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Home ⁄ Content Consulting ⁄ Content Marketing Strategy
Simply, Goals
Any team that steps out on to a field, does so with a game plan. Content Marketing is no different. One does not simply produce and publish content mindlessly, or post whatever they've been able to create first. There needs to be an understanding, a purpose, an objective behind publishing every piece of content.
This purpose usually stems from the publisher wanting to achieve a goal, which could be higher brand awareness, increased traffic, deeper engagement, more conversions, etc. So, while strategy may sound like a complicated word. It gets simplified when we substitute it with goals.
Why You Need a Content Marketing Strategy
A content marketing strategy takes your content pieces and assembles it with a binding purpose. The strategy transforms the individual players (content pieces), into a team, that then plays to win.
Cohesion in Brand Messaging
Multiple publishing channels, catering to different sets of target audience and preferences, allow content creators to target well and publish smartly. In addition, some publishers have proprietary or captive platforms for distributing their own content. They can leverage content in different formats and cater to specific audiences, leaving readers enriched and engaged.
However, on the other hand, content creators, brand managers and even the audience can be overwhelmed with too many options, resulting in lack of focus. It is not necessary to have a presence on all "major" platforms. A sound content strategy can help you focus on the things that matter, while cutting out the clutter. It can help you ensure that the brand message is rich, consistent, and cohesive, across platforms.
Strong Brand Identity
A content marketing strategy helps create and maintain a brand persona. A strategy will give you a plan of action for what to say, how to say, when to say, and where to say. For example, if you want to show the lighter side of the organization, you can consider creating videos following popular social trends (such as Mannequin Challenge – watch team LexiConn show you how it's done, Harlem Shake, etc.).
Good Content Works Like a Magnet
Customers rarely look for a specific website or a business, they look for solution and answers. In order for them to land on your website, it should rank prominently on search engines, which means your web content needs to be recent, relevant, and reliable. A well-crafted SEO strategy can make all of this happen.
Increase Content Efficacy
It's not about how much, but more about why. Bombarding your audience with content may, at best, get you a handful leads, but at worse, feel like spam and lead to un-follows and opt-outs. A content marketing strategy will put in place guidelines, best practices, and most importantly, a purpose, behind every piece you publish. With your content serving a decisive purpose, you can expect to reach the most relevant audience, with more conversions, and higher levels of engagement.
Maximize Return on Investment
Content Marketing costs about 62% less than traditional advertising, while generating up to three times the results. A well-thought-out campaign allows even the smaller organizations to compete with those on a bigger marketing budget. Also, with less time and money being spent on producing content, there is higher productivity, and more conversions, which translate into a bigger bang for your marketing bucks.
Developing a Content Marketing Strategy
Define Your Marketing Goals
A strategy starts with a goal. This goal defines the direction. Your content marketing strategy should consider the current marketing and sales challenges, and the organization's objectives. One size never fits all. Based on the nature of the product and its stage in the lifecycle, a strategy needs to be tailored.
Content Analytics and Audit
Along with goalsetting, one needs to audit the effectiveness and performance of the current content marketing activities (if any). This helps establish a baseline to gauge improvement once the strategy kicks in. The performance also needs to be benchmarked against competitors and industry best practices.
Create Audience Personas
Personas as fictional characters having similar characteristics as your target audience. You can have multiple personas for each product or service you offer. Creating 'buyer personas' for your products and services, and 'ideal readers' for your content helps you target better and customize the strategy.
List down what makes your persona tick, and on which platform. Once you understand your customer's behaviour, you'll know what they are looking for. When you know what your customer wants, you will know what you need to create. For example, Pinterest is visually driven, Facebook is community-driven, Twitter is brief and precise, while LinkedIn is thoroughly professional. Your customer's behaviour changes across these platforms.
Brainstorm Content Ideas
Based on the preferences of the readers, create content ideas (both static and dynamic). Also take in to account the publishing platforms, types of content (infographics, blogs, articles, case studies, podcasts, videos, etc.), audience receptibility, and other influencing factors such as device preference, data consumption, reading habits, time spent, and so on.
A content calendar is the culmination of the brainstorming sessions. It carries detailed information about the plan of action and is an essential document for all the stakeholders. Some of the typical inclusions in a content calendar are:
Product Type/Category
Persona/Buyer Stage
Targeted Keyword (for keyword-based content)
Theme/Topic
Commission By (Date)
First Draft By (Date)
Roll Out By (Date)
Targeted Platform/s
Distribution Channel/s
Creating a content calendar builds visibility, helps to plan resources, build efficiency, and ensues continuity.
Establish Performance Tracking Indicators
Key Performance Indicators need to be in place to judge the efficacy of any campaign. For sales, one could look at the click rates, and the subsequent conversions. For brand awareness, audience growth and engagement is an indicator.
A lot of content marketing fails to deliver the intended results – this is also to do with the lack of performance indicators and metrics. However, as the field evolves, these tools and benchmarks are coming up.
Publish, Manage, and Maintain
Once the content is published, a new set of activities begin. Comments need to be monitored, questions to be answered and suggestions need to be acknowledged. Sometimes, unfavourable trends need to be addressed too. Online reputation management is a serious business.
Constant monitoring helps understand the effectiveness of the content. Suggestions and analytics work as a feedback mechanism for building and perfecting future content.
The Hallmarks of a Good Content Marketing Strategy
Tracked – A written (not verbal) strategy is the key to making it great!
Targeted – Highly targeted campaigns usually result in higher conversions
Unique – New, is interesting
Agile – Change quickly to adapt to audience preferences
Omnipresent – Showcase expertise across formats
Quantified – "Show me the ROI!"
Yes, content marketing is in a nascent stage. Right from its very definition, to roles and responsibilities, measurement, KPIs, and success parameters; everything is still a mystery. But it is coming together, fast!
As an organization that was established even before the term 'Content Marketing' was coined, it's safe to say that we understand all things content. Our experienced Content Architects can create unique strategies for your business goals. We can hand-hold you though the entire process, punctuating it with useful insights from the thousands of projects we have executed over the years.
Talk to us. Together, we can create a winning game plan!


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private, market-based, and diverse solution-making.
avoid taxing, spending, and other actions that don't advance THAT mission.
unfair "tax." As you might suspect, I was roundly…ignored.
Thanks for making and sharing your points.
university, which in turn must adhere to the values of the Government.
Association — which advocates pederasty.
facilities, or receive public funding or backing.
Whitney Houston. She was the only non-Kyrgyz among the housekeepers.
several times, and smashed into a concrete wall, killing everybody instantly.
so I suspect it's an address he doesn't use any more.
various socialist-leaning ones as well, a black student "association"
had big representation in the student body, etc.
probably a lesbian Buddhist student and was not amused.
to join a group of people you didn't have anything in common with?
just to get to meet lots of slant-eyed chicks.
just build their own parallel schools right next to the public schools.
name – no, it had to be the MEN.
firm insistence on open membership.
come under such fire at universities whenever somebody tries to form one?
roast in hell for eternity, and are not ashamed to let you know this?
"funding" (socialism creeping in through the back door?).
seeking out and encouraging the formation of "faith-based"
always was into Jesus, has really gone off the deep end in her old age.
then the sun and the moon were created a couple of days later.
And on that apocalyptic note, I bid you good night!


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text:
Q: Word that describes something purposefully unrelated to a theme In my efforts to come up with a bowling team name for the upcoming season, I've found myself gravitating toward names that are totally unrelated to the normal bowling theme that most teams go for. For example, team names that fit the common theme are:

*

*"We Three Strikes"

*"Gutterballs"

*"Ball for One, One for Ball"

Whereas this year I want to suggest something like:

*

*"Squirrels"

*"Trees"

*"Mass Transit System"

*"Comfy Shoes"

There has to be a word that describes the type of name I'm looking for. Something similar to irreverent maybe, but that implies disrespect which I don't believe this team name would be. I can feel a word buzzing around my head but I can't pluck it out of there.

A: You may be looking for non sequitur:

non sequitur (noun) |  non se·qui·tur \ˌnän-ˈse-kwə-tər also -ˌtu̇r\
A statement (such as a response) that does not follow logically from or is not clearly related to anything previously said.
A conversational and literary device, often used for comedic purposes. It is something said that, because of its apparent lack of meaning relative to what preceded it, seems absurd to the point of being humorous or confusing.

Example
What's the name of their bowling team? The "Honey Glazed Hockey Sticks"? What a total non sequitur!
Sources:

*

*https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/non%20sequitur

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Non_sequitur_(literary_device)

A: Names that are unrelated to the bowling theme are random.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


text:
[ locomotion ]
by Kyle Hemmings
It's going be a another dry spell, I just know it, and I wish my brain were a sponge to cool-soak my thoughts. The Texas sun glitters over the rusted fenders, old cowl hoods, grill inserts, aluminum front and rear skid plates, you name it. All these things left to waste in a land of milk and honey. It's the fifth junkyard we've visited in a week. I watch my twin brother, Jocko, hold up a pair of shock absorbers. Jocko, with his tightly knotted arms and head of stringy, thinning hair, yelling out to the Kid, These'll finish off the front suspension, don't you think?
The Kid, all of eighteen and Jocko's boy, cruises around piles of iron and stainless scrap in his electric wheelchair, pushing the black-cherry colored throttle sideways to swing some sharp turns. His mouth opens in some kind of hay market delight. Maybe like a lottery winner on a shopping spree in a supermarket. The wheelchair never tips over, even when he performs wheelies to buck Jocko and to impress me. And I wonder how he does this, as he leans to one side, his blonde ponytail flying in the stream of wind he creates with the sudden turns. But for me, with my history of bruised shins, I've never appreciated the fact that the throttle—a man-made device—is quicker than the leg.
"Yeah, it'll do," says the Kid, squinting his eyes in the blistery sun, the one hand gloved, fingers poking through. The kind you see hard-rockers wear, posing on the cover of Spin, their smirks intimidating like weapons.
Jocko and I load the scraps of car parts into the pickup while the Kid watches us with this serene smile, as if his thirst isn't rabid like ours. I mean, sometimes I have to help the Kid steady the clear bottle to his lips, using a strip of long tubing as a makeshift straw. Not that he doesn't have good motion with his hands, the right better than the left; the right's got the glove. And the legs are coming along, he told me. By the time we reach Mexico, he might even be able to stand up.
So Jocko trudges up to the yard's owner, a skinny Vietnamese dude with Ray-Ban shades and a wicked Stetson, cream-colored, too large for his head. Jocko pays him and we drive back to the shop outside Corpus Christi, our rumps baking against the hot seat of the cab, the sound of the loaded parts jumping and jiggling in the truck's bed.
I'm helping Jocko insert an upper radiator hose and some other parts for the heater. We're rebuilding a truck for the Kid, the kind he wants, with a rumbling exhaust and a full force suspension. The Kid says he wants to drive to Mexico in something that is uniquely his, something with four-wheel drive and Grade 8 hardware, something that can earn him a write-up in the Dallas Record. He says he'll spray paint along the driver's door the words, Who's your daddy?
For months, the Kid was telling me that he read about this island off Mexico—off Yucatan, actually—where people live without addresses, roam the beaches as they please. He said there are exotic birds of bright white and red feathers, birds which hoot and coo the strangest sounds, birds they don't even have names for. And the air is so clean, cleaner than the white crystal sand that is free of litter and probably pampers the body better than a goose feather mattress.
And maybe, the Kid pointed out, this is the kind of place that the Aztecs practiced rites of sacrifice, so remote yet not, separated by some flimsy channel of water, where retired movie stars come to jumpstart their dreams of leading private lives, without the paparazzi and hidden cameras. People don't die there, the Kid was telling me, angling his cornflower blue eyes toward my forearm tattoo: the word Mimi, a former live-in. They just kind of take on new identities and get reborn.
Well, I always had some idea of Yucatan, maybe an afterthought to California, some gray straggly tail on a map. But the three of us to live on some island off it? The Kid said he read about it from a travel newsletter he had a special subscription for. And how he convinced Jocko to go along with this was beyond me.
I sat next to a mission-styled night stand as the Kid stared at a wrinkled map spread across his low bed. Man, oh, man, did his room reek of soiled sheets. With a shaky finger, he pointed to a speck on the map he had torn from the newsletter with his teeth, and said that was it, the island. I squeezed my eyes and thought that might be it, or maybe just a mark, a thumbnail scratch that meant nothing. But the Kid said there were pictures. The Kid was starin' at me, goggle-eyed and droop-faced, dumbfounded as a pup, as if there was something wrong with my vision and not his.
I'm lying back on a bed at the Red Bull Lodge, a hole-in-the-wall stop close to the Mexican border, thinking about how, after it happened, there were days of thunder, a welcome rain, the kind you hardly see in this part of Texas. And the old windmills that reminded me of tiny pinwheels at a distance. It was weeks after Jocko overdosed himself on potassium pills, at least I thought so, but an old Daily Gazette reported otherwise. But who am I to say. Maybe nothing you could prove or disprove. I had dug myself from the dregs of a past life, trying to get reborn into another.
A 40-ish hooker from the Miss Lonely Girl agency struts in front of me, skin chalky with a permanent blush across the cheeks; the hair, sand-colored and puffy, like some dirty angel on loan. There's a butterfly tattoo above the base of her spine, and the loose wrinkles of fat at the back of her thighs remind me of streaks of gray clouds. She asks me as I'm flipping pages of an old Reader's Digest if I'd like her to dance and grind in her red underwear. Before she starts, she says, it always works 'em up. I tell her I just want a massage and a hand job, and then, I say, no, just the massage, a really good rub, that's all.
On the TV, reruns of All in the Family, Archie Bunker yelling at Meathead to get a job and forget his unpatriotic protests against the Vietnam war. Miss Lonely Girl pours some burning oil across my back, the scent of cedar wood and something smoky, maybe angels' wings on fire. She's doin' me justice, workin' the shit deep into crevices and areas I never thought much about, and I wonder if that oil is some kind of Spanish Fly, because, well, hell, I've never used or even seen the stuff.
Honey, I say, one side of my face nestled in a pillow, could you rub a little lighter, and lower. My spine is kind of stiff. Travelin' in that wheel chair for days. I'm so stiff, I tell her, they could stuff me on a wall.
Archie, you don't know a damn thing what you're talking about.
Her hair brushes against my nape, and she giggles in my ear, a playful whiff of air, her breath, warm, yet on loan, but I won't disown it.
Darlin', I say, my chin resting on my fists, answer me this one stupid riddle: Why does it hardly rain in Texas?
Aw, geez, Edith, get me another beer from the fridge, would ya?
She says, Oh, it does, but so infrequently, but when it does, like a storm, and her little house near the water, she worries it might be someday blow away, maybe as far as the Louisiana Gulf, maybe father inland, where they speak Cajun and Yat.
At Jocko's shop, the one he's selling, we're finishing the suspension, plumb wiring valves and tucking a set of 22-inch wheels with extended frame rails. Later, the Kid hums some cherry-happy tune, sandpapers and buffs the body, then wheeling around the truck, remarks it will drive faster than a Hemi A-Bomb.
Jocko, with his bad heart, wheezes and coughs. He inspects for one more time the 5.6 liter engine and the new air filter he used to replace an older air box. He shuts the hood and we break for a late lunch.
In the heat, Jocko and I dig our teeth into barbecued hot dogs, mine chili, his plain, and I help the Kid with some microwaved mush. His meals are mostly bland, today's less so, ginger ale, some minced meat, and sweet potatoes, mashed and creamy, so hot he complains it burns his tongue. The Kid usually barks at me not to help feed him; he can handle it. And after the fork tumbles over for the third or fourth time, he does manage to handle it because I tell him I'm not picking it up again.
Whenever he chews, it is with great concentration or maybe he is thinking about that island or the possibility of women from the mainland, flowers in their hair, the reflection of thick-billed parrots in their eyes, glimmering like shiny pesos. I imagine a hypnotic sea courted by blue heron and gull. I imagine the blue secrets of sea-turtles.
Digging into a sectioned Styrofoam plate, I tell Jocko I'm still considerin' whether to join them, and I repeat this, even though the Kid has already decided I will go, that it will be fun, the three of us. I have nowhere to go since Jocko is selling the shop and taking whatever money he has saved. And what if there's a dysreflexic crisis with the Kid, the shit building up inside him like a time bomb, or Jocko has a heart attack? Who's goin' to transport them on a ferry to the mainland, to some hospital? They must have hospitals in Mexico. Which is exactly what I bring up.
"Suppose one of us gets sick or the money runs out?"
Jocko and the Kid throw me some queer look, as if I hadn't understood the point of going to Mexico at all. That the point of going to a place like Mexico, the Kid is telling me, is to forget and live with your feet planted firmly several feet above the ground. "You could plan till your brain is knotted," he says while masticating with a stiff face, "but the hammer always falls when you're lookin' the other way."
Jocko pitches the end of a hot dog roll across the back lot, near some thread worn tires. The ants will have a field day.
"Ain't it the truth? Count up the number of days in your life you plan for something. Count the number of days you worry about something. Then count the number of days you actually do something you enjoy. If you're lucky, you wind up with a hatful of days you have actually lived, and most of it when you were still smart enough to be a kid."
I grab a napkin, wet it with my spittle, and wipe the Kid's lips. Probably the sweet potatoes that give his mouth an orange crust. You're crazier than he is, I say to Jocko. Across from me, he leans forward in a white cedar folding chair and stares out at the truck, its bare wheels and the new cotter pins he's bolted on. Like they are speaking some secret language to him. Sure ain't Creole or Spanish.
I notice how Jocko hardly smiles anymore. Maybe he hates to part with the shop. Maybe he still blames himself for the Kid's accident. And the Kid. His arms are wasting and his belly grows flabbier. Even with all the vitamin milkshakes and exercises. Even with the home health nurse who comes to visit three times a week with a mouthful of do's, don'ts, and why-didn't-you's.
The Kid's lusterless eyes suddenly jump and bulge. "You'll see, Kip," he says. "We'll be partying with them Mexican girls every night. Watch 'em dance barefoot in the sand. You know that, don't you? Falling asleep every night drunk on mescal or tequila or some shit like it. Mescal. Is it mescal, Kip?
"I guess."
"Yeah. Whatever. Las chicas córneas."
"If you say so."
"Been practicing my Spanish. Horny sons of bitches. Giggling like their lungs are helium-filled."
"Better curb those hallucinations."
They'll be back for more, says the Kid. Count on it.
The Kid then wheels over to the side of the truck, ogling it. Almost there, he says, right, Jocko? He doesn't wait for a reply and zings around the lot doing figure eights, or tilting the chair back on its rear wheels, maybe imagining it as some chariot.
Jocko swallows two pills and washes them down with a swig of soda. He stands and his gait is somewhat cockeyed, the voice raspy.
Remember when I rebuilt him that wheelchair? he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. He spits and screws up his face, remarking that the pills taste nasty, how the regurgitated acid erodes his teeth. Put in a motor so he could go faster than the piece of shit from the medical supply company. Aw, the shit is nasty. And you said I couldn't do that. The bio-med guys visit every six months. It goes pretty good now, doesn't it? The guys from the supply company couldn't give a shit what I put in.
It took me about ten years to arrive in Corpus Christi and declare it my city of gold, since Jocko and the Kid were the only family I had left. It really pissed me off when Jocko said he was selling the shop, but I didn't protest. I didn't need some magical island with its azure-rumpled or great-crested birds of paradise.
Before joining Jocko, I worked for a Dodge dealer in New York City, dreaming about the fresh air of Sacramento. In Sacramento, I missed New York and its hustling movement, its women from every part of the globe and how they carried their ten thousand different definitions of beauty.
Then one day, as if crossing some invisible border, this time in Chicago, I gave up working on cars. The routine, the long hours, the customers' bitching, downshifted my enthusiasm. If I worked on cars any longer, I'd choke a tune-up, might even sabotage a front axle. I then took odd jobs: cashier, electrician's helper, mail clerk, even a bowling alley attendant. I got fired from the last one. Actually proud of gettin' booted out of that one.
I lived with a woman. I wasn't averse to the idea of it. But my idea of a woman was not the same as living with one. My idea of a woman was always some other woman and not the one I was living with. The woman I lived with accused me of finding fault. I accused her of cheating. She said how could I expect our life to be as beautiful as this one ceramic ashtray she always kept on our dresser, its concentric tiles of myriad colors, when I don't even listen.
With a ball-peen hammer, I smashed the ceramic ashtray in front of her, and watched it shatter into a thousand odd pieces. I knew I could never put it together the way, perhaps, some struggling mujer handcrafted it. A mujer, paid by piece work, dreaming of the kind of birds that fly north of the border.
So I left, knowing that I might never find the perfect woman. After I moved on, I missed the woman I was living with. I really meant to make her cry, so she'd remember our life, in some way.
Months later, tired of living in cheap motel rooms, of being hustled by dead-eyed hookers in trailer parks, I called Jocko, whom I hadn't spoken to in months. I told him things weren't working out, that I was low on cash. Join me in Texas, he said, could use some help. I thought it was just the shop he was talking about.
There was a silence and later, his voice grew distant, words moving like sludge. He told me he had been in an accident, a bad one. He was driving his ex-wife, Meg, and the Kid, seventeen at the time, to a rodeo near Laredo, off Highway 35. His truck overturned, killing Meg, leaving their son crippled with a C-7 spinal injury. Jocko was rushed to the emergency room, a bad perforation to his chest wall.
I could surmise what he was really asking. He wanted me to pitch in and help with the Kid. I moved back to Texas and lived over his garage, in some rooms he built, and all three of us, separated by thin plywood walls, were never a horse whisper from each other.
We learned to nurse each other's wounds, physical or not, and to tolerate the pain that was our private backwater. It was the Kid's, especially.
At first, I resented the routine of helping to change and wash the Kid, or being awakened by his groans in the night. Sometimes, I got to wonder if he'd be better off left in the hands of angels and not half-assed amateurs like us. But this time, I couldn't just walk out, say, the way I did at the auto shop in Chicago. Felt this obligation to see the Kid through. He became my link to a definite space outside Corpus Christi, an anchor to a levitating body. I worried it might all dissolve with the move to Mexico.
Maybe it was a tin can dream. I promised the Kid that someday I'd see him walk, if only for a few steps. So, everyday I had him practice his exercises, stretchin' and what not, from his bed, just like in the manual the nurse left us. It had pictures of stick figures and clear instructions at the bottom of each exercise, so there could be no question of misinterpretation. And I said to the Kid, when you do walk, Jocko will take a picture of us smiling, brighter than a pair of homecoming queens in a rose parade, and you would like that, wouldn't you?
Kip, he said, opening his mouth of gluey teeth, do you think much about dyin'? Can it be as slow as livin'? Like two trains running side by side.
No, I said, that's crazy talk. Even though I knew it wasn't. And when the Kid got lazy, I'd yell at him, perhaps too harsh, just enough to make him cry and give up. He'd try pressing all kinds of buttons, calling me a worthless drifter who never kept in touch. I let the insults fly till he was tired out. He got tired.
Then I promised him a ride in the pick up, and we sat on Cuervo Hill, watchin' the sunset, and he said, OK, that I was forgiven. But from the outside in, said the Kid, you have no idea, the pain, day in and day out, the spasms, the body like an accordion. And I really should be inside out before I yell at anyone. I really should. And days later, I said, OK, been thinkin'. Yucatan. Or China. Wherever you want to go. But no promises. Just considerin'.
The Kid smiled, a kind of fake smile, as if appeasing that home health nurse, always pretending to be deaf, always checking the supplies of Xanax and Oxycontin, and said he had planned the shortest route to Yucatan, the island off it, so quick, the distance to it—the speed of a thought. (The Kid was always good with numbers and physics.) And when I asked him what route was this, he was already napping, one half of his face bathing in the sun's red-orange glow.
She says her name is Concetta, but everybody says their name is Concetta. The woman I once lived with said her name was Mimi, and I believed her, but there must be so many more woman named Concetta than women named Mimi.
Whenever I mention Mexico, Concetta goes on about how back in Miami she was once voted Miss Latina. And, honey, she says, with a low, breathy cackle, I had legs that could make a gator drool. So help me, God, I don't think she speaks a word of Spanish.
In the mousetrap of a room at the Red Bull Lodge, Concetta claims she's got some fine hands, and that when her son grows up, she'll go back to night school. She's gonna start her own massage school someday. Don't exactly know if I believe her, just like with the name. But chop, chop, chop, say her hands, dicing up and down my back. And I almost believe her.
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
"Shoot."
"Does that thing still work good? I mean, you know what I mean."
"It does. A little slow since the accident. But it does. Sort of a delayed fuse."
"Then, you sure you don't want the egg cream climax, stud? I use gloves."
"The name's Skip."
"Skip. Yeah. Like in Skipper. Sorry. Forgot to ask, lover."
Then, kneading her tapered fingers into my shoulders, pinching a tent of flesh here and there, she whispers in my ear whether I would like to do something kinky. You know, she says, freaky. Because, well, you know, she's known men with different tastes, and she's not saying I'm one of those guys, but since I don't want the hand job, maybe I should try somethin' different, might like it, why you could learn to like anything . . . Of course, it costs a little more.
Some guys, she says, laughing in a kind of forced, subdued way, request the girls to ride them bareback. Like taming broncos. Some are too shy to ask for it, but you can tell by their eyes. The way they talk about their wives like far away moons.
"You got that far away look too," she says, "and I ain't makin' nothin' of it."
No, I say, turning, reaching for a drink of straight rum on the nightstand. The massage was fine, and I gotta go. Headed to Mexico by wheelchair. Yucatan, actually.
"You're travelin' to Mexico in that wheelchair?"
"Yeah. You can't go much further. Try wheelin' past Yucatan, and you fall off the edge of the world."
"First time for everything, I guess."
"Gonna make a world's record. First man to reach Yucatan by wheelchair."
I swing my head around and up at her. I wink. She tilts her scrunched up face at me, her lips, a thin gap between, spreading.
I turn over and she kneels, straddling my legs, gripping my ankles. I know, she says in a weeping-willow whisper, as she leans forward, scanning my face, in this intense, swivel-eyed way, like she's imagining her eyes as tiny periscopes. It was somebody in your past, wasn't it? Everybody always got somebody in their past. Did you in real good, huh?
By the way, she says, fluffing her hair, like the way you would a jumbo taco salad, what's in Yucatan? Is the cactus there any different from the ones up here?
Ain't no cactus at all down there, I say. There's a place where you, everybody, gets a second chance. You meet up with folks you once knew up north. But not the same. Everyone walkin' like they got their feet on clouds and blue sky for a memory. Kinda like heaven.
Across from me, on the bed, her lips squeeze together, like she's munching on some words that she rather not spit out. She nods her head to mean no.
There ain't no heaven, mister. If there is, it's in your mind. But if you like, I can be a fantasy girl for another hour. Just tell me what she does. Had a trucker last week who wanted me to dig my high heels into his hands, cuss' him out and call him Jesus, 'cause that's what his crazy aunt once done. I wasn't ashamed. Give you one bad-ass discount.
I lunge forward, grabbing her wrists, mashing them really; they are like twigs in my huge fists. I could break them so easy. Her face, shaking, turns mottled, the colors of some melted candy cane.
It's not a riddle, I say, it isn't a joke. Do you know what pain is? Do you know what's it like to live with pain day in and day out? Do you?
I release my grip and pace around the room to cool off, stopping in front of her. Her eyes are wet, distant moons, not far away.
"So you can walk, you lyin' son of a bull-tease! And you'd had me feelin' sorry for you."
"Honey, not only can I walk, I can dance."
I flip several bills on the tousled bed, offer her my brightest, most heartwarmin' Sam Houston of a grin, plop into the Kid's wheelchair and push the black cherry throttle forward. The concave screen door slaps against the balsawood frame in a breeze, and I don't look back at the flies stuck to the mesh. They are waylaid travelers in a dry spell.
Outside. The silence of the desert. The silence of the air. The silence of oil pooled in deep underground channels.
I can tell the Kid is really excited, and if he could bounce up and down in his seat, he would. We've already packed, setting to leave this morning. Squatting next to the Kid's wheelchair, I watch Jocko make some last minute adjustments, lying under the engine, his back against a rolling slider, the front of the truck on lift blocks.
He writhes and squeezes his body so he can get at obscenely difficult spaces, commenting that something needs a lube here and there, and he's not exactly happy with the bolt joints and the spindles. But it'll do. I'm worried that the truck might roll off the lifts and crush Jocko's chest. Lord knows. I always think the worst.
He then opens the driver's door, checking the steering accessory for the Kid, a cork-shaped device he inserted called a "spinner" and the hand controls for the accelerator and brake. The kind of things you'd install for disabled drivers.
The door slams, Jocko turns and bows, sweeping the ground with his hat, like he's Gene Autry having just finished a ballad and expectin' to win a woman's heart and says he thinks it's ready. Nods and repeats this. The voice fainter. He brushes off caked dust, grime from his jeans.
Wait, says the Kid. Somebody has to test drive it. You don't take nuthin' out on the road unless you test drive it.
"My exact thoughts," says Jocko.
"Then you're a genius," says the Kid with devil eye and smirk.
Jocko digs into the pocket of his smeared jeans and whips out a set of keys. He dangles them high over his head. So who's gonna test drive it? he asks in a flippant voice.
Me! says the Kid, attempting to move his crooked elbow from the wheelchair's leather armrest. It's my truck and I'm driving it to Mexico. Hell, I'm eighteen and got a license. Right, Kip?
Who's your daddy? I say.
You taught me to drive, he says.
Jocko throws the set of keys up into the air. The kids pushes the throttle and tries to reach up with his better arm, but I snatch them first.
If you want the keys so bad, I say, you work for them, boy. So the Kid drives towards me with this big goose of a grin, and just as he's a foot or so from me, I throw the keys to Jocko. And this goes on, this back and forth game of throwing the keys. So, finally, the Kid, pale and huffing, screams out to give him the goddamn keys. And I do. I drop the keys in the Kid's lap, tickled at the sight of his groping for them, the jerky movements of the left hand, and the color eventually returns to his face. He holds the keys, jiggling them, taunting me. Somehow, the shoe always winds up on the other foot.
OK, says Jocko, you test drive, but with me.
I scrape my boot heel in the dirt, making some kind of lame skid mark.
No, says the Kid, I can test drive myself. Right, Kip?
His lips coil into a tiny smile. I shrug at Jocko.
Jocko eyeballs us, first me, then the Kid. His gaze is glowering, stern. His lips mesh and punctuate a comma at one end.
"You never drove alone. It's different when you drive alone."
"It's not my call," I say, "but it should be OK. He done good with me in the pickup. And there wasn't no spinner."
"But you took the wheel good part of the time, huh? Suppose he spasms out? Or maybe somethin' loose?"
I turn my palms up to the sky. "Jocko, what can I say? You wanna break his heart? Go ahead. He's your kid. Me? I don't think he needs a chaperone."
Jocko shakes his head, aiming his forehead towards the ground. He paces back and forth, the steps, gadding and annoying. He stops. The stern gaze is replaced by a fragile one.
"I don't know," he says. "I don't like it."
"Remember when you were a kid? You never took a risk? You can't live like that. You said so yourself. Only a hatful of good days. The rest is bullshit. Your words, hombre."
Jocko slides a hand around his neck and rubs it. He sticks a straight finger towards the Kid. "Just a short distance. From here to where the road bends. You hear me?"
"Deal," says the Kid.
"And you come right back."
So the Kid, smiling like some cocky game show contestant, wheels over to the truck. I lift and carry him into the cab, his lifeless legs dangling, and adjust the front seat back. The Kid is tall and lanky, although from a sitting position, you might not guess his correct height. I buckle him in.
He starts the engine, brimming under that slender nose, a nose that God knows he didn't inherit from us. Jocko's is bulbous and mine too, but creased.
No speeding, yells Jocko. Keep it 35 and under.
"35? A squirrel's ass."
"I mean it. Hey! You listening?"
Jocko turns to me, raises his shoulders, spreads his hands.
"See what I mean?"
"Don't worry. He's cool. Won't speed."
"He's just like his mama. Give her a five, and she wants a twenty to blow on lottery tickets. She never won a nickel from lottery tickets."
Jocko's cheeks puff and collapse. He throws a mean stare into the Kid.
We watch the truck take off, down the long dirt road that stretches past a growing haze over the distant hills. My thoughts drift towards the shop, how I will miss it, how nothing good ever lasts.
The engine grumbles, then roars, the truck picking up speed too soon, weaving on the road, and Jocko shouts out, "Slow down! Slow down, you son of a bitch."
But the Kid continues to race and swerve. I want to look away, maybe to someplace over the hills, to the source of the haze, the looming sunrise, its tangerine glow.
"He's gonna lose it," says Jocko.
"He'll do alright," I say.
C'mon, boy, whispers Jocko, let up the speed and straighten her out.
My thoughts rattle. Jocko's neck veins popping, blue and snake-like under a thin gauze of skin.
The truck grows distant and smaller, but the engine continues to whine and whir, the shrill sound of it swelling in our ears, hurting mine, until it winds down. Then the whirring again, the clanking of the truck's body bouncing over dirt and stones, the sound of the automatic transmission revving, a whine soaring into space. Jocko yelling out to turn back, the drop coming up. You crazy kid.
The Kid's doin' OK for awhile, straight and all, then the truck veers off the side of the road, and Jocko's screeching voice to brake, to brake, for chrissake. The truck smashing up against a boulder, Jocko leaning forward, squinting his eyes, their tight azure prisms intense and ravaged, the front end up in the air and starting to roll, Jocko's arms, bent at the elbow, raising like two levers, fingers beginning to clench, the truck nose-diving into a gully, spinning over.
The explosion—a bright orange flame.
It's like the kind you see on CNN, of humvees and buildings exploding in Iraq. But the sound of the truck bursting, distant, yet too close. The kind of thing you'd deny, like the image of your face in a bending mirror.
Jocko and I stand in some primordial sense of dumbness. We are cavemen uncomprehending a distant fire. That fire. Our fire.
I rush into the garage, grabbing two fire extinguishers, and Jocko shuffling behind, the sound of the door opening to the pick up.
We drive closer to the orange flame that burns wild, that mocks us. A second explosion. This one less violent. Clouds of black smoke billowing. Behind the steering wheel, Jocko's face is frozen, as he stares out at the stretch of winding road.
"No, Scott, you ain't dead," he says. "You ain't out of time. You were gettin' strong. Hell, you weren't gonna walk. You were gonna dance." He accelerates and I think it won't matter. The speed. Not a bit. His marble-like gaze, the slack-jaw, remind me of lifeless horses on carousels. The clutch grinds out a low metallic rattle and the pick up stutters and stalls, vibrations humming inside my body.
Lord, grant this stir-crazy fool one more miracle, he says, lowering his head.
We jump out and spray the Kid's truck with a white mist, me taking one side, him the other. The heat from the flame scorches our faces, pulverizes my thoughts.
I'm looking for any sign that the Kid might still be alive. Ducking under the overturned truck, I spray towards the bottom. The hiss of white mist. Red-yellow sparks flaring. I inspect the cab through the flames. Gasping. In a broken side mirror, my face is reflected in bits and pieces, crack lines and jagged angles.
I spot the hand and part of the arm, the flesh black and copper. The sound of Jocko crying like a little boy echoes in my brain's endless prairies. My brain growing numb to all cactus prickly pain and coyote-like hunger. A third degree numbing. I wish.
For weeks, Jocko blames himself for not doing a thorough check, that the truck wobbled a good bit, that he had spotted it too late. I often imagine the truck, its burned frame and springs, its corroded tie rods and rocker arms, the ruined axle, lying as refuse in another junkyard, the sacrifice of whatever exchangeable parts.
In a small trailer we've rented, the shop already sold, Jocko stands sipping a morning cup of instant coffee, the color of a lizard's eye, his back towards me. He says he's headed west, maybe New Mexico, maybe Albuquerque, start a new shop. I tell him I'll be gone in a couple of weeks too, where, I'm not sure, but that he should hold on to whatever memories, the three of us, we managed the best we could, didn't we?
I tell Jocko that at first I had nightmares about the Kid, the way he would stare, saying something about the speed of a thought. But lately, I've been dreaming about that place, that island, all crazy kinds of thoughts.
He turns to me, like someone unfamiliar, a man impersonating Jocko, and not Jocko, and there is an unfocused cast to his eyes.
"Wouldn't it be somethin' if the Kid made it to Mexico? I mean, even though we saw the arm and all . . ."
"Sure. It would be."
" . . . and things like that happen all the time. I mean, people claiming they see old relatives given up for dead, or even, it's crazy shit, aliens land in the desert. You know, stuff like that."
"Sure," I say, "I know."
"And he'd be having a ball."
"Girls offering him their titties."
"Sure. The Kid was still cute."
"The Kid was."
"This world cannot hold his ashes."
"No, it can't."
"Maybe . . . maybe at a taco bar on the moon."
"The moon. Sure. Taco bars are everywhere."
With deep hammocks stretching under his eyes, Jocko offers me a slow, lingering smile that could be mine. After all, we're twins. It's a smile that could sail for days.
Before we packed and separated, we whittled away the days, pretending to be busy, but we weren't, hardly talking to each other, maybe lost in our own thoughts of carefully guarded worlds. I started to dig up the Kid's old stacks of newsletters, perusing them, searching for that article he showed me.
Pictures of desert basins and burros, orange and red limestone mountains puncturing through the top of one photo, an old train station, maybe a tourist attraction now, a straggle of travelers with their cameras, sun glasses, women with large, floppy hats. A grove of Joshua trees. I shuffled and reshuffled through every stack. No, I thought. It wasn't in any of them. That blue sea-turtle, its shell of a portable home, the endless stretch of a white-washed shore.
I thought about telling Jocko, but maybe, for all I knew, he could have taken the newsletter himself, kept it or tore it up. Who knows. I didn't ask.
Then, outside the camper, I'd sit in the Kid's wheelchair, maybe for hours at a stretch, just staring out, surveying the vast expanse of plain and desert.
When Jocko wasn't watching, I'd try to imitate the Kid's deft way of performing sharp turns, sudden spins, the wheels churning out a chalky dust. Couldn't quite get the hang of it. I began to tinker with the wheelchair, entertained the notion of inserting a double-motor, a new controller, some grade-A Honda parts, just to see how fast it could go. Just to see how far it could travel.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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Experienced guitarist/vocalist looking for accoustic acts to join. Can play slide and finger styles. Will play covers and have original material. Always open minded to good material.
Doc Watson,Allman Brothers, James Taylor, Jimmy Page, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Dave Mathews, alternative rock and classic rock. I listen to talented guitarists and this leads me to alot of influences.
Alverez acoustic, fender cybertwin, gibson les paul, mic/stand, wireless system.


With 2018 fading quickly in the rearview mirror, it's time to consider where you want to be when the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve.
Across Universal Orlando Resort, we're planning some amazing celebrations, and I'm so excited to share them with you. From midnight toasts to confetti showers, the festivities across our parks and hotels will make this a night you won't forget.
Looking for an upscale New Year's Eve party? Check out EVE at Universal CityWalk. Designed for guests 21 and up, this separately-ticketed event includes unlimited gourmet cuisine, live bands and DJs – including a performance by DJ M-Squared – access to six CityWalk clubs, plus Orlando's largest outdoor dance floor. The only time you won't be dancing is at midnight, when we'll pause for a champagne toast and a breathtaking pyrotechnic display. Tickets for EVE are now on sale – learn more and purchase your tickets.
All of our on-site hotels also join in the fun, providing a mix of unique dining options, live entertainment, midnight toasts and even balloon drops. Highlights include Hard Rock Hotel's "Rock-In 2018!" event (where we'll tune in via satellite to watch the Times Square Ball Drop), Loews Portofino Bay Hotel's New Year's Eve Party on the Piazza, and Jake's "Best of 2018" Beer Dinner at Loews Royal Pacific Resort. Click here for details on hotel events and special ticket offers.
Stay tuned for updates on all the festivities coming to our theme parks and hotels this winter. We can't wait to celebrate with you!


2012 was an exceptionally fine vintage – not just for Déda but for the UK as a whole! The Olympics, Cultural Olympiad and Diamond Jubilee demonstrated Britain at its best, fostering a sense of optimism and community spirit which the continuing economic downturn could not undermine!
I think that it is typical of Déda's entrepreneurship and civic leadership that we were able to embed ourselves into much of this celebratory activity once again demonstrating the vital cultural role we play within Derby and the wider region.
We have worked hard with other arts organisations in the City to identify new ways of working to generate new income streams, pool resources and share expertise where possible. Whilst this has been a valuable exercise the options analysis still highlights the on-going need for public subsidy to culture if Derby is to achieve its wider vision of being a vibrant City within a wider regional and European context. At Quads 5th birthday celebrations, John Forkin, CEO Marketing Derby, paid tribute to the important role venues such as Déda and Quad play in wider inward investment strategies providing the services and facilities needed to attract professional businesses to Derby. This I think is an important aspect of our work which can sometimes be overlooked.
Despite the on-going threat of major funding cuts, Déda has remained true to its core mission to provide local people with the chance to engage in high quality dance activity as well as supporting a wider local arts ecology including visual arts, physical theatre and music.
Over the past year Déda has delivered 68 performances and 8 exhibitions which were seen by over 5000 people and 24,000 people participated in our dance classes. We have provided employment not just for 44 local people on our staff but also invested in 58 companies and over 180 performers as well as wider local businesses providing goods and services.
Our Cultural Olympiad project, Games Time, continued on its regal procession across the region visiting Loughborough, Northampton and Derby engaging communities and creating incredible outdoor events to remain in the memory. Over 35,000 people were estimated to have seen the event in which 480 local people performed, both amateur and professional and aged from 6 – 90, demonstrating how successfully dance projects can be used to foster community pride and engagement.
The Arts Council once again demonstrated its trust in us by awarding strategic funds for us to develop and deliver an arts-based outdoor project linked to wider tourism objectives. The result was the spectacular Elemental Force project which toured to four historic locations and was seen by 7,000 people. The project marked the beginning of a longer term partnership with the Chatsworth Estate as well as providing opportunities to foster new relationships with local authorities and heritage sites across the region. We are immensely grateful to his Grace, the Duke of Devonshire, for his whole-hearted support and for championing the project to others and we look forward to working with him and his staff again.
Another partnership which has strengthened greatly over this past year has been with the University of Derby and we were delighted that Professor Chris White, Head of Art and Design, was able to join our board. Déda has been actively engaged with the exciting new theatre programme developing at the University to ensure mid-scale dance can come to Derby. This year has also seen the research and development phase of an exciting joint project to establish a new kind of dance course at the University. By complementing the University's existing theatre based courses, this new course would provide an extraordinary opportunity for young people to engage in high-quality dance teaching. By using our facilities, connections and expertise, the course would provide the very best teaching experience possible whilst securing a new source of revenue funding for us to create a more sustainable future.
Déda continued to build its role as a creative hub for artists and wider professionals involved in the arts.
The On-site programme delivered training and capacity building to the next generation of producers working on outdoor work raising standards and fostering new artistic collaborations.
We were delighted at the critical success of our young dance companies with Bounceback representing the East Midlands at the national U dance platform.
We pride ourselves on nurturing emerging talent and enabling more established artists to take creative risks through our residency programme and providing access to much needed rehearsal space. This year we have welcomed Alice Vale and Tom Dale whilst previous associates such as Maison Foo have continued to be supported as they grow in reputation and profile.
The year ended on an extraordinary high with the award of Arts Council Capital funding towards realising our vision for a new £430,000 space for dance and circus activity. When I took on the Chair's role one of my personal ambitions was to see the building expand to enable us to develop our offer, increase the opportunity to present more complex work and expand our role in delivering outstanding outdoor work. We are very grateful to the City Council for sharing our vision and providing us with the chance to expand next door and to all of our funders for investing in us. It is hoped by next year I will be able to report that the fund-raising campaign has been completed successfully but we have already made significant progress.
Once again none of this would have been possible without our fantastic staff – we are fortunate to have an excellent senior management team who have worked exceptionally hard to deliver such a wide range of initiatives and fund-raising. They are supported by a great team and whilst it has been sad to see some excellent staff leave us this year, we are pleased to welcome new staff on board.
As Chair I would also like to pay tribute once again to my Board who have provided many hours of free advice and support covering so many aspects of our work – from fundraising to human resource issues, marketing to managing capital building projects. This year we have said goodbye to Hetain Patel who will be sorely missed for his skills and knowledge as a practicing artist. We were also sad to say goodbye to our Arts Council Relationship Manager, Raul Calderon whose expertise and support was greatly valued.
The significant reduction in our budget for the coming year will once again be financially extremely challenging but in reviewing the success, energy and dynamism of this part year it is to be hoped that working together with our partners and stakeholders we can find a sustainable way in which we can continue to play a major role in Derby's on-going success as a thriving and competitive City.


Home » Good Stuff! » CCCDP Partners with Community to Beautify Pearl Street Headquarters!
CCCDP Partners with Community to Beautify Pearl Street Headquarters!
On May 24th, 16 students from the Sturgis Charter School donated 4-5 hours of time and hard work to help make our property look beautiful and welcoming for our children and families!
The students painted and planted 6 flower boxes and planted several other annuals around other parts of our front entrance. They dug up and transplanted old bushes, cleared away brush, and planted new items. The amount of work they were able to get done – truly amazing. Our children, parents and staff are "in awe" with how much of a difference the flowers and landscaping changes make to our overall environment.
In addition to this support, we received flats of annuals donated by Hyannis Country Garden. We also had beautiful walkway stones and pavers donated by Stonewood Products in Harwich. A true community effort for which we are extremely appreciative!


Editing the 'From' name and 'Reply-to' fields of an automated email – Grade Us, Inc.
For more information, see How do I edit an email in my automated email sequence?
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I want to collect detailed customer feedback.


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Some of the familiar faces that have been around Rob Scheidt the last couple years won't be there next season.
The Merced football coach has lost four of his assistants since Merced's season-ending loss to Stockton St. Mary's three weeks ago.
Defensive coordinator Jake Messina has stepped down so he can pursue head coaching opportunities.
Tom Scheidt and Bob Hobbs are retiring and Steve Hobbs wants to take a break from coaching.
"It's just one of those deals where I got a taste for it with the Elk Grove thing last year," Messina said.
"Mentally, I was ready to do it. When it didn't happen, my focus was right back here on what we are doing.
"Now that the season is over, that taste is back again."
Messina may not have to look far for his next job.
That's because I don't imagine it will be too long before we hear the Rob Scheidt to Clovis rumors again.
This time, it's Clovis High looking for a coach.
Jerry Campbell resigned as Clovis' football coach on Tuesday.
Campbell, who also interviewed at Golden Valley when Dennis Stubbs left for Los Banos two years ago, led Clovis to dismal 2-19 record in his two years there.
Scheidt showed interest when he was approached by Clovis West last year.
The money might be tough to pass up this time around if Clovis shows interest.
Merced had two players named to the Sacramento Chapter of the National Football Foundation All-Sac-Joaquin Section team.
Safety Bernard Bolden and defensive end Nathan Mayfield were selected to the team.
Merced running back Stephon Mathis and Hilmar linebacker Carl Jameson received honorable mentions.
The addition of two state football bowl games this year was supposed to make more people happy.
Four more teams are given the opportunity to play in a state championship game.
However, it appears just as many people are upset about the selection process.
The 10 section commissioners, who ultimately vote on the bowl participants, shocked many people when they picked Sacramento Grant over De La Salle for the Open Division bowl game.
So it'll be Grant playing Long Beach Poly in the feature game Saturday night.
De La Salle will play Centennial Corona tonight in the Division I bowl game.
"I didn't anticipate that at all," De La Salle coach Bob Ladouceur told the Contra Costa Times.
"I kind of feel we're the best team from Northern California, and from what I've seen on film, Centennial is playing the best football in Southern California. In my mind, I'll consider this the championship game."
De La Salle's only loss came to nationally-ranked Don Bosco Prep-Ramsey from New Jersey.
Grant impressed the selection committee with two wins over state champions from Idaho and Utah.
Meanwhile, De La Salle wasn't the only team that felt snubbed.
San Jose Bellarmine Prep might be the best team in the Northern California and its season is over.
The system definitely needs tweaking.
I don't like the idea of the Open Division game. It takes away from the other games.
I'd also like to see the CIF commissioners add a Northern California and Southern California championship game.
Let the two tops teams from each division play their way into the state championship bowl games.
It's either that or bring on the BCS ranking system.
Leonard scores 34, and Toronto moves within a game of the second round by topping Magic 107-85.


Going 84 mph in a 65 mph zone is going to bring out the blue lights. Last week that's what happen to Michael Beasley, and oh he had 16.2 grams of marijuana in the car (were not surprised). Slap on the wrist fine in Minnesota for Beasley. So now what about his status in the NBA. The Wolves and David Stern surely will drop the hammer as this isn't Beasley's first time with this issue.
No need to scratch your head and worry about it Mike, it's a lockout and therefore it's strictly a legal issue ($128 fine to be exact).
"The anti-drug agreement-including testing and penalties-is not in effect during the lockout"
Well looks like this issue can be put to rest.


text:
Subscribe to Trade Courts
Funding for federal courts could end on February 1st
By Michael Kelleher on January 24, 2019
Posted in Trade Courts
On January 22nd, the Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts estimated that federal courts can sustain paid operations through January 31, 2019 – but "no further extensions beyond February 1st will be possible." See https://www.uscourts.gov/judiciary-news.
This deadline had previously been extended from January 18th to January 25th; see…
Jan. 16, 2019 Update on Government shutdown's impact on federal court system
On January 16th, the Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts announced that it "now estimates that federal courts can sustain paid operations through Jan. 25, 2019" (extending its previous estimate by one week). See https://www.uscourts.gov/judiciary-news
See also Jan. 11, 2019 Trade and Manufacturing's Blog entitled: "Government shutdown closes in on the federal court…
Government shutdown closes in on the federal court system (including the trade courts)
Despite the partial government shutdown since December 22nd, the Supreme Court and lower federal courts have remained open by drawing on non-appropriated funds and court fees.
Federal courts will be able to continue operating with their limited funds during the shutdown until January 18th, as reported on January 7th by the Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts ("Administrative Office"). See https://www.uscourts.gov/judiciary-news. This deadline is one week longer than its previous estimate. To meet this goal, courts have been asked to delay or defer "non-mission critical expenses," such as new hires and non-case related travel. According to the Administrative Office, judiciary employees are reporting to work and currently are in full-pay status. If new appropriation funds do not become available, "essential work" will continue to be allowed under the Anti-Deficiency Act. Id. This "essential work" would include "activities to support the exercise of the courts' constitutional powers under Article III, specifically the resolution of cases and related services." Id. Individual courts and judges will then decide how to fulfill those critical functions according to David Sellers, a spokesman for the Administrative Office. See http://fortune.com/2019/01/05/government-shutdown-federal-courts/. "In the past, some courts have suspended civil cases, some have conducted business as usual," Sellers said. "It's really a judge-by-judge, court-by-court determination." Id.
Below is an update on how the shutdown is impacting the trade courts and the Supreme Court…


text:
Couples Completes Comeback
Fred Couples rediscovered his place in golf.
The search started almost three months ago on the practice range at Pebble Beach, when he beat balls for six hours with Butch Harmon at his side.
'He's never done that in his life,' Harmon said.
It ended late Sunday afternoon at the Houston Open when Couples was flawless over the final five holes and wound up with a four-stroke victory, his first on the PGA Tour in five years and 87 tournaments.
He raised his putter in triumph. He smiled to an adoring legion of fans. He slapped hands with Mark Calcavecchia as if they had just won the Shark Shootout.
What followed made it clear there was nothing silly about this victory.
The happy-go-lucky Couples was so overwhelmed that he broke down on national TV, tugged the visor over his eyes and walked away.
'I haven't won in five years. I haven't played really well in five years,' Couples said. 'I worked hard on my game, and it meshed. I have a lot of people to thank. That's what was going through my mind. Didn't get it out very well.'
The message was never more clear.
Players in his age bracket (43) with far less ability have been winning their share of tournaments over the last five years.
Hal Sutton, who turned 45 on Monday, has won six times since 1998, including a Tour Championship and an 18-hole duel with Tiger Woods at The Players Championship.
Scott Hoch, 47, has won three times in the last three years. Mark O'Meara was 41 when he won two major championships. Bernard Langer, 45, qualified for his 10th Ryder Cup team and didn't lose a match at The Belfry.
'I have been practicing,' Couples said. 'I never really thought I'd win this quickly, but I thought I could win again if I practiced and played.'
Couples was looking for the easy way out last year when he got behind a failed proposal to start a Major Champions Tour -- eight events on classic courses for players between the ages of 37 and 55 who had won a major.
'If I play like I did last year and keep deteriorating, and the PGA Tour is tough,' Couples said at the time, 'there's nowhere for me to play golf.'
The solution wasn't a gimmick tour with guaranteed money.
The secret has always been in the dirt.
'He hadn't worked hard,' Harmon said. 'He had been fooling
himself.'
A desperate Couples hooked up with Harmon during the Pebble Beach National Pro-Am. Couples told him how terrible he had been swinging, and Harmon didn't believe it until they got to the practice range the next day.
Couples hit a few 9-irons.
'It's worse than you said,' Harmon told him.
Harmon's time already is cut thin. He still works occasionally with Woods, and his clientele includes Calcavecchia, Darren Clarke, Adam Scott, Justin Leonard, Stewart Cink, Jose Maria Olazabal and Ben Crane.
His deal with Couples: You put in the time, I'll make the time.
Not only did they spend six hours on the range, Couples went to Carlsbad, Calif., during the Match Play Championship -- even though he wasn't playing -- and worked with Harmon at the TaylorMade test center.
'That's when I knew he was serious,' Harmon said. 'He's worked his tail off ever since.'
They essentially shortened his swing, taking undue pressure off Couples' already sensitive back.
'What I had him visualize was to feel like he was coming over the top to hit a pull hook,' Harmon said. 'He had to get his arms in front of his body coming down.'
His victory in Houston moved him to No. 29 in the world ranking, which assures him of returning to the U.S. Open and likely will get him into the World Golf Championships for the first time in three years.
'A lot of people think Freddie doesn't care,' Harmon said. 'I think he showed how much it meant to him. Very seldom do you see him that emotional.'
As one of golf's most renowned swing gurus, Harmon gets his share of perks.
He has written several books and made just as many videos. He has endorsement deals with Titleist and Buick, a TV gig with Sky Sport in Britain. He operates golf schools in Las Vegas and the Bahamas.
What happened Sunday ranks among his greatest rewards.
Harmon already was emotionally spent from a funeral service for his mother-in-law over the weekend. He got home and turned on the TV in time to watch the final three holes of the Houston Open, and the brief interview that followed.
Couples started to thank his wife, Thais, and Harmon when his voice cracked and his lips quivered, and before long, tears were flowing from Houston to Las Vegas.
'I had tears in my eyes when he holed out,' Harmon said. 'Because I know how hard Freddie has worked.'
The answer was there all along.


As of 12/15/2010, the MDL-926 is no longer accepting claims for disease review. If you are a registered claimant in the SF-DCT and have a Dow Corning implant.
The Settlement Facility-Dow Corning Trust will open when the appeals are finished and Judge Hood signs an order which starts an effective date. At this point the first set of deadlines will start and the second set of deadlines begin when you receive a Notification of Status letter from the Settlement Facility. How long you will have from the Effective Date Deadlines from the June 1, 2004 "Effective Date" 90 DAYS Deadline to file your "Notice of Intent" form with the bankruptcy court. 6 MONTHS Deadline to file your "Participation Form" to opt in/out of the settlement 2 YEARS Deadline to file your Rupture Claim. You must have your Dow implant(s) removed unless you meet the Medically Contraindicated Exception. Deadline to file your Silicone Gel Raw Material Claim (both Disease or Expedited Release) for those implanted from 1976-1991 with a silicone gel breast implant from Bristol, Baxter, Bioplasty, Cox-Uphoff (CUI) and/or Mentor. If you have a silicone gel breast implant that was implanted from 1976-1991 from Koken, Medasil, Silimed or Societe Prometel.
Deadline to file other medical products claims (both Medical Condition and Expedited Release) 3 YEARS For $2000.00 Expedited Release. Exception: If you apply for disease and do not qualify, you will be offered an opportunity to select expedited release even after 3rd year. 10 YEARS Deadline to file your Explantation Claim (For implant removals after 12-31-90) 15 YEARS Deadline to file your Disease Claim and Increased Severity Claim (Limited $) How long you will have from "NOS" Deadlines from your receipt of "Notification of Status" NONE SET Time to provide Accceptable Proof of Manufacturer (POM) for a Dow Corning implant (Class 5) 2 YEARS Time to provide Acceptable Proof of Manufacturer (POM) for a Bristol, Baxter, Bioplasty, CUI or Mentor implant (Class 7) when submitting a claim under the Silicone Gel Material Claimant Fund. 6 MONTHS Deadline to cure "Deficiencies" in an Explant Claim. 12 MONTHS Deadline to cure "Deficiencies" in a Disease Claim. Updated Deadlines June 2, 2014 Explant Claims submission deadline for timely filed claimants in Classes 5, 6.1 and 6.2 (NOTE: this deadline does NOT apply to NOI claimants or Late Claimants) This is the deadline to file an Explant Claim if you have your Dow implants removed and not replaced with silicone. June 3, 2019 Disease or Expedited Release Claim submission deadline for all claims in Classes 5, 6.1 and 6.2 (this deadline does NOT apply to Late Claimants) This is the deadline to file either a Disease Claim or an Expedited Release Claim. If you need help understanding your breast implant claim call us.
After being open for almost fifteen years, the MDL-926 has closed for good. If you have a claim and are trying to participate in the Revised Settlement Program, MDL-926, and/or the Dow Corning Settlement, please feel free to contact our law office with any questions and concerns that you have about these programs.
In a hearing on October 20, 2015, the Court will hear arguments from the CAC, Dow Corning, and the Objectors on the Consent Order regarding distribution of your Class 7 funds. Sometime after this date the District Court will issue an opinion and Order on the proposed Consent Order. Your Class 7 claim cannot be paid until the Court has ruled and the Consent Order is entered by the Court. Class 7 claims cannot be paid until the Court has ruled and the Consent Order is entered by the Court. If you are a Class 7 claimant you received the SF-DCT letter with the Notice of Proposed Order. If you are not sure of your status in the Class 7 and whether you may be eligible for a payment from the Class 7 Fund, you can either contact our law office immediately.
Did you receive a notice from Dow Corning regarding your settlement rights?
Are you're a registered claimant with acceptable proof of Dow Corning but have not submitted your Disease claim? It's not too late to hire an attorney!
Let the Law Offices of Fenstersheib and Berkowitz review your case at no cost to you. For over two decades, we have helped thousands of women settle their Dow Corning breast implant case.


text:
Nissan, Renault Partner With Google On Next Gen Self-Driving Cars
Google may soon join hands with the auto alliance comprising Nissan-Renault-Mitsubishi to develop autonomous taxis and other services for various global markets.
Under the Google-deal, the auto-makers will work with Waymo, the Google-affiliated developer and a leader in self-driving technology.
Similar to Nissan Terrano's huge brand pull, Waymo is also ahead in self-driving vehicles and holds the record of having crossed 10 million miles on the U.S. public roads.
The collaboration talks are reportedly in the final stage and final announcements are expected by the spring.
The automakers will cooperate with Google in many areas including mobility as a service, (MaaS) that replaces the concept of vehicle ownership with a broad usage of transportation services. Already the alliance has adopted Google operating system in their internal information systems under a decision taken in Sept 2018.
Other plans involve the joint development of unmanned taxis using Nissan vehicles and developing systems for handling reservation and payments.
The car makers' alliance collectively sold 10.8 million vehicles in 2018.
Waymo expertise in autonomous vehicle technology
In 2018, Waymo introduced commercial self-driving taxi service in Phoenix, Arizona. The Google tie-up will help the alliance to harness the tech giant's leadership in infrastructure technology space with products like Google Maps.
Both Nissan and Renault enjoy a wider reach in Asia and other regions heralding the opportunity to expand self-driving technologies into new markets.
Google has an ongoing cooperation with Fiat Chrysler Automobiles and Jaguar Land Rover.
Internet of things connected car technology
As for next-gen technologies, the alliance with Google will pave way for carmakers to gain from Google's internet of things "connected car" technology. The car alliance is also talking to Germany's Daimler AG for cooperation in autonomous cars.
Boston Consulting Group says an average investment of $1.8 trillion will be required by 2035 for the development of self-driving taxis.
Toyota Motor Corp is yet another car maker that has forged partnerships with non-auto players. Toyota joined hands with information technology giant SoftBank Group for adding new services to its vehicles.
Nissan CEO Arrested, Fired After Alleged Financial Misconduct
Google's Self-Driving Car In 2 Accidents


Spring is finally here! To celebrate the spring season, I'm giving away a set of ProActiv Three Step Acne System, which includes the ProActiv Renewing Cleanser, the Revitalizing Toner and the Repairing Treatment. Acne is one of those pesky and resilient skin issues that everyone suffers from at some point in our lives. So, why not treat it with the number one selling treatment system in the U.S? I mean, using ProActiv is probably the only thing Jessica Simpson and P.Diddy have in common (besides their millions in net worth, of course).
6. Want to double your chances of winning? Add me on Twitter!
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I was referred to you by a user on this site called Muzbnuts. I'm working on an interesting project for graduate school that involves building a custom slot car track to run cars with LEDs on them, and personally, I'm responsible for researching power supplies and control. It seems like you are the guru of all things slot car track, and I'm wondering if you can give me any advice.
If you are willing, please check out my post and my replies to it, and let me know if you have any information that would help me out, or any further clarification questions.
Hi Chris- Any more news on Jerry Miller?
So i will give you news lather. How do you ship all those wood pieces.
And what would it cost to have a pretty track like this.
Check out the thread about new lighting in Rocklin. There are a couple of nice pics of the Angel. Still one of my favorite tracks to run. After looking at the pic for a bit, it might even translate to a nice flat track if you flattened the banked turn.
Father, student of life, reader of books, builder of strange and wonderous things - including Slot Car Tracks.
Blues, motorcycles, literature, people, philosophy and little toy cars.
I get paid to build things so I can support my tool collecting habit.
Building beautiful, smooth slot car tracks for your home, club or raceway since 1987!


The iPhone 7 Red dramatically improves the most important aspects of the iPhone experience. The best performance and battery life ever in an iPhone. Immersive stereo speakers. The brightest, most colorful iPhone display. Splash and water resistance and it looks every bit as powerful as it is iPhone 7. The impressive 4.7inch Retina HD display helps generate crisp pictures and is also more responsive for better 3D Touch functionality. The photo enthusiast will be overjoyed with the 12MP rear camera featuring optical image stabilization for steadier images. The phone also has a 7MP Front camera for high definition video calling. The iPhone 7 Red color and the sleek design loaded with unmatched features makes the Apple iPhone 7 the smartphone that everyone dreams of owning.
Apple iPhone 7 Red reaches a new level of innovation and precision. The enclosure is splash and water resistant with its entire enclosure reengineered, iPhone 7 Red is the very first water‑resistant iPhone so now you're protected like never before against spills, splashes, and even dust.
The Home button on iPhone 7 red is an advanced solid-state button designed to be durable, responsive, and pressure sensitive. Working in tandem with the new Taptic Engine, it gives you precise tactile feedback as you press. And it's even customizable. Welcome home.
Almost everything you experience with your iPhone comes to life on its display. It's where you look at the photos, messages, news, and countless other things that make up your day. The Apple iPhone 7 Red display uses the same color space as the digital cinema industry, so what you see will be noticeably more brilliant and vibrant. Because we all deserve a bit more brightness in our day.
iPhone 7 Red is the most popular camera in the world. Now we've reengineered that beloved camera, adding optical image stabilization, an ƒ/1.8 aperture, and a six-element lens to make it even better for shooting photos and videos in low light. And with advanced new features like wide color capture, your photos and Live Photos will look even more vibrant.


On today's 9er. USA Today gets it Frank Lloyd Wrong. Meet the worlds least lucky carjacker. Witness a "poopnado" in Colorado. Those, plus six more fascinating discussions. It's water cooler talk from people that aren't cool.


text:
Last updated: 10:37 AM ET, Thu May 31 2018
More Mexico Beaches Receive Blue Flag Certification
Destination & Tourism Janeen Christoff May 30, 2018
PHOTO: Sunset in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. (photo via diegograndi/iStock/Getty Images Plus)
Eighteen more beaches in Mexico have now received coveted Blue Flag certification from the nonprofit Foundation for Environmental Education.
The designation recognizes coastal regions that meet high standards of water quality, safety, environmental education and information, services and environmental management.
MORE Destination & Tourism
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Bermuda Premier 'Confident' St. Regis Resort...
Mexico now has more than 50 beaches that have achieved Blue Flag status with new beaches in Baja California Sur, Guerrero, Oaxaca and Quintana Roo.
The announcement of new qualifying destinations takes place annually and was made by the Blue Flag International Jury 2018.
This was the first time that the number of Blue Flag sites worldwide reached more than 4,500. Members of the panel include representatives from the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), the United Nations World Tourism Organization (UNWTO), International Lifesaving Federation (ILS), the European Environment Agency (EEA), the European Union for Coastal Conservation (EUCC), the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), an Environmental Education expert, the International Council of Marine Industry Associations (ICOMIA), the European Network for Accessible Tourism (ENAT) and FEE.
gallery icon Sell Puerto Vallarta as an Expert
Saudi Arabia's Diriyah Gate Development Authority (DGDA) Project: What You Should Know
For more information on Mexico
For more Destination & Tourism News
More by Janeen Christoff
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gallery icon Visit Saudi Arabia's Stunning Mosques
The Best February Events in Each State
Bermuda Premier 'Confident' St. Regis Resort Casino Remains on Track
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Mexican Caribbean Expected To Have Less Sargassum This Year
Journey to Taboga Island Panama
Become a New Orleans expert with our certification courses New Orleans & Company
Contact us for Complimentary Planning Assistance New Orleans & Company


text:
<?php

namespace Redeye\StormpathBundle\User;

use Stormpath\Resource\Account;
use Symfony\Component\Security\Core\User\UserInterface;

class StormpathUser implements UserInterface, \Serializable
{
    protected $account;
    protected $accountHref;
    protected $roles;
    protected $additionalRoles;

    public function __construct(Account $account, $additionalRoles = [])
    {
        $this->additionalRoles = $additionalRoles;
        $this->setAccount($account);
    }

    public function setAccount(Account $account)
    {
        $this->account = $account;
        $this->accountHref = $account->getHref();
        $this->roles = array_merge($this->extractRoles($account), $this->additionalRoles);
    }

    public function getAccount()
    {
        return $this->account;
    }

    public function getAccountHref()
    {
        return $this->accountHref;
    }

    public function getRoles()
    {
        return $this->roles;
    }

    public function getPassword()
    {
        return null;
    }

    public function getSalt()
    {
        return null;
    }

    public function getUsername()
    {
        return $this->accountHref;
    }

    public function __toString()
    {
        return $this->getAccount()->getUsername();
    }

    public function eraseCredentials()
    {

    }

    /**
     * {@inheritdoc}
     */
    public function serialize()
    {
        return serialize(array($this->accountHref, $this->roles, $this->additionalRoles));
    }

    /**
     * {@inheritdoc}
     */
    public function unserialize($str)
    {
        list($this->accountHref, $this->roles, $this->additionalRoles) = unserialize($str);
    }

    protected function extractRoles(Account $account)
    {
        $roles = [];

        foreach ($account->getGroups() as $group) {
            $customData = $group->getCustomData();
            if ($customData->role) {
                $roles[] = $customData->role;
            }
        }

        $directoryCustomData = $account->getDirectory()->getCustomData();
        if ($directoryCustomData->role) {
            $roles[] = $directoryCustomData->role;
        }

        return $roles;
    }
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub