text:
Season over! Gerrard to go under the knife this week after shoulder injury worsens
Steven Gerrard's season is over after it was confirmed the Liverpool captain will undergo surgery on a recurrent shoulder problem this week.
Gerrard was scheduled to have the operation at the end of the season but the Anfield club have brought it forward after the injury progressively worsened in recent weeks.
The surgery rules him out of Liverpool's final two games of the season and England's glamour friendly against Brazil next month, as well as the Wembley game against the Republic of Ireland on May 29.
Gerrard will require between six to eight weeks to recover from surgery and Liverpool hope that he will be fit for the start of pre-season training.
Under the knife: Gerrard's season is over and he will have the operation on his shoulder later this week
Fixtures Gerrard will miss
May 12 - Fulham v Liverpool
May 19 - Liverpool v QPR
May 21 - Ajax Cape Town v Liverpool
May 29 - England v Republic of Ireland
June 2 - Brazil v England
Liverpool, who announced yesterday that they will play an end of season friendly against Ajax Cape Town, did something similar with Joe Allen at the end of March. The Wales midfielder also had a long-standing shoulder problem and he was operated on at the end of March to ensure his availability for the start of pre-season.
The sterile draw with Everton on Sunday has all but ended Liverpool's hopes of a top six finish but Jamie Carragher believes the team have shown enough to suggest they can make a better fist of competing for a top four place next year during recent months.
Since the turn of the year, Liverpool have accrued the same amount of points (27) as Manchester City and Everton would be fourth in a form table by virtue of the goals they have scored.
Recovery: It is expected that Gerrard will be fit for the start of pre-season training
Gerrard's record run of starts comes to an end
Gerrard has started every Premier League game this season and his appearance against Everton equalled his previous longest run of 36 consecutive league starts between April 2006 and April 2007.
The 32-year-old had also played every minute in the league this season until he was taken off in Liverpool's 6-0 win over Newcastle on April 27 with 18 minutes to go.
Carragher, who will retire at the end of the campaign, is convinced Liverpool are heading in the right direction under Brendan Rodgers but has stressed that they cannot afford a repeat of the slow start that compromised their ambitions this season.
'If you remember at the start it was difficult because of the transfer window situation,' said Carragher. 'And at the beginning, for a long period we had a lot of young lads in the team and it's not easy for them.
'In the second half of the season we've had a bit more experience in the side, and the manager is implementing his ideas a lot more, and you can probably see that in the results from around January or February.
'We are on a decent run. We've only lost two league games since we got beat (2-1) at Manchester United in January. That's a run we want to keep going into next season.
Challenging: Carragher feels Liverpool can make a better challenge for a Champions League place next year
'The manager making a few new signings (Daniel Sturridge and Philippe Coutinho) in January gave us a boost. You can see very positive signs, but we have to take that into next seasons now.'
Carragher's ambitions for his final two games centre on keeping the clean sheet that would enable him to become the first defender in the Barclays Premier League to record 200 shutouts. He moved on to 199 with the clean sheet against Everton.
'You want to score goals and you want to keep clean sheets,' said Carragher. 'Myself and Pepe (Reina) have always loved keeping clean sheets and breaking records, and he told me Man City are one clean sheet ahead. We'll look to keep a few more clean sheets in the last couple of games.
'But it's about coming together as a team and winning games. Whether you keep lots of clean sheets or score lots of goals, it's about getting the three points. Look at Sunday. We kept a clean sheet but we couldn't score. We only got one point. We'd have loved to have won 2-1 and not kept a clean sheet.'
On the right track: Carragher reckons Liverpool are heading in the right direction with Rodgers in charge
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subset: commoncrawl


text:
The Which 80s Movie Scientist Test
Their result for The Which 80s Movie Scientist Test ...
Chris Knight
182 Heart, 162 Genius, 146 Cool, 148 Excitability
Real Genius (1985)
You are Chris Knight. You're brilliant, but you know that if you don't think about anything but work, you'll get burnt out. No danger of that for you. You're loyal to your friends, you love the ladies, and most of all the ladies love you.
"Moles and trolls, moles and trolls, work, work, work, work, work. We never see the light of day. We plan this thing for weeks and all they want to do is study. I'm disgusted. I'm sorry but it's not like me, I'm depressed. There was what, no one at the mutant hamster races, we only had one entry into the Madame Curie look-alike contest and he was disqualified later. Why do I bother?"
Other scientific possibilities:
Gary Wallace
Wyatt Donnelly
Peter Venkman
Jordan Cochran
Egon Spengler
Doc Brown
Newton Crosby
Paul Stephens
Ben Crandall
Wayne Szalinkski
Winston Zeddemore
Ben Jabituya
Lazlo Hollyfeld
Ray Stantz
Buckaroo Banzai
Chris Knight
Their Analysis (Vertical line = Average)
They scored 182% on Heart, higher than 98% of your peers.
They scored 162% on Genius, higher than 58% of your peers.
They scored 146% on Cool, higher than 73% of your peers.
They scored 148% on Excitability, higher than 75% of your peers.
All possible test results
Gary Wallace
Gary Wallace - (Anthony Michael Hall)Weird Science (1985) You're Gary Wallace! Okay, let's be honest, you don't have much going for you. The best you can hope for is to have a... Read more
Wyatt Donnelly
Wyatt Donnelly - (Ilan Mitchell-Smith)Weird Science (1985) You're Wyatt Donnelly! Not really a scientist, you appeared in movie with 'Science' in the title, and in the '80s th... Read more
Peter Venkman
Peter Venkman - (Bill Murray)Ghostbusters (1984) You are Peter Venkman! Some may say you remind them more of a game-show host, but you know your way around science. Mostly. Yo... Read more
Jordan Cochran
Jordan Cochran - (Michelle Meyrink)Real Genius (1985) You're Jordan Cochran, the adorable fast-talking GIRL scientist of all things. While she may not be up there with the oth... Read more
Egon Spengler
Dr. Egon Spengler - (Harold Ramis)Ghostbusters (1984) The scientist's scientist's scientist. You don't have time for frivolous pursuits or the attentions of the opposite sex. ... Read more
Doc Brown
Dr. Emmett L. "Doc" Brown - (Christopher Lloyd)Back to the Future (1985) You are Doc Brown, the consummate 80's scientist. When inspiration strikes, you're single-minded in th... Read more
Newton Crosby
Newton Crosby - (Steve Guttenberg)Short Circuit (1986) You're Newton Crosby! I'm so...so, sorry. Uh, I mean, you're kind of cool, in your own way. Kind of. "Origin... Read more
Paul Stephens
Paul Stephens - (Christopher Collet)The Manhattan Project (1986) You are Paul Stephens! You're smart enough to build an atomic bomb for a science project, but not smart enough... Read more
Ben Crandall
Ben Crandall - (Ethan Hawke)Explorers (1985) You are Ben Crandall! You have big dreams, and even if you don't have the ability to make them come true right now, don't give up ... Read more
Wayne Szalinkski
Wayne Szalinkski - (Rick Moranis)Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (1989) You are Wayne Szalinkski! You're the prototypical bumbling inventor, updated for the 1980s! You may panic from... Read more
Winston Zeddemore
Winston Zeddemore - (Ernie Hudson)Ghostbusters (1984) You are Winston Zeddemore. You're not really a scientist, but you work with them, which is close enough. You're the every... Read more
Ben Jabituya
Ben Jabituya/Jahrvi - (Fisher Stevens)Short Circuit (1986) You're Ben Jabituya! You're a brilliant, successful scientist, but you've never lost sight of where you came from (B... Read more
Lazlo Hollyfeld
Lazlo Hollyfeld - (Jonathan Gries)Real Genius (1985) You are Lazlo Hollyfeld! You're not exactly the most personable person out there, but you're brilliant, and when push come... Read more
Ray Stantz
Dr. Raymond Stantz - (Dan Aykroyd) Ghostbusters (1984) You are Ray Stantz! The heart of the Ghostbusters. You're well-meaning, smart, and you have a childlike sense of wonde... Read more
Buckaroo Banzai
Buckaroo Banzai - (Peter Weller)The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension (1984) You are Buckaroo Banzai! Hard-rockin' neurosurgeon, brilliant scientist, and ... Read more
Chris Knight
Chris Knight - (Val Kilmer)Real Genius (1985) You are Chris Knight. You're brilliant, but you know that if you don't think about anything but work, you'll get burnt out. No da... Read more
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Once upon a time there was a duplex where a young bachelor named Eno and his dog, Fang, shared an ultra-macho haven of beer snacks and male-bonding. Suddenly, their lives turned co-ed when Gina and her poodle, Mitzi, moved into the other half of their building... the question is, who will come out on top in Glenn McCoy's The Duplex?
The Duplex
Glenn McCoy and Gary McCoy
Through Fowl Language, cartoonist Brian Gordon draws on his trials and tribulations of raising two small children. By poking fun at the daily tedium and frustrations of parenting, he hopes to give comfort to parents who are losing their minds just as quickly as he is. Visit the official website!
Fowl Language
Brian Gordon
Man overboard! Follow the high-seas misadventures of this shipload of malcontents, incompetents and laggards. Even the mice get into the act.
Chip Dunham
The Argyle Sweater presents a surreal, hilarious (and sometimes punny) look at the world you think you know. Armed with a willingness to explore every edge of the surreal, Scott Hilburn's creation presents his sharply unique take on history, everyday life and the truly absurd.
The Argyle Sweater
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WuMo celebrates life's absurdity, holding up a fun-house mirror to our modern world and everyone who lives in it. Populated by crazy beavers, disgruntled office workers, feuding couples, gangster rappers and pool-playing unicorns, WuMo has grown from an underground sensation to an instant classic.
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Behold, an un-pale horse with no name. Oh, wait. His name is Horace. And he's sarcastic. And silly. And lives in an infinitely expandable world. And sometimes gets slapstuck. And day after unpredictable day he boldly goes where no horse -- let alone a comic strip -- has gone before. Yes, there are sidekicks; a bird, a lady horse, a never-seen neighbor. And if the post-it note did not exist, Samson would have had to invent it so Horace would have yellow panels in which to play. Welcome to the bright side of the world. May the horse be with you.
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Savage Chickens began on a rainy day in October 2004 when, after one too many migraines, Doug Savage scribbled two chickens on a sticky note. Thousands of comics later, Savage still draws every comic on a yellow sticky note, and his work covers an eclectic range of topics, including: work, psychology, arachnophobia, pop culture, cats, time travel, love, zombies, and more.
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Pickles, syndicated by The Washington Post Writers Group for more than 15 years, tells the story of Earl and Opal Pickles as they enjoy their golden years surrounded by friends and family. A perennial favorite with readers of all ages, Pickles has topped comics polls across the nation again and again, and was named the best comic strip of 2001 by the National Cartoonists' Society.
Brian Crane


text:
By Amanda Morin
Your child's preschool teacher may suspect ADHD if your child's social abilities, reactions and activity level aren't typical. Some of the symptoms may also occur with developmental delays, sensory processing issues and oppositional defiant disorder.
Amanda Morin is a parent advocate, a former teacher and the author of The Everything Parent's Guide to Special Education.
Bob Cunningham, Ed.M., serves as advisor-in-residence on learning and attention issues for Understood.
ADHD Explained: A 28-Minute Primer
ADHD and Lying: What You Need to Know
How Early Can ADHD Be Diagnosed?
5 Simple Ways to Improve Your Child's Focus
5 Ways ADHD Can Affect Your Child's Social Life
ADHD: What You're Seeing
Learn how she found her talent and took it all the way to an Olympic gold.
When your child goes off to college, will her accommodations from high school go with her?
Dr. Sheldon Cooper struggles with social skills—just like this mom's son.
Jan 19th at 12:00 pm
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- Home
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Dear Leader
Dear LeaderFiction BY RUSSELL WORKING
Let us call her Eun-ju, for people may die if her real name is revealed. Her own life is in danger, and her two sisters, her brother-in-law, and one surviving nephew remain at large south of the Tumen River, near the port of Hongwan, a city of apartment blocks without toilets, empty wharves populated by slump-shouldered cranes and rusty destroyers, a train station where the homeless sleep in the waiting room seats or on the floor with the mice, and bony children who lie down in the streets because after a certain point — thirty, thirty-five days, perhaps — one cannot stand any longer. The point is, it is illegal to flee the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, and the crime is compounded for party members (and Eun-ju is a member of this caste: a journalist). The organs would arrest her relatives if they figured out the identity of this twenty-four-year-old refugee, and there is not enough food to squander on prisoners in North Korea. The only ones definitely beyond the reach of the secret police are her mother and two infant nieces, all of whom died of pneumonia; Papa, the person responsible for what happened, by now surely has also died: when Eun-ju fled to China, he was groaning from an advanced case of intestinal cancer, a fitting way to die in a famine, he said, and perhaps he has been buried, in her absence, in the cemetery overlooking the flood plains. Yet if anyone was culpable, it was he, for he urged her to flee, saying, "Go, you are young, you are beautiful" (though this could not possibly be true; she was balding at the time she left: strands of her hair clung to her fingers whenever she smoothed it), "at least one of the family should live. Some young Korean farmer in China will pay good money for you." Let us call him Young-shik. He is thirty-five years old, a sixth-grade graduate, a tiller of four-tenths of a hectare of soybeans and vegetables in China's Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture. Young-shik has never married, but his position is commonplace in rural Yanbian; the region is in crisis, its villages populated by Korean bachelor farmers. Innumerable girls were abandoned at birth and died in orphanages. The living disappeared in adulthood into the cities to work as prostitutes or serve Laochaoyang vodka in the karaoke bars or even, in the case of a single outstanding student he had once known, to study at Yanbian University. None of them, not even the simplest, a retarded girl twelve years his junior, was willing to spend her remaining five decades with Young-shik, leading an ox back and forth plowing a field. The retarded girl was now a masseuse. Her mother refused his proposal last time she was in town. "She already earns four times what you do; why would she marry you?" the mother said. Truth be told, he was a little relieved. He was no academician, but he did not know if he could enjoy life with a simpleton. He needed someone to cook, someone to lie with, someone to tell of his happiness when the bean shoots come up overnight after a rain; speaking softly, for they would not want to wake their infant son — in his mind there was no doubt that she would bear him a son. That she, too, might wish to talk as well on occasion did not occur to him. He had so much to say, and often he went for two or three days without speaking to anyone but the peasant squatting two holes over in the brick latrine that was only toilet for several dozen houses on this street. "Give us the paper, would you?" Young-shik would say. The man would grunt and hand over a copy of the Yanbian Daily. "Don't use the soccer results." "Of course not." Young-shik tore off the page with the ads for China Mobile and a miracle hair restoration ointment and returned the rest. "Thank you," he said. "You're welcome." This passed for conversation on most days during the five years it took for Young-shik to save up enough money for a wife. They met one afternoon in February twenty-three days after she left North Korea. An ethnic Korean marriage broker named Bong-il drove her to her new home near Yanji, rasping dire warnings all the way in the back seat of his smoky Land Cruiser while his driver adjusted the music on the stereo. "If you run away, we will find you, understand? He is paying good money for you, and we are men of our word. We will return you, and you'll discover what an angry husband can do to a girl. I know this one guy, he chained his wife to the bed and gouged her eyes out the third time she tried to run away. If we don't find you, the police will, and you know what that means: back to North Korea. Stay put. Even if he beats you, you'll be fed, unlike in Hongwan, right? You will live. Seems like a fair bargain." He threw his cigarette butt out the window and asked, "Are you listening?" She was. "Good," he said, "because I'm not trying to scare you, I hope you're happy, I truly do, you are such a pretty girl, or you will be when you fatten up and your hair grows back, I can see such things when anyone else in my place would think you're a throwaway, that's why I'm so good at this business: I get off on the potential of beauty, the withered rose bush that can be coaxed back to flower. I'm just explaining the situation, that's all. Anyway, you should thank me: I got you someone who was a cut above all these peasants. A wily man, makes a little money selling his produce in the markets. Incidentally, it's his prerogative to resell you if he wishes. Maybe that isn't so bad. Think of it this way: if you don't get along, maybe you'll end up with someone more compatible." As they rounded a bend just out of Yanji, an enormous house came into view, standing on a bluff over the road and surrounded by a brick wall frosted along the top with the distant gleam of glass shards, and for a moment her heart leapt with the thought that she might be heading for a life of luxury in such an estate. But then Bong-il noticed her gaze and said, "Do you like that place? It's mine." She scoffs. "I'm not kidding. There's a lot of money in girls. And of course I have other business ventures. You had no idea you were in the presence of such an important man, huh, little girl?" There was a long silence as the Land Cruiser continued on to Young-shik's village, then barreled past row upon row of attached brick houses — slum dwellings, really: single story, each no larger than a villager's hut, and topped by swayback tile roofs and a clutter of crooked brick chimneys leaking coal smoke into a contuse, yellow sky. The rows of homes were separated by dirt roads where children played hopscotch, cautiously, finding the rough spots, because yesterday a cold rain had washed away the snow and now everything was frozen mud. Several children stopped to watch the strange vehicle. It passed three white doors and a red one, each decorated with strips of red paper whose gold characters wished health and prosperity to all who entered, then finally they stopped, Bong-il leaning across Eun-ju to let her out. Or to hold her in, rather, because he pinned her in place and slipped a business card into her hand. "If he decides to sell you, have him call me," Bong-il said. "Maybe I can broker someone better, once you fill out a little." She got out and slammed the car door. When Bong-il knocked, a farmer with a wind-creased face opened the door: a handsome jaw, intelligent eyes, a tiny wart by his nose, a superabundance of moles. Young-shik's overlarge paws were black with dirt, but he nonetheless shook Bong-il's soft, dank hand (Bong-il wiped his hand afterwards with a silk handkerchief; Young-shik dried his palm on his pants) and invited them through a concrete-floored entry room filled with rakes, shovels, buckets, dried ears of corn hanging from the walls, a plow without a blade. Glancing frequently with mute wonder at Eun-ju, the farmer led them into the living quarters, a single room with an electric cooker built into the floor-a gas unit covered by a lid the size of a truck's hubcap. A faucet poked its snout from the kitchen wall, but there was no sink, and a plastic trash barrel had been placed underneath it to catch the water. Everywhere there were signs that this was not North Korea: a twenty-kilo bag of rice sat in the corner, color calendars with pictures of girls in swimsuits hung on the walls, and there was electricity to squander: a miniature black-and-white television buzzed with a broadcast of a soccer game. Astoundingly, a bird cheeped from within Young-shik's shirt pocket. He patted himself down and removed a black object the size of a wallet, which he opened and spoke into. "She just got here," he said. "I'll call back." A phone without a cord. He folded and pocketed it. Blushing, he explained, "My mother." Then he remembered his manners and asked everyone to sit on the floor. Young-shik surveyed the woman, a scrawny refugee with cherry red lipstick supplied by Bong-il, dressed in a fake Adidas warm-up suit, recently purchased, over which she wore her only remaining article of clothing from Korea: a padded long overcoat with a chevron pattern woven into the fabric. "Why is her hair so short?" he asked. The broker waved away his concern. "Hunger. You should have seen her when she got here: almost completely bald. They're often like that when they leave. Anyway, you can see it's already growing back, glossy and thick. We've been fattening her up for you." Young-shik stared at Eun-ju and opened his mouth as if wishing to say something, but he was struck dumb. He turned to Bong-il for help. "Her personality — how is it?" "Quiet. Very kind. Obedient." "And she is capable of bearing children?" "Absolutely. She was inspected by a doctor, a woman doctor." This was entirely untrue, but it mollified Young-shik, for he said, "I think we agreed upon three thousand yuan?" "This one is thirty-three hundred." "You can't do that; you already said —" "There were extra payments to the border guards on both sides, more than I expected. This is a dangerous business, and I risked my life to bring you your heart's desire. Besides, look at her, she's worth it: a lovely girl, the future mother of your sons. There's this rich guy in Yanji wanted her for karaoke, said he would pay double whatever you offered, but I said a girl like this should go to a decent man. What's three hundred? If you don't like her, you can always make a profit on the resale." Young-shik glowered at the broker, then at Eun-ju, as if she were somehow complicit in this. She gave a sad, helpless shrug, and his expression softened into a look of shy inquiry, as if to ask, Well, then, do you think we can stand each other? Her eyebrows arched in reply: We shall see. This made him smile, and he nodded, almost bowed, a motion of the shoulders rather than his head, and began counting out the money from a candy box that he kept in the wardrobe. Bong-il's hitherto dour face split in a broad grin. Thirty-three hundred yuan was everything this farmer possessed, it was obvious, and it flattered the broker's vanity, as it might flatter a heroin dealer's, to offer a commodity so achingly desired by the buyer. Young-shik handed over the money without meeting Bong-il's gaze, full of glad bonhomie, then endured the broker's congratulations, his slaps on the back, his assurances that he would not regret this; for that matter, Bong-il nearly blurted out not to worry, she was terrific in bed, never mind that the age, twenty-whatever, was a little old for his tastes; he preferred to sample the fourteen-, fifteen-year-olds that the pimps and millionaires purchased — or at least his face said all that as he gave one last happy wink at Eun-ju. Then seeing he was unwanted, he bounced out, whistling as he strode for the car, where the driver slumped, head flung back and mouth open, as if murdered at the wheel, but he quickened when his boss rapped on the glass. Young-shik shut the door and returned to this new presence in his household: a wife. For a moment the two sat together. He reached for her hand, calculated what point he might properly propose they go to bed, then blushed as she read his thoughts. Instead he said, "I understand you were a reporter." "Yes, but it means nothing. I wrote what they told me." "You have an education?" "I graduated from Kim Il-Sung University, in Pyongyang." "I used to long to go the university. I excelled in maths. But I dropped out of school to help my father on the farm, so I'm an uneducated man. I hope you won't find me too dull." A self-mocking grin tugged at his mouth as he said this, and she could not help smiling. "I am sure farming is an interesting occupation, as well." "You're the first woman I have ever met who thought so." They contemplated this. Momentarily it occurred to him to suggest, "Would you like some tea?" "Please." "There's a box on the shelf there. I'd like a cup, too. And as you see, the kettle stands beside it."
"Why is her hair so short?" he asked.
"Why is her hair so short?" he asked.
The broker waved away his concern. "Hunger.
You should have seen her when she got here:
almost completely bald.
Young-shik was an innocent, just as Eun-ju had been when she left Hongwan, and their first attempts at consummation were abruptly concluded by his premature enthusiasm, a phenomenon that she in all honesty hoped would continue, but by the third night they had succeeded, or so he thought, for afterwards his heart was enraptured and melancholy at once, and he kissed her face and shoulders again and again, then spoke of the son he wanted, of the joy of family, of the way his mother and his father used to stealthily rustle about at night under the covers when they thought he was asleep, and for a long time, until he was seven or eight years old, he thought they were looking for something they had lost. But after he nodded off, Eun-ju lay awake trembling, averting her interior gaze from the sunspot on her heart, grasping instead at random distractions as they fluttered like moths through her mind: Papa, his strong hands, the sadness that settled upon him when I came home from school and recited my lessons: Our National Father, who shines upon us like the sun, and after mumbling, "He would be proud of you, daughter," he sat with a newspaper in his lap, not reading, but staring at the wall, unable to be drawn from his catatonic melancholy; no, something happier: think of Mama, long ago, when there was food, returning from a trip to Vladivostok with a bag of chocolates wrapped in shiny pictures of camels and palm trees, which she placed on a shelf out of reach as I stamped and said I want I want I want, an insufferable brat; think of home, of the candlelight glittering on the frost patch the size of a mattress growing on the wall of the living room; think of work, of the spaghetti of electrical wiring stapled along the ceiling of the newsroom, of the baby cockroaches that infested the desk drawers, of the broken Soviet refrigerator in the stinking canteen without food, of the hours of sitting through speeches and parades in order to write something that meant nothing to no one at any time ever: Hongwan Kangdong Senior Middle School was renamed Hero Kangdong Senior Middle School Tuesday, for among its graduates were a dozen labor heroes of the republic who devoted their lives to shining acts of sacrifice on behalf of the world-dazzling Juche ideal that has left the American aggressors and their "south" Korean hirelings confounded and amazed, heroes such as Ri Chun Do, who with his very body protected the portraits of the President Kim Il Sung and Marshal Kim Jong Il and saved many revolutionary comrades from the explosion of a hand grenade and now enjoys eternal life (but even as you wrote-mindlessly, the hangul letters goose-stepping from the fog of the unconscious-you wanted to ask, What grenade? And why throw an explosive at a portrait? And for that matter, how does one attain eternal life in a Marxist universe?). As she lay there, however, the dark interior tide would not be stayed by distractions, and she gave herself over to the flood of hot panic, remembering the night Bong-il unlocked the shed and called her, rather than the two teenage girls she had heard whimpering every night from the main house, remembering the vodka smell of his sweat and his fatness atop her and the pain of his rubbery thrusting as she turned her head to the side and bit her knuckles. Lying here now, with Young-shik, she cried, but silently, because she did not wish to awaken her husband. Dear Jesus, let me find peace here. Dear Buddha, do not let them arrest me. Dear Leader, it is treason, but I do not want to die in your brilliant present reality. Shifting in the dark, Eun-ju held Young-shik because she had no one else. It was obvious that this farmer was crazy about her. When the pussy willows budded in March, he brought home a bouquet and put them in a bottle for her. He took down his girlie calendars after she made a face at them. He inquired about her likes and dislikes with the frown of a schoolboy seeking through diligence to make up for a long absence from class. This is not to say he did not have expectations of her —cooking, cleaning, scrubbing his farm clothes in a plastic washbasin-and he did his best to issue his orders sternly, as was expected of a husband. Yet however severe he attempted to sound, he always smiled, and his face quickly assumed the smitten puppy dog expression he wore in her presence. Nevertheless, she soon learned that in China, too, there were ideological demands: he was stunned to discover that she did not follow any soccer team, and informed her that she must now root for Aodong; it would cause disharmony in the household if they were not in accord on this matter. Aodong it will be, Eun-ju said. He nodded, but the look of suspicion in his eye was entirely familiar: he was uncertain of her orthodoxy. Yet Young-shik respected her enough to ask what her favorite book was so he could read it; he was envious of her education. At first she thought it was a trap-she did not yet trust him — and she said that she had always found Chairman Mao's sayings deeply influential. But seeing the look on his face, she confessed that she did not especially like books; one always believed that the written word could be full of joy and love and death and betrayal, but all you read at home were classics such as Kim Jong-il In His Younger Days and U.S. Troops' Bestial Tyranny Flayed, and despite the longing one felt while gazing with one's eyes unfocused at the pages of any given tome, imagining that words could arrange themselves into a living force, one could not bring life to the stories about female guerillas tearing off pieces of their tunics to create a quilt for the infant Kim as Japanese bullets whistled past, not to mention to the entire libraries full of industrial production statistics and Juche theory. She cut herself short, abruptly stayed by a different worry: that she had spoken over his head; at all costs she did not want to insult his intellectual pride, lest he announce that he had had enough of this headstrong woman and get rid of her. But he nodded gravely and said, "I get the same feeling reading the agricultural news in the papers here. There's so much they could say — exposes of party leaders who manipulate the rice cooperative, stories about how the hog farm is polluting the river — but it's all harvest reports and five-year plans, even in the middle of a drought." As the weeks passed, Eun-ju's fears that Young-shik would resell her diminished. But although she had, on her first day in China, removed from her lapel the medal of the deceased yet ever-living head of state and Great Leader, President Kim Il-sung, grinning (the frowning medal had been replaced some time ago), and pinned it inside her coat pocket where she would not lose it; she dared not throw it away, for if the unthinkable happened and she were picked up by the Chinese police and sent home, she did not want to arrive at the frontier without her medal, as its presence might mitigate her treason: I never lost my faith, I never ceased to long for the fulfillment of human evolution achieved in the Great Leader and his son, the Dear Leader: Kim Jong-il. She never went outdoors unless absolutely necessary, and shopping in the open market was her greatest anxiety: elbowing through the crowds in broad daylight, ordering eels and bok choy, scooping paprika from the baskets at a spice seller's stall, always glancing around to make sure the people pressing close were grannies with shopping bags and not young men in leather and sunglasses ready to grab her, for her fear was not only of police but of other brokers, who had been known to kidnap Korean girls already here in China and deliver them to other buyers. For the first few weeks, she drank almost no tea and consumed as little water as possible so that she would limit her trips to the community latrine, though eventually she came to see that the neighbor women, all ethnic Koreans, regarded her sympathetically, and two of them dropped by one day to offer tips on how to dress and wear her makeup like a Chinese. Often at night, however, after descending through a tunnel of relentless dark, she found herself once again lying beside Bong-il as he snored, and she thought, There's a knife in the kitchen and no one to stop me, I could find it and plunge it into his neck. With her heart pounding, she crept to the kitchen and felt about in the shadows, always unable to find the knife, and then as her eyes adjusted she made out a dark spot in the wall. A set of yellowed human teeth was nibbling a hole from the other side, the cuspids recessed like Bong-il's. She woke herself, and rolling over in moonlight, she looked at her husband, his mouth gaping innocently, a yawning infant. Hush, she thought, hush, as though it were he who had awakened terrified. She dared not turn on the light, for fear of either waking Young-shik or catching the attention of a police patrol that would then drop by to investigate. She did not know if they would do this here in China, but old precautions were hard to get rid of. She found a bottle of beer and drank it in the dark. When May Day came, there was no avoiding one task out of doors. Young-shik insisted that she help with the plowing. At first it frightened her, working out in the bright fields in plain view of the cars, trucks, cyclists, and red taxicabs that crept along the muddy road toward Yanji. Eun-ju lead an ox team back and forth as Young-shik followed, steering the plow and exhorting the beasts, "Come on! Get! Yah!" Sinking ankle deep in the soil, she trudged along, stone-footed, the clay clinging to her boots, but despite her anxiety, she began to enjoy herself, so long had it been since she worked outside and felt the sun warming her skin. The last time she had trudged across a rural field was when General Secretary Kim himself had overseen the land realignment project in North Phyongan Province, and she had covered his speech. Dear Leader: she was surprised to discover that this hero military commander, inventor of nuclear physics, astrophysicist, greatest golfer known to man, and immortal botanist and biologist who had, at four years of age, discovered why chickens raise their beaks when they drink and why there are no black flowers — that this poet and genius was a fat little man in a Mao suit with bouffant hair and yellow teeth, lecturing everyone on Marxist doctrine as relates to land reclamation, cracking jokes with his generals and regional party appartchiks about the girls they had found him from the cooperative farms in Jongju city and Uiju and Kwaksan counties, and a blasphemous thought wormed into her mind: that he was merely stupid, this Son of the Most High who strode around waving his pointer, who with his Father in Heaven had sown the seeds of everlasting joy and prosperity across the land. Yet she suppressed this thought and sang his praises in the story she filed, she could do it drunk or asleep, so familiar was the speech she was given to paraphrase: Feasting his eyes on the large standardized fields, he noted with great satisfaction that provincial party members and other working people, People's Army soldiers, shock brigade members from other provinces, and engineers involved in the Land Realignment Campaign have completely changed the appearance of the countryside by creditably finishing the difficult and gigantic project on a high qualitative level. He lavished praise on their great achievements and thanked them. He noted that all the soldiers and people involved in the large-scale nature-transforming project have carried out their enormous assignments in a matter of several months in the indomitable revolutionary spirit of soldiers who were pressed for everything, though the people's enemies had said that even a few years would not be enough to complete the task. He added that this is a world-startling miracle that has forced the craven American aggressor to go down on his knees in awe of the achievements of the Korean people. He pointed out that the present brilliant reality in North Phyongan Province clearly shows how powerful is the might of our army and people who are rushing ahead in a high-pitched spirit with an iron faith that once they are determined, they can do anything. He said that realignment must be done throughout the whole land so that none of its former contours could be recognized, and likewise the kulaks and hirelings of the imperialists must be crushed in their attempts to secretly and illegally hoard food crops for personal benefit. "Ha!" Young-shik called behind the oxen. "Ha! Get up!" As she led the snorting, muddy beasts back and forth, Eun-ju gazed across the crests and valleys of Yanbian, and from here she could see half a dozen other ox teams, the men always slogging along behind the plow, the women (for those farmers lucky enough to be married) always leading the oxen. It is right that I will end my days as a farmwife. Working the soil will be a penitence for every word I have written. "You're drifting left," Young-shik called, and she yanked on the reins and pulled the oxen in line.
Dear Jesus, let me find peace here. Dear Buddha, do not let them arrest me. Dear Leader, it is treason, but I do not want to die in your brilliant present reality.
The wedding was put off till the planting was done in May, and by that time she had missed a period and was suffering from alternating bouts of terrific hunger and nausea that caused her to bolt for the garden and throw up. She told Young-shik she was not yet used to rich food, for she did not want to raise his expectations just yet, and she was afraid the family would insist that she have an abortion if this child's sex proved to be incorrect, for she wanted to protect for this being inside her, the prawnlike form, the tiny appendages that would become legs and arms. So she kept the news secret for now. Yet even without suspecting her condition, the family saw her as a treasure, an enhancement of their status — my son, you know, has found himself a wife — and she clung to this observation as evidence that the time had passed in which it was possible to resell her. In June they rented a maroon bridal gown at great expense and held a private ceremony. There was no way they could register the marriage, for she was an illegal, and this meant that her son or daughter (please make it a boy) would not be able to attend school, enter university, drive a car, or find a job; but that was years away, and she could hope things would change by then. She received a great number of gifts: a wardrobe, a new dress, a set of plates, a cutting board and several knives, clothes from a cousin who worked in the market. The women prepared a feast such as Eun-ju had never seen in her life: many varieties of kimchi, rice and beans, fern salads, minute salted fish, and bulgogi — slices of pork and beef fried with garlic and eaten wrapped in lettuce. The only time she had ever heard of such a feast in North Korea was at the April Eighth Cooking Festival at the Pyongyang Noodle House, a festival open only to the senior party leaders (she had not been allowed to attend the event she was covering); yet she could smell the food, taste it, as she wrote, hungry. But even then, she had heard nothing about the delicacy that was served at her wedding, an edible dog. The slaughter took place in public, in the alley behind her in-laws' apartment. Looping a noose around the neck of a collie, Young-shik's father Yun-jong hoisted it by the throat while Young-shik beat it to death with a stool, and the provisional contentment that Eun-ju had attained (I am alive, I eat every day, I think I can care for this Young-shik and he is a decent man) crumbled within. Yun-jong set to butchering the dog with quick slices of the knife, skinning the fur off the tallowy ribcage, and Young-shik gave his bride a proud glance, knowing that dog would have been beyond the means of any but the richest in North Korea, strays long ago having been eaten. But only when he wiped the sweat from his sockets (first on one shoulder, then the other) did he see his wife's face as she fled indoors. He followed her upstairs, through the apartment, and out onto the balcony, where he comforted her while trying not to attract any more attention than a groom normally draws while whispering to his bride in view of everyone with his face spattered in dog's blood. "What's the matter?" "It's nothing. It will pass." Eun-ju smiled. If the Democratic People's Republic teaches one anything, it is to perfect a public face of joy and optimism, whatever fires burn within. "You're upset about the dog." "I've just never seen that before." "You're too innocent for a farmwife. That's your problem." The thought pleased Young-shik, and before returning to his task he squeezed her hand. He left blood on it. The panic slowly subsided, and she calmed herself thinking of Young-shik. He is a good man, he is, he is. You cannot ask for more than decency and a rugged handsomeness too, especially when you consider what might have awaited you here. And the capacity of his mind is surprising for an unlettered man. I can be happy with him. Maybe I already am. Maybe this is all happiness is. Not being hungry. Not being beaten. Not lying. They both drank too much that day, and they barely made it home on his motorbike, wobbling around the corners, laughing, sounding his horn as they zipped past a car that had broken down by the road. But that night it was Young-shik's turn for insomnia. He started awake as a lightning storm marched in, and he could not believe his foolhardiness, driving drunk, blaring his way through town. Eun-ju moaned in her sleep. Gently he took her hand. He was not blind to the sadness that lay upon her like a heavy cloak, and it dawned on him that he had purchased a bottomless reservoir of pain along with a bride. Rain pelted the windows, and the lightning flashed, defining her face in a blue relief. Moments later (two, three, four) thunder rattled the windows. Young-shik was desperately afraid of losing her. Eventually she rolled over and issued a little gasp. She was crying. He asked, "What's the matter, Ju?" "Nothing." "Was the wedding a disappointment?" "No, it was wonderful." "Honey, I am sorry the dog upset you." "The dog doesn't matter. I like dog. It just reminded me of something." "Of what?" For a long time Eun-ju did not answer. Just as he concluded that she had fallen asleep, her voice came from the electrostatic dark, "There was this boy who somehow stole a cake from Kang, a local party leader who had gotten rich reselling the rice donated by the imperialist aggressors — he was selling a kilo for one-hundred fifty won: two months' wages. I don't know how it happened, whether the boy broke into Kang's apartment or stole it from his car or what, but he came running down the street, saw it was a dead end, and panicked and banged through the door of this state store — you see such places in Korea, the shelves bare nowadays save for candles, matchsticks, maybe a bottle of vegetable oil, some Victorious Vodka. It was a frightening sight — this little stick figure crouching between the radiator and a bench, choking down frosting like a wild animal. Then Kang came puffing in. 'Spit it out, you little traitor,' he said. The boy swallowed. Kang seized the bench and battered him again and again, staved the boy's skull in. He left the body there in a pool of violet for the shopkeeper to dispose of. This was not hard to do. This was at the height of the famine." "You saw all this." He felt a movement: a nod. "You get so you don't feel," Eun-ju said. "I hadn't thought of it in a long time. So many things happen. Everyone's hungry." He had always avoided asking how she had gotten to China, fearing that it would include details that he could not bear to hear. But now he inquired: "Surely it was no easy thing to flee the country?" "My father had connections; he was the one who sold me." Young-shik sat up, hugging his knees. "I agreed," she said. "There was no other way. I could have died there, and the family was desperate. I told you my father had cancer." He nodded with his chin on his knees. "Papa used to be a top railroad official — so was my mom before she passed away, for that matter; she has been to Russia several times to work with her counterparts in Khasan and Vladivostok. But because of his illness he hasn't worked since before the People's Supreme Court hanged the Seven Lackeys of the Imperialists and their Southern Stooges in Kim Il-sung Stadium. I'm sure you heard all about that. No? They said the world media was following it. As it happened, Papa had worked closely with two of the traitors before their execution. There was a time when we lived in terror that he would be arrested, too. Perhaps with Papa's illness, he was out of the way and the organs decided it wasn't worth pursuing him. I'm speculating. In any case, things became very hard for us after that. Mama had already passed away by then. For me, there were struggle sessions at work. We felt something was coming, that I would soon be arrested. But Papa knows certain wealthy men of influence, military officers, party members who were active disassembling factories and selling lathes and machining tools to China as scrap. He is very sick, and he spends his days lying in our two-room apartment, wan and skeletal. I used to sit with him massaging his limbs where they hurt. The blackouts last eighteen, twenty hours a day in the residential districts, and the central heating has hardly worked since I was a girl, so he lies there in his outdoor coat, heaped with blankets, his mouth fixed in an expression of rage and bewilderment. He is a very good man, a brave man, and now he is in pain all the time — never sleeps more than forty-five minutes at a time. Slept. Sometimes I'm afraid he has passed away by now." There was another long pause in her story, and when a flash illuminated a glittering trail on her cheek, Young-shik wiped it away. "The apartment always smelled of illness, of medicine, of ginseng snake wine, burning ginger, moxibuxion cotton. But in the end there was no money for food or medicine. We talked many times about what our options were, and I agreed with Papa that finding a husband in China was the best one. Still, it was a shock to come home from work one Friday and find a man squatting there in a Chinese suit and white socks and a watch that hung loose on his wrist. His face shone with health — the fat cheeks and pellucid eyes of one who has never starved. 'Last time I saw you, you were just a little girl, and look at you now,' he said. It was Kang. Obviously he did not remember or notice that I had been there when he killed the boy. I glanced at Papa in alarm, but he wouldn't meet my eye. "Kang scrutinized me. Astonishingly, he began prodding my ribs. 'She's thin,' he said. "Papa replied, 'We eat simply, she is a good cook in these hard times and can produce a delicious dinner from those bark noodles and grass mixed with maybe a couple tablespoons of rice when it's available. I do not complain; as the Dear Leader says, we must toughen ourselves in the battle against the American aggressor. But she will fatten up when she gets real food again.' "'The question is, is she healthy? No diseases? I see you are a sick man yourself, Comrade Lee.' "'Oh, she's very healthy," Papa said. He gave me this despairing glance. 'She has always been a good girl and a party member. No boyfriends, nothing serious.' "'How old is she?' Kang said. "'Twenty-two,' I said. "He glanced at me. 'She seems older.' "'She's hungry. Everybody is.' "'We will say twenty-two. She's a beautiful girl, no obvious blemishes. Yes, I think we can find her a husband. If only she were fourteen or fifteen, we might find her a wealthy man indeed. As it is, I can give you seven hundred fifty won or five kilos of rice. Your choice.' "Papa chose the rice. The family was hungry and he could also barter it. Kang gave me a half hour to pack, but there was nothing to take. A bra, a pair of underwear, my red diploma (Bong-il threw that away; it was dangerous, evidence I wasn't Chinese). I sat with my father before I left, and we wept. There's something deep inside him I could never reach: I think he is a religious believer, maybe a Christian (I once heard I had a great uncle who was a priest); but he would never talk to me about it, not until that moment, when he hugged me and whispered, 'I'll pray for you.' Kang and I left for the border that night." Young-shik lay back down. The thunderstorm was tramping away, its flashes distant now, the thunderclaps insufficient to rattle the windows, a faint rumble now. "Are you angry at me," he asked, "for buying you?" Yes I am, she wanted to say. I am not a piece of furniture, a bicycle, a cake. I am angriest of all because I am unable to hate you, because I might even love you, because I'm afraid I would love any man who provided for me and showed a little gentleness after such deprivation. However, she only said, "How can I be angry? Without you I'd be dead." "It's not the way I would have chosen to find you, but it turned out right in the end, eh? I thought I would live my whole life alone, that I would never find a wife. And then I was so afraid that I'd spend all this money and we'd hate each other's guts. I know it was hard for you, but you did your duty, helping your family. And if we make some money off this crop, maybe we can get a little cash to your family. Everything will work out. We can get treatment for your father. Maybe we can bring him here. Do you think they'd allow that if we bribe somebody?" Young-shik slipped his hand inside the blouse of her pajamas and stroked her abdomen. Did he suspect that she was pregnant? No, he was tracing a line from her navel down to the thicket that led in a narrowing triangle to a cleft in the sandstone, to the alabaster cavern with its well of myrrh, slipping two fingers inside. She rolled toward him, grasped him gently, began a motion of the wrist, up and down. She said, "You won't ever sell me, will you, honey?" Stunned, he pinned her shoulders to the mattress and said, "Ju, how can you ask that after today? My entire family —" "Because Bong-il told me —" "Hush," Young-shik said. Then humbly, as if fearing where such a declaration might lead, he said to a woman for the first time in his adult life, "I love you." "Darling," Eun-ju said as her husband unbuttoned her blouse, "you know I love you." Perhaps she meant it. In any case, what else could one say? Two days later, Young-shik set off at dawn, four o'clock in summer in this part of China, and by the time Eun-ju had left to go shopping, he was twenty kilometers away, slowly driving a heap of vegetables into town past a long line of peasants on their backwards tricycles while the trucks rattled by spilling gravel. As she walked home with a duffel bag full of groceries she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family in Hongwan. She recalled a memory from two decades ago, her father saying, "Up!" and throwing her almost into the blurry canopy of blossomy trees in Stalin Park, then she came rushing down toward his big eyes and open mouth, to be caught only at the last moment. "Again!" she cried. "Again, Daddy!" It was one of her earliest memories, but then as she tried to cling to it, strangely, it was as if she were stationary and Papa were being cast away from her, and now, walking along a dirt road in Manchuria, she was seized by the conviction that he had died. He would be lying in his coffin — his blue pallid face, the mortification that ages the body when the spirit departs, so that within hours he would appear to be ninety and not fifty-two — and she heard the state burial liturgy, the name of the Father and the Son, the Great Leader and the Dear Leader, blessed duality, and heading down Central Street with a heavy duffel of food, she grieved at the ubiquity of mourning during a general famine that would have drowned out any sorrow over the death of one middle-aged cancer victim. She had just left the main road for the warren of alleyways where she lived when someone grabbed her from behind. "Get in," he said. "Let me go!" "Get in." Bong-il. Shoving her toward the Land Cruiser. His driver too, along with a powerful man who pinned her other arm behind her back. "I'll scream. Help!" "You want to scream?" Bong-il said. "You want the cops to come. Go ahead." Eun-ju said nothing. "So shut up and get in the car." Bong-il settled beside her while the bodyguard and the driver claimed the front seats, and he removed a handful of sunflower seeds from his pocket as the vehicle accelerated. The odors of sweat and after-shave filled the interior. He stuck a few seeds in his mouth and began cracking them, separating them with his tongue, plucking the husks from his lips to flick out the window. "Want some?" She ignored this. "What do you want with me?" "Don't look so angry. It's good news. I came back to rescue you from a life of drudgery. I couldn't get you out of my mind, particularly after I saw you on your so-called wedding day. You didn't notice me? I thought you did, the way you started. I was driving by, and I caught a glimpse of this vision of beauty, in that dress of yours, standing on the balcony, and I had my driver pull over. You can't imagine how stunned I was. Your hair's coming in fine, very pretty at that length — very modern. And I thought, I was right all along about that girl. I should have trusted my instincts and held onto you for a while longer. And then this fuckwit farmer comes out in his borrowed suit and starts tugging at your arm, and if I may say so, it was obvious you were downright peeved at him. Poor girl. Life is a long, long time to spend with someone you hate." "I don't hate him." Bong-il laughed and popped another pinch of seeds in his mouth. "So anyway, I had an idea: a kidnapping. I'm taking you off the hands of this farmer, putting you in a place where you'll have a better life, maybe a little spending money for clothes and baubles if you're a good girl. I've got a better man for you." "I don't want anyone else." "Shut up. It's me. Do you understand? I already have a wife, but she's just a stupid little girl and she won't get in your way. You can imagine what it's like to be married to a teenager. Music, hair, parties. I told her we need another maid, but you don't need to take orders from her. Only from me. Who knows? Maybe if things turn out well, I'll sell her, and it will just be us, you and me." "My husband is going to find me." "Husband? Oh, you mean the guy who bought you for three thousand three hundred yuan? Fuck the stupid farmer. If I'm feeling generous and you don't irritate me too much, maybe I'll find him a replacement bride. What do you care? You saw where I live, a mansion, almost. You'll stay there with me. Your new master. Haha, your Dear Leader." The Land Cruiser was doing sixty-five kilometers an hour when Eun-ju stepped out. For a moment she was tumbling on the abrading gravel. Then a concrete pinnacle rose from the road and struck her head, and an inkwell exploded before her eyes. On his first day back from his vacation, Inspector Yang with the Foreign Crimes Unit received an order to carry out his least favorite duty: returning a refugee. He found the woman in the dispensary cell, where the doctor, himself an ethnic Korean, at first argued that she could not possibly be handed over in this condition; but he was a state budget worker, and when his duty was made clear by the garrison commander, he signed her release papers. Yang escorted the prisoner, handcuffed and bandaged, to a taxicab outside, where the driver was instructed to head for the border. The two men passed the time chatting in Chinese, which the girl, it was obvious, did not understand. Inspector Yang was glad that the driver was a Han; they understood the necessity of this kind of work. "Those Koreans would overrun the whole region if you guys didn't stop them," the driver said. "There wouldn't be a single human being from the DMZ to the Tumen River. They'll all be here." Yang nodded, but it was an uncomfortable ride. He glanced at the prisoner, the black eyes, the bloodied ear, the arm in a sling. The girl was so frightened, it was as if she was in shock. All the way to the border, sixty kilometers, she stared ahead, saying nothing. They stopped for a half hour to fill out a sheaf of papers at the border guard station on the Chinese side, then walked across the bridge to the halfway point, where the borderline was painted on the asphalt. It was summer now, and she was wearing no coat, and so she arrived without her medal of the Great Leader, an act of treason in itself. The North Korean border guard did not even wait until the prisoner was on his side of the line before smashing her in the eye with his fist. "Did you like fucking those Chinese?" he said. Eun-ju began weeping, gulping out sobs that had been building up for months, for years, for decades, for at that moment she was elderly, burdened by grief, by pain, by isolation, by men, by the prospect of dying alone in a very small place. It occurred to her now that she had never told Young-shik she was pregnant. Inspector Yang watched as the border guard dragged the girl to a garrison on the other bank and shoved her through the door. Sighing, he returned to his taxi and said, "Let's get out of here." The driver had seen everything from the shore and he said, "They're all shits, North Koreans." The inspector bit his pen. Somehow it seemed disloyal to the fraternity of men in uniform to acknowledge this comment. "Maybe she'll find her way back," the driver said. "I hear it happens. They bribe their way out." Yang shrugged. "Somebody should do something," he said vaguely. "It always ends like this."
The thunderstorm was tramping away, its flashes distant now, the thunderclaps insufficient to rattle the windows, a faint rumble now. "Are you angry at me," he asked, "for buying you?"
Tagged with: fiction • North Korea
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Home > Fill Your Nursery > Toys > Wooden Toys
I am so popular I have currently sold out!
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Trip Planner: South America / Argentina / Northern Argentina / Province of Santiago del Estero / Santiago del Estero / Sightseeing / Forum
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60 days in Northern Argentina BY A USER FROM AUSTRALIA October, outdoors, beaches, historic sites, fast-paced, hidden gems PREFERENCES: October, outdoors, beaches, historic sites ATTRACTION STYLE: Hidden gems PACE: Fast-paced 34 days in Northern Argentina BY A USER FROM IRELAND November, culture, relaxing, beaches, historic sites, museums, shopping, popular & hidden gems PREFERENCES: November, culture, relaxing, beaches, historic sites, museums, shopping ATTRACTION STYLE: Popular & hidden gems PACE: Medium 46 days in Brazil, Argentina & San Pedro de Atacama BY A USER FROM BRAZIL December, culture, outdoors, historic sites, museums, slow & easy, popular & hidden gems PREFERENCES: December, culture, outdoors, historic sites, museums ATTRACTION STYLE: Popular & hidden gems PACE: Slow & easy
Valentino M
Muy buen lugar para conferencias gracias a su acústica y calidad... recomendable para ver espectáculos!!!Very good place for conferences thanks to its acoustic and quality... advisable to see shows!View original
Era una estación de trenes del Mitre remodelada y convertida en Centro de Convenciones. Cuando fui estaban armando la feria del libro, y pude ver como los paneles cambiaban de lugar facilmente, para f... more »It was a station of the Mitre remodelled and converted into a Convention Center. When I went were arming the book fair, and could see how the panels changed easily place, to form new divisions and stand. A luxury, the there are proud.View original
Dan B
Un lugar restaurado con muy buen gusto, mantuvieron su fachada original de la época, se recuperó el reloj original, excelentes los pisos de madera, los muebles estilo francés, en la zona de andenes se... more »A place with very good taste, kept its original facade of the era, recovered the original clock, wood floors, French style furniture, excellent in the area of platforms are level floor and made meeting rooms with walls that slide and enlarge to actually receive thousands of attendees, a luxury.View original
Raúl Benjamín SabouretExcellent placeView original
Luciana UgartemendiaBeautiful placeView original
Ariel alejandro calibaThe most attractive of my provinceView original
Vale Diaz RuizBeautiful experience,View original
Sebastián FrancoMajestic work FORUM. I knew what it was and truth have worn with this building.View original
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Plaza Libertad
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- Chilliwack E Young Yale
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The overall condition of the nation's coastal waters has improved slightly, based on a recently released environmental assessment. The National Coastal Condition Report III (NCCRIII) is the third in a series of environmental assessments of U.S. coastal and Great Lakes waters.
The report, a collaboration of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA); the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA); the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS); the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service; coastal states; and the National Estuary Program, assessed America's coastal conditions using five indicators of condition: water quality, sediment quality, benthic community condition (the health of the water's bottom-dwelling invertebrate species), coastal habitat loss as indicated by changes in wetland area, and fish tissue contaminants.
The overall condition of America's coasts is rated as "fair," based on these five indicators. Comparison of the condition scores shows that overall condition in U.S. coastal waters has improved slightly since the 1990s. Coastal conditions improved in the Northeast and the West, but there were slight decreases in conditions in the Southeast and Gulf of Mexico. The conditions in the Great Lakes and Puerto Rico remained the same.
The next National Coastal Condition Report is expected to be released in 2011 and will provide an assessment of the status of U.S. coastal waters from 2003 to 2006, along with trends in condition since the 1990s.
Melissa Anley-Mills | EurekAlert!
Further information:
Further reports about: > Fish and Wildlife Service > Lakes > coastal habitat loss > environmental assessment > fish tissue contaminants > nation's coastal waters > water's bottom-dwelling invertebrate species > wellness check-up > wetland area
The Great Unknown: Risk-Taking Behavior in Adolescents
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An important step towards a completely new experimental access to quantum physics has been made at University of Konstanz. The team of scientists headed by...
Yersiniae cause severe intestinal infections. Studies using Yersinia pseudotuberculosis as a model organism aim to elucidate the infection mechanisms of these...
Researchers from the University of Hamburg in Germany, in collaboration with colleagues from the University of Aarhus in Denmark, have synthesized a new superconducting material by growing a few layers of an antiferromagnetic transition-metal chalcogenide on a bismuth-based topological insulator, both being non-superconducting materials.
While superconductivity and magnetism are generally believed to be mutually exclusive, surprisingly, in this new material, superconducting correlations...
Laser-driving of semimetals allows creating novel quasiparticle states within condensed matter systems and switching between different states on ultrafast time scales
Studying properties of fundamental particles in condensed matter systems is a promising approach to quantum field theory. Quasiparticles offer the opportunity...
Among the general public, solar thermal energy is currently associated with dark blue, rectangular collectors on building roofs. Technologies are needed for aesthetically high quality architecture which offer the architect more room for manoeuvre when it comes to low- and plus-energy buildings. With the "ArKol" project, researchers at Fraunhofer ISE together with partners are currently developing two façade collectors for solar thermal energy generation, which permit a high degree of design flexibility: a strip collector for opaque façade sections and a solar thermal blind for transparent sections. The current state of the two developments will be presented at the BAU 2017 trade fair.
As part of the "ArKol – development of architecturally highly integrated façade collectors with heat pipes" project, Fraunhofer ISE together with its partners...
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An innovative high-performance material: biofibers made from green lacewing silk
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text: Nightrida - triqtraq music app demo session by triqtraq - jam sequencer published on 2012-05-20T13:16:35Z DEMO SESSIONS of triqtraq - jam sequencer for iOS. All tracks were created inside triqtraq, using the included sample factory. triqtraq is the ultimate jam sequencer for electronic music producers or DJs who want to make music on the go, or improvise live. While it lets you create great sounding musical ideas with ease, triqtraq offers many surprising musical features that will please even experienced beat creators. triqtraq is available in the iTunes App Store. Comment by DuBSLuV http://soundcloud.com/dubsluv/dubsluv-transformer 2012/08/31 16:22:53 +0000


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Remember Katrina Kaif playing the cello in her 2008 film 'Yuvvraaj'? The actress played a cello player and even underwent special classes for it.
Amyra Dastur and Katrina Kaif
The makers of the new music video, 'Aa Bhi Jaa', featuring Sonu Nigam and Amyra Dastur seem to have been inspired by Katrina's characterisation in the Subhash Ghai film.
Amyra's look seems to have been modelled after the 'Phantom' actress. Well, like they say, imitation is the best form of flattery.
Spotted: Lara Dutta, Mahesh Bhupathi with their daughter in Bandra
Photos: SRK, Tamannaah Bhatia, Varun Dhawan at Mehboob Studio
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Hello guys!
This is just a quick update~ :")
I know that many will be surprised by this news..
But I will be collaborating with Lucy Pop (a popular kawaii Japanese brand!), to design the "Kawaii Girl" (not kawaii schoolgirl..^^) uniform!!
LucyPop team and I just had a meeting regarding the design a few days ago!
I'm actually nervous because I don't know if kawaii girls would like it.. but, I hope you / they will!
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I will keep you guys posted about this!
I also have tons of projects right now with my creative team and I can't wait for these to launch!


text:
Brand newLOWEST PRICE
Mistaken Identity (Lucinda Pierce) - Fanning, Diane NEW Hardcover 2010AU $36.27Free postage
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USED (VG) Mistaken Identity (Lucinda Pierce) by Diane FanningAU $36.95+ AU $7.95 postage
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About this product
- DescriptionA new mystery for Homicide Investigator Lucinda Pierce ...In a cosy suburban home a woman's body has been carefully laid out on a bed. She looks perfect, except for a single gunshot wound to the head. In the bathroom a bloody male corpse, missing both its head and its hands, is in the bath. When the victims' thirteen-year-old son reacts to the deaths in a strange way, claiming his father is immortal and has sold his soul to the devil, Homicide Investigator Lucinda Pierce suspects that this family has something to hide. Lucinda must uncover the secret that holds the key to the investigation, but news from her home town brings back painful memories and she must first overcome her emotional wounds, if she is to solve the case -
- Author BiographyDiane Fanning is a journalist and an Edgar Award Finalist author of six true crime books. She has been featured on Court TV, the Discovery Channel and local TV channels as well as having been interviewed by countless radio stations across the States. Diane was born in Baltimore, Maryland, lived for more than two decades in Virginia, and now lives in New Braunfels, Texas.
Key Features
- Author(s)Diane Fanning
- PublisherSevern House Publishers Ltd
- Date of Publication22/01/2010
- LanguageEnglish
- FormatHardback
- SubjectCrime, Thriller & Adventure
Publication Data
- Place of PublicationSutton
- Country of PublicationUnited Kingdom
- ImprintSevern House Publishers Ltd
- Weight399 g
- Width141 mm
- Height222 mm
- Spine25 mm
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Do You Want To Dance With Noel Kahn? Catch All The Amazing Episode 5 Music Here!
We're so happy to have him back!
Perfect Day by Amy Stroup plays when Emily and Sabrina share a morning kiss, before Emily has to run to take her test.
When Hanna overhears the police receive an APB saying that Elliott's car has been found we can hear Island by Ethel and the Chordtones feat. Ryan Levine of Wildling.
Where Fear Runs Through by Trent Dabbs plays as Hanna gets a call from Spencer who is looking for Caleb.
When Aria and Emily hunted around the burner apartment as Sara and Jenna shared a cocktail, we could hear Something's Got A Hold On Me by Angel Snow.
Spencer and Hanna talk about Elliott, before moving on to the painful topic of Caleb. The appropriately named Nothing but a Fight by The Palace Steps plays in the background.
Dusk by Wilsen plays when Emily sees Sara and Jenna having coffee together.
The hauntingly beautiful Little Sparrow by Baraka May plays as Alison discovers that the other Liars gave her jacket to A.D.
The super cool In The Shadows by Amy Stroup plays when Noel Kahn makes his triumphant return to Rosewood.
Remember to check out the official Spotify playlist too!
Which Rosewood resident would you like to go out partying with? Let us know below.
Season 7 - Episode 5 - Along Comes Mary
Jenna returns to Rosewood and befriends another one of the Liars' enemies, making her the PLL's number one suspect for Uber A. In order to leave the psychiatric hospital, Ali must be released into the care of a relative.Watch Now Related Articles


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Torrid Insider Polka Dot Tee is rated out of 5 by 20.
Rated 5 out of 5 by KellyB36 from Love it! I love this shirt with leggings! It does have a high spit on the side, but it hangs just right. You can't read the words at all, but the blend right in so no biggie.
Date published: 2016-08-21
Rated 5 out of 5 by Ann1990 from I love this tee! This tee is súper confortable and it looks really cool. It Fits perfectly and is great quality.
Date published: 2016-05-19
Rated 5 out of 5 by jaycee1 from very cute Glad I got this one. Hard to read what it says but I still like it
Date published: 2016-04-10
Rated 5 out of 5 by Kristin305 from Subtle but charming! I love polka dots! However, it is very hard to pull off polka dots as an adult. This tee is the answer! The subtle sheen on the dots keeps you from looking like a Minnie Mouse reject.
Date published: 2016-03-24
Rated 5 out of 5 by Jimbo from Great Material Tis is a great top. Much better than I thought it would be. Looks great with pants or leggigs
Date published: 2016-03-14
Rated 5 out of 5 by msmaia from I wear it to work and love it. The fabric is thicker than a rock-tee, and holds up. Looks very cute on. The writing doesn't stand out, but it still looks good. I wear it with navy leggings and boots. Cute!
Date published: 2016-03-06
Rated 5 out of 5 by Jules81 from Great fit and fast shipping! I bought these two shirts and they both fit great and look great. The light blue skull shirt is extremely comfortable and the black long polka dot tunic style is pretty enough to be dressy or casual. Love them both!
Date published: 2016-03-05
Rated 5 out of 5 by sorben1989 from Great Fit! and look Very happy with this purchase. Perfect fit and looks great!
Date published: 2016-03-01
Rated 5 out of 5 by crzyma4 from love the length I bought this online and was happy when it was delivered. I love the length of this tshirt.
Date published: 2016-02-29
Rated 5 out of 5 by Rosas jeans from Great shirt It's a wonderful shirt great length I like the polka dots gives a little definition to a black shirt even though the dots are black too. The only I didn't really notice it had some words on the shirt till I looked at my receipt when I placed the order but they are black and can barely see them.
Date published: 2016-02-20
Rated 5 out of 5 by kearea from Nice tee It is a little tight for a 2, but I like the length, and plan to wear it a lot.
Date published: 2016-02-04
Rated 5 out of 5 by DeeDee40 from Great fit. This shirt ran big, so glad I got a size smaller than I would normally wear. Didn't realize there was a saying in the front. Would have been nice if that were in the description because the picture didn't show it either.
Date published: 2016-01-27
Rated 4 out of 5 by Nambie from Great length Can't read the writing I bought this top today at the mall. I got it a size bigger because I really wanted it! And I'm happy I did. The one size bigger for me just added to its tunic-like qualities. I would personally wear with some destroyed jeans and heels/booties or to dress it doe with vans. The fact that you can't read it unless you're up close and personal is a bit disappointing but overall stylish and flattering for me!
Date published: 2016-09-22
Rated 4 out of 5 by NicoleRN from Comfy & cuter than it looked online. I bought this top to wear with jeans. Soft and comfy. I was hesitant about the slits on the sides, but they are the perfect length. No skin shows when I wear jeans or leggings.
Date published: 2016-02-13
Rated 4 out of 5 by Nimsay310 from Love the length I am 5'9" and the length was perfect for my liking. It covered the booty, perfect for leggings. It does run a little big, the side slits are very big, which contributed to the lose fit. I would have preferred the side slits not being cut that deep, overall, 4 out of 5 for me.
Date published: 2015-11-24
Rated 3 out of 5 by Lynsey89 from Eh- better image on site needed. It's sized correctly and good material. I just wish I picture on the site was more clear that it had stitched words on it.
Date published: 2016-02-24
Rated 3 out of 5 by rawrgirrawr from A Cute Shirt I have been wanting this shirt for awhile. I'm not sure how people haven't noticed the writing since it covers some of the grey dots and whilst I wish there wasn't writing, I am glad it isn't noticeable on it. I am glad I tried it on in the store because it was too baggy in my normal size and so I had to go one size down. I actually like the slits on the side and they are far enough down that no skin is visible. HOWEVER, I don't know if it is my shape but it looks a bit odd on my figure. It might be because the length of the shirt is similar to the length of a dress and so it may look better with leggings instead of jeans/lean jeans. The only reason I bought this shirt was because it was on clearance and if you buy one you get 2 free shirts (of same or lesser price) so I got this shirt free. Otherwise, I would have paid for this shirt since it only looks nice on the hanger.
Date published: 2016-02-18
Rated 2 out of 5 by Sassychristi from This shirt has writing on it!!! So I was super excited to get this shirt. It came and it had BLACK writing on BLACK background. I can't even read what the words say but there is definitely writing on it! It's very strange.
Date published: 2016-01-26
Rated 1 out of 5 by Robynbird from Looks like a nightgown I tried this on and thought it looks like a nightgown. I don't really care bc I got a lot of other awesome shirts in my package so I'm just going to return it
Date published: 2016-03-25
Rated 1 out of 5 by melza from Hate it... This shirt has black writing on it, you can really see it in the picture and you can't see it in person. Its hideous. Also, the shirt has slits up the sides that make it fit weird. Im returning this shirt ASAP.
Date published: 2016-01-29