare and I've seen awful ones, and one thing is clear: a good actor can make every single line of Shakespeare comprehensible. A bad one might occasionally get lucky, but for the most part unless you've read or studied the play ahead of time, you'll need subtitles. So whenever someone promises to "modernize" Shakespearean English, it says to me that the writer has little faith in his or her actors. Which is disappointing for a number of reasons, but mostly because if Baz Luhrmann could expect a then 21 year old Leonardo DiCaprio and a 16 year old Claire Danes to handle the full force of the pentameter, despite modernizing everything else about the story, surely we can expect a 16 year old Oscar-nominated Hailey Steinfeld to do the same in a period-specific film.
So I think we've covered this.
But naturally it's the word Twilight that has purists and cynics throwing up their arms in frustration and irritation, so let's focus on the big sparkly elephant in the room. Twilight has been such a ridiculous cash cow that any movie for the next ten years involving two young lovers will be marketed as "_____ for the Twilight generation." People have got to disabuse themselves of the notion that Hollywood has any obligation to produce art or quality. Hollywood is a business and businesses like to make money. If art happens along the way, it's a bonus.
Take The Hunger Games, for instance: there were rumors that the script was specifically retooled to focus more strongly on the love triangle between Katniss, Peeta and Gale so that it would appeal to Twi-hards. Yet when the movie actually premiered, the relationship aspect of things wasn't all that much stronger than it was in the books. In short, it was a clear marketing strategy. And honestly, that's probably the case here as well.
Whether or not the glaze of Stephanie Meyer has actually been applied to this project or not, it's only natural that the publicist — and again, keep in mind that this was said by a publicist and not anyone actually responsible for the making of the film itself — would want to capitalize on what has unfortunately been one of the biggest pop cultural phenomenons of the 21st century so far.
But what the comparison really seeks to achieve is justification for yet another Romeo and Juliet movie, as the Zeffirelli did a great job appealing to purists by remaining period-specific while Luhrmann's adaptation handled the update market so that both or either can be shown in classrooms year after year by bored English teachers. But even if the threats of Twilight and modernized Shakespeare weren't looming on the horizon, the simple fact is that another movie about the world's most famous newly-wed teenagers isn't necessary. Joss Whedon's Much Ado About Nothing, or the TV movie starring Tom Hiddleston as Prince Hal/Henry V, are far more worthy of our time and attention. So let's stop worrying about the potential bastardization of Shakespeare's most over-hyped play and get ready to enjoy some great actors doing better work in better plays instead. Deal?
books on film, books on TV
Baz Luhrmann, Claire Danes, Franco Zefirelli, Hailey Steinfeld, Henry IV Part 1, Henry IV Part 2, Henry V, Joss Whedon, Leonardo DiCaprio, Much Ado About Nothing, Prince Hal, Romeo + Juliet, Romeo and Juliet, Stephanie Meyer, The Hunger Games, Tom Hiddleston, True Grit, Twilight
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April 25, 2014 - San Jose, CA - BELL will participate in the Silicon Valley Community Foundation's (SVCF) first-ever day of giving, Silicon Valley Gives. The event aims to inspire and unite our local community to support philanthropic causes, including our summer learning partnership with Bridges Academy.
On Tuesday, May 6, 2014, SVCF will raise money for local nonprofits through a single online donation platform, providing a great way to connect donors to the charitable causes they care about most and encourage them to take action. This 24-hour online fundraising effort will give the community foundation the opportunity to raise millions of dollars for thousands of nonprofits - and make a difference to people's lives in Santa Clara, San Mateo and San Benito counties.
BELL is one of several non-profits that will take part in the Silicon Valley Gives program. We hope to raise funding for our summer learning programs in San Jose. BELL and the Bridges Academy in the Franklin McKinley School District have created our campaign page highlighting this summer's goals. We are preparing to launch our third summer program for 7th and 8th grade scholars on campus, providing academic support in English language arts and mathematics, along with a host of enrichment opportunities in the areas of STEM, visual and performing arts, and health and nutrition. Scholars have an opportunity to attend field trips on Fridays related to their enrichment experiences, as well as visit a college campus. It's an amazing summer learning experience for scholars with few high-quality, affordable, and accessible options in their communities.
Please visit the link below and consider donating. Your donation will directly impact the scholars on campus and help to ensure that they receive the summer learning opportunities they need to succeed.


Join WMCAT for a creative happy hour, Make It Take It, on Thursday, October 18 from 6-9 pm for appetizers, drinks, music, and creative activities!
The Wave has already received rave reviews from pilot testers. The general public will be able to purchase a Wave card at Rapid Central Station or online. Wave cards are just $3 for the card itself and can be reloaded in-person at The Rapid's Information Center or on the mobile-friendly website.


In 1992 after lightening struck the Yankee Rowe reactor in western Massachusetts, concerned citizens organized with the goal of educating themselves and their communities about the potential dangers of nuclear energy. Citizens Awareness Network (CAN) worked to reveal the hidden costs of nuclear power on the health and safety of communites surrounding a reactor, and as a result of their efforts Yankee Rowe was pressured into closing down in 1993. When CAN learned that much of the nuclear waste removed from the site was shipped to a town in South Carolina, the group was outraged that the waste which hurt their community would now be imposed on another community. Once again they were moved into action, this time transforming from a small local group into a regional group with multiple chapters. Today, with seven chapters in five states, CAN continues to uncover the hazards of nuclear energy, proposing instead the use of clean energy produced locally.
This large collection documents every facet of the group, and includes publications, financial records, research files, correspondence, and realia such as t-shirts, bumper stickers and buttons.


text:
Maksimir is een stadion in de Kroatische hoofdstad Zagreb. De naam is afgeleid van de wijk Maksimir. Het is het thuisstadion van de voetbalclub Dinamo Zagreb.

Het stadion werd geopend op 5 mei 1912. Gedurende de decennia is het stadion vaak vernieuwd, in 1997 was er een grootse vernieuwing toen het aantal stoelen vergroot werd tot 40.000. Vele Kroatische nationale voetbalteams spelen in het stadion, dit stadion concurreert met het Poljudstadion waar ook vele belangrijke wedstrijden zich afspelen.

Er zijn plannen om het bezoekerscapaciteit tot 60.000 te verhogen, en om een dak te bouwen. Echter, bij gebrek aan geld ging dit niet door.

Dit veranderde in 2006 toen er nieuwe plannen werden gemaakt door het Duitse bedrijf Alpine. Deze zal het stadion 15 jaar lang overnemen en zal €150 miljoen investeren in vernieuwingen. Verwacht is dat de renovaties in 2010 afgerond zijn. Er zullen 55.000 plaatsen en een verschuifbaar dak zijn. Anno 2013 is er nog steeds niets gerenoveerd.

EK interlands

Sportaccommodatie in Zagreb
Voetbalstadion in Kroatië
Voetbalstadion tijdens het Europees kampioenschap voetbal 1976

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


If you have interest in the several Big Year adventures currently underway, here is a sad Big Year story. John Weigel, the Australian birder who already has broken the BY record for North America, spent 25 days on the Alaska's St. Lawrence Island in the village of Gambell. TWENTY-FIVE days. He added TWO birds to his list.
I've been to Gambell four times. I enjoyed it. The villagers were for the most part friendly. Lack of telephone or tv, sometimes heat and hot water, were OK for the few days of my trips. But 25 days with only two new sightings is astounding! Blame and weather for the worst birding fall ever recorded there by birders. The stormy westerly winds needed to push migrating Asian species off-route and onto Gambell never materialized.
Weigel added Sharp-tailed Sandpiper and Dusky Warbler. He is now on St. Paul Island, another Bering Sea location. As of Sept. 18 he had added d one more bird, Jack Snipe.
That brings his 2016 total so far to 763.
The old record was 749.
Other BY chasers also were at Gambell. They did little or no better than Weigel. He sent me an email directing me to his blog. There, he predicts that BY birders Laura Keene and Christian Hagenlocher both will break that old 749 mark.


It has been a week since we served the last dinner at the 9 day Banaras ka Khana festival at Three Sixty One, The Oberoi Gurgaon. Yes Banaras ka Khana gets to showcase the cuisine and the heritage behind such a unique tradition that we have inherited.
The Oberoi group is trying to revive the Indian regional cuisines under their flagship program called Rivayat and when Chef Ravitej Nath invited me to curate a Banaras ka Khana experience at The Oberoi Gurgaon I was thrilled to the core. After all I have been trying to bring forth the lesser known traditions and recipes from my city and this was a great opportunity to talk about it at a wider platform.
The Oberoi Gurgaon called the Banaras ka Khana experience as Divine Intervention as the festival was timed with Amla ekadashi, also known as Rang bhari Ekadashi when the Holi festivities start and Shiva is considered to participate in it with loads of Bhang and Rang. Rang (colour) used to be natural and floral in the older days during Holi and is also meant how the season bring so much colour through the flowering trees and plants.
Lord Shiva had married Devi Parvati on the day of Shivratri while he goes to Parvati's home on the day of Rang Bhari ekadashi for Gauna (when the bride comes home) and they play Holi with colours on this day. This is the official start of the festivities in Banaras. So many Great and Little traditions are still alive in Banaras.
Amla Ekadashi is a Great tradition in Banaras when families go to Amla orchards for a religious picnic, they cook under Amla trees and eat the food there. Amla tree is considered as the incarnation of Lord Bramha and the food is taken as a prasad, all food is cooked in earthen pots and served in leaf plates, this tradition of religious picnic in Banaras is unique in the sense that ecological preservation was linked so beautifully with religion.
Otherwise too Banaras is known for the outdoor picnics in the numerous Mango orchards and the sands of the Ganga across the river on Ramnagar side. People used to hire Bajdas (houseboats in Banaras) to go to the other side of the Ganga (called as O paar in local parlance) and cook litti chokha or even poori subzi or dal chawal chokha kind of meals on wood fire and earthen pots. We have done some of these picnics in our childhood, sometimes we used to pack food from home too.
The picnic culture is Banaras has kept alive the non vegetarian cooking even in the families where meats are prohibited in their kitchens. We brought some of the outdoor picnic recipes of fish and meat to the festival too, but the majority of the menu was sattvic vegetarian.
Most of the recipes on the menu are already there on this blog. Chivda matar, Fara and Bhapouri were included as a representative of the rich variety of flavours that we have in our starters. Chhene ka dahi bada, Mung stuffed alu tikki and Tamatar ki chaat were liked a lot by the guests.
Incidentally, the slight sweetness in the traditional recipes of Banaras comes from the Gujrati influence as it was the Gujratis who came as the first set of traders and set up Soot Tola (no more exists) from where the brocade and silk trade developed to its present glory. A lot of other influences from Marwari and Baniya communities also came along as more traders came from other parts of the country later. I have discussed some of this here.
Thandai, Aam ka Panna (with hing ka dhungar), Khas ka sharbat and an assortment of chutneys was served and we got very good feedback from all the guests.
The Thandai was hand crafted and we made a fresh batch everyday as it doesn't keep well once made with raw ingredients.
We served Bhabra and Bajka as representative of the various types of pakodas we have in the region. Bhabra is the harey chane ka pakoda that is most likely a direct exchange of ideas between Gujrat and Banaras.
I had discovered Harad ka golgappa in Banaras more than 2 decades ago with my research guide as she use to take me for impromptu old Banaras walks sometimes and had introduced me to this dark hued golgappa that was considered as digestive after a high dose of chaat.
We served this as Harad ki Papdi at the Banaras ka Khana festival. Bringing back some of the forgotten gems was such fun. No one makes Harad ka golgappa in Banaras now as all the chaat walas have started outsourcing all their ingredients half done and rarely they make the chaats from scratch like the older days. .
Serving our favourites like Khoya matar makhana, Matar ka nimona, Turai pyaz ki subzi, Alu baingan palak ki subzi, Kaddu chane ki subzi, Besan ki katli with Banarasi kachoris and some millet rotis and khade masale ka pulao was a delight as people loved these unconventional subzis and flavours.
We served Khoye ka Paratha as well and it was loved by everyone.
Sadi litti with alu ka chokha also became quite a favourite with the guests as well as the kitchen team. Imagine we did not serve any paneer dish in the vegetarian menu and it was still well received. There was no tomato used in any dish apart from Tamatar ki chaat and tamatar ki chutney.
We made Mung ka cheela on some days too, we kept changing the menu a little everyday so we could showcase more of the cuisine.
We served Khas khas ka halwa, Harey chane ki burfi, Kamalgatte ka halwa, Sankatmochan ka laddu, Sri Ram Bhandar ka Lal peda and Malaiyyo too at the festival. We had brought a Malaiyyo maker from Thatheri bazar who used to churn fresh Malaiyyo every morning and we used to keep it in the walk in refrigerator till the dinner time.
Though Malaiyyo doesn't keep well in the fridge as it gets a little dry after a while, this is what we could manage and people loved the malaiyyo a lot. Sankatmochan ka laddu was gifted to us by the Sankatmochan Foundation and it was really a blessing from Banaras.
I had gone to Banaras for a couple of days just before the festival and brought back many ingredients that we don't find here. The rice used for making Khade masale ka pulao was the short grain rice called Jeerabutti from Banaras.
I brought some wooden toys too that has been an ancient cottage industry in Banaras. These were given as return gifts to some of our esteemed guests.
I must add that the team at The Oberoi is so efficient that they planned every little detail including the table decor, the menu, the gifts and the promotion material. Chef Ravitej Nath, Chef Manish Sharma and Mallika Gowda were my support system all through the festival.
In the kitchen the team of Chefs was very quick to learn everything and make bulk amounts of every dish very efficiently. We had new challenges everyday as some of the ingredients would be difficult to find or the quality we needed was difficult to procure but the team managed to get everything I needed to bring out the original authentic flavours.
Chef Bijender known as Chacha in the kitchen is a magician at work as he works quite fast and can replicate anything intuitively. Chef Himanshu, Chef Ankush, Chef Adnaan and Chef Varun were great help always along with Monu and Inder who came from Banaras to make Malaiyyo and Tamatar ki Chaat.
All the hard work in the kitchen translated quite well on the tables I must say.
It was great to see happy faces after each meal. Bringing the lesser known cuisines into the mainstream is a great work that The Oberoi team is doing. Banaras ka Khana will be committed always to bring the cuisine to connoisseurs whenever possible.
Congratulations Sangeeta! I am a follower of your blog from long time (if you remember) and Iknow how much effort you put in bringing forth the traditional and forgotten recipes.
Loved it. Mara gaaon, maara desh :) When are you hosting it in Bangalore?


text:
Froidchapelle
See pictures
Forests, lakes, a vibrant community spirit, folklore and an exceptional setting, you are sure to find something that resonates upon arrival in one of the five villages that make up the municipality of Froidchapelle, which comprises a stretch of the famous Eau d'Heure lakes. Nowadays the area sees tourists flocking to it, coming in search of beautiful countryside, riverside relaxation and tranquillity. The Froidchapellois are fortunate enough to be able to enjoy the lakes' sporting and entertainment infrastructure all year round. Dive in and discover everything that this unique municipality has to offer.
Adresse : Place Albert 1er, 38 à 6440 Froidchapelle
Froidchapelle and the villages it consists of (Boussu-lez-Walcourt, Fourbechies, Vergnies and Erpion) comprise an area of 4,000 inhabitants, located fifteen minutes away from Chimay, Beaumont and Philippeville. Its origins date back to the 7th century and, for several hundred years, its economy was based on forestry and woodworking.
The Eau d'Heure lakes and their authentic villages
Today the area mainly draws a living from agriculture, but also from tourism, thanks to the attraction of the Eau d'Heure lakes which essentially span the whole area. With their 600 hectares, they represent the most expansive artificial watercourse in Belgium. The five lakes offer breathtaking scenery but also a large range of sporting, recreational and entertainment attractions.
Despite being hotbeds of sporting activity, the villages have managed to retain an authentic rural feel with a magnificent setting of forests and fields. Whether on foot, by bike or even on horseback, lovers of the outdoors can immediately set off on one of the numerous marked trails that wind around the area.
Folklore and something for everyone
Froidchapelle is a lively and friendly municipality underpinned by the enthusiasm of its many local associations. Alongside neighbourhood activities, meals with neighbours and open-air evening events, the sports clubs and youth committees make sure to keep village life interesting. During the annual Laetare (carnival), the community welcomes a throng of onlookers: its parade, made up of thousands of people who take to the streets to the sound of traditional music, is certainly worth stopping off for. The Saint-Sacrement march, an Entre-Sambre-et-Meuse march dating back to 1837, just adds to the fame and pride of the Boussutois.
Birthplace of the former Red Devil Daniel Van Buyten, Froidchapelle has a range of sporting and leisure activities as broad as it is diverse, thanks especially to the infrastructure around the lakes where you can indulge in water sports of all kinds.
The area also has 54 km of RAVeL paths, 3 football clubs, tennis, volleyball, pétanque, a high-wire trail, a golf course, a bike park, a wellness centre, an Adeps leisure centre and 2 sports halls. In short, there really is something for everyone.
Froidchapelle has shops nearby and good restaurants, around the Eau d'Heure lakes, but also in the villages. Many local artisans also sell their produce directly with offerings such as homemade ice cream, cheese, yoghurt, etc.
This municipality with its remarkable environment is sure to appeal to those who dream of a calm, safe and green way of life and those who appreciate fresh air and beautiful stone buildings.
A 15-minute drive away from Chimay, Philippeville and Beaumont, and 35 minutes away from Charleroi
Easy road access by the N5 and N40
House of Rural Affairs
A municipal bus (R'bus) serving the stations of Walcourt and Chimay, a TEC bus line Walcourt – Froidchapelle – Chimay
4 nursery and primary schools (3 official and 1 free), secondary schools in Beaumont, Philippeville and Chimay
Two municipal libraries
Rural backdrop, forests, fields, Eau d'Heure lakes
Farmhouses, guesthouses, holiday villages, motorhome park
Very diverse range of properties: small farmhouses already renovated or in need of renovation, plots of land, chalets, new-builds, etc.
Comprehensive range of leisure activities
Le Cierneau – Adeps sports centre
Eau d'Heure lakes
Bourvil and Grand Jojo Museum
www.froidchapelle.be
Tel. : 060 45 91 40
The other communes in the metropolis
Seneffe
Pont-à-Celles
Les Bons Villers
Chapelle-lez-Herlaimont
Farciennes
Fontaine-l'Évêque
Gerpinnes
Lobbes
Ham-sur-Heure-Nalinnes
Merbes-le-Château
Walcourt
Sivry-Rance
Cerfontaine
Philippeville
Momignies
Couvin
Viroinval
Innovate & work Discover
Live Discover
Study Discover
Visit Discover


This circle of jagged rock looks like a fort from yesteryear. It is actually an old tuff ring, a compacted pyroclastic deposit, located southeast of LaPine, Oregon. The Yellow sagebrush dresses this Natural National Landmark.


 LUSH Cosmetics has teamed up with the Humane Society of the United States and Humane Society International to launch the largest-ever global campaign to end animal testing for cosmetics. But the handmade-skincare purveyor didn't stop there. To underscore its point, LUSH turned its Regent Street store window in London into a tableau of cruelty, where performance artist Jacqueline Traides endured 10 hours of force-feedings, liquid injections, and other torturous procedures regularly employed by the beauty industry. It wasn't a pretty sight, nor was it meant to be.

 Although cosmetics testing on animals was banned throughout Europe nearly two decades ago, the sale of animal-tested products is still permitted in the United Kingdom and other countries.

 In the United States, federal law requires companies to assure that their products are safe but does not require animal testing.

 Despite the established alternatives, however, a number of manufacturers continue to test new cosmetics ingredients on animals.

 "The beauty industry continues needless animal testing and it's time for it to stop," Kate Willett, director of regulatory toxicology, risk assessment, and alternatives for HSUS. "Consumers are largely unaware that some shampoos and lipsticks still involve chemical poisoning of animals such as rabbits and mice. Science has moved us beyond this and there is no place for cosmetic testing on animals in modern society."

 "Fighting Animal Testing" is part awareness campaign, part petition. As the initiative rolls out in 48 countries and more than 700 LUSH stores in the United States, Canada, Europe, India, Australia, New Zealand, South Korea, and Russia, members of the public are urged to sign national petitions in LUSH stores and online to demand an end to the antiquated practice.

 "Animals should not have to rely on voluntary codes of conduct but should be protected by robust laws that force all companies to adopt humane methods to bring their products to market," says Brandi Halls, North American campaign manager for LUSH.


Did you catch the aging #10yearchallenge on Facebook and other social media outlets? If not, you can learn more about it in this article. It's fun to see how we've aged over a decade. But wouldn't it also be neat to see what things we learned in ten years?
It's all the things you've garnered that can't be captured on film. Instead of how many wrinkles or white hair we've earned, what if we catalogued the items that can't be picked up in a photograph, things like wisdom, and greater self-acceptance?
If you haven't gotten there yet. It's not too late.
Our posts this week offer practices you can adopt now. Who knows? In ten years, it could be one of your favorite accomplishments.
(Pet Ways to Ease Stress) – It's the three ways catfishing can destroy your life and what you can do to stop it.
(Narcissism Meets Normalcy) – Your weirdness may actually be a sign you were raised by narcissists.
(Weightless) – Self-care isn't only for those who completely love themselves. If you want to begin treating yourself with kindness, you can start here.
(Happily Imperfect) – If you're afraid of conflict, feel anxious a lot and can't tolerate when others are upset, you could struggle with people-pleasing. Here's what you can do to reduce it.
(Crafting to Heal) – Want to adopt a slow movement into your life? If you want to support your local community, adopt an eco-conscious lifestyle and enjoy its relaxation and meditative benefits, the slow yarn movement may be for you.


Each spring, Citizens Project Hosts the Citizens' Religious Freedom Institute, a seminar on how the First Amendment to the US Constitution protects religious freedom in public schools. For teachers, students, parents, administrators, staff, school board members, and the public.
In-service credit for teachers is available. Textbook and supplemental materials are provided to all participants.
To receive information about the Citizens' Religious Freedom Institute, join our email list for Citizens Project eNews, email Deb Walker or call us at (719) 520-9899.
Check back for the 2017 Citizens' Religious Freedom Institute date.


× This incredible live show celebrates the rich history of Ireland and the art of Irish dance, from the disciplined Celtic Step to the sensual, ancient Sean Nos dance style.
"Rhythm of the Dance" creates a new era in Irish entertainment, presenting world champion dancers, a traditional Irish band, and the handsome Young Irish Tenors. Internationally rated as one of the most popular and successful Irish Step Dance shows on tour, by critics, audiences, and millions of fans around the world.
Attila Glatz Concert Productions (USA) Inc. is proud to be the sole 2017 promoter of Rhythm of the Dance in Canada and NE USA. This dance and music extravaganza contains a wealth of Irish talent and features members of The National Dance Company of Ireland. The show is an inspiring epic, reliving the journey of the Irish Celts throughout history. Using modern art forms of dance and music, this richly costumed show marries the contemporary and the ancient. Combining traditional dance and music with the most up to date stage technology, the show is a thousand year old story executed with all the advantages of the modern day stage show. Rhythm of the Dance has heralded a new era in Irish entertainment, internationally rated as one of the most popular and busiest Irish step dance shows in the world.


text:
Q: Typescript and GraphQL mismatch types between graphql response and typescript type I am using typescript, react-apollo and AWS Appsync for a react app I am building, but running into typescript warnings which I'm not sure where I am going wrong.
I have a graphql schema that looks like -
schema {
    query: Query
}

type Query {
    events: [Event]
}

type Event {
   ...
}

I am using useQuery to return all events, like -
const {
   loading: eventsListLoading,
   error: eventsListError,
   data: eventsListData
} = useQuery(EVENTS_LIST_HOME);

EVENTS_LIST_HOME comes from -
export const EVENTS_LIST_HOME = gql`
    query eventsListHome{
        events {
            title
        }
    }
`;

and I am trying to render the items like -

   {
      eventsListData.events.map((event: IEvent) => (

             {event.title}

      ))
   }

where I have a typescript interface IEvent
export default interface IEvent {
    title: string;
}

but I am getting the error -

I have tried renaming the typescript type to Event instead of IEvent and adding the other args, index and array, even though they are not used, but same error
What am I missing? How do I use the grapghql type of Event in typescript?

A: You should use apollo codegen to generate TypeScript types for the types declared in your graphql schema - https://github.com/apollographql/apollo-tooling#apollo-clientcodegen-output.
It looks like there is a type mismatch between Event and IEvent. Can't say much without seeing the definition of Event.
Using the types generated by apollo codegen should fix the type errors.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Karen Samski is a writer and performer. Diagnosed with dermatomyositis in 2008, she learned about The Myositis Association from a fellow playwright and became a member. She became the group co-leader for the Los Angeles area support group in 2013, and leader in 2014. Karen's greatest accomplishment since being diagnosed is becoming a certified Kundalini yoga teacher in 2014. She lives with her husband and their cat in Southern California.


text:
Hypertension-associated hospitalizations and costs in the United States, 1979–2006
Blood Press. 23(2):126-133.
WANG, GUIJING	; FANG, JING	; AYALA, CARMA	;
WANG, GUIJING	; FANG, JING	; AYALA, CARMA	Less ▲
Economic Cost
Background and objective
In the USA, the prevalence of hypertension has been high and increasing in recent decades. Even so, little is known about the changes over time in hospitalizations and the economic burden associated with this epidemic. We examined hypertension-associated hospitalizations and costs from 1979 to 2006.
Using the National Hospital Discharge Survey and the costs of community hospitals in the USA, we analyzed the changes in hypertension-associated hospitalizations and costs over time. We included those hospitalizations with a primary or secondary diagnosis of hypertension among patients aged 25 years and above. We examined changes in costs by adjusting them into year 2008 dollars. The costs included hospital expenses of payroll, employee benefits, professional fees and supplies.
From 1979–1982 to 2003–2006, the proportion of hospitalizations that were associated with hypertension (primary or secondary diagnosis) increased from 1.9% to 5.4%. Among all hypertension-associated hospitalizations, the proportion with a secondary diagnosis of hypertension increased from 81.8% to 95.1%. In 2008 dollars, annual costs for hypertension-related hospitalizations increased from US$ 40 billion (5.1% of total hospital costs) during 1979–1982 to US$ 113 billion (15.1% of total hospital costs) during 2003–2006.
Both the proportions of hospitalizations that were associated with hypertension and the adjusted annual costs of such hospitalizations nearly tripled over the past 28 years. The increases were in substantial measure due to the greatly increasing proportion of hospitalizations in which hypertension was listed as a secondary diagnosis. Interventions for the management of hypertension as a secondary diagnosis might be potentially cost-effective.
GBW9/Intramural CDC HHS/United States
urn:sha256:aaed5ea416826f2579e7f016800d275e8e9f66a224cd6bc0c641fb7d052a7a5c
Selected articles using National Hospital Discharge Survey (NHDS) or National Survey of Ambulatory Surgery (NSAS) data
National Center for Health Statistics (U.S.). Division of Health Care Statistics. Hospital Care Statistics Branch.
Challenges of Ascertaining National Trends in the Incidence of Coronary Heart Disease in the United States
Ford, Earl S.; Roger, Véronique L.; Dunlay, Shannon M.; Go, Alan S.; Rosamond, Wayne D.;
J Am Heart Assoc. 2014; 3(6).
MMWR. Morbidity and mortality weekly report, Vol. 38, no. 16, April 28, 1989
A strategic plan for the elimination of tuberculosis in the United States. -- Smoking-attributable mortality, morbidity, and economic costs--California, 1985. -- Hospitalization rates for ischemic heart disease--United States, 1970-1986. -- Fourth Na...
Heart Disease and Stroke Statistics—2012 Update
Roger, Véronique L.; Go, Alan S.; Lloyd-Jones, Donald M.; Benjamin, Emelia J.; Berry, Jarett D.; Borden, William B.; Bravata, Dawn M.; Dai, Shifan; Ford, Earl S.; Fox, Caroline S.; Fullerton, Heather J.; Gillespie, Cathleen; Hailpern, Susan M.; Heit, John A.; Howard, Virginia J.; Kissela, Brett M.; Kittner, Steven J.; Lackland, Daniel T.; Lichtman, Judith H.; Lisabeth, Lynda D.; Makuc, Diane M.; Marcus, Gregory M.; Marelli, Ariane; Matchar, David B.; Moy, Claudia S.; Mozaffarian, Dariush; Mussolino, Michael E.; Nichol, Graham; Paynter, Nina P.; Soliman, Elsayed Z.; Sorlie, Paul D.; Sotoodehnia, Nona; Turan, Tanya N.; Virani, Salim S.; Wong, Nathan D.; Woo, Daniel; Turner, Melanie B.;
WRITING GROUP MEMBERS
Circulation. 2011; 125(1):e2-e220
[PDF - 11.28 MB]
Cirrhosis hospitalization and mortality trends, 1970-87.
Noble, J A; Caces, M F; Steffens, R A; Stinson, F S;
Public Health Rep. 108(2):192-197
The decline in cirrhosis mortality in recent years in light of increases in cirrhosis morbidity, as reflected in hospital discharge data, is examined. Although there does not appear to be a single explanation for the decline in mortality, it is sugge...


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Biodegradable Oil withstands extreme temperatures.


text:
Better latte than never!
The new Costa in Ely
COSTA opened a new store in Ely on Monday - but the coffee giant has been warned it may face closure unless an important planning issue is resolved. The chain, owned by Whitbread, opened an Ely branch after a swift re-fit that saw ladies clothes store
COSTA opened a new store in Ely on Monday - but the coffee giant has been warned it may face closure unless an important planning issue is resolved.
The chain, owned by Whitbread, opened an Ely branch after a swift re-fit that saw ladies' clothes store QS converted into a coffee shop.
But planning officers at East Cambridgeshire District Council have said Costa did not make the appropriate change of use application to the district council - an application that is required because food will be served on the premises.
Trevor Eagle at the council's planning department said: "Our opinion is that a change of use is required and we've contacted Costa, advising them that they are operating in breach of planning law.
"We have invited a retrospective application."
He said if the organisation does not make the application then officers would need to consider whether the change of use is 'inappropriate'.
"If it is," he said, "then we could compel them to cease trading."
Planning officers will also consider what the outcome would have been if the proper application had been made. If it is decided that that the application would have been approved, then the council will not take action.
The Ely Traders' Association, which represents independently-owned shops in the city, has commended the district council for monitoring the situation, but its chairman, Elaine Griffin-Singh said she is concerned that "corporate muscle" allows chain outlets to "get their own way" in small towns.
"What is good for the goose should be good for the gander," she said.
"We feel that chains have clout and resources that independent traders cannot compete with - only a chain could carry out that kind of re-fit without the appropriate planning permission."
The arrival of Costa has also inflamed the long-standing issue of the county council decision to strip city traders of their 'A' board advertising earlier this year.
"The county council came down very hard on small shops, loading one of independent traders' only means of advertising into a truck to be taken to landfill - yet Costa is allowed to promote its business with the same 'A' boards.
"I would hope the council takes the same action with Costa that was taken with small businesses."
A spokesman for Costa said: "The council has requested further information about our planning agreement, which we have provided.
"If additional action to our existing planning agreement is required, we will take the appropriate action.


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NFL Week 8 Sit/Start Report
Matt Ryan got roughed up by the Ravens - Now he gets the Lions
1. QB Matt Ryan, ATL:
Atlanta's Matt Ryan has managed only 3 touchdowns over the course of his last three games and things will not get any better with a visit from a punishing Lions pass defense. Ryan has been held in check by the Giants, Bears and Ravens and there's no reason to believe he can turn things around against Detroit's top rated defense. The Lions have been beating down quarterbacks all season long and the Falcons do NOT have an offensive line healthy enough to keep Ryan from getting his head handed to him. Get Ryan out of your lineups now, because the Falcons and Lions kick off at 9:30am EST on Sunday in jolly old England.
2. WR Alshon Jeffery, CHI:
Jeffery has a difficult match up ahead of him, as he will have to deal with the Patriots stout pass defense on Sunday. He will most likely be followed by elite cornerbacks Darrelle Revis and Brandon Browner, which should cause him to have a long day. As a unit, New England surrenders ONLY 208 passing yards per contest. Jeffery failed to make too much an impact last week as he was only able to put up a line of 2-9-0, while receiving 7 targets from quarterback Jay Cutler. Go with a better option if you can find one as Jeffery is likely to put up only middle of the pack WR3 numbers.
1. WR Torrey Smith, BAL:
Torrey Smith has started to produce at a much higher level as of late, and expect him to keep the ball rolling in Baltimore's Week 8 contest with Cincinnati. Over the last two weeks, Smith as gone off for 7-132-3, and he should have no trouble torching the Bengals again this week. The Bengals rank 27th in the league allowing 270.3 yards per game, leaving Torrey Smith and the rest of the receiving corps the opportunity to have a field day. Head Coach John Harbaugh stated that they were going to make an effort to get Smith more involved in the passing game about two and a half weeks ago, and that's what has happened. Smith can be used as a solid WR2 at Cincinnati.
2. RB Tre Mason, STL:
Running back Tre Mason has taken over the Rams backfield, and all signs point toward him getting the most touches from here on out. The rookie out of Auburn is coming off a solid 18-85-1 performance against an impressive Seahawks defense. This week, the Rams face off against a Chiefs defense that does very well against the pass, but struggles with the run. They rank 18th in giving up 117.7 rushing yards per game, and Mason should be able to put together a second straight impressive performance. Mason is a good fantasy football start option and can comfortably be used as an RB2 in standard fantasy formats.
For the latest fantasy sit start info, tune into ASL!


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https://www.phonescoop.com/articles/article.php?a=21553
Google Wins Permission for Gesture Sensing Using RADAR
Jan 2, 2019, 9:12 AM by Rich Brome @rbrome
The FCC this week granted Google permission to deploy its experimental Project Soli sensors in mobile devices in the U.S.. The unique sensors use a form of RADAR technology to detect specific hand gestures in mid-air, and can be placed in devices such as phones and smartwatches. The sensors are designed to detect gestures such as a finger pinch and turning an invisible knob. The technology also has many potential uses in accessibility. A Soli sensor emits low-power radio waves in the 57-64 GHz frequency band and detects interruptions in that field to create a 3D map of hands or other objects in its field of view. That same frequency band is used by satellites that monitor the earth and its atmosphere, as well as radio telescopes. Facebook had argued to the FCC that Soli sensors at Google's requested power levels could interfere with those existing services. The FCC ruled in favor of Google, including allowing the use of Soli sensors on airplanes.
Engadget »
OnePlus 8 Pro Sports 30W Wireless Charging, Dual 48 MP Cameras, 5G
OnePlus has revealed its new lineup for 2020 — the OnePlus 8 and OnePlus 8 Pro — both of which have 5G. They also manage to pack larger batteries into slightly thinner bodies compared to their predecessors.


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Tristan Thompson struggled mightily his last time out and faces a tough Boston frontcourt on Friday. Who else are we avoiding in DFS?
After a strong run of fantasy performances -- four games with at least 32.0 FanDuel points -- Tristan Thompson flopped hard against the Oklahoma City Thunder on Wednesday.
Thompson saw extensive run, playing 35.0 minutes, but was not able to muster anything more than 4 points, 2 rebounds, 2 assists, and 1 steal. He finished with a season-low 9.4 FanDuel points as he was dominated inside by Steven Adams. With the Boston Celtics on the docket for Friday, expect another dismal performance for the Cleveland Cavaliers' big man.
Boston owns the second-best defensive rating in the league and holds opponents to just 104.3 points per game. Their stingy D combined with the Cavs sluggish pace (28th) leave Cleveland with a horrific implied point total of 97.75 on Friday. The lack of points combined with the C's dominance over opposing centers -- 0.99 FanDuel points allowed per minute, the second lowest-rate -- will leave Thompson out of our lineups on Friday.
Just like Thompson, Harrison Barnes is coming off a terrible performance on Wednesday. Despite a Dallas Mavericks win over the Houston Rockets, Barnes struggled to get going, shooting 5-for-14 from the floor. He finished with 13 points, 3 rebounds, and 1 assist for 17.1 FanDuel points in 29.3 minutes. The bad shooting night was not an anomaly either as just two games prior, Barnes went 3-for-14 (1-for-7 from three) for 10 real-world points and 11.7 FanDuel points against Memphis . Facing LeBron James and the Los Angeles Lakers on Friday, another off night appears to be on the horizon for Barnes.
Over their last 10 games, the Lakers own a top-five defensive rating in the NBA and are holding opponents 42.5% shooting from the floor, the second-lowest rate in the league. Add on the harassing defense of James, which has held opposing small forward to just 0.79 FanDuel points per minute (fouth-lowest in the league), and Barnes should not be in consideration on Friday.
Like most rookies, Wendell Carter Jr. is currently going through some growing pains as he adjusts to the speed of the NBA game. In his last six games, the Chicago Bulls' big man has failed to surpass 24.0 FanDuel points in a game. Since November 17, Carter is averaging just 9.0 points and 5.8 rebounds in 22.7 minutes per game. That comes out to only 20.8 FanDuel points per night. Facing rebound machine Andre Drummond and the Detroit Pistons on Friday -- who held Carter to just 15.9 FanDuel points back on October 20 -- don't expect much from the rookie.
Over their last five games, the Pistons have dominated the boards. They rank fourth in the NBA with a 53.0% rebound percentage while limiting opponents to just 41.6 rebounds per game, the third lowest total in the league. With a top-12 defensive rating and a pace of play that ranks in the bottom of the league, the Pistons are expected to hold the Bulls down offensively on Friday. Chicago caries an implied point total of just 103.8.


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Inrideus
– THE SPEAKER
I know I've talked to you a bit about Alaska—at any rate, about the four months that I'd spent fishing, as planned. There were more than enough odd little occurrences in that experience to satisfy most of my friends, and I'm sure I could've left the rest unsaid without too many questions asked. But it bears telling. My work season was actually cut short by about six weeks; and it was in the time I spent onshore after that, that the real story happened.
I'd met up with the guys I shipped with, pretty much by word of mouth. Beyond what I was told I needed to know in order to sign on, I hadn't been too well acquainted with the captain or crew, or even the job, before we set out; but I hear that's pretty normal for it. Anyway, not being spoken badly of is enough of a recommendation for some boats, and I think this was pretty clearly one of those. For the better part of the summer we'd been docking in a little town called Mumm, just outside of Sitka—a place probably best described by saying that it really merited no description whatsoever. The work was exhausting, and dangerous: hauling in and letting out long lines of big, nasty hooks, any one of which could easily "catch"—a nice way of saying "go through your hand or thigh-muscle entirely"—and drag you off the side. If nobody noticed you going over, the weight of the line could have you a hundred feet below the surface before anyone was able to pull you up—plenty long enough for a man to bid his ass goodbye. As with any industrial job, the opportunities for injury were everywhere there was carelessness; so it was good that our boat's capacity for fish and fuel kept our trips fairly short. Our longer trips out only went about four or five days, generally speaking, which was just enough to make the time away bearable for us, not to mention the time on land.
We were on one of these longer trips, and just finishing up for the day, when we were interrupted by some bad news. It was actually pretty dramatic, the way it came to us. It had been pretty stormy all day, and for one reason or another the radios weren't working right, so another boat had to "speak" us in the old-fashioned way, coming up alongside us with flags and a bullhorn. It was almost dark out already, and I remember someone saying when we saw the boat coming on, that if we knew what was best for us, we'd just plug our ears and look the other way, because whatever they had to tell us couldn't be good. I'd laughed, though inwardly I couldn't help agreeing. There was something in the faces of the other crew, as calm as they were, that seemed to foretell disaster, the way they say things do sometimes.
And the news bore that out. It was about our captain's mother. From what I heard later, it must have been sudden—some sort of stroke or attack, as the talk went. Strange thing was, you never would've known it from the captain's reaction. From how he'd spoken of her before, he was no distant son; but if the other crew had seemed impassive in how they'd brought him the news, he more than followed suit in how he took it. Honestly, I'd never heard of anything like it. There's a lot to be said for acceptance, but this was another story. It was like the two sides were playing parts they'd rehearsed long in advance: theirs to tell him, and his to hear.
Anyway, he got us all together right away, afterward—a man of few words, our captain—and told us he was sorry, but he was going to have to call off the rest of the season. Among working men, news like that always tends to make other talk light and superfluous; and this was no exception. Fishermen aren't heartless, but not a lot of them are too sentimental, either; and some of the crew were pretty put out by the captain's decision. Put out is putting it lightly; they were spitting mad. But spitting's about as far as it went. No one spoke a word of protest, either to him or otherwise. Respect had a hand in it; but I think it was something in the way he'd put it to us, that really predisposed us to accept his decision as final. He was a native—Aleut, I remember someone speculating—and we may also have assumed there were traditional obligations he was called on to uphold, which there was no gainsaying.
That said, it was a big change, and we scrambled to deal with it. A couple of the savvier men among us were quick (and lucky) enough to call places on other boats, and went right back out as soon as we'd put in. A few rang up their friends in Sitka, and presumably sat out the rest of the season gossiping with them. The man I'd been staying with in Mumm just up and disappeared, without a word where he was going. As for me, it'd been my first season, and a busy one so far. I'd made a good amount of money, but I hadn't had time to make any real friends in Sitka, and I didn't have the experience to command a place elsewhere, even if I'd been shrewd enough to try. But the Alaskan summer being everything they say it is, and more,—the warm and windy days, the nights unearthly quiet—I guess I felt too enamored with it to leave just yet. You might say I had a romantic impulse, or had just talked myself into the idea of an adventure I was sure I hadn't had yet. But whatever it was, the idea of returning home without another good story to show for my time away didn't sit well with me, and in the end I'd decided to stay—that is, if I decided anything at all. I ask myself, now, if I really had any say in the matter; but at the time I wouldn't have doubted it.
I was certainly given plenty of discouragement, if not alternatives, by most of my shipmates. What did I want to stay there for? was the first question; and let me tell you, they were able to produce quite an interesting catalogue of reasons I shouldn't. I was more than once reminded, for instance, that there was only one bar in Mumm, and hardly a whore with enough teeth to pronounce your name properly. Considerate gentlemen, my shipmates, and compelling reasoners at that! But seeing that I wasn't persuaded by such arguments, my companions soon adopted a different rhetorical tactic.
At first the warnings were commonplace enough—the people in Mumm were reclusive, and didn't speak well of outsiders; the law was lax where it ought to be strict, and vice versa, as is often the case in small towns. But gradually, as these reasons too fell on deaf ears, the men began to suggest trouble of a more difficult nature to define. Regarding native customs, it was said of some towns that the Alaskan government, in accordance with certain old and unspoken agreements, left them more or less to their own devices: admittedly a forward-thinking policy in many respects; but then some traditions, the men hinted in their rough way, were perhaps better silenced in the interest of the common discourse. You can believe this got my attention.
What these unspeakable traditions might be, however, I was at a loss how to drag out of my fishermen cohorts; who, as though conscious of having spoken out of character in delivering even so vague a warning, now employed all the storied gruffness of their profession to keep anything further from being said on the subject. It's a fact worth mentioning, that though it was mostly in concluding our business with the captain that we all had occasion to speak together in those last days, these discussions of strange traditions and so forth were never held within earshot of him; from which I surmised, against my own understanding, that the traditions of his own tribe must be among the ones spoken of. But that, as it turned out, doesn't bear much on my story.
The point is, the adventurous voice had already spoken in me, and while I wasn't about to question the warnings of my surly friends, inwardly I was quick to take them in a spirit more or less opposed to the one intended. I'd made enough money to live out the season without working, and answer to no master but my own inclination; and besides, having seen no shortage of boats in and out of the little port since we'd arrived there, I knew that if it really came to it I could be on the first one home. So I stayed.
My friends I fobbed off with some small talk or other; and seemingly in the time it takes to tell you about it, I had found a cheap room in a boarding-house. I know that's a word we don't use much anymore, "boarding-house"; but it was the right one for this place: a tidy little clapboard thing, one of a row more or less comparable to it, on what might be called the edge of town, if the town could have been so clearly defined. None of the other rooms in the place were spoken for; and maybe that fact should have made a case louder and clearer against it than any the others had already made with me. But the terms were really reasonable, even by Alaskan standards, for such a well-kept house; and there was a very commendable, if partial, sea-view out behind it.
Besides which, the landlord of the place—the person I talked with more than anyone else while I was there—proved very quickly to be nothing like what I'd heard about Mumm's native dwellers; and that was enough to finally discredit a story I'd already taken with a grain of salt. I can't say I found him reclusive, or even unsociable, at all; if anything, he was garrulous to the point of being a bit opaque, as often seems to be true of natural talkers. To hear him you'd think he'd been everywhere, and done everything; and amid the flurry of gossip and reminiscences it was sometimes hard to get a sense of who the man really was. Still, he was a good-natured, hospitable person, and this is something I would honestly say for just about everyone I met in Mumm. American foreigners sometimes remark a sort of insular hostility toward them on the part of the Alaskan natives; especially white Americans, who seem to talk each other into such an expectation of it, that they're practically ready to describe the experience before it's happened. But perhaps it's more of an issue in the bigger towns, or places more tourists congregate; certainly I didn't notice anything like that while I was in Mumm. The worst I could have said initially about the people there—that they weren't always so eager to talk about themselves—was something I usually chalked up rather to a lack of proficiency in my language, than to anything they did or didn't want to say in it.
Not that I was ever particularly able to make heads or tails of their talk, either. The languages of the "Eskimos"—as one can still call them in Alaska, without invoking disaster—these languages are a very strange, complex thing for a foreigner to learn. One wonders how even native speakers ever manage to learn them; it seems as though one would have to be at least partly fluent already, in order to learn anything at all. But I suppose you could say that about any language; and to people who speak any of the Eskimo tongues, I understand they're really not all that mystifying. The common rumor, for instance, that they have a hundred words for snow or ice, is not quite right; in fact, their one word for it is only made to seem like a hundred, by the circumstance that, in their language (as in, say, German), long and complex phrases are often spoken as single words, and so become near-impossible for the non-native speaker to hear in their separate parts.
That being said, that there are words in their language which defy translation, and denote concepts as strange to the foreigner's mind as the words themselves are to his ears, is perfectly true of the Alaskan natives, as it is of anyone. The sound a catch of fish makes when it's dragged behind a dogsled; the strange behavior of a child, when he encounters someone he doesn't know; the act of turning pale with fright; the loss of one's ability to hear birds—all these are traditional expressions in the language of the Alaskan. He even has a word for himself, as addressed by the non-human things of the world. But I'll spare you my attempts at pronunciation. Suffice to say that language was as much a barrier for me there, as it is for everyone everywhere; and that my efforts at crossing it had very few results to speak of.
Nor, I might add, did I have the best of teachers in my landlord, who in his hilarity far preferred my mispronunciations to my progress. To him it was all a good yarn; and under his careful tutelage I was kept in a state of stumble-tongued ignorance that would have embarrassed a mute. This state of things I endured patiently for as long as I was able; but that, I admit, was not very long.
One day, remarking my silence, and reproaching me good-naturedly for neglecting our "Eskimo talks," my landlord gave me occasion to voice my complaints. When I had done so, he gave a broad laugh.
"Ah, typical qallunaaq," he said—qallunaaq being one of their words for a white person. "Always worried there's something you're not in on! What do you want to talk Eskimo for anyway, eh, whitey? You think the snow's doing something behind your back?"
I replied that I didn't much care what the snow was doing, but I preferred not to be talked about as a complete laughingstock around town.
"'Talked about'?" he said brightly, turning to face me. "You say that like it's unfair! How do you know that a laughingstock's not just what you are?"
The man had me there, I had to admit with a laugh.
"Aha—and there you have it," he said. "You start talking Eskimo, you'll just be a little worse at being the laughingstock that nature made you. And besides, people like a laughingstock, you know; it's harder to like someone you understand. Take Mrs. Ikka, down the way: don't you think she likes you a whole lot better than that sad-sack doctor she saw in Sitka the other day? He can speak Eskimo fine, and all he had to tell her, is that she's dying!"
Well, here was an example of the old Eskimo bluntness; and I'm sure my face showed my dismay. Mrs. Ikka lived in one of the row-houses close by, had always smiled very kindly at the laughingstock as he'd passed, and had even insisted on speaking to him a few times, despite his complete lack of understanding. How long had the doctor given her, I asked?
"Oh, he says it'll be any day now, any minute. As if he can talk!" The landlord's brow furrowed. "Well," he added, as though to correct himself, "he could be right, of course; they do say it happens to everyone, don't they? I suppose it'll even happen to me someday; though not for a while yet—I have a feeling."
I said I hoped that was the case, for both him and Mrs. Ikka.
"Hope! Hope is for children," he said, waving me off. "Better to know; or at least talk like you do," he added; and with a strange little smiling gesture he disappeared abruptly back inside.
Now, this conversation must have taken place about three weeks into the six I spent at Mumm. I recall the fact with some confidence, because it was about that time that I started to notice something a little strange going on next door.
I think I mentioned before that my boarding-house was one of five similar two-story houses, lined up in a funny little group a short ways off from the rest of town. These were all built on an embankment that ran along the water's edge behind them, to which the town road ran roughly parallel in front, so there was really only one way for me to approach them on my way home. The first house belonged to the aforenamed Mrs. Ikka, who lived there alone; the second, to a middle-aged couple I never heard speak to anyone but each other; the third, to a man called "Jones," who was apparently an old friend of my landlord's; and fourth was our boarding-house—all of which, being mostly wooden, and built long ago on an embankment that had since changed its opinion of the water behind it, had warped and tilted a fair amount; until, to someone approaching them from a little distance up the town road, they looked like an irregular little group of gossips, each leaning in to get the last word of his neighbor.
Excluded from this spirited conversation, so to speak, was the fifth house. This seemed to belong to no one, or at least had been empty for as long as anyone could recall. I often had the impression that it was on account of its being so tightly shut up that it hadn't sagged and leaned as the others did, for in every other respect of its construction it seemed to be the same. Yet under the circumstances, the fact that it didn't lean and sag only made it look somehow crazier and more suspect than the others—as is often the case, I suppose, with people. It wasn't any farther away from my boarding-house than the building was on the other side, but its rigid uprightness next to the warped foundations of the other buildings made its boundaries much clearer, and gave it the appearance of a stern, reproachful person, a hard-faced minister or judge perhaps, from whom others shrink away instinctively.
In any event, the place had interested me from the beginning. I had been foolish enough to express that interest to my landlord at some point; to which, as always, he'd been ready with his response.
"Of course you're interested—there's nothing there," he'd said, his face slacking in mock exasperation. "It's an old saying of mine that I used to tell the guests here, when they got inquisitive: 'There's nowhere a cat would rather be than a room he's been shut out of, and nothing a white person likes better than a broken-down old igluvigaq.'"
But it didn't look so broken-down to me, I'd protested; and anyway, what was an igluvigaq?
"Well, you know what an iglu is, don't you?" he'd laughed. "A house like that is the same thing, just a little bigger, and a lot harder to warm up. Whoever owns it is probably just waiting for this town to become worth a damn, so he can sell it off. Hope he's not holding his breath for that! Anyway, it's not bad for business, since people say it makes my place look safer; but if you ask me, the row ends here. Nobody ever goes to that place."
I didn't say anything in response to this, but at the time I'd thought to myself that it was a pretty strange thing for my landlord to tell me. I wondered if he really believed it himself. It had been pretty early in my stay that I'd realized just how many people did go there; and truth be told, for an abandoned house it seemed to be a very popular spot. I never saw anyone visit twice, but there was no shortage of newcomers; nor was it only the usual crowd of teenagers and layabouts that one might have expected to see hanging around such a place. Admittedly, the visitors were all natives, as far as I could tell; but aside from that, they seemed to be of all callings. Most of them, too, were people I'd never seen around town before—which, in a town the size of Mumm, is newsworthy in itself. But the really remarkable thing was, none of them ever went inside the old house, or even tried to. Apparently the visits had some other purpose. One of my side windows gave me a pretty good view of its porch, and part of the front door; and I got to observe what I came to call "the ritual" more than a few times in its entirety.
The visitor would climb up the porch stairs, usually alone, usually around sundown or after—though I think this was mostly for convenience' sake, as I also saw it happen earlier in the day. He would stroll right up to the front door, rarely with any hesitation, and give it one or two good knocks, often loud enough for me to hear next door. Then he would crouch in front of the door, and press his ear up tightly against it; and in this posture he would remain, sometimes for a few minutes, but never much more than that. Invariably it was the left ear the visitor used to listen with, and since this turned his face away from me, I was never able to see with what expression he listened.
I should say that this last detail was the thing that came to unsettle me most about the whole business. I felt that if I could only see an attitude of curiosity, or surprise, or hilarity, in the carrying-out of this strange little performance, that I'd be persuaded of its insignificance—a mere attraction for native tourists, a sort of small-town Alaskan Blarney Stone. But I could never glimpse these listening faces at all; and something told me that if I could, it wouldn't be curiosity, or surprise, or hilarity that I'd see there. Certainly it was with none of these expressions that these visitors to the old house finally departed; though what exactly to call the look most of them did have, I'm sure I couldn't say. I don't believe I've seen that particular look anywhere else.
About nightfall, a day or two after the landlord had told me about poor Mrs. Ikka, I was on my way back from a trip into town when I saw the very same old lady's little figure hobbling along the road ahead of me.
She was assisted by a girl of about seven from town, whom I'd seen with her before; no doubt some young relative of hers. At first I thought I might overtake them and say hello, but as I began to quicken my pace I realized that they were moving much faster than I'd anticipated. The old woman especially had a look of grim determination about her, and seemed to be pulling her young friend along, about as much as she was leaning on her for support. When I came within hailing distance of them, I noticed that they were reciting or chanting something together, quietly, the old woman with an almost disturbing intensity. They looked strangely focused, as though only they and their little chant existed in the whole world.
Well, naturally enough, I felt I shouldn't interrupt them; and being that we were going the same way, to avoid seeming antisocial I hung back a little to follow them at a distance. Mrs. Ikka's house was the first on our row, as I mentioned earlier; so I figured I'd have a chance to wish the pair a good night when I passed them there. I was more than a little surprised when, instead of turning up the path to her own porch, Mrs. Ikka and her young friend continued chanting right on past it. In turn they passed each of the other houses, and I realized with growing intrigue that they were heading for the last one. Well, this was an interesting development, to say the least; and when they had passed my boarding-house I was as quick as I could be in getting up to my window to watch them.
Mrs. Ikka had just knocked when I looked out. She and the girl had stopped their chanting. She stood back very deliberately, watching the door, and now I saw a variation in the ritual as not she but the girl crouched, very obediently, with her left ear to it. It came back to me then, with a feeling I can't call entirely comfortable, that the old woman was hard of hearing.
Soon, very abruptly, the girl began to speak. I couldn't make out the words but could just hear her voice, which came in soft and halting tones, as though she were repeating something carefully as it was told her through the door. Mrs. Ikka stood silently listening, and the thought occurred to me that I finally had the chance to see the expression of the listener, if only at a remove. But no—her face remained a mask of concentration: eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, as still and unintelligible as a salmon's. She might have been listening to a court sentence or the weather report.
Before long, the ritual was done. The girl stood hesitantly, and for a long moment she and the old woman regarded one another meaningfully. Finally, as if on cue, the tension dissolved into relief: the girl ran to Mrs. Ikka in a flood of wordless emotion; and Mrs. Ikka clasped her tightly, her stony expression breaking into the same broad and kindly smile I'd seen there so many times before. Only then, as unisonant in their silence as before they'd been in song, did the two turn, arm-in-arm, to step falteringly from the porch. A high laugh arose, from which of them I couldn't tell; and in a moment, both were gone.
Needless to say, this incident brought my interest in the old house to a new high. Also needless to say, my landlord had nothing to tell me about it.
"She's probably just playing with her granddaughter," he said dismissively, when I asked him about it a day or two later. "She's in good spirits these days, you know. That Sitka doctor called her and took back his diagnosis—turns out he'd spoken too soon. Just like a qallunaaq, too—always quick to conclusions, when it's more sensible just to wait and see!"
Well, glad as I was to hear Mrs. Ikka was all right, this account of her visit next door hardly satisfied me. I began to ask around, as subtly as I could, about the place; and while I can't say the people I spoke to were any more overtly reticent with me than they'd been previously, I did feel, for the first time, as though I were being "ever so politely" snubbed. My questions met with brief, vacuous answers, when they met with answers at all; and most times, they didn't even meet with that much. Yet this didn't stop me from drawing my own conclusions about it, as members of my race are evidently disposed to do.
The word universally used for the house was the same my landlord had used, igluvigaq; which, as someone more helpful than himself finally condescended to tell me, was a word that in modern times simply meant an iglu or house, but which had once had the more particular meaning of "a house with no one living in it." No one living in it! I began to think that, commonplace as it was, there was much concealed in that phrase. Even the translation seemed strangely significant: the house was not empty—it was inhabitedby no one. With these words, as though implicit in them, arose a notion still more abstract, but still more insistent to my imagination: that my first impression of the place had been wrong. Before, I would have said that the house was silent, and silently excluded from the society of the town to one side of it. Yet it was perhaps more to the point to say that the house was conversant with the open wilderness on the other. It was a conversation that fell silent in terms of human talk, but had nevertheless been going on continuously, possibly for a very long time; a conversation not given to man to interrupt, but only, on occasion, to put his ear to the door and overhear; as a child might be suffered to overhear the talk of his elders, of whose idioms and innuendoes he is reliably ignorant. But as the child sometimes feels, with an uneasy certainty, that the talk, at least in part, concerns himself and his destiny, so I felt; and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed this must be the case. I couldn't account for the force of my sudden conviction; but once it had taken hold, it nagged at my conscience like no other ever had. How else can I describe it? I begin to think all strong convictions are equally unaccountable—which must be why most people don't seem to hold them. But unusual as my conclusions were in this case, it wasn't long before they received a sort of confirmation.
This came in the form of an exchange I had with Euphemia, Mrs. Ikka's little granddaughter. I was starting into town one morning when I overtook her. She was just returning from an early visit with the old lady; and by way of joining her, I took occasion to ask after Mrs. Ikka's health.
"Oh, she's fine," said Euphemia, without a trace of mistrust. "She says she feels much better. The doctor was wrong," she added, "just like we knew he would be."
I was glad to hear it, I said. But how had they known?
"We heard," she said; then, after some thought, added, "Well, I heard; Anaatsiaq doesn't hear so well, so I had to tell her. It wasn't time, it said; that's in a few years, so she and I have lots of time to visit."
I admit my blood ran cold at this little speech, with its it said; but I tried to keep that out of my voice as I asked: What was it that had told her all this?
"You know—in the old house," she said, looking at me doubtfully. She stopped, and gestured for me to bend down. Looking around, as if to make sure no one else could hear her, she cupped her hands and whispered a strange and ugly-sounding word in my ear.
"It was that," she said. "Anaatsiaq and I went to hear it the other night."
She looked up at me, suddenly puzzled.
"Haven't you ever gone there?" she said.
I hadn't, I said, though I saw a lot of people doing it. How did it work?
"Oh, it's very simple," she said proudly, in the voice children use to educate foolish adults. "You don't even have to say anything. You just knock on the door and listen, with this side"—she indicated her left ear—"and then it comes around, and pretty soon you hear it talking."
And what did it say to her, I asked?
"Well, it didn't say anything to me," she admitted. "Anaatsiaq says it only speaks to the one who calls it, and she's the one who knocked this time. She says I'm not allowed to go until I'm a grown-up. But you could go," she added encouragingly.
Maybe I would, I said; but what sort of thing did it tell you?
"Only the one thing," she said, as if we both knew what she meant; and to tell you the truth, we did.
We'd reached town; Euphemia had to go. My head was full of questions, and I'm sure there were better ones to ask than the one I did, but I think I'd already decided to find out those answers for myself; so what I asked her was simply my last pressing concern—or the last pressing concern of the part of me that already believed.
I asked: Did anything bad happen to you, for asking?
Euphemia shrugged.
"You know," she said.
In the week that followed, no one came to listen at the old house. It was as though whatever was inside had heard me debating with myself next door, and warned off anyone who might influence my decision one way or the other. Of course, the decision was already made, or I'm sure I would never have made it the way I did. As it was, I needed the week to talk myself out of a strange, threatening belief in what I'd heard from those childish lips; a belief, in company with which, my curiosity wasn't satisfied with pretending to remain mere curiosity, but felt the need to disclaim against another, less comfortable feeling—as around those of our friends who know us best, we speak with a certain self-doubt, where we might otherwise plunge confidently into fibs and exaggerations. A new voice had spoken up from within me, and it was one I knew would not be easy to silence. Yet in a week, it had at least grown quiet enough to ignore. The dullness of my days,—the empty gregariousness of my landlord and others,—all contributed to a sense of everyday nihilism that couldn't but spread, even to cover the local curiosity I'd suddenly come to take so seriously. From there it was no great leap to wonder what there really was in it that had conduced to such a tradition; to entertain the tourist's petty horror, that one should leave a place without "experiencing" everything it's known for; and all the other incentives that invariably persuade otherwise sensible men not to leave well enough alone.
It was daylight when I finally went around—a concession, perhaps, to my former credulousness, though I can honestly say I didn't think of it at the time. I simply felt I had dallied and debated about it for long enough. The day was appropriately cold and clear for the occasion, and I met it impetuously, striding right up to the door as though it were my own. A cool breeze stopped me; I hesitated only a moment—listening, as I said to myself, for any sign of someone already inside. Then I put out my hand, knocked as firmly and frankly as I could, and knelt with my ear to the door as I had seen others do, however many times.
There was a silence, for I couldn't say how long. For how long: only that the odd thought came suddenly to me, that there was still time. But of course, there wasn't. The step was on the floorboards before I heard it, and in a moment I did hear it, winding through the empty house: heavy, soft, measured, as though it were feeling its way—the only way it had ever traveled.
I won't deny that in that instant I was terrified; more so, in fact, than I had ever been before. My heart cried out against my own incredible foolishness, and I would have run; but the sound froze me, and I was as powerless to move as I would have been to speak. I could hear it speaking already, as it moved itself up close to the other side. The voice was barely above a whisper, but shout-like in its intensity, like the voice we use when recalling a heated exchange to someone else after the fact. The words were quiet, but preternaturally clear, and succinct—for almost as soon as it had begun, the speaker finished, and retreated back into the depths of the old house with hardly another sound.
Soon I could move again; and rising, I walked back over to my boarding-house with the unsteady steps of a drunk. Thank God my landlord was away! I know I couldn't have dealt with talking to anyone just then; my ears still rang with the palpable weight of what had been said to me. Whatever had been said to me—for it was only when I was safely inside, and my door securely locked behind me, that I realized I had not understood any of it.
The words, clear and succinct as they were, had been not in English, but Eskimo.
Once the initial shock had worn off, hard reality reasserted itself; and I actually found myself laughing at the implications of my adventure. That an oracle should speak only one human tongue, was plainly ludicrous—a fatal flaw in the legend. It was a cruel trick on the natives—a trick that relied on the connection between their language and their superstitions. And yet I, too, had been taken in by it—had expected the speaker's message to be meaningful. More likely, the house was simply unowned, and tenanted by some enterprising local who'd discovered a neat way to keep the place to himself. Perhaps there was even a long-standing tradition of such charlatanry that had gone on undetected for years under the nose of superstition. There was doubtless a rule built into the performance that made it somehow taboo to speak of to others, thereby lending the whole thing a layer of inscrutability almost impossible to pierce.
Still, I was curious to know who the inhabitant of the house might be, not to mention what he might have come up with to say to me in particular. Could it be particular to each visitor? Nobody ever seemed to go twice—another built-in convenience to the legend. Would whoever it was speak the same sentence over again, if I came back—say, with a translator?
My landlord was unenthused by the idea.
"I told you, the place is empty," he insisted. "You're right, someone's just making a fool of you. And that's my job; I'm not going to help someone else do it by translating for them. Anyway"—and here his voice became ever so slightly more gentle—"say there was someone in there, telling people—that;—are you so sure you'd want to know?"
That all depended, I laughed, on what they had to tell me; which, of course, was why I needed a translator in the first place.
"Well, it won't be me," he answered simply.
Fair enough, I thought; there were plenty of other candidates around. But as it turned out, that wasn't quite the case. Charlatanry or no, the house's mystique was effective. The few people in Mumm I knew well enough to ask for help with it, either refused outright, or suddenly lost all confidence in their linguistic capabilities. Soon enough it seemed that no one in town could be persuaded to go anywhere near the place with me. It was either too unimportant to be bothered over, or too serious to trifle with, depending on whom I asked. Yet the satisfaction of my curiosity lay somewhere between these two, and the indifference of the locals was hard for me to bear.
Finally I got the chance I was waiting for. A boat came in one day, from one of the little native towns up north—Teller, I think it was, or some similarly tiny, middle-of-nowhere fishing village. They arrived late; and I happened to be alone at the bar, having just said goodnight to whomever I'd been drinking with, when a few of their crew came in. They were agreeable, talkative men, glad to be off their boat, and as a fellow visitor to Mumm with a line on the bartender, it wasn't too hard for me to strike up with them. To make a long story short, by the time we disbanded at the end of the night we were good friends; and having told them about the old row-house and its visitors, I was able to persuade one of them to come back with me and tell me what he could understand of what the speaker said.
It was well past dark when we started up the town-road. The road was deserted, but there was a bright moon out, and our drinks had us in good spirits for this sort of adventure. To be clear I should say that my friend was really pretty drunk, even for a fisherman, and I had quite a task keeping him quiet as we made our way along the row. Fortunately he wasn't the sort to bristle at being hushed. He said (as, in progressive stages of drunkenness, he'd already said a number of times that night) that he'd heard of something like my igluvigaq before, though never first-hand. I supposed it might have been the same place; he said he didn't think there were too many such things about.
Soon we had arrived; and I'll tell you, skeptic or no, I never saw a house look so much as though it had been waiting for me. The moonlight falling to one side of it left its porched front in deep shadow; and into this yawning blackness, I suddenly had the impression of all my curiosity about the place rushing from me. I was again describing "the ritual" to my drunken friend, and I realized that insensibly my voice had taken on a faraway seriousness, as if I were reciting something official for the thousandth time.
For his part, my friend was hardly in any shape to listen. Having endured the litany for a moment with a bemused expression, he cut me short.
"Unnerstood, fella," he said suddenly, with a wave of the hand. "I'll go first"—and before I could stop him, he'd banged twice sharply on the door, and was kneeling to it with a look of gleeful anticipation. I started to say something to him as he turned his ear to the door.
"Ssh," he whispered sharply, holding up his hand to silence me. "I hear someone." He smiled. "Sounds like he's coming around the back of the house; a big old guy, maybe, dragging his feet. I wonder if—"
He stopped abruptly, listening hard. I watched his face; all at once he'd seemed to sober up entirely.
Now I too could hear the muffled whispering through the door, each strange word so eerily enunciated. My friend listened with what seemed to be a growing astonishment, as the unknown speaker delivered its verdict. Suddenly his face was contorted by a grimace, as though he'd just suffered a deeply personal insult—yet one which he knew to be as true as it was cruel. In the attitude of one so insulted, and with hardly a stumble, he rose very quickly to his feet.
"What is this? What's this about?" he demanded of me; and his breaking voice seemed at once dangerous and terrified. He looked as though he couldn't tell whether it would be better to stand or run, but was inclining strongly toward the second.
Wait, I said, putting one hand on his arm; and with the other, before I knew entirely what I did, I reached out and rapped on the door.
We both stood motionless. The voice, which for a moment had gone silent, now started up again in its even cadence. Through the rushing in my ears I could hardly make out a word of what it said; but I knew beyond all doubt, as though I were face-to-face with the speaker itself, that now it spoke to me. Yet only my poor companion, his ear still close to the door, could be said to have understood its fatal message.
What was it? I almost shouted at him; for the speaker behind the door had ceased, and already I heard the heavy sound of footfalls back down its inscrutable path. Yet my voice seemed to recall the other man to himself. He looked once at me, in a way I'll never forget, and probably never decipher; and without another word he wrenched free of my grasp, and bolted from the porch in a panic. The rest seemed to be over before it had begun; it was indeed as though it were inexorable, as though it had been going that way from the beginning. One moment I heard him half cry out, and the next he was lying at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth working in the unintelligible speech of death. He would say no more than that; he'd broken his neck.
I called the sheriff's office right away to report the death, and was hurried on my way from Mumm shortly thereafter. It was fortunate for me—though in no way calculated to set my mind at ease about what my companion had heard said of me through the door—that no one seemed to find any reason to doubt my word, or even to ask for the whole story of what had transpired. My landlord himself saw me off with almost nary a word. I had to assume it was one of those cases where the locals enjoyed the privilege of being, as it had been said, "left to their own devices." I suppose I've gotten back to enjoying my own, after a fashion.


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text:
package proguard.obfuscate;

import proguard.classfile.*;
import proguard.classfile.util.*;
import proguard.classfile.visitor.MemberVisitor;

import java.util.Map;

/**
 * This MemberInfoVisitor solves obfuscation naming conflicts in all class
 * members that it visits. It avoids names from the given descriptor map,
 * delegating to the given obfuscator in order to get a new name if necessary.
 *
 * @author Eric Lafortune
 */
public class MemberNameConflictFixer implements MemberVisitor
{
    private final boolean          allowAggressiveOverloading;
    private final Map              descriptorMap;
    private final WarningPrinter   warningPrinter;
    private final MemberObfuscator memberObfuscator;

    /**
     * Creates a new MemberNameConflictFixer.
     * @param allowAggressiveOverloading a flag that specifies whether class
     *                                   members can be overloaded aggressively.
     * @param descriptorMap              the map of descriptors to
     *                                   [new name - old name] maps.
     * @param warningPrinter             an optional warning printer to which
     *                                   warnings about conflicting name
     *                                   mappings can be printed.
     * @param memberObfuscator           the obfuscator that can assign new
     *                                   names to members with conflicting
     *                                   names.
     */
    public MemberNameConflictFixer(boolean          allowAggressiveOverloading,
                                   Map              descriptorMap,
                                   WarningPrinter   warningPrinter,
                                   MemberObfuscator memberObfuscator)
    {
        this.allowAggressiveOverloading = allowAggressiveOverloading;
        this.descriptorMap              = descriptorMap;
        this.warningPrinter             = warningPrinter;
        this.memberObfuscator           = memberObfuscator;
    }

    // Implementations for MemberVisitor.

    public void visitProgramField(ProgramClass programClass, ProgramField programField)
    {
        visitMember(programClass, programField, true);
    }

    public void visitProgramMethod(ProgramClass programClass, ProgramMethod programMethod)
    {
        // Special cases: <clinit> and <init> are always kept unchanged.
        // We can ignore them here.
        String name = programMethod.getName(programClass);
        if (ClassUtil.isInitializer(name))
        {
            return;
        }

        visitMember(programClass, programMethod, false);
    }

    public void visitLibraryField(LibraryClass libraryClass, LibraryField libraryField) {}
    public void visitLibraryMethod(LibraryClass libraryClass, LibraryMethod libraryMethod) {}

    /**
     * Obfuscates the given class member.
     * @param clazz   the class  of the given member.
     * @param member  the class member to be obfuscated.
     * @param isField specifies whether the class member is a field.
     */
    private void visitMember(Clazz   clazz,
                             Member  member,
                             boolean isField)
    {
        // Get the member's name and descriptor.
        String name       = member.getName(clazz);
        String descriptor = member.getDescriptor(clazz);

        // Check whether we're allowed to overload aggressively.
        if (!allowAggressiveOverloading)
        {
            // Trim the return argument from the descriptor if not.
            // Works for fields and methods alike.
            descriptor = descriptor.substring(0, descriptor.indexOf(')')+1);
        }

        // Get the name map.
        Map nameMap = MemberObfuscator.retrieveNameMap(descriptorMap, descriptor);

        // Get the member's new name.
        String newName = MemberObfuscator.newMemberName(member);

        // Get the expected old name for this new name.
        String previousName = (String)nameMap.get(newName);
        if (previousName != null &&
            !name.equals(previousName))
        {
            // There's a conflict! A member (with a given old name) in a
            // first namespace has received the same new name as this
            // member (with a different old name) in a second name space,
            // and now these two have to live together in this name space.
            if (MemberObfuscator.hasFixedNewMemberName(member) &&
                warningPrinter != null)
            {
                descriptor = member.getDescriptor(clazz);
                warningPrinter.print(clazz.getName(),
                                     "Warning: " + ClassUtil.externalClassName(clazz.getName()) +
                                                   (isField ?
                                                       ": field '" + ClassUtil.externalFullFieldDescription(0, name, descriptor) :
                                                       ": method '" + ClassUtil.externalFullMethodDescription(clazz.getName(), 0, name, descriptor)) +
                                     "' can't be mapped to '" + newName +
                                     "' because it would conflict with " +
                                     (isField ?
                                         "field '" :
                                         "method '" ) + previousName +
                                     "', which is already being mapped to '" + newName + "'");
            }

            // Clear the conflicting name.
            MemberObfuscator.setNewMemberName(member, null);

            // Assign a new name.
            member.accept(clazz, memberObfuscator);
        }
    }
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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