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Doryteuthis opalescens, the opalescent inshore squid or market squid, is a small squid (mantle length (ML) up to  190 mm) in the family Loliginidae. It is a myopsid squid, which is the near shore group and that means that they have corneas over their eyes. The species lives in the eastern Pacific Ocean from Mexico's  Baja California peninsula to Alaska, United States, and as an inshore squid it can be found with a range of  off the coast.

Description

Adult Doryteuthis opalescens can reach a total size of 11 inches.  Males are typically larger with a mantle length of 5 – 3 1/2 inches, while females are 5 –7 inches in mantle length. The mantle of D. opalescens is not fused to the head and its body is 4 to 5 times longer than it is wide, with fins equal in both length and width. This squid has 8 arms with 2 longer tentacles ending in tentacular clubs equipped with suckers at their ends. The tentacular clubs are narrow with 4 rows of suckers and 2 large rows in the center of the tentacular club bordered by outer rows of smaller suckers. The 8 arms have only 2 rows of alternating suckers running down their length. In male D. opalescens, the left ventral arm is specialized or "hectocotylized" for spermatophore transfer during mating. The eyes of D. opalescens are covered with a non-perforated membrane known as a cornea which is a signature of myopsid squid. The color of D. opalescens can range from white to brown, with the animals able to change their color shades using chromatophores depending on mood and for camouflage. They are normally a bluish-white to mottled brown and gold, and they change to dark red or brown when excited, frightened or feeding.

Misidentification
Doryteuthis opalescens is very similar to two other species of squid in the same family: Doryteuthis pealeii from the North Atlantic Coast of North America, and Loligo gahi from the coast of Chile.

Life history
The life cycle of D. opalescens has four stages: eggs, hatchlings (called paralarvae), juveniles, and adults. Squid live for 6–9 months. Doryteuthis opalescens eggs are laid on sandy bottom substrates in 10–50 m depth, although there is a report of a shrimp trawler pulling up eggs from 400 fathoms (730 m). Females encapsulate hundreds of eggs in a sheath that is made of many layers of protein. Bacteria grow between the layers and may serve as an antibiotic for fungal infection. Females insert the egg capsules into the sand with a sticky substance that anchors them in place so that the ocean surge can ventilate them. The presence of eggs on the bottom of tanks stimulates females to lay more eggs. Groups of capsules are placed in masses that can extend into egg beds. Some egg beds can cover acres of the ocean floor. The eggs take 3–8 weeks to hatch with warmer water shortening the incubation time. Bat stars (Asterina miniatus) are the most prevalent predators of eggs. Fish do not eat them, although they will nip at eggs not covered by the capsule sheath. There is no brooding.

Paralarvae of D. opalescens hatch from the eggs and immediately begin swimming. Where they go is unknown, but hatchlings of the closely related Loligo pealei swim to the surface in the first 12 hours post-hatching. Paralarvae must rapidly learn to hunt, as their yolk is either used up or detached upon escaping from the egg sheath. Through a series of trial and error as these 2–3 mm ML hatchlings learn to eat copepods and other plankton in the first months of their lives. They are found in the greatest abundance at 15 m depth by night and 30 m depth by day. Thus, they perform a daily vertical migration of 15 meters, no small feat a creature only 3 mm long. This daily migration coupled with the shear zone created by tidal and near-shore currents cause the hatchlings to become entrained within 3 kilometers of shore. That is good for them because in the near-shore environment the plankton is smaller and easier for them to eat.

By the time D. opalescens reaches 15 mm mantle length (about 2 months old) they are strong enough to swim in shoals. These juveniles form groups of tens of individuals and swim over the shelf in search of food. Those that have survived to this point can hunt with the tentacular strike as seen in the adults. At some point between 4–8 months their sexual organs mature and they are now considered adults. Sexually mature animals can be 70–160 mm ML and weigh about 40 grams.

Adult D. opalescens move off the continental shelf by day and can be found to depths of 500 m. Adult shoals return to the surface at night to hunt.  At some point these shoals move on shore to spawn where aggregations can reach million of individuals.  Originally it was thought that the adults died after spawning, as the egg beds were often littered with dead squid.  Now there is debate as to how long adults live after their first egg deposition and whether they can spawn repeatedly over the last weeks or months of their lives.

Predator and prey relationships

Doryteuthis opalescens is a cannibalistic predator that feeds on smaller prey species such as fish, crabs, shrimp, mollusks, and other juvenile squids. It uses its two longer tentacles with tentacular clubs on the end to snare and catch its prey. Doryteuthis opalescens itself is an important food source for many predators like larger fish, sharks, marine mammals, seabirds, and also humans. Its predators include the California sea lion, blue shark,sail fish,striped tuna, Chinook salmon, black-throated diver, and Brandt's cormorant.

The fishery for D. opalescens began with the Chinese in Monterey Bay, California in 1860. By the turn of the century Italian fishermen had assumed the leading role. After World War II there was a resurgence in squid fishing. Since 1981 the fishery, has grown significantly, as effort in Southern California has increased. Now Southern California, mostly areas around the Channel Islands, comprises 90% of the squid landings. The fishery in Monterey Bay occurs from April to November coinciding with the upwelling season. In Southern California landings begin in November and continue through April correlated with the greater mixing of winter storms. Since 1993 squid has been the #1 fishery in California with landings of 118,000 tons and $41 million in 2000. The population fluctuates greatly with the El Niño. During these warm water and nutrient poor years landings can disappear entirely in certain areas.

Between 1998 and 2019, studies found that D. opalescens populations in more northerly U.S. Pacific Coast waters have increased significantly. This was linked to ocean temperature increases due to climate change.

References

 Vecchione, M., E. Shea, S. Bussarawit, F. Anderson, D. Alexeyev, C.-C. Lu, T. Okutani, M. Roeleveld, C. Chotiyaputta, C. Roper, E. Jorgensen & N. Sukramongkol. (2005).  Phuket Marine Biological Center Research Bulletin 66: 23–26.
 Opalescent inshore squid NOAA FishWatch. Retrieved 4 November 2012.

External links
Slate.com "Motion in the Ocean"

Squid
Western North American coastal fauna
Molluscs described in 1911


Dynamic Materials Corporation (DMC) (NASDAQ: BOOM), a leading provider of explosion-welded clad metal plates, today reported financial results for its third quarter ended Sept. 30, 2007.
Sales for the third quarter increased 69% to $42.1 million from $24.9 million in the third quarter last year. Gross margin increased to 34% from 33% in the third quarter a year ago. Income from operations increased 72% to $10.6 million from $6.1 million in the comparable year-ago quarter. Net income increased 93% to $7.1 million, or $0.58 per diluted share, from $3.7 million, or $0.30 per diluted share, in the third quarter last year.
The Company's Explosive Metalworking segment reported third quarter sales of $40.3 million, up 72% from $23.5 million in the third quarter last year. Operating income increased 83% to $10.6 million from $5.8 million in the 2006 third quarter. Order backlog at the end of this year's third quarter was $77.1 million versus $68.8 million at December 31, 2006, and an all-time high $84.7 million at the end of the prior quarter.
Third quarter sales at the Company's AMK Welding segment increased 32% to $1.8 million versus $1.3 million in the third quarter last year. Operating income was $325,000 versus $391,000 reported in the comparable year-ago quarter.
"Strong demand from an array of end markets fueled another quarter of robust sales and earnings growth," said Yvon Cariou, president and chief executive officer. "The widespread push for new industrial processing capacity continues to drive significant investments in capital equipment, and based on the broad spectrum of domestic and international projects we are tracking, it appears this activity could continue for the foreseeable future. We are optimistic that many of these projects will incorporate DMC's explosion welded plates."
Cariou said the chemical processing, energy refining and aluminum smelting industries have been sectors from which there has been particularly strong order volume in recent months. "The new production capacity we have brought on line at our Mt. Braddock facility and the upgrades we are making at our European operations have enhanced our ability to effectively process the considerable order volume we continue to experience. In spite of continued tension in the supply chain for high-grade carbon steel, we are very encouraged by the volume of work our production teams are moving through our three explosion welding production centers."
Cariou added that activity at the Company's AMK Welding segment could increase significantly in the coming quarters, as one of the business' largest customers is expected to expand production of its ground-based turbine systems, on which AMK provides specialized welding services. "We believe our capacity expansion efforts at AMK have positioned us to effectively manage this anticipated increase in workload."
Rick Santa, chief financial officer, said DMC ended the third quarter with a strong balance sheet that included a cash position of $22.0 million, up from $10.4 million at the end of this year's second quarter. At the end of fiscal 2006, DMC had cash, cash equivalents and restricted cash of $20.9 million. DMC completed the third quarter with total current assets of $78.9 million, total assets of $106.4 million and working capital of $50.3 million.
Santa said management expects sales and earnings results for the 2007 fourth quarter will likely approximate those of the third quarter.
Through nine months, sales increased 41% to $110.0 million compared with $77.8 million in the nine-month period of 2006. Gross margin was 34% versus 35% in the same period a year ago. Income from operations increased 32% to $26.9 million compared with $20.4 million in the comparable 2006 period. Net income through nine months was $17.7 million, or $1.44 per diluted share, versus net income of $14.2 million, or $1.16 per diluted share, in the same period last year. Net income in the 2006 nine-month period included a gain from discontinued operations of $1.4 million, or $0.11 per share, net of tax, attributable to the sale of a real estate purchase option.
The Explosive Metalworking segment reported nine-month sales of $105.3 million, an improvement of 42% versus sales of $74.3 million in the comparable period of 2006. Operating income increased 35% to $27.2 million compared with $20.2 million in the prior year's nine-month period.
Sales at AMK Welding for the nine-month period increased 37% to $4.7 million compared with sales of $3.4 million in the comparable year-ago period. Operating income was $606,000 compared with $621,000 in the prior-year period.
Management will hold a conference call to discuss third quarter results today at 5:00 p.m. Eastern (3:00 p.m. Mountain). Investors are invited to listen to the call live via the Internet at www.dynamicmaterials.com, or by dialing into the teleconference at 888-713-4215 (617-213-4867 for international callers) and entering the passcode 10554262. Participants should access the website at least 15 minutes early to register and download any necessary audio software. A replay of the webcast will be available for 30 days and a telephonic replay will be available through Oct. 27, 2007, by calling 888-286-8010 (617-801-6888 for international callers) and entering the passcode 53738869.


The style of the Sartoria Capobianco is inspired by the ancient Neapolitan school, pure indication of freedom of expression. An elegance that adapts perfectly to the natural forms of the body. The jacket features soft and unstructured shoulders with "a camicia" (a similar technique that is used in shirt making) or "mappina" sleeves (small folds on the seam between the shoulders and the sleeve) and rounded patch-pockets that confer a touch of casualness to sportier attires. The formal suits require greater sobriety, but even in this case the lapels are generally broader with a wide, right-angle notch. The shoulders are natural and only slightly padded, which provides it a more flowing fit. The trousers, rather high at the waist, have a fuller front and forward pleats in order to reduce it optically without altering its comfort.


text:
Q: Javascript - Save image to internal storage I am downloading a image from server as blob and then converting it into url and displaying the image.
var nImageRequest = new XMLHttpRequest();
nImageRequest.open("POST", "http://xx.xx.xx.xxx/server/api/download_image.php", true);

nImageRequest.setRequestHeader("Content-type", "application/x-www-form-urlencoded");
nImageRequest.responseType = 'blob';

nImageRequest.onreadystatechange = function(oEvent) {

  if (nImageRequest.readyState == 4) {
    if (nImageRequest.status == 200) {

      var image = new Image();
      var url = window.URL || window.webkitURL;

      image.src = url.createObjectURL(nImageRequest.response);
      document.body.appendChild(image);

      // window.webkitRequestFileSystem(window.PERSISTENT , 1024*1024, SaveDatFileBro);
    }
  }
};

nImageRequest.send(imageFilename);

Now, I want to store it in internal storage of user's phone. How to do that using javascript

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


In the Fall of 1991, Robert Namer began moderating his conservative talk program, The Voice of America Namer has a unique down-to-earth style of delivery, yet is so explosive in its candor that it has been dubbed "HOTTALK". There is no individual or issue that is sacred from discussion and exposure to Namer's quick insight and sharp tongue.
News Gathering & Commentary © copyright 2019 Hot Talk Radio, all rights reserved.


Here you can view collected data about New York City's area Allerton-Pelham Gardens and get a better overview about the area. You can find different categories that can be easily viewed on the map of Allerton-Pelham Gardens area.
The categories show spheres of Life Quality Index rating and you can access information about transportation, safety, entertainment and more in Allerton-Pelham Gardens area, as well as addresses of all houses. You can find interesting things to do in the area, for example museums, bars, dance venues and so on. There are also comments from users about Allerton-Pelham Gardens as well as tweets and Instagram pictures from the area. You can also view other locations from New York City.
What is your opinion about Allerton-Pelham Gardens?


Thinking about becoming a mentor, setting up or running your own mentoring organisation.
In this section you will find a very useful 'Best Practice toolkit, with examples in a selection of areas, such as recruitment and selection, training and development of mentors and code of ethics plus many more. These will assist you in setting up or running your mentoring organisation. There is a selection of templates available for your use.
If you are an experienced business professional who can offer support and guidance to other businesses, you will find information on training, contact details for quality assured mentoring organisations and the role a mentor has to play.


text:
Q: Android Firebase Admin user Java I have 3 types of user
parents, teacher, admin,
I have already made login activity
and for parent and they will provide email and password and when firebase authenticate it. and when successful it will go to parents activity
And i want to make activity for admin to add and register/signup parents
and they still provide email and pass to my login activity and will be directly to the new admin activity after authenticated by firebase
what changes will do to my login
public class Login extends AppCompatActivity implements View.OnClickListener {

    private EditText editTextEmail;
    private EditText editTextPassword;
    private Button Login;
    private ProgressDialog progressDialog;
    private FirebaseAuth firebaseAuth;

    @Override
    protected void onCreate(Bundle savedInstanceState) {
        super.onCreate(savedInstanceState);
        setContentView(R.layout.activity_login);

        FirebaseApp.initializeApp(this);
        firebaseAuth = FirebaseAuth.getInstance();
        if (firebaseAuth.getCurrentUser() != null) {
            // profile activity
            finish();
            startActivity(new Intent(getApplicationContext(), Parent_Home.class));
        }

        editTextEmail = findViewById(R.id.input_username);
        editTextPassword = findViewById(R.id.input_password);
        findViewById(R.id.btn_login).setOnClickListener(this);

        progressDialog = new ProgressDialog(this);
    }

    @Override
    public void onClick(View view) {
        switch (view.getId()){
            case R.id.btn_login: {
                userLogin();
                break;
            }

        }

    }

    private void userLogin() {
        String email = editTextEmail.getText().toString().trim();
        String password = editTextPassword.getText().toString().trim();

        if (email.isEmpty()) {
            editTextEmail.setError("Email is required");
            editTextEmail.requestFocus();
            return;
        }
        if (!Patterns.EMAIL_ADDRESS.matcher(email).matches()){
            editTextEmail.setError("Please enter valid email");
            editTextEmail.requestFocus();
            return;
        }
        if (password.isEmpty()) {
            editTextPassword.setError("Password is required");
            editTextPassword.requestFocus();
            return;
        }
        if (password.length()<6 ){
            editTextPassword.setError("Minimum of length of password should be 6");
            editTextPassword.requestFocus();
            return;
        }
        //if the email&pass is not empty
        //display dialog
            progressDialog.setMessage("Please Wait...");
            progressDialog.show();

            firebaseAuth.signInWithEmailAndPassword(email, password)
                    .addOnCompleteListener(this, new
        OnCompleteListener<AuthResult>() {
                        @Override
                        public void onComplete(@NonNull Task<AuthResult> task) {
                            progressDialog.dismiss();
                            if (task.isSuccessful()) {
                                //start profile/ menu activity
                                finish();
                                SharedPrefs.saveSharedSetting(Login.this, "CaptainCode", "false");
                                startActivity(new Intent(getApplicationContext(), Parent_Home.class));
                            } else {
                                Toast.makeText(Login.this, "Error", Toast.LENGTH_SHORT).show();
                            }

                        }
                    });
    }
}

//Todo: add back confirmation

A: In sign up process add additional object in your database for every user, for example you can call it a type. So when someone sign up to your app make him choose which type of account he is creating (or maybe you already have this), so object will contain info what account is created: parent or teacher or admin. For example: type: "teacher"
After login return data from database for user who just logged in and check what is the type of his account and according to type value (parent, teacher, admin) you will know who logged in in your app and you can start corresponding screen.


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epochs of humanity, extradimensional intelligence, fungi, fungus, hero's quest, mystery, porn, Pornography, scifi, space spores, speculative fiction, transgender
Ammonia Saccas had worked at Video Mania a bit over two months. It stood between two walled in, sunken parking lots near the Westport neighborhood and had been in pre-digital years the area's premier adult entertainment sales and rental location. Trade was still brisk owing to an expansion into novelty playthings of sundry caliber and wattage. Ammonia, 20, wandered in off of Darlington Ave. only a few hours after also joining up with nearby Sumac-Burns Community College. Hired on the spot by the entirely gay management in no small part for her more than passing resemblance to a clammily naïf young Bridget Bardot, as well as her pronouncement while tendering her paper application that living in the United States of How-much-does-that-cost? in the early 21st century, this wouldn't be the first time she brushed up against the sex industry. Ammonia took the job in stride.
Handled a lot of title requests without tittering both over the phone and, more valiantly, in person. Chased cruisers of all shapes and sizes out of the wire-rack shelving with discretion and vigilance. Checked stacks of discs for purported skips and stalls amidst hours and hours of rough trade, gag reels, cuckold scenarios and foot worship. Tidied the shelves. Sliced open cardboard boxes on delivery days full of rubber cocks, glass cocks, silicone cocks and vaginas and buttocks and mouths, all in both non- and bearded versions.
the not insurpassable emburdenment of curiosity
Most of her downtime was spent examining some of the more massive lifetime-of-account balances in the customer database, all of them racked up over time, most all in one flavor, but some an admixture of various subgenres of straight porn, gay porn of either persuasion, bi, furry and specialty porn branches, many of them starting decades ago; Video Mania had bins full of slippery video cassette tapes for sale, and the price stickers were always falling off. Reapplication could be an all-day task. Ammonia knew all the regulars by name, outstanding fines, and whether they loudly, occasionally or did not ever discuss their proclivities at the register.
Plenty of ladies came through the store, a few of them very regularly – one was Tonya, né Antonio, who liked to collect bi feature films, esp. ones with semi-emerged soap opera stars moonlighting in what constitute in most cases that actor's best performance and last decent paycheck. Tonya couldn't get enough. Was in three nights out of four.
She had been born a younger son in an autobody repair empire, had been a favorite to follow the same path as every other chingon in his family before him. He didn't like cars, thought they were dirty. Preferred showing off his moves at the clubs. Then at 27, and she must'a learned something about being careful what you pray for, reluctant Antonio of Concepcion Repairs got hit with the cancer. Right in the dick.
"Who'd have thunk it," she had asked her doctor earnestly, bewildered, blind-sided. "What luck, huh, Doc?" Figured it was as good excuse as any. It was time for everything to come out. Fashionista, artista, bitch Batista. Lover of nature and day spas alike. Tonya let the fullness of her creativity finally speak through her body – after all the locus of her transformation. Body spoke by thumping her feet. Popping and jumping with those legs, twisting in the air. Tonya was a liberated dancer. Hoofed her way through a bootstrapped performance degree. Taught step and tap to children, gave classes in canning, pickling and computer literacy to adults, and practiced yoga, lived a peaceful life. Bought buckets of old porn.
Tonya – a porn purchaser, not renter – eschewed what she called "the lifeless contemporary stuff," and she was always hectoring Dan, the store manager, with her special orders. As soon as a classic re-release was announced on disc, it was Tonya on the telephone. Relied on Video Mania for her weekly lube run, too, buying in weight from the area's only bulk tribocopæa. And she made a point on lube visits to helpfully recommend the better toys out on the market to Ammonia, who had been replying with polite little, beet red 'thank you's and extra heaps of rental coupons in the black plastic bag until she did get a little toy – one Tonya on several occasions identified as "the best for syrup-stitches stimulation, you know, when you gotta have it; girls your age need lots of play all day" – as a promo from a vendor and it worked and she was pleased to have gotten all the free consumer reports advice, and she then began answering with questions.
But most of the shoppers and all of the highest grossing renters were guys. The most regular-looking dudes always had the weirdest tastes, but Ammonia could see from their accounts they came in sporadically, bought in quantity. The accounts that showed the most serious regimentation were invariably the most deranged-looking of the clientele.
Take that old trucker, Bill "pick 'em up a title at eight and return it by nine-thirty" Turnbull. Every Monday through Thursday and then again on Saturday, going on forever now, just check his account, you could set an atomic clock by it. Came in. Browsed a minute. Paid. Came back wearing his roughneck's uniform, but you barely saw him longer than it took to drop the box in the return slot at one end of the front desk. Had this scar like an older francophone's little wrinkled moue above his lip that made Ammonia think of the character actor on PBS. His eyes twinkled when he said thank you, and that made Ammonia think of him as a kindly but misunderstood storybook monster.
It wasn't just that Bill was heavily into the 408-volume-and-growing "Petite Penny's Plumbers School Presents: Pliable Pipe-happy Coeds" series, although it was widely recognized as one of the finest examples of artistic reclamation of the schoolgirl genre, wresting the idiom as it did from the coarse smut peddlers' reductionism of female educational aspirations to an image of nothing more than a sexual possession. The premise of the Petite … Coeds series, on the other hand, was equitable access to vocational degrees and the tiny amount of scripted dialogue breathlessly praised both the female orgasm and birth control. It was a beacon of sophistication and taste in the porn consumer that for Ammonia marked her opinion of Bill from the first.
There was something else about Bill that spoke to Ammonia. She had gone out on her own for a bit after high school, scratching at the itch of destiny – first there was the scheme her slightly schizophrenic friend cooked up to run some diamond mines in South Africa, which involved some months of half-informed waiting, a binder of semi-stolen information and a big downtown bank where Ammonia and the friend sat staring down an investment toad with hangover stubble and a smug smile but who also couldn't stop asking to look in the binder one more time. Then there had been a year-long, extra dramatic relationship with a drunk who had been either a rodeo clown or a roadie, she never could figure out which, the aftermath of which was a meandering trip to New Orleans where she passed out handbills for bars and light spankings to drunks. This led to a brief stay in a cam-house operation in Miami, but she was back home before getting too deep in the webshows-for-tips scene. It was there she learned about the virtues of Bitcoin. Ammonia came around to facing the feeling that, although she might not know what she wanted to do, she had gotten a glimpse of some of what was wrong out in the world and she wasn't going to fix any of it with an undistinguishing high school education and feet gone a'roaming. So she checked herself into the system – and into a job down the street at the same time, for good measure.
So it was because of this spirit in her that Ammonia first picked up on Bill's similarly restrained restlessness. Bill "oh, they must'a made a typo; what's 'Guano-Tanamo'?" Turnbull. His regularly offered commentary reflected equal parts pith and powerlessness, sometimes landing squarely on the newspapers and magazines she brought with her, accoutrements of life at Sumac-Burns where she was enrolled in a number of introductory accounting, psychology and journalism classes with fuzzy older winos and determined-looking women with patchy hair. On one evening, a cover story described a new bid from a suburban police force for some kind of amped-up surveillance gear. Up to the front desk stepped old Bill "pays with a twenty every single time, n' drops a penny in the change tray, too" Turnbull.
"Last thing we need is more federal bucks to cops. Better to starve 'em and see which precincts are crafty enough to make it." Re-sheathed his membership card. "Or at least get a trade-in going, one piece of RadioShack equipment for one piece of that military-grade hardware…" produced the bank note always folded in quarters, ".. wouldn't be so bad I guess, them having a listen, I mean if it keeps 'em from 'knocking on the roof' like those IDF boys with Unca' Sam's imperial toy box…" Snorted, dropped his penny. Ammonia was startled at how incorrect he was on so many levels, and how little that seemed to matter to the force of his manifold and contradictory convictions. Found it downright humorous, she did.
Ammonia couldn't resist it and baited him. "Is that what you think," the stingy half of a question mark in there reprovingly.
He stared back for two seconds. Replied, "No, you're right. They're playing a valuable role thinning the herd."
Ammonia laughed like a horse and Bill's face cracked into a big, sharp smile that said, oh, you're alright, old soul.
Then there was the customer appreciation potluck. Ammonia wore a t-shirt that day with a bit of anti-Peron propaganda from 1946, a poster featuring a motor parade with throngs of admirers on the streetside, hanging from balconies, clustered on stairwells, wishing El Presidente well with ticker tape, massive floral pediments, signs inscribed with laudations in Spanish for Juan – who is unfortunately caught in what looks to be a sieg heil salute, and above this image a marquee slogan, "The Argentine Hitler is Hated by his People."
Bill had a bowl of chili balanced on the top of his evening's porn selection. Looked down and saw the shirt, must have been the chili made him punchy, he sang right to the shirt, "Don't cry for Heeet-ler,chen-TEEE-NAAAH!"
'Ah-ha, thanks. Just my sister's idea of a tradition: gifting each other images of South American political folk-heroes co-opted by the North's consumerist tat peddlars. Last year I gave her a Tickle-Me Che Gueverra.'
Bill smiled. Lapsed into a pantomime of a government mouthpiece: "Foreign policy, policy? There's been no intergenerational collusion of business interests here … why don'choo look back at the birdy…"
"Yeah , right," Ammonia gamely burst in, "'not been arming anti-democratic guerrillas in the name of an extractive coups against Blind Justice Herself. Certainly not.' Funny stuff, Bill."
"You think so, huh?" Bill wised-off as he swatted around for his wallet. It was the first time she had called him by his given, and he was a bit embarrassed by it. Also, her pinned-on nametag identified her, and Bill was fairly sure erroneously, as Birdgit BarDough. He remembered that name for some reason, out in the periphery of his aging memory. "How many fascists we gonna' teach to project instant, machine-driven, horizon-leveling violence," Slapped the quartered twenty on the counter, "it's like we're turning the barbarians into franchisees … this time it's not the gates of the city with battering rams – they gonna' be bringing down golden arches."
"Couldn't be any worse for our health than glazed ribs on buns made of sugar and lies. See you next week." Ammonia Saccas was on Bill's wavelength, alright.
Needless to say when Bill "ten minutes lecturing with a discrete black plastic bag in hand" Turnbull hadn't shown up for their usual Monday evening bullshit session covering the Sunday morning talk-show circuit, Ammonia Saccas was on the case by early the following Tuesday. Spent a couple hours between morning classes and her Video Mania shifts sniffing around his place on the third floor, writing down addresses, names from membership cards, postcards tacked on the fridge, pieces of mail… a regular Jessica What's-her-name.
Hanging back near a rear stairwell of Bill's apartment block, a baby-poop gray building roughly the shape and smell of an old bread box set on one side so all the yeasty crumbs collected as gravity saw fit, Ammonia got a chance to size up a few of the other tenants. A few single mothers mixed in with some unsavories, uniformed laborers of all shifts with name tags, sewn-on name patches, toolbelts slung at their shoulders, and of course an elderly couple or two crocheting their knees into a noontime stroll. A drunk swinging a six-ring of ale propped the door. She was in like a lightning bolt and upstairs pushing a marker under his door with a wooden ruler in no time – if the strip of card was moved later, she'd know the door had gone so she wouldn't inadvertently barge in or get caught picking her way – when as she knelt there cracked forth a hale tumbling, shaking the floor from the far end of the hall – a few bookcases falling down on each other?; a wall of improperly stacked logs?; a summer lightning storm consisting mostly of bowling pins?; someone large jollily rolling a sofa along for sport?
Ammonia started at the sound. As she rose she banged her head into Bill's apartment door, then fell back on her duff before finally shooting upright. Her head throbbed momentarily. The Banging clamor was joined by strangled, gurgling laughter, weird, transfixing Ammonia for just a moment longer than her flight response was comfortable indulging … the tall door to opposite the stairwell kicked open and clapped into the wall spilling an avalanche of horsehair plaster, and a figure – sour, greasy, filling the frame and squat, breathing chaos and a fume of liquor – ejected itself out into the hall. The laughter boiled over into rolling, wet coughs and gags. Phlegm was suddenly everywhere, and the bubbling mass seethed all manner of unhygienic fecundity.
Ammonia found the wall and pressed her back into it, putting her faith in the shadow as some kind of catch-all protection. It didn't work.
The troll figure swiveled a slab of a head and looked right at Ammoina. An instant of regard struck Ammonia sick to her stomach with dread, and the mass advanced in a lurch it seemed right for her. It was down the hall in an instant. The gurgling gave way to a voice, the jingling of keys.
"Get away from That Door. Jabba yabba dab DOOR!" Troll Thing shook a cane menacingly in Ammonia's direction for one moment, two. Sweat and phlegm was raining off of the figure in giant droplets … the figure seemed to move about in the manner of a few sacks of something viscous and heavy. But astonishingly quick. Ammonia had only a second to take in bits of the scene, which she was certain with a kind of cool, detached disappointment would be one of her last. The thing was knocking more plaster off in a gritty hail as parts of it dragged along the walls. There appeared to be two little feet padding along under the mass. On the other side from the cane-wielding arm, another oddly angled appendage held a black plastic sack of wine bottles.
The Troll Thing hovered over her, belching out "AN gedda WAY from MY WAaaaay, too! …", before it mercifully stank away further along the hall, now mumbling "ya' foreigner … !", stooping to steal newspapers and poke at refuse bags here and there. Ammonia half lobster-crawled backwards with both claws covering at her mouth and nostrils. Clambered, life or death, for the egress. Opened the firedoor only to face the gusting aromas harbored in the stairwell, and taking one last gulp of semi-fresh hallway, she tried to run for it. Made it nearly two flights before the noxious clouds of vermin-loving metallic green flies no longer bothered her, prostrate and supine on a crud-tacky landing as she was.
She awoke in the dawn's pale light of the outer courtyard. Cane Troll had rescued her, dragged her down the stairs to the exit and then on to outside air, more safely laced with mere smog. "Omigod, I am so sorry I had misapprehended you; I really thought the worst of you at first!"
"I'm a human being, too."
"I'm so grateful…" Ammonia exchanged names and pleasantries with Bill's titanic neighbor, John Dribblepiss. John would let her in the building on subsequent visits.
On all subsequent visits, she would wear a well-perfumed bandana.
She eventually did pick the lock. Bill hadn't come in or gone out in a few nights, and Ammonia "beginning to get a little too invested in surveilling the elderly porn consumer" Saccas felt this gave her justification to check for an autoerotic asphyxiation victim. She did this four or five times in the following days. Each time inside Bill's place, she could hear a kind of chanting next door, or one of the neighbors above or below – it was definitely through a wall, Ammonia thought. One of these walls…
It sounded like an asthmatic repeating: "We must hum. Commanding clay, the stone, from terra; her pulsing fields, magnetic rays; she's dust, she hums, we speak." She listened out in the halls, glasses up against doors and walls, and while she heard all manner of weird and disturbingly fascinating things, she could not detect the sound from anywhere else in the building.
This seemed to match the tenor of the search for Bill. Ammonia would get a good break and no juicy trail to follow. The first such move was tracking his cell signal. Gained access to his webmail – piles of account data lie around most people's homes – which gave her access to corporate services that led her right to a GPS coordinate. Learned the trick ages ago. Great for locating sulking boyfriends during her teen years – she had been fond of the cute, sensitive types back then, and while she never could commit to any particular one, she nonetheless contrived the right to pick among them at will. Ammonia had tended to a flock of so many broken hearted artists.
The phone in this case was of course not attached to Bill's person. It was however located in a wooded grotto near a rocky outcrop far, far from the woods where his Dodge had been recovered empty earlier in the week, as she had learned from a local wrecking service. They couldn't tell her anything about who came to collect Bill's old truck other than they seemed very irritated about everything. Examining Bill's phone yielded an unsurprisingly small amount of information about the preceding 96 hours, nor did it have any record of the path it took to the comely spot where it rested. In the end, Ammonia left the phone after programming her number into the nearly empty phone book – the only other entries being various County Departments and auto shops. Seemed easiest, best, just to let it lie where it was.
One afternoon at his apartment, Ammonia was struck by the realization that, as a committed observer of the female form, Bill would likely be missed in other places as well. Checked in on them all as surreptitiously as she could manage. All-night theaters near the industrial areas on oily roads out of town. Greasy gentleman's bars up and down alcoholic's row. Ammonia even put in an "all-points" with the Old Park Lechers Network, the ones that spent their days behind sunglasses not reading on benches, neglecting shabby mutts, driving over-slow and swerving into and out of the runners lanes, trying to drink in every single jogger's butt. The Network knew Bill, alright, and provided heaps of information on some of his other usual haunts. But Bill was at none of them.
Ammonia gleaned from his mail that he was also an amateur observer of celestial forms, and she smacked her head when she saw the telescope, packed away in its little traveling case in a closet. She dashed out of the baby poop beige building and down to the observatory on Simmons Ave. at the big hill. Bill failed to materialize.
Two weeks passed. Patience and the joy of playing detective soon ran into distraction at work and class. Taken together, Ammonia ought to have had all the information she would need to zero-in on Bill Turnbull. But no dice – not on this planet's possibility wave. She began to imagine that he had slipped off into some other reality, that Bill must be no longer in the same universe.
Bill woke up with dirt in his nostrils, his mouth. Little dirt pads damped the sound of the world. Finally made worm's meat, certain that whatever had happened had been his own doing.
He began excavating his mouth, his eyes with his finally-freed arm. Couldn't remember anything at first. Felt like a lawn-mower blade was embedded in his temple.
Lifted himself out of the rut he was in. Aware then it was not the same rut he had been in… here was where the memories poured back over him. The wreck … the dead kids … the extra-dimensional talking alien fungus … ?! … and this followed by the angry question, where was his fucking Dodge?
Bill was not very pleased with the state of things. He was certain that everyone at County, and the County's bosses, and whoever worked for daddy warbucks, well they were all going to have a nice, tall piss all over Bill's life. Real soon. And he lost his truck.
Bill figured, well, if this is just a matter of time, he was either going to wait here in the dark with nothing going on except maybe a mushroom monster or get on to somewhere else where inevitability might seem not so close at hand. He chose somewhere else. As soon as he started walking – on ahead, not back the way he had come, he started to feel better. Noticed the waving in the canopy of the trees above the road. Heard the crickets. Smelt the night. Bill walked.
Soon dawn broke and he came to a town. Walked to one end, didn't see a soul; went back to the other with the same results. Came up to a nice white house, went right up the front steps to the door. Knocked. Bill knew no one would answer. Planned a good couple lies though, just in case someone did.
After a few knocks, Bill tried the knob. No one inside, alright. Bill decided he would wait in the parlor, left the front door open for the breeze.
He sat in a white wicker chair. Sat and waited for the house's owner or caretaker to come home. For the phone to ring. A knock at the window from the milkman, a postie. The backdoor to yield to shoulders, boots, shouting men to wrestle his bought-and-sold sack of shit self to an end on the meagre pile of the corded rug, the colonial parlor's only carpeting.
No one came. Nothing happened. Sun rose, set. The trees outside the window changed season four hundred times, non-oaks died and were replaced, and Bill saw nobody. Waited. paralyzed with the certainty that someone was going to come.
Bill eventually registered one day just how remarkable this would all sound if someone else were describing it to him before he was here, living in it. It felt like last week to look back at that before, like four centuries of last weeks, which made enjoying now a strange and elusive thing. The sunlight began to cross the floor and walls with an exaggerated quickness, and the night's constellations came out and flew past the window with a similarly growing momentum; the next intervals seemed even shorter, and before too long things got wound so fast that there was an effect like a flashing on and off of lights happening. Bill willed his finger out at the end of an extended arm and pointed out the window, and he could feel himself riding atop of this wobbly ball that was rolling forward on one side as it whipped through space around the sun he had long only inferred would give his skin a burn if he were to invest a half hour's exposure at the right time in the journey. Bill considered it only momentarily – going outside – and this he weighed against the prospect of remaining sat in the dust of his rocking chair, caught in a cosmic loop, and he suddenly found inaction disgusting and unbearable.
Bill started from his chair. It creaked and splintered into a heap as he made his way across the parlor floor and through the front door, which fell out of the jamb as the hinges crumbled into oxidized powder. He walked down the street with resolve as the wind picked up and things got cold. Approached the corner store, now badly dilapidated by time's rigors. Leaves blew off the trees in shocks. The mostly steel doors were mostly intact, over the floor grown through with vines and lush piles of moss. Bill went inside as a sheet of snow fell and ice grew on all the features of the land. He apprehended the register, and stopped. His brain snapped audibly as he took in the scene. There he stood, looking at himself – another Bill – standing, wearing a name badge, a fresh uniform, this big dumb welcoming smile on his face.
"Hey, buddy! You got up – great." Bill – our Bill – felt heavy with a profound sense of dumbness.
Not our Bill went on: "It's time to stop putzing around over in this here, Bill. There's something we … you need to go and face up to already. For us."
The realization that nobody had spoken for a long time cut through the dumb. Our Bill felt his throat splitting apart a dry log over its knee. Playing a violin with a bow whose rosin long ago lost its worth. Nonetheless emitted the major thrust of what he needed to know in that moment of eternal expanse, "For who? Like … who's us?"
"Well, us, Bill. I mean, you. You are me, here, and you are me five minutes from now. And that Bill – me in five minutes, well he is you just as much as I am. We are the 'Us'es everywhere. But you, Bill; you have to finish the circle. So we came to direct you to your hero's task."
Bill blinked. None of it especially astonished him. He had, after all, read a little Terrence McKenna, had taken all manner of psychotropic drugs in his youth, his early adulthood… and on through his middle age, as recently as last month; so he was, he felt, rather too open minded to be dazed by some hypothetical situation like this. He kenned on that he was in a radically new reality matrix than the one to which he was used, but it was proving hard to wade too deeply in any one direction. Bill let the tumbler stop on the most essential query.
"Will I know what to do?"
"Oh, you have already done it, Bill, yeah, you'll get it when you see it."
Our Bill turned around. Dazed as all else, he had to go out for some air just to process for a moment.
He walked back outside. The trees were rich with foliage again. Under the strobing sunlight, there was another person moving onto the scene. Bill Turnbull squinted; it was another him again. Walking right up the other end of town towards the little intersection where he stood by the corner store.
"Don't worry, Bill. I can also tell you, you get through this." Bill could tell this iteration of himself was nowhere near the truck driving beer-addicted porn consumer that was his own cast in life. Bill could also tell straight away this other him was pregnant with smugness. He thought he knew something Bill didn't – and Bill "knows fucking everything" Turnbull thought quite differently. He immediately dubbed this Bill "Smug Bill."
"I saw you do it." A little pause then while Smug Bill pulled out a sachet of some kind of massive cheroots. Lights one up ostensibly using only the back of his thumbnail. Little puffs of artillery smoke burst around his head, narrow misses. Our Bill, dumbstruck with fascinated skepticism and a growing hatred of one his better, could just watched.
"Care for one?" Smug Bill holds out and our Bill accepts a dirty red cigar.
"Oh but that's right…" our Bill starts to hear Smug Bill say and then disorientingly finds his mouth is making the sounds.
And suddenly he was staring at himself, but like, the Bill that he had just been – our Bill suddenly was the stuck-up, quietly arrogant version of himself that he had just been ridiculing out of insecurity and repressed homoerotic impulses. Now here he was inhabiting the total perspective and point of view of this other, whose thoughts he caught up to in media res judging his erstwhile own's sodden coveralls, thinning hair and desperate, gargoyle-like appearance. Esrtwhile-now-smug-him then addressed our Bill in his place.
"Have a puff, I forgot you can't light yours without tools and you don't seem to be carrying any of the necessary accoutrements." Fall turned to winter again as smoke wafted up in coils, caught on the breeze.
Our Bill the roughneck held Smug Bill's cheroot in Smug Bill's hand, gazed at it with Smug Bill's smugly keen, glittering eyes. Roughneck Bill marked all the thoughts, feelings and impulses that were floating through Smug Bill's nervous system. There were the patterns of being that had worn grooves in to the electrochemical guck in Smug Bill's head and spinal column by repetition and usefulness. Roughneck Bill beheld everything through an experience so familiar and completely foreign.
He managed this arm up to this face, used some lungs to inhale through the tube of dried-smoldering-something, had a moment where he could sense every fibre of Smug Bill's meat thrill to the introduction of the smoke at the same instant that his own judgment of the effects were neutral to disgusted – what an impression of being both caught in the middle of and also the agent producing such perfect interference! – and found himself unable to stop Smug Bill's body from blowing the smoke dismissively right at Roughneck Bill's person. That body spoke suddenly: "There you go." It was every time he had looked in the mirror and imagined his reflected body moving on its own. Roughneck Bill was beginning to shift from feeling disoriented, depersonalized, to feeling just plain imprisoned. He could not quite summon a feeling of ire or a single frustrated impulse, and at this awareness the ultimate sense of disempowerment washed over our Bill.
And then he was back in his own roughneck's head. Felt his old congested arteries, his old porn- and substance-polluted mind and instincts. Smug Bill was again in front of him, smiling.
"Ah, Bill. You will sort it out once you get started… keep that cheroot, old buddy."
The sun stopped, dead center of noon. Sprouts had barely appeared from the ground. Buds stood just a few trembles away from bursting. And Bill Turnbull, retainer to the county no more, was again alone in a deserted backwater town with two intersections. He tucked the cigar in his pants pocket. He considered which direction he would take out of town; how momentous his next step felt to him then – like nothing he had ever done before in his fifty-odd years.
Getting from one universe through the infinite possible universes of infinite possible combinations of dimensions to your home universe is not as difficult as the uninitiated might think it could be. It is, as Bill Turnbill found out, simply a matter of pushing through layers of possible situations until you breach the next, like wading through bubbles. They aren't on top of each other, more like hidden both behind and inside of each other, but they are prismatic and slippery looking, which is great for fans of bad '60's art. Bill did a good deal of heaving and shoving through all manner of permutations on the world he had come to expect as his day to day reality.
He would look around himself at situations that were sometimes just mostly but mostly all of them nearly the same as his origin reality. As soon as he noticed something off kilter – where he felt too heavy, too warm, or where there seemed to be no color orange, or more noticeable differences like he was tiny and other people were almost giants or vice-versa; every misstep sent Bill grunting along again. But in every here-and-now he stopped to sound out for home, he always noticed the same kind of mushroom growing in a corner somewhere. On a few occasions it was the only recognizable thing about a situation, every other feature alien to his senses, ungraspable. Remarkably persistent species, Bill extrapolated from its appearance in yet another permutation of the here-and-now. On to the next possible universe. There had been a television show when he was young where the opening sequence was a pulsating tunnel that was supposed to be what traveling through space-time looked like. Now Bill knew it was not anything that flowed, that instead dimensional configurations just kind of unfolded each one out of the others.
With the patience of a Rubik's cube solver, Bill Turnbill found his way back to the here and now where we first met him. Once he was in it, it was just a matter of sticking to now.
Later, over a plate of bad stripmall hoisin duck, he would describe it to Ammonia like this: "The first few hours here, I was rather unsettled. Suddenly it would happen that I was falling through the tiny spaces in the middle of things. I look at my watch, note the time, and I'm Zeno wading through eternity in a hall of mirrors, in between some fraction of a second in between another half of that, and half again, and I'm also back here, in now, and in my restroom reaching for a hank of toilet paper squares, then slipping in between the fibres and finding nothing but vast tracts of nothing in between each nucleus of each constituent atom in a complex wood sugar hydrocarbon chain or two. Then I used the toilet paper to wipe off the slightly spattered rim, lidded the bowl, and flushed."
When Bill finally felt firm enough in the right now – where he'd been thoroughly used to loathing and hating being a roughneck for the county, before an intelligence from beyond time turned him into a dimension-hopping explorer – he appeared in a clearing. This would have been the same spot where Ammonia had tracked Bill's phone, and he found it a little while after exploring the area.
Bill contemplated what to do. He was still kind of afraid of someone trying to get rid of him due to his involvement in the kerfuffle with the politician's son. He might have needed to worry, were there anyone out looking for him other than Ammonia. But, in fact, the politician, who had initially made such a ruckus with the bureaucrats, when he heard of Bill's disappearance, having had only intended to disappear him anyway, decided the cheapest option had been achieved and had turned to other matters, and hence all persons and groups intending Bill harm found the situation already optimal so long as Bill remained absent presumed fled. But Bill didn't know this, indeed he had just been told he was going to face a great adversary, so he was nervous. His phone at hand, out of habit he thumbed through the call log. Saw dozens of calls from a number matched to Ammonia's new entry in his contacts list. Strangely, he knew she had been searching for him and had programmed it in so he would know she was looking. Bill gestured to his phone to dial Ammonia's number.
She picked up, ecstatic and more than a little curious. They agreed to meet at the stripmall foodcourt in case either or both of them were being tracked. There, over bad Chinese, Bill told Ammonia the story about the wreck, the mushrooms, being unstuck in extradimensional possibility. She was pretty sure there was a real chance that Bill might be putting her on. He did kind of look like a trucker whose medication had run out, but she was eager to squash the tiny doubts she could sense developing in her. Ammonia brought out a few comic books from a rucksack, rolled her eyes.
"Look, that's basically the plot of this here," thrusting them into Bill's hands. "There's even a YA trilogy out last year that has the same thing about the talking fungus. Probably you fell asleep with the movie version playing on Nickelodeon or something?"
But Bill insisted. Blabbered as evidence that he has, if not mastered, at least figured out how to travel between universes. The boundless, pandimensional set of possible universes surrounding each other, linked to all. The spores activated his Gold Card, coated him in time-Teflon, whatever, he became a free agent. Some cosmic wind must have pushed him across universes before he was able to control things, and he "came to" and "got stuck" in the same place, where he had been immortal, blissful, ignorant. Ammonia stared, arms crossed, one foot tapping.
To this taste of Ammonia's sharp, peevish incredulity Bill didn't respond well, saying she looked as though she wanted him to bring her back some proof. Bring her an impossible shape, or something. But that he would do better. "Alright then … Birgetta Bar$$$ – I know you know what I know."
He told her her life's story. Nutshell-sized recap. Explained that when he bumbled back into this here of his origin universe, he first poked his head in about two decades prior to the right now.
"It's not a science, this dimension travelling, it's tough to fine-tune the whole time." While the now he appeared in matured to the now he had broken away from, he found himself aware of how all things were developing. Out of all of which things he found himself focused on the people he had been connected to, and that tellingly included pretty much only Ammonia. Bill didn't have a lot of relationships with people who liked him, either, so naturally he was drawn to consider her life especially. Her story he held in his mind as the memory of an engrossing novel or, more fitting to Bill, a film franchise. The litany of major character shaping events made her jaw drop.
"You saw all that…" Ammonia was wilted over in her seat and blushing red. She knew that she might be one of the only people to ever come to the moment in life where one has no secrets. "You must have seen other things, too, then." Like her stay in the camming house, strip-teasing for tips from overseas customers on encrypted websites. She always thought she would be insulated from the land where Away From Keyboard and Far in the Future overlapped. Here she was in it.
"It's okay, Ammonia." Bill sat with a level gaze. "I knew I had recognized the name before. It's a nice bit of wordplay." Ammonia's mind raced. Had he been one of her tippers? How had he known to mask his IP address? For how long had their lives been intertwining? Bill was starting to look kind of like a balding, stained work shirt wearing Buddha to her. Suddenly remembered where she had intended for the conversation to go.
Ammonia's embarrassment quickly transmuted itself into an opportunity for reproof, she said righteously, "If that's all for real, you can do this crazy shit, then why don't you use it to find out what happened? Why this happened to you?"
Another one of his blank stares where he looks like he's figuring out why someone is asking him questions, why it makes him feel so vulnerable… he answers her finally. Decides he's going to test her a bit. "Let the CIA figure it out, let Mulder and Scully go at it. Let someone else go put their snouts out for the why's and what's."
Ammonia's face fell and then lifted, and she chimed in, "Of course, but people like us see that's no way out. We are not content to live under the shadow of, if not truth… the shadow of knowledge. We always have to investigate – it's our nature!"
Bill Turnbull was always a pretty smart person just with all kinds of sass and too many cynical vices corroding him. Here in front of him, chirping at him about the freedom of enlightenment; here was someone who was going to move herself towards really doing something, become an agent of change – Bill could see it clearly.
He considered the fullness of Ammonia's youth radiating from her face, and let it wash over him, bringing him the full information on the young woman who had taken pains to seek him out, to check on his well-being, to care for his connection to this place and time. He knew he could trust her, fill her in on what lie in store for him. For her part, Ammonia was just getting to the part where she thought she was going to start offering to help.
"Listen, whatever happened, happened to you, Bill. You are allowed to feel things about that – you're allowed to have an opinion and get inquisitive and wonder if you have been given a gift, you know, what way are you supposed to use it?"
"Ethically. You want me to consider my next steps … as a gratitude thing?"
"No, dummy! As a puzzle thing. As a game. Embrace the absurdity of it all… I think we should figure it out. I've been snooping for a few weeks, now. We could start snooping together."
Bill couldn't take it anymore. He would have to let her know. He leaned in over the strip mall food court table.
"I've got a pretty good bit of help in you, young lady. And thanks for looking for me." Bill took a breath. "I can tell you the why, the parts I've been leaving out."
Now Ammonia leaned in, her voice an aspirated squeaky whisper. "What parts? What did you already find out – was it something you saw while you were also … investigating me?"
Bill waited a beat for effect – he couldn't help himself. It was all so dramatic suddenly. Then he let her have it as concisely as he could muster.
"It's a fight of ages. Of a bygone age and one upcoming – a titanic struggle, Ammonia!" People in the food court turned to see who was so excited. "The end of the plant age – our species, a lens for consciousness, raised here by the Sun and our electro-magnetic dynamo; and we must now take our vessel into the next age partnered with space-travelling fungus …
"The visitors win this one. We have to make sure the human race sides with the fungus; we have to make sure the Sun God dies. And the God of the Void prevails."
Ammonia's eyes might fall out of their sockets. Little red capillaries are turning fat as the moisture dries from the whites. Bill finishes off his admission.
"I have seen the victory, the new age, and I came back to tell myself to, well, get involved."
"That's … way more fucked up than anything I was thinking of." Ammonia straightens up in her seat. Now she is nearly screaming. "Holy smokes! I thought," regains a bit of composure and quiets herself considerably, "I thought it was some kind of mystic cabal entrenched in the local government, you know, like mind control and hypnosis or some shit … holy smokes!" she repeats this a few more times.
"No, Ammonia, I'm afraid this has next to nothing to do with late-Corporate Capitalist Homo sapiens materialism. Our species has merely been enabling brewers yeast – a one hundred-eighty thousand year old organism taking care of a far older one, a fungus that is only another lens for consciousness – been enabling it in response to some deep knowledge that it will be able to shepherd us…"
"To where?!" then more self-shushing.
"More like 'to whence,' Ammonia. You said I should go and explore my part in this mystery, and you would help… well?" Bill Turnbill stands up at the table in the food court. Throws his napkin on the paper liner on his tray, slides his chair in and holds out his hand to Ammonia Saccas. "Are we doing this?"
From → Speculative As Fuck
untitled short story, pt. 1 »

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
ℚ Guaranteed to Bleed: Country Club Murders [2] - Julie Mulhern
Today we have the pleasure of meeting up with author Julie Mulhern to talk about Guaranteed to Bleed (13 October 2015, Henery Press, 268 pages), a Mystery, book two of the Country Club Murders.
"Set in Kansas City, Missouri, in 1974, this cozy mystery effectively recreates the era through the details of down-to-earth Ellison's everyday life." – Booklist
"Written sincerely, with unforgettable one-liners including: "Kizzi lived behind a curtain sewn from dry martinis." There are many more to list, but I do not want to spoil the pleasure of unexpectedly encountering such gems tucked throughout the book. Thoroughly enjoyable." – Librarian, Jefferson-Madison Regional Library System
Synopsis | Teaser | The Series | Author Q&A | About the Author | Giveaway & Tour Stops
A very warm welcome to Julie Mulhern; thank you for joining us on BooksChatter.
What was the inspiration for Guaranteed to Bleed?
"Guaranteed to Bleed is the second book in the Country Club Murders. As the series name suggests, the stories are centered around the country club set. They take place in the early 70s. I knew I wanted to write a mystery and a tight-knit, privileged community seemed the perfect place. I chose the 70s because I remember them fondly (I was a kid)."
"Some of my experiences show up in Guaranteed to Bleed (I've never found a body but I have searched for things under the football stands) and the heroine's dog, Max, closely resembles my own pooch, Sam."
The first thing that draws me to a book is its cover. Can you tell us about your cover for Guaranteed to Bleed - why you chose that concept and who the artist is.
"I am very fortunate in that my publisher, Henery Press, allows me input. They did the design and then we tweaked together. Isn't it great?"
Why should we read Guaranteed to Bleed and what sets it apart from the rest? What makes your book unique?
"Unique? Country clubs, 1970s, and a heroine who's coming into her own as a woman. Guaranteed to Bleed will make you laugh (I hope) and make you think (not so much that it hurts) and it might even make you want to go back and see how it all started in The Deep End."
Can you tell us something quirky about Guaranteed to Bleed, its story and characters?
"One of my favorite scenes in Guaranteed to Bleed takes place at The Jewel Box, an actual bar that used to exist in Kansas City. It was an important stop on the drag queen circuit. My heroine, Ellison, is taken there on a double date and hilarity ensues."
Who would you recommend Guaranteed to Bleed to and what should readers be aware of (any warnings or disclaimers)?
"Guaranteed to Bleed is G-rated fun….well, maybe PG. There are drag queens, a sexy police detective, a sexy lawyer, and some mature themes."
If you could / wished to turn Guaranteed to Bleed and the the Country Club Murders series into a movie, who would be your dream team?
"Because the series is set in the 70s, I pictured 70s actors and actresses. Think Faye Dunaway for Ellison, Steve McQueen for Anarchy Jones, and Cary Grant for Hunter Tafft."
"I love writing mysteries. Love it! I also love to read them. That said, I also read biographies, history, romance and thrillers."
"I write every day—early. So early. Where's the coffee early. Usually at least 1,000 words which I edit later in the day. As far as plotter or pantser, I'm a little bit of both. I write to identified plot points."
"Book three in the Country Club series releases in May. The title is Clouds in My Coffee. I have a signed a contract for an additional six books so Ellison and the gang will be around for a while!"
"This is Sam, the inspiration for Max."
Hello Sam! What a lovely boy :-)
Guaranteed to Bleed


text:
Staatsoper Unter den Linden Announces Day-Long Program to Kickstart 2022-23 Season
On Sunday, Sept. 4, 2022, the Staatsoper Unter den Linden will kick off its 2022-23 season with a unique showcase open to all Berliners.
Between 11 a.m. and 5 p.m., the company will open its doors, allowing audiences a unique experience to enter the opera house and engage with a diverse program.
At 11 a.m., members of the Staatskapelle Berlin will perform chamber music by Schubert at the Great Hall. At 1 p.m., ensemble soloists will take the stage to perform music by Monteverdi, Wagner, Grieg, Puccini, and Janacek. From 3:30 – 4:30, the ballet company will rehearse an excerpt from "Giselle."
In addition to the showcases in the Big Hall, there will also be performances in the Courtyard. At 11 am. The Staatsopernchor will deliver music from "La Traviata, "Il Trovatore," and "Carmen." There will also be a performance by the horn section of the opera children's orchestra as well as appearances from the ensemble of the children's opera house. The International Opera Studio will also present an arias program and the Apollo Choir and the Youth Choir of the Staatsoper will present a program at 4 p.m. The courtyard events conclude with a performance from the children's choir at 5 p.m.
In the evening, the company will present a performance of "Giselle."


About Me MIMI LIVED N THE POUND MOST OF HER LIFE. HER ORIGIONAL OWNER DROPPED HER OFF ON THE STEPS OF THE LOCAL SHELTER IN A BOX WHEN SHE WAS 3 WEEKS OLD. SHE LIVED THERE UNTIL SHE WAS 10 MONTHS OLD. SHE WAS ADOPTED ON MAY 1,2004 AND LIVES IN A LOVING HOME NOW.
We are 2 lucky kitties. I was also put in a box when I was 3 weeks old & thrown away. Life is good now, right? Miaou!
Mom said that you're a good looking cat and you deserve a treat..so we gave you a snack too. Enjoy! We good lookin' women have to stick together!


text:
Q: How can I save my numbers in an array to have bigger output I wrote this code to calculate factorials, but it can't calculate more than 20 numbers. How can I use arrays to have for example more than 500 numbers in the output?
#include <stdio.h>
int main() {
    int result = 1;
    int f;
    int i;
    int as = 1;
    scanf("%d", &f);

    for (i = 1; i <= f; i++) {
        as *= i;
    }
    printf("%d", as);
    return 0;
}

A: Due to this link,
Following is a simple solution where we use an array to store individual digits of the result. The idea is to use basic mathematics for multiplication.
The following is detailed algorithm for finding factorial.
factorial(n)
1) Create an array 'res[]' of MAX size where MAX is number of maximum digits in output.
2) Initialize value stored in 'res[]' as 1 and initialize 'res_size' (size of 'res[]') as 1.
3) Do following for all numbers from x = 2 to n.
……a) Multiply x with res[] and update res[] and res_size to store the multiplication result.
How to multiply a number 'x' with the number stored in res[]?
The idea is to use simple school mathematics. We one by one multiply x with every digit of res[]. The important point to note here is digits are multiplied from rightmost digit to leftmost digit. If we store digits in same order in res[], then it becomes difficult to update res[] without extra space. That is why res[] is maintained in reverse way, i.e., digits from right to left are stored.
multiply(res[], x)
1) Initialize carry as 0.
2) Do following for i = 0 to res_size – 1
….a) Find value of res[i] * x + carry. Let this value be prod.
….b) Update res[i] by storing last digit of prod in it.
….c) Update carry by storing remaining digits in carry.
3) Put all digits of carry in res[] and increase res_size by number of digits in carry.
Example to show working of multiply(res[], x)
A number 5189 is stored in res[] as following.
res[] = {9, 8, 1, 5}
x = 10

Initialize carry = 0;

i = 0, prod = res[0]*x + carry = 9*10 + 0 = 90.
res[0] = 0, carry = 9

i = 1, prod = res[1]*x + carry = 8*10 + 9 = 89
res[1] = 9, carry = 8

i = 2, prod = res[2]*x + carry = 1*10 + 8 = 18
res[2] = 8, carry = 1

i = 3, prod = res[3]*x + carry = 5*10 + 1 = 51
res[3] = 1, carry = 5

res[4] = carry = 5
res[] = {0, 9, 8, 1, 5}

Below is the implementation of above algorithm.
// C++ program to compute factorial of big numbers
#include<iostream>
using namespace std;

// Maximum number of digits in output
#define MAX 500

int multiply(int x, int res[], int res_size)

// This function finds factorial of large numbers and prints them
void factorial(int n)
{
    int res[MAX];

    // Initialize result
    res[0] = 1;
    int res_size = 1;

    // Apply simple factorial formula n! = 1 * 2 * 3 * 4...*n
    for (int x=2; x<=n; x++)
        res_size = multiply(x, res, res_size);

    cout << "Factorial of given number is n";
    for (int i=res_size-1; i>=0; i--)
        cout << res[i];
}

// This function multiplies x with the number represented by res[].
// res_size is size of res[] or number of digits in the number represented
// by res[]. This function uses simple school mathematics for multiplication.
// This function may value of res_size and returns the new value of res_size
int multiply(int x, int res[], int res_size)
{
    int carry = 0;  // Initialize carry

    // One by one multiply n with individual digits of res[]
    for (int i=0; i<res_size; i++)
    {
        int prod = res[i] * x + carry;
        res[i] = prod % 10;  // Store last digit of 'prod' in res[]
        carry  = prod/10;    // Put rest in carry
    }

    // Put carry in res and increase result size
    while (carry)
    {
        res[res_size] = carry%10;
        carry = carry/10;
        res_size++;
    }
    return res_size;
}

// Driver program
int main()
{
    factorial(100);
    return 0;
}

This links also may help you:
https://discuss.codechef.com/questions/7349/computing-factorials-of-a-huge-number-in-cc-a-tutorial


In this economy, it seems like more people than ever before are becoming landlords, whether that was in their original plans or not. If you're looking to move, but you can't sell your home without losing money, renting it out is a great option. In an effort to save money, many people are opting to manage their own properties instead of hiring a management company. If you find yourself renting out property, whether a house, a condo, or an apartment, just make sure that you draft a strong lease agreement that will protect both your rights and the rights of your tenant. This agreement needs to be clear, well organized, and detailed. Here are five mistakes to avoid when drafting your own lease agreement.
As much as you like your new tenants and hope that they will pay their bills on time and take good care of your property, you simply cannot afford to make the mistake of only making verbal agreements. Discussing your terms and shaking on it isn't going to cut it. To protect yourself and your tenant, you must draft a legally binding written agreement, signed by both parties.
If ever there was a time for precision and detail, this is it. Don't just throw together some sloppy agreement and have your tenant sign at the bottom. You need to list the property address, the length of the lease including the specific dates of that time frame, any specific regulations regarding pets on the premises, any damage already present in the home, and other details like eviction policies and late payment fees. The more specific you are, the easier it will be to sort through any problems that may come up in the future.
As much as you might like to simply trust everyone that applies to rent your property, you must conduct a background check prior to accepting an application. Yes, it might cost a little bit to have this done. However, this information, including credit history and criminal background, is vital. You are entrusting someone with your property. It only makes sense that you need to do your homework in order to ensure that you find a trustworthy tenant.
Although it will take a bit of your time, make sure that you conduct an initial inspection of your property with your tenant. During this inspection, make a written list noting any damage to the property including stains in carpeting, nail holes in the walls, and other issues related to the structure and cosmetic appearance of the property. Once the list is complete, both parties should sign and date the document. This will come in handy down the road when your tenant is preparing to move. At this point, you can walk through the property again and it will be clear what damage occurred after the tenant took up residence in the unit. This will allow you to receive proper payment for any repairs you need to make.
Finally, it is imperative that you collect a deposit. You can include this stipulation in your property listing and you should also detail the amount of the deposit and the parameters for refunding the deposit in your lease agreement. You may want to collect the equivalent of one month's rent at the beginning of the lease and stipulate that a certain percentage of the deposit will be refunded when the lease is concluded. It is wise to make a portion of the deposit non-refundable to cover the cost of having the property cleaned in between tenants. You will also want to state in your lease that the cost of repairs for any damage caused by the tenant will come out of the deposit. A deposit adds an extra level of security for you as a landlord and gives your tenant added incentive to pay their rent on time and take care of your property.


text:
Wisłoujście Fortress
This 700-year-old structure is one of the most unique architectural and historic monuments in Gdańsk.
ahvenas (Atlas Obscura User)
View to the inner yard from watchtower. ahvenas (Atlas Obscura User)
Inside the bastion. ahvenas (Atlas Obscura User)
An old drawing about the fortress buildings ahvenas (Atlas Obscura User)
Top Places in Gdańsk
Cemetery of Lost Cemeteries
Falowiec
Monument to the Defenders of the Polish Post Office
The Wisłoujście Fortress is a strategic outpost at the mouth of the Vistula River, where it empties into the Baltic Sea. The traffic of all ships traveling to and from the port of Gdańsk can be seen and monitored from here, which is why this unique circular fort was a key defensive point for Poland for centuries, starting in the early 14th century.
The earliest records of a watchtower in this area date back to 1308, but it wasn't until over a century later the first permanent fortification building was erected. In 1482, a round tower was built and functioned as a watchtower and lighthouse. Throughout history, the fortress was expanded and remodeled again and again, and a number of additional buildings were arranged around this central tower.
In the 16th century, a circular battery consisting of a set of bastions and casemates were added to the structure, to better position the firearms. The foundation of the fort rests on wooden underground bunkers hidden beneath the water, where a collection of historic weapons is now housed.
Over the years the importance of this fortress waned, and it was badly damaged by the Soviet Army during the Second World War. Luckily in 1974, the Museum of Gdansk obtained this area and realized the historical importance of the site. The restoration works are still ongoing, but many of the original structures have been restored and can be visited today.
The fortress is easily accessed by car or bus from the city. You can see the exterior free of charge but tickets are needed to climb the tower or tour the casemates. Open from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. during the spring and summer months. Closed from October until the end of April.
lighthouses fortresses rivers military history medieval architecture history
ahvenas
1 Stara Twierdza
Ruins at Westerplatte
Gdańsk Shipyard
The site of the first battle of World War II.
A floundering Polish shipyard was once the soul of the Solidarity movement that capsized communism.
Modern art commemorates one of the first military actions of World War II.
Memorial to the lost dead of Gdansk, whose resting places were destroyed during World War II.
Bač, Serbia
Bač Fortress
A well preserved medieval fortress in Vojvodina.
Gormaz, Spain
Castle of Gormaz
This Arab fortress was once the largest citadel in Western Europe.
Almeida, Portugal
Fortress of Almeida
The medieval town's star-shaped walls are geometrically dazzling, though not entirely impenetrable.
Trieste, Italy
Faro della Vittoria (Victory Lighthouse)
One of the tallest lighthouses in the world also serves as a monument to the fallen of World War I.


Modifying a Ferrari, or any other high-end supercar for that matter, is an incredibly complicated undertaking. Ask any respected car designer to customize any of these supercars, and he's likely to turn down your offer outright.
But then again, have you ever looked at a Ferrari F12 Berlinetta and wished it appeared more aggressive? Well, the car gods must be on your side because your prayers have been answered.
Spanish automotive designers Bengala have done the unthinkable by creating a bespoke all-fiber-carbon model of Ferrari's GT3 racers called Bengala F12 Caballeria. The designers brought some small tweaks to give this unique supercar a more sleek and aggressive look plus some features that'll will make sure that the customized supercar remains exclusive.
The Spanish designers have only created ten of these Ferrari-based Caballeria models in what is known as the Privilege Program. Meaning that you'll have to be well-moneyed with a thirst for modified supercars and a whack of cash lying around to get your hands on this baby. Bengala has yet to release its price range, but like they say, if you have to ask the price you can't afford it.


The journey to the track is in much need of a "Worlds greatest track day play list"!
With your help, we should be able to complie a stonking selection!!
Get you nominations in and there will be a pole to finalise the list of 20 songs!
Re: Track Day Play List - get your nominations in!
'Leader Of The Pack' - The Shangri-Las . . . . .
Starting to shape up nicely as "The Worst Compilation Album In The World................. Ever!"


text:
Small Business Computer Support
How to remove the Ask toolbar from Google Chrome
05 Jan 2015 0 How-To Guides
You have been extremely careful about downloading add-ons and other unnecessary software to your computer, however, you have accidentally fallen into the trap and downloaded the dreaded Ask toolbar to your Google Chrome. The most likely reason that users unintentionally download and install the Ask Toolbar is due to when they are updating or installing Java.
Java is not considered an entirely reliable piece of software nowadays as it is riddled with security issues that allow malware to claw its way onto your computer. Even after removing or disabling the Java plugin in your browser (highly recommended), you are unfortunately still stuck with the Ask Toolbar!
Ask Toolbar can also find its way onto your Windows computer by other means, including bundled together with other software (often free, downloaded software), or even device drivers (such as graphics card drivers and audio drivers). The best way to prevent Ask Toolbar from installing itself is to carefully check each step of the installation process for ALL software you may install be it downloaded or on disc. Look for a little checkbox similar to the image above, and UNCHECK!
Even the most careful user can sometimes miss this sneaky add-on, so let us now thoroughly explain, step by step, how to remove the infuriating Ask Toolbar from your system.
When you first download the Ask Toolbar, it will not come up in the list of Programs and Features. However, it will clearly show up as a process in Task Manager. Ask Toolbar will only be properly installed once you have restarted your computer, at which point it will appear in the Programs and Features list.
After you have restarted your computer and open your Google Chrome browser, Ask Toolbar will now appear in the search function up top.
Usually when it comes to disabling or uninstalling plugins in Google Chrome, navigating to the Settings – Extensions section and clicking the trash bin should be enough. If you attempt to do so with Ask Toolbar however, an error comes up that states the program is in use and cannot be shutdown. This is because Ask Toolbar is more than a simple browser extension; Windows also treats it like a fully fledged piece of software which has been installed onto your system.
There is no need to be discouraged by this setback, all you have to do is navigate to Start-Control Panel – Programs and Features and find the Ask Toolbar in the list.
Select Uninstall and the Ask Toolbar will be promptly removed from the operating system.
Relaunch Google Chrome and you will find that the Ask Toolbar is no longer present. Success!!
If you happen to use another browser such as Internet Explorer or Mozilla Firefox, the same procedure applies.
How to Disable Startup Programs in Windows
How to force Windows to Always Show File Extensions
How to setup Canned Responses in Gmail
How To Disable A Windows 10 User Account
How to find your public and private IP address
How to get rid of the OneDrive sign in pop up every time you log into Windows
How to setup private browsing on any web browser
How To Find Your Wi-Fi Network Password on Windows
How to attach an application to the Windows taskbar
How to simply reinstall Windows 10 without the bloatware
Apple OSX
Request Your Free Consultation Today
We'll come to your place of business, and give you a full diagnostic snapshot of your IT systems.
CLOUD BUSINESS IT SUPPORT
Suite 510 / 46 Kippax Street
Surry Hills, Sydney
International phone: +61 2 8014 8414
sales@cloudbt.com.au
We service the Sydney metropolitan region including, but not limited to: Sydney CBD, North Sydney, Surry Hills, Glebe, Newtown, Bondi, Randwick, Paddington, Chatswood, Epping, Bondi Junction, Rozelle, Balmain, St Leonards, Chatswood, St Peters, Alexandria, Botany, Drummoyne, Hunters Hill, North Ryde, Le Perouse, Narrabeen, Mona Vale, Pennant Hills, Pendle Hill, Beverly Hills, Revesby, Rydalmere, Wetherill Park, Australia.
©2014 CloudBT. All Rights Reserved.


text:
Q: How to restrict changing desktop wallpaper? We have Macbook Airs running 10.8.1. These are exposed to students in a k-12 setting. I'd like to restrict their ability to change the wallpaper of the desktop.  Is there a setting to configure?

A: I didn't find any way to prevent changing the desktop picture, but you could just change it back to the default every few seconds.
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE plist PUBLIC -//Apple Computer//DTD PLIST
1.0//EN http://www.apple.com/DTDs/PropertyList-1.0.dtd>
<plist version="1.0">
<dict>
    <key>Label</key>
    <string>com.stackexchange.apple.65938</string>
    <key>ProgramArguments</key>
    <array>
        <string>osascript</string>
        <string>-e</string>
        <string>tell application "Finder"
set f to POSIX file "/Library/Desktop Pictures/Galaxy.jpg"
if desktop picture is not file f then set desktop picture to f
end tell</string>
    </array>
    <key>StartInterval</key>
    <integer>10</integer>
</dict>
</plist>

Save the file above as /Library/LaunchAgents/com.stackexchange.apple.65938.plist, change the owner, and load the plist:
sudo chown root /Library/LaunchAgents/com.stackexchange.apple.65938.plist
sudo launchctl load /Library/LaunchAgents/com.stackexchange.apple.65938.plist

The property list is loaded automatically when users log in.

A: In Terminal, the following:
chown (USER)
/Users/(USER)/Library/Preferences/com.apple.desktop.plist

Where (USER) is the short user name.
Then, lock that file:
chflags uchg /Users/(USER)/Library/Preferences/com.apple.desktop.plist


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