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By LR5491
on 10-Dec-2019
By josielupita
Ontario, California on 01-Dec-2019
By 785merrillw
on 09-Nov-2019
By juliethegardener
Walnut Creek, California on 01-Nov-2019
By Skyepooh48
on 27-Oct-2019


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YACHT MANAGEMENT | Team is richly experience
The Floating Life Yacht Management Team is richly experienced in all aspects of Yacht Management. Our specialists will guide and support Owners and Captains in Accounting and Financial Administration, Crew Support, Technical Management, Insurance Support, Interior and Exterior Follow-Up Refurbishment, Logistics and Purchasing. In compliance with the International Organization for Standardization (ISO) standards, we are certified ISO 9001:2015 in quality management system for the services we provide in Yacht Management.
ACCOUNTING & FINANCIAL | Administration
Our account personnel has extensive experience that allows us to provide an accurately predicted budget, set-up an appropriate accounting system and analyse expenditure. We provide a realistic operating budget based upon our assessment of the Yacht and her planned usage. We train Captains to familiarise them with procedures. We arrange for delivery of funds to the Yacht and payment to suppliers. We also monitor all expenditure, supply detailed and transparent monthly/quarterly accounts to the Owners.
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Floating Life Yacht Management provides a Crew management service to support in th smooth and effective running of Yacht human resources, such as: verifying qualifications, monitoring certification & medical insurances, travel expenses, handling contract negotiation, defining objectives and performance assessment. We assist in Crew recruitment to ensure the best-suited Crew are selected.
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To protect the value of Owners' assets, Floating Life Yacht Management Technical Team assists in maintenance and refitting of Yachts. Yachts conditions are monitored constantly through recurrent visits on-board and using job lists to schedule maintenance works with shipyards, subcontractors and Crew. We assess experience and skills of all companies carrying out the work to ensure the best and most cost-effective results.
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LOGISTIC & PURCHASING | Client-oriented
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subset: commoncrawl


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Wednesday, December 5, 2012
7 comments MMQB Review: A Eulogy in Haiku Form Edition
On Sunday morning, I was talking to Joe Linta, the agent for the late Jovan Belcher, about the state of mind that might have made the Chiefs linebacker shoot his live-in girlfriend nine times with his own mother in the house and then, less than an hour later at the Chiefs' training facility, put the same gun to his head and pull the trigger.
"In this crazy state of mind he must have been in,'' Linta said, "I truly believe he didn't go to the facility to make a spectacle of himself, or to do anything like Columbine. If you knew the kid, you knew how grateful he was for what he'd been given, with the chance to play in the NFL. I believe he went there for one reason -- to thank them. To thank Scott Pioli and Romeo Crennel for helping make his dream of being an NFL player come true.''
Absolutely not. Belcher wasn't trying to make a spectacle or anything of the like. He murdered his girlfriend by shooting her nine times and then just wanted to thank Pioli and Crennel for all they did for him before he committed suicide. In a way, it's very precocious what Belcher did.
Linta didn't know how right he was.
Belcher was just a good kid who wanted to thank his coach and General Manager for taking a chance on him as an undrafted free agent. He shot the bitch because she got in the way of this apology.
Belcher made the team as a special-teamer and backup inside linebacker. The next year, when Crennel arrived as defensive coordinator, Belcher became a two-down inside linebacker, starting and coming off the field on passing downs. He started 41 of 43 games under Crennel's tutelage, and he played well enough last season to merit a substantial raise: He signed a one-year deal for $1.927 million this offseason.
But according to Bob Costas, if Belcher didn't have access to a gun then he and his girlfriend would still be alive now. A 250 pound linebacker who makes $1.9 million per year has no way of obtaining a gun or finding a way to kill someone if guns aren't legal to purchase.
I have only one recollection of Belcher before Saturday.
Because this tragedy needs to seen through what memories Peter King has of Jevan Belcher. Don't worry if this seems somewhat insincere and self-centered, Peter also memorializes Belcher's girlfriend at the end of this MMQB in the form of a haiku.
A hard-trying everyman. Every roster has 20 of them: low-round picks or free agents, fighting to stay in the league, fighting for the big contract, hoping to make enough money to do what Belcher did -- buy a Bentley, lease a home in a prosperous neighborhood, invite his girlfriend to live with him, and welcome their child into the world, which Belcher, 25, and Kasandra Perkins, 22, did this year.
A storybook existence if there ever was one...at least until Belcher murdered his girlfriend and made his child an orphan.
At one point while the two men were alone in the parking lot, the source said, Belcher said to Pioli: "I came here to tell you thank you. Thank you for my chance. I love you, bro.''
The source said Pioli tried to calm Belcher, but had little success. At one point, Belcher asked Pioli, "Can I talk to Romeo and Gary?'' Crennel and Gibbs, he meant.
Thanks for clearing that up. I initially thought Belcher wanted to talk to Romeo from the House of Capulet and Gary Glitter.
There will be counselors, for players who felt they didn't do enough to recognize Belcher's desperation, and for the three men who witnessed a man killing himself with a gunshot to the head. The counselors, according to one grief counselor I spoke with Sunday, will probably say something like this: Jovan made a decision by himself, having nothing to do with any of you. To Jovan, personal business had to be taken care of, and there was nothing that you could have done, so you can't punish yourself.
I don't know how a murder-suicide can be described in any way as "personal business" like Belcher had to step away from football for a few months for his mental health.
The fans at the game, Brady Quinn told me, "were amazing. We haven't given them much to cheer this year, but they came out and encouraged us from the minute we came out of the locker room. It was emotional. You just can't thank them enough for making the day OK.''
Then some things started happening that hadn't happened to the Chiefs in this miserable, fire-everyone year. The Chiefs had turned it over a league-high 32 times in their 1-10 start, and here they were, efficient. Touchdown, field goal, touchdown by halftime, and they led the Panthers 17-14 at the break. At one point, Quinn, a career 53 percent passer, completed 14 passes in a row -- the longest consecutive-completion streak of his NFL career. "I don't know what happened,'' said Quinn, a very religious man.
"Things" didn't just start happening and I can tell Brady Quinn exactly what happened. The Panthers aren't a very good team and they can't stop the run. The Chiefs were able to run the ball, which meant Quinn was able to get good matchups in the passing game and he played well. God or some magical angel didn't do it, the Chiefs did it.
"I'd like to think maybe I had some help, somewhere, from No. 59 [Belcher]. But no, I can't explain it.''
How nice of Belcher to go to the lengths of killing his girlfriend and then himself to help the Chiefs win games. It would have been nicer if he had just helped the Chiefs to win games while alive on the football field, but he had "personal business" to attend to it seems. Also, I'm not getting religious or anything, but Belcher isn't an angel helping the Chiefs win a game. He's a person who committed murder before turning the gun on himself, not an angel looking over the shoulder of his team as if this were some Disney movie.
Dormant players, disappointing players, woke up. Jonathan Baldwin caught his first touchdown pass of the year. Peyton Hillis ran for his first touchdown of the year. Tony Moeaki caught his first touchdown pass of the year.
Shit like this happens when you play the Panthers. The handicapped shall walk again, the blind shall see, and the mediocre shall quickly become very good NFL players. These are the miracles the Carolina Panthers are able to produce. If anything, the Panthers are the angels that helped the Chiefs win this game.
In the locker room, weary Chiefs players didn't know what emotion to have. Crennel told them to be sure to remember the family of Kasandra Perkins.
Oh yeah, her.
Tom Brady made history. (I have a feeling I'll be writing that sentence a few more times in my career, and his.)
Now there's a bold prediction. An active quarterback who will most likely go in the Hall of Fame quarterback is making history. Do tell.
No quarterback until Sunday had ever won 10 division titles in a career.
This is really as much of a team award as it is an individual award. Enough of all this talk about Tom Brady and how much history he is making, I want to hear what recollections Peter King has of Tom Brady. That's all that really matters and is the best way for me to have perspective on Brady's NFL career.
Charlie Batch gets the biggest win of his NFL life. And he's going to be sore when he wakes up this morning.
I said in the comments of a previous post that the odds Peter King takes back what he said the week before about Charlie Batch were 25%. Looks like the 75% won because Peter makes no mention of being wrong or explaining how a quarterback who he just last week believed shouldn't be the third quarterback on the Steelers team led a road win over the Ravens.
Last week: "What are the Steelers thinking having Charlie Batch as their third string quarterback? He's not able to move around and be productive enough to win games."
This week: "Charlie Batch is amazing. He can still toss that football around the field and lead his team to big wins when necessary."
The win, Batch said, was particularly emotional because, as he said, "I played bad last week, and I just figured Ben would probably come back this week, and maybe that's the last game I ever start in the NFL. To have one more chance, and to have it be a win over Baltimore, in Baltimore, it can't be much better.''
Peter King still thinks you are a bum, Charlie Batch.
Brady Quinn, drafted by the Browns in 2007, hasn't had a lot of great moments in the NFL. In fact, he hasn't had a lot of good ones. But yesterday was a great day for Quinn, and for his Chiefs. He was the most mature adult in the room -- the room being the entire NFL -- in Week 13 when he eloquently used his post-game platform to address the larger society and how it may have failed Jovan Belcher. "When you ask someone how they are doing, do you really mean it? When you answer someone back how you are doing, are you really telling the truth? We live in a society of social networks, with Twitter pages and Facebook, and that's fine, but we have contact with our work associates, our family, our friends, and it seems like half the time we are more preoccupied with our phone and other things going on instead of the actual relationships that we have right in front of us. Hopefully, people can learn from this and try to actually help if someone is battling something deeper on the inside than what they are revealing on a day-to-day basis."
Very deep. Good luck working on NFL players REALLY telling you how they are doing. The bottom line is when you ask someone how they are doing, you are being polite. I get what Quinn is saying, and while he's teaching us all a good lesson, did he ever take the time to find out if Belcher was battling something deeper than he was revealing? This is great advice after the fact, but from all reports no Chiefs player had a clue something was wrong with Belcher. It wasn't simply because the Chiefs players were too busy checking Twitter and Facebook either.
I'll be at FedEx Field tonight for the Giants-Washington game. I've got a good Sunday conversation with Russell Wilson in my notebook, and I plan to write about the rookie quarterback class for my mailbag Tuesday ...
Please do tell us about your conversation with Russell Wilson. Also, update us on Andrew Luck. How is he REALLY feeling. Does his neckbeard itch? What kind of music does he listen to? Look longingly in his eyes and ask the tough questions like, "When you are playing so well, what does it feel like to be so awesome?"
This week is a little different. I noticed that Jovan Belcher played only three defensive snaps in Week 12 against Denver in his first non-starting game of the season; he'd averaged 34 snaps a game on defense prior to last Sunday. So after the murder-suicide that took the lives of Belcher and his girlfriend Kasandra Perkins, I asked PFF.com czar Neil Hornsby to analyze just what kind of player Belcher, an undrafted free agent from the University of Maine in 2009, was.
I don't get this for a couple of reasons. Mainly, I don't get how what kind of player Belcher was is incredibly relevant in this situation. I realize this is a football column and Belcher was a football player, but quantifying what kind of NFL player he was seems irrelevant at best. In the same column where Peter uses Brady Quinn's words to determine what is really going on with a person and where there is an orphaned child and two dead parents it seems strangely out of place to try and sum up Belcher's football career. Maybe I'm the only one who feels this way.
1. New England (9-3). What a schedule over the next two months, of games scheduled and not (yet) scheduled. Tick ... tick ... tick.
2. Houston (11-1). Just seven days until Texans-Pats, Monday-nighter, Foxboro.
3. San Francisco (8-3-1). Just 13 days until Niners-Pats, Sunday-nighter, Foxboro.
4. Denver (9-3). Just 48 days until Broncos-Pats, AFC Championship Game, Foxboro.
5. Atlanta (11-1). Just 62 days until Falcons-Pats, Super Bowl XLVII, New Orleans.
(OK! I hear you! Time to stop the stupid Patriots schtick!)
Why do I have a feeling Peter King is going to end up picking a different Super Bowl matchup than Falcons-Patriots once the playoffs start and then if it ends up being Falcons-Patriots he will want to take credit for this prediction? It would be very Easterbrookian of him.
7. Pittsburgh (7-5). In the immortal words of the most famous sportscaster in the history of Mason, Ohio, "You cannot stop Charlie Batch. You can only hope to contain him."
Last week Charlie Batch was nothing but a bum to Peter King.
8. Green Bay (8-4). Randall Cobb and James Jones: 108 catches, 16 touchdowns. Did you honestly think Aaron Rodgers' fourth and fifth options in his passing game this season would be that good?
The problem is these aren't Aaron Rodgers' fourth and fifth options in the passing game. Greg Jennings has been injured for much of this season and Donald Driver isn't the third option in the passing game anymore. So these are Rodgers' second and third options in the passing game. And yes, if I had known Gregg Jennings was going to miss a good portion of this season then I could see how Jones and Cobb would combine to have a pretty good season. Granted, maybe not this good, but it isn't like Jones has shown himself to be a complete bum over past seasons.
10. Seattle (7-5). Seattle will win the sixth playoff seed in the NFC, and maybe the fifth, by winning three of four down the stretch against a schedule that has 3-1 possibilities: Arizona, at Buffalo, San Francisco, St. Louis. Three of the last four in the din of CenturyLink Field. I like the Seahawks' chances.
We have a nice, big contradiction here. Just last week Peter King stated,
Adam Schefter broke the news last night just after the Seahawks' charter lifted off from South Florida to go home from a loss at Miami: Seattle cornerbacks Richard Sherman and Brandon Browner were handed four-game suspensions for violating the league performance-enhancing drugs policy...Seattle's December: at Chicago, Arizona, at Buffalo, San Francisco, St. Louis. Looks like 3-2 with Sherman, 2-3 without him to me.
Now Peter is saying he sees the Seahawks going 3-1 over the last four games. I guess one week is all Peter needed to see how wrong he was going to be. Of course most of us knew Peter was wrong by being reactionary towards the loss of these Seahawks corners. I wrote,
When the Seahawks go 4-1 over this stretch we will read Peter King just absolutely flabbergasted the Seahawks were able to do this. The Seahawks exceeded his expectations...no, OUR expectations. See "everyone" had the Seahawks written off based on Peter's pure speculation of their record without Sherman and Browner.
If you read MMQB every week and some of these little predictions aren't really that bold. The Seahawks are a good team and it seems silly to knock them to 2-3 over the last five games...at least to me. I guess Peter agrees with me on second thought.
13. Tampa Bay (6-6). Bucs will need a lot of help to make the playoffs because of Seattle's win at Soldier Field Sunday.
14. Indianapolis (8-4).
I think Peter is overranking the Bucs a bit here. The Colts are probably a better team at this point.
Andrew Luck threw a 42-yard touchdown strike while being tackled from behind in Detroit -- 42 yards from where he threw the ball to where LaVon Brazil caught it in the end zone. Luck makes some bad throws sometimes, but he's resilient and cold-blooded.
I guess whether it is fine for a quarterback to make bad throws all depends on whether Peter likes the quarterback enough to let him off the hook or whether the quarterback is resilient and cold-blooded, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean.
Then Peter chooses five offensive players as "Offensive Player of the Week." Why not just get rid of the category if you aren't going to choose one player? That's the purpose isn't it? Offensive PLAYER (singular) of the week.
Greg Zuerlein, K, St. Louis. So Zuerlein missed a 58-yard field goal attempt early and the Legend of The Leg was getting tarnished. But he booted a 53-yarder as time expired in the fourth quarter to send the game to overtime, then nailed a 54-yarder straight down Broadway with 26 seconds left in overtime to beat the mighty Niners 16-13. "I was just trying to make that kick and not think about anything,'' said Zuerlein of his game-winner. He did a good job.
It helps tremendously that he is so precocious. "Greg the Leg," more like "Greg that cutie-pie precocious kicker," amirightorwhat, Peter?
Romeo Crennel, head coach, Kansas City. Anyone who can witness one of his favorite players shooting himself in the head from a few yards away, then prepare his team to play a football game, and then coach that game 28 hours after the suicide -- he doesn't deserve Coach of the Week, he deserves to go give advice to Army Rangers about the focus it takes to excel.
Yes, Army Rangers can learn a thing or two from Romeo Crennel. Army Rangers taught by Romeo Crennel. I know Crennel is tough for seeing a guy blow his brains out, but I have trouble seeing Romeo Crennel (or nearly any NFL coach) giving advice on the focus it takes to excel to Army Rangers.
Factoid of the Week That May Interest Only Me
Our new college football maven at I, Pete Thamel, told me a great little fact I didn't know for the "Sports Illustrated NFL Podcast with Peter King" this week that I wanted to pass along.
Russell Wilson transferred from North Carolina State to Wisconsin to play his last season in 2011 because he had a baseball career option and wouldn't commit to playing spring football for the Wolfpack. And coach Tom O'Brien wanted his quarterback to play spring football, which backup Mike Glennon would do. Add to that the fact that Glennon might have transferred with two seasons of eligibility left if Wilson had been the starting quarterback for his final year in 2011.
This isn't really a "factoid," but instead is a college football story that played out a year ago. It was pretty big news since Wisconsin didn't have a quarterback and Wilson was seen as a quarterback who could help Wisconsin win a national title or put Wisconsin in the national title hunt...which Wilson did end up doing. This story interested a lot of people a year ago and passing this story along now is like passing along an NBA "factoid" about how Anthony Davis was 6'4" in high school and now he is 6'10". Neither of these stories are really "factoids" and the story about Wilson transferring to Wisconsin is a story that those who follow college football already knew.
Glennon, a 6-foot-6 prospect who should be picked in the top 50 of next April's draft, threw for 6,702 yards in two years, with 61 touchdowns and 26 interceptions.
Everything worked out great for all involved. Except, I guess, for O'Brien, who was fired last week. The 15-10 record in Glennon's two seasons wasn't good enough.
It's not that the 15-10 record wasn't good enough, it was that the consistent averageness of the N.C. State program wasn't good enough. O'Brien had a 40-35 record as N.C. State head coach.
Five games in five cities in seven days. Taking it back further, seven games in seven cities in 11 days. Popovich has a veteran team. Translation: old. And his responsibility is to his team, and not to TNT or the NBA. He should respect the league and the network televising the games, which he did by his team playing the a great game against the Heat and actually leading with a minute to go before losing.
I understand Stern trying to protect the best interests of the NBA. But in baseball, older star players get days off often, at least a couple a month. In football, many teams with nothing to play for in Week 16 or 17 (or both) take the week off. I'm sure the same thing happens in hockey. A coach should do what's best for his team, and if some fans are ticked off about it, I've got a suggestion for Stern: Don't ask teams to play a grueling sport four times in four cities in five nights.
As much as it might pain me, I agree with Peter on this issue. Gregg Popovich has a responsibility to his team, not to the Heat fans or to TNT. Yeah, Heat fans can be pissed off they showed up to see Duncan and Parker play, but they still saw a really good game. Plus, what kind of fans have Wade and LeBron on their team and can see them 41 games of the year, but get pissy because the opposing team didn't bring their best players? I don't even think Heat fans were upset, instead I think David Stern is just overreaching and proving why his tenure as NBA commissioner needs to end sooner rather than in February 2013 (or whatever date he picked). Stern is overrated as a commissioner and there is as long of a list of things he has screwed up as improvements he has made to the NBA game.
1. I think this is what I liked about Week 13:
If Peter's five "Offensive Player of the Week" picks are any indication, at some point Peter will just say he liked everything during Week 13.
b. John Abraham, the Atlanta defensive end, perennially underappreciated.
Usually I find when a sportswriter says a player is "underappreciated" I take it to mean he is underappreciated because the sports media doesn't give him the credit he is due. I'm not sure Abraham is underappreciated. He just signed a three year $16.72 million (the hyperspecificity of that deal must drive Gregg Easterbrook crazy) and he has made 4 Pro Bowls and 3 All-Pro teams.
f. Said it before this year and I'll say it again: Green Bay wide receiver James Jones is as underrated as any other receiver in the league. Look at the highlight of the first touchdown of the Green Bay-Minnesota game, how Jones picked the touchdown pass off the head of the Vikings DB in the end zone. What hands.
g. Amazing, isn't it, how quickly Randall Cobb has become the go-to guy for Aaron Rodgers?
Phenomenal. Shocking. It's almost like Aaron Rodgers makes his receivers better football players.
j. I didn't like the story, but it's a heck of a story, Jay Glazer's report that a Browns groundskeeper hanged himself at the Browns' practice facility Saturday.
Well, if the groundskeeper had killed his girlfriend then maybe Peter would care enough to evaluate the groundskeeper's ability when it comes to working on the Browns' field.
k. Congrats on your first NFL touchdown reception, MMQB guest columnist/Colts tight end Coby Fleener.
Remember NFL players, be nice to Peter King early in your career and you can guarantee positive coverage throughout your playing career. Every time Peter mentions Coby Fleener, he mentions he wrote a guest column for MMQB this past summer...not that it affects Peter's coverage of Fleener of course. Not at all. Fleener was the only NFL player to get his first career touchdown catch this past weekend.
l. Good camera work, FOX, catching Adrian Peterson looking up at the scoreboard for intelligence on the defenders chasing him on an 82-yard touchdown run.
This isn't the first time a camera has caught a player looking up at the scoreboard for intelligence on how many defenders are chasing him and where these defenders are at on the field. I read an article a few years ago about how why NFL players do this, so it seems pretty well known NFL players are prone to checking out the scoreboard or JumboTron. Good camera work by FOX, but this sort of thing happens fairly frequently, so it isn't out of the ordinary.
r. Speaking of clutch Steelers, how about the forced fumble by James Harrison? You just don't count the Steelers out.
Says the sportswriter who counted out the Steelers last week because they have Charlie Batch as their quarterback.
2. I think this is what I didn't like about Week 13:
b. I don't like the Chiefs-Panthers proceeding as normal, but I can't get too exercised about it, for a few reasons. First: The NFL's not going to cancel the game, so the game has to be played by the end of the regular season, Dec. 30. So if you postpone the game, when will you play it? Anything beyond Monday night and it makes players play on a short week, jammed in between games each team has every Sunday in December.
Considering these were two teams who were mathematically eliminated from the playoffs...how about don't play the game at all or have the players go on a short week? When has the NFL ever given a shit about making their players play on a short week? At least in this instance there would be a good reason to do so.
Second: Does it really matter if the game is pushed to Monday? Is that time enough to mourn and heal and get over the incomprehensible? Is playing 31 hours later much of a difference?
No, it is a gesture and is more symbolic than anything else. Plus, it prevents anyone from having to see two bad teams play each other. Not playing this game was in the best interests of the public as a whole simply because the two teams have been so bad this year.
e. Andrew Luck makes too many careless downfield throws. Terrible late-first-half pick in Detroit.
But...but...he is relentless and cold-blooded. That makes his interceptions absolutely no problem at all.
k. Questionable clock management and playcalling by Jim Harbaugh late. That's being nice.
Harbaugh does call Peter back, gives Peter good quotes and has an overall good relationship with Peter, so in return Peter does feel like he has to be nice to Harbaugh.
3. I think some good reporting came across the internet this morning, the story by Steve Fainaru and Mark Fainaru-Wada documenting 28 more cases of chronic brain damage in dead former football players. Fifteen played in the NFL, including Ollie Matson and John Mackey, who were Hall of Fame players. Boston University researchers continue to pave the way in this important subject.
I can't wait for Andrea Kremer to do a story on this for her new NFL Network show only to have the NFL refuse to air it because they question the validity of the research and want to have their own researchers "look into" this study.
10. I think these are my non-football thoughts of the week:
a. Rick Majerus won't go down as the greatest basketball coach ever, and many will remember his girth as much as his victories.
People will also remember he was accused of berating Lance Allred and mocking him for being deaf.
That's how I remember Majerus. He could be a bully at times, but he was also a great coach at times.
e. Be Glad You Don't Drive And Live in New York Dept.: Live in Jersey and go into the city through the Lincoln or Holland Tunnel, and your toll rose from $8 to $12 in September 2011. This weekend it went up to $13. Just another reason for the rest of the country to shake its head at New York City.
This from a guy who rode the train all the way back to Boston for a doctor's visit (there are no good doctors in New York City apparently). Peter is also a guy who probably buys 2-3 (or at least 1) $3 coffee per day from Starbucks or another coffee shop. The toll went up $1. Wasn't this tunnel flooded due to Hurricane Sandy? If so, be glad the toll only went up $1. If this increase is to help offset the cost of cleaning out the tunnels, then these are unfortunately the type of price increases that must occur to help pay to repair the city.
f. Bowl fever, baby. The Military Bowl, in Washington. Bowling Green versus San Jose State. The weirdest matchup, in a place a combined 3,700 miles from the two campuses.
Peter does realize bowl games aren't supposed to take place close to each team's campus, right? Bowl games are about money and finding two teams to play in order to make money. They aren't about playing games close to one team's campus.
j. Had a swell time at the Boston Ad Club's Sports+Entertainment Summit Thursday. Thanks for the invitation and the chance to talk to some good people.
You're welcome? Shouldn't this "thank you" go towards the people who organized this summit and not the entire MMQB readership? But no, Peter insists on publicly thanking people/organizations/inanimate objects in MMQB.
The Adieu Haiku
Kasandra Perkins.
Romeo remembered her.
We all should. Often.
Nothing like eulogizing Perkins in the form of a haiku. Boston Ad Club's Sports+Entertainment Summit get an entire sentence thanking them, while Kasandra Perkins got a haiku. I know Belcher's agent states he didn't intend to "do anything like Columbine," but it turns out that's exactly what he did. He committed murder and then turned the gun on himself to avoid paying a societal penalty for his actions. But hey, at least ProFootballFocus has quantified what kind of NFL player he was and the Chiefs will always have Belcher looking down helping them to win games.
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"I'd like to think maybe I had some help, somewhere, from No. 59 [Belcher]. But no, I can't explain it.''
That fucking pisses me off. Quinn actually had a couple of decent things to say, but implying that Divine Intervention from a dead teammate, who just so happens to be A FUCKING MURDERER, had anything to do with the Chiefs win is offensive in every level possible.
It's bad enough listening to Peter blather on about how Chuck Pagano's Pagano's cancer is inspiring the Colts to new heights, but for him and Quinn to imply that a man who murdered his girlfriend and orphaned his child would somehow lead to God bringing about a Cheifs victory...I have no words for how much of an out-of-touch moron a person has to be to actually believe that shit.
Tell that bullshit to their daughter who gets to grow up with no mother because her Dad murdered her. Tell her how God cares more about the Chiefs winning than her growing up with parents. Tell her how her Daddy killing her mother and himself led to Tony Moeaki and Peyton Hillis' first TD's of the year and a Chiefs win. I'm sure those words will comfort her when she's a young lady and has no mother to talk to.
Peter's midget co-worker gave us all a stern lecture about keeping sports in their proper perspective the other night. Maybe Costas should give Peter the same advice.
- December 5, 2012 at 4:29 PM
I wonder if the game couldn't be postponed to Monday because of the MNF contract with ESPN. Because I imagine the game was going to be televised by FOX no matter what (I don't imagine FOX would just leave an NFL game on a Monday night off national TV especially with this backstory), and I wonder if ESPN didn't want to compete with FOX, even if they staggered the times at 7 pm and 8:30 pm.
Maybe they could have played the game Tuesday like that one game in Detroit a couple years ago?
- December 5, 2012 at 5:01 PM
"In this crazy state of mind he must have been in,'' Linta said, "I truly believe he didn't go to the facility to make a spectacle of himself, or to do anything like Columbine.
Oh ya, he was in a crazy state of mind, shot his gf 9 times, kissed her (while she was still alive no less), apologized to her and then drove to his meeting... but his agent knows categorically that he wasn't going to make a spectacle of himself.
Again, he shot his gf NINE fucking times and his first reaction is to kiss her and go to practice. Not immediately call 911, not turn the gun on himself, but to act like a god damn psychopath.
If you knew the kid, you knew how grateful he was for what he'd been given, with the chance to play in the NFL.
And nothing saying grateful like putting a bullet into your brain in front of the people you care so much about.
When I get my Xmas gifts this year, I'm going to show my gratefullness by stabbing myself in the neck with an ice pick.
A hard-trying everyman.
This is the kind of shit that has been bothering me the past few days. Here in KC people are still trying to rationalize his behavior: "he was a nice guy!" "he was a great teammate!"
It's fucking pathetic. When you murder someone, that's it, you're done. I don't give a shit if you donated 18 trillion dollars to charity, you're done. The minute you decide to end someone's life (unless it's in self-defense), you should be stripped of your ability to have nice things said about you.
Some guy was interviewed on the news and said "well some women just know how to push your buttons"... then dump them. They weren't married, so his financial hit would have been limited to child support. The fact this dipshit thought shooting her 9 times in front of their daughter and her mother is absolutely indefensible.
How do you rationalize those thoughts? He was a great guy, who just happened to shoot his gf 9 times and then drive to practice so he could kill himself in front of his coaches? Fuck him.
"Can I talk to Romeo and Gary?''
And Pioli, being the brilliant man he is, actually had them come out to talk to Belcher.
"Ya, I know he's muttering about how he just killed his gf and he's carrying a gun, but you guys need to come out here and listen to him thank you."
You know what you do when someone has a gun and asks you to get other people there? You tell him to put the fucking gun away first. Better yet, put them on SPEAKERPHONE. Pioli put two of his coaches in a situation where they easily could have been killed. Genius.
I don't know how a murder-suicide can be described in any way as "personal business"
Seriously. I don't get the media's reaction to shit anymore. Peter gets more worked up about Cam Newton overthrowing a guy in the end zone than he does about a murder-suicide.
Romeo from the House of Capulet
You missed the "Romeo from the (International) House of Pancakes" joke!
Thank you for writing this, holy shitballs is PK insufferable.
- December 5, 2012 at 6:18 PM
Also, Romeo was a Montague; Juliet was the Capulet.
Look at me correcting people like it actually matters.
- December 6, 2012 at 1:47 AM
- Bengoodfella said...
Zidane, I looked that up too. I can't even read. I was trying to be historically correct with my Shakespeare references and still messed them up.
I have to think of an excuse. Here it is, I watched "Homeland" Monday night and was still thinking about that show which stars Claire Danes, who we all know played Juliet Capulet in the remake of "Romeo and Juliet." So when looking it up, my mind went to Capulet b/c I was so enamored with the "Homeland" from the night before. There, done. Excuse given.
I don't even know when they could have postponed the game. I think I'm just looking for excuses not to watch the Panthers play at this point. It cast a pall over the game, but if the players wanted to play, so be it.
Jack, after the game Dwayne Bowe tweeted a picture of him saying it was for Belcher. I know he was their friend and I get it, but there's such a gap sometimes in what some athletes think is fine to do and the rest of the free world believes.
That is all true. I tried not to be sanctimonious about this, but I don't understand how Belcher is helping the Chiefs win games or anything like that. It's nice to believe Belcher was there looking out for them, but it's hard to hear that considering the circumstances. Maybe he had issues from concussions or committed the murder for some other reason I can't/won't understand, but the fact is he killed a person and made his daughter an orphan.
Rich, I don't know if his intention was to make a spectacle or not, but a person who goes to a parking lot after killing someone is going to make a spectacle. Throw in the fact he is an NFL player and the parking lot is Arrowhead Stadium and he is going to cause a huge ruckus. His intentions didn't match up with his actions.
I can't believe someone on the news said women have a way of driving you crazy. That's crazy. I don't want to demonize him, even though I probably will, because I don't know what drove him to this. Does Belcher really deserve that kindness to not demonize him though? I know Peter was trying to humanize him and talk about how grateful and hard-working he was. That's fantastic. He also murdered someone, so any attempts to talk about how hard-working he is are rightfully overshadowed by the fact he is a murderer. Attempts to humanize him sound like excuses for him. Yes, he was a human, but it's hard to convince readers that Belcher was grateful and hard-working when they know he killed his girlfriend and then himself. Peter somehow doesn't get this.
I thought that was interesting too and I don't know how I would react in the circumstances. Pioli says he felt safe, but Belcher had just murdered a person he presumably loved, so what would stop him from murdering Pioli, Crennel and Gibbs too. It's bizarre because wanting to "thank them" would have been an easy way to get them out to the parking lot to kill them as well. I find it interesting Pioli is so sure he wasn't in danger. What I really think happened is he was afraid Belcher would kill him if he didn't get Crennel and Gibbs out there, so he basically brought them into the line of fire to save himself.
"Personal business" is the way a psychopath would refer to killing someone. It sounds like something out of "American Psycho."
I found many parts of this column to be insufferable as well.
- December 6, 2012 at 9:01 AM
Belcher LOVED "returning some videotapes" and getting reservations at Dorsia. You know, just like you and me.
- December 6, 2012 at 2:56 PM
- Bengoodfella said...
Snarf, as well as discussing Phil Collins and Huey Lewis' music career. That was fun as well. I had a friend in college who always said "I've got to return some videotapes" whenever he left a room. He was joking, but very suspicious.
- December 7, 2012 at 8:32 AM


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Rane had the privilege to meet and work with James Patrick at Seattle's Decibel festival in 2013. James is founder of the SlamAcademy, Timefrog Recordings and The Great Magnet. Jame is also a Dubspot instructor, curator of the international Spark Festival of Electronic Arts, and an Ableton Certified Trainer. Watch as James runs through how he uses the MP2015 in his live setup; incorporating a Moog Minitaur, Ableton Push, and Ableton Live.
At some point in your DJ life, you will inevitably need to move your Serato Software library to another computer or to another hard drive. This article walks you through common scenarios of moving your library around.
Are you a fan of the Rane Sixty-Four and/or Sixty-Two and its tight integration with Serato software but prefer using Traktor? Fear not, we're here to make your life a little easier by sharing a mapping we whipped up which gives you control of Traktor's main functions right at your fingertips.
Gone are the days of needing to use store-bought CDs, control discs, or even USB sticks to play your jams. The HID protocol present in many CD players has made things a lot more functional and enjoyable for DJs who use them as their weapon of choice. This article will walk you through the steps to get your CD players communicating with your favorite DJ software.
As many of you may know, the National Association of Music Merchants, aka, NAMM is held in Annahiem California in January each year and showcases the latest and greatest in music gear.


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Artifact Details
TitleSAGE Digital Data Transmitter
Catalog Number102622713
TypeStill Image
PublisherWestern Electric Company
Dimensionsoverall: 10 in x 8 in
DescriptionB&W image of a SAGE Digital Data Transmitter. A man is standing making an adjustment to one of the pluggable modules.
To his left is an oscilloscope cart with a sine wave on the scope.
Verso paper label: " The means for transmitting SAGE data at high speed over long distances with extreme reliability is provided by the Digital Data Transmitter, shown above during installation tests by a Western Electric Company installer at the SAGE site on McGuire AFB,"


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You know I have a good eye for pareidolia. This one is the best, ever.
That's a real feature on Mars, taken by the Mars Global Surveyor. And if you're clueless what I'm talking about, try here. As a double inside joke, I almost titled this "M-O-O-N, that spells Mars!" but I figured like three of you would get it.


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If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Persona 3, a PlayStation 2 role-playing game released in 2007, proved that Sony's older game console was only mostly dead. The game's blend of carefully polished RPG elements and stylish demonic-cartoon aesthetic made it one of the best games on the platform. Persona 4 makes no major changes to the formula — it's just an expanded, perfected successor that is my favorite PlayStation 2 game of 2008.
You are again cast as a nameless high school student in a typical Japanese town. But unlike the bustling metropolis of the last game, the town of Inaba is a sleepy hamlet. You, your uncle and his adorable-yet-worryingly-mature young daughter have all moved here from the big city, but as soon as you unpack your bags, bizarre happenings start popping up all over town. Your uncle, Inaba's senior police detective, is called off to investigate.
Do you join in the investigation? Of course not: You're just a high school student, after all. Your character goes to school each day, and this is where you'll meet most of your party members, complete quests and learn skills that you can use in other areas of the game.
Don't be fooled by the passing similarity to traditional role-playing games. Persona 4 is a much more subtle experience. The skills that you learn aren't the standard Dexterity or Constitution — more like boosting your courage so you won't freeze up while talking to a pretty girl, or your knowledge so you don't flunk your midterms.
That's one half of the Persona experience. The other is when you are beckoned, in Poltergeist style, into a mysterious foggy other-world by entering a television set. Your team of teenage warriors find themselves tasked with saving the people who have mysteriously disappeared from Inaba. To do that, they'll have to wander an immense dungeon rife with demonic foes — not the least of which are oversize boss characters that represent the worst parts of your friends' psyches.
You can see all of the monsters as they wander the world, looking for a fight. The slimelike Shadows stumble aimlessly through the fog waiting for you to get too close. Once spotted, they make a beeline directly for your party and attempt to initiate combat.
If you've ever played a Japanese RPG in the last two decades, you'll feel right at home in Persona 4's combat sequences. Combat in Persona 4 is the perfect example of Atlus not altering gameplay traditions if they still work well. All combat is turn-based: To initiate attacks or use one of your magic abilities, you simply select the proper maneuver from a simple list. By using such a time-honored system, Atlus has ensured that Persona 4 is as accessible to those who have never experienced a role-playing title as it is to those who have Final Fantasy posters decorating every blank surface in their bedrooms.
There is one key twist to the Persona series, however, and that is the Personas themselves. These otherworldly spirits are like Pokémon for grownups: You can collect over 100 of them, and each offers your character a unique set of abilities, statistical upgrades and attack animations. Collecting them is addictive, even if it's not strictly necessary to catch 'em all. Later in the game, a character named Igor will help you fuse your Personas into more powerful ones, letting you acquire even more powerful partners to help you in battle.
Persona 4's gameplay walks a fine line between complex and intuitive. You'll never find yourself consulting the manual for hints on how to use certain attacks, but there are easily 50 or more hours of entirely optional content found throughout the game's optional quests and Persona-fusing.
The soundtrack is excellent, especially the battle music. Normally I find Japanese pop music grating and annoying, but Persona 4's tracks are almost uniformly listenable. Even those who consider gaming music to be a mere background annoyance will find themselves humming along while playing or enjoying the soundtrack CD – which publisher Atlus has kindly included with each copy of the game.
The truly stunning thing about Persona 4 is that it just doesn't have any glaring flaws. Even though it doesn't stand up to the graphics of the Xbox 360 or PlayStation 3, the clever art style makes up for that. Those who despise reading large blocks of text in games will be pleasantly surprised by the solid voice-over work applied to almost every conversation. Even those with an aversion to anime-style characters will enjoy the darker, almost comic-book style that Atlus has applied to its character and world designs.
It's easy to say that Persona 4 is the best PlayStation 2 release of 2008 this late in the console's life span, but even if it had been released during PS2's heyday it would have earned a place among the system's finest software titles. Role-playing fans will find hours of enjoyment in Atlus' world, but even those with only a passing interest in the genre should play this.
Images courtesy Atlus
WIRED Gorgeous art style, stunning audio, epic storyline
TIRED It's for an old game console and looks it
$40, Atlus
Read Game|Life's game ratings guide.
See Also:


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Interview with Tetsuo ( ex united )
Tetsuo : I want many South American people to know my activity.
2) How borns the idea of BACKYARD STOREHOUSE? It's on for how long?
Tetsuo : Many famous musicians are around me, so I inspired from them.
3) What do you think that os the difference from other stores figures in Japan, knowing its a wonderful diversity of products offered there?
Tetsuo : The figures I manufacture gives priority to record it more than selling that.
4)? In what materials are your products made?
Tetsuo : Resin, metal and a silicon. etc.
5) We have understand that you have some help of the Japanese metal band United? What´s your history, how does the band began to help you?
Tetsuo : I was doing band "FIRE ROSE" with Akihiro Yokoyama in the high school student age.
After that I join UNITED with Yokoyama.
I join a metal band "VAINZAPP"and a hardcore band "HAZARD" via a blank in more than 20 after withdrawal in 89, and it's to present.
6) What other products you recommend us to check on your catalogue?
Tetsuo : 7, SKULL BALL
RAZOR Pendant
7) How was the inspiration born, or where do you got the idea for making your own products like skull ball or brain ball?
Tetsuo : the idea of goods which is much in my mind, but I have no money.
8) Have the store got any benefit of your announcements in the social networks?
Tetsuo : Facebook
9) Can you give us the physical address where the store is located?
Tetsuo : yes, but Sale is only by a web shop.
10)Do you have a plan to throw a new line of figures in the future?
Tetsuo : not now but some plan I have, it's a secret.
11) And you could tell about you. what kind of person you are, what your tastes, hobbies, and musical influences?
Tetsuo : I like hardcore punk, heavy metal. I play surf in holidays, and I love my family.
12) What can you tell me about his former band Fire Rose. who composed it, the label and gender musicabal executed?
Tetsuo : That was a band of high school student's hobby, not an-oriented professional.
13) we understand that you are in these 2 bands currently: Hazard renowned underground Hardcore punk band and Vainzapp, our question is this. what is your formula to handle yourself between two different musically worlds ?
15)What do you think or what's you vision of the 80's metal scene compared to the actual scene?
Tetsuo : A musical scene is always changing. 80's is classical already.
16)Well, thank you for you time, before we finish. Would you like to send a message to your readers?
Tetsuo : yes of course
This entry was posted on diciembre 30, 2014 at 5:14 pm and is filed under Entrevistas with tags BACKYARD STOREHOUSE, Fire rose, Hazard, heavy metal, Tetsuo, United, Vainzapp. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.


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Vizcaya luxury wedding
Eugene and Brooke's wedding, what can we say? A bride so beautiful that magazines will be fighting to feature her wedding and the groom who spared no expense to gift his loved one the wedding of her dreams.
Vizcaya wedding with celebrity DJ Dirty South
Miami weddings don't get much bigger than this! Illumene Event Lighting and our sister company Liquid DJs set the stage for Ultra Music Festival's headliner Dirty South to spin one of Vizcaya's largest weddings ever. From running the necessary power by generator to filling the DJ's technical rider to conceiving and fabricating a custom stage, this was by far the wedding of the year!


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Bestselling Author of Contemporary Romance
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A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about straight-laced man who accepts the help of a free-spirited bartender to meet the woman of his dreams, only to fall in love with the matchmaker herself...
Mark McAlister needs a woman. But not just any woman. She has to be cultured and reserved with impeccable manners, the kind of woman he can bring to his stuffy accounting firm's dinner dance to convince his boss he's partner material.
Bartender Liz Prescott can't understand why a nice guy like Mark wants the snooty, condescending woman he's set his sights on, but she offers to help him get her attention, anyway. Liz is convinced that all he needs is a bit of a makeover and a dose of self confidence, and he can have any woman he wants.
Mark is sure this crazy, short-skirted, fun-loving redhead couldn't possibly give him the advice he needs, but sure enough, the woman he wants takes the bait. It isn't long, though, before Liz goes from helping Mark find the woman of his dreams to
the woman of his dreams. But if he shows up with her he can kiss the partnership goodbye. Can he give up the future he desperately wants for the love he's always dreamed of?
efore Mark met Liz, if somebody
told him he'd be standing in the
condom aisle of a sex shop
a beautiful woman
who was
holding a box
of edible
he'd have sworn
they'd lost their
"Hey, McAlister. Did you hear the news?"
Mark McAlister looked up from the balance sheets scattered across his desk. When he saw Jared Sloan swagger into his office, he wished he'd locked the door and booby-trapped it for good measure. Monday mornings were bad enough without being subjected to Sloan before he'd even had his second cup of coffee.
Sloan stopped in front of Mark's desk, folding his arms in the casual yet commanding pose of a man who thought he ruled the world. Mark had no time for gossip, but if he didn't ask, Sloan would never leave.
"What news is that?"
"Carson Industries. They're signing with us this morning."
It took every ounce of self-control Mark had to keep his shock from showing. Last Friday he'd given Jack Carson a presentation to show how his company was needlessly throwing away hundreds of thousands of dollars every year in taxes. He'd approached the issue with logic and reason, but for reasons he couldn't fathom, Carson had frowned his way through most of the presentation, then left the office with a noncommittal "I'll get back to you." Mark had been around long enough to know what that meant: Don't call me. I'll call you.
Had he read Carson wrong? Had he finally won a client through a clear, concise presentation of the facts? He felt a rush of satisfaction, his heart beating double-time.
"That's good," he told Sloan, trying not to let his relief show. "Of course, I assumed Carson would say yes after he had a chance to think about the numbers. We can save him a bundle with those tax credits I proposed, and that environmental loophole--"
"The numbers? Are you kidding?" Sloan burst into laughter. "Any accounting firm in Miami can throw numbers on a page. I took a different approach."
Mark froze, dread washing over him. Not again. This couldn't be happening again. He could barely spit out the words. "You got him to sign?
"Yeah. With a little help from Tiffany, of course. Turns out she and Carson's wife were both Tri-Delts at the University of Florida, so Tiffany invited her and Carson to join us in Aspen for the weekend. It took my lovely wife less than an hour to find out that Carson's wife makes all the decisions in that family." Sloan gave Mark a superior smile. "It was all downhill from there."
Sloan's secret weapon. The Tiffany Connection.
Tiffany was the daughter of one of Miami's most prominent neurosurgeons. She had a Master's degree in anthropology. She belonged to the Junior League, and she was on the board of the Miami Symphony. She was acquainted with movers and shakers all over the state of Florida, and she'd used that influence more than once to snag her husband a client.
Sloan gave Mark a big, phony grin. "I think this calls for a celebration, don't you? There'll be a bottle of bubbly floating around my office later on. Be sure to drop by."
At that moment it was all Mark could do not to vault over his desk, take Sloan by the throat and squeeze all that mocking condescension right out of him. It was bad enough that he horned in on every client Mark had ever tried to sign. What was worse was that he gloated about it--incessantly--then made Mark look like a bad sport for taking it personally.
"I've got work to do, Sloan. If you want to spend your day guzzling champagne, that's up to you."
"Aw, come on, McAlister! It's not important who's actually getting Carson to sign on the dotted line. This is a team effort, right?"
Team effort? What a joke. The day Sloan became a team player was the day hell became a winter wonderland.
"Don't worry," Sloan added. "I'm sure your contribution will be considered as highly as mine when the new partnership is announced. After all, somebody's got to crunch those numbers, right?" He gave Mark an irritating little chuckle, then strolled out of his office.
Anger and resentment tore through Mark like wildfire. He wanted that partnership so badly he could taste it, but it was going to be a damned hard thing to accomplish if Sloan continued to one-up him every step of the way. How was he ever going to outshine a phony ex-frat boy with a savvy, ambitious wife, who'd written the book on corporate ladder-climbing?
He strode out of his office to his assistant's desk. Tina Boyd had her hands on her computer keyboard, her fingers flying like mad. Her short, spiky blonde hair and long pink fingernails made her a striking standout among her peers, but Mark wouldn't have traded her for anyone. She was a hundred pounds of pure administrative dynamite, which left her plenty of time for her volunteer job as officer-in-charge of the rumor mill at Nichols, Marbury & White.
"Tina, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, boss," she said, her fingers never ceasing their frantic tapping. "Shoot."
He lowered his voice. "The partnership. What's the grapevine telling you?"
Tina's fingers froze on the keyboard. She paused a moment, then lifted them off. She turned to face Mark, her mouth falling into a sympathetic frown. "It doesn't look good for you."
That was exactly what Mark had expected to hear, but still the words felt like a anvil settling on his chest.
"Almost everyone knows you're the best candidate," Tina added. "But that nasty Jared Sloan and his prissy wife won't get out of the way long enough for the big boys to see that."
Another fact Mark was painfully aware of.
"Actually," Tina went on, "from what I've been able to see, it's easy to become a partner at this company. All you have to do is turn yourself into a pushy, arrogant jerk and get yourself a woman who knows how to play the corporate social game, and you'll move right to the top of the list."
Mark gave her a wry smile. "Thanks for the tip. I'll get to work on it right away."
"You do, and you can find yourself another assistant."
"What? You don't want to be partner's assistant?"
"Not if the partner's a jerk." She stared at him a long time, her admonishing expression melting into concern. "You're a nice guy, Mark. Best boss I've ever had. Don't lose that for anything, okay?"
Yeah, and he knew exactly where nice guys finished. Dead last.
He went back into his office and shut the door. He leaned against it, his eyes closed, as that familiar wave of insecurity washed over him again--the one that told him a kid raised in a trailer park in Waldon Springs, Tennessee, population 937, couldn't possibly ascend to a partnership in one of the most prestigious accounting firms in the country.
But a guy like Sloan could.
Sloan came in late. He left early. He shoved work off on every other accountant in the firm. He was a lousy manager, driving most of his people to eventually hate the sight of him, and he routinely took credit for other people's accomplishments. But all of it was tolerated, because Sloan had one talent Mark had never been able to master.
He brought clients to the firm in droves.
As Mark stood in the quiet of his office, the echoes of his childhood vibrated inside his head. As one of the "poor folks" in town, he'd spent most of his early years ducking his head in shame, but as he grew older, he turned that shame into a motivating force that drove him to graduate near the top of his high school class. That had helped land him a college scholarship that paid part of his tuition. But still he'd had to work to pay the rest, leaving him no time for the social life his classmates took for granted. When he graduated and went to work for Nichols, Marbury & White, he naturally assumed hard work would have its reward, neglecting his social life to the point where he'd pretty much become a workaholic recluse.
How could he have been so blind?
At this firm, professional excellence meant more than being a good accountant. It meant poise and polish, wining and dining, and the man who made it to the top of the ladder was not the one who masterminded the financial strategy that saved the client thousands in taxes, but the man who brought that client to the firm in the first place.
All these years while Mark had been working himself to death, guys like Sloan, with half his expertise, had been using his shoulders as a stepping stone to success. At the same time, they'd learned how to attract the right kind of women, women who were at their sides right now, helping push them to the top. Mark had never had anyone but himself to rely on when it came to playing the social game, and he wasn't even sure he knew the rules.
Then Tina's words popped into his mind again.
Turn yourself into a pushy, arrogant jerk and get yourself a woman who knows how to play the corporate social game...
Mark felt a jolt of sudden realization. Maybe Tina had been more right than she realized. He had no plans of turning into a pushy, arrogant jerk any time soon, but the woman thing...
Why hadn't he seen it before?
He froze for a moment as the thought took hold, then crossed to his window and looked down seven stories to the rush hour crowd swirling along the busy downtown street.
She was out there somewhere. The woman who could help him meet every professional goal he had, and then some. A woman with elegance and refinement, who could mesmerize clients just by being in the same room. A woman would put him on the same plane as Sloan and every other guy at the firm who minored in accounting and majored in schmoozing.
Unfortunately, he had no idea how to go about attracting such a woman.
In Waldon Springs, you were considered a social success if you drank wine with an actual cork and didn't pick your teeth at the dinner table. Mark's knowledge of the social graces had ascended a step or two above that over the years, but still he got queasy at the very thought of approaching a poised, confident, cultured woman.
Well, as of today, that was going to change.
The firm's annual dinner dance was coming up soon. If he showed up with a woman who glowed so brightly she made his image skyrocket just by standing next to him, then the partners would start to see him as something other than a pencil-pushing number-cruncher. They'd see him not as a guy in the trenches, but as a guy at the top. Partner material.
But first he had to find her.
Faced with that seemingly impossible task, his resolve should have wavered, but with each passing moment it only grew stronger. He hadn't gotten this far in life without plowing through insurmountable odds, and now that he realized the source of his problem, he wasn't about to turn down this challenge.
One way or another, he'd find the right woman. When he did, he'd have every bit of the success he'd been striving for. And the memory of that boy he'd been in Waldon Springs so many years ago would never come back to haunt him again.
* * *
"I'll bet you a dollar he doesn't go through with it."
Liz Prescott plunked olives into a pair of martinis and set the glasses onto Sherri's drink tray. "No way. I might as well give you a buck and call it quits. He's not going anywhere."
"Even if he did speak to her," Sherri said, grabbing a stack of cocktail napkins, "I doubt he'd get to first base."
"You're probably right. A woman like that wouldn't even let him into the ballpark."
For the past thirty minutes, Mark had been staring at the pristine, wool-suited blonde sitting across the bar. Her manicure was perfect, her hair upswept in one of those sophisticated twists, and even at the end of the day her makeup still had that fresh, dewy finish Liz couldn't even manage first thing in the morning. She chatted with the woman beside her in that haughty, cosmopolitan way Liz hated, punctuating her conversation with the latest buzz words and radiating an aura of arrogance a man would have to use a machete to whack his way through. Still, Mark couldn't take his eyes off her. He wore that hypervigilant expression that dated all the way back to prehistoric man--the one that said he'd found a woman worth slaying a mastodon for if only he could work up the nerve to say hello.
Simon's Bar and Grille attracted upwardly-mobile young professionals who came there at happy hour to meet other upwardly-mobile young professionals. Tending bar in this place was like being in the middle of one gigantic mating ritual, but apparently no one had let Mark in on how to play the game.
Liz met him for the first time when he came into Simon's a week ago, took a seat at the bar, ordered a Scotch and water, and proceeded to evaluate every woman who walked into the place. He clearly wanted to make a connection, but he was so unassuming that he practically melted into the wall, leaving Liz to wonder if he might get lost in a crowd of two. His suit was a nondescript gray, styleless and ultra conservative, further drabbed-down by a starched white shirt and solid burgundy tie. But it wasn't as if he had a pocket protector for his pens, or high-water pants, or anything like that. He was actually okay-looking, with nice brown eyes behind those glasses, and thick, dark hair that would look great in the hands of the right stylist. But the women here could smell a lack of confidence at a hundred paces, and that blonde was no exception.
Liz had chatted with Mark enough to find out his first name, that he was an accountant, that he liked baseball, and…well, that was about it. No matter how much she tried to work her friendly bartender magic, the guy was a closed book.
"He's kind of cute, though," Liz said. "Don't you think?"
"Yeah, but around here, cute doesn't cut it," Sherri said. "Now, if he'd let her browse his financial portfolio first, or maybe wave the keys to a Jag under her nose, he might have a chance."
Sherri's assessment of the situation was right on target. When Liz first started working there, the millennial overload had just about driven her nuts. Every time a phone rang, a dozen people dove into purses, pockets, and planners. If the night was a little slow, she could count on doing her job by the hazy glow of a dozen laptop screens. And she'd never seen such a variety of credit cards in her life. Gold cards. Silver cards. Platinum cards. Photo cards. Holographic image cards. If someone had hauled out a card encrusted in diamonds with blinking neon lights, she wouldn't have been surprised.
But while the people here weren't the type Liz would hang out with if she had a choice, they still fascinated her because people fascinated her, period. She was only a bartender now, but this fall she was starting college to pursue a degree in psychology. At twenty seven she'd be a bit old to be a freshman, but it was better late than never.
Excitement burst though her at the very thought of becoming a clinical psychologist. Listening to people's problems all day long and offering sage and wonderful advice to put their lives back on track--did it get any better than that? In the meantime, what better place to practice her future profession than working behind a bar?
"How many drinks does that make for him?" Sherri asked, as Mark downed a another swallow of scotch and water.
"Just one. Think it's enough to get him moving?"
But this time, when he set his glass down, a flicker of determination came over his face. Liz felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he was finally going to make a move. Could this mean money in her pocket after all?
"I won't go a buck," she told Sherri. "But I've got a quarter that says he at least gets off the stool."
"Okay. You're on."
They watched furtively as Mark straightened his tie, then patted his lapels. He placed his hands on the bar, his chest rising and falling as if he were inhaling a few deep breaths. The he swung a leg to the side to rise from the stool.
"Ha!" Liz whispered. "There he goes. You owe me--"
But right in the middle of Liz's premature celebration, Mark froze. Liz turned a quick eye to the other end of the bar. Larry the Lounge Lizard had approached the blonde and was taking the stool beside her.
Larry, whose real name was Howard Something-or-Other, had earned his nickname by hitting on every living, breathing female who ventured through the door. Actually, breathing was barely a prerequisite. If someone were to bring an unconscious woman into the club, he would let the paramedics perform CPR, then hit on her. Liz had no doubt the blonde would eventually chew him up and spit him out, but right now, he was really screwing things up.
She turned back to the man she had her money on, and her worst fears were confirmed. As the guy watched Larry put the moves on the blonde, he glared at him for a few moments, then sat back down on the barstool with what was clearly a muttered curse.
"Nope," Sherri said, flashing Liz a triumphant smile. "Looks like you owe me. Gimme the quarter."
"But Larry got in the way!"
"Yeah, and the track was muddy, the blackjack dealer was crooked, and the referee made a bad call. So sad. Now, pay up."
Liz pulled a quarter from her apron pocket and slapped it into her friend's hand. She and Sherri were roommates, and betting on just about everything was one of their favorite recreational activities. Their five-dollar limit said they didn't exactly play high stakes, but betting with actual cash still made things interesting. Liz won most of the time because she was better than Sherri at knowing when she had a shot and when she didn't, but this time she'd definitely miscalculated.
"Your customers are waiting for their drinks, Miss Moneybags," Liz said. "Now,
Sherri smiled. "Sore loser."
She scooped up the tray and headed to table six, where she dropped off another round of drinks to a pair of impeccably dressed twenty-something males who were scanning the place nonstop, looking for those special women who could bear them two-point-five children without all that embarrassing weight gain.
She turned to see Mark holding up his empty highball glass, asking for a refill. She poured him another scotch and water and set it down on the bar in front of him. He downed half of it and didn't even blink.
"Rough night?" Liz asked.
"You might say that."
She nodded over her shoulder. "You want to talk to that blonde at the end of the bar. Is that right?"
His eyes narrowed with suspicion, as if she'd crawled inside his head and gone rummaging around. The truth was that anyone this side of blind could have read his "I gotta have her" expression from halfway across the room.
He turned away. "No. I don't want to talk to anyone."
Liz leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Ignore that guy who's hitting on her right now. He talks a good game, but we don't call him Larry the Lounge Lizard for nothing. His mother dresses him from the department store where she works, and the only reason he drives a Mercedes is because his uncle owns a dealership. And he got his personality at Walmart. On sale."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't want you to think he's competition."
He stared at his drink. "Competition?"
Liz rolled her eyes. Denying his interest in that blonde was like Donald Trump denying his interest in real estate. She rested her forearms on the bar and raised an eyebrow.
"Look. You've sat on that stool for the past thirty minutes, checking out that blonde. If you don't make a move pretty soon, I'm gonna have to start charging you rent."
He shot her a look of irritation. "This is none of your business."
Liz smiled teasingly. "Sure it is. You're sitting at my bar. Everything that goes on here is my business." She inched closer, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "So do you want to meet her or not?"
He gazed at the blonde. A look of longing entered his eyes, and Liz found herself wondering if any man had ever looked at her like that. Finally he let out a breath of resignation. "Yes. I want to meet her. But she's occupied."
Liz glanced over her shoulder and saw Larry leaning closer to the blonde with a drunken
hey, baby, how about you and me doing the horizontal tango
look, while the blonde's expression said he was on the verge of getting a knee in the groin.
"I told you that guy's not a problem. Watch."
Right on cue, the blonde turned on her barstool and met Larry face to face. She smiled sweetly with a cutesy, Barbie-doll expression, but while Liz couldn't hear what she was saying, the look on Larry's face said her words were pure venom. Larry generally took rejection like a real trooper, but this time his eyes widened with surprise. He backed away one step, then two, then turned in a huff and stalked off. Liz had seen it coming, but still she was impressed. Most women had to whip out their phones and dial 911 to get rid of Larry.
Mark gave Liz a look of total astonishment. "How did you know that?"
"Gosh, I don't know." She gave him a teasing smile. "I guess I must be psychic."
"Then why don't you look into the future and tell me what my chances are with her?"
Liz winced. If that blonde could make Larry turn tail and run, she probably had claws she hadn't even sharpened yet. Mark seemed nice. Why would he want to subject himself to a woman like that? Sure, she was beautiful, but it was a phony, put-on kind of beauty that was swimming in arrogance. Were men really that blind? Or did they truly not care what was inside the package as long as the wrapping was pretty?
Liz had never had any delusions about her own beauty, or sometimes, she thought, lack of beauty, but at least she'd never tried to be something she wasn't. She knew her auburn hair was too curly and wild, always sneaking out of the knot she gathered it in and cascading in ringlets around her face. Her figure was way too curvy to be fashionable, with breasts and hips a supermodel would run screaming from. On the plus side, though, she had a beauty-queen smile and a pair of long, shapely legs that had stopped more than a few men in their tracks. She'd learned a long time ago to minimize her liabilities and play up her assets, which meant incarcerating her hair, wearing Spanx, hemming her skirts another inch or two and smiling as often as possible.
"Why are you so fixated on her?" Liz asked.
"Her name is Gwen Adams. She manages a high-class art gallery on Ashworth Avenue. She went to Vassar, and she speaks three languages. And look at her. Not a hair out of place."
Liz automatically reached up to smooth down her own hair. "Then you already know her?"
"Not really. She's a friend of a friend."
"So you haven't actually spoken to her?"
"No. But trust me. She's perfect for me."
Oh, boy. He hadn't even spoken to her, and he was a goner already. Liz had seen infatuation before, but this was ridiculous.
One of the waitresses slapped a drink order on the bar. Liz held up a finger, telling Mark she wasn't through with him yet. She drew two Millers and grabbed a Perrier from the fridge, wondering what she could say to get it through to him that his dream woman was really a nightmare in disguise.
Oh, hell. Who was she to decide who belonged with whom? Even though she wouldn't have put the two of them together in a thousand years, love was a funny thing. She'd dated a string of men who'd looked really, really good, then turned out to be jerks. Couldn't it work the other way, too? Maybe deep down he and the Ice Princess were soul mates. If so, Liz had never been one to stand in the way of true love.
She put the mugs of beer and the bottle of glorified tap water on the tray and the waitress took them away. She returned to where Mark sat swirling his drink in his glass.
Looking at him now, she decided she'd been a little hasty in her assessment of him. He was more than just okay-looking. He had nice, broad shoulders that made his dull, boring suit look not so dull and boring. A pair of utilitarian horn-rimmed glasses dominated his face. Those might have been in right now, but if he ever took them off, his strong facial features--firm jaw, bold cheekbones, and full, almost sensuous lips--could easily take center stage. And if he ever smiled, which he certainly hadn't tonight, she had the feeling the room would light up brighter than a Vegas casino. If Gwen had any foresight at all, she just might be getting a diamond in the rough.
"So you want to know what your chances are with her?" Liz asked.
"Exactly zero if you don't get up off that stool, walk over there and introduce yourself."
"I will."
"Just let me finish this drink first."
As exasperated as Liz was over his reluctance to take action, at the same time she couldn't ignore the tiny thrill that swept through her. The longer he sat there, the more obvious it became that if he wanted to get that woman's attention, he was going to need some help.
Her help.
People's problems naturally piqued Liz's interest, hence her interest in psychology. It was in her genetic makeup, just as her auburn hair was, and her green eyes. Decades ago, her great grandmother had run a soda shop in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and aside of the usual problems she addressed on a daily basis, family legend had it that after the stock market crash of 1929, she'd actually prevented one distraught customer from climbing to the top of the four-story building next door and taking one of those much-publicized free-falls.
Liz's grandmother was similarly gifted with fabulous advice for anyone who needed it. Queen of the quilting circle at her church, the other women relied on her to put their problems into perspective and then send them off in the right direction.
Then there was Liz's mother, Laura Lee Prescott, who ran a hair salon in Big Fork, Texas. Even as a child, Liz realized the people who patronized her mother's place of business generally wanted more than a cut or a perm.
I told him exactly what you said last week, Laura Lee. I told him it was time to poop or get off the pot. And guess what? We're getting married in June!
I kept my mouth shut about the twenty dollars she owed me, just like you said. Then I found out she'd stuck it into the pocket of my purse last week at bingo and forgot to tell me!
I thought you was nuts, Laura Lee. But I gave her the new clothes dryer on her birthday instead of perfume and flowers, and she said it was about time I gave her something to help out around the house instead of something silly and useless.
To Liz and everyone else in town, Laura Lee Prescott had been Dr. Phil, Ann Landers and Sigmund Freud all rolled into one. Even as a child, Liz had stood in awe of the way people respected every word her mother uttered. As Liz eased into womanhood, the tingle she felt inside every time she sensed a problem in her vicinity told her, without a doubt, that she was now the keeper of the family heritage. And she was even taking things one step further than her mother and grandmother by getting a degree in psychology. Best of all, she intended to specialize in couples therapy. She couldn't imagine anything more satisfying than being an interim matchmaker, spending her days repairing broken relationships and bringing people back together again.
But right then she had a different kind of matchmaking to attend to.
"Give me one of your business cards," she told Mark.
He looked at her warily. "Why?"
"Just do it."
He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and produced a business card. Liz took it from him, then tilted it slightly to read it in the dim light.
Mark McAlister. Tax Accounting Manager. Nichols, Marbury & White, Certified Public Accountants.
White with black lettering. She sighed. Did it get any more boring than that?
Oh, well. She had to play the card she was dealt. She stuck the card into her apron pocket and started toward the fridge.
"Liz?" Mark said. "What are you doing?"
"Trust me," she said over her shoulder. "I'll get the door open, but you have to walk through it. Now, pay attention."
"Hey!" he said. "Wait a minute! Get back here!"
Liz ignored his protests. She pulled a bottle of the ridiculously overpriced white wine Ms. High-and-Mighty was drinking from the fridge, poured a glass, then strolled over and placed it in front of her. Gwen looked at her questioningly.
"It's from the gentleman at the other end of the bar," Liz said, handing her Mark's business card. Gwen scanned the card briefly, then zeroed in on Mark.
When Mark realized Gwen was looking at him, his eyes widened. He sat up from his dejected slump and tried to look cool and nonchalant. But as Gwen's gaze flicked up and down appraisingly, Liz could tell he was coming up short.
"Him?" Gwen said, crinkling her nose as if she'd smelled something rotten.
"Yes. The handsome dark-haired man." Liz gave the blonde a conspiratorial, woman-to-woman wiggle of the eyebrows. "He's very intriguing."
"Yes. Well. I'm sure you'd think so."
Because you're a low-class, drink-slinging barmaid,
Liz said to herself, filling in the rest of that unspoken thought, then wondered how Gwen would like to stop drinking her wine and start wearing it.
Very deliberately, Gwen pushed the glass of wine to the back of the bar. Then, with her fingertip alone, she slid Mark's business card away from her until it came to rest against a bowl of peanuts an arm's length away, insuring that no one, under any circumstances, would even think of associating her with it. Then she resumed her conversation with the woman next to her, as if Liz hadn't just offered her an introduction to a man who might possibly be willing to worship the ground she walked on.
Liz couldn't believe it. She thought her ploy would at least give Mark a chance to say hello, but no such luck. And now that Princess Gwen had banished him to the dungeon for eternity, he was going to feel embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliated.
But to Liz's surprise, when she turned back around, he didn't appear to be any of those things. He was something worse. And that something was directed right at her.
She watched with mounting apprehension as Mark gulped the rest of his drink, then slammed the glass down on the bar, glaring at her with a narrow-eyed, tight-lipped expression that told her it was a real good thing he wasn't armed. His face actually started to turn red, and if smoke had come out his ears she wouldn't have been surprised. He skewered her with his angry gaze for a full five seconds, then rose from his stool, tossed money by his empty glass, and stalked out of the bar.