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Snowboarding Forum - Snowboard Enthusiast Forums (http://www.snowboardingforum.com/forum.php)
- Boards (http://www.snowboardingforum.com/boards/)
- - Help sorting through the tech (http://www.snowboardingforum.com/boards/4894-help-sorting-through-tech.html)
Help sorting through the tech
OK, I've done a lot of reading since my first post on here asking for help, but I can't say I still quite "get" what I should be looking at or looking for in my first board. I've been boarding a couple times, ridden the Burton LTR, Cruzer and some Rossignol board with step ins that made me cringe. There was broad differences in how each performed (techniques I learned on one were all but useless on another), but I really don't understand why, or how to get what I want in my first board purchase. Let me outline what I *do* know:
*Brands to look at: Ride, Rome, Atomic, Burton, Never Summer (not heard much on Gnu, Lib Tech, Forum, K2, Salomon, Rossignol. Told to avoid Lamar, LTD and some others)
*Look for an all mountain board, since I'm still finding my way (found at least 3 or 4 models from each brand, so not really narrowing the playing field)
*Sintered base will be faster than extruded (I don't think "too slow" will be an issue for me for a little while)
*Torsional flex is good for easier turn initiation, unstable at high speeds. Mid trending towards soft flex board is a good beginner choice.
*2-3 degree bevel on base edge will help prevent catching an edge but be enough to hold on icier conditions
*At 6'2" 205 lbs, I want to look for something in the 160-164 length
*With size 11 boots (got a great deal on super comfy Hails), I want to look for a mid-wide to wide board (min 254 Waist)
There's still a lot about sidecuts and board shape that I don't quite get (and wish I did get while riding to better understand what my boards were/were not able to do).
Not sure what to look for in bindings (but I know my left foot was numb from the Burton Progression bindings my last day out).....
So there's what I know. I would love to get a board/binding set up to go with my Hails for <$250 (looking at 40-50% off end of season sales) but want something that I won't outgrow in a couple years (call it 15-20 actual days on the slopes) Is a true "entry level" board like the K2 Illusion paired with decent bindings (though I don't quite yet know what those are) a mistake?
you're pretty on point on most of this information.
as for as sintered and extruded bases, you probably
wont need to really worry about it since you're just
getting started and you're not a racer. an all mountain
board is perfect for people looking to advance in riding.
most all mountain boards have a mid ranged flex, so dont
worry too much about that. as far as edge bevel i wouldnt
go anything past 2 because then you're really getting into
a park bevel. you're right on sizing but personally i ride
all my boards a few CM shorter because i have more control
on over my board. on the sidecuts thing i cant tell you
much, i dont know much about that stuff. for bindings, you
have alot of choices. burton makes some really nice bindings
but theres controversy over their durability. i ride the
burton P1s and they're great, although a bit pricy. rome makes
some top bindings and are pretty cheap(in price). i have the
Targas and the 390s and they're amazing. also Rome customer
service is outstanding. ride makes some awesome bindings as well,
but of course there are tons more choices. a few pretty common
boards are the burton custom, ride havoc, ride agenda, rome
solution, Lib tech TRS and tons more. just pick a board you like
google "__________ review" and you should get tons of information.
same with bindings. good luck. and to everyone: feel free to
correct me on any of this.
:thumbsup: (on the above post)
Like what already said, your pretty on-point with almost all of it. There is one thing I will take a little issue with though, and that is board size. Don't assume becuase you weigh 200 that you need a 160-164cm deck. Boards are designed to flex/perform within certain weight ranges. They vary from one compnay to the next, and can be all over the place. For instance, the K2 WWW (a pure freetsyle deck) lists that someone up to 200lbs can ride a 153cm! Never Summer has stated that any of their boards can handle any weight. Meanwhile, if you look at Burton specs, you won't see any board under 155 that is listed for anyone over 160lbs-ish. Also, a shorter board will more agile, which is good when your learning. So, just be mindful of that when looking at your different options.
As to your specific question about the K2 Illusion, I don't know much about that deck, so I can't answer that one. I'm sure someone with more knowledge than I have will be able to...
Oh, Never Summer decks tend to run on the stiff side. Stiffer boards are usually considered a little more "advanced" than softer decks. This is not to say a new rider could not handle a stiff board, just that it will take them a bit longer to get the hang of it. So, if your really looking at Never Summer boards, I'd say lean towards the "softer" ones they make. They do make great stuff, and 3-year warranty! No one else in the industry does that.
And here are three helpful links:
SnowBoard Reviews - "Where The Riders Write The Reviews"
The Snowboard Buying Guide at CJU.com
Everything about snowboard stance
Thanks guys. Good info. Board length is a starting point, but I have been trying to be mindful of weight ranges from the manufacturer, and leaning towards the shorter end of what I can get away with (finding some 158's/156's that look interesting)
Thanks for the links, sedition. I've actually read most of it (reviews are spotty at best, simply because they are often written from a different perspective than my riding, but a good read). Unfortunately, the CJU took down the page I'm most confused about-- sidecut radius, core material, etc. I think this is where my shopping falls short of knowing what I'm getting.
I guess the core question is: What does the tech mean, and what are recommendations for a beginner rider? What will I outgrow in a "beginner" board as my skills progress? What in an "intermediate" board will make it harder for me to learn (and easier for me to hurt myself.:P)? (and what's the real difference between beginner and intermediate boards)
I'm willing to do my own research from manufacturers sites and other reviews, but I need to know what I can sort through in their propaganda to get to a sense of how the board will perform for me if I buy it.
Nice work doing all the research! Much better than buying a board because some guy on this forum raves about his own board for no other reason than it's HIS. I'm no expert, but just bought a new board myself so I know where you are comming from. I've ridden for a long time, but I was pretty unfamiliar with the recent board tech. I'll try to help by addressing a few things:
GNU and Libtech are both great brands made by the same companay, Mervin. Definately include them in your search. Forum is also very good as well from what I've read.
I wouln't worry much about the base. Sintered is better, but nothing a begginer would notice and my understanding is it needs to be waxed a little more. I got a sintered based and learned to wax myself so I don't have to go to the shop...pretty easy and kinda fun is a sick, obsessive sort of way.
As for size, the range you mentioned is about right, but could go up or down depending on preference and comfort. I'm 6'4'' 200 and ride a 167 freestyle/all mountain board and it works great. I learned on a 165 so that's what I am comfortable with. If I ever get another board for more park stuff, I'll go down to 158ish.
For a lot of the other tech stuff...honestly, I'd say don't worry about it too much. The size and stiffness are probably the mian things you will notice so focus on that. The rest of the stuff you won't notice once you adjust to your new board....which will take time no matter what board you get.
Have fun!
However, these are only guidelines. Many people, including myself, deviate from them. Most of the time I ride a short, soft pure-freestyle board all over the mountain. No question, it is a bit shaky at speed, but I've been riding a long time and no how to make the best of that. The compromise is also something I am willing to live with. My housemate hates my board for the exact reasons I love it. He rides a much longer and stiffer board. Also, most new riders are not able to grasp the nuances of the various tech stuff that goes into a board. I know for me it was a few seasons before I was able to really tap into that stuff in a real way. My guess is that that holds true for most new riders.
So, what can you take away from all this? The truth is, you wont really know what board is "perfect" for you until you have both been riding for awhile, and have ridden a number of different boards. I've been riding for 20 years, and I still don't know what board is "perfect." Do some research (and you clearly have), use some common sense, but don't worry about getting too hung up on tech specs at this point.
Hope this helps somewhat
Excellent advice here... just to add, I think you'd be fine on a 252 waist width or possibly a 250 depending on your stance as I've used a 252 width with size 11.5 boots and a 21" stance with 15, -6 angles with no problems. At your height you'd probably be using at least a 22" stance.
The difference between intermediate boards and beginner boards that would hinder your learning would be stiffness/flex (where the board be alot more sensitive to every input you give it) & bevel (a 90, or 0 bevel would also be more sensitive). At this point you don't need to worry about sidecut, shape (twin, directional), base.
In summary, if you're looking for a board RIGHT NOW I'd suggest:
- AT LEAST something 40% off, in the $150-$300 range
- 158-164 in length
- 252 waist or bigger
- mid-level flex (check the websites and compare boards), which usually means an all-mountain or park board
Specific suggestions off the top of my head are 159 Atomic Pivots and Axums on Ebay right now that are going for around $180 shipped.
If you can tell the difference between the boards you've ridden, but find that you can't do some things on one that you can do on another, I'd really suggest you invest some moeny in lessons. No offense, but no board will "prevent" you doing anything (except maybe catching an edge on rails/boxes)
I know that sounds pretty pompous, but think of it as research. You're prepared to drop a lot of coin on a setup, make sure that you don't buy a board that merely compensates for today's riding style but not next year's. I've got a friend who rides totally counter-rotated and always skids his turns. You can't tell him anything and he spends money on boards like it's going out of style. Always looking for that perfect combination of edge bevel, sidecut radius and flex that will allow him to carve prefect turns. Well, duh...it's not the board!
Without anything to compare it to, it's going to be hard to make the choice on spec's alone. I have no idea what the flex rating of my board is, I'd have to look it up and even then, I won't know if that number is comparable from brand to brand. But I can tell that this board is softer or that board is stiffer when I ride it.
Maybe buy a cheap board (or rent something you can get spec's on) and learn what you hate/like about it? Then you'll know that you want something longer than this, stiffer that that, wider than this, etc.
You're obviously prepared to invest time and money and getting the perfect setup probably isn't going to happen on your first purchase. You'll probably be buying another in a few seasons.
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Joining the fray: Why Debian matters
Registration is now open for SCALE 9X — register now by clicking on the winking penguin.
As mentioned in this blog in the past, and as mentioned to various people who ask, I don't like the six-month release cycle. I can go further: I hate it. There's nothing like getting comfortable with a distro, only to be prodded to update to the latest, greatest improvements — in many instances the improvements are both great and welcome, but then the cycle of getting comfortable starts all over again.
This is why we run the office of Redwood Digital Research in Felton, California, on Fedora 10. That's right, Fedora 10; a two-year old version of Fedora which reached it's so-called "end of life" already. Know why? It has worked since I installed it, and I've tweaked it to do what needs to be done to run the business. I'm too busy futzing with other people's computers and too busy developing our FOSS server project to budget time tweaking the business computer. So I left it at that particular version because, simply, it just works.
So in many ways that we'll probably not cover here, thank God for Debian and, for one reason for gratitude, its "we'll release it when it's good and ready" release cycle. Debian 6.0 "Squeeze" was just released over the weekend and its release prompted a couple of interesting items from two of FOSS's best writers.
Steven J. Vaughan-Nichols wrote in a blog item that says that Debian is not as important as it once was. He concludes with the following: "Debian is still important. Its developers do a lot of the hard work of mixing and matching basic Linux components and many open-source programs into the strong, reliable foundation that other versions of Linux, such as Ubuntu and MEPIS use. But, while Linux programmers will continue to appreciate Debian, it seems to me that Debian is becoming increasingly irrelevant to the larger user community that Ubuntu, Mint, Fedora, and openSUSE has brought into the Linux fold."
Meanwhile, Joe "Zonker" Brockmeier doesn't exactly concur in his blog item that says that Debian is still relevant; not only this, it matters more than ever.
Give them both a look. I'll wait.
So who's right, Steven or Joe?
Both are right, to varying degrees, though I think they're coming at the issue from different perspectives: Steven from the popular use aspect, and Joe from the development and contribution side of things.
Debian never gets the credit it deserves by the wider public, and that may be OK with them; or not. Personally, I think this is a tragedy — my first distro in 2006 was Debian, and while I went to Ubuntu and then to Fedora, Debian was the one where I started. If you started with Ubuntu, you really started with Debian.
That's because without Debian, there's no Ubuntu. Without Debian, there's no Linux Mint. Without Debian, there's no Mepis. The list goes on, and it's huge.
[Meanwhile, in a classic case of ADD, I found this link in one of the responses to Steven J. Vaughan-Nichols' blog — it's an update of a poster we used in Lindependence in 2008 and shows the "family tree" of GNU/Linux. If you look at the chart, you can see all the distros which can trace their roots to Debian.]
So is Debian still relevant? Depends on how you look at it. Is it eclipsed in use by easier-to-use distros, some of which don't contribute back in proportion to what they take? In that sense, it's relevancy arguably is waning.
But in uplifting the FOSS paradigm, maintaining GNU/Linux's progress in development, offering options to architectures that are thought to be extinct, and sending improvements upstream for the benefit of all, and not just for itself, then, is Debian relevant? Yeah. Hell, yeah. Debian is relevant in a big way.
In a big way.
[Incidentally, as an aside, "Squeeze" will go on the PowerPC boxes in the "Jungle Room," the name for the Redwood Digital Research computer lab. Elvis would have wanted it that way.]
And, once again, here are the last three words of a well-traveled Buddhist sutra: "Don't Waste Time." Even if it means releasing your distro in more-than-six-month cycles.
(Fedora ambassador Larry Cafiero runs Redwood Digital Research in Felton, California, and is an associate member of the Free Software Foundation. He is also one of the founders of the Lindependence Project.)

subset: commoncrawl


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text: Discussion forum for Chapter Three of D.O.T.D. - VW / Audi car show taking place on Sunday August 19th, 2012. The event is being hosted by Blitzkrieg Tuners and will be located once again at the historic Shawnee Inn and Golf Resort just off of exit 310 on RT 80 in the Pocono's PA, right next to Delaware Water Gap http://www.dubsonthedelaware.com. Now in our fourth year we have some fun exciting updates for this year!


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text: Jammer's analysis of next year doesn't make sense. He says he likes weekly lineups, and then complains about having to wait several days for a guy to clear wavers. YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS!! Personally, I did NOT like weekly lineups in baseball. A pitcher or other player gets hurt and you can't replace them for a week, thus getting stuck shorthanded. If we went to weekly in hockey, and a guy gets hurt (and that happens A LOT), then he couldn't be replaced until the next week. Forget the weekly lineups!! Stick with daily! Its FUN to screw around with your lineups all the time! As far as the number of moves, any limitation would be good. Since I don't have stat wacker, I don't have all the inside dope on who's hot and who's not. I just watch the league transactions page and pick up the leftovers. A guy like Tater will run out of leftovers long before the playoffs if we limit him sufficiently. AS WE SHOULD!!!!!!!!!


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Until I can get a more screen accurate plate I've decided to make trashcan back armor. The back plate is a bit tricky but I found a can that has the right basic shape. It's more of a rectangular trash can which works better for the curve of the back.
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Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Recipe: Raw Chocolate Avocado Pudding
Swati and I shared this Valentine's friendly recipe with our friends Joan and Adam on Sunday. After many guesses over the secret ingredient (bananas being the closest) they were shocked to learn this pudding was made from the very same fruit used in guacamole. Did I also mention it is dairy free?
Truth is the avocado is a great substitute for dairy, providing the fat and rich smooth flavor you'd expect from a chocolate pudding recipe. It's also a pretty neutral tasting fruit that easily takes on the flavors of other ingredients.
You'll also find no sugar in this recipe - it's sweetened using dates and maple syrup. And yes, it can all be made rather effortlessly in a food processor. No cooking required.
Okay, enough talk already. Show me the chocolate.
Serves 6
1/2 cup pitted mejdool dates, soaked
1/2 cup pure maple syrup
1 tsp vanilla extract
3 ripe avocados
1/2 cup plus 4 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
1/2 cup water
Place the dates, maple syrup, and vanilla in a food processor and process until smooth. Add the avocados and cocoa powder and process until creamy. Stop occasionally to scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula. Add the water and process briefly. Serve chilled or at room temperature.
The pudding will keep for up to three days in the refrigerator. Enjoy!
18 comments:
- JoseG said...
Wow, that looks really interesting. I've been making a chocolate mousse with silken tofu, melted chocolate and maple syrup but I'm really looking forward to trying this.
I just found your blog today. I love your take on food and I'm glad to see you do Mexican food which is easily adaptable to a gluten-free diet. Cheers!
- February 17, 2010 at 7:31 PM
- Ameet Maturu said...
So glad you like the recipe. Let me know how it turns out!
- February 18, 2010 at 12:18 PM
So excited for a raw recipe! Thanks! In my plans for the weekend!
- February 24, 2010 at 10:46 PM
- Stiggly Holistics said...
wow, can't wait to try that one x
- February 25, 2010 at 7:48 PM
- Ameet Maturu said...
Nicole/Stiggly - Thanks for sharing your enthusiasm
- February 26, 2010 at 5:30 PM
- Nicole said...
Just finished gulping some down. YUM! So many flavors!
How long do you soak the dates for?
Please share more raw recipes!
- February 27, 2010 at 5:03 PM
- Spike said...
Stiggly & Miggly both give their thumbs up (all four of 'em). We had the pleasure of the Rice of Lifers making it for us..yumnation!
- March 2, 2010 at 8:03 PM
- Kumudha said...
So many delicious vegan recipes here!
So happy tp discover you blog.
- March 11, 2010 at 8:48 PM
- King Of Joy said...
Any chance you can also make it by substituting bananas instead of avocados?
Just wondering if you have tried this.
- May 22, 2010 at 5:47 PM
- Ameet Maturu said...
KingofJoy: I actually haven't tried using bananas. Let me know if you decide to try it. I imagine it would be similar. In fact, I often get told the pudding tastes like bananas.
- May 22, 2010 at 7:11 PM
- Alisa said...
I love your recipes, especially this one! How wonderful to use avocados for this pudding!
- August 21, 2010 at 4:01 AM
- Conny said...
Love that pudding!!!
Sometimes I substitute the dates w/ a banana and green stevia instead of the syrup.
Works as well!
BTW: LOVE your blog!
Will start studying at the IIN in winter ;o)
- September 14, 2010 at 11:46 AM
- Ameet Maturu said...
Hey Conny,
Thanks for sharing your ideas. And congrats on enrolling at The Institute for Integrative Nutrition. I'm sure you'll have an amazing experience!
- September 14, 2010 at 1:06 PM
- nursling said...
I made your recipe with bananas that were turning brown, and dried mixed fruit, because I didn't have dates. The result was yummy! It wasn't thick like pudding even after adding 3 bananas and omitting the water, but it was still very good. Thanks!
- December 29, 2010 at 8:05 PM
everyone at work is a big fan of this one!
- February 10, 2011 at 11:34 AM
I made it tonight.. used honey instead of maple syrup. YUM!
- February 14, 2011 at 7:08 PM
the recipe is very interesting and looks good, thank you very much admin hopefully a lot of love and pardon me permission to share articles herein may be useful to you in particular are looking for :
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- November 26, 2016 at 11:31 PM
- Cara Mengobati Bisul di Payudara Kiri dan Kanan said...
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- March 24, 2017 at 8:46 PM


text:
A (Relatively) Brief Author's Note….
I began this project about two years ago, disheartened by the number of stories that I was reading that cast Fëanor's family in a negative light with little exploration as to why they may have turned to such grievous ends. I don't believe that any of Tolkien's First Age characters can be classified in such black-and-white terms of "good" and "evil," and so I began this story in an attempt to understand how Elves born in the Blessed Realm could commit such evil deeds without being evil themselves.
This is a completed novel-length work, fifty-two chapters in its first-draft form, and took over a year to complete. I will post a new chapter (unless circumstances take me outside the reach of technology) by Friday morning each week. Currently, the story will be rated T; eventually, it will drift into the realm of M for reasons of sexuality, violence, and thematic content that might not be suitable for younger audiences. If you enjoy this story and see it disappear without warning, please check the page for adult-rated stories. Likewise, if you are not of the age of majority in your country or are bothered by this sort of content, be forewarned that this story will on occasion dabble with all of the above. If you have questions about the rating or wish to know which chapters are not suitable for underage audiences, please do not hesitate to contact me. I am working on an all-ages version of this story and may have chapters available that are suitable for younger readers.
Please don't hesitate to leave comments with questions or thoughts; I reply personally to all comments on my stories so long as they are not intentionally rude, and I take all of my reader's suggestions seriously. In fact, this story is in part credited to the keen eye, sharp minds, and generous encouragement of a group of readers who discovered the first draft posted in my LiveJournal. I owe all of these people my sincerest gratitude, particularly JunoMagic and Digdigil, whose skills as beta-readers helped me to sharpen the early chapters considerably.
This story—and all of my work—is dedicated to my husband Bobby, whose love and encouragement frees my heart and mind to wander in realms untouched by human footsteps and who has never uttered those damning words, "It's just a story…." Thank you, Bobby; all that is beautiful in my words has part of its source in you.
Chapter One
In Valinor, all the days are beautiful.
It becomes hard to tell them apart after a while, and soon, one learns to keep oneself busy so that they don't congeal into a blinding stream of light. Normally, my lessons keep me occupied for much of the day; other days—my favorites—Atar will take us hunting in the forest or I will ride to Tirion with my brothers. But not this day: today, I have been given a day off in recognition of my youth and my purported need for rest, and the bland beauty of the day threatens to drive me mad with boredom.
I am lying in the field behind the house, and I can hear Atar instructing his apprentices in the forge and Macalaurë playing scales in the house. Hammerfalls occasionally ring from Atar's forge, and like droplets plunking into a still pond, they ripple the silence that stretches over the meadow. I stare up at the sky, cloudless this day, the shape and color of the insides of the robins' eggs that have begun littering the ground, the first signs of spring. The grass in the field is tall, lush, and green like emeralds, and it prickles my back through my light tunic. It is Laurelin's zenith, and the light is searing. I close my eyes, yet still cannot escape: The light is red now, the color of the blood inside of my eyelids.
I do not expect the blackness when it jumps out at me from a tall clump of grass. Its knees land squarely on my chest, and it yells, "Gah!" The wind is forced from my lungs for an instant, before I can gasp and bring it back, and the dark shape laughs at this and kneels on my chest and tangles its little fingers in my hair.
"Turko!" it says.
I open my eyes and stare into the dark gray eyes of my baby brother Carnistir. Only four years old, he is free also on this day, and the warmth of the afternoon has brought color to his cheeks. His hair is sleek and dark and the light on it makes it gleam with gold, like candlelight in a dark mirror. I sit up and knock Carnistir aside, but as quickly as his little, round bottom touches the ground, he is scrambling at me again, to sit in my lap with his head on my chest and his thumb in his mouth.
I feel sorry for him, for he must be as bored as I am. His jet-black hair burns my hand as I stroke it. "What do you want?" I ask him, and he answers, one word, lisped because of the thumb: "Nelyo."
I need no further encouragement, and with a grin splitting my face, must restrain myself from running long enough to take Carnistir's hand and lead him back across the meadow with my back held straight and tall, as I imagine Nelyo would walk, if he were here.
It had been Maitimo who'd started the habit of us calling him Nelyo. At counsels, at festivals, at loose social gatherings, he would always introduce himself as Maitimo—Maitimo, the well-shaped one—taking strangers' hands with an elegant poise that my brothers and I would half-mock and half-envy. But at home, when the halls echo with our greedy cries, seeking him, demanding his attention, it is never Maitimo and always "Nelyo! Nelyo!"
Nelyo is not fond of his father-name Nelyafinwë; I heard him tell Macalaurë once that he thought it pompous and bland. "Third Finwë," a name denoting succession and nothing of the person behind it, while Macalaurë is Strong-voiced and I am Powerful and Carnistir is Dark, he is only a place in line, and a fruitless place at that, for the Elves are immortal, and Atar does not expect to be king much less leave the crown to Nelyo.
But there it is: Nelyo, the name we call him, a derivative of the disfavored father-name. He likes his mother-name—after all, who doesn't like to be remembered as being beautiful?—and I have always liked the way people's voices rise on the first syllable of it when they realize his eccentricities are actually jests. Maitimo! they laugh, and he smiles, rare and beautiful, and the light of his eyes flickers and dances like Telperion on the water. He even has an epessë, Russandol, given to him by our grandfather Mahtan in recognition of their shared copper-colored hair, and aunts and uncles and cousins call him such to denote familiarity, but always, my brothers and I call him Nelyo.
The way Atar tells it, Maitimo had been making his first fumbling attempts at speech when he forever titled himself as Nelyo. He was nearly a year old and fond of grabbing handfuls of whatever was closest at hand and staring at our father with his wide eyes until Atar named it for him. Mud. Grass. Pebbles. Water. He clutched a handful of Atar's hair. "Ai!" Atar said, and Nelyafinwë Maitimo relaxed a bit, and Atar said, "Fëanáro. Atar."
"Fëya…Atar…." Nelyo fumbled before reaching shyly to clasp his own tunic, the fingers of his other hand still wrapped in Atar's hair, his eyes locked with our father's. "Atar…?"
"Nelyafinwë Maitimo," said our father, always the overachiever, as though his infant son would be able to handle such an ambitious name. When my older brothers are angry at our father for his strict expectations, they jest with each other to hide the sting of his criticisms, saying that Atar had been born speaking and walking, with a hammer in one hand and a quill in another, decrying the state of midwifery that forced him to be born naked and in such an unsavory manner. But Nelyo had not been so ambitious in his early youth, and his face pursed in puzzlement as he inquired, "Nelyo?"
From then on, he was Nelyo. We—his brothers—were born one by one thereafter, and we learned first to call for Atar and Amil and Nelyo, the three who would come and ease us from our nightmares and into the circle of their arms, cuddling us close to dispel the tremors—was it cold? was it fear?—and kissing away the tears on our cheeks. "Maitimo" was too much for our young voices, and "Nelyafinwë" was worse—for us as it had been for him—so we called for Nelyo, and he always came.
During Laurelin's hours, on the days when I do not have lessons, I find myself more often than not with Carnistir, who is only a few years old and at the age where he is able to run and unable to perceive when he should not. Carnistir had been a surprise to me: Even after Atar had explained that I was going to be a big brother, I hadn't believed it. Not really. I was the baby, and I would always be the baby. The one who always had to hold someone's hand when we went to festivals. The one who would ride in front of Atar on his horse when we took our summer trips to Formenos, my head lolling back against his chest and dreaming of the dusty summer air and his heartbeat. The one who earned looks of both amusement and strained patience at mealtimes when I made comments about how I had seen berries identical to the ones Amil had brought home for dessert in a spot of bird leavings. Even when Amil's belly swelled until it bumped me off her lap, I believed that I would always be the baby. Even when Nelyo held me close in his bedroom one evening, and Macalaurë sat beside us and played nervous melodies on his lute, trying to stem my tears—for I had seen the frantic fear in Atar's eyes and I was shocked and terrified by Amil's cries—I believed that I would always be the baby. Even when her voice rose, and mine met it, and a stranger's voice added to the melee, I believed that I would always be the baby. And Nelyo stroked my hair and smiled and whispered proudly in my ear that I was a big brother and took me to meet the baby Carnistir and hold him in my arms.
But once Carnistir was born, I learned to enjoy the special regard of being one of Fëanáro's elder sons. And the six of us make a perfect portrait: four sons, enough to earn our father the regard and envy of one extraordinarily blessed, for four children is practically unheard of, I am told, and Atar and Amil are still very young at that.
The blessing is ours, says Nelyo, and he is right: Never are we alone, not in joy and not in sadness. Even in moments of solitude, the house is filled with voices and laughter until it seems barely able to be contained by wooden beams and stone foundations, until I want to open a window to let it free, to fill the world. Our house is just outside of Tirion, on a plot of land situated that—should you stand atop our roof on tiptoe and crane your neck as far as it will go—you can see Tirion rising over the trees to the south, a beacon in a rugged green sea. Our house is a sprawling stone monstrosity onto which Atar likes to add whenever he begets another son or one of his begotten gets an itch to pursue a new trade or hobby, and the size of his land supports his assertion that he will beget a thousand children before our mother gets tired of it all and makes him sleep in a bed by himself. The wings of the house link into each other and back into themselves like one of the puzzles that Nelyo will give Carnistir and I to do when he wants to keep us out of the way—puzzles that we have determined are impossible to solve—wings enclosing courtyards and gardens and fountains, rooms leading into rooms or opening upon hallways that convolute along the length of the house, leading to honeycombed clusters of yet more rooms with stairs leading up or down into secret places that can be accessed nowhere else: small secret coves or else long, winding stairs that end atop towers where I can lean upon my belly upon the railing—arms spread wide and feet treading only air—and pretend that I swim among the stars, until I hear feet upon the stairs and a voice calling me to chores or supper, and my feet are wrenched back to the ground. Productive noise always echoes through the long hallways, and every day of the week but one, I am part of that productivity: banging out awkward crafts with my mother or father, rustling through stacks of parchment, scratching out lettering exercises with my ragged quill. But for this one day, I am granted freedom—an ambiguous gift because I am deemed too young to wander the forest on my own and my two elder brothers are always busy with their own pursuits—and those noisy halls become very lonely.
Carnistir has lessons only three days out of the week—a day of craft with our mother and two days of lore with our father—so he is left in the bustling and lonely halls more often than I. Sometimes, we wander into our parents' workrooms, where we can slip underfoot, unnoticed in the commotion of nervous apprentices quietly trying to gain our parents' attention and regard, our footsteps softer than the gentle nips of chisel on stone or the soft hiss of steam cooling steel. And then—beneath the apprentices in skill and regard—there are the assistants, trying to earn apprenticeships through industrious loyalty: keeping the floors swept and the tools sharp and the babies—as they called Carnistir and me—out from underfoot.
We evade their notice for as long as possible, darting among legs and crouching beneath worktables, to watch our parents at their work. My mother is patient and gentle—a natural teacher—and she always pauses to answer the apprentices' timid inquiries, softening each criticism with a sprinkle of praise. But Atar—who commands the most promising apprentices in Aman—never even turns from his task when he answers their questions, and his answers roll from his tongue with the nonchalance of a raindrop falling from a leaf, and it is he whom I love to watch the most. His forge is the most unpleasant place on the property—hot and dirty, and always with the odor of hot metal like bloodied, fresh-carved meat—but I love it. I have yet to begin my own training there, for my daylong lessons with him are being carried out for now in his laboratory, setting gemstones and engraving designs on jewelry—tedious work that makes my eyes cross and shoulders ache—but I have always assumed that I will eventually take my apprenticeship beside him in his forge. What is the son of Fëanáro and Nerdanel if not a craftsman? My elder brothers, mysteriously, only do a day of work each week with our father, in the forge, crafting everything from farming equipment to gold necklaces to beautiful and blunt ceremonial swords. The rest of the week—even their day off—Nelyo spends in the library and Macalaurë spends in the music room, and Atar never protests.
Carnistir and I pass his forge now. It stands a bit away from the house, and I cannot resist slipping inside, darting with Carnistir beneath a worktable when the nearest assistant turns at our father's command to work the bellows. The floor is warm and grit grinds beneath my boots, and I clasp Carnistir in my arms to keep him from moving from underneath the worktable and revealing us both.
I will be the crafty son I know that our father longs to teach, and I make myself love the forge for his presence alone, kneeling on the hard and gritty floor beneath his worktable, watching him craft ceremonial armor for Manwë. One of the assistants holds the slab of gleaming steel to an anvil, and I watch Atar rear back again and again to strike it with a sledgehammer, while the assistant winces at the reverberations buzzing through his bones. But Atar never flinches. He is slender in the way of the Elves, in a way that doesn't betray his strength, but when he lifts that hammer, his muscles flex and the fires of the forge gleam gold on sweat on his arms, and he looks more a Vala than an Elf: or as though he was himself torn from the earth and made of bright gold.
Inevitably, one of the bustling, disapproving assistants spots us, and we are lifted under our arms and deposited outside before Atar even had the chance to turn and see us. But I wish for him to turn—oh, how I wish for it!—and I twist my neck back to stare at him, hoping. Would he turn, I know he will see my eagerness, and I will be allowed into the forge beside him—a mark of maturity, for the forge is a dangerous place, but certainly a place for one of Fëanáro's elder sons—and I won't have to squint at engravings and tiny bits of diamond any longer. But I am on my feet in the cool grass, and the door to the forge thumps shut behind us.
Laurelin has waxed fully, casting the day in brilliant gold that stings my eyes, and Carnistir winces and whines, and I put my arm around him and say, "Let's go find Nelyo."
Nelyo, we have learned, is the best to seek on these days because Amil's workshop is more open than Atar's, and she is less distracted by her work, and she always spots us within a few minutes and leads us outside by our hands, her voice only thinly veiled with patience. And, besides, I do not like my mother's work. Chipping sculptures from blocks of stone is too like chipping shaky engravings into pendants—too tedious for my liking. And Macalaurë would not see us at all, were we to enter the music room that Atar had built for him, because he becomes nearly blind when he starts plucking chords on his harp and scribbling down music notes to be sent to his Telerin tutor in Alqualondë. And were we to make our presence known, he would become angry and chase us from the room and prop a chair beneath the doorknob so that we could not reenter. Music isn't to my liking anyway, except for listening after supper, and Macalaurë's ceaseless repetition of scales that are perfect the first time he sings them wears on one's nerves after only a short time.
Nelyo is always busy too, and he works in the library that our father built when he first built the house. Ours is the only house I know that has a library—besides grandfather Finwë's palace, which has a library for use by his lords and scholars—because our people can remember what they will for as long as they wish, and there is little need to write things down. Before my father was born, a Noldo named Rúmil devised a form of writing that was handy to use when sending messages, and the Eldar thought writing quite revolutionary, if not a bit useless in daily life, made more so by the fact that—while easy to represent our Noldorin dialect and, to a lesser degree, that of the Vanyar—our Telerin kin found their own speech hard to render with Rúmil's letters. It was my father who first fell in love with the peculiar little scribbles of script, but he found them flawed and rewrote Rúmil's alphabet so that redundancies and inconsistencies were erased and so that the speech of the Teleri and the Vanyar—even the Valar, if one were so inclined—could be represented as easily as his native Noldorin. It was not long before he discovered the beautiful practicality of books, where facts and ideas could be scribed and shared by many without the inconvenience of wearying travel and long counsels. He was young when Aulë took him as an apprentice—an appointment that took up most of his time—but he wrote often to our grandfather Mahtan, then the greatest smith of the Noldor, and to the jewel-smiths and miners in Formenos, sharing his ideas and asking for theirs in turn. Grandfather Mahtan would tell us of our father in those days, jesting that Fëanáro was his most avid apprentice, although he never met his diligent young student until he opened his door one day to find a handsome black-haired Noldo standing on his front step, asking for his daughter's hand in marriage. " 'Who are you, Moriquendi?' " grandfather Mahtan would growl in his most intimidating voice, and Carnistir and I would shrink against each other, " 'I give not my daughters to dark strangers!' And the cheeky little brat raised his eyebrows at me and said, 'A stranger I am not—less I am Moriquendi—for I am Fëanáro, son of High King Finwë, and I have been apprenticed to you for the last ten years. How can you know me not?' " And all would laugh, grandfather Mahtan the loudest of all, although everyone knows this wasn't the way it had happened at all.
Few have Atar's love of books, but my brother Nelyo does, and Carnistir and I enter the library to find him, seated at his desk that sits facing our father's, in a patch of light flowing through the high windows, scribbling furiously onto parchment. When Nelyo closes the doors—as is his habit, to muffle the noise of the workshops and forges—the library becomes a high-ceilinged oven, and even the dust in the air gleams gold, as though aflame. Carnistir sneezes when we first enter, and I have to give him a sharp look of reproach to keep him from wiping his wet hand on my sleeve, as is his wont lately. I take his hand (the dry one) and lead him over to where Nelyo sits, so furious in his writing that he doesn't hear Carnistir's sneeze or notice our approach.
"Nelyo," I say just before we reach him, because one time I'd touched him before speaking his name, and he'd been so startled that he left a long black smear of ink across the parchment and ruined a nearly-finished page. Carnistir is dragging his feet and waving his free hand in the direction of the piles of colorful illustrated parchments that Atar set to the side on a table, so I haul him behind me without taking my eyes from Nelyo. "Nelyo," I say again, and he finishes the word he is writing, and sets down his quill.
"Tyelkormo. Carnistir," he says. The corner of his lip curls into a smile.
"Nelyo," I say again, nearly panting in my eagerness to stand before my eldest brother's knees, yanking Carnistir's arm and making him whimper. "Nelyo."
And then I'm there, before his knees, looking up at him and doubting that I'll ever be so tall, and he tunrs in his chair to face us and says, "Little ones! What is the matter?"
"We're bored, Nelyo."
He nods. He was given the day off too—as was Macalaurë—but Nelyo doesn't seem to understand that his day off is supposed to be spent doing things that he doesn't do every other day of the week. Macalaurë doesn't understand that either. Nor do Atar and Amil. Carnistir and I, it seems, are the only ones to understand the freedom of a day without obligation.
"What is Macalaurë doing?" he asks, and I roll my eyes at him, and he nods and says, "Mmm. I suspected as much," and I can see his lips trying to stay stern, but inevitably, he smirks a bit, then breaks into a wide grin, and Carnistir and I tussle to climb onto his lap first. I, being larger and older, win—as I always do—tossing my legs across both of his to bar Carnistir from climbing up beside me. Triumphant, I settle against his shoulder, and Carnistir whines and pushes at my feet, little pinkish spots rising to color his cheeks. "Now, now," Nelyo says, and I can feel his voice in my ear as well as hear it, and he gently lifts my legs so that Carnistir can scramble up, pulling at great fistfuls of Nelyo's clothes in his graceless manner and settling opposite me, his lips pushed out in a pout and his big dark eyes brimming with tears.
Nelyo says, "Now, what exactly do you suggest I do for you, Turkafinwë Tyelkormo?"
"Take us hunting in the forest!" I had long ago learned to ask first for that which I know I will never receive in order to get what I'd be content to receive. Nelyo's arm tightens around me, and he says, "Tyelkormo, I wish I could, but I am very busy today. Could I hold your interest with a bit of reading?"
"Perhaps my interest could be held," I say, trying to emulate his noble manner, but I sound silly and make myself laugh.
Nelyo draws Carnistir and me closer against his chest, freeing his arms a bit so that he can lift a book from the desk in front of him and riffle through the pages. The book's cover is exquisite: bound in rich, dark red-brown leather and inlaid with silver letters and designs. The cover alone, I know, must have taken our father days to construct, just as the sheaves of parchment within had taken Nelyo many laborious hours to produce. There is no mistaking Nelyo's hand, for it is neat and precise, each letter exactly like its brothers in the sentences beside it, no stem longer than another, no spacing wider on one page than the next. Like our father's, only our father's is less stilted and at times flows into graceful excess that make his letters superior to Nelyo's. Or so Nelyo says.
I love to listen to Nelyo read. Just as I love to listen to Macalaurë sing (when he isn't singing the same bar over and over again for two hours, that is) and love to watch my parents at their work, I love the sound of Nelyo's voice reciting the words that he has written—or sometimes, words that our father has written, or one of the other excellent craftsmen north in Formenos—his voice caressing those words in a way that you know that this was how our language was meant to be spoken, leaning my head into the soft spot just below the bones of his shoulder and absorbing his speech with all of my senses. With my ear to his chest, his voice rumbles beneath his heartbeat, and the side of my face is warmed by him, and I can smell the clean cottony smell of his tunic and—just beneath—the unique Nelyo-smell: light through leaves.
I raise my face to study his, the most beautiful of my brothers. Between us in age—though closer to Nelyo than to me—is Macalaurë with his chocolate-brown hair and gray eyes always wide in a guise of innocence that tends to dissolve the moment our parents are out of earshot. Then Carnistir—the baby—with his dark eyes and strange ways that are easier to ignore than understand. And me, with my hair the color of honey and enough blue in my eyes that I was often mistaken for a Vanya when I walked in Tirion. At times, I complain of my blue eyes, which set me apart from the rest of my family, and Atar soothes me by saying, "That's because I was looking up at the blue, blue sky when I begot you," and Amil blushes and nudges him in the arm, Nelyo grins, and Macalaurë looks vaguely uncomfortable.
Lately, I find it harder to complain because, set beside Nelyo, I see that none of my features set me apart from my family the way that, unprotesting, he is set apart. Even my dark blond hair and bluish eyes—I still deny that they are, in fact, entirely blue—rare among the Noldor, are inconsequential next to Nelyo. It isn't exactly that Nelyo has any attributes that are rare among our people, for his features, taken individually, are common enough, but rather that he seems to have inherited the most radical traits of each of our ancestors. His hair, from a distance, is vividly red—not the rusty, orangish hue that isn't uncommon in some families—a deep copper, like our mother's. His hair is deceptive, however, for if one looks close enough (as I often do, sitting on his lap in the library), it becomes clear that the stunning color comes, not just from the red, but from the blond and brown strands that thread throughout: grandmother Istarnië and grandfather Finwë, respectively, I'd always assumed. His height and imposing stature come from grandfather Finwë as well, he who was a warrior and a protector of his people before he was ever a husband, father, or king. His sonorous voice belongs to grandfather Mahtan, whose laughter can capture a room and rare anger terrifies us. And his face is Atar's, beautiful enough to be one of our mother's sculptures of the Valar.
Nelyo's eyes are the only trait that are his own, as mine are my own, but unlike mine, his at first seem typical for the Noldor: gray like our steel, gray like our work tunics, sullied by ash from the forge, gray like the stones we used to build our houses. Nelyo's eyes are gray like all of those things yet like none of them at all, for there are specks in his eyes that are almost silver and shine at times like mirrors. Atar always credited Telperion, for Nelyo was born beside a river as Telperion waxed at her fullest, and Atar told us that the first light to fall upon Nelyo's eyes was the sparkle of silver light upon laughing silver water.
As he reads, I feel myself falling asleep—and I do not want to fall asleep! I do not want to miss his words! I glance over at Carnistir, whose dark eyes are closed, his eyelashes like velvet on his cheeks, and fidget until my forehead presses uncomfortably against Nelyo's collarbone, where I am sure I will not sleep. His voice falters; I look up, and his eyes meet mine, and I realize that he fears that I am uncomfortable. Indeed, I will soon grow out of being able to sit like this with him. Will he miss it? Or will he be grateful to have only one little brother to make his feet numb and fall asleep and drool down the front of his tunic? (As Carnistir is doing, I notice with some annoyance.) I glance up at him again, and his words falter, and smile teases his lips. His arm tightens around me.
Most of the time, I can't even tell you what Nelyo reads to us. It involves the work he does with our father, I know, but I don't really know what that work involves. There are no rooms in our Tirion house that are off-limits to us: the workrooms, the library, even my parents' bedroom are ours to enter freely. But, sometimes, on the days that Atar works with Nelyo, they go into Atar's laboratory and shut the door for hours. When Amil gives me breaks from my lessons, I roam the hallways for my ten minutes of freedom, desperate to stretch my legs but more desperate to press against the laboratory door and try to hear what is being said. Once, I took the doorknob in my hand and went to turn it slowly, to ease the door open and slide into the room unnoticed, as I did into Atar's forge and Amil's workroom, but the knob stuck in my hand, and I realized—with a surprised lurch of my heart—that the door was locked.
Nelyo is said by our father to be inquisitive but not very artistic. He likes to figure out puzzles; he likes to categorize things and decipher meanings; he likes to pick apart webs into individual, smooth strands. He likes neat, clean explanations. Metals and stones sing to my father in a language none of us can understand—except, perhaps, our mother—but to Nelyo, they each represent a specific set of tendencies that beg him to classify them. This was what he reads to us now: the attributes of each of my father's metals and alloys and the extrapolation of the results of experiments (what was extrapolation? what were experiments? the words made me cold and anxious) to discern the components of each. Components. Everything, to Nelyo, is components within components within components. I feel dizzy and a bit detached from my body to contemplate it; sliced away from oneness with Arda, from oneness with our people, but Nelyo likes to sever those connections into components and drop them into neat little compartments in his mind. I asked him once, what is a component? And he said it was a part, like the Noldor are a component of the Eldar, and the House of Finwë is a component of the Noldor, and the House of Fëanáro is a component of the House of Finwe, and I am a component of the House of Fëanáro. I wondered what components were within me. My hands? My feet? My bluish eyes? Components of Turkafinwë Tyelkormo, component of the House of Fëanáro, of the House of Finwë, of the Noldor, of the Eldar, of the Quendi, of Arda, of the—what went higher than that? Grandfather Finwë speaks at times of the Valar, but Atar and Nelyo grow quiet and tense in those moments, and I believe that they question the Valar's role in their scheme of components.
The side of my face is drowned by Nelyo's sleepy warmth, and his voice is buzzing like dragonflies over the hot rocks beside the lake in Formenos, and I jerk my head upright. Stay awake! Nelyo's hand cups my head and strokes my oddly-colored hair, and I hear myself whimper a bit as he lowers my head back to his shoulder. Opposite me, Carnistir's brow furrows and he fidgets, kicking me in the leg, jarring me back to wakefulness. Nelyo has stopped reading again, and I look up and meet his eyes. "Are you tired? Do you wish to sleep?" he asks, and I shake my head furiously. "Wait here a moment," he says, and I am bumped from his leg so that he can stand and lift Carnistir, cradling him gently so as not to wake him, and lay him on the couch in the corner. There is a cloak thrown and forgotten across the back of the couch and—lacking a proper blanket—Nelyo covers Carnistir with it. Carnistir pulls his knees to his chest and sinks into the cushions, and Nelyo kisses his forehead and smoothes his hair and leaves him to his sleep.
And returns to me. I bound into his lap before he even settles fully into his chair, and he laughs and clasps me close. "Ilúvatar in Ea!" he chides, a mild swear that he and Macalaurë like to use, having learned it from our father, that makes Amil scowl. But Amil is not here right now, so I am free to laugh and sit more comfortably with my legs draped across both of his, without sharing his embrace with Carnistir, who is still young and daft and falls asleep and gets relinquished to the couch.
"Turko," he says, and his fingers stroke my hair, find a knot, and begin to unwind it. I try to swat his hand away, but he jams me into his chest with his other arm, and I know better than to fight, or I will end up with Carnistir, relinquished to the couch. Anyway, it isn't too bad; at least Nelyo is gentle. He works at the knot without yanking at my head, as Atar and Amil have a tendency to do, although I suppose that years of untangling first Nelyo's hair, then Macalaurë's, and now mine and Carnistir's gives them limited patience for the task.
"Don't call me that," I say, for I protest the name Turko—a shortened version of my father-name Turkafinwë—that Nelyo and Macalaurë have recently decided to call me. Now they have Carnistir doing it too, tailing me around the house, chirping, "Turko! Turko!" and stepping on the backs of my feet.
"Why should I not call you that? You call me 'Nelyo' and Macalaurë 'Cano.' Do you not?"
I don't know how to respond to the truth of his observations, so I sit silently and let him work the knot from my hair.
"Tyelkormo is too cumbersome," he goes on. "Awkward. I think Amil was a bit mad when she chose that for your name, and perhaps, you were a bit mad when you asked to be known by it."
I have always liked my mother-name Tyelkormo. It means "hasty riser," and while I don't know if this is in fact virtuous, I like the idea of being the first of my family at task in the mornings. It seems efficient and conscientious, something Atar would admire, for him to someday enter his forge right as Laurelin began to blossom, still yawning and fumbling with the ties on his work tunic, and find me already intently at work. I say as much to Nelyo: "I like 'Tyelkormo' better. I like mornings."
The knot unworked, he runs his fingers through my hair a couple of times, and meeting no further snags, embraces me with both arms again. "I'll tell you what, Turko," he says. "If you stop calling me Nelyo and start calling me Maitimo, then I shall call you Tyelkormo forevermore, until you have settled yourself completely in Atar's shadow and decide that you would rather be known by your father-name."
Nelyo's tone is overly sweet, and I know that he is teasing me. He and Macalaurë both tease my ambitions at times, and once I had been hurt by it, and Amil had taken me aside and explained that Nelyo and Macalaurë had both had the same ambitions once, and worked very hard to achieve them, and discovered that their feet fell not on our father's road, and they had thought themselves disappointments. How could that be so? I had asked her. How could they ever doubt their worth to him? Did Atar not spend hours in private counsel with Nelyo? Did he not celebrate Macalaurë, who he said would one day surpass even the Telerin minstrels? And Amil had said, "Atar loves not your choice of trades or even your talents but that you are his son, created from the union of our marriage, the gift of our eternal love."
"Atar goes not by his father-name and nor shall I," I say indignantly to Nelyo. "You and Macalaurë prefer your mother-names—and even little Carnistir—and I shall never be known as Turkafinwë."
Nelyo laughs and swings me into a half-lying position across his lap, submissive, with his one arm binding my knees and the other curled around my torso to bind my arms. My head is cradled in the crook of his elbow. Part of me wants to fight, to prove that I am old enough and strong enough to break free, but it is so rare that he allows himself to treat me as he had before Carnistir had been born—when I was still the baby—that I resign myself to enjoy it, and settle against his arm. I feel him relax as well, until I am no longer restrained, and he says in a gentle voice, "You have a temper, little one," and I realize that, to him, I must have sounded quite cross. Laurelin is bright, and golden light floods the library and spills onto us—Nelyo and me—coaxing the gold woven amid the red of Nelyo's hair until I don't feel like I look so odd at all. I am filled with quivering joy, and Nelyo cuddles my close, and I knew he feels it too. I tip my head back and watch the dust dance in the golden rays that spill through the high windows and think that even something as insubstantial as dust can find joy here, and I laugh for no reason, utterly inappropriate and utterly free. Nelyo's laughter joins mine, and I lean back on his arm, watching the dust dance and feeling Laurelin's light making my limbs grow weak and heavy, and I close my eyes to escape the brightness.


text:
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HARRISBURG, PA -- Wine vending kiosks in supermarkets across the Keystone State are reportedly back online. The Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board on Dec. 21 shut down the statewide network of 30 machines that allegedly experienced persistent mechanical problems.
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Simple Brands (Conshohocken, PA), the manufacturer and operator of the wine venders, has repaired and tested them, according to the PLCB, which also conducted its own inspection and test.
The self-serve kiosks, which require a customer to scan his or her driver's license and pass a Breathalyzer test, reportedly contained malfunctioning electronic components that prevented bottles being dispensed, among other glitches.


text:
It seems natural to ask Roy Williams about his preparation for the 2012-13 college basketball season. After all, he's spent the last 24 days concerned about his health, leading up to yesterday's welcome news that tumors in both his right and left kidneys are benign.
That's big news. But the season begins one week from today at Late Night. Is it possible to transition so quickly from potentially life-altering changes to reminding P.J. Hairston to follow through on his jump shot?
Williams grins. "During recovery, you're so limited in what you can do," he says. "They told me not to do anything physically. But because of that, I have probably done more thought and preparation for this season than any season before. Usually, I'm recruiting like crazy until two days before practice starts, and then we shut down recruiting for the first two weeks of practice. Since I couldn't do that, I've been doing lots of thinking and planning. I've been looking at old practice plans. I've been doing more of that type of thing than I've ever done before a season started."
His health scare didn't completely slow the Carolina recruiting machine, however. One hour after Williams heard a doctor tell him he might have kidney cancer, the head coach visited the home of a prospect. The next morning, he visited a high school.
Since the surgery, however, the usually full-throttle Williams has had to do something unusual for him: slow the tempo. He's been in the office every day except one since he had surgery on September 19.
"People say, 'Oh, Coach, you're so tough, you're still working,'" he says. "It's not that I'm tough. It's that when I sat there by myself at home, I was scared."
He's been buoyed by the approximately dozen letters he's received from strangers who have experienced kidney cancer--Williams's tumors were eventually diagnosed as benign, but that wasn't known when the letters were written--and lived through it. He's also drawn strength from the coaching community, which can be incredibly cutthroat while also being incredibly insular.
Former Stanford coach and current Cal boss Mike Montgomery has called three times, as has Oklahoma head coach Lon Kruger. Jerry Tarkanian sent a hand-written note. Closer to home, every coach in the Atlantic Coast Conference has either called, texted or written. And what makes Carolina-Duke different from so many other rivalries? Duke's Mike Krzyzewski sent two notes and phoned Williams. Former Blue Devil point guard Greg Paulus, now on the staff at Ohio State, left three notes and messages.
"The former players, the coaches, the Carolina friends, the Kansas friends, everyone that I have heard from has been overwhelming," Williams says.
Now, as he sits in his office on a Friday morning, things are slowly returning to normal. He's added a handful of photos to his office, including a portrait of Tyler Zeller to his "Academic All-American shelf," as Williams calls it, which already had three members from Kansas. Although he tried to lobby his doctors for a full clearance on recruiting, he's still restricted from flying. But today, on October 5, he's markedly ahead of where he thought he might be.
When the situation was first explained to him in mid-September, the possible timeline called for the first surgery, then a four-week preparation for a potential second surgery, and then at least two weeks after that surgery when he would have been very limited. That means some unfortunate doctor would have had to tell Roy Williams he couldn't go to practice. And, even more unthinkably, "The timetable was going right to the wire about whether I could make the trip to Hawaii," he says.
That's right. When the diagnosis was still uncertain, it was possible Williams might have had to miss his favorite trip of the four-year preseason tournament cycle, the Maui Invitational. In 24 days--roughly the full length of an NCAA Tournament--he's gone from hearing the words "possible kidney cancer" to "Congratulations, Coach." That's a big step.
"At first, we were trying to escalate the timetable as much as possible just so I could coach," he says. "It was devastating. But I've been so lucky, and my doctors have done such a great job. The fact that they are so good at what they do and understand so much about what they are talking about enabled me to have tremendous confidence in what they were telling me. That gave me a great deal of peace."
That peaceful feeling may not be unanimous in the Williams household, however. The coach's wife, Wanda, has suddenly seen more of her husband this fall than she ever has before. He has not always been a model patient.
"Wanda always tells me she wants me to retire," he says. "But after 17 days of being with me 24 hours a day, I think she's fine if I want to work a while longer."
Adam Lucas is the publisher of Tar Heel Monthly and the author or co-author of seven books on the Tar Heels.


text:
Letter to My Former Self: ENS Katie Labbe
POSTED ON: Wednesday, May 7, 2014 8:00 AM by NAVAL ACADEMY PUBLIC AFFAIRS
No matter how many experienced teachers and mentors tell you that graduation will be the beginning of an exciting and challenging Navy career, nothing can really stop the elation and sense of liberation a first class midshipman experiences upon graduation from the Naval Academy.
But as a recent graduate of the Naval Academy and having just recently returned from an eight-month deployment, I am hear to tell you that while the challenges and lessons you learn at the Naval Academy do prepare you, no class or book can really fully prepare you for the challenges you will face when you finally request permission to come aboard your first ship.
After graduation, I used my basket leave to spend time with my family and then move into my apartment. I immediately reported to the Basic Division Officer Course upon completion of my leave. During the two months I was at BDOC, I contacted my sponsor and she informed me that my ship would be leaving for deployment the Monday after I graduated. Essentially, the first day that I stepped onboard my ship as a brand new ensign, my ship would be transiting the Atlantic Ocean to the Eastern Mediterranean for an eight-month deployment.
Needless to say, even after four years at the Naval Academy and two months at Basic Division Officer School, I still felt underprepared. In other words, I have included some small pieces of advice that I would have found informative and helpful before stepping aboard my ship that fateful day in August 2013.
Take advantage of your resources while they are available. This piece of advice applies more specifically to those who will be deploying soon after graduation. I was not prepared for the lack of resources that I would experience on a deployed ship. My practicum teacher gave a list of books that I would find to be helpful resources on my ship, and I did not take the time to purchase them before my deployment, which I regretted not too long after leaving. Computers on the ship are slow and can be a pain to access if you do not have one in your stateroom.
Some of your most valuable resources are the more experienced officers. Coming right from college, we are accustomed to reading and books and doing research to learn material. However, that is not the most efficient way to learn how to be a SWO. The most effective way to learn is to discuss SWO topics with the second tour division officers and department heads. The department heads will actually be the board members on your SWO and OOD boards, so the topics they find important to discuss with you are the topics they will find important in your board.
Time for personal development is rare and should be used wisely. If you are not willing to spend the extra five minutes of spare time to have an informative discussion with one of the department heads or second tour division officers, or sacrifice what could be a much needed hour nap for some time in the gym, then there is a whole line of eager first tour division officers who are willing. Making mistakes will not hamper your success if you adopt an ambitious attitude toward your job, your qualifications, and your personal development, because people will see that you care and in turn they will care about your development as well.
Prepare yourself and your loved ones for the challenges that wait. Again this advice more specifically applies to those who will be deployed. I found it very easy to take advantage of all the different modes of communication that I had at my fingertips in college. Having your own personal computer and a cell-phone make it very easy to maintain relationships and keep in touch with your loved ones. I was woefully mistaken when I thought that I would have time to email all of my family members on a regular basis on a deployed ship. I barely had enough time to send a short email to my significant other everyday and sometimes I did not have time. The lack of communication affects different relationships in very different ways, so you and your loved ones should be prepared to go through some tribulation when you deploy.
Your sponsor is an excellent resource of which you should take full advantage. Your sponsor is most likely going to be a first tour division officer that has been on the ship for a few months to a year maybe, and is not going to know what you do not know and everything that you need to know. They can guess what you need to know, but your sponsor will not be a good resource unless you take the time to ask the right questions. Good examples of things that you should ask are about materials, uniform items, and supplies you need. They will then inform you that you need a multitude of socks because there are evil sock gnomes on ships, and no matter how many pairs you bring it will not be enough. You should ask about the details of reporting to the ship, and what you should do before reporting.
Have a questioning attitude. Not understanding how to ask the important questions was what got me into trouble during the first few months of being on board. There were several instances when I would come to my captain with the intentions of getting his permission for something that my division needed to do, but he would ask me questions that I did not know how to answer. Granted he asked me these questions to help develop me as a junior officer, not to stump the brand new ensign. However, I would have saved myself much pain if I had thought more critically about what I was going to talk to my captain about, and asked more questions before I stormed into his office alone and unafraid.
Be a team player. Every first tour division officer is on the road to getting qualified. The road to getting qualified will be much smoother and less stressful if you work with your fellow ensigns instead of against. Yes, you will be ranked against all the other ensigns, but it speaks more of your character to help out your fellow shipmates instead of leaving them behind. Not to mention that you will learn a whole lot faster with all those extra resources. I guarantee that no matter whom you are talking to or studying with there is something valuable that they know and can teach you.
Take full advantage of your basket leave. This is the only time you will have the opportunity to take a whole month of leave and not be charged for it. Use it to spend time with your loved ones, or travel somewhere, or just to yourself. Use your time however you wish, but make it YOUR time and not the Navy's time.
Use your time at BDOC wisely. If you have the opportunity to attend BDOC before reporting to your ship like I did, use the extra time to actually study and learn as much of the material as possible. The material that you learn at BDOC is the same material that you will need to know for your SWO board. There is much debate on whether BDOC would better serve young ensigns after being on a ship for a few months or before having ever stepped on a ship. In my opinion, both have their advantages and disadvantages, but BDOC will only be as useful and informative as you choose to make it no matter when in your career you attend.
Trust yourself and your ability to make decisions is the last piece of advice I would like to bestow upon my former self. As ill-prepared and inexperienced as you may feel, you were accepted into the Naval Academy and you made it through four years of school for a reason. You can think critically and you have good instincts, so trust yourself when you make decisions. I am not saying not to reflect on your choices, because you should absolutely be constantly self-assessing and thinking critically about your own decisions. I am simply pointing out that you bring something valuable to the table even without the experience and Navy knowledge, so do not undervalue yourself and your contribution.
I hope that my experiences and lessons will help you with your transition from school to fleet. I wish you all success, and I cannot wait to have you all in the fleet!
Very respectfully,
ENS Katie Labbe
Category: General Interest, People, Midshipmen


text: I hope you enjoy it as much as my son in law does his. He picked up a used Raptor last year and carries it IWB. I've heard nothing but good stuff about the brand. I'm sure the young man wouldn't have gotten it if it weren't a good gun. He is that kind of guy. After all, he married my daughter!


text:
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text:
'Drew Stafford recorded two goals and an assist for three points to help lead Buffalo to the win while also recording a game-high seven shots on goal and logging 15:14 of ice time. It was the third multi-goal game of the season for Stafford, who also has a pair of hat tricks this year. His 17 goals on the season are just two behind team-leader Thomas Vanek's 19 despite having missed a total of 17 games to injury.'
The aftermath: Sabres 6, Maple Leafs 2
February 6, 2011 Submitted by
Via: Sabres.com


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text: year or twoit took me 7 years that no big surprises happened to me.Afterwards varroa has arranged big surprices.Aften 49 years waxmoth arranged to me in the storehouse the biggest disaster.But this makes the hobby living and interesting.One really big problem came when I got huge yields during 2 years and.,....All got in Finland. It was impossible to sell the honey. So finally 1 ton old honey to dumping place.There are guys who have never problem with their hives. But I have understood, that their yields are not big..


text:
Former Prime Minister Olaf Palme was actively recruited in his youth by representatives of the American CIA. Although he spurned their efforts, Palme coopeerated with officials from the CIA and the US Embassy. Ingemar Engman, a former member of Sweden's secret military intelligence service, said "Olaf Palme's cooperation with the Americans and the CIA was well known through the military intelligence service." Palme most actively cooperated when he was a student activist attempting to build up non-Communist youth organizations. He also kept Sweden's intelligence up-to-date on his trips behind the Iron Curtain whre he worked with youth groups.
Olaf Palme was a man of integrity so it is surprising to learn that at one point in his life, the former Swedish leader cooperated with secret intelligence. A problem is having such stories become public is they generate cynicism among young people that all leaders work with the CIA and much goes on behind the curtains of secrecy that enger a sense of distruct in the minds of our youth.


text:
"This card came out beautifully. I was able to use the portions of the photos that I wanted as well as enhance several smaller photos to make a bolder statement. The card's paper quality was excellent. One suggestion, I like to write a short note on the back of the cards. Because of the black base color of the card it would be extra nice if Tinyprints offered the purchase of a gold gel pen with the order."
"The cards felt of quality in your hands. They were not only beautiful with a black and white photo, they looked elegant and felt elegant."
"I know I rely on Tinyprints to deliver a quality product on time that is also beautiful. I love that I can edit so much of the card unlike other companies."
"Really loved the easily personalized cards and the envelopes were good quality as well. My order arrived well before the promised date - an added bonus."
"As usual with Tinyprints, the quality of this card is exceptional. I was extremely happy with it and the turn around time was unbelievable. I ordered on a Sunday and it was on my doorstep on Tuesday. I ordered the blue version with the traditional rectangle shape and the solid blue back with three captioned pics. It looks fantastic! Almost too good to be true for the price, but that's why I love this company and order from them regularly. Also, I can't say enough about the customer service at Tinyprints. From my experience, It is one of the best companies for putting the customer first and making sure you are satisfied. I have been a customers for years and anytime I have had a problem with a finished product, the issue is resolved and a replacement immediately sent. And...they don't send my call out of the country and keep me on the phone for hours haggling over it. They are courteous, professional and efficient."
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text:
Hey some of you might remember me as the extreme poster on ghostsource. You might know me as the person who wrote a mining guide for both novia and GS. Either way I'm back, and I was wondering if anyone still plays GO. I'm 55 with some pretty nice level 60 equips (+52 glove), and want some people to play with.
If anyone wants to play with me I'll post my IGN later. I haven't been on in forever. (Its either to0thydip or t0othydip)
P.S. The person that would probably remember me best is c0mput3r.
Edit: I just got on. I played on the go.gameflier one so I can still play.
Edit2: Where do I train at 55. I've been at snails forever


text:
'And that's exactly what several fine, devoted Buffalo Sabres fans have done, pointing me in the direction of www.newblueandgold.com, a website that has featured cool proposals for new Sabres unis for the past couple of years.'
Archives for August 2006
Sabres fans find an alternative
Fitzpatrick fits Canucks
'Bartlett said the Sabres were interested in bringing Fitzpatrick back. Buffalo hadn't offered Fitzpatrick, who made $532,000, a contract extension but were looking to work something out closer to training camp. The Sabres had seven blueliners pencilled in ahead of Fitzpatrick.'
Biron On Thin Ice
'The Buffalo Sabres no longer can be second-guessed for having too many goalies. Martin Biron is the only goalie under contract and most people expect him to be traded. But the Sabres can't deal him before they sign Ryan Miller, and he could be a holdout in quest of a huge (and deserved) raise and a long-term deal.'
Fitzpatrick, Jackson take up new pursuits
'Dane Jackson will be following Fitzpatrick out of town. Unable to wait for the Sabres to act on hiring an assistant coach for the Rochester Americans, Jackson on Friday accepted an offer to become an assistant coach at the University of North Dakota, his alma mater.'
Friday's Vancouver Coverage
Vancouver Canucks sign free agent defenceman Rory Fitzpatrick (CP)
D Fitzpatrick signs with Canucks (Sportsticker)
Canucks add D Fitzpatrick (The Sports Network)
Canucks Sign Free Agent Defenceman Rory Fitzpatrick (Canucks.com)
Friday's Rochester Coverage
Moose & Sean McMorrow to attend fundraiser (Amerks.com)
Briere, Dumont score at Camp Good Days
'"The fact that he's a professional athlete just floors me," said Donato, who added that in June Briere raised $20,000 for Camp Good Days at a charity gala in which he donated memorabilia. "He's given so much…He talks to kids that are really sick over the phone and puts his whole heart and soul into our organization. He's absolutely genuine."'
Thursday's Vancouver Coverage
Fitzpatrick close to deal (Buffalo News)
Fitzpatrick set to join Canucks (Vancouver Sun)
Fitz could fit in on blueline (Vancouver Province)
Canucks look at Fitzpatrick (TSN.ca)
For the love of the kids – and the game
'Dumont repeated the same mantra for every interviewer: It's too bad what happened. He's looking at all his options. Buffalo is one of those options. And he's not going to make a decision for a while. "I really love it here," he said. "I've been here for five or six years."'
Wednesday's Rochester Coverage
Former Amerk seeks shot as assistant coach (Rochester D&C)
Street Hockey: Briere vs. Dumont
'Dumont says he has a few good offers on the table to consider and hopes to make a decision either this week or next. He says he's not ruling out the possibility of returning to the Sabres…'.
Fitzpatrick near deal with the Canucks
'"Buffalo likes 'Fitzy' and said there could be something (before training camp) if we wanted to be patient," Bartlett said. "In this marketplace, I don't think you can be patient. You can be patient if you don't have another offer, but quite frankly we had some strong interest elsewhere."'
Rory Set to Sign
'The Irondequoit native will travel to Vancouver Wednesday and is expected to sign a contract with the Canucks.'
Dumont still in limbo
'That's led to speculation that Dumont, who didn't want to leave Buffalo, could be back in a Sabres jersey prior to training camp.'
Dumont's future uncertain
'As for the Kings, it's believed GM Dean Lombardi tried to acquire Dumont via trade in the wake of his arbitration award.'