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The Scent of Roses In the New World | Rhoads Brazos
Within the fenced confines of his back yard, Garver raked at a moldering pile of leaves still wet from October's last week of rain. He inhaled the scent of rich soil and something like cheap cigars, the smell of dying and of life too, burrowing up from within, churning through the skin of what was. No matter how grand, in time all things withered in humble resignation.
He leaned on his rake and wiped his mouth. He wanted a smoke. How perfect it would be, the filter against his lips, the stinging inhale melting into a smooth wave. Close your eyes with that first breath and you'd feel as if you were floating. The second drag never managed the effect, but had its own subtle qualities worth savoring. It was a perfect day for a cigarette, and a perfect place too, but the stores had quit selling years ago.
In some ways it pleased him to know he had a habit that couldn't be broken. He honored tradition. It was in his blood, thumping at his center, true-blue.
He slipped his lighter from his front pocket and felt its weight against his palm. His thumb rubbed over the remains of Old Glory, its enamel worried down to a bone-white surrender. With a flick, the lighter hiss-popped to life. Garver watched it for a moment and remembered. He snapped the lid shut.
He made a circuit of the house, two-story, navy with cream accents, as nice as any in the neighborhood. Only the security bars set it apart. He'd installed them himself over each and every window across both floors. They were strong. None of that decorative aluminum shit. These were of liquor store quality, tempered steel as thick as a broomstick, bolted into the house frame and clamped down tight from within. You'd crack your spine trying to bend them. Try yanking one loose and you'd herniate like a gonzo meathead just off the juice.
Garver gave practice shakes to each window's grating. Solid. He looked for tell-tale scratches in the paint. Factory perfect. After he finished the first circuit, he retrieved the ladder from the shed and checked the upper story. Satisfied, he scrutinized the doors. Only the front opened. The rest were reinforced and fastened in such a way that they'd never budge again, but he studied each closely and checked for deliberate tampering. Everything seemed in place.
Lilly, his youngest, toddled up to the sliding door at the back patio. She plopped down on her diapered bottom and squealed. Her shrill cries pierced through the glass like a little siren. Garver chuckled and tapped on the window. See Daddy? See? He mugged a bit, but her eyes were pinched too tight to pay him notice.
Her brother Russel hurried up next to her. His hair was still the platinum blond of a four-year-old, scrawled upon his head in a haphazard mess. His lips were casually streaked with jelly or possibly candy, the usual mystery. When he saw his father at the door, he pounded on the glass with tiny fists and bounced from foot to foot. His cries joined his sister's.
It could be anything. They could have either smashed a glass or have just been scolded by Tina. Perhaps she turned off their cartoons. There were any of a thousand-score nothings that could set two small children to screaming. But—
Garver saw fear in their eyes. True panic. They wanted out.
He hurried around the house, first at a jog, then at a run. This couldn't be happening, not here and now, not to his family. No one was more careful than him. At the front door, he fumbled with his keys. He swore and fumed and sobbed through clenched teeth. The kids were at the front now, or at least Russel must be. The doorknob jiggled feebly back and forth. Garver worked at the deadbolts high and low. They clicked free just as some other mechanism in the door latched. Russel was fiddling with the locks from the inside, undoing Garver's efforts.
"Kiddo, no!" Garver spoke with his lips right at the woodwork. "Daddy's coming, just be still." He wiped at his face and sorted through his keys.
The cries inside crested into an unhinged screeching as loud as tiny lungs could manage. Garver swore prayers. He had flaws. He hadn't lived a saint's life. He'd abused the bottle and his temper tended to flare with a white-hot intensity that blazed out at anyone nearby. He wasn't even sure he believed, not with all that had happened. A man couldn't help but question his faith when he saw the world's wretched state. Yet Garver offered up promises and bargains and pretended to hear whispered counteroffers.
Anything, he'd give anything.
He fought with the locks and struggled against his son's motions. The world receded. He heard only his own pulse, hammering inside in his ears. His throat tightened as if someone were throttling him with fingers of cold iron. He breathed in gasps and wisps. He dropped his keys.
The rapid snap of latches jarred him home. A half-dozen locks clacked into place and the door opened. Tina stood before him. Her hair hung in dark, wet streaks, dripping as if she'd just climbed out from the shower. She stared ahead blankly, the smooth oval of her face passive, almost bored. Lilly was nestled in her arms.
Garver choked back a cry. Tina's clothes were soaked—it could only mean one thing—and with Lilly touching her, pressed up so close, now they were both marked.
"God no," he said. "Russ, come with—"
Russel wrapped himself about Tina's leg and wailed.
In casual seconds, Garver had lost everything. His whole life had just flitted away. Despite his precautions and the efforts of all these years, everything now belonged to another.
Tina sniffed and seemed to gather herself. "You have to—"
"Goddamn you! This isn't up for debate."
"How did it get in?"
She didn't answer. The tension about her eyes may have flickered away with a blink, but he'd seen it.
"I don't know," she said.
He eyed her coolly. The carpet about her feet had soaked into a darkened ring. She dripped a clear viscous liquid—a glaze. That's what it was. It seeped into the meat, tainted it, gave it the flavor of another. It went right down to the bone.
"You know what will happen if you don't." She hoisted Lilly up higher. His daughter pressed her cheek to her mother's and whimpered. Tina shushed her and spoke to Garver in a low whisper. "Quit being so hateful," she said.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"This is how it is now." She spun away and marched back upstairs.
Russel stood in the doorway. The boy trembled and gasped in soft stutters. He took a step toward Garver and opened his little arms wide.
Garver wanted to run. Russel was coated with it. His touch was poison.
Garver knelt down and let his boy come to him. He hugged him tight. "You went for help. Just like Daddy said to."
Russel pressed his face to Garver's chest and mumbled a response. The scent of that creature was in his hair. It smelled like roses.
"Don't open your eyes," Garver said. "Okay?"
A tiny nod came in answer.
"I won't let it hurt you," Garver said. "I promise."
With his boy's arms knotted about his neck, he took the stairs up to the master bedroom. The creatures instinctively found their way there. They liked to nest close to the brood.
The bed he and Tina had purchased together filled most of the floor. The two dressers and nightstand occupied the rest. Tina had picked out the set, and Garver hadn't argued. Though the mix of buttermilk cream and stenciled flowers was a far cry from his style, when she'd insisted on the mirrored headboard, he'd given her the reins. It had been a wise choice, a standing triple in the wife-first world of acquiescing husbands.
For a while the sex doubled, both in frequency and intensity. She loved to watch, and he loved to see her do so. The coy glances she gave the mirror's tangled bodies ignited something primal within him. He was brimming with satisfaction knowing that he met—and dare he think it, exceeded?—her desires. But the novelty wore thin as all novelties do, and now he found himself here.
The creature had found a spot in a high corner of the room, next to the door of the walk-in closet. Dozens of legs like long black piping had made a wreck of the sheet rock, chopping it into chalky piles of scrap upon the carpet. The creature had wrapped its legs about and through the wall studs, anchoring itself to its chosen nest. Its abdomen, as long and wide as a coffin, settled back into a mass of waxy sludge. A chitinous head tipped its chin over the bulk of its body. Mandibles sawed lazily at the air.
Tina knelt before it with Lilly cradled in her arms. She tilted her head back and let the creature shower them both with its secretions. A pair of fleshy pouches at its tail squeezed and pulsed, spraying out a stream of god-knows-what with the flow of a garden hose. Even from where Garver stood at the entryway, the carpet was sodden. It squished underfoot.
The flow faded to a dribble and Tina just knelt there, head thrown back and mouth open. Lilly had quieted in her arms and watched the creature with wide eyes. After a long while, Tina stumbled to her feet and lay down on the bed with Lilly at her side. The two of them drifted off to sleep.
Garver grimaced. To run was hopeless. He'd already been marked. The Hybrid hunters would follow his scent effortlessly and bring him down within the hour. He'd heard stories of what happened next, of extraneous appendages being chewed away, of creative bodily violations, of what use a screaming torso could possibly still have when it was dragged off to the cityhive.
"Don't look," he whispered. His son squeezed him hard.
Garver knelt before the beast and closed his eyes.
A river of shared thoughts swept him forward. He bobbed in a current of insect dreams.
Within a nightmare, the creature made him repeat its name a thousand times. He had no choice but to comply. It stripped him naked and mocked the frailty of his soft body, poking and prodding him with its legs. It scooped him onto its back and encouraged him to strike its shell. Garver thumped his fists down upon its carapace until his palms stung and his knuckles were worn raw. The creature click-clacked laughter.
With Garver holding on for dear life, it raced through the loamy darkness of alien jungles to show its tremendous speed. It spied a beast, an armored monstrosity a little like an elephant and an armadillo. In a heartbeat, it had pounced on the back of the unwitting prey and sliced its throat down to the spine. It showed Garver its strength by rending the still twitching beast into scraps.
The jungle melted away, exiting with a dream-logic assist, and Garver found himself hurtling through inky blackness. He floated before a vast machine teeming with a roiled insect swarm. The machine's core hummed instructions as a living static. The Hive's intellect was beyond the means of Man. A million articulated arms, some semblance of the creatures which built the machine, reached out to an orbital skin of faster-than-light particles. The arms harnessed each point's bled radiation into an infinite propulsion. The iridescent bubble of the Hive's sporeship hurtled past stars and through them to cross the galactic void as a child would skip over a puddle.
He was nothing before the Hive. A thought without meaning. A whimsy. A mote.
Garver awoke on his bed. Little Russel twitched in his arms, no doubt receiving dream clarification of his own place in this new family. Garver wiped away Russel's tears and fought against his own. He'd been supplanted, replaced by one greater in every way. The insect's thoughts were clear. He was no longer the father. He'd been demoted to groundskeeper.
Beside him, Tina showed a faint smile upon her lips. Her eyes were still closed.
The next weeks were like drowning. The world closed over Garver, smothering him down into a deep depression. He'd suffered through these same feelings a couple years ago when he'd buried his father; the big things weren't real and the little things didn't matter. He received his pink slip from the shop and numbly accepted his co-workers' congratulations. It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, they said. That had been enough to make him choke up. Amid their applause, he gathered his tools.
The Hive had more important uses for him than welding and tying rebar. For the insects, such mundane tasks served no purpose, and Garver didn't need the paycheck. His bank account now received a generous weekly stipend in the new head of household's name, enough to square away the bills, double down on the mortgage, and take a Pymatuning Lake vacation with all the perks. Not that he was going anywhere. Travel outside the city was forbidden to him. He had responsibilities.
The security bars were first to go. The insect saw no use in them and, if Garver understood the tickling warmth of its thoughts correctly, wanted the home to look inviting. It was important that every claimed nest be enticing, something that an onlooker would envy.
It took Garver a week of teetering atop the high ladder and countless struggles peppered with profanities to wrench all the bars free. Each agonizing effort was like tearing his arm from its socket. He'd forgotten about the steelwork welded into the house's frame and had to slice those bars off with a torch. In a shower of sparks, he ground the jagged stubs down to the house's stucco and spent an entire day patching scorch marks.
As he piled the steel scraps in the backyard for later recycling, he spotted Tina at the kitchen window. She smiled at him and mouthed three syllables: I love you. He winced and looked away.
She claimed that the bug had crept in while she'd been toting in groceries, but Garver knew better. A creature that size didn't just waltz about unnoticed. The neighbors would have formed an impromptu parade route as it made its way down the boulevard. No, Tina had held the door open for it. Hell, she may have chauffeured it up to the front door and coaxed it inside.
A shrill one-two whistle sounded from the fence line. Norris, Garver's nearest neighbor, leaned his balding head over the fence and motioned to him. Garver wiped his hands on his jeans and approached.
"Looks good," Norris said, nodding at the house.
Garver appraised Norris's buttoned polo and spray-on tan with suspicion. "What do you want?"
"Been watching you work, is all, and was just about to hit the links. Sherry and the kids're taking lessons too." He waited for Garver to offer a comment. When none was forthcoming, he continued. "You built a pen."
At the high end of the yard, under a copse of scrub oak, Garver had assembled a portion of the window scrap into a twenty by twenty enclosure.
"Beast likes swine," Garver said. "Not my idea."
"Sure, sure. Farm fresh, eh? Free range and all that."
Garver spent more time than he'd like cleaning droppings from the turf. It was part of his evening ritual now.
"That's really swell," Norris said. "Ours is fond of muskies. Really has a taste for them. Swallows them whole and wiggling, squirts out the bones. Sherry's always pickin' them out of the carpet." He laughed. "Real hard working gal. You'd like her a lot. You really would. You saw the pool?"
Garver had. It had been turned into a pond and stocked with tiger muskellunge. That implied Norris's beast would enjoy the flavor of pike too—much easier to catch—but Garver didn't mention it.
"Go fishing every weekend, up at the Kinzua tailwaters. It's a dam."
"I'm aware."
"Not really my thing, mind you, but a fellow does what he must."
Garver really needed a smoke. He felt for the comfort of his lighter.
"You've got a mighty big yard," Norris said.
"It's why I picked the place."
"That's fine, right fine. Look," Norris studied the clouds for a moment, "about the pen. I'm not countermanding or anything. I know my place, so don't file a report, but…"
A smile crept across Garver's lips. The first he'd felt in weeks.
"Do you think that," Norris continued, "if I helped, you and I could maybe move it south?"
"Oh?" Garver asked. "How far?"
"To the other end of the lawn, by that pear tree. There's a bit of shade there too."
"I don't think so."
"Animals'll clean up the fruit on the lawn, the rotten bits."
"They already do."
Norris squirmed and Garver couldn't help but chuckle. Having a sty just upwind from one's home couldn't be pleasant, and if Norris didn't remind him so much of middle management, if he wasn't such an eager hiveslave, perhaps Garver would care.
"The beast wants it right where I put it," Garver lied, and turned away.
"Wait!" Norris cried. He lowered his voice. "You shouldn't call them that. They can hear. Yours can hear you, I mean, because of the spray. It gets in your head."
"I know that."
"You'd really like Sherry."
Garver saw where this was going and didn't care for it one bit.
"Ours is a layer," Norris said. "And a fine one!" He gave a pop-eyed grin, as if he were projecting to the last row in a vaudeville theater. "Every eleven days, just like clockwork. I take each bundle right up to the hatchery, first class. My XJL has great suspension, rides smooth as butter. But yours…your insect—"
Last week, Garver had been ordered to remove all of the window coverings, starting with the bedroom drapes. The beast enjoyed sunning itself in the morning light. At night it chittered at the stars. It clicked pupal poetry and hummed songs of the larval womb. Garver watched each stanza play out behind his eyelids and hated the sight. Unless his presence was demanded, he slept on the couch.
He spoke with low menace. "Keep your eyes out of my bedroom."
"I would never." Norris raised his hands in mock surrender. "Sherry says it's so." He tapped at his nose.
All women loved the insects. The bugs' secretions—part aphrodisiac, pheromone, and opiate—were tailored to bait them, and once tasted, to leave them in a lotus-eater daze.
"She says that based on the scent," Norris tipped his head over the fence line, "you have a breeder."
Garver squeezed his fists tight.
"Look," Norris said, "I won't beat around the bush. You know how women are." He rolled his eyes. "You'd really like Sherry. As guardian of your nest, you'd find her an asset. If you'd like her to come over, tonight maybe—"
"No. "
"She's smoking hot in the sack. I mean, lately she's been no-limits crazy. It's because your insect's so close, and budding too. So Sherry says. If you were to take her up there, and hint that her and your lady get wet and tangled. I'll bet a two on one—"
Garver lunged for the fence and grabbed Norris by the throat.
"Psychopath!" Norris cried. Garver tore at his collar. After a brief scuffle and much swearing, Norris yanked himself away. "What's your issue!"
"Keep away from my family."
"The hell, you say! Just being neighborly."
Garver made another swipe over the fence but Norris jumped back.
"Goddamned Tina brought it in," Garver growled. "She betrayed me."
Norris tugged his shirt back in place. "You get a gift like that and don't even appreciate it. Imbecile."
"Gift? You are out of your mind!" Garver raved and shook at the fence. "My wife wants to screw that fucking bug! God, I think she already has." He choked.
"Well certainly, what did you expect?" Norris asked.
"It's wrong. I don't care what poison that thing pisses over your soul. She is greedy and debauched and if it weren't for my kids, I'd—"
"Wait, wait, wait a minute." Norris smoothed his collar down and took a deep breath. "Okay. I shouldn't give you another second of my time, but—hey, if you want to take Sherry for a roll and tumble in the spray, the offer still stands. No, don't say it. I shudder to imagine being a cohusband with you." He sneered but then shook the look away. "Do you even talk to your wife? Because you don't grasp much."
Garver glared. Tina spoke to him but he rarely answered. He kept himself distant and it shamed him. Her newfound attraction to him, even if chemically induced, to her was honeymoon genuine. She kept trying to tempt him into the bedroom. The bed would be their stage and that insect would be their audience. Garver had seen the TV dramas and knew how these things played out. The insect would do more than simply watch. It would give its silent cues, puppeteer their motions and reward their obedience with a squirt from its glands. Garver pictured it up there in the corner with its legs tweedling over its abdomen and its eyes jiggling like a tosspot's, assessing them, staring down over its immense girth like an alien Buddha.
"You don't, do you?" Norris laughed. "You are shit stupid."
"What are you on about?"
"My Sherry can tell, clear as a summer sky. The scent your insect is giving off—your wife didn't choose it. You did."
Garver drove his pickup to Little Burrows Learning Center in pained silence. The insect had demanded the children be brought here seven days a week. Garver milled about the lobby with the other parents, nodded at small talk, and picked up Russel and Lilly. Russel chattered on about how he had played with spider-pups.
"They're all fuzzy!" He crowed details in a jumbled happenstance, painting Garver a mental pleasantry somewhere between an obscene Picasso and a pile of twitching offal.
Garver put both kids in their car seats. Lilly was asleep and wrapped snug inside a soft cocoon. Only her chubby face showed uncovered. The effect was not unlike that of a kiwi.
Garver let Russel drone on, offering daddy uh-huhs at strategic points to keep the boy distracting himself. He followed the business route downtown, and, after parking, took Lilly's carrier in one grip and Russel's hand in the other. They entered the Office of Interspecies Viability Assessment and Garver made his requests. His scent trail served as his identification.
Yes, his mistress-master had made the inquiry long ago. No, he wouldn't dare dishonor her-him by shirking his duties. Certainly, he knew the pledge.
Glory be to the Hive.
Upon the nectar of my own being,
I serve as drone and worker.
While he waited for the woman at the counter to print out his genetic meat rating, he tried not to catch the eye of the Hybrid guards flanking the door. The pair of them, each a mirror of the other, hunched their long naked bodies forward. Their limbs were like bullwhips ending in scythes, dipped from tip to end in black chrome. Their hairless skulls belied human genetics. High cheekbones topped a pair of long wet lips. They had no eyes, at least, not on their faces. Atop their flattened foreheads, a mass of gnats seethed and whispered.
The Hybrid to the doorway's left raised a single mantis forearm. Garver seized cold. The beast could clear the room's breadth in a heartbeat. It could desegment his body at each joint before he managed two blinks.
But he wasn't the target. Little Russel was waving and the creature had returned the greeting.
"My teacher says they only hurt bad guys," Russel said. "And I'm not one."
"No, you're not." Garver tried to will his heartbeat out of the red-zone. He knew the Hybrids could feel it. They could smell his perspiration, the contents of his stomach too. When the paperwork arrived he left with a cautiously measured gait.
He returned home and read the papers in the driveway, leafing through GMR charts and reading aptitude surveys of shocking exactitude. He stuck to the English callouts since the insect script was beyond his means to decipher. Its ink shifted into new forms depending on how close it was to the eye. The kids' restless squabbling from the back went ignored. Only when Tina stood on the house's front step, looking nervous and wiping her eyes, did he exit the front cab. She hurried up to him.
"I made your favorite," she said. "It's getting cold."
"It needed those papers," he said. "Went downtown."
"You did? I'm so proud of you!"
He'd been putting off the task for a long while.
Tina had shifted to June Cleaver-inspired attire. Gone were last week's yoga pants and bare midriff. The easy-catch approach had been a failure and she knew it. She'd switched to fuzzy sweaters and wrapped her hair in a prim bun, though she'd found a skirt far shorter than what a 60s TV exec would allow. Garver had to admit, the combination was not displeasing.
Over dinner, he watched her from across table. She returned fleeting glances and made off-and-on idle talk about the neighbors, always carefully chosen so as to avoid sensitive subjects. Joyce has a new sedan and has already dinged the front side. What do you call that part? Wilkes is putting up a picket fence to keep the Thompsons' patterdales off his lawn. Don't you think they should be leashed?
Underhand lobs to get him swinging.
When Garver finally broke his silence to congratulate her on a wonderful dinner, her eyes welled and she hurried away to the kitchen. The old Tina would have replied with a sarcastic quip. After a verbal tussle, she'd give a wry smile which only he would have known to be affectionate. He'd rather have that again.
But who was he kidding? He wasn't remembering weeks ago; they were years past those days. The screaming, the arguments. Lately it felt as if one only interrupted the other. He'd thought Lilly would fix everything, make Tina feel complete, but she hadn't. It took more than a second child to compensate for his failings as a father and husband. He'd kept the family in its station. He'd made Tina envious and resentful and—
He'd chosen it.
He stared out the window. A lumbering sofa-sized beetle, tiger-striped green and yellow, was making its way up O'Toole Avenue. A retinue of neighborhood kids marched before it, laughing and cheering and pumping their arms in the air like drum majors. Garver sat at the dinner table and listened to Tina deal with the kids in the bathroom. He focused on Russel's story, now being repeated with gusto from the tub for her benefit. Garver thought about helping her put them to bed, but let his intentions lay silent.
She took the kids to go say goodnight to the bug. Garver cradled his forehead and closed his eyes. He'd pray if there were a chance he'd be heard, but there was nothing beyond the now. The past was forgotten. Tomorrow didn't exist.
After a short while, Tina touched his shoulder.
"How'd it get in?" he asked without looking up.
"I've told you before, the backseat." Tina sat down in the chair beside him.
"And you didn't even notice."
"No, it's just like I said—"
"Shit!" He pounded his fists on the table. "It isn't a goddamned handbag. You had to see it!"
Tina cringed and averted her gaze.
He rose from his chair. He exited to the garage and returned with a dusty bottle of Polish vodka. Tina raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. After his past issues, he'd promised to keep alcohol out of the house, had, in fact, sworn to it on his father's grave. He poured himself a glass.
"Well?" he asked.
She folded one hand over the other on the table.
"Look, I'm a liar." He threw back his drink in one swallow and inhaled through gritted teeth. "God, I miss that." He slammed his glass down to the table and filled it again. "Aren't you going to yell?"
"But don't I deserve it?"
"I'm tired of fighting," she said. "Aren't you?"
He blinked and rubbed his eyes hard, because of the liquor, and not.
"I've been hiding that from you," he said.
"Not very well," she said. "I found it last Christmas while looking for boxes."
If he defied her and started drinking again, she'd promised to slap the shit out of him, her words, and take the kids. But she hadn't. They sat in silence for long moments.
He couldn't consider the what-ifs anymore. He sagged forward over the table. "The reports…"
The yearly surveys which the cityhive forced upon all residents had come back in his favor. He always fudged his answers and made sure he was less than optimal, a blue-collar nothing that the insects would tolerate and yet ignore. But somehow they'd seen through his ruse. His mechanical aptitude was off the charts. Spatial reasoning and abstract concepts showed a potential many deviations above the norm.
"I should've been an engineer," he said. "And not just a by-the-numbers lackey, either. I mean world famous. Can you imagine? I could be making something wonderful." His voice tightened and he gathered himself before continuing. "I didn't even know who I was, but they still found me."
She placed her hand over his. For once, he didn't pull away.
"But the clincher," he said, "was the written response."
"Yes, the last page. Mine had one too."
"What do you want most?" he recited. "On that one I told the truth—my wife, my family." Her hand squeezed his tight. He picked up the papers and scanned the summary lines. "Habitation will be mutually beneficial…an optimum arrangement for all parties, insect and human." He tossed the papers back on the table. "So, it wanted in here because of me. It even thinks this is a sick sort of favor. Now you know, if you didn't already. I'm hiding nothing, and I'm asking you again, did you see it?"
Tina concentrated first on the scattered papers and then on his drink.
"Yes," she whispered.
He eyed the scratches on her neck. Though she'd tried to cover them with makeup, he could still see them trailing away below her neckline. Did it do it with its legs, its mouth?
"To be with it," he growled. "You'd rather have a fucking cockroach than—"
She glared at him and for a moment he saw her as she used to be. Her quick temper, the equal of his own. During the good days, it had kept his in check.
"Then why?" he asked.
"It was the only way," she said. "I wanted to love you again. And now I do."
The insect's thoughts crinkled about the back of his head, like beetles nesting in dry leaves. It was watching these proceedings with great interest. Certainly it was peeking out from behind her eyes too.
A flash of an image, of the first time he'd seen her, sunlit and gorgeous, sitting on a park bench at the foot of the stone steps. He'd been daydreaming about the scent of her hair and how it would feel to kiss her, but knew she wouldn't bother with a guy like him.
Tina's eyes went wide and he knew she was seeing his relayed thoughts.
A handsome guy was looking down at her, and she wished he'd come speak with her. Hold her—did she dare? If he knew her, he'd love her. She was so tired of being alone.
"Downstairs," he said. "We can—"
She turned her head to the bedroom.
"Please," he said.
She considered for a moment and then nodded. "Just us."
She rose and led him away.
The next morning, he awoke on the couch with Tina wrapped naked and warm around him and gave thanks that Russel hadn't come down early. In this day and age, what was a father to say?
He dressed, did the farm chores, and set the pigs loose across the lawn. Norris spotted him and started another senseless over-the-fence barter which Garver ignored. Eventually, the guy sulked away to his pool pond.
Garver frowned at the thinning grass. After cornering the most obnoxious pig, one with a particularly guilty mien, he stunned it with a hammer blow between the eyes and hauled it to the garage. He hung it from the rafters, slit its throat, and let it bleed out into an oil pan.
Killing the first animal had left him light-headed. He had no problem gutting a fish, but dispatching something of this size left him queasy, or it had. The slaughter had gotten easier with practice.
He held the butcher blade in his hands and imagined how it must feel. It slid through with such ease, like slicing a pot roast. It probably just stung a bit at the end. He touched it against his neck but then tossed it aside.
"Coward," he said.
After a quick wash he took the kids to the center. Along the way, Russel told of a dream he'd had. The mighty bugs had found a tiny planet of four-legged hump monkeys who ate green jelly.
"They could talk, but they were still stupid," Russel said. "So they got eated."
"You're a good boy," Garver said. Russel rattled on without pause.
When he returned, Tina was eager with her affections, pecking kisses on his cheek and giving him a squeeze whenever she drew near. She promised him a wild time after she got back, but she had to leave for her required class, Larva to Imago.
With the house empty, Garver filled the extractor to the brim with solvent. He fired it up and vacuum-scrubbed last week's drippings from the bedroom carpet. The insect watched him take the machine in slow passes across the room. The air took on a cloying chemical sweetness, a bit like a shampooed dog. Clean, but not really.
The insect didn't budge. It couldn't. It had committed to its spot in the corner and wouldn't dislodge until it had mated and molted free.
Garver finished with the floor and tacked down new plastic sheeting under the insect to catch the splatter.
"Ready?" he asked. "Soup's on."
A hooked leg as long as a pool cue brushed his face. He jerked back but another half-dozen were behind him. The back of his skull itched, and he prepared for clicked instructions, but instead a woman's voice murmured.
I helped you.
The bug had rifled through his thoughts and assembled this, a voice sculpted to entice him and only him. Feminine, teasing, with an exotic accent. These were pure fantasies he'd tucked into his hidden core. He felt his guard melting away. The insect spoke again.
Don't fear me.
With that tone, like the girl next door daring to be sultry, he didn't, he couldn't. This was what Tina felt, complete desire. The insect innately understood the scents needed to attract a woman, and with time and study, learned to craft the sounds to attract a man. It mimicked a goddess, a muse of pure passion.
"I can't," Garver choked.
He struggled back—the horror of the insect's form was too much to bear—but its free legs held him firm. They tugged at his clothes. Tatters slipped away. He fought against this affront but his arms were pinched tight. He cried out.
A picture flashed through his mind. A Hybrid. It was near, just a few blocks away. It perked up, sniffed the air, and loped off in the direction of Garver's home. It sensed the insect's need for assistance. Another joined it. And another.
"Call them off!" Garver pleaded.
Breed with me.
"Make them stop!"
It didn't answer. It tore away the rest of his clothing. His arms were numb in its grip. He clenched his fists tight.
The carapace of the insect sawed apart, cracking open wetly, like sticky lips. Within its soft interior, pulpy bits shifted and stirred, the mass tonguing itself forward, bloating and squeezing into an exquisite form. A face pushed outward, so close to his own, and the girl of his dreams took shape.
The insect had read his mind and sculpted its innards into an alabaster angel, a feminine impossibility, a total amalgamation of every fantasy he'd ever had. Hula girls, pin-ups, a pornstar or two, his mother? He couldn't bear it. The gentle curve of her neck, the full swell of her breasts, and the sweep of legs like a dancer's, so long, nudging behind him and wrapping around his own. It had stripped his mind naked to make this. The angel's lips parted and she spoke with the clarity of a bell.
"Love me."
He fell into her arms and her thoughts pushed into him. The insect's pride in its conquest washed over him. Its ambition to climb the Hive hierarchy and establish itself as a worthy duchess. Its fear of his rejection now turned to delight in this perfect seduction. It dreamt of their brood. His seed and its spore would become one. His wife would bear the fruit of their labors, and soon, the neighboring women too. They would commune as one nest.
A warning tickled at the insect's perception. Garver's raveled thoughts felt it too. If the bug hadn't been so preoccupied, it would have heeded the summons long ago. The Hybrids with those delicate noses—so sensitive—even a block away they could sense danger. The creatures scurried forward and screamed silent warnings. A pity the bug lacked their precision. With the carpet-cleaning fumes in this room so thick, and the insect's attention elsewhere, it hadn't given a single thought to ulterior motives.
Garver opened his fist. The insect saw what he'd brought and now it smelled the gas leaking up from the basement level, long flooded. Garver had been very careful with his tools, and quiet too. The cloud had been building for hours. The insect's guard was down and it couldn't seal itself, not with him still inside.
"You can't have them," Garver said, and flicked his lighter to life.
Rhoads hails from Colorado, where he lives with his wife and son. His morbid fascination with horror and weird fiction takes his writing down paths he's perhaps too willing to follow. Somehow, his work has seeped into this publication and other unsuspecting venues, including: The Best Horror of the Year, vol. 7 (edited by Ellen Datlow); Apex Magazine; Death's Realm (Grey Matter Press); and SQ Mag. His new Gothic adventure/horror novella series, The Ladies Bristol, is slated to be released this summer by Grey Matter Press.


text:
Wim Wenders's elegiac film, "Pina," about the choreographer Pina Bausch, is among the nominees for Best Documentary Feature at the Oscars on Sunday. As her tectonically provocative work made clear in the early eighties, Bausch bore the earmark of a brave artist: she never aimed to please. The ferocity, subversion, and naked conviction of Bausch's dances generated a new lyricism, one that strayed far and wide from orthodox expectations of dance. When "Pina" was released in December, Anthony Lane wrote that Wenders' lens grants viewers a "proximity to the dancers, near enough to hear them pant." Lane praised Wenders's unsparing but compassionate view of the aging bodies of Bausch's Tanztheater Wuppertal troupe:
What is unambiguous is the campaign that "Pina" mounts, with joy and without fuss, against age discrimination; by law, the film should be screened, on a monthly basis, for Hollywood casting agents. There are performers over sixty-five, and people who have stayed with the Tanztheater for decades, and one dancer who is the child of two others. Bodies grow wiser and more expressive over time, though ever more open to the ravages of loss.
From the beginning, The New Yorker's critical writing has attended to the corporeal in Baush's work. In a 1984 review of "The Rite of Spring," Arlene Croce described—in striking contrast with Lane's review—Bausch's company members as "little fat girls … who don't look like dancers." Speaking of the dirt floor set of Stravinsky's composition about a blood-spattered virgin sacrifice, Croce added that "by getting sweaty dancers dirty, the earth floor adds an element of yuck to 'Sacre' which … made the Brooklyn Academy … smell like a stable."
Interestingly, "Sacre," is the first of Bausch's dances featured in "Pina." Wenders tackles the "yuck" factor head-on: that is, in 3-D. Joan Acocella also picked up on the gristly aesthetic of Bausch's work in a 2002 review of "Masurca Fogo":
Bausch [has] … an emotional territory all her own, one that was defined not by pain, exactly, but by some subdepartment of it, some vague and clammy feeling—discomfort, embarrassment—and magnified by the extreme physical immediacy of the work. Animals often appeared on Bausch's stage, not to speak of the four elements. At least two pieces that I saw took place on a dirt floor; another transpired in ankle-deep water. You don't just look at this stuff; you feel it. That is all the more true of Bausch's use of the body. In her shows, you are always looking up someone's nose or armpit. People are forever lifting their dresses, spitting into each other's mouths. You feel they are breathing in your face, crawling into your clothes with you.
Every dance featured in "Pina" extends a visceral invitation to the audience: join the dancers and grapple with their conflicted bodies, gender identities, and emotional idiosyncrasies. Bausch's dances wrestle, often, by playing with paradox (a woman in a meringue-like evening gown clomps malevolently through the subway, whooshing like a Transformer; a refined man in a three-piece suit flicks his hands until they scamper, childlike, up and down his torso). In her 2006 review of Bausch's "Nefés" at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, Acocella considered the way the choreographer's love of paradox blossomed late in her career:
The power of "Nefés" lay where it always lies in Bausch, in the skits, but their new ambiguity, their freedom from the note of complaint that marked her earlier work, made them especially piercing. Near the end, Bausch lined up all ten of her women onstage, in their lustrous gowns—one gold, one peach-colored, one sky blue—and had the line sweep around three hundred and sixty degrees, in a square of dappled light that rotated while they did. People use the word "dreamlike," but this sight really was like a dream, in that it was eerie and disturbing at the same time that it was beautiful. It conformed to the actual processes of the mind, prior to the imposition of logic. There was the image: a flash of meaning, then darkness, just like what we see on the midnight hour.
Bausch's goal, conforming not to tradition or expectation but to the logic of the inner life, is perhaps best given voice in "Pina" during a personal interview with the choreographer herself. The emotional experiences that she depicts in her choreography, she says, are precisely the ones that "leave you utterly speechless. All you can do is hint at things."
_The articles—and the complete archives of The New Yorker, back to 1925—are available to subscribers. Non-subscribers can purchase the individual issues.
Any favorite New Yorker articles come to mind? Send us an e-mail.
Photograph by Donata Wenders/Sundance Selects.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Stage Races Classics
Race Info, Preview, Live Video, Results, Photos and Highlights
The 2012 Volta a Catalunya has more hills near the end of the stages which should make for good TV viewing; the race will be broadcasted live this year (details below).
Big Photos from 2011 - all 7 Stages — reuters/flockton
Reserve this ad space (subject to approval)
News and Updates for Volta a Catalunya 2012Also Sunday: The final (mountain) stage of Criterium International (2.HC FRA): race info, startlist and broadcasters now posted + results, photos and highlights from the first two stages. Also, the next classic of the season, Gent-Wevelgem is Sunday with live video.
Stage 7 results: Julien Simon (Saur - Sojasun) wins his second stage while Michael Albasini (GreenEDGE) completes his wire-to-wire overall win
Simon wins again in Volta a Catalunya, Albasini seals final overall victory — velonation
Last Km of Stage 7 (02:29 HQ Spanish) — rtve.es
Stage 7 As-Live Repeat Broadcast (English, subscription required) — cycling.tv
March 25 update: The last stage of this year's turbulent Volta. It looks like Michael Albasini (GreenEDGE), who was allowed to escape on Stage 1, is going to go wire-to-wire in the leader's jersey and win the race. Good things happen when you race aggressively so good for him. The final stage is a rolling/hilly stage around Barcelona with a cat 3 climb near the finish. For more stage details, see the stage profile, map and timetable in the race summary table (right). — Steve
Stage 6 resultsSanchez sneaks away to stage 6 win (Full Results) — cyclingnews
Sanchez grabs stage with late attack — velonation
Samuel Sánchez se anticipa al sprint: "He arriesgado más de lo previsto, pensaba que me caía" — biciciclismo
Stage 6 Photos — biciciclismo
March 23 update: A rolling/hilly stage with three cat 3 climbs before a descending and flat finish. For more stage details, see the stage profile, map and timetable in the race summary table (right). — Steve
Stage 5 resultsSimon sprints to stage 5 win in Catalunya (Full Results) — cyclingnews
Simon wins stage 5, Albasini retains race lead — velonation
Stage 5 Photos — biciciclismo
March 21 update: The descending finish of Stage 4 was fun so lets to it again. Stage 5 will end with a cat 1 climb and descent into Manresa however the descent is more gradual than yesterday's and it starts further out. See the climb details for stage 5 below. For more stage details, see the stage profile, map and timetable in the race summary table (right). — Steve
[More] Chaos in Catalunya as snow temporarily hems in five teams — velonation
Basso's Giro d'Italia preparation suffers a blow — cyclingnews
Stage 4 results: Exciting downhill finish goes to Rigoberto Uran (Sky); Race leader Michael Albasini finishes with the winning group
Uran times his sprint right on stage 4 (Full Results) — cyclingnews
Volta a Catalunya: Uran takes strong win, Albasini defends jersey — velonation
Uran takes Tour of Catalonia stage four for Sky — cyclingweekly.co.uk
Stage 4 As-Live Repeat Broadcast (English, subscription required) — cycling.tv
Stage 4 Photos — biciciclismo
March 21 update: The stage 3 fiasco has tainted this year's race for so many reasons: it was the stage that never happened, the poor judgement of the race committee, the mass of abandonment riders that can come back to ride stage 4 and the crash injuries. Poor weather is again forecasted for Stage 4, but we are at lower elevation now. Three cat 2 climbs are scheduled with the same one ridden twice before the 20 km descent to the finish in Ascó. For more stage details, see the stage profile, map and timetable in the race summary table (right). — Steve
[More] Chaos in Catalunya as snow temporarily hems in five teams — velonation
Basso's Giro d'Italia preparation suffers a blow — cyclingnews
Stage 3 results: Janez Brajkovic (AST) wins weather shortened stage 3. Stage was shortened to 155 km while a 12 man break had over 8 minutes advantage. No GC time counted.
Stage 3 results 1 Janez Brajkovic (Astana) 2 Michal Golas (Omega Pharma-Quick Step) 3 Mickael Cherel (AG2R) 4 Matteo Carrara (Vacansoleil) 5 Thomas Rohregger (RadioShack-Nissan) 6 Christian Vandevelde (Garmin-Barracuda) 7 Johann Tschopp (BMC) 8 Steven Kruijswijk (Rabobank) 9 Chris Sorensen (Saxo Bank) 10 Romain Bardet (AG2R) ... Peloton + 8 minutes GC after Stage 3 1 Michael Albasini (GreenEDGE)Photos from early in the stage including the winning break — naciodigital.cat
Volta a Catalunya: Brajkovic wins shortened third stage — velonation
Brajkovic wins weather-shortened queen stage — cyclingnews
Brajkovic wins weather-shortened Catalunya stage, Schleck abandons — velonews
Full Results from Stage 3 — biciciclismo
Finish of Stage 3 — pedalierweb.es
Stage 3 Photos — biciciclismo
Chaos at Catalunya: Nearly 40 abandon, but officials might let them start Thursday — velonews
Samuel Sánchez, "muy dolorido" por una caída en la Volta — biciciclismo
Azevedo on Catalonia chaos: "It's war out there" — cyclingweekly.co.uk
Dean collides with parked car at Catalunya, breaks leg — cyclingnews
OPQS Team Bus at the finish: 'This picture says it all about the weather' — twitpic
Update: Photo taken at 2012-03-21 12.01.34 (CET). No live coverage of today's race as the helicopter cannot fly due to bad weather. Photo sent via cycling tv. Stage has been shortened to 155 km and will now finish in Canturri.
March 20 update: Stage 3 is a romp through the Spanish Pyrénées featuring the most climbing of any day on the UCI Calendar to date. There are two cat 1 climbs in the first half of this 210 km stage and the day ends with consecutive hors categorie/especial climbs including the finish at a ski resort, Port-Ainé (18.9 km at 6.5%). See climb details and google climb goodies below. However, it's currently (2:00 CET) snowing there and snow is expected again on Wednesday so it's quite likely the stage finish will be shortened or moved; we know today's cyclists don't like to ride in the snow. For more stage details, see the stage profile, map and timetable in the race summary table (right). — Steve
Stage 2 results: Michael Albasini (GreenEDGE) wins two in a row
Stage 2 Photos
Full Results from Stage 2 — biciciclismo
Albasini wins second straight stage at Catalunya — cyclingnews
Michael Albasini doubles up in the Volta a Catalunya — velonation
Last Km of Stage 2 (01:12 HQ Spanish) — rtve.es
Stage 2 As-Live Repeat Broadcast (Engish, subscription required) — cycling.tv
Alejandro Valverde crashes out of contention in Volta a Catalunya — velonation
Stage 2 Photos — cyclingnews
More Stage 2 Photos — biciciclismo
March 19 update: Stage 2 is a loop northeast of Girona, an area North America riders will know well because it's European base camp for many of them. The stage isn't difficult but there is a cat 3 and a cat 1 climb before a descending then flat finish which should be good for Samuel Sanchez and Damiano Cunego, if they feels inclined. The cat 1 climb, Alt Dels Àngels (picture above), is a popular training climb for the local pros. For more stage details, see the stage profile, map and timetable in the race summary table (right). — Steve
Stage 1 results: Break succeeds with Michael Albasini (GreenEDGE) soloing in from the cat 3 climb, 18 km from the finishFull Results from Stage 1 — biciciclismo
Albasini wins stage one of the Volta a Catalunya — cyclingnews
GreenEdge win again as Albasini takes Catalunya opener — cyclingweekly.co.uk
Michael Albasini solos to Volta a Catalunya opener — velonation
5 Big Photos from Stage 1 — reuters
Last Km of Stage 1 (03:14 HQ Spanish) — rtve.es
Stage 1 As-Live Repeat Broadcast (Engish, subscription required) — cycling.tv
Joaquim Rodriguez concedes shoe change error caused tendonitis — velonation
Full Stage 1 As-Live Repeat (57:37 HQ Spanish) — rtve.es
More Stage 1 Photos — pedalier pro magazine
March 18 update: Stage 1 is a loop starting and ending in Calella, just up the coast from Barcelona. It's only 139 km long and there are three categorized climbs including at cat 1 at the halfway point. (see the climb details below). The race may come back together for the cat 3 climb near the finish. Expect the sprinter teams (not many) to chase down the break over the remaining 18 km to try and set up a sprint finish (Allan Davis/GreenEDGE, Francisco Gavazzi/Astana, Aitor Galdos/Caja Rural), one of the few expected this week. For more stage details, see the stage profile, map and timetable in the race summary table (right). — Steve
Horner skips Volta a Catalunya to heal minor injury from Tirreno — cyclingnews
March 18 update:
Official 2012 startlist now posted — steephill
March 16 update:
Stage maps and timetables ("ETAPA DETALLADA") are now posted. See race summary table (right).
2012 Volta a Catalunya Race Preview
March 18 update: Although the run up to this year's Volta a Catalunya was hampered by funding problems that threatened the race, it actually looks like this year's race will be better than previous years for two big reasons, the stages are more interesting and the end of each stage will be broadcasted live.
If you look at the profiles in the race summary table (right), you'll notice that most stages have a final climb near the finish and stage 3, Port-Ainé, will be a hors categorie mountaintop finish.
Not surprisingly, 2010 Volta a Catalunya winner and local boy, Joaquim Rodríguez, is returning to the race after missing last year's edition [Joaquim Rodríguez won Volta a Catalunya in 2010. It's his home race, but he isn't racing it for the 2nd year in a row. Course suits him. Explanation?].The official startlist has been released and there are many big name climbers on it including this year's Paris-Nice winner, Bradley Wiggins (Sky) and 3rd overall Alejandro Valverde (Movistar), who won this race in 2009, as well as eventual 2010 Tour de France winner Andy Schleck (RadioShack-Nissan). Tirreno-Adriatico runner-up Chris Horner is a late scratch. Also racing are Ivan Basso (Liquigas), David Moncoutie (Cofidis), Mikel Nieve and Samuel Sanchez from Euskaltel - Euskadi, Damiano Cunego (Lampre) , Jurgen Van Den Broeck (Lotto Belisol), Levi Leipheimer (Omega Pharma QuickStep), Denis Menchov (Katusha), Dan Martin (Garmin) and Robert Gesink (Rabobank). A good course with a very good field, lets hope everyone comes to race. No time bonuses again this year. — Steve
Stellar field set to race in the Volta a Catalunya — cyclingnews
Andy Schleck to ride Volta a Catalunya — cyclingnews
Ivan Basso to make his return in the Volta a Catalunya — velonation
The Volta Ciclista a Catalunya is Spain's second biggest bike race after the Vuelta a Espana and the third oldest (1911) stage race in the world behind the Tour de France (1903) and the Giro d'Italia (1909).
Volta a Catalunya Race History — en.wikipedia.org
March 13 update:
2012 Host towns, distances, stage profiles are now posted. See race summary table (right). — Steve
2012 Route Map
Also follow steephill on Twitter for the latest race info and video updates.
En Directo: Live Streaming Video, TV Coverage, Text UpdatesMarch 19 update: Initial options to view the 2012 Volta a Catalunya. Check back at race time for updates to the online links and tv schedules. Feel free to send in additional sources for live video or tv coverage as they become known. We should have Big Photos from Reuters right after the race. More to come... — Steve
|media source
|tv or internet
live video (english)
[subscription required]
|Worldwide excluding USA starting at 15:00 UTC (11:00 ET) on cycling.tv ; Subscribers will also get access to As-Live Rebroadcast and 30 minutes of highlights later in the day
live video
live video (catalan)
tv schedule
|Daily live video of the "end of each stage and finish" on local sports channel Esport3 at 15:45 CET each day
live video (english)
live video (english)
tv schedule (british)
tv schedule (int'l/cet)
|Live at 15:00 BST (16:00 CET on Eurosport International)
live video (spanish)
tv schedule
|Spanish; Teledeporte feed. Stage 1 live at 16:00 CET
| live video ($ english)
tv schedule (see comments)
|United States and Canada; live online ($9.99) at 8 AM ET; and TV coverage in select U.S. markets. Details to come. Universal Sports TV Channel.
|live text updates ES
live text updates EN
|The Spanish website Biciciclismo will have the latest race updates
| steephill text updates
|short text updates from any and everyone
|check back at race time for more and updated links; send a comment or a new live link
Also known as Tour of Catalonia in English, Tour de Catalogne in French, Ronde van Catalonië in Dutch.


text:
functional connectivity toolbox
over 50,000 downloads, continuous software development and yearly releases since 2010
@ nitrc.org/projects/conn
over 2,000 published articles using CONN for functional connectivity and resting state analyses
@ google scholar
over 8,000 forum posts and 3,000 topic threads offering support to CONN users
@ nitrc.org/projects/conn
Software description
CONN is an open-source Matlab/SPM-based cross-platform software for the computation, display, and analysis of functional connectivity Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fcMRI). CONN is used to analyze resting state data (rsfMRI) as well as task-related designs. Processing and analysis steps in CONN include:
- Importing DICOM, ANALYZE, and NIfTI functional and anatomical files
- Preprocessing of functional and anatomical volumes (e.g. SPM8/SPM12 realignment, slice-timing correction, outlier identification, coregistration, segmentation, normalization, smoothing)
- Control of residual physiological and motion artifacts (e.g. scrubbing, aCompCor, ICA-based denoising, Global Regression, band-pass filtering)
- Integrated quality control procedures and measures (e.g. FC histogram plots, BOLD signal carpetplots, Framewise Displacement, GCOR measures, FC-QC correlations)
- Multiple connectivity analyses and measures, including Seed-Based Correlations (SBC), ROI-to-ROI analyses, complex-network analyses, generalized Psycho-Physiological Interaction models (gPPI), Independent Component Analyses (group-ICA), masked ICA, Amplitude of Low-Frequency Fluctuations (ALFF & fALFF), Intrinsic Connectivity (ICC), Local Homogeneity (LCOR), Global Correlations (GCOR), Multivoxel Pattern Analyses (MVPA), and dynamic connectivity analyses (dyn-ICA, sliding-window correlations)
- Group- and population-level inferences and models, including ANOVA, regression, longitudinal, experimental, and mixed within- and between-subject designs. Univariate and Multivariate statistics. Control for multiple comparisons using parametric (Random Field Theory) and non-parametric (permutation/randomization) techniques
When used within a distributed cluster, HPC, or multi-processor environment CONN can automatically parallelize most time consuming steps in the fcMRI processing pipeline, allowing the analyses of hundreds of subjects in minimal time. CONN can be entirely controlled through a user-friendly GUI, or through batch scripts/commands if preferred.
The toolbox is developed in Matlab, and it is distributed both as Matlab source code and as a pre-compiled executable file (standalone release, no Matlab installations or licenses required).
Citing CONN
To cite CONN in your work please include one or several of the following references:
- CONN toolbox (www.nitrc.org/projects/conn, RRID:SCR_009550)
- Whitfield-Gabrieli, S., and Nieto-Castanon, A. (2012). Conn: A functional connectivity toolbox for correlated and anticorrelated brain networks. Brain Connectivity. doi:10.1089/brain.2012.0073
Visit the conn toolbox public forum for any questions about CONN
contact email@example.com for any questions about this site


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Paperback, 218 Pages
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dessins à visée humoristique que le but c'est de faire rire et seulement cela nah
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Product Details
- 9781291761207
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- Jour de Fêt
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- June 30, 2015
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- French
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- Perfect-bound Paperback
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Research Project
Grant-in-Aid for Scientific Research (B).
Pyrroloquinoline quinone-dependent quinoprotein dehydrogenases, glucose dehydrogenase (GDH) of Escherichia coli and two alcohol dehydrogenases (ADH) of Pseudomonas putida and Gluconobacter suboxydans have been investigated to elucidate their structure and function, which was performed by several different means. 1)Structural and functional study of E. coli GDH : Several mutant enzymes were prepared by using random and site-directed mutageneses, and their reaction kinetics and oxido-reduction spectra were examined after purification. Compared with the structural model, the function of following amino acid residues, His-262, His-775, Trp-404, Asp-466, Asp-730 and Lys-493, have been identifisd. 2)Electron transfer study of P. putida ADH : (ADH IIB) was purified together with a blue copper protein, azurin, from the soluble fraction of P. putida and then the reaction between both proteins was examined by kinetic, fluorometric and redox titration analyses. As a result, the electron transfer between both proteins was shown to occur by a hydrophobic interaction and also by a freely reversible on and off binding process. Furthermore, the azurin-dependent alcohol oxidation activity could be reconstituted on the membrane vesicles and also with purified cytochrome oxidase. 3)Ubiquinone reaction site of E. coli GDH and G. suboxydans ADH : The ubiquinone-binding site of GDH was shown to be located near the surface of cytoplasmic membrane by reconstituting GDH with phospholipids having ubiquinone analogs at different depth. In G. suboxydans ADH, besides the ubiquinone reduction site, ubiquinol oxidation site was found to present separated from the site of ubiquinone reduction. 4)X ray crystallography of P. putida ADH and G. suboxydans ADH : The structure of ADH IIB of P. putida has already been successfully determined at 1.9 A. Whereas, G. suboxydans ADH has been crystallized and now under determination of the structure.
Published: 1997-04-01
Modified: 2016-04-21
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Henry and the White Wolf
Henry and the White Wolf By Tyler Karu and Tim Karu
Workman Publishing, 2000, 31 pages
Ages 4 to 8
Written and illustrated by a teenage brother and sister, this is an allegory about a sick hedgehog that is healed by the feared white wolf. Geared to help children cope with the physical discomforts and fears of prolonged medical treatment, this book can also be used with children whose parents and/or friends are ill. Included with the book is a stone for children to hold onto in hard times, a symbol, which parallels the story.
Samson's Tale
Samson's Tale Samson's Tale Story by Carla Mooney, Illustrated by Kathleen Spale
Publisher: Story Pie Press (2011) 32 Pages
Ages 4 to 8
Samson's Tale is a wonderfully written and warmly illustrated picture book that tells the story of a young boy with leukemia from his pet perspective. This wonderful story chronicles the boy's experience with chemotherapy and his illness. It may help young readers as well as their parents understand and appreciate a child's experience of coping with a blood cancer in a hopeful manner with the help of his loyal pet.
Stevie's New Blood
Stevie's New Blood By Kathryn Ulberg; Lilleby and Chad Chronick (Illustrator)
Oncology Nursing Press, 2000, 43 pages
Ages 6 to 10
Adapted and read by both older and younger children Stevie is undergoing bone marrow transplant (BMT) in the hopes that it will cure his leukemia. Anna, his sister - and donor - will learn what it is like to give her bone marrow. The story explains bone marrow and/or stem cell transplantation from a child's point of view and can be adapted for children of various ages. The book also can be adapted for the child whose parent is having a transplant or for the friend of a child undergoing BMT.


text:
ACA enrollment has been difficult for some people
Did you have trouble signing up for a health insurance plan through the Marketplace? See if you are considered to be "in line" for coverage.
Did you have trouble signing up for the Affordable Care Act health insurance? If so, you were not alone. Many people had difficulty accessing the system during the last few days of enrollment which ended March 31. If you were one of the people who were left with an unfinished application, you may be considered "in line" and will meet the criteria for applying on time for Marketplace health insurance.
Consumers who made a good faith effort to begin the application process or complete their enrollment before March 31 are considered to be "in line." For example, consumers who experienced a "system problem" would qualify as "in line" if the following occurred:
- The HealthCare.gov website was down due to planned or unplanned maintenance periods or other reasons
- Heavy traffic to HealthCare.gov or the Marketplace Call Center (including hold times at the Marketplace Call Center or experiencing a dropped call)
- Received a "data sources down" message on the online application or when applying through the Marketplace Call Center
- Not successfully passing identity proofing
- Other system issues that prevented them from finishing the enrollment process
Also, consumers are considered "in line" if they submitted a Medicaid application on or before March 31 but did not receive an eligibility determination prior to the close of open enrollment on March 31. In addition, individuals who applied for and received an eligibility determination before March 31 stating that they were not eligible for Medicaid but did not receive information from the Marketplace about how to proceed with applying for a Marketplace plan by this date will qualify for the "limited circumstances" under the Special Enrollment Process.
In addition, consumers in the following situations are also considered "in line":
- On or prior to March 31, attended an enrollment event sponsored by an assister organization but were turned away because of high demand
- On or prior to March 31, called or left a message seeking help from an assister
- On or prior to March 31, started an appointment with an assister but could not complete the application or enrollment
For more information on buying health insurance and the Affordable Care Act, see the Michigan State University Extension website called the Affordable Care Act Roadmap.


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Say you saw a car heading down a road that you knew had a bridge out several miles ahead. You wave your arms and shout a warning, trying to avert a terrible accident. How do you think the driver would react?
With gratitude, you'd hope, but you'd at least want the driver to stop and take heed. About the last thing you'd expect is for him to yell angrily, accuse you of lying, then continue to speed down the road.
That's the way the Laura and John Arnold Foundation must feel these days. For the past few years, they've been funding research into the health (or lack thereof, to be more precise) of government-employee pensions. Cash-strapped cities and municipalities are finding it harder and harder to meet their bills. Revenue sources are dropping, and financial obligations are rising.
Detroit filed for bankruptcy last year, in large part because of its underfunded government-employee pensions. According to Moody's, U.S. states and cities face more than $2 trillion in liabilities for such pensions. They're forcing governments nationwide to cut services significantly — and raise taxes.
Consider government-employee pensions in California. The average payout for new retirees doubled between 1999 and 2012, according to the Sacramento Bee: "The largest group of state workers is under a '2 at 55' formula." Under that plan, a government employee retiring at 55 with three decades of service would collect a pension equal to 60 percent of his or her highest salary for the rest of his or her life — with retiree health benefits added on top.
In short, the bridge is out. Something has to be done, but what? The Arnold Foundation has published papers that discuss shifting from a defined-benefit system for pensions, in which your company stipulates how much you'll be paid, to something closer to a defined-contribution one such as a 401(k), in which what you get depends on what you pay in, or a mix of the two.
Love it or hate it, at least they're considering possible solutions. They're trying to find some way to fix that bridge down the road. Their alternatives, they write, "would move plan sponsors toward a financially sound system." Isn't that everyone's goal?
Apparently not. Public-sector unions aren't content simply with voicing their disagreement with what the Arnold Foundation is proposing. No, they've been leaning on groups that accept Arnold funding — such as public television, the Pew Charitable Trusts and the Brookings Institution — to renounce the money. (The Heritage Foundation, which I served as president for 36 years, has never received any Arnold donations.)
According to a recent article in The Wall Street Journal: "The unions argue that the Arnold Foundation is trying to sway public opinion to support replacing public pensions — which give workers including police, firefighters and teachers guaranteed benefits at retirement — with defined-contribution accounts similar to 401(k)s, or hybrid approaches."
Perhaps I'm missing something, but when did it become out of bounds to try and "sway public opinion" in this country? Isn't that the whole point of free speech?
How instructive that the unions are reacting this way. It speaks volumes about how much confidence they have in their position that the current pension system is working just fine, thank you very much.
Of course, the current system isn't just fine, and you can bet the unions know no one can argue with a straight face that it is. Otherwise, that's what they'd be doing. Instead, they're resorting to thug tactics, such as intimidation — a smart (if indefensible) move when you don't have the facts on your side.
The facts plainly indicate that something has to be done. Silencing the Arnold Foundation won't magically make it so that cities and states won't have to cut pensions down the road when their financial situation becomes untenable. Just ask the Detroit employees whose pensions are being cut in bankruptcy proceedings.
If the government-employee unions think that the Arnold Foundation is that far off base, I have just one question: What's their solution?
- Ed Feulner is founder of the Heritage Foundation.
Originally appeared in The Washington Times


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1.1 oz.
A long-time classic that remains a favorite with anglers today. Mike's® Cheese Salmon Eggs are large, top-quality eggs processed and packed in a special cheese flavoring. The fluorescent, golden color makes this egg highly visible in any type of water, and the deadly combination of cheese flavoring and fluorescent color helps pull in hungry trout from greater distances. Excellent choice for stream, river or lake fishing. Packed in oil.


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This shirt was such a long time making. The biggest hiccup in the whole process was the loss of my sewing machine for a month due to it being in service. I finally rescued it and with great joy was able to finally finish it. I do think in the end, making it so slowly was actually for my benefit. I figured out some mistakes along the way that I'm not sure I would have totally realized until too late if I hadn't been forced to sew this shirt in so many small spaces of time.
The Cheyenne Tunic pattern is by Hey June. I've made her Lane Raglan many times and love it so much. I was anxious to see how this tunic would come together.
I used one of the Hipster Grizzly Plaid flannels by Kaufman. I love the feel of this flannel and it hangs really well for this shirt. It did end up being a little bit harder to work with than I had thought, primarily due to the thickness. It's not a super thin flannel and perhaps I might have done better if I would have made a muslin or even made this shirt first in a thinner cotton versus starting with the flannel.
Overall this is a very well written pattern. I ended up following the sew-along off her blog and it helped answer some questions that I had with the actual pattern directions.
One mistake I did make was putting these arms tabs on the outside instead of the inside. I realized after I posted the picture on instagram (doih!) that these darn things come up from the inside and hook onto a button on the outside. Even though I had already completed the sleeves etc, I was able to take them off and restitch them on the inside. I did decide to only include one pocket on the front instead of the written two.
I have never done plackets and cuffs before and I was super nervous about it. I'm still thinking that I did my cuffs backwards, but who will notice right? I did end up having to follow her directions on the sew-along and I watched a couple of other videos to help with sewing these together. I had a really hard time visualizing how they were supposed to work. But, yeah!, they all came together.
I feel like the placket on the front went in pretty well and I ended up finding some buttons at JoAnns thankfully. Fit wise it's a mix. The actual bodice fits me perfectly. The neckline is great and the shoulders are pretty square also. I've always got issues with sleeves and the sleeves area little long on me. When I make another one, I'll probably size down the sleeves actually and for sure make them shorter. I did end up shortening the cuffs a little bit when I was sewing, but I'd almost prefer them to be a little thinner than they are.


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All the latest Chris Wood news, dates and more are online at www.ChrisWoodMusic.co.uk
"Trespasser is my album of the year" Billy Bragg
The Irish Times heralded Chris Wood as "the renaissance man of English folk" when on his own R.U.F Records label he released The Lark Descending which included the BBC Folk Award winning song One In A Million in 2005.
Chris Wood is an uncompromising writer whose music reveals his love for the un-official history of the English speaking people. With gentle intelligence he weaves the tradition with his own contemporary parables, his writing has been said to share the same timeless quality as Richard Thompson at his best.
Since the release of The Lark Descending Wood's appeal has gone way beyond English folk music. He was invited to sing at last year's WOMEX where he garnered much praise and found many new followers. Likewise, his spot at this year's WOMAD festival was testament to his widening appeal.He has had musical commissions from BBC Radio 3's Late Junction and Between The Ears also from The Sage Gateshead and has completed work for Arts Council England whilst continuing his writing and lecturing.
BBC Folk Awards
Video clips
Chris Wood receiving 'Folk Singer of the Year' at the BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards 2009 from Rob Brydon and James Taylor. Chris's album 'Trespasser' was named Album of the Year.
Chris Wood is represented by Alan
Bearman Music • 020 7263 0425
Chris Wood 'Tresspasser'
"Chris Wood is one of the most stimulating and
inspirational teachers to have visited the Irish World Music Centre. He
is also one of the few tutors to have taught across several of our MA
programmes, from Music Therapy, to Ritual Song & Traditional Music
Performance. His ability to communicate with his students at the deepest
level is one of his particular gifts. His innate musicianship, expressed
through his passionate interest in the traditional music of England puts
him at the forefront of contemporary performers of this genre."
"I think Chris Wood is an incredible artist.... he combines stories
and music in such an original and completely melodic way."


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He was enthused enough to be considering an investment in such a project and asked for a presentation on the subject, in order to be more clear and committed to the notion.
After having covered city hall for a decade plus, as a neophyte reporter, and written about issues and personalities, conflicts, the passing of bylaws, and the community gut-wrenching debate over the values and the benefits of a peripheral shopping mall as compared with a similar shopping centre in the downtown core, I was asked to make a presentation on the validity and sustainability of a local newspaper that would focus on the deliberations, decisions and long-term planning of city hall, determined to put pressure on the elected politicians and their staff to "operate the business of the city on the premises and principles of a business. I accepted his invitation, and made the presentation.
Business transactions, by definition, in the micro-sense, require a customer, a supplier, a determined price, and the passing of a good or service from one to the other. In a macro-sense, the level of the supply of the product or service, the level of demand for that service and the current cultural context in which the transaction is occurring, as well as the detailed calculations on the cost of production, and the benefits to be derived from the transaction all go into the production, marketing, demonstrating, selling and distributing the product or service. Business operators are compelled by the demands of their market forces, including their competition, the proximity to raw materials and skilled labour, and the distance from their target market, to build in detailed monitoring systems that compare the operations of their competitors and discern the intricate cost-saving steps that can and will make their business more profitable. Their investors, too, and the dividends they demand, play an integral role in the governance of the business, and compared with the need to keep the customer happy, require even more detailed and disciplined attention.
Profit, measured both by the return on investment for investors, and the gap between the cost of the operation and the total of the sum of the sales revenue, for a more daily accounting, is the core operating principle of the business, There is nothing wrong with the dimensions of the various business models, unless and until the quality of the product/service does not meet the minimal standards expected by the customer, or unless and until the market forces driving the operation shift so dramatically that they render the production or the consumption redundant, outdated, environmentally hazardous or subject to taxes or tarriffs that make the price too high to be sustained.
However, there is virtually no comparison between the demands of running a city government and the demands of operating a for-profit business. Of course, there are discreet costs of purchasing sand and salt to pour on the roads during winter storms, without having any reliable prediction of the size of the need except the history of such purchases over the last half century. And there are also direct and discreet costs to purchasing paper to prepare and mail out tax bills, as well as labour costs to process the collection of those taxes. And there are other labour costs in building inspection, roads crews, planning officers who implement official plans, and serve as the city's brain and voice in Municipal Board hearings on new applications for land development. And then there are the costs of buying, operating, repairing and insuring a transit system and the reasonable and bearable costs to the riders, which could never fully generate a profit, dependent as every city is on senior government support for transit, among other aspects of civic government. Provincial inspection is required and necessary to assure the quality of drinking water, to assure residents that their garbage and sewage is being appropriately disposed, and to provide safe and secure access to services like electricity, gas, and more recently green power energies, in co-operating with private business enterprises.
And while, in Ontario, at least, city governments are not permitted to run deficits in their budgets, and they are expected to be able to provide at least five-year projections and plans, there are clearly responsibilities, like the raging fires in Fort MacMurray, followed tragically by days of rain-generated floods, that far exceed the normal capacity of tax payers to bear. If abnormal amounts of snow fall in any given winter, the snow-plow budget will be fully spent by mid-winter. If water rises and threatens homes and businesses due to excessive rain falls, sand bags, evacuation procedures, extra security protection, rescue operations, for which the city may not have fully budgeted in their contingency account, will empty the "disaster relief" or "emergency" budget, and petitions for assistance will go out to senior levels of government. If an epidemic breaks out in the local school system, and the health of students and teachers is threatened, the public health officials will have to take extra and often extreme measures to counter the impact of the outbreak. And while some city governments have included labour unions for their workforce, there are always labour negotiations needed to renew those contracts, and the limits of the city negotiators will include directives from the council based on what is considered the limit the taxpayers will accept as an increase in their annual tax bills. And, built into the "cake" of these negotiations, and into all other decisions of the city government is the need for current elected officials to be able to go to their voters and to explain their reasons for their respective votes on significant matters of public policy.
So there are numerous significant differences between the operation and the culture of a government operation and a for-profit business. Included in that list are:
- the complexity of the forces determining all decisions in government
- the dependence of an informed and engaged public in the effective functioning of a government
- the absence of a special group of investors from government, which includes the potential participation of each citizen as an equal protector of the system
- the issues and the unpredictability of their dimensions under the umbrella of civic government
- the differences between a government budget and a business plan with sales and revenue projections on a scale dependent on the size of the business commitment and investment
- the difference between a flow of new residents into a jurisdiction and a new market niche on which business growth is built
- the adaptability and flexibility of a for-profit business as compared with the institutional aspects, history and political parameters of the voters' expectations and demands
- the necessity of secure services for water, energy, roads and sanitation to all tenants and property owners regardless of their income size, address, or preferred choice of supplier
- the integration of all governments with other levels of government who share responsibility for their operation, as compared with the discreet and independent modus operandi of the for-profit business
There will always be those, like taxpayer watchdogs, at all levels of government, who monitor and criticize the way tax money is spent, and who wish that those in government were "more responsible" in their care and custody of the public purse than they are, and who believe, sincerely no doubt, that the criteria surrounding a business decision are precisely the same as those that govern the political decision. That, clearly is not the case.
The criteria for many of the decisions of a government are much more dependent on the perceived, and possibly measured by public opinion polls, public perception of the 'right thing to do'...as in the need to completely renew the hard services down a main street, after nearly a century of neglect, a neglect based primarily on the respective goal of all councils to "keep the tax rate as low as possible" in order to more certainly ensure their own re-election. When those hard services are so broken and deteriorated as to be little more than round holes in the dirt where once there were iron pipes for storm and waste sewers, the job really cannot be postponed any longer. And when the council appointed almost by history to do the 'big dig' and complete the services makes the decision to proceed, (usually with the financial support of senior government) they then prepare the arguments for their own re-election campaign, demonstrating the long-term investment decisions of their term.
The public media is also much more interested in the details of all civic government issues, including the background, and the bond issue if required, and the potential impact on the tax rate, and the long-term political aspirations of the elected men and women.
Those men and women, too, are daily encountering their voters, both supporters and critics, and are having to account for their respective votes, a very different climate and ethos in which decisions are made, Whereas, the for-profit executive must reach agreement with his team and his investors, the mayor and council have to have the confidence of their rate payers, in order so attain and sustain the trust of the electorate in the broad range of government decisions.
Needless to say, following the presentation, some ninety minutes later, the independent businessman thanked me for the presentation, commented briefly that the differences had been clearly depicted, and suggested that his original premise of mounting a newspaper to foster civic government based on for-profit business operating principles was one he need not spend more time contemplating.