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Home » Literary works » Poetry » Realistic
death came slow
by mellifera
fraey, Traves, rrrRandomNoob, niteowl, paperforest, hiraeth, Sonder, manilla, Liberty, ArtisticForever
Poetry: Realistic, General
silvermoon17 wrote a review...
It's probably not your fault.. but gosh the police is horrible! The words look so blurry and bland and grey. It really gets you out of the whole point of your poem. Anyways. I like the way you made Death appear as a wise, misunderstood thing. I personally like (I am the bridge, not the destination) part. It really makes us rEeL. Actually, after reading this; the letters are not such a horrible style after all. I just don't understand the last part. I guess she's the dead relative, and this is supposedly a twist. If you really wanted a twist, you probably should've done something like we think it's someone else's death while actually it's the protagonist all along. Lame, yes; but a much more effective twist if you make it work. I like the fact it's short as well well.
mellifera
Vervain wrote a review...
Hi Mell! I haven't touched poetry in a while, but I liked the look of this, so I'm coming in for a review! Apologies if I'm a bit rusty.
I really enjoy how this portrays Death. It's one of the calmer renditions, which is relaxing to see in a century (or two centuries) that seems to be prone to violent deaths, and blaming Death as a character instead of accepting its inevitability. I really enjoy works like this that don't claim to know the afterlife, nor explain it, but simply connect it to our everyday life in trying times. This poem makes me feel relaxed and willing to treat with Death, which I suppose is the best one of us desperate walking monkey things can hope for in our lifetimes.
While I really enjoy the vibe and the tone of the poem, I feel like some of the flow is disrupted by a strong use of punctuation. Usually I don't complain about that. That's weird.
But more or less all of your lines end with some kind of punctuation. While it makes sense grammatically, part of me wishes there was less of a pause between lines like ""what is on the other side?" I asked,/but Death only smiled[.]"
The punctuation kind of brings me out of the scene, I guess, and makes me think a lot about the actual words I'm reading. All of your punctuation is grammatical, there's just a lot of it, and it seems to end almost every line. The reader doesn't get a break when it's [line] comma, [line] semicolon, [line] period. It's a lot to parse, and while I don't feel like it's a problem-problem, it definitely broke up the flow of the poem a bit for me.
I really enjoy this though, and you've definitely painted a poignant scene with one of my favorite embodiments of Death in the modern era. Keep writing!
BailorAsh wrote a review...
This is beautiful. Absolutely stunning. The word choice was amazing and the imagery was just... beautiful. That's how I'm going to start this review.
I love reading personifications of Death, mostly because I also enjoy writing Death as a character, and so I like seeing how other people do it. This piece is interesting, because Death is displayed as a sort of cryptic, but wise character. I enjoy this version of Death because they do not seem cruel. My criticism of the piece would be that I don't quite get the ending - I think I do, but I can't say for sure. In poetry, it's good to keep things shorter and focus on description, which you nailed. Your word choice is perfect. One of the best lines is the first:
"what a gluttonous beast,
always consuming, always butchering," I said.
It draws the reader in and shows in very few words the protagonist's view of Death, which I enjoyed. Overall this was beautifully written. I actually cried when I got to the end, so in my opinion, you've written a successful poem. Poetry is about getting your readers to feel something.
But what about second breakfast?
— Peregrin Took


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Luiz da Costa Chaves Faria (Rio de Janeiro,  – Rio de Janeiro, ) foi um médico brasileiro.

Foi eleito membro da Academia Nacional de Medicina em 1901, ocupando a Cadeira 48, que tem Márcio Philaphiano Nery como patrono.

Membros da Academia Nacional de Medicina
Naturais da cidade do Rio de Janeiro

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


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In 2012, Activision partnered with Tencent to introduce its "Call of Duty" franchise to the Chinese market. The game was being brought to the Chinese audience in an entirely new way: online only, free-to-play, and instead of a single, self-contained experience, the content would span the entire breadth of the western "Call of Duty" games. Ant Farm's campaign focused on two daunting tasks; educating a brand-new audience to the key elements of gameplay that distinguish "Call of Duty" from all other games available to them, and energizing that audience to the same levels of passion and excitement as the existing "Call of Duty" fans in the West.


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Paedophile teacher who paid male student to perform sex acts and abused 3 others, jailed 6.5 years
Wan Ting Koh
Yahoo News Singapore 22 April 2019
The married 36-year-old's actions were discovered when he molested a 13-year-old boy after failing to persuade the student to visit his home. (PHOTO: Dhany Osman / Yahoo News Singapore)
SINGAPORE — A secondary school teacher who sexually abused and exploited four male students was jailed six years and six months on Monday (22 April).
The married 36-year-old man also had repeated paid sexual encounters with his first victim for over a year.
His actions were discovered when he molested a 13-year-old boy after failing to persuade the student to visit his home. After a police report was made, further investigations brought to light the man's offences against the other three victims, aged 13 to 15. Neither the man nor his victims can be named due to a court-imposed gag order.
Appearing in the State Courts, the man admitted to nine charges for offences including sexually exploiting the boys, sexual penetration of a minor and molest. Another 19 charges of a similar nature were taken into consideration for his sentencing, while 10 charges were withdrawn.
According to an Institute of Mental Health report, the man was diagnosed with paedophilia and was found to be at moderate risk of reoffending, especially if placed in a position of authority over children.
Paid sexual encounters
The man's first victim was a Secondary 2 student whom the former had taught a year earlier.
On 9 May 2016, the boy was given detention for sending pornographic images to his class group chat. When the man spotted the boy in the detention room, he asked what the boy what had happened.
Upon hearing the boy's explanation, the man then asked the boy if he wanted to watch pornography together at his flat. The boy initially refused, but agreed after the teacher said he would not tell anyone about it.
The boy then demanded a payment of $50 in order to keep quiet about the incident, which the man agreed to.
The next day, the boy visited the teacher's flat after school. They watched pornography together and teacher performed oral sex on the boy, for which the latter was paid.
This arrangement continued for one and a half years, with the teacher paying the boy between $50 and $300 on each occasion. The last incident took place at the end of August 2017.
Invited second victim to play video games
In July 2016, the teacher approached a Secondary 2 student from the same school after spotting him along the corridor. The teacher asked the boy if he wanted visit his home to play video games.
While he initially declined the invitation, the boy agreed after the teacher asked him a second time. They then headed to the teacher's flat where they played video games in his bedroom.
In the midst of the game, the teacher placed the boy onto his lap and did a thrusting motion against the boy's buttocks. The boy felt uncomfortable and stood up. He then left the man's home.
In July 2017, the teacher preyed on another boy, who was also not his student. The boy, who was in Secondary 3 at the time, had received a text message from the man who asked to meet the boy the following day.
When they met, the man requested that the boy to visit his flat. The boy then asked the teacher the reason for the invitation, but was told that he would find out later.
The duo then took a taxi to the man's flat, where he made the boy perform oral sex on him. The man also performed oral sex on the boy. They repeated the same acts in the teacher's flat a few days later.
Repeatedly pestered fourth victim
On 29 August 2017, the man approached another student while the latter was leaving the school's computer lab. The man had asked the boy to visit his home on two previous occasions but was turned down.
This time, the boy felt the man poke his buttocks five times as he walked away after rejecting the man's invitation yet again. The boy quickly rejoined his classmates in another room where they continued the lesson.
After the lesson, the teacher dismissed the rest of the class and asked the boy to stay behind. He again asked the boy if he wanted to visit his home, but was rebuffed.
The boy also rejected the man's request to meet him at the school's back gate. Feeling afraid, the boy quickly left to take a bus home after school. Along the way, he received messages from the man asking him not to go home, but go to the man's flat instead. The man also offered to pick the boy up from where he was.
The boy later told a female classmate about the man's messages and the molest, and was advised to tell his parents. The following day, the boy sought the same classmate's help in reporting the incident to their form teacher, who then informed the boy's parents about the matter.
A police report against the man was then lodged on 1 September 2017.
Accused abused position of authority: DPP
Asking for a jail term of at least six years and six months', the prosecution pointed out that the man had exploited his position of authority.
For the molest victim, not only had the teacher "taken advantage of curriculum time to satisfy his sexual urges", he had molested the boy within the confines of a classroom when the boy was isolated from his classmates.
Regarding the boy in the detention room, Deputy Public Prosecutor Amanda Han said the man had "merely led him further down the path of moral corruption in a bid to attain his own sexual gratification" instead of counselling the boy and "encouraging him to reform".
The man's lawyer, Chua Eng Hui, said that his client was remorseful over his actions and had cooperated fully with investigations. Pointing out that two of the victims had not been coerced or pressured into performing sexual acts, he asked for the man's sentence to be capped at six years' jail.
More Singapore stories:
Almost 500 NUS students issue statement of concern on sexual harassment at NUS
Epic fail: E-scooter driver hits child on Orchard Road pavement, then proceeds to fight with his father
Kaplan in Singapore achieves renewal of Four-year EduTrust Certification, demonstrating its commitment to delivering quality education with focus on graduate outcomes
Student praised for spending recess time 'working' in school canteen
Beyond the mat: Fuelled by passion alone, can Malaysia's sole wrestling promotion stay afloat?
Woman jailed for fracturing husband's face, nose and eye socket with golf clubs and vegetable peeler

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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The Big Fabulous
At 21, leaving her modeling career and a volatile affair behind in New York, Anjelica Huston arrived in Los Angeles in March 1973—and almost immediately fell in love with Jack Nicholson. In an adaptation from the second volume of her memoirs, she recalls their years together; her Oscar-winning role in Prizzi's Honor; the death of her father, John Huston; and the stormy end of her romance with Nicholson.
By Anjelica Huston
Photos: Anjelica Huston and Jack Nicholson Through the Years
Huston flanked by Nicholson and her father the year John directed the couple in Prizzi's Honor.
My old life ended and my new life began as I was standing next to a baggage carousel in the customs hall at LAX in March 1973. It was there, at the age of 21, that I parted ways with Bob Richardson, a bold and provocative fashion photographer 24 years older than I, with whom I'd been involved in a tempestuous affair for the past four years. Until this moment we had been sharing an apartment on New York's Gramercy Park. Had it not been for the presence of my father and his latest wife, Cici, with whom Bob and I had been vacationing in Mexico, I doubt that I would ever have had the final stroke of courage it would take to leave him.
LISTEN: Anjelica Huston Reads from Her Second Memoir
I would be staying temporarily at the ranch house in Pacific Palisades that Cici had owned prior to her marriage to Dad and that she was redecorating to accommodate some treasures from St. Clerans, the estate in the West of Ireland where I had grown up. Oddly, there was a sense of coming home to California. I was born in Los Angeles. The desert skies were clear blue and untroubled. Living with my father again felt strange, but he would be leaving soon to resume work on The MacKintosh Man in New York.
Driving along Sunset Boulevard in the pale sunshine, I noticed that the panorama was bare and garish—mostly warehouses and two-story façades. There were rows of tall palm trees and purple jacarandas. It was windy and the air was dry and sweet-scented. On Rodeo Drive, there was a yellow-striped awning above Giorgio's boutique, with outdoor atomizers that puffed their signature Giorgio perfume. Indulgent husbands drank espresso at a shiny brass bar inside as their wives shopped for feathered gowns and beaded cocktail dresses. Los Angeles was a small town then; it felt both incredibly glamorous and a little provincial.
One day in April a friend of Cici's named Brigitta, who owned a dress shop on Sunset, told Cici that she was going to a party at Jack Nicholson's house, and invited her to come along. Cici asked if she could bring her stepdaughter, and Brigitta said fine, that it was Jack's birthday and Jack loved pretty girls.
READ: Anjelica Huston on Her Father, John Huston: "He Was Extremely Well-Endowed"
I borrowed an evening dress from Cici—black, long, open at the back, with a diamanté clasp. Brigitta picked us up, and we drove to Jack's house on Mulholland Drive, on a high ridge separating Beverly Hills and the San Fernando Valley. It felt as if we were on top of the world.
The front door of a modest two-story ranch-style house opened, and there was that smile. Later, after he became a superstar and was on the cover of Time magazine, Diana Vreeland was to christen it "the Killer Smile." But at the time I thought, Ah! Yes. Now, there's a man you could fall for.
n 1969, when I was still living in London, I had gone with some friends to see Easy Rider in a movie theater in Piccadilly Circus and had returned alone some days later to see it again. It was Jack's combination of ease and exuberance that had captured me from the moment he had come on-screen. I think it was probably upon seeing the film that, like many others, I first fell in love with Jack.
The second time was when he opened the door to his house that early evening in April, with the late sun still golden in the sky. "Good evening, ladies," he said, beaming, and added in a slow drawl, "I'm Jack, and I'm glad you could make it."
He motioned for us to enter. The front room was low-ceilinged, candlelit, and filled with strangers. There was Greek food, and music was playing. I danced with Jack for hours. And when he invited me to stay the night, I asked Cici what she thought.
"Are you kidding?" she said. "Of course!" In the morning, when I woke up and put on my evening dress from the night before, Jack was already downstairs. Someone whom I came to recognize later as the screenwriter Robert Towne walked through the front door into the house and looked at me appraisingly as I stood on the upper landing. Then Jack appeared and said, "I'm gonna send you home in a taxi, if that's O.K., because I'm going to a ball game."
It was a half-hour ride back to the Palisades. When I got out of the cab, in the backless evening dress, Cici was at the door. She looked at me and just shook her head. "I can't believe you didn't insist that he drive you home," she said. "What are you thinking? If he's going to take you out again, he must come and pick you up and take you home."
Jack called a few days later to ask me out. I said, "Yes. But you have to pick me up, and you have to drive me home." And he said, "O.K. All right. How about Saturday?" And I said, "O.K. But you have to come and pick me up." Then I got a follow-up call, Jack saying that he was sorry; he had to cancel our date because he had a previous obligation. "Does that make me a secondary one?" I asked.
"Don't say that," he said. "It's not witty enough, and derogatory to both of us." That evening, I decided to go out with the set designer Jeremy Railton, a friend from London, and the comedy writers Kenny Solms and Gail Parent. We were dining at the Old World café, on Sunset, when they started to whisper and giggle. When I asked what was going on, Gail said, "You were supposed to see Jack tonight, right?" And I replied, "Yes, but he had a previous obligation." Kenny said, "Well, his previous obligation is a very pretty blonde, and he just went upstairs with her."
I took my wineglass in hand and with my heart racing climbed the stairs to the upper section of the restaurant. Jack was sitting in a booth with a beautiful young woman whom I immediately recognized—I had seen photographs of them together in magazines—as his ex-girlfriend Michelle Phillips. She was in the group the Mamas and the Papas. As I reached the table a shadow passed quickly over Jack's face, like a cloud crossing the sun. I lifted my glass airily and said, "I'm downstairs, and I just thought I'd come up to say hi." He introduced Michelle, not missing a beat. She was charming. I guess they were at the end of their relationship at that point. One morning, some weeks later, she drove to his house on Mulholland Drive to collect something she had stored there. Discovering that I was with Jack, she came upstairs to his bedroom with two glasses of orange juice. From that moment, we became friends.
In the overture to our relationship, Jack sent mixed messages. Alternately, he would ask me to stick around or would not call when he said he would. At one point, he told me he had decided that we should cool it, and followed that up with a call suggesting we dine together. Jack gave me a variety of nicknames. I started off as "Fab." As in "the Big Fabulous," which became, with a German accent, "Ze Bik Fabuliss." This was because when I first came to Los Angeles, Jeremy and Kenny used to say "the most fabulous" all the time, a habit that I had adopted. Then, I don't know why, my name developed into "Toot," rhyming with "foot," or "Tootie," which became "Tootman Fabuliss." Then it became "Ze Bik," and then simply "Mine," or "Minyl." Sometimes he called me "Pal," which I hated. It implied a lack of romantic feeling. I didn't want to be his crony but rather the love of his life.
Jack had nicknames for most people. Warren Beatty was "the Pro." Marlon Brando was "Marloon." Art Garfunkel was "the Old New G." Jack's car, a magnificent Mercedes 600 the color of black cherries, was christened "Bing." Jack liked Harry Dean Stanton's name so much that he wrote it somewhere in every film that he did. So, whether it was his initials on a prison wall in graffiti, or carved into a tree in a Western, if you look closely at this period of his movies, you'll see "HDS" somewhere.
Later that year, after finishing Michelangelo Antonioni's The Passenger, Jack started work on Chinatown, arguably the most beautiful and authentic film ever to be made on location in Los Angeles, about Los Angeles. From the seamless pairing of the city's little-appreciated but fabulous original architecture with Richard Sylbert's inspired interiors to the costumes and wardrobes for the actors by the great designer Anthea Sylbert, to the creative cinematography of John Alonzo, to the masterly direction of Roman Polanski, the movie looked like a classic black-and-white film magically transposed to color. Everything was right, from the shots of the orange orchards to the vintage cars; indoors, the photography was deep and saturated, and the exteriors by contrast were as baked and dry as a desert. It's a movie about water, and about the corruption that lies beneath the surface of the city. The performances are veiled and mysterious. Faye Dunaway, as fine as an Italian greyhound, portrays Evelyn Mulwray, the haunted heroine, who carries a terrible secret. Jack, the private detective J. J. Gittes, follows the trail of corruption that leads to the character Noah Cross, played by my father.
Jack and Roman Polanski were already friends, and Dad and Jack got on really well, sharing philosophical conversations and a lot of laughs. It was during Chinatown that I moved into Jack's house. When Dad asked me to come visit him on the Chinatown set, I agreed—I hadn't seen him for almost six months. We had lunch at a long table outdoors, Jack on one side, my father on the other, Polanski at the head. I sat down quietly beside Jack. Out of nowhere, my father, eyeing him malevolently, said, "I hear you are sleeping with my daughter"—long pause—"Mr. Gittes." I went bright red and then I realized: they were rehearsing. Everyone burst out laughing.
On my father's last night shooting, I went to the set again. Annie Marshall, Jack's assistant, had agreed to meet me for dinner before going out to location. Night had fallen, and when we arrived on set I could see through the window of Dad's trailer a lone, half-empty bottle of Stolichnaya on a table. I knocked on his door and he called for me to enter. As soon as I did, I was met with a cold reception. What had taken me so long? What had I been up to?
They were taking quite a while to light the scene. It was to be the horrible dénouement of the film, involving Noah Cross and his daughter. Fact and fiction sometimes blur, and it began to dawn that Dad was practicing on me. The crew broke for supper. It was about one o'clock in the morning. Dad and Annie and Jack and I were in the back booth at a café having egg foo yong. Dad dropped a noodle on his lapel, but didn't seem to notice. Jack reached over delicately with his chopsticks. "Let me help you with that, John," he said good-naturedly. They wrapped the final scene at five A.M.
The first time I saw Las Vegas, I was riding in the backseat of a limousine with Jack. It was a black velvet night, the Strip still baking from the blazing sun of day, a reddening of the sky over a gash on the desert floor, ahead of us a ribbon of colored lights flashing like a gaudy fault line. On both sides of the street, an effulgent avenue of kitsch—the Flamingo's shocking-pink casino, the Roman columns of Caesars Palace—and on the pavement the transients, adrenaline junkies, hawkers, hookers, dancers, and gangsters with their girlfriends and their bodyguards.
We were there to see Frank Sinatra, basking in the afterglow of a comeback album. Onstage at Caesars Palace, he ambled from the wings with a whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and settled in front of the audience like the king of his domain. His eyes were indeed as blue as periwinkles; his voice was slightly mocking, but still sounded like the silken tone from the record player at St. Clerans, on the album In the Wee Small Hours, its cover depicting Frank standing under a blue streetlamp wearing a gray fedora. After the concert we went upstairs to the penthouse suite, an open-layout space with white shag and gold mosaic and a thin veneer of glassy marble on the floor. After a wait of 20 minutes and some speculation as to whether he would appear at all, the door to the suite was flung open. Surrounded by bodyguards, Sinatra swept through the foyer calling out "Tina!," his entourage hard-shouldering anyone in their path and leaving a note of bewilderment in their wake.
We flew back to Las Vegas on another occasion with Lou Adler, Jack's best friend and the president of Ode Records, and his new girlfriend, Phyllis Somer, to see Muhammad Ali fight at Caesars Palace. The ring was elevated in a pool of golden light, and all around us a magnificent display of jewels, sequins, and plumage glinted in the audience. The women were dressed to the nines, some with gardenias in their hair, and the atmosphere was one of high tension. Many of the older fighters were there; we said hello to Joe Louis. I loved going to the heavyweight fights with Jack: the audiences and the entourages, the women and the athletes—stunning and adrenalized, like a four-ring human circus.
Jack was not fazed by much. He enjoyed his creature comforts and had a real zest for life. He liked to travel, especially to Europe. He loved to collect people. Paternally, he would call us "my people." At the time, the generality of it bugged me; I wanted to be special, and I felt a loss of identity. "Where are my people?" But there was very much a sense with Jack that one was on his team. And it was a good team to be on. A strong team. The winning team. Jack held on to his friends, many of whom he'd known for a long time.
Jack had a temper, and an extremely good command of the language, but he didn't have my father's vodka edge. They were both highly literate, and in many other ways were a lot alike. They both loved personalities—sometimes freakish or irritating people—if only because they possessed an uncommonly interesting trait, like looking a certain way or reminding them of someone else, or people who were regional types. It was like casting your life with character actors.
Jack's enthusiasm for certain things, such as basketball, was joyously unrestrained. In the first few years that I was with him, I was determined to love the Los Angeles Lakers. Several times a week, I'd watch these guys with huge feet squeaking as they thundered up and down the floor at the Forum. It was relentless, and they'd always lose. Heading to the car, Jack would be momentarily despondent. Chick Hearn would be on the radio, rehashing the game. Lou Adler would be in the passenger seat, and I'd be sitting there in the back of Bing, thinking, Why in God's name am I here?
People think, "Jack the joker"—Jack's all about fun. And he pulls it off successfully, but it is a one-dimensional view. He is emotional. Life touches him, and moves him, and upsets him. He is a deep and serious person. He takes things harder than you'd imagine or than he would want you to know. On the other hand, perhaps in part because of the early experience of having everyone in his family lie to him about the circumstances of his birth—he had found out that the woman he thought was his sister was in fact his mother, and that his "mother" was in fact his grandmother—it is not surprising that he's quite cynical.
Jack loved his house on the hill, its walls plastered with paintings. He knew a good deal about art and learned more as he accumulated a diverse and eclectic collection, building it for the most part on his own instinct. He had a personal affinity for pigs and a prime collection of porcine artifacts—photographs and porcelains, which overflowed the bookshelves.
Marlon Brando lived farther up the hill from Jack and they shared the same driveway. Marlon loved to play practical jokes and generally engaged Helena Kallianiotes, Jack's chief of staff and the keeper of his confidences and trust, to put them into effect on April Fool's Day. Once, Marlon instructed her to report to Jack that he had decided to sell his house to Sylvester Stallone, claiming that, having been offered so much money for the property, he simply couldn't afford to turn it down. Stallone in those days traveled with a small army of bodyguards and lived a notably opulent lifestyle; Jack prided himself on his talent for privacy, moving under the radar whenever he wished. The thought of all those Stallone fans at the gate worried him no end. Marlon thought that was just hilarious.
I was spending my days up at Jack's, very much in love with him but feeling thwarted professionally. During the four years I had spent in New York, I had achieved top status as a model and had worked for the best photographers and designers in the world. I had grown used to hearing that I was exotic and high-fashion. These were not necessarily attributes that would work to my advantage in Southern California, where tanned blondes with big smiles were the order of the day, and I decided I would not offer myself up to rejection and disappointment. Though still smarting from the collective drubbing I received for Dad's movie A Walk with Love and Death, I believed that at some point I would take up the reins and become the actress I had always wanted to be.
Eventually I began working with Peggy Feury, of the Loft Studio. I was, at 30, the oldest person in her novice class. For the next couple of years, every day, five days a week, I drove from my house to her studio on La Brea. The first exercise Peggy gave me was to acquire an object from another actor—specifically, it was to beg for a dime. I worked hard throughout the scene. After it was over, Peggy said, "Anjelica, you're a tall and imposing girl, a big presence. When you ask for something, you don't need to extend your hand. You have our attention." It was the awakening in me to the illusion of confidence. I had not realized it until this moment, but I was pleading for things that I could just as easily have simply asked for.
In March 1983, the producer John Foreman gave me a book by Richard Condon called Prizzi's Honor. He said, "Read this and let me know what you think of it."
I read it overnight. It was a wonderful book, a Mob story full of wit and black humor. I went back to him the next day and said, "It's great."
"What do you think about playing Maerose Prizzi?" he asked.
I said, "What a great idea. Fantastic!"
And he said, "Yeah. What do you think about Jack as the hit man, Charley Partanna, and your dad to direct?"
And I thought, Oh, damn!, because I knew I was going to be sandwiched between these two big rocks.
My part, Maerose, had all the good elements working for it. She was the exiled daughter of the Prizzi family, who would do literally anything to recapture the heart of Partanna, its top consigliere. Her rival was played by Kathleen Turner. Maerose was an outsider, complex and layered, a dark horse who knew exactly what she wanted and how to go after it.
Bill Hickey played the Don. He had worked in Wise Blood and was a favorite actor of Dad's. "How do you want me to do this, John?" he asked Dad about his role.
"Like a reptile," Dad answered.
Our first day of work was in a wedding chapel in Brooklyn, and I remember sitting in the back of a company car that morning on the West Side Highway, with dawn coming up over the city and nude men displaying themselves in the windows of the lofts in the Meatpacking District. I was sharing my ride with the girl who was cast to play the bride, and the driver remarked to me as we got out of the car that she was beautiful. I remember feeling a stab of jealousy and thinking, Yes, this is what Maerose is all about. And now she's going to turn the tables.
On the second day of shooting, the set-design team divided the ballroom from the hall outside with a movable wall of white latticework with two ovals cut out of the cross-hatching. As I was standing with a group of extras, about to pass through to the hall for my first scene with Jack, for a moment Dad was perfectly framed in one oval and Jack in the other, like a pair of cameos. It was one of those instances when life and art merge, and it somehow pinpointed Maerose's dilemma.
One day, Dad and Kathleen Turner were having a difference of opinion as to how a scene should be played. "Just go to the suitcase, close it, carry it out of the room, and shut the door," said Dad.
"But, John," said Kathleen, "I think I'd prefer to go to the wardrobe and take some thing to put in the case before I walk out and close the door."
"No, honey, just go to the suitcase, close it, carry it out, and shut the door."
"But, John!"
"O.K., honey, you do just what you want, and we'll cut it out later."
I hadn't really been aware of Jack's reputation at first. It kind of grew over time, I think—that idea of Jack: he's so baaad! Even though Warren Beatty was one of his best friends, I didn't recognize Jack as a world-class philanderer at the time. For as prolific as he seems to have been, and as I have heard reported, he was actually quite discreet. Occasionally, I'd find a piece of female apparel—once a jacket of mine turned up on a girl in the street—or I'd find some hand cream, or a trinket might get left behind in the soap dish. Sometimes I'd take to wearing the jewelry to see if anybody would come up and claim it, but that never happened.
When it became evident to me that Jack was not a faithful man, I didn't know what I could do about that. There's only so much that you can do. Then, at a certain point, other people start to look good to you too. This dilemma was something I would very much have wanted to talk to my mother about, but I never had the chance. I don't know whether her affairs were designed to spite my father or to comfort herself. She had neither explained my father's dalliances to me nor openly displayed her pain. She had held so much within, and I was following her construct.
The subject of marriage arose at various points in my relationship with Jack, but neither of us ever seemed to feel the urge at the same moment. At various times over the years Jack's business manager and his lawyer encouraged us to get married, possibly because they saw this as a way to save Jack a lot of money in taxes. I found this idea strictly unromantic. Also, I was a child of the 60s and to a degree regarded marriage as a form of bondage. Sometimes I liked the idea, but more often I feared it.
One afternoon, in the spring of 1986, I went out with some girlfriends to El Cholo, down on Western Avenue, and several margaritas later they persuaded me that now was the time—that we should go back to the house after lunch and I should tell Jack that I was going to marry him. Everything went according to plan until Jack came downstairs and one of my friends said, "Go on, Tootie, tell him."
So I told him what we had discussed, and he said, "Are you serious about this?"
I burst into tears, turned on my heels, and left the house. It was humiliating for both Jack and me. I went downhill from Jack's to my own house, on Beverly Glen. The next morning I was crying in the kitchen. The phone rang. It was Dad. He was in Malibu, holed up at Burgess Meredith's. For the last decade of his life, Dad was in and out of hospitals for chronic emphysema. When he was released from the hospital, on occasion he would stay at Buzz's. I explained my state of mind.
"Come down here and see me, honey," he said. "Just get down here now!"
I got myself down to Malibu, to his bedroom overlooking the sea, where I found him propped up among the pillows in a state of irritation.
"What is it, dear?" asked Dad, with a measure of impatience.
I began to cry. "It's Jack," I said. "He's unfaithful. It really hurts me. I can't live with it."
Dad threw me a look of exasperation, as if dealing with a difficult four-year-old who won't let go of an idea. "Stop crying!" he said with an incredulous shake of the head. "This is nonsense. Meaningless, honey. Men do this—it means nothing. Why do you care?"
Suddenly enraged, I turned on him. "Dad," I said, "how meaningless does it feel to be despised? Because that is what every woman feels in her heart when she's betrayed."
A few weeks later, I went to visit Dad at the Jules Stein clinic at U.C.L.A., where he had just had cataract surgery on both eyes. I found him in a darkened room, with big Ray Charles shades covering half his face. My brother Tony greeted me, said good-bye to Dad, and left us alone.
Dad asked me if I saw a script on the bedside table. I said that I did, and picked it up. It was titled The Dead, based on the story by James Joyce. In smaller letters, it read, "Screenplay by Tony Huston." Dad said, "Read it to me, honey."
And for the next 90 minutes, I did just that. I was amazed at the beauty and simplicity of the script. The Dead was the observation of an evening of music, food, and dance, an actual epiphany set at a dinner party in Dublin, on the eve of Epiphany 1904. The Morkan sisters, Julia and Kate, host this annual dinner for lovers of the arts, young and old. Over the course of the evening, we learn more about the guests—Gabriel Conroy and his wife, Gretta, are regulars, and Gabriel worries about the speech he has prepared for the occasion. Poems are recited; songs are sung. Gabriel and Gretta leave after he watches her listening to a tenor sing a song that seems to affect her deeply.
They make their way to their hotel in a carriage; snow is falling. Once they are in their room, Gretta confesses a love from the past that she has kept secret. Gabriel realizes that, although they have been married for many years, he has never really known his wife, and contemplates the mysteries of life and death.
"What do you think?" asked Dad. "Shall we do it?"
"Of course," I said.
The cast members, many of whom came straight off the stage from the Abbey Theatre, in Dublin, were assembled at a motel a few miles south of Valencia, a suburb of Los Angeles, where the movie would be shot in the self-contained environment of a dark warehouse. Because Dad was too frail to travel to Ireland, a top casting director, Nuala Moiselle, had recorded the best working actors in Dublin on tape, and Dad made his casting decisions for The Dead in Beverly Hills. One day a movie camera and some lighting equipment was brought into his living room, and Donal McCann, who had just flown in from Dublin, and I did a screen test together, in the roles of Gabriel and Gretta. Donal was a remarkable actor, with brooding dark eyes and a troubled soul. Initially I found him dour, but I grew to like him very much.
Because the movie was shot in almost perfect sequence, I had a lot of time to think about the very last scene. I asked if I might wear a nightdress, so as to emphasize the distance between the social interaction of that evening's party and the confessional night that follows, when Gretta and Gabriel are alone in their hotel room, and her vulnerability surfaces as she tells him of a long-lost love.
When I arrived that morning, I was raring to go. Dad and Donal and I went upstairs to the set to rehearse. As we walked through the scene, everything I had held pent up for weeks erupted and flowed. Afterward, as we walked downstairs to get ready in hair and makeup, and the grips went in to light the set, Dad said, "That's good, honey, now put it in the past." When we went back, he shot the scene in one long take.
After The Dead was completed, Dad wondered to me privately if an audience would have the patience for a movie "whose most animated moment is the breaking of a wishbone," but I knew that he was excited about it.
"It's not quite like any film I've seen," he said.
In the summer of 1987, Dad was intent on going to Rhode Island to be with my brother Danny, who was about to direct Mr. North, an adaptation of the novel Theophilus North, by Thornton Wilder. Dad had written the screenplay and was going to play the part of Mr. Bosworth. I was set to play the part of Bosworth's daughter, Persis. Maricela Hernandez had been doing all the traveling with Dad and was with him at all times. After Dad and Cici divorced, in 1975, Maricela became Dad's constant and intimate companion—his partner and confidante. She cared for him throughout the last 12 years of his life.
During our second week in Newport, it became apparent that Dad needed to go into intensive care. His hospital stay lasted more than three weeks. Finally he returned to his house in Newport. He was very weak, and as transparent as lace. Danny and his mother, Zoë, had come over for dinner; Tony had been staying in a room downstairs. Dad had not slept in a couple of days.
It was after 10 o'clock. I was ready to drive back to my apartment on the harbor.
"Must you go?," Dad asked. "Can't you stay a little longer, honey?"
"It's late, Dad," I said. "I'm working in the morning. I'll come and see you tomorrow." I kissed him good night on the crown of his head.
The call came at dawn. It was Maricela.
"Your father has passed away," she said.
I got into the car and drove to the house. When I walked into his room, he was lying on his side, facing the bedside table, and under his outstretched arm was a dictionary. I sat down on the bed, in the curve of his body. His hand was soft but growing cold. I stroked his back. Maricela stood by.
"What happened?," I asked.
"It was after you left. He became very restless. I asked him if he wanted the doctor, and he said no. I told him I was calling the ambulance, but he said no. Not to do it. He said he was tired. He lay back down, and then he said, 'Have you got the express rifles?' And I said, 'Yes, John, we have lots of guns.' And then he said, 'Do we have ammunition?' And I said, 'Yes, John, we have tons of ammunition.' Then he said, 'Let's give 'em hell.' Those were his last words." It was August 28, 1987. He was hunting big game, or out there on the field of battle.
Jack and I had been seeing less of each other. I had been going out with him to public events for years, and somehow we still clung to that old habit, but we were undoubtedly drifting apart.
In 1989, during rehearsals for The Grifters, I received a call from Jack. "Tootie, could you come to dinner tonight?" The request had a sweet, unusual formality to it, and I said yes. I had a feeling something was up. We had a lovely dinner that evening, cooked by Jack's chef, and for the first time in a long time we had a few laughs.
"I have something to tell you," he announced over dessert. The words came smoothly, deliberately. "Someone is gonna have a baby."
There was a top note of pride in his voice, and an odd sense of déjà vu to this moment. It reminded me of the day Dad told Tony and me about the existence of our baby brother, Danny, when he was a toddler and we were teenagers summoned to Rome to meet him.
"Is it Rebecca Broussard?," I asked. When I said her name, Jack looked surprised.
This was a girl—blonde, sexy, full-lipped, and drowsy-eyed—whom I'd seen working at a dance club in Silver Lake. Jack had been spending time there after his basketball games. She'd shown up in Aspen the winter before, as his daughter Jennifer's friend. When I had gone to see a rough cut of The Two Jakes at Paramount a few days before, she had appeared in a scene, playing his secretary, with a rose between her teeth. He hadn't mentioned to me that she was in the movie. And I had experienced a mild wave of dread—the little premonition that says, "Not all is well."
I asked Jack what he was going to do about it.
"What do you mean?" he said.
"Is she going to have the baby?," I asked.
"Yes, she's going to have the baby. But I don't want nothin' to change." I asked if he was going to stand by Rebecca, and he said, "Yes. I am the father of this child."
"There's only room for one of us women in this picture, and I am going to retire from it," I said. Something like that. And then we hugged and I felt the floor dropping out from under me, and some wave of forgiveness, and, finally, the hopelessness of a relationship that's done, flopped, croaked, and over. The next day I announced the news to one of my chattier friends with the idea that everyone would be in the know by lunchtime.
Not long afterward I got a call from my friend Susan Forristal. "I've got some bad news for you," she said. She went on to tell me about an article in Playboy in which a young woman made claims that Jack had playfully spanked her with a Ping-Pong paddle during one particularly romantic encounter. I called Annie Marshall and said, "It's too much! How can he dare to do this as well as the bomb he dropped on me just a few days ago?"
Later that morning I was in a dressing room at Western Costume, being fitted for The Grifters, when a telephone call came in from Annie. She said, "I have Jack for you."
"Toots," he said when he came on the line, "that Playboy article is meaningless! It's a reprint of an article that came out in England last year!"
"Where are you?," I asked.
"At home, but I'm leaving for work at Paramount."
"It's just up the street from Western," I said. "I'll see you there."
When I got to his bungalow, an assistant behind a desk in the reception room asked if she could announce me. I told her that would not be necessary and walked straight into Jack's office. He was coming out of the bathroom when I attacked him. I don't think I kicked him, but I beat him savagely about the head and shoulders. He was ducking and bending, and I was going at him like a prizefighter, raining a vast array of direct punches.
Finally, I was exhausted. We sat down, and I cried. Then, with renewed effort, I attacked him again. And all the while I felt a strange underlying gratitude to him for allowing me to beat the living hell out of him. Later, in the days that followed, I talked to him on the phone and he said, "Goddamn, Toots, you sure landed some blows on me. I'm bruised all over my body." And I said, "You're welcome, Jack—you deserved it." And we laughed. It was tragic, really.
That Christmas, a package was dropped off for me, from Mulholland Drive. I waited until Christmas Day was over before opening it alone in my bedroom. It was an extraordinary pearl-and-diamond bracelet that Frank Sinatra had once given to Ava Gardner. The card said he hoped I would not find it overbearing. "These pearls from your swine. With happiest wishes for the holidays—Enjoy—Yr Jack."
Adapted from Watch Me: A Memoir, published by Scribner; © 2014 by Anjelica Huston.
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Crystal M. Meador-Hagerty, 35, of Egg Harbor Township, was arrested Aug. 31 and charged with shoplifting.
Kayla M. Gigliotti, 35, of Pleasantville, was arrested Aug. 31 and charged with shoplifting.
Michael G. Hines, 37, of Pleasantville, was arrested Aug. 31 and charged with lewdness.
Justin M. O'Neill, 18, of Little Egg Harbor Township, was arrested Sept. 1 and charged with shoplifting.
David W. Belk, 42, of Little Egg Harbor Township, was arrested Sept. 1 and charged with shoplifting.
Joey M. Osias, 19, of Egg Harbor Township, was arrested Sept. 1 and charged with possession of marijuana, manufacturing/distributing a controlled dangerous substance, distribution of CDS within 500 feet of a public place and possession of drug paraphernalia.
Matthew E. Manzini, 30, of Egg Harbor Township, was arrested Sept. 2 and charged with possession of heroin and possession/distribution of hypodermic needles.
Mark D. Pelaez, 51, of Egg Harbor Township, was arrested Sept. 3 and charged with disorderly conduct.
Denis A. Espinoza-Aguilar, 35, of Brooklawn, was arrested Sept. 3 and charged with driving while intoxicated.
Krysta L. Mills, 24, of Pleasantville, was arrested Aug. 18 and charged with simple assault.
Omar Goday, 24, of Pleasantville, was arrested Sept. 3 and charged with exhibiting false documentation as proof of identity.
Ondray U. Travagline, 39, of Pleasantville, was arrested Sept. 4 and charged with shoplifting.
Alberto A. Osoria, 33, of Pleasantville, was arrested Sept. 4 and charged with shoplifting.
Louis Jiang, 22, of Philadelphia, was arrested Sept. 4 and charged with assault by auto and DWI.
David R. Lamb, 27, of Egg Harbor City, was arrested Sept. 5 and charged with possession of cocaine, possession of marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia and possession/distribution of hypodermic needles.
Brandon V. Anselmo, 26, of Margate, was arrested Sept. 5 and charged with possession of marijuana and possession of drug paraphernalia.
Sarah L. Kuppel, 40, of Galloway Township, was arrested Sept. 7 and charged with DWI.


On January 9, 2014, the Moon will be about 68% illuminated for the Americas. The terminator - that is, where the shadow of the Moon begins and sunlight ceases - is the best place to view the lunar surface with a small telescope. The shadowing makes for dramatic-looking surfaces, and the detail seen is incredible. Because the Moon continues to orbit the Earth every 29.5 days, that terminator shadow moves across the Moon. As more lunar surface is bathed in sunlight, the details become washed out, and the new terminator details are the places to look.
For more detail, check out this image that shows a closer view of the Straight Wall. Keep in mind, this "wall" is 68 miles (110 km) long, approximately 1.5 miles (2.5 km) wide, and only about 800 to 1,000 feet (240 - 300 m) high. Although it appears to be a steep slope, this is an artifact of the low Sun angle. The actual slope is only about 7 degrees.
Because the Moon is a bright object, a telescope can be pushed beyond normal "maximum magnification" limits of 50x per inch of aperture, provided that the atmospheric seeing is steady enough to allow for crisp, clear images at the eyepiece. Otherwise, limit magnification to 150x or so, and note this unusually "straight line" on our Moon.
Get more info on observing the Moon here or check out other objects you can see this week in the night sky with a telescope.


The Museum of Chinese in America (MOCA) is dedicated to preserving and presenting the history, heritage, culture and diverse experiences of people of Chinese descent in the United States. The greatly expanded MOCA at 215 Centre Street is a national home for the precious narratives of diverse Chinese American communities, and strives to be a model among interactive museums.
In this branding project, I redefined the visual system of the museum and used a simpler and clearer way to express the museume logo. The new logo is easily regarded as a capital letter "M" assembled with two symbols"人", which is a Chinese character means "human". It represents the theme and objective of the museum(M) : the immigration history of Chinese people (人) in the States.
Envelope and the back of letterhead.
Inside of the Paper Folder.
Take Away (Walking Tours's Take Away).
The Back of the Take Away.
Open Up the Walking Tours' Take Away.
Branding redefinition of Museum of Chinese in America (MOCA).


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Abuja: Capital of Nigeria or Northern Nigeria?
by Bode Eluyera9 min readAugust 18, 20074 comments
Those who are familiar with European history will recall that practically the whole of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Europe were battle fields until 1945 – after the end of the Second World War. Russia too had fought so many wars in the past. The former Soviet Union and the west led by the United States were engaged in the cold war for almost half a century. The former Soviet Union alone lost more than 20 million people in the Second World War! What about Japan which once colonised China and took an active part in the Second World War. And please don't forget Mussolini's Italy. So, why didn't any of these countries relocate their respective capitals to the center for "security reasons" like Nigeria? Why didn't Britain for example which is practically an island relocate its capital from London to the center to strengthen its security? Why didn't the former Soviet Union after the end of the Second World War relocate its capital from Moscow to the center or to Siberia or to the Urals or to the Far-east? As big as the former Soviet Union was, why didn't they move their capital? After all, being the biggest country in the world, they had more than enough land to do that. Please take a look again at the location of Moscow . You will notice that apart from the fact that it is located right at the edge of Russia and very very close to the sea, it is as well very close to other European countries and their respective capitals. Why didn't Hugo Chavez who is theoretically at war with the United States relocate the capital from Caracas to the center for "security reasons" like Nigeria? Hugo Chavez has visited Russia many times to arm his army to the teeth with the latest weapons available and money could buy incase of an attack from the U.S. I also want to remind you that Venezuela is the fifth largest exporter of crude oil while Nigeria comes sixth. So why didn't Chavez who is a military officer build a new capital for his security? After all, he has more than enough money to do it? What about Fidel Castro who has been at a logger heads with America for almost 40 years? It's a known secret that the C.I.A. had made several failed attempts to eliminate Fidel. And do you remember the "Bay of pigs" operation? The invasion of Cuba by opposition army sponsored by the United States of America. Why didn't Castro shift the capital from Havana to the center for "security reasons?"
Are we to conclude then that these countries are not as "security conscious" like Nigeria? Of course they are. In fact, they are not only more security conscious than Nigeria they are equally more "unity conscious than Nigeria. The reason why they have taken such a stupid decision is simply because they know very well that:
(1) "Water is life." "No water, no life."
(2) There are substantial economic and commercial benefits for the country when a capital is located by the sea compared to locating it in the middle.
(3) A country is in no way better secured because its capital is in the middle. There are other cheaper and more effective ways of ensuring the security of a state and its capital other than building a new capital from scratch which is considered a very costly venture even for very rich countries.
(4) Incase of an out break of war, the government, if the need arises, could easily be transferred temporarily to another city till the war ends. They don't need to build a new capital to accomplish that.
(II) CONGESTION AND INFRASRUCTURE DEVELOPMENT.
MODERN TRANSPORTATION SYSTEM
The federal government told us that Lagos was too congested for a capital. In that case, I have a couple of questions. How many houses did the federal government build in Lagos compared to the number of inhabitants? How many power plants/stations did the federal government build in Lagos compared to the number of inhabitants? Why didn't the federal govt. build a modern underground rail transportation system in Lagos to facilitate transportation?
As may be recalled, the Lagos state government led by Alhaji Lateef Jakande had already finalised agreement with a foreign company to build an underground rail system in Lagos in 1983. Unfortunately, this project was killed when the military led by by Muhammadu Buhari toppled the civilian government of Shehu Shagari through a military coup de tat. It is worth mentioning that plans are underway to build an underground rail system in Abuja while there are no such plans for congested Lagos with a population at least 4 times more than that of Abuja
More than 13.5 million people live in Moscow today, and at least about 2.5 million people commute to Moscow by rail everyday from neighbouring towns to work. Nevertheless, I have never heard anybody say that Moscow is congested. Moreover, more and more people; including from the former Soviet republics, foreign companies and foreigners from other countries troop into Moscow everyday, and I have not heard any complaint. why? Because the Russian government even right from the Soviet time had invested and still continues to invest "heavily" in infrastructures.
Moscow boasts of one of the best public transportation network system in the world. Moscow underground rail system; called 'Metro' is one of the best in terms of reliability, safety
and efficiency in the world. The length of the underground rails is more than 260 kilometers About 7.3 million people ride the Moscow Metro everyday! And the figure keeps increasing everyday. It works from 5.30 a.m to 1 a.m. in the night non-stop! The average waiting time for a train is 3 minutes! And during rush hour, it is about 45 seconds! The Moscow Metro celebrated its 75 years anniversary of successful uninterrupted operations in 2005! I even bought 2 special albums about the history of Moscow Metro published in commemoration of this historical event. More stations are still under construction to meet the high increase in traffic. Apart from the Metro, there are more than 6,000 electric buses and trams and ordinary buses ( that run on petrol) each that ply the streets of Moscow.
In terms of housing the Russian govt. used to build houses and rent it out at a very reasonable rate to its citizens. Though, after the collapse the govt. decided to give out the flats to the citizens for free. Moscow has experienced an unprecedented boom in real estate for the past 10 years. Apart from oil, it is the most profitable sector in the country. And the Moscow government with the full backing of the federal government is taking an active part in the construction of residential and commercial buildings. Investors are running over themselves to invest in real estate. And all the major western real estate companies are super active in the construction and real estate market.
I n terms of electricity supply, believe it or not, ever since I have been living here, I can't remember when there was no light. The very few occasions when there was no light were due to repair works being carried out which does not take more than an hour, and normally, residents of the affected houses are warned in advance. Recently, the Russian government voted a whooping $90 billion investment plan to upgrade the electricity sector! The sector is presently undergoing unprecedented reforms. RAOAES, the biggest power generating and distributing company in the world is presently undergoing a historical restructuring which will see it broken down into regional and private generating, transmitting and distributing companies similar to the breaking up of the giant U.S. telecommunication company AT&T and the Bells laboratory into regional baby bells by Judge Green in 1984. Apart from the huge investment in the power sector by the Russian government, private companies and private individuals are being encouraged to invest too in the sector in order to meet the fast growing demand for power due to the rapid growth of the Russian economy.
In addition, there is always hot and cold water throughout the year except 3 weeks in a year in Summer when hot water is switched off to carry out mandatory maintenance works on hot water pipes in order to keep the hot water running throughout the rest of the year. I vividly remember my conversation with a senior Nigerian diplomat while we were driving where he commented that even London can not boast of the amount and quality of infrastructures in Moscow. It was a pleasant surprise for him
As may be recalled, power generation in Nigeria today has been fluctuating between 1400-3500MW and marring the development of the manufacturing sector in the country. This figure is just a minute fraction of what Moscow alone generates and consumes!
Bode Eluyera
Coming to Russia to study is a big experience and exposure for me. I had the very rare opportunity - elusive to millions of Nigerians - to see and study both the West and the East, witnessed the whole transformation and historical events that took place in the former Soviet Union, their impact, and how they relate to Nigeria and Africa as a whole. Far away from Nigeria - free of all the hustling and bustling, I had the opportunity to research and reflect on why Nigeria has turned into a failed state and the biggest banana republic in the world within the past 50 years, despite its enormous human and mineral resources. Nigeria's problem is much more than bad leadership - as most of us wrongly think. The main stumbling block to its development are the North and the Military. They are like gangrene that must be got rid of immediately without any remorse!In other words, I am more than convinced that in order to save Nigeria and the entire black race from destruction and doom, it must be divided! It's too late for any federalism or restructuring, and it won't even work! So, there is no point even wasting our precious time and lives on it. My conclusion is that the North and the South are completely 2 strange and incompatible bed fellows - with conflicting interests - forced to live together by the British for its own selfish economic and political interest. The earlier we understand this bitter truth and act, the better for us all. Time is already running out!From Russia with love. abm1900@mail.ru
abm1900@mail.ru says:
Nigeria itself is a fake country. The idea of a "One Nigeria" is an illusion. There has never been "One Nigeria," there is no "One Nigeria" now and I am sorry to say that there will never be "One Nigeria." The concept of "One Nigeria" itself is a fraud. Nigeria is a country that emerged out of "forced" and "unequal" marriage between the North and the South. We should forget about "One Nigeria," because it is not possible. Left to me, I strongly believe that the best thing is to let the North go and even take Abuja with them. We can use Abuja as a "trade off" to get our independence from the north. If they leave, I believe 75% of our problems will be solved. That's the ideal solution. In addition, I strongly believe that if the whole of the South remains as one country, in case of the break up of Nigeria, we will be much stronger together than if we are to go our seperate ways. We have a lot in common. Moreover, we compliment one another. The South West and South East have human resources which if put to the wright use and together with the oil resources in the South South could multiply the oil resources many folds. We don't have to be emotional when it comes to analysing our past and mapping out a new future for ourselves. If you are driving and don't have or look at the "rear mirror," I am afraid to say that most likely, you will have accident and consequently not get to your destination. Therefore, I believe that we must continue to analyse past historical events and decisions at least, in order to avoid falling into the same pit twice. Nigeria and Nigerians are paying a very high price today for the wrong decision to build a new capital from "scratch." Moreover, the struggle is about "Justice." Is it fair to build a new capital in Abuja with the oil resources of the South South while the bonafide owners of the resources wallow in abject poverty? So, the issue is about justice. We are in mess today because of many wrong decisions that were taken in the past and are still been taken today. As I have already said, it is absolutely unacceptable to me to build the so called "One Nigeria" at the expense of others. This has nothing to do with tribalism. All what I wrote is my personal and objective analysis of events. I realise that the problem most Africans face is the inability to make good analysis and/or "emotional" commentaries of events like "but no one gets anywhere by looking into the rear mirror of their vehicles, we are where we are, let us make the best use of it." With this kind of thinking, we won't get anywhere as a nation. It's just a matter of "fairness" and "principle." Personally, I am ready to fight for this no matter how long it takes. WE ARE GOING TO START A CAMPAIGN FOR THE RELOCATION OF THE CAPITAL FROM ABUJA BECAUSE IT WAS NOT ONLY A WRONG DECISION, IT WAS ALSO A "FRAUDULENT" DECISION THAT HAS COST THE COUNTRY/SOUTH BILLIONS OF DOLLARS AND IF THE PROJECT IS NOT STOPPED NOW WILL COST THE COUNTRY MORE.
If that is not attainable, then we should fight for Federalism. Federalism is the only compromise possible. Nobody is calling for another civil war. At the same time, it is unacceptable to build the so called "One Nigeria" at the expense of others, which is exactly what the North has been doing since independence. Nigeria has never been "
an excellent analysis of possible motives ..but no one get anywhere by looking into the rear mirror of their vehicles. We are where we are, let us make the best use of it. The new Nigeria will not be North dis, Yoruba that..your era of tribalist is a dying breed…from your ashes a new Nigeria shall arise. Nigeria where all genders, tribes, and creed can excel irrespective of where they come from. It is already taking place before your own eyes.
tunde adekeye says:
Good thinking, thought provoking. I'm no pacifist but don't you think essays like this could fan the embers of war?….. It's not as if any of us is afraid of the resultant armed struggle if we all decide to go our separate ways…but would it solve anything? Wouldn't the struggle for the Niger Delta be the death of all of us???
julius says:
Except if you decided to be blinded by foolish patriotism, almost all Nigerians were well aware that the movement of the capital from Lagos to Abuja was just to satify the northern rulers not for the benefit of Nigeria as a whole. Nigeria is a great country but certainly Nigeria would be better off as 3 independent countries.


text:
De 25e editie van de Belgische wielerwedstrijd Heusden Koers werd verreden op 14 augustus 1973. De start en finish vonden plaats in Heusden. De winnaar was Victor Van Schil, gevolgd door Frans Verbeeck en Freddy Maertens.

Uitslag

Heusden Koers  Eendagswielerwedstrijd in 1973


The clash of the heavyweights a Newlands Cricket Ground on Friday is supposed to be about retribution as the Nashua Cape Cobras lost the previous T20-tussle against the Sunfoil Dolphins when the Ram Slam T20 Challenge trophy was up for grabs in a pulsating final.
Yet, to the Nashua Cape Cobras coach, Paul Adams, the match (the Ram Slam T20 Challenge match against the Dolphins at Newlands) on Friday is not about unfinished business, but about execution.
"We have to arrive in the right mental space," he said.
The Dolphins won the final of the Ram Slam T20 Challenge by two runs at Newlands in February. Justin Kemp's drive fell agonizingly short of the midwicket-boundary.
Kemp won't take part in the match on Friday, although he trained on Thursday.
He was side-lined for four weeks with a wrist injury and has only recently returned to the practice nets.
The Cobras attack will be spearheaded by two young fast bowlers, Lizaad Williams and Dane Paterson, on Friday.
The experienced South African bowler Rory Kleinveldt said on Thursday his groin strain needs another week of recovery.
Evan Flynt, the Newlands curator, expects the wicket to have a par-score of 140 to 150.
It might aid the fast bowlers early on, as there could be movement off the seam.
"Remember, the wicket was under covers for two days following the rain in the early part of the week," he said.
Adams said when you compare this Cobras-team to the one that played in the Champions League Twenty20, the personnel is slightly different, but there have been advances.
The Cobras started off explosively in the first ten overs (thanks to Richard Levi) in the opening Ram Slam T20 Challenge clash against The Unlimited Titans, but also finished with a flurry (with the big-hitting Kieron Pollard being the executioner).
The bowling in the death overs was another bonus.
Adams said part of their preparation is taking the young fast bowlers through their paces about their game-plans for the Dolphins.


text:
The Cossidae, the cossid millers or carpenter millers, make up a family of mostly large miller moths. This family contains over 110 genera with almost 700 known species, and many more species await description. Carpenter millers are nocturnal Lepidoptera found worldwide, except the Southeast Asian subfamily Ratardinae, which is mostly active during the day.

This family includes many species with large caterpillars and moths with a wingspan from . These moths are mostly grey; some have long, narrow wings and resemble hawkmoths (Sphingidae) which are more advanced macrolepidoptera, however. Many are twig, bark, or leaf mimics, and Cossidae often have some sort of large marking at the tip of the forewing uppersides, conspicuous in flight, but resembling a broken-off twig when the animals are resting.

Caterpillars are smooth with a few hairs. Most cossid caterpillars are tree borers, in some species taking up to three years to mature. The caterpillars pupate within their tunnels; they often have an unpleasant smell, hence another colloquial name is goat moths.

The family includes the carpenterworm (Prionoxystus robiniae) and the goat moth (Cossus cossus) which have gained popularity as pests. However, the large caterpillars of species that do not smell badly are often edible. Witchetty grubs – among the Outback's most famous bush tucker – are most commonly the caterpillars of Endoxyla leucomochla, one of the more than 80 cossid species in Australia. In Chile, the sweet-smelling caterpillars of the Chilean moth (Chilecomadia moorei) are harvested in quantity and internationally traded as butterworms, for use as pet food and fishing bait.

Systematics
Some other animal families, such as the Dudgeoneidae, Metarbelidae, and Ratardidae, have been included within this family time and again. The first is considered a distinct family of the Cossoidea today recognizable by their abdominal tympanal organs which the Cossidae lack, whereas the other two are usually kept in the Cossidae as subfamilies. Some unrelated millers were included in the Cossidae in error, too, such as the genus Holcoceroides which is more primitive Ditrysia, or the Andesianidae which are even more ancient Heteroneura.

The Cossidae were usually divided into six subfamilies. However, numerous new subfamilies have been described recently, the current taxonomy is:

Subfamily Catoptinae
Subfamily Chilecomadiinae
Subfamily Cossinae
Subfamily Cossulinae
Subfamily Hypoptinae
Subfamily Mehariinae
Subfamily Metarbelinae (disputed)
Subfamily Politzariellinae
Subfamily Pseudocossinae
Subfamily Ratardinae (disputed)
Subfamily Stygiinae
Subfamily Zeuzerinae

Genera Incertae sedis:

 Acritocera
 Anastomophleps
 Archaeoses
 Charmoses
 Dolecta
 Eusthenica (or in Glyphipterigidae)
 †Gurnetia
 Huayna
 Psychidarbela
 Ptilomacra
 Schausiania

Excluded genera
 Moth genera now included in Dudgeoneidae
 †Achthina
 Nomima
 Theatrista
 Moth genera now included in Psychidae
 Adelopsyche
 Degia
 Hemilipia
 Mekla
 Trigonocyttara
 Westia
 Other
 Pecticossus
 Phragmatoecioides
 Pseudurgis
 Synaptophleps
 †Xyleutites

References

Further reading

External links

Flickr Cossidae

Moth families


text:
Q: How do I get a C# connection to MySQL on AWS I'm trying to open a connection to a MySql database which is on AWS behind SSH but having major issues.
        static void Main(string[] args)
    {
        try
        {
            var sshServer = "11.111.11.11";
            var sshUserName = "shane";
            var sshPassword = "";
            var databaseServer = @"hello202006662000000666.abcdefghijk.ap - southeast - 2.rds.amazonaws.com";
            var databaseUserName = "shane";
            var databasePassword = "password";
            var SSHPrivateKeyFile = @"C:\Users\sshane\myprivatekey.ppk";
            var SSHPassPhrase = "sdkypfihsblkdcbsadl;kvgsiudgf";
            var databasename = "production";

            var (sshClient, localPort) = ConnectSsh(sshServer, sshUserName, sshPassword, SSHPrivateKeyFile, SSHPassPhrase, 22, databaseServer, 3306);

            using (sshClient)
            {
                Console.WriteLine(sshClient);
                Console.WriteLine(localPort);

                MySqlConnectionStringBuilder csb = new MySqlConnectionStringBuilder
                {
                    Server = "localhost",
                    Port = localPort,
                    Database = "production",
                    UserID = "shane",
                    Password = "Jopassword"
                };

                using (var connection = new MySqlConnection(csb.ConnectionString))
                {
                    Console.WriteLine(connection.Ping());
                    connection.Open();
                }
            }
        }
        catch (Exception e)
        {
            Console.WriteLine(e);
        }
    }

    public static (SshClient SshClient, uint Port) ConnectSsh(string sshHostName, string sshUserName, string sshPassword = null,
string sshKeyFile = null, string sshPassPhrase = null, int sshPort = 22, string databaseServer = "localhost", int databasePort = 3306)
    {
        // check arguments
        if (string.IsNullOrEmpty(sshHostName))
            throw new ArgumentException($"{nameof(sshHostName)} must be specified.", nameof(sshHostName));
        if (string.IsNullOrEmpty(sshHostName))
            throw new ArgumentException($"{nameof(sshUserName)} must be specified.", nameof(sshUserName));
        if (string.IsNullOrEmpty(sshPassword) && string.IsNullOrEmpty(sshKeyFile))
            throw new ArgumentException($"One of {nameof(sshPassword)} and {nameof(sshKeyFile)} must be specified.");
        if (string.IsNullOrEmpty(databaseServer))
            throw new ArgumentException($"{nameof(databaseServer)} must be specified.", nameof(databaseServer));

        // define the authentication methods to use (in order)
        var authenticationMethods = new List<AuthenticationMethod>();
        if (!string.IsNullOrEmpty(sshKeyFile))
        {
            authenticationMethods.Add(new PrivateKeyAuthenticationMethod(sshUserName,
                new PrivateKeyFile(sshKeyFile, string.IsNullOrEmpty(sshPassPhrase) ? null : sshPassPhrase)));
        }

        // connect to the SSH server
        var sshClient = new SshClient(new ConnectionInfo(sshHostName, sshPort, sshUserName, authenticationMethods.ToArray()));
        sshClient.Connect();

        // forward a local port to the database server and port, using the SSH server
        var forwardedPort = new ForwardedPortLocal("127.0.0.1", databaseServer, (uint)databasePort);
        sshClient.AddForwardedPort(forwardedPort);
        forwardedPort.Start();

        return (sshClient, forwardedPort.BoundPort);
    }

The error I'm getting is 'reading from the stream has failed'.
The SSH seems to be OK, but I can't establish a connection to the MySql db. Have been trying for a couple of days now, and I'm at a loss. Any help would be appreciated.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


This is spot-on. People bang on about how they hate the government etc. etc., but at the first sign of trouble, its "where is the government, why aren't they doing anything". And don't even get me started on those opposed to government, until it comes to their pension cheques.
It is a from of eugenics - inverse eugenics, nurturing a bastardised, ugly and lumpen Eloi to be preyed upon in grotesque vote-farms.
And, whilst we are about it, let's stop with the whole "we're leaving our children with oodles of debt" argument too: one way and another, a very great deal of that debt has been spent on them ... so I reckon that it's fair enough that the kiddie winks should be the ones to pay some of it back.
The children didn't ask to have that money spent on them. They didn't have a chance to evaluate whether it was spent wisely. And many of the parents were themselves unwilling contributors.
Government debt is uniquely immoral. It is the only kind that passes from father to son. If your father had bankrupted himself to send you to Eton, you might miss out on some inheritance, but you wouldn't be held liable for his debts. And rightly so - they were his choices, not yours, even if you did benefit from them.
Government debt, OTOH, is like some perverse secular version of original sin. People just accept that children are born with it.
Rothbard wasn't right about everything, but he was right about this: we should repudiate the national debt.
The family allowance, as it was once known, was brought in in an effort to repair the damage done to the population by 2 world wars. It was deemed necessary by the great and good to encourage married couples to breed for England. It outlived any usefulness by the mid-'60's and has been used as an electoral bribe, like tax breaks for the elderly, ever since.
Eugenics happens when I refuse to shag gingers.
"Not paying people to do something is totally different from rounding up those you consider undesirable and systematically having them castrated or spayed.". Exactly. Just ask fabian darling George Bernard Shaw.
Perhaps a compromise could come in the form of Child Benefit being paid by councils, funded by council tax.
This way local communities would look down on those who unwisely spawn, and shame them into keeping their flies done up and legs together as it would be paid for from their own pockets rather than the magic money cannons of Whitehall.
Why compromise? And do you really think that councils are the embodiment of the local community? When's the last time a local councilor worried about money being wasted on the undeserving poor?
The problem isn't which money cannons are used, it's that welfare payments are funded by force, rather than insurance and charity.
If we must have some force-funded welfare, let's ensure it benefits the children, not the parents.
See DK's post from a while back on the poor and choices, and my favoured solution of hostels and soup kitchens.
If the poor were simply housed and fed, an additional child would just mean an additional bunk and an additional dinner plate. It wouldn't mean an extra N quid for mummy and daddy to spend on whatever they like. If they want booze, ciggies, and holidays, they should bloody well go out and work for them.
I think a case can also be made for locking up people who persist in having children they can't support.
I'm aware that councillors won't concern themselves with the waste of money, but the residents could express their displeasure more directly, using shame and scorn.
Alternatively, its far easier to move away from an area where you disapprove of their welfare policy to one which is more frugal than it is to escape HM Revenue and Customs. And furthermore, those with numerous offspring might also escape from deprived areas to those which offer a better welfare package.
Deprived communities would evaporate in months.
"Alternatively, its far easier to move away from an area where you disapprove of their welfare policy to one which is more frugal than it is to escape HM Revenue and Customs"
A fair point, Mr Gilmore.
I'm not sure I can see it working in practice, but then I haven't yet read The Plan through to the end.
hee hee. I know a woman of 36 who has never worked - ever. Her eldest just reached 18 and her youngest is now 7. Guess what? She's trying to get pregnant, Father doesn't matter because they never paid anyway. Anyone will do.
Coal? Well my house came without a chimney. I had one built 30 years ago and it can cope with gas or coal or wood. Forward thinking.


text:
Q|A Jeff Fuchs
The Tranquility of Tea
by Jessica Natale Woollard
Author, adventurer, and tea lover, Jeff Fuchs has walked the length of the Ancient Tea Horse Road, been featured in television documentaries and traveled extensively in the tea lands sourcing tea for his company while sharing stories about tea and tea culture. His affinity for high altitude treks equals his affinity for tea. He tells Jessica Natale Woollard, "I've had some of my best tea times in the mountains without necessarily having had the best teas."
Jeff Fuchs on the Tranquility of Tea
Tea time at the summit. The film crew during filming of the award-winning 'The Tea Explorer' documentary atop Sho La Pass, the first of the snow passes on the way from Yunnan to Lhasa. Photo courtesy Jeff Fuchs.
Traveling to a Tea Farm "Completes the full Circle"
Jeff Fuchs has sourced tea for decades, initially traveling from his home in Canada and later Hawaii. He lived several years in Yunnan, China where he founded Jalam Teas a source of rare Puerh tea. Fuchs was the first westerner to complete the entire 5,000 kilometers of the heralded Tea Horse Road from southwestern Yunnan over the Tibetan Plateau and down into India — a journey that took eight months on foot. In this interview he discusses the benefits of traveling to origin and the inherent tranquility he finds in tea.
Jessica Natale Woollard: I read that you are drawn to the mountains because they silence the mind. People often say the same thing about tea. What other commonalities do you see between tea and the geography in which it grows?
Jeff Fuchs: There is something silencing about the mountains and tea. There's a process I go through to be within the mountains, there's a preparation of the mind and of the body — there's a bit of reverence. All of these things the physical body needs to be prepped well for the mountains.
The process for me when taking tea every morning, every afternoon is a process which quietens everything down a bit and it also stimulates. On a very visceral level there is that connection to tea and mountains.
The leaf is a gift: It's a stimulant fuel beyond all other things. I've had some of my best tea times in the mountains without necessarily having had the best teas. The best informal reflections, the best exhausted, joyous moments have been with tea in the mountains.
A modern caravan in northwestern Yunnan follows a portion of the Tea Horse Road. Fuchs spent eight months following the high-altitude trail from China into Tibet. Photo courtesy Jeff Fuchs.
Jessica: So the experience of tea and drinking tea isn't just related to the taste.
Jeff: No. Certainly there's an "Ahhhh" moment when some of those little bitter catechin elements hit the palate, there's a familiarity, and of course, a sort of a satiated comfort. But I'm drawn more and more I think to this whole relationship, and the relationship to the time it's taking, this whole informal aspect of tea taking. The person serving or who's made the tea provides a lot of context. Those first sips taken in an environment that's empathetic, those moments are for me the magic ones. They are moments of sublime joy in an environment that is restorative. It is one of the great understated and underrated elements of tea.
Jessica: In many cultures around the world, tea is many things. It is currency, commodity, nutrient, medicine, ceremony, artifact. Here in North America it's predominantly a beverage. Do you think understanding the story of tea plays a role in appreciating it? And do you think we in North America need to develop our own narrative in our own time?
Jeff: A lot of traditions are not necessarily important at all for the present and the future of tea.
But I do think that they provide a context and what comes before usually provides a huge insight into what we're dealing with now. I'm delighted to see tea in North America and Europe sort of exploding into a whole new generation. I also get very excited when I see tea being used in bars to mix with gins. I think it's really exciting to explore tea, the old panacea, the old medicine, being thrown into these new scenarios and experimented with.
Jessica: Over the last decade, there's been a movement, at least here in Canada, to know the origin of your food, and usually that conversation is meant to shine a spotlight on local farms to encourage people to know exactly where their vegetables are being grown. But why limit ourselves to knowing where our produce comes from locally? When we are able to travel again, why might our listeners wish to consider a tea farm pilgrimage?
Jeff: When one goes to these origins you don't simply get the greatest hits teas served to you. You have the possibility of immersing yourself into the lives of cultivators, into the lives of those involved in tea production.
When you sit or stand next to an elder woman or a young man pan-firing tea and those buttery essences wafts into your nasal cavity and you see them with their calloused hands, you see the little things that nobody wrote about or nobody Instagrammed about. You are seeing the in-between moment — it's life at Ground Zero at the origins of tea.
You see ugliness, you see beauty. You see things that are not in the brochures. You can visit with the plants. I think it's a vital component. I don't mean getting a selfie shot next to a 600-year-old tea tree. I'm talking about just sitting and eating lunch on a little bench with the pickers and observing their relationship with the leaf.
A Dai elder hand sorts Puerh tea in a Jingmai Village in the
deep south of Yunnan province, one of the original tea
cultivation regions on the planet. Photo courtesy Jeff Fuchs.
You see these small tea farms with people who throw their hearts, their wallets, their blood into creating artisanal teas. They pay tribute to the old methodology but are also very modern in their approach. In order to speak of tea and feel the tea, I think you have to go to the source. When you go to a tea farm it completes that full circle. When you feel it from their perspective it gives context to this whole journey; where your leaf is from, where your food is from. Travel gives some integrity, it adds a comfort when speaking on the topic.
Jessica: How do you connect the relationship and the memory of having a tea at origin when you're drinking it in a different location?
Jeff: There are certain teas that are very familiar to me and I travel with them. And in that first sip in the morning, I'm able to re-create something of the past. Sometimes it's just a little memory of where the leaves come from.
A friend of mine I met when I lived in Yunnan is a huge tea buyer from Guangdong Province. We'd always sit and talk and have great teas but rarely talk about the tea. He once said that drinking tea requires a kind of amnesia for every other previous tea encounter — it's his mantra, his code of tea.
I like the idea. It sort of drags you into the "right now", a reminder not to drift too far back in the memory palace. I like that you have to put away every other experience you've had with a particular tea or a mystery tea and not judge it from any reference point. Just let it hit you.
Freshly compressed discs of Puerh leaves drying before the tea is wrapped.
Countenance: Travelers Along the Tea Horse Road
By Jeff Fuchs
Tea once traveled the most daunting journey of any plant on the planet. Few tea drinkers know the story of how tea spread to every nation from its origin in the mountains of China. Traders for 13 centuries loaded tea on the backs of yaks, mules, horses, sheep, and man. It took months for caravans of tea to find their way from what is now Yunnan and from Sichuan, China along narrow trails ascending to the highest of highlands, the Tibetan Plateau. Along the way, this eternal fuel of the spirit, this simple bitter leaf, worked its magic as stimulant, medicine, panacea for remote peoples. The Tea Horse Road (called Cha Ma Gu Dao in Mandarin and Gya'lam or Dre'lam in the Tibetan tongue) is peopled with characters whose tenacity and generosity in sharing precious oral narratives provide a glimpse of adventure and the blood spilled transporting tea on a route that reaches the sky.
Ancient Tea Horse Road: Travels with the Last of the Himalayan Muleteers By Jeff Fuchs (2008)
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text:
Frequency, Morbidity and Healthcare Utilization of Diffuse Idiopathic Skeletal Hyperostosis (DISH) Patients at a University Hospital
Maanas Tripathi1, Divya Rajmohan2, Cody Quirk3, Brooke Beckett3, Donseok Choi4, Neha Rich-Garg5 and Atul A. Deodhar4, 1University of Miami, FL, Miami, FL, 2Oregon Health & Sciences University, Portland, OR, 3Radiology, Oregon Health & Science University, Portland, OR, 4Oregon Health & Science University, Portland, OR, 5Northwest Rheumatology Assoc., Portland, OR
Keywords: diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis (DISH) and morbidity and mortality, Imaging
Date: Sunday, November 5, 2017
Session Title: Orthopedics, Low Back Pain and Rehabilitation Poster
DISH is a non-inflammatory condition affecting the spine, and characterized by ossification of paravertebral ligaments. DISH is traditionally considered asymptomatic, detected incidentally on spine radiographs. We investigated the frequency of DISH diagnosis, the associated morbidity and healthcare utilization by patients attending our university hospital.
Our University's radiology database was searched from years 2005 to 2015 for the words "DISH" or "diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis" in the recorded results of spinal radiographs. Patients from the year 2015 whose spinal radiographs mentioned these words were selected for further analysis. Their spinal radiographs were re-read by two authors. Patients were divided into those who fulfilled the Resnick Criteria for DISH (Group A), and those who did not fully meet the criteria but had radiographic features suggestive of DISH (Group B). Means and proportions were used to describe variables, for group comparisons, T-test and c2 were used. A p-value less than 0.05 was considered statistically significant. All computations were done in the R statistical program.
Between 2005-2015, 3439 radiology records had DISH mentioned as a diagnosis. Out of 196 patients diagnosed with DISH In 2015, 153 fulfilled the Resnick criteria (Group A), 41 didn't fulfill the criteria but were diagnosed as DISH by the radiologists (Group B), and 2 had erroneous diagnoses. The Table shows the comparison between the two groups. Thoracic radiographs where DISH was mentioned were more likely to fulfill the Resnick criteria than not (35% vs 15%) compared to other radiographs (p < 0.03). Chronic back pain was very common in both groups, and more often reported in Group B than Group A (81% vs. 63%, p = 0.04). Back pain was the reason for performing the initial diagnostic radiograph in 45% of Group A and 61% of Group B. A substantial portion of patients required opioid medications for pain control (51%), spinal surgery (31%), and consultations with various specialists for regional pain (57%). Health care interventions were similar in both groups.
DISH is a common diagnosis with significant morbidity, despite being commonly considered to be an asymptomatic condition. Majority of DISH patients had chronic back pain, required opioid medication, and a large proportion required spinal surgery. Future research is needed to systematically assess the healthcare utilization by DISH patients.
Table: Comparison of DISH patients: those fulfilling Resnick criteria vs. not fulfilling Resnick criteria but diagnosed by radiologists (ns = not significant)
Group A: Resnick Criteria fulfilled (n = 153)
Group B: Resnick Criteria not fulfilled (n = 41)
Age in years (mean)
p < 0.01
p = ns
p = 0.04
p=ns
10 (7%)
Type of Radiograph
Spinal Survey
Thoracolumbar
Reason for X-ray
Pearson's c2
Bisphosphonate Use
p =ns
Spinal Pumps
Disclosure: M. Tripathi, None; D. Rajmohan, None; C. Quirk, None; B. Beckett, None; D. Choi, None; N. Rich-Garg, Pfizer Inc, 2; A. A. Deodhar, AbbVie, Amgen, Eli Lilly, GlaxoSmithKline, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer, UCB Pharma, 2,Eli Lilly, Janssen, Novartis, Pfizer, UCB Pharma, 2.
Tripathi M, Rajmohan D, Quirk C, Beckett B, Choi D, Rich-Garg N, Deodhar AA. Frequency, Morbidity and Healthcare Utilization of Diffuse Idiopathic Skeletal Hyperostosis (DISH) Patients at a University Hospital [abstract]. Arthritis Rheumatol. 2017; 69 (suppl 10). https://acrabstracts.org/abstract/frequency-morbidity-and-healthcare-utilization-of-diffuse-idiopathic-skeletal-hyperostosis-dish-patients-at-a-university-hospital/. Accessed January 27, 2023.
ACR Meeting Abstracts - https://acrabstracts.org/abstract/frequency-morbidity-and-healthcare-utilization-of-diffuse-idiopathic-skeletal-hyperostosis-dish-patients-at-a-university-hospital/


One month to be back. I have no doubts about leaving UK but is impossible not to think about what is yet to come. I am heading to my fourth december here, the weather is freezing as usual, and I positive know I.d never get use to this culture. So...¿whats the weird feeling which is shouting from my stomach?. I have learnt to ignore it as I know nothing good would came up of staying here longer, but I know what it is, is my old friend Mr.Uncertainty. That powerful sensation that makes you dizzy even lying down and makes you wonder if as the song say 'everything is gonna be all right'. It might be and it might not, times are hard for everyone and in Spain we know a lot about that. But you know what...if you dont try, you never know....!!. And my stage here is already gone.
Your roots will always remember you where you come from. And I come from a place where the sun is always shining, the breeze gives you a nice red on your cheeks, the people talk quite straight, the happiness is around a table with friends and family and we are always keen to a party (any problem at all?).
Needless to say I am gonna leave a bunch of good friends here but I am quite sure we will see each other again (Thank you, Ryanair). And not, my spanish friends, I am not writing in english because I am one of this cool people who wanna show up how much they,ve learnt (or how little, hehe) but because I am 100% sure the very moment I put a feet on Málaga my brain will switch off this language for my dear Andalusian so I am really trying to practise on every second !.
Que ya habrá tiempo para hablar una 'pechá' de español, no?. Vamos que nos vamos!


This fits your . Performance: 360 Degrees rotating and 180 degrees swiveling, works good as a cell phone stand to prop up your phone from different viewing angles. Mirror design: With a built in mirror that is a utility tool keeping your daily makeup or check your appearance. Color and appearance: The color blends well with your phone. Beautiful appearance will decorate and be a charming characteristic of your phone. A kind of enjoyment: Good quality and smooth surface, touches comfortable and make it a enjoyment of holding your phone. Tips of using: 1. Wipe away dirt or dust on the back of your phone, dry it completely. 2. Peel off the protective paper, please do not touch the adhesive surface. 3. Press the ring holder about 15 seconds. Specification: Material: aluminium alloy and zinc alloy Size: 1.57 x 1.57 x 0.27 inch Package includes: 1 x Rose Gold Cell Phone Ring stand 1 x Black Cell Phone Ring stand Warm note: Do not pull on it hard in the first 24 hours. Do not put it directly on the phone, unless there is a mobile phone shell.