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Rhapsody in Blog
Jottings in (B)arbara major and minor. Why this name? See the first post.
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Ruth Bader Ginsburg died on Friday evening, on what was Shabbat and Rosh Hashanah evening, a holy time. Mitch McConnell wasted no time dancing on her grave, talking that evening about jamming through a Trump appointee to replace her, pronto. RBG, who devoted her life to women's rights, civil rights and equality will like be replaced by someone who will work against what she fought for.
This is not airy philosophy being fought over here. It's real life to real people, the majority of whom did not vote for Donald Trump. It likely means the death of the Affordable Care Act, which I have to thank for being the reason I got insurance in my part-time permanent professional job for the state, not temp work in retail. Without the ACA I was paying $500/month, a real hardship on a half-time salary. I think they're saying 23 million people will lose insurance. Without coverage for pre-existing conditions, how many people in a time of pandemic are going to be turned down for insurance because they'd been infected with COVID? This new appointment will also likely mean a return to back-alley abortions and doctors being imprisoned. The trashing of environmental protections, regulations on large corporations and so on. It's back to the 1950s.
That all galls me in itself. But what really steams me is the hypocrisy of ramming through a justice 40-something days before the election when McConnell blocked Obama's pick, Merrick Garland, from even getting a hearing before the senate. This, a man with impeccable credentials, known to be even-handed. This is how the Supreme Court is supposed to be: the most smart and even-handed people available. Instead a right-wing ideologue will be pushed through.
What strikes me now is that there isn't even a show of fairness for the process, a concern for the nation as a whole or respect for RBG. They know they're being hypocrites given what happened with Garland, and they do not care. This is what I've finally come to see when I would get maddened by unfairness and inconsistency. Didn't evangelicals see how un-Christlike Trump's actions have been all his life? The religious right were really OK with his philandering and braggery about it, his lying and cheating and hatred of the poor and of Latino people, the vast majority of whom are religious Catholics? It was a personal game-changer when I realized that they know this, but they just don't care. They will accept any manner of immoral behavior as long as their agenda is pushed through. I won't even go into the impeachment hearings and how all the Republican senators except Romney timidly fell in line. Where are the elected officials with a moral sense that transcends loyalty to the party? What about loyalty to the American ideal and the American people?
What this means is that currently there is not even a pretense of fairness and adherence to democratic ideals. It means it's all about power, and lying and hypocrisy are OK. If I can do it, I will do whatever the hell I want. And that is the dark side of the American worship of individual freedom above all. It means screw society, I'm looking out for #1. That's what America is to these bullies: the playground where you can stick out your elbows and knock over the widows and orphans (phrase from the Bible, the book they like to tout) as long as they can have 21 billion dollars instead of only 20 billion.
If this conservative Catholic judge is appointed, all I can say is I hope she's one of the Catholics with integrity about "right to life," applying it to the whole range of human life, including post-birth all the way to the end, meaning no capital punishment, either.
Rest in peace, and thank you, RBG.
The marvelous Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
Tags: justice, rbg
George Floyd, #BLM, Allies
After decades as a progressive, I thought I understood racism pretty well. But now, as we're hearing more stories and seeing more footage of brutality against African Americans in ways that would never happen if that person were white, I'm starting to get it. I feel sad hearing Black parents, no matter how affluent and professional, talk about having to have "the talk" at some point with their son about how to behave in the world. How to carry yourself, how to talk to a police officer ("yes, sir," "no, sir.") How frightened those parents are every time their son goes out for the evening. Will he come home safe? The fear of a policeman's flashing red lights in your rear-view mirror. Will that pull-over for a broken tail light or going seven miles over the speed limit result in death? And speaking of "no matter how affluent…" etc., remember the incident in which Dr. Henry Louis Gates, who teaches at Harvard and has written books and appeared in documentaries, was arrested while entering his own house? Because it was in a nice neighborhood, and he is Black. Of course he must be a robber.
You would think after George Floyd that police officers would be cooling it, would be extra cautious, but no. Shortly after, we had Rayshard Brooks, an incident that started with his being asleep, drunk, in a Wendy's drive-through and ended up in death. I will confess that liberal as I am, I have always been afraid of black men unless they are quite obviously non-threatening. I am afraid of black women, because I assume they resent me. But no, it's the other way around. It is Black people who are afraid to be out in the world, and with good reason, in a world, in a country where "white" is the given standard and anything else is a noticeable deviation from that standard.
How to be an ally, or at least how not to inadvertently be a jerk? Is it simply to get out of the way? Is it, as Rev. Al Sharpton said, to just "get off our necks"? Not being able to breathe, it means not being able to live, to relax, to spread your wings, reach your potential. What is our role, or is it obnoxious to think we have one other than to stay away?
When I was in my twenties, I volunteered full-time for Cesar Chavez' United Farm Workers. For many of us young idealistic Anglo volunteers from middle- and upper-class backgrounds, it could be awkward. What were we doing there? We could totally believe in and support the cause by boycotting lettuce and grapes. But to be out in the field organizing workers, to be doing the administrative work of the organization? Sure, it did something for me: brought meaning and vitality to my life. And what I came to see very clearly was that our best work was to pave the way for the workers themselves to run the whole show. I found that the Mexican farmworkers themselves, while sometimes puzzled, were warm and hospitable. The only place I felt I was resented was once in Denver among young Chicanos. I'm thinking now of a time I attended a foreclosure prevention meeting on Minneapolis's north side, which is largely Black. I was one of only two, at most three, white people in the meeting, and they didn't know me. The fellow who had organized me hadn't been able to make it at the last minute, so I was there on my own. At the beginning of the meeting, we had to go around in turn and introduce ourselves. After that, the woman leading the meeting pointed to me — I, who was trying to unobtrusively sit in the back — and asked in front of everyone why I was there, what was my purpose. One of the more uncomfortable moments of my life. I was there trying to help, but she was suspicious. Or who knows, maybe just puzzled.
After George Floyd's murder, I wondered whether I should post anything on Facebook. I hadn't been active on FB for some time. But it felt too important not to say anything. And I kept seeing slogans like "Silence = Violence," "to say nothing is to be complicit." So I posted something. And woke in a sweat at 2 in the morning worrying about it. Had I said the right thing? Was I just trying to show off to my friends that I was "woke"? Who was I to post a call to action ("Now is the time.") when what the hell was I doing about anything?
But here's what I saw on the news. Here is a difference between 2020 and the 1970s that I'd experienced. Of the protestors, most were young and at least half of them were white. On the Today Show, Al Roker, who remembered the protests of the '60s, and Craig Melvin, both of whom are Black, said that this was a great positive difference, that it gave them more hope that change would really happen. They welcomed us. And once again, young people are marching in the streets for justice. In recent decades I've felt sad at the passivity of the American public, especially when we're talking about youth. People seemed to care mainly about their careers, their own prosperity and not much beyond that. I've read statements by people in other nations to the effect of "Why aren't Americans marching in the streets at what goes on in your country?"
Well, now we are. Or rather they are, the young. I've heard the young blame the baby boomers for the messed-up world we've left to them, that maybe it's fine if we do die of Covid-19. #okboomer. This hurts. We are the ones who said that very thing about our own parents, about the polluted, shallow-valued, war-mongering, racist world they gave us. So I don't think the young are fair in saying that, or rather, generalizing about it. But maybe it's healthy. The young should always have the fire of idealism and rebellion.
Tags: african_americans, blacks, george_floyd, race_relations, social_action, youth
Quarantine and Curfew in Minneapolis
If Covid-19 and 10 weeks of quarantine hadn't been enough rocking the land, then came the horrendous death of George Floyd. I can't watch the video again. It's so painful and was so avoidable. Why? Why does it keep happening? And thank God for smartphones, because these things have been going on forever; there just wasn't anyone to film it. Thank God for that video.
I have driven past that corner where it happened, 38th & Chicago, so many times. I always noticed the name of the corner store, Cup Foods, which seemed like an obvious but awkward play on Cub Foods, the giganto supermarket up the way. The supermarket where I shopped with my daughter, who lived near there, which is now trashed and looted.
I was heartsick that this murder happened here in Minneapolis, where we pride ourselves on our progressivism and embrace of multiculturalism. Immigrants come here because we're known to be welcoming. But beneath this has been a truth to be ashamed of: that Minneapolis has the highest racial disparities in home ownership, wealth and education in the U.S. And the police department here has a troubled history dealing with blacks — swept under the rug, now brought to light.
I only discovered the north side, home to the largest African American population here, had only been there for the first time, after nearly 10 years of living in Minneapolis. People like me don't go there because of its reputation for crime and because there's nothing to draw outsiders. It's a food desert, and also a desert of theaters, restaurants, and businesses. I finally went there for three reasons: one, to help Jewish Community Action with foreclosure prevention during that crisis, and second, to tour what had been the old Jewish neighborhood, the little synagogues now turned into African American churches. It was Sunday morning, and joyous sounds of gospel music rang out from the doors of the old Tifereth Israel. And finally, I took a tour of Prince's old neighborhood. There we learned about the city housing covenants that for decades kept Jews and African Americans out of many Minneapolis neighborhoods, which is brought both communities to the North Side. Segregation. A neighborhood nobody went to. Apparently, the two people coexisted, but when riots broke out in volatile 1967, the Jews got scared and had accumulated enough wealth to move to the areas that would have them, like St. Louis Park.
After a couple of recent nights of riots and wholesale looting and vandalism, much of it apparently by people who came not to mourn George Floyd but to take advantage of a volatile situation, there were signs of hope. On Saturday morning the sun came out, the perfect day. And there were loads of volunteers who had come out with brooms to help clean up Lake Street and its businesses, most of them small businesses owned by minorities and immigrants.
Earth Day: 50 Years On
Fifty years ago I participated in the very first Earth Day — yes, I'm that old — by helping clean up litter along Monument Creek in Colorado Springs. I was a teenager excited about all the movements for social change at the time — environment, peace, justice.
At the time I fomented several bouts of indigestion at the dinner table by expressing my views on the Vietnam War, the environment and civil rights. My parents were staunch Republicans, my father had had a career in the military, and he worshipped unfettered capitalism. People like me were considered unpatriotic by the right wing. I remember being particularly upset when I read about how bald eagles were on the brink of extinction because of DDT. "These are our national symbols! And we are killing them!" My father was silent; my mother said, "Do we have to discuss these things at dinner?"
Such innocence then, and hopefulness: teach-ins, creek clean-ups, painting over graffiti on Colorado boulders with rock-colored paint. It was when people started using the word "ecology." I went to lectures by biology professor Richard Beidleman at Colorado College, where I first learned how everything is interconnected. Disturb one species of life, and you'll destroy others. Every creature is critical, even mosquitoes and vampire bats. Back then this seemed revolutionary thinking.
What I remember concluding was that, while all these other issues were important: peace, farmworkers' rights, racial equality, the Third World — the most critical of all was the environment. What would any of these things matter if we had no Earth?
The coronavirus and other recent scary epidemics — Ebola, SARS, for example — jumped to humans from animals. We're encroaching on species that carry these viruses, and because they're new to us, we have no resistance. There's suspicion that the COVID-19 virus came from an animal, possibly a pangolin, sold in a wildlife and seafood market in Wuhan. Humans are capturing rare animals that fetch large sums in faraway markets, hunting them to extinction. That in itself is a crime, or should be. We can never repay the debt we owe animals. But it's killing us, too.
And it's not just exotic wildlife markets. It's much bigger and more fundamental than that. And it isn't a problem that's going to end with this virus if we keep on this way. Here are a couple of quotes from experts from one of today's stories on the NPR page:
"We're fragmenting habitats. We're building roads through most regions of the world. We're incrementally destroying the large landscapes that animals have to live in," says Raina Plowright, professor of epidemiology at Montana State University and principal investigator of the Bat OneHealth research group." …
"The real risk is in the wild in the way people interact with wildlife around the world," says Peter Daszak, president of EcoHealth Alliance in New York City, a group that researches the origins of pandemics. "That's where we need to be focused if we want to really do something about preventing the next pandemic."
NPR. "Coronavirus Researchers Cast Doubt on Theory of Coronavirus Lab Accident," April 23, 2020.
In our own greed, we're killing ourselves.
Tags: Earth_Day, environment, pandemic
Pandemic: Gratitude for Daily Miracles
In the Jewish morning prayers, there's a blessing, the asher yatzar, a thanks to God for forming the workings of the body. Here's a loose translation from the Hebrew from the prayerbook Mishkan T'filah:
"Praise to You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the universe,
with divine wisdom You have made our vital organs
into a finely balanced network.
Wondrous Maker and Sustainer of life,
were one of them to fail —
how well we are aware! —
we would lack the strength to stand in life before You.
Blessed are You, Adonai,
Source of our health and strength.
Baruch ata, Adonai, rofei chol basar umafli laasot."
The more traditional translation gives praise for God's forming the human body with skill, "creating the body's many pathways and openings," recognizing that "if one of them be wrongly opened or closed, it would be impossible to endure and stand before You."
This is earthy. It's a blessing that's also to be said upon going to the bathroom. I used to find this a bit strange and embarrassing, especially having been raised as a Catholic, in which spirit and body ("upper" and "lower" were separate.) But as a person with Crohn's disease, who has known misery without those things working properly, I came to realize how totally appropriate is this bit of daily gratitude.
A recent opinion piece in the New York Times by a doctor of internal medicine opened my eyes to the marvelous construction of healthy lungs. ("What You Should Know Before You Need a Ventilator," by Kathryn Dreger, April 4, 2020)
"The lining of each sac is so thin that air floats through them into the red blood cells. These millions of alveoli are so soft, so gentle, that a healthy lung has almost no substance. Touching it feels like reaching into a bowl of whipped cream."
Covid-19 wrecks those perfect workings, turning that billowy whipped cream into a "stale marshmallow," and other major organs fail due to lack of oxygen.
So in the midst of this pandemic, I am grateful for what I've always taken for granted:
The ability to draw a full breath of air deep into my lungs.
The feeling of physical well-being right now, knowing it may not remain so: nothing hurting, no fever, no coughing.
My warm, safe apartment. What are the homeless doing? What hell is that? What will happen when this virus hits the poorest high-population countries? We don't hear much about that.
A balcony from which to safely enjoy the outdoors as springs arrives, where I can safely breathe clean air. A balcony looking out onto a nature preserve, from which I have seen bald eagles, not to mention blue herons and white ones (or are those egrets?)
The tree full of birds outside my window and the jaunty woodpeckers at the feeder.
That we have the internet and Zoom.
Two cats to share this quarantine with. My little family.
People in life-saving careers, not just medical professionals but the low-paid unnoticed people that keep the gears running: grocery store workers, people who keep the utilities going, etc. People who work in public service.
Netflix and Amazon Prime, to transport me to other worlds and times, that engross me so that, for a while, I forget the pandemic. The series that's most recently gotten me through: the Australian 6-season A Place to Call Home.
Six pounds of heirloom beans from Rancho Gordo. I'd been trying different varieties and accumulated them, not imagining how perfect they would be for this time.
The excitement of picking up two weeks' worth of groceries at Cub yesterday. The kitchen looks like Santa Claus came to visit.
Tags: coronavirus, gratitude, pandemic
Pandemic: Spring 2020
Photo by Josue Ladoo Pelegrin on Pexels.com
It started with a bat that infected another mammal — maybe a pangolin (a very endangered scaled anteater-type critter) — that was being sold in a live animal market in Wuhan, China. Then, through a mutation in the virus, it jumped to a human who visited said market. Then it mutated into something that humans could pass to each other. Thus in December 2019 began the citywide infection in Wuhan. From the news we followed, it looked horrendous: Wuhan, a city of 11 million, now a ghost town in lockdown. People being boarded into their apartments by the authorities, and lines of sick people outside the hospital being told by overwhelmed staff, sorry, there's nothing we can do. There's no cure, there was no room, there weren't enough medical personnel. So they were sent home to recover or die, and infect their families. The city was being cordoned off. Desperate people were trapped there.
An ocean away, it seemed distant. Why would the stock market here take a dive because of what was happening there? And of course this kind of thing would happen someplace like China. Never here. We don't have live wildlife markets, and we don't have an authoritarian government like China's, which silenced the original whistle-blower, Dr. Li Wenliang. People protested the government's handling of the crisis. Was this going to be another Tiannamen Square? Would it really change China this time? Interesting to ponder, but still, something far away.
Then, as people were gradually able to leave Wuhan, the virus, Covid-19, flew with them. Soon it ran rampant in northern Italy and Iran. We heard about towns in Italy being cordoned off. We saw video of people fleeing Lombardy before the lockdown began. It seemed crazy. Milan, home of La Scala opera house and sophisticated center of fashion and international businesses. I thought of my long hoped-for trip to Italy, one I'd hoped to make in summer 2019, which would have been the 40th anniversary of my trip to Calabria, to the town from which my great-grandparents immigrated and where a branch of our family lives, who warmly welcomed me in 1979. For various reasons, I did not go last summer, and it surely will not be happen this summer, though initially I'd thought "Well, it's just northern Italy. Calabria seems safe." And now all of Italy is in lockdown.
A video went viral, in which Italians talk to the "themselves" of 10 days ago. It was a warning to those of us 10 days behind them to take the social distancing orders seriously. A rumbling of thunder in the distance. And now two-thirds of us in the U.S. are under "shelter in place" orders, as well. (Written in late March. Now it's higher.) New York City is turning hellish. We're seeing scenes that seemed unbelievable when we saw them in northern Italy: freezer trucks pulled up to the hospital to collect all the dead bodies. People dying alone in ICUs because family members, rightly, can't be allowed in. Trump himself and Drs. Fauci and Birx said yesterday to prepare for the coming week to be shocking. That this week would be our Pearl Harbor, our 9/11.
I've been obsessively reading the New York Times, and one day a few weeks ago (or a couple — time has telescoped) — I saw a headline that made me shudder. I didn't even read the article. Too horrifying. More unbelievableness. The gist was that doctors in Italy were being forced to make horrendous decisions about who to treat and who to let die. There aren't enough ventilators. Really? That could happen? Well, yes, it happens in war. Triage. Treat the wounded who are most likely to live, and let the others go. Then people here in the U.S. started debating: should everybody go back to work and let the old and the weak die in service to the economy?
This is a war. The Army is building field hospitals in Central Park. A Navy hospital ship, the USNS Comfort, has pulled into New York City's harbor to serve as a floating hospital. Health care workers, who don't have nearly adequate personal protective equipment (PPE: one of those terms many of us have learned recently) freely admit to being scared every day.
Wherever you are in life, this pandemic makes it all the more so. Are you alone? Now you're really alone. Are you with others, in a family? Now you're really together. I've thought, this must be an important relationship marker for some couples: are we going to quarantine together?
Are you selfish? Are you good? Heroic? Now you are all the more so. As for heroic, the Today Show this morning showed some of the 80,000 health care professionals who have answered Gov. Andrew Cuomo's plea to help in New York City. Many health workers are sick, and some have died.
But then there are the low-paid heroes, just trying to hold onto their homes and feed their families, and in doing so, they are feeding us. These are the grocery store workers, the people we don't notice and don't give accolades to. They're risking their health and lives for little pay. And the warehouse workers, all the people in the supply chain. And for that matter, other workers in the hospital besides the medical personnel: the custodians, the guards, the receptionist, the cafeteria worker.
Here in my apartment in Minneapolis, I am useless. I can barely stand it. At least it's been said that staying home right now is heroic. You save the human race by sitting on the couch and watching Netflix. A few times in my life I considered nursing school but thought it too far out of my realm. I was a literature person and squeamish about blood and needles. Now is one of the times I wish I'd done it, though I'd surely be sidelined for being too old and also immunocompromised due to my meds. But oh, a big part of me would like to be one of those people.
For now, we brace ourselves for the tidal wave we saw envelop Wuhan, followed by northern Italy. We know it's coming here, we know what it looks like, and we read the ominous predictions: 100,000 dead and millions infected. Soon we will all know someone who is sick or someone who has died — or so it seems. (I wrote this only a week or two ago, and now it IS here. Not quite in Minneapolis, but with the delayed time from infection to symptoms, most of the healthy-looking people out there right now could be ill in a few days.)
I'm seeing more info that suggests that this teeny virus spreads not just through droplets from coughing and sneezing but also through aerosol — that is, in even smaller invisible fragments, from someone's breath, where they can hang in the air for three hours. People can shed virus for days before they feel symptoms and know they're infected. If that's true, it's no wonder this thing spreads like wildfire.
I've been keeping to myself, doing all the right things. But what about that runner who passed me on the nature trail out back, who was huffing and puffing within a few feet of me yesterday? What about the woman I almost bumped into at the door of one of the stairwells in our building, where I said "Sorry," and she said, "That's OK." Was any virus breathed out with those words? Will I die for these little exchanges?
Wuhan was only two months ago. And now here we are, the whole world, practically, in lockdown. Lord have mercy.
Tags: coronavirus, covid-19, pandemic
Even After All the Promises You've Broken to Yourself
I have a backlog of concerts, trips, etc. that I've blogged about mentally, or even have drafts of, but which I didn't put on the "page." That's crazy, since this writing is about sheer fun.
I go to a lot of concerts. I see lots of performers in my role as a volunteer at the Cedar Cultural Center. It's one of the main reasons I do it: so much great free music! But I pay to go hear music, as well. I debate with myself: should I go to so many concerts and plays that in truth I can't afford in such volume? But it's my transcendence. Music and literature always have been, and music to such an extent that sometimes it actually hurts. I ask myself: why not just listen for free at home on a recording? But there's nothing that beats that buzz of going to a venue, being among the audience, and feeling that electricity between performer and audience.
Now comes an attempted reconstruction of an event I should have posted about when it happened, June 2017, the Electric Fetus:
Friday evening was gorgeous, partly for the weather, and partly for hearing Dan Wilson play (for free) at The Electric Fetus. I go to hear a lot of musicians I've heard and read great things about, and it's how my music knowledge moves into the future. Of course, Dan Wilson's been around a while, but it took me a while to go see him. But I want to say: I was once with a couple of other baby boomer friends, one of whom said, "There has been no good music since the '70s," and the other heartily agreed. No no no no no!!!!
The '60s was a very special time in music, and I will never forget the thrill of learning about the Beatles, following them in 16 and Tiger Beat, going to Hard Day's Night, discovering Merseybeat, the Kinks, etc etc etc. Joy and innocence. But there will always be new people making amazing new music, standing on the shoulders of those who came before. Sometimes it takes me a while, occasionally decades, to find them, like say, Big Star. Or Elvis Costello.
Getting back to Dan… What I recall is that I was struggling, as I so often do, with navigating some seemingly irreconcilable difficulties in my life, and the Dementors in my head start to take over. But I went nevertheless to the record store The Electric Fetus out of curiosity. He was doing a free in-store performance tied with his new release, Re-Covered, his covers of songs he co-wrote and which were performed and made famous by others. And there are some big ones, like "Someone Like You," written with and for Adele. "Not Ready to Make Nice," with the Dixie Chicks.
By chance, I happened to arrive the same time as Dan and park very close to him. I saw him get out of a little Toyota or Honda or some such car with a woman who I later realized was his wife. Then I passed him as he was going downstairs to the Fetus basement to tune up or something before the performance.
I took my place in the crowd. He's well loved here for his Minneapolis roots, back to Trip Shakespeare and Semisonic. A South Minneapolis guy. There's so much Minneapolis music, like, later on, Eau Claire music, that has a special quality: a connection with the neighborhood, with roots, with families, high school friends.
But I digress: So I was fighting Dementors. I'd navigated construction to get there, so I was a little harried. He opened with just the words I needed to hear, as if he knew my life and mind. I'd never heard the song. Thank you, Dan, for just what I needed, for breaking from the worn mold of having your trust betrayed by others to the much harder one.
"All will be well/Even after all the promises you've broken to yourself."
And I love that evocative part whose meaning isn't entirely clear but is just right, as poetry should be, and makes me feel cozy:
And all the children walking home past the factories
Can see the light shining in my window as
I write this song to you
So, two-plus years delayed, this post, but just right for coming back to a blog I've promised to tend. So, Dan Wilson's solo rendition of "All Will Be Will," originally written with and for the Gabe Dixon Band:
Tags: dan_wilson, electric_fetus, inspiration, lyrics, music
After all this time…The Hoover Factory
Back to this intermittent, long-abandoned blog of lovely quirky things. I'm an easily overwhelmed writer with too much to say about too many things, yet I want to speak about all the things I love, and a blog is a good place to loosen the writing fingers.
Here is an old favorite I'd long forgotten but ran across recently, like an old friend: Elvis Costello's beautiful The Hoover Factory. (Really, who writes a song about a vacuum cleaner factory? I love it. A little gem in less than two minutes.)
Friends 4Ever: Paisley Park, June 18, 2004
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The day of Prince's death, I remembered an essay of mine that was never published but was dear to my heart. Thankfully, I found it in the files of my old laptop. It's too long and the news cycle is too short for it to find a home in a traditional publication — even an online one, I imagine. And this is why it's time for me to revive my blog. To get the words out without gatekeepers. At the time I had my concert review and a little bit about Paisley Park published in the Chanhassen newspaper. Perhaps I'll attach or link to that. But for now…
Friends 4Ever: Prince Fan-atics at Paisley Park, June 18, 2004
On a breezy mid-June afternoon, I'm outside Prince's recording studio in Chanhassen, a southwest suburb of Minneapolis, out in "industrial park land." The sleek, blocky, unmarked building could easily be mistaken for part of the General Mills complex across the street. But to the observant, the pots of purple petunias are a sly tip-off: this is not Betty Crocker, but Paisley Park.
Today the security gates are thrown open to the public for the first time in years. The occasion: three afternoons of Open House to show off Paisley Park's new state-of-the-art recording equipment during the Twin Cities leg of Prince's "Musicology" tour. Minneapolis being The Artist's hometown, enthusiasm runs high. At least two different lines snake through the studio grounds, among a confusion of picnic tables, purple helium balloons, and sellers of Prince merchandise, popcorn and mini-donuts.
"Do you know where we buy tickets for the tour?" I ask two friendly-looking African-American women who look one step ahead of me in piecing out the puzzle. I've followed them to the line at the merchandise tent, and it is indeed the right place.
Unified by our fandom and the long wait, first for tickets – or rather, wristbands, then entrance to the Purple Palace itself, we become friends. Tracy, 38, and Janice, 56, paralegals from Dallas, are enjoying their first visit to Minnesota. "I've loved Prince since seventh grade," Tracy gushes. "I've even gone to Hawaii to see him."
"You're a fan!" I say, impressed.
She corrects me: "Fan-atic!" and lifts her shirt to reveal the large tattoo on her stomach: the symbol that was once The Artist's name.
Unlike many Prince fans, my enthusiasm for The Purple One does not date back to, say, junior high. In 1984, the year Prince became a 3M-sized colossus with Purple Rain, what rocked my world was my colicky newborn daughter, Sarah. I first heard the new hit "Raspberry Beret" in Jazzercise class while burning post-maternity flab.
At the dawn of the new millennium I found myself singing along to "1999" on the radio, to the dismay of teen-age Sarah. What clinched it for me, though, was watching Prince tear through a guitar solo on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," during the George Harrison tribute at this year's Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, televised on VH1.
I've always been a pop music fan, dating back to when I was a 10-year-old bubble-gum-chewing teenybopper trading Beatle cards at slumber parties with my girlfriends. Fandom was very much about friendship. We'd discuss which Beatle was our favorite, and whether the Rolling Stones were dreamy or dangerous. (Actually, they were dreamy because they were dangerous.) We fantasized about meeting our unattainable celebrity crushes. In truth, looking back, I can see that I wanted to be Keith Richards as much as date him. But until the arrival of Chrissy Hynde, herself a fan who became what she loved, I couldn't imagine how that was possible. Girls did not pick up electric guitars. A couple of us picked up acoustic guitars and gamely tried folk songs. And I dreamed of writing for magazines like Tiger Beat when I grew up, so that I could interview pop stars.
At the end of the school year, my fan friends and I would sign each other's autograph books with sayings like "2 Good 2 B In School" and Friends 4Ever." (Is this how Prince learned 2 spell?) The autograph book didn't survive our family's many moves, and neither did the friendships, but the happy memories did, along with my love for pop.
That's what drew me to St. Paul's Xcel Center to see Prince, whose electric presence grabbed you 'round the throat even if you were perched in a rafter seat of the giant hockey arena.
After the show, I hadn't had enough Prince, and that's why I was at Paisley Park, two days later, milling again in a sea of fans.
I'd worried about being too old, too un-hip, too un-cool to hang out at Prince's place, especially alone, but there was no need to fret.
With this trip to Minnesota, Tracy is celebrating her recently-finalized divorce. "Every day my life is just work and kids, work and kids. I decided it's time to have a little fun."
Talking of Prince's new Jehovah's Witness ways and the R-rated songs he'll no longer sing, Tracy says, "I have to say, I miss his erotic stuff. But if he doesn't want to do those songs anymore, I respect that. He's got plenty of other good stuff to choose from."
Janice, a fan-atic not so much of Prince but of travel, came along as part of her quest to see all 50 states (Minnesota was No. 29.) "Tracy originally wanted to go to Chicago to see Prince. But I told her, 'Anyone will go with you to Chicago. Only I will go with you to Minnesota." The pair laugh.
I'd thought Paisley Park would be some dim den of hipness, but once we reach the foyer, I feel almost like we could be at Betty Crocker headquarters, except for the Grammy awards and the Purple Rain Oscar displayed in a case.
In the airy sky-lit atrium, the walls, a heavenly blue, are painted with clouds, doves, and a large likeness of Prince's eyes, staring, intense. During the tour, the guide points out details we might overlook, like a wooden cage of white doves on the balcony, or the "cuss bucket," an empty water-cooler jug labeled "Luv 4 One Another," into which employees must deposit money for charity if Prince catches anyone cursing.
Prince's people – the tour guides, the recording engineers, and the security personnel – are so polite and good-natured, we could be on one of the factory tours from the Mister Rogers show. And indeed, there are children on this tour, even some in strollers. When we come to the giant console in Studio A, on which Prince himself lays down most tracks these days, Khalik, a recording engineer, has one of the children push a lever that demonstrates how a drumbeat is preserved and played back.
After the tour, I trade e-mail addresses with Tracy and Janice, bid them good-bye and wish them well in their Twin Cities visit. They've got a full night ahead, with the concert at the arena, then back to Paisley Park for the after-show party that begins at midnight and goes till…dawn?? The personnel can't say: they only know that "special guests" might be on hand tonight.
I leave regretfully, knowing I'm doing the wise thing not to spend the money for the late-night show. I don't want to negotiate my way alone in the middle of the night.
Still, part of me wishes someone would talk me into it. After all, it's Prince. After all, this could be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
And as I walk back to my car, a pretty, perky-looking woman with bouncy reddish hair, big brown eyes, red Capri pants and a white sleeveless top passes me on her way toward the studio.
"Can you tell me if they're still doing tours?" she asks eagerly.
"No, I was in the last one," I answer.
She looks so disappointed that I quickly add: "But they are selling tickets to the after-show."
"Really?" she says – and as if hearing the very thoughts emanating from my brain, says, "I really, really want to go. But it starts so late, and none of my friends will go – even though I kept telling them, 'It's Prince! This could be a once-in-a-lifetime chance!' And at that hour, I don't feel comfortable going alone."
I hear these words leap from my mouth: "I'll go, I'll go with you!"
"Really?" she squeals. "Yes, yes!" I answer, and, there we are, two strangers jumping up and down together, trading cell phone numbers and agreeing to meet back up at 8:30 to be among the first in line.
She calls me at dinner, telling me she went ahead and bought tickets for both of us, cash only, knowing I'd be there at 8:30 to repay her. Her friends are telling her what my friends are telling me: "What? You're going to an all-night party with someone you've just met?" But we tell our friends the same thing: "I know she's OK. I can tell." We're both fans.
During nearly four hours sitting in line at Paisley Park, Sheila and I find out we have much in common, like milestone birthdays. She just turned 40; I just turned 50. As the sunset streaks pink and purple behind us, then sets, and the moon and Venus rise, we talk.
We are both rediscovering our Inner Kid, learning to have fun after years of seriousness, struggle, and responsibility. She is recently divorced; my marriage had broken up two months before.
We are both dreamers, looking forward to new lives.
In business with her brother, a home-builder, she's thinking of going back to school, becoming a grief counselor, and learning to write: "I wake up in the middle of the night with ideas I want to write about," she says.
I do, too, even though I never became a writer for Tiger Beat.
"Here," says Sheila, eagerly thumbing through Oprah Magazine. "I found a line just for us," she says, pointing to a sentence from Oprah's "What I Know For Sure" column: "Party until dawn," it commands.
"I think it's a sign," Sheila says.
We do exactly as Oprah says, though it may not quite be the experience she had in mind. We're crowded, standing-room-only, into a cavernous room packed wall-to-wall, listening to a funk band play for more than two hours.
Prince finally emerges from the back-corner of the stage at 2:45 a.m., his presence first signaled by the ring of bright gems that outline his ear, sparkling in the dark. We cheer as Prince takes the stage, no more than 10 feet before Sheila and me. He's no bigger than a birch sapling, and not a molecule isn't pure energy and presence.
[The above photo is not from that performance. It's Prince at Coachella, from Wikipedia, available for non-commercial reuse.]
Sheila and I try not to think about the bathroom break we wished we'd taken three hours before, and I try not to worry that my numb feet could be a sign of some serious degenerative disease only now making itself known. Were we not packed like sardines, I'd be flat on the floor.
But when I doubt whether I should be here, I have only to look at Sheila, who beams at me with the most radiant of smiles and says, over and over, "I'm so glad I ran into you! I wouldn't have come here otherwise."
The evening gets more and more absurd. Prince and the funksters call up audience members to sing off the cheat sheet pasted on the stage floor and then to dance. As the band whips through a long, long version of Stevie Wonder's "Superstition," the line of audience dancers grooves on and on, among them a skinny middle-aged woman with an intense look and a leg brace.
At 4:50, the show ends, the doors to Paisley Park open, and we are released to the dawn, the western sky already reflecting the sunrise. I am cold now, and I can barely walk. As we stumble to the car, Sheila bubbles, "This reminds me of college. I can't remember when I've stayed up to see the dawn."
"Neither can I," I say, not quite bubbling, but maybe percolating. To be honest, I didn't even do this in college. We trade e-mail addresses, phone numbers, and hugs, promising to stay Prince-pals.
When I finally see Purple Rain for the first time, at home on my DVD player, I watch through all the credits. My persistence is rewarded with this stunning line across the screen:
"May u live 2 see the dawn."
I will always remember this summer night, with Sheila. And yesterday (was it really yesterday?) afternoon, with Tracy and Janice. We may never meet the pop stars who brought us together, but like my old girlhood friends, they are:
2 Good 2 B 4Gotten.
[As a postscript: Despite trading contact info, Tracy, Janice, Sheila and I never got in touch after this. But in the days after Prince's death, I've thought about them, and I'm sure that Sheila, wherever she is, has also been remembering that evening.
From what' I've read, it sounds like 2004 was a bit of a turning point for Prince: He became a Jehovah's Witness and settled more permanently in Minnesota. He opened Paisley Park many times after that, hosting frequent all-night music parties with pancakes served in the morning.
A few months before his death, I saw the ad on Prince's Twitter feed announcing the sale of tickets to his first "Piano & a Microphone" program. I was sorely tempted, having felt a bond with Prince since my 2004 experience. I reluctantly passed on it because of the $100 tickets and the prospect of driving to Chanhassen on a January night. It would have been a good time to run into Sheila.]
Tags: friendship, Minnesota, music, Prince, youth
George Joseph Shapiro, my grandfather
As with my father's parents, I am the keeper of memories. George J. Shapiro, born in Brooklyn, NY, my mother's father, was the sweetest, kindest man. He would be so easy to forget. No one seems to talk of him anymore. He died long ago: 1967. But he came to life for me again today, because now that I am a Jew, I am keeping yahrzeits, death anniversaries. That means I go to Temple, and their names are read on the public list, and we say Kaddish. I am keeping alive a yearly memory for three forgotten people.
So now that there is this day to remember my grandpa George, I found myself thinking of him a lot. I found myself realizing that a quarter of who I am comes from him. And I thought deeply about each thing I could remember about him. I only knew him when I was a child, of course, and only from vacation visits to New Rochelle once or twice a year. I shall list some things:
He loved his beautiful Collie-Chow rescue dog, Brandy, who looked like Lassie with a purple tongue and had a coat the color of brandy. I used to love petting his sleek fur under the chin. He was so well behaved, confining himself to the kitchen and breakfast room as was required — no doubt, by my grandmother. Now that seems cruel. That was not a large space for a dog of that size. And think how he would have loved sitting on the couch or on the bed with us. He loved people.
He took Brandy for walks every evening to Jake's, "the corner store," (to me, the candy store) to get the next day's Standard Star, which he'd bring home to my grandmother. I imagine that was his peaceful time, being out with his dog. Now that I think of it, that was an unusual thing for an urban Jew, to have a dog. Maybe that's where I get my animal-loving ways. And Anthony, too, with his greyhounds.
He brought me pistachios from Jake's, because he knew I loved them.
He was the driver for a houseful of women: Grandma, Aunt Jo and Aunt Ann.
When my mother was working in Manhattan, he was waiting for her in the car at the train station each day when she got home.
He sold things like nylon stockings door to door during WWII. He was so not a salesman. My mother would go with him and wait in the car and get nervous when he didn't come out for a long time and thought he might never come out.
When a glass broke in the kitchen, he yelled Mazel Tov!
He wore a napkin tucked under his chin when he ate spaghetti.
He worried I was going to choke and always said, "Chew it good." He worried about everything, actually. He'd come downstairs and check all the locks again at bedtime.
It's too bad I didn't get to see him and Aunt Georgina and the NY relatives much when I was growing up. That would have been great stability for me. Maybe not surprising that I moved to NY on my own in my 20s in large part to be in touch with my roots.
Tags: dogs, family, grandpa, New York
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Archipelag Bazaruto () – grupa sześciu wysp w Mozambiku, blisko lądowego miasta Vilankulo. Obejmuje wyspy: Bazaruto, Benguerra, Magaruque, Banque, Santa Carolina (znana także jako Paradise Island) i Shell.

Grupa należy do dystryktu Vilankulo prowincji Inhambane.

Wyspy zostały utworzone z piasku naniesionego przez rzekę Sabi, która od tej pory zmieniła swój bieg. Atrakcje turystyczne obejmują piaszczyste plaże, rafy koralowe, okazje do surfingu i wędkarstwo. Archipelag stał się parkiem narodowym w 1971.

Santa Carolina jest prawdziwą skalistą wyspą z głębokimi kanałami i ma zaledwie 3 km na 0,5 km wielkości. Posiada trzy piękne plaże z rafami koralowymi blisko brzegu.

Bibliografia

Wyspy Mozambiku
Archipelagi Oceanu Indyjskiego

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


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Inside Australia's largest shopping mall
It's known as Australia's fashion capital, but to local residents, it's simply 'Chaddy' and for the past 60 years this shopping centre has played a central role in Australian retail.
Chadstone Shopping Mall, on the outskirts of Melbourne, is Australia's largest and most valuable shopping asset, attracting over 24 million people annually and boasting an annual turnover of over $2 billion.
This staggering visitation and value is no accident. Since it first opened its doors in 1960, Chadstone has continually been revised, re-invented and reimagined to retain its place as Australia's largest shopping mall.
Long history
Chadstone first opened its doors to the public in October 1960, becoming Melbourne's first self- contained shopping centre and the largest in Australia at the time.
Initially, Chadstone comprised a single open-air mall with Myer at one end and a supermarket at the other, and even then it was a destination. Chadstone was a place you drove to and engaged in the shopping experience amidst the new Australian trend of an increasing urban sprawl.
In the 60 years since Chadstone has been continually expanded and revised. In the decades after construction, owners added a roof to better accommodate Melbourne's climate. In the 1980s it enjoyed its first expansion, doubling its lettable floorspace and adding a cinema to its toolkit.
Several further redevelopments followed and by the late 2000s, Chadstone again claimed the title of Australia's largest shopping centre and was for a period the biggest in the southern hemisphere.
The last 10 years have seen further expansion and revision, with a redevelopment of the property's oldest areas and the construction of two additional buildings.
Now it boasts some of the world's leading retail brands, is anchored by major tenants including Myer, David Jones, Kmart, Target, Aldi, Coles, Woolworths and HOYTS, comprises a floor space of 200,000sq m, and accommodates over 550 stores.
A destination
At a time when shopping centres have been reported as under threat and in decline, Chadstone has managed to carve out a unique reputation as both a destination and experiential hub.
The centre is frequented by locals, domestic tourists and international visitors alike, with many drawn not just to its size but the experience on offer.
In addition to a HOYTS cinema complex, Chadstone opened a Legoland Discovery Centre indoor theme park in 2017, making this the first attraction of its type in the southern hemisphere.
More recently a 12-storey luxury hotel opened adjoining the site and Chadstone owners have also unveiled plans for additional parking, an upgraded food precinct, and nine-storey commercial office building, pending Council approval.
A community hub
Speaking about the new expansion plan with Inside Retail late last year, Vicinity Group chief development officer Carolyn Viney noted Chadstone played a significant role in the surrounding region, supporting both current and future employment.
"Our destination centres, such as Chadstone, are community hubs bringing together the key elements that create the vibrant neighbourhood feel we all crave. We're combining world-class, experience-led retailing, convenient services, office space and accommodation, all enabled by robust public transport connections," she reflected.
Meanwhile, Chadstone director Fiona Mackenzie said the centre's evolution had always been driven by the desire to meet consumer's needs.
"Our customers and community have told us they want more dining and entertainment at Chadstone, so our plans include an extended dining precinct and additional fresh food to match their lifestyle needs," Ms Mackenzie said.
In 2019, this commitment to their customer saw Chadstone labelled the nation's most profitable shopping centre at a time when doom and gloom in retail abounded.
Last year alone it recorded a turnover of $2.1 billion, notching up a 10 per cent increase on the year prior.
You can see some of the successful projects that Vitag has completed as part of Chadstone's continued evolution here.
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


When you train a model on private data, how much of that information does the model retain? Katharine Jarmul reviews research on attacks against models to extract training data and expose potentially sensitive information. Katharine then shares potential defenses as well as best practices when training models using private or sensitive data.


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Blogs & Lifestyle
Victoria's Secret Angels: the Dangerous Fantasy
Posted on 19th December 2018 29th March 2019 by Anonymous
The Victoria's Secret Show has the potential to be a site of female positivity, confidence and girl-power. Unfortunately, year-on-year it undermines this, conveying elitism and representing warped ideas about body-image, self-worth and social standards.
I wanted to write this reflection with more positivity. I started by writing a list of everything I love about the show; why I eagerly anticipate it every year, why it's entertaining to watch, a source of inspiration, girly, fun. I came up with three reasons:
The show demonstrates friendship and girl-on-girl support. The models cheer each other on, hug each other, and when Ming Xi took a fall last year, the angels comforted her backstage. In a world where media represents females as spiteful, the sisterhood we see on screen challenges the stereotype that women (particularly in fashion) have to be malicious to be successful.
The creative fusion of fashion, music and lighting is truly entertaining. The extravagant designs demonstrate creative uniqueness, and the variety of random themes taking a refreshing and playful break from designer trends. This is sure to inspire young creatives to think outside of the box.
Seeing women strut confidently about in underwear in-front of a live audience/numerous cameras does seem empowering…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTUtrbtGBP8
My article didn't work, and I couldn't ignore the great big size 0 elephant in the rooms about the show's darker side. I found myself trying to make excuses for the show, putting the blame on viewers for feelings of insecurity. In fact, through considering the positive effects of the VS fashion show, I had unwittingly written a list of the negatives. Given the brand's continued failure to diversify its models and reflect the variety of the female population, everything that could be good about it takes a complete 360 and becomes its biggest failure. Compiled with most optimism, my little list of pros became futile. So, I wrote a new list…
The models' teamwork and sisterhood represents exclusion. The diamante-encrusted hugs become reminiscent of high-school cliqueism- if you're not like us you can't sit with us. If you don't look (or train to look) like an angel, you won't be as liked, and you'll have no one to sit with. The models have left classroom behaviours behind, but for young impressionable viewers, the shows subliminal messages are likely to be influential.
Confidence is conditional. The girl's apparent self-love and confidence is admirable, but this is apparently 'earned' not internal. The models all fit a uniform physical template, 'achieved' through Spartan training and specific genetic coding. Can/should I feel confident in myself if I don't match this?
Even the designs themselves can be offensive. Like any good fashion show, VS use global influences to inspire their collections. Though the lack the racial representation alongside some dodgy and insensitive choices always creates a perfect recipe for embarrassing cultural appropriation.
The show's take-home message is: with the mindset of an Olympian, push yourself to physical extremes and the world will applaud and revere your body. The models make tons of "sacrifices" to be in the show, always working harder than the next, and being eternally "grateful" for being chosen. This suggests female appreciation is in limited supply; only handed to the few who graft for it/are born like it. To make something as fundamental as self-worth into a competition is disturbing, although this is an ingrained social problem extending far beyond the realm of Victoria's Secret.
remarkable that in 2018 some of us are just learning that victoria's secret is not a bastion of body positivity
— phenomenological woman (@ruchuleh) December 7, 2018
Although perhaps it's the barrage of 'tips' and 'how-to' press accompanying the show that are most worrying. The 'Train like an Angel' routines, diet reveals, make-up routines…they all bridge the fantasy of VS with the reality of audience's everyday lives. If viewers' after-show behaviours started and stopped at buying overpriced sparkly lingerie, all that's damaged is our pockets. But when it comes to adopting the onslaught of tips and regimes, our investment in the show deepens. This is something relatively new, as while the show has been broadcast since 1995, the recent explosion of the internet/social media means this information is available quite literally at follower's fingertips. Liquid-only diets, fasting, excessive exercise – these are some of the more extreme methods used by models to prepare for the show. They aren't maintainable, and they're used short-term before the show. Though without having the fashion show as a target/reward, impressionable viewers have no-where to draw the line. Perhaps Victoria's 'secrets', were better left unshared.
In a dynamic world trying hard to embrace and celebrate women's bodies, VS's failure to diversify their line-up is an annual reminder of the industry's audacity to capitalise on insecurity. The show's youthful following, along with the host of press and advice that accompanies it demonstrates the uncomfortable and invasive influence brands continue to hold over consumers. With some simple adaptations, the show could enter the 21st century and be something of greatness. Though for now, it will continue to be a long, lean step back in the wrong direction.
Confused how like it's 2018 and so many campaigns have body diversity but the Victoria's Secret fashion show is really still out here only casting size 0?
— alex (@almos22) November 9, 2018
Images: Glamour UK, Independent.ie
Posted in In The Middle, Lifestyle, Lifestyle & Culture, Television, TelevisionTagged Anonymous, Fashion Models, fashion show, Victoria's Secret, Victoria's Secret Angels, Victoria's Secret Show, VS
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Daly attacks 'slobbering' over Obamas
Taoiseach rejects claim Ireland 'a nation of pimps, prostituting ourselves in return for a pat on the head'
Wed, Jun 19, 2013, 12:35 Updated: Wed, Jun 19, 2013, 17:30
Marie O'Halloran
Taoiseach Enda Kenny makes a point to US president Barack Obama and Britain's prime minister David Cameron during a walk at the G8 summit at Lough Erne in Enniskillen, Co Fermanagh. Photograph: Matt Cardy/Getty Images
Taoiseach Enda Kenny rounded on Independent TD Clare Daly after she accused him of showcasing Ireland "as a nation of pimps, prostituting ourselves in return for a pat on the head".
He described as a disgrace remarks about US president Barack Obama, whom she described as a "war criminal" who had increased by 200 per cent the use of drones, resulting in the deaths of thousands of people.
She said there was speculation this morning on "whether you were going to deck the Cabinet out in leprechaun hats decorated with a bit of stars and stripes to really mark abject humiliation".
Mr Kenny retorted: "I think your comments are disgraceful. I think they do down the pride of Irish people all over the world who are more than happy to see this island being host to the G8. "
The Taoiseach said: "And for you to stand up and criticise the American president for giving a continuation of support for a fragile peace process in Northern Ireland, where over 3,000 people lost their lives in 30 years, is a disgraceful do-down."
'Unprecedented slobbering'
Video: Leaders' Questions in the Dail
Ms Daly, a TD for Dublin North, hit out at the "almost unprecedented slobbering" over the Obama family's visit. "It's really hard to know which is worst, whether it's the outpourings of the Obamas themselves or the sycophantic falling over them by sections of the media and the political establishment," she said.
"We've had separate and special news bulletins by the State broadcaster to tell us what Michelle Obama and her daughters had for lunch in Dublin, but very little questioning of the fact that she was having lunch with Mr Tax Exile himself," she said in reference to U2's Bono.
She described Mr Obama as a "war criminal", having "just announced his decision to supply arms to the Syrian opposition, including the jihadists, fuelling the destabilisation of that region, continuing to undermine secularism and knock back conditions for women".
Ms Daly said: "This is the man who is in essence stalling the Geneva peace talks by trying to broker enhanced leverage for the Syrian opposition by giving them arms - and to hell with the thousands more who'll lose their lives, or the tens of thousands who will be displaced.
"This is the man who has facilitated a 200 per cent increase in the use of drones which have killed thousands of people, including hundreds of children."
International laws
She asked the Taoiseach what he was going to do to ensure no weapons for Syria are going to go through Shannon, in breach of our international laws on neutrality.
"What steps are you going to take to showcase this country, not as a lapdog of US imperialism, but as an independent nation with an independent foreign policy which takes a lead in international diplomacy to outlaw the use of drones?"
Mr Kenny rounded on her for criticising the US president, "who wants to support that [peace] process visibly, personally and with assistance from the US, where 35 million Irish-Americans want this peace process to continue".
The Taoiseach also said there was a serious discussion about Syria at the G8 summit. "Ireland took a very clear position on this as articulated by the Tánaiste - that the embargo should not be lifted."
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Der FV 08 Hockenheim e.V. ist ein Fußballverein aus der nordbadischen Stadt Hockenheim.

Verein
Der FV 08 Hockenheim hat rund 550 Mitglieder. Er ist ein reiner Fußballverein. Die Sportanlage Waldstadion mit zwei Rasenplätzen und einem Kunstrasentrainingsplatz sowie dem Vereinsheim befinden sich in der Waldstraße 3 in 68766 Hockenheim.

Geschichte
Der FV 08 Hockenheim e.V. wurde 1908 als FV Badenia 08 Hockenheim gegründet, nach der Auflösung 1917 wieder am 19. Januar 1919 als FV Hockenheim neu gegründet und führt seit dem 11. Januar 1920 den noch heute gültigen Namen FV 08 Hockenheim e.V.

Die erfolgreichste Zeit des Vereines wurde in der Saison 1948/49 eingeläutet, als der FV 08 die Meisterschaft in der Bezirksklasse II errang und damit in der Runde 1949/50 in der Landesliga Nordbaden spielte, was zu dieser Zeit der Unterbau der Oberliga Süd darstellte. Ab der Runde 1950/51 startete die 2. Liga Süd, darunter die 1. Amateurliga Nordbaden und dann kam die 2. Amateurliga. Der FV 08 gehörte der 1. Amateurliga an. In der Saison 1952/53 errang Hockenheim dort die Vizemeisterschaft in der und spielte in der Gruppe 3 gegen SV Bergisch Gladbach 09, FSV Schifferstadt und den FC 08 Villingen um die deutsche Amateurmeisterschaft 1953. Die erstmals ausgetragene Badische Pokalmeisterschaft errang der FV 08 Hockenheim durch einen 2:0-Sieg über den FV Daxlanden am 6. Juli 1958 in Forst. Nach der Spielzeit 1959/60 stieg der FV 08 in die 2. Amateurliga ab, schaffte aber umgehend durch die Meisterschaft 1960/61 und die Spiele in der Aufstiegsrunde gemeinsam mit dem Meister aus Mittelbaden, den Amateuren des Karlsruher SC, die Rückkehr in die höchste Amateurklasse von Nordbaden. Am 27. Juli 1963 wurde der Verein mit einem 3:2-Sieg nach Verlängerung über den ASV Feudenheim zum zweiten Mal Badischer Pokalsieger. Der Pokalsiegerelf gehörten unter anderem der Mittelfeldspieler Ernst Tober und Mittelstürmer Franz Schäffner an. Am 18. Juni 1964 wurde der Pokal mit einem 1:0 (Torschütze: Schäffner), wiederum gegen den ASV Feudenheim, verteidigt.

In der Saison 1967/68 stieg Hockenheim zusammen mit dem FC 08 Birkenfeld aber wieder in die 2. Amateurliga ab. Erneut gelang 1969 die sofortige Rückkehr in das nordbadische Amateuroberhaus, aber jetzt ereilte Hockenheim bereits 1971 der erneute Abstieg. Als Vizemeister der Landesliga Staffel 2 qualifizierte sich der FV 08 1978 für die Verbandsliga Nordbaden, stieg aber 1981 erneut in die Landesliga ab.

Seit 2015 arbeitet der Verein kontinuierlich an der Verbesserung der Infrastruktur und Ausbildung der Trainer. Von 2017 bis 2020 wurden sämtliche Rasenplätze modernisiert und mit neuen Flutlichtanlagen verbessert. 2018 wurde ein neuer Kunstrasentrainingsplatz eingeweiht. Die Umbaumaßnahmen wurden u. a. von der Dietmar Hopp Stiftung unterstützt. Seit 2015 hat der FV 08 Hockenheim sechsmal in Folge das Goldene Kleeblatt des Badischen Fußballverbandes für hervorragende Vereinsarbeit verliehen bekommen.

Seit 2015 ist der FV 08 Hockenheim eine anerkannte Einsatzstelle des Landessportverbandes Baden-Württemberg für das Freiwillige Soziale Jahr und bietet jedes Jahr dort bis zu drei FSJ-Plätze an.

Erfolge
 Badischer Pokalsieger: 1958, 1963, 1964

Persönlichkeiten
 Georg Herbold
 Karl-Heinz Horn
 Herbert Lehn, (SV Waldhof; 26 Spiele/3 Tore in der OL Süd 1958–62)
 Franz Schäffner, (VfR Mannheim; Fußball-Regionalliga Süd 1967/68: 27 Tore und TSV 1860 München: 1968/69, 8 BL-Spiele)
 Michael Schüssler

Quellen
 Hardy Grüne: FV 08 Hockenheim. In: Enzyklopädie des deutschen Ligafußballs. Band 7: Vereinslexikon. AGON-Sportverlag, Kassel 2001, ISBN 3-89784-147-9, S. 227.
 Ludolf Hyll (Hrsg.): 50 Jahre Fußball Nordbaden 1945-1995. Karlsruhe 1995
 Gerhard Zeilinger: Triumph und Niedergang in Mannheims Fußballsport 1945 bis 1970. Fussball-Archiv, Mannheim 1995, ISBN 3-929295-14-8

Weblinks
 Website des Vereins

Einzelnachweise

Fußballverein aus dem Rhein-Neckar-Kreis
Verein im Badischen Fußballverband
Sport (Hockenheim)
FV Hockenheim 08
Sportverein (Rhein-Neckar-Kreis)
Organisation (Hockenheim)


text:
The wedge and the knot: hammering and stitching the face of nature
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The Zebrafish
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The 'authentick practique bookes' of Alexander Spalding
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The "Museal Gaze" and "Civic Seeing": City, Film and Museum in Wim Wenders' Der Himmel über Berlin
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Things of the World
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Thinking About Some Scots Law: Lord Roger and Unjustified Enrichment
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Thinking globally about ecotourism impact: the contribution of Ecological Footprint analysis
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"Thinking Ignobly of the Soul": Dryden's Heroic Plays
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Thin section micromorphology of soils and sediments from the Phase 2 church chancel at Reykholt
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Thirty Years Later: Real-Time Change and Stability in Attitudes towards the Dialect in Shetland
Durham, M., Jan 2013, Sociolinguistics in Scotland. Lawson, R. (ed.). Palgrave Macmillan, p. 296-318 23 p.
This Ability: Barth on the Concrete Freedom of Human Life
Wood, D., 8 Jun 2012, Disability in the Christian Tradition: A Reader. Brock, B. & Swinton, J. (eds.). Cambridge: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.
This Circle of Kings: Modern Tibetan Visions of World Peace
Mills, M., 1 Feb 2009, Boundless Worlds: An Anthropological Approach To Movement. Kirby, P. (ed.). New York, NY, USA: Berghahn Books, p. 95-114 20 p.
'"This Ingenious young Gent and excellent artist": William Lodge (1649-1689) and the York Virtuosi'
Pierce, H., 3 May 2016, Court, Country, City: British Art and Architecture, 1660-1735. Hallett, M., Llewellyn, N. & Myrone, M. (eds.). New Haven and London: Yale University Press, Vol. 24. p. 313-334 22 p. (Studies in British Art).
"This is myn awin ymagynacioun': The Judgement of Paris and the Influence of Medieval Faculty Psychology on the Kingis Quair
Elliott, E. I., 1 Apr 2013, 'Fresche fontanis': Studies in the Culture of Medieval and Early Modern Scotland. Hadley Williams, J. & McClure, J. D. (eds.). Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing , p. 3-15 13 p.
"This Is the Life": Women's Role in Food Provisioning in Paulatuuq, Northwest Territories
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This syntax needs studied
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This Turbulent Priest: Contesting Religious Rights and the State in the Tibetan Shugden Controversy
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Thomas Bernhards Auslöschung: Der Umgang mit dem Herkunftskomplex
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Thoughts on movement, growth and an anthropologically-sensitive IS/Organization studies: An imagined correspondence with Tim Ingold
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Three-dimensional properties of laboratory sand waves obtained from two-dimensional autocorrelation analysis.
Friedrich, H., Melville, B. W., Coleman, S. E., Clunie, T. M., Nikora, V. I. & Goring, D., 2006, River Flow 2006, v. 1, Taylor and Francis, London. River Flow 2006, v. 1, Taylor and Francis, London, p. 1013-1022 9 p.
Three in one: how an ecological approach can obviate the distinctions between body, mind and culture
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Three Types of Engagement with Place Through Acousmatic Listening and Composition
Kim, S-J., Stollery, P. & Whyte, R., 1 Dec 2013, Taking Part in Music: Case Studies in Ethnomusicology. Russell, I. & Ingram, C. (eds.). Aberdeen: University of Aberdeen, Elphinstone Institute, Vol. 9. 15 p. (Elphinstone Institute Occasional Publications ).
Through a glass, darkly: Visualisation, revelation and reflection in Ernst Logar's Invisible Oil
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Tick salivary glands: the physiology of tick water balance and their role in pathogen trafficking and transmission
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Tidemann Limbergh, en hanseatisk købmand i 1300-tallet
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Time to disclose, timing disclosure: GPs' discourses on disclosing domestic abuse in primary care
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Time-Variant Estimation of Connectivity and Kalman Filter
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Tintoretto's Poverty
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Tissue localization of retinoic acid receptor (RAR) active drugs
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Q: First try with RSS feeds using XML and CSS I'm trying to learn how to do RSS feeds, and I'm trying to make the xslt and css parts. I need the rss feed to show each item with title, description, length, and pubDate, and I'm trying to use CSS for that.
Here's what I have so far (sorry, not very good):
CSS file(rotten.css):
@charset "UTF-8";
/* CSS Document */

h2          {
        color:#03C;
        }

.intro      {
        font-style:italic;
        color:#666
        }

xslt file (rotten.xslt):
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE xsl:stylesheet  [
    <!ENTITY nbsp   " ">
]>
<xsl:stylesheet version="1.0" xmlns:xsl="http://www.w3.org/1999/XSL/Transform">
<xsl:output method="html" encoding="UTF-8" doctype-public="-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0
Transitional//EN" doctype-system="http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-  transitional.dtd"/>
<xsl:template match="/">

<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"/>
<title><xsl:value-of select="/rss/channel/title" /></title>

<link type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" href="rotten.css" />

<xsl:value-of select="/rss/channel/title" />

<xsl:value-of select="/rss/channel/description" />

<xsl:apply-templates select="/rss/channel/item" />

</xsl:template>

<xsl:template match="/rss/channel/item">

</xsl:template>

</xsl:stylesheet>

What do I need to add in to make that all work together? Or...have I completely messed this up and can't recover?
I know the basic structure for an RSS feed looks something like this(minus actual data):
<rss>
    <channel>
        <title>Name of feed</title>
        <link>URL of rss feed xml file</link>
        <description>Description of feed</description>
        <item>
            <title>Item1 title</title>
            <link>Item1 URL</link>
            <description>Item1description</description>
        </item>
    </channel>
</rss>

I assume that should be placed in the xslt file, but I'm not sure where...

A: Forget about the CSS until you've got the data on your HTML output - you can come back to it later.
The code for displaying each item should be placed in the <xsl:template match="/rss/channel/item"> template you've created at the bottom of the XSLT. For example (and assuming your XML fragment is correct), you could get a very basic, hyphen-delimited output for each feed by amending the template like this:
<xsl:template match="/rss/channel/item">

        <xsl:apply-templates select="title"/> -
        <xsl:apply-templates select="link"/> -
        <xsl:apply-templates select="description"/>

</xsl:template>

This template will be called automatically for every item in the rss/channel so you should get all the items in a list. You can then dress this up with whatever HTML or CSS you like, and maybe look further into XSLT to find better ways of using templates to get what you want.
But hopefully that'll get you started.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


text:
Wal-Mart's Earnings Report Exceeds Wall Street Expectations
By Ben Lawson
A better than expected third-quarter earnings report gave investors some faith in the retail giant.
Things are starting to look up for Wal-Mart after its third-quarter earnings report beat Wall Street's expectations.
Comparable sales at Wal-Mart's stores rose 1.5 percent, and traffic was up 1.7 percent. But its total revenue at $117 billion is down compared to last year's figure of $119 billion.
Last month, company stock plunged after it said profits next year could drop as much as 12 percent. But stock was up at more than 5 percent following the third quarter earnings report.
Regardless, Wal-Mart still has some pretty hefty expenses to pay for in the coming years.
It has raised its minimum wage to $9, given managers a pay increase and implemented new training programs that will cost $2.7 billion over two years.
It's also expected to invest $1.5 billion into making its e-commerce operations more efficient to better compete with companies like Amazon.
So it could take some time before Wal-Mart sees serious growth, but at least the most recent earnings report shows that its efforts are paying off.
This video includes images from Getty Images.


Please join the From Slavery to Freedom Lab at the Franklin Humanities Institute by Hazel Carby, "Where Are You From?" The lecture is an account of how a young black girl, growing up in South London, had to learn to negotiate the racial fictions of post World War Two Britain. It will be drawn from Dr. Carby's forthcoming book, Imperial Intimacies (Verso 2019).
Hazel Carby is Charles C. & Dorothea S. Dilley Professor of African American Studies & American Studies and the Director of the Initiative on Race, Gender, and Globalization at Yale University. Born in postwar UK, trained at the University of Birmingham under Stuart Hall's mentorship, she is a foundational scholar of US black feminist intellectual history. Her books include Reconstructing Womanhood (1987), Race Men (1998), and Cultures in Babylon (1999). She was named the 2014 recipient of the Jay B. Hubbell Medal for Lifetime Achievement in American Literary Studies.
Co-directed by Richard Powell, Jasmine Nichole Cobb, and Lamonte Aidoo, the From Slavery to Freedom Lab examines the life and afterlives of slavery and emancipation, linking Duke University to the Global South.


text:
News YOUth Sport Latrobe feature series
gippsport - October 15, 2020 - 0 comments
When Tyler Reynolds arrived at Traralgon Rovers Cricket Club five years ago, he had barely given playing cricket a second thought.
Among the welcoming party at Duncan Cameron Park was a 12-year-old Tyron Bramwell, who lived and breathed cricket and was keen to share that passion with others.
"With all the new players that come to the club you introduce yourself and you encourage them. If they bowl a good ball in the nets you get behind them and if they bat well you give them that support," Tyron said.
"I had been here for about three years… so when Tyler came along I took him under my wing and said 'let's go, let's have some fun'."
It's a culture that has served the club well, with Tyler's ongoing involvement a prime example of the supportive environment having a positive impact.
The 15-year-old's enjoyment of the game has grown with each passing season and his development, on and off the field, is testament to the club and the player.
"My brother played a bit of cricket and he would take me up to the nets a little bit when I was younger," Tyler said.
"I didn't really have much of an interest in cricket and then a couple of my mates asked me to come along [to Rovers] and just try it out. I was like 'what's it going to hurt' and I surprisingly liked it.
"I just love cricket, getting to play higher age groups, getting good opportunities and good coaching… I just want to see where it takes me."
Back on deck: Cricket season couldn't come soon enough for Rovers teammates Tyler Reynolds and Tyron Bramwell
While rain washed out the opening round of the Traralgon and District Cricket Association's A Grade and B Grade competitions, the under-15 season got away cleanly and Tyler wasted no time getting his eye in
The all-rounder made a classy 35 not out with the bat, which he backed up with figures of 1-6 from three overs with the ball in Rovers' 37-run win against Imperials at Jack Maskrey Oval.
A two-year age difference, coupled with Tyron's rise to A-grade regular, has meant he and Tyler have only played together on and off over the years, but they have shared in some success along the way.
Rovers has won the past three TDCA under-15 premierships, with Tyron part of the 2017-18 and 2018-19 sides, while Tyler joined the team for 2018-19 and then thrived with more responsibility to captain Rovers to glory last season.
That under-15 decider was Tyler's 36th match of the campaign, which also comprised 11 C Grade appearances for Rovers and 14 for Rosedale-Kilmany in the Sale-Maffra Cricket Association under-14 competition.
It was the second season in a row Tyler had played for multiple clubs in a bid to play as much cricket as possible, having tallied half a dozen games for Gormandale's under-14 team on top of 24 for Rovers across the under-12, under-15, C Grade and B Grade competitions during season 2018-19.
That won't be the case this season, but Tyler was still planning to supplement Friday night under-15 games with senior grade games of a Saturday as a good way to ease the transition to senior cricket.
"Last season I played [or trained] nearly every day of the week, I think I got one day off," Tyler said.
"At the start of the year we gave everyone a bat and bowl and I think everyone in our team got a wicket so that was really good.
"I have a lot of mates in juniors but with the age groups a lot of them have gone up and I don't know if they really want to play seniors this year so it's a bit hard. But the senior players give me a lot of support and help me a lot with my batting and bowling."
Tyron's love of the game certainly matches that of his younger club mate, but quality over quantity is increasingly a priority.
In addition to cricket and school commitments, the 17-year-old is involved in three bands and a choir, has a part-time job and is also a budding photographer.
"Time is definitely a barrier for me," Tyron said.
"Fitting all that in with cricket has definitely been a challenge especially as I get older but my love for the game has never wavered so I've always stayed with it and made it work."
Tyron also took up cricket when he was 10 years old, initially as a distraction following the death of his grandfather, but there was an air of inevitability about the decision.
Born in South Africa, the sport was part of Tyron's life from the outset.
Good areas: Tyron Bramwell sends down a delivery.
His dad, Greg Bramwell, played some first class cricket for Western Province in the mid-1990s, while cricket was a fixture on the TV and a regular topic of discussion at the dinner table either side of the family's move to Traralgon prior to Tyron's fourth birthday.
Like his father, Tyron bowls right-arm off spin and is showing plenty of promise with bat and ball.
He already has 14 A Grade wickets to his name and has represented the TDCA in the Gippsland Cricket League Under-18 competition – for which he was awarded the 2019-20 Graham Challis Trophy as GCL Under-18 Cricketer of the Year – and Gippsland Pride in the Youth Premier League.
"It definitely helps with dad being around and learning how to land the ball and where to land the ball exactly. When it comes to coaching and tips it doesn't really get much better than that down here," Tyron said.
"When I first came into senior cricket it was a bit intimidating as I think I was about 14 but it just blooded me slowly and gave me experience."
After a COVID-affected year, Tyron and Tyler are just happy to be back on the ground and in the nets in any capacity they can.
"Most clubs you go to you go for your mates, you go with your mates so you're always around them," Tyron said.
The Latrobe Health Assembly's Increasing Access to Sport Project aims to identify and address barriers to youth sports participation in the Latrobe Valley. For more information, email GippSport Community Planning Officer Damen Francis at damen@gippsport.com.au
gippsport - December 11, 2020
gippsport - November 6, 2020
gippsport - October 15, 2020


Seven hundred islands make up the Bahamas, located just south of Florida in the Caribbean Sea. Although the country was granted independence from Great Britain in 1973, important ties remain between the two countries. The Bahamas is still a member of the British Commonwealth, and the British monarch serves as its titular head of government. The real leader of the country, however, is the Prime Minister, who presides over a Senate, which is appointed, and a House of Assembly, which is elected. English is the official and most common language spoken, though Creole is spoken by the country's immigrant Haitian population. The estimated population is 300,000 with a 98-percent literacy rate. Tourism is the largest segment of the economy, but offshore banking also produces a significant amount of revenue.
Bahamians enjoy freedom of press and speech. There are two independent, national newspapers that publish from the capital, Nassau. The Nassau Guardian, which has been publishing continually since 1844, is the leading daily with an estimated circulation of 15,000 and an online presence. Close behind with an approximate circulation of 13,000 is The Tribune, which publishes every day but Sunday. The Bahama Journal, also published from Nassau, is a weekly newspaper that reaches 4,000 to 6,000 readers and is also available online.
The Nassau Guardian publishes local editions for Freeport ( Freeport News ), Andros Town (Andros Chronicles), George Town ( Exuma Sentinel ), Governor's Harbor ( Eleuthere Advocate ), and Turnbull (Long IslandMail). The Abaco Journal, established in 1987, publishes monthly from Marsh Harbour. A government publication, the Official Gazette, publishes weekly. Total circulation for daily newspapers in 1996 was 99 per one thousand population.
There are six radio stations, three AM and three FM, and one television station, which is owned by the government. Bahamians own approximately 215,000 radios and 67,000 television sets. There are 19 Internet service providers.
The Bahama Journal, 2002 Home Page. Available from http://www.jonescommunicationsltd.com/journal.html .
"The Bahamas," CIA World Fact Book, 2001-2002. Available from http://www.cia.gov .
The Nassau Guardian, 2002 Home Page. Available from http://www.thenassauguardian.com .
New York: 2000, United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Statistical Division, Statistical Yearbook, 44th issue, 1997.


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Crews Battle Brush Fire At Indiana's Brown County State Park
NASHVILLE, Ind. (AP) — Crews continued working Tuesday to douse a fire that began over the weekend in southern Indiana's Brown County State Park and has scorched more than 100 acres.
The brush fire was reported Sunday evening on the east side of the park, Marty Benson, a spokesman for the Indiana Department of Natural Resource, told The Herald-Times of Bloomington.
Local fire departments, DNR fire headquarters personnel and conservation officers arrived soon afterward at the scene of the slow-mowing fire.
The DNR's fire unit eventually took over the fire-fighting effort and returned to the park at daybreak Monday. By sundown Monday, fire crews had created a fire line that halted the fire's spread.
Although the crew's goal was to have the fire under control Monday, Benson said a five-man DNR crew returned Tuesday to continue working the fire.
Brown County State Park is one of Indiana's most popular state parks, particularly in the autumn, when crowds converge there to admire the colorful foliage.
The park is Indiana's largest state park with 16,000 acres that span rugged hills, ridges and fog-shrouded ravines.
Grants Pass Daily Courier