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Have you heard the joke about the Norwegian farmer who loved his wife so much he almost told her? My father?Louis C. Rove, Jr.?was a Norwegian, one of those taciturn midwesterners who held back a lot. But in the last decades of life, Dad began to open up about himself, his marriage, and my childhood. He would meet me and my wife, Darby, in Santa Fe for the opera and the Chamber Music Festival each summer, and while exploring New Mexico, he would reveal secrets of our family life that were shocking because they were so intimate. But I disclose them here because my early years have been painted very differently. There is something to be said about setting the record straight, especially when it involves your kin.
So before I get to my career in politics, I want to tell the real story of my family, with all the love and heartbreak it contained. My father was a geologist. At about six feet tall, trim, with short-cropped blond hair and glasses, he had a kind but somber demeanor. Born in Wisconsin, he served briefly in the Navy at the end of World War II. Afterward, he spent a year at Hope College in Michigan. Inspired by his uncle Olaf Rove, a consulting geologist of some renown, my father then transferred to the Colorado School of Mines, in Golden, Colorado.
It was there that he met my mother, Reba Wood. There were many differences. Dad was college-educated, well-read, and had grown up in a sensibly middle-class home with books, classical music, and opera. My mother never went to college, never had been exposed to books or classical music, and wasn?t interested in them. It may have been that she was the only girl in a family that prized boys, or else it was an early misfortune that was hidden from me, but regardless, while she appeared strong and in control, in reality she was fragile. Her brittleness, emotional pain, and suffering were out of most people?s view. But she and Dad were drawn to each other: he to her beauty and passion, and she to his solid dependability and dashing good looks. For a very long time, they were very much in love.
Mom was the only daughter of Robert G. and Elsie Wood and had three younger brothers. My maternal grandfather never went to college, but he was full of drive, dreams, and integrity. During the Depression, he found work on a Colorado Highway Department crew. Later, from a wooden shelf on the backseat of his car, Grandpa started selling butcher knives he had bought on consignment, to out-of-the-way grocery stores in southern Colorado. He eventually built it into a business?Robert G. Wood & Company, ?Quality Butcher Supplies.? It was to provide a good livelihood for three generations of Woods. I was to spend many happy hours in his shop in Denver and around Grandfather Wood and my three uncles.
My grandparents lived in the same house for most of their adult lives, at 3045 Lowell Boulevard in Denver. The only luxury they allowed themselves was travel, recorded on a primitive motion picture camera by my grandfather. Over a twenty-year period, they went to Mexico, worked their way through South America; flew to Hawaii; traveled to Lebanon, Israel, and Egypt in simpler times in the region; visited Cambodia and Vietnam before they became dangerous; and went to Japan when it no longer was. It was a highlight after each trip to go to our grandparents? house to see my grandfather?s movies, carefully narrated by him. My grandmother decorated their house with things brought home from their travels, whether trinkets, rubbings from the Angkor Wat temples, or Peruvian village retablos.
When my grandfather died of a heart attack on Labor Day 1974, my grandmother attempted suicide by shooting herself in the stomach. She lived another twenty-five years in pain and loneliness, mourning her husband and, I later was to discover, indirectly showing her loved ones that suicide was an acceptable way to deal with hardship.
I was born early on Christmas Day 1950, in a hospital elevator in Denver, Colorado. I guess I started out eager to get going. I grew up on the genteel fringes of the lower middle class, the second oldest in what became a family of five kids?three boys (an older brother and a younger one) and two sisters (both younger). We lived in Colorado until I was nine; in Sparks, Nevada, until I was fifteen; and then in Holladay, Utah, as my father followed opportunities in the mining business.
In the 1950s, being a young geologist specializing in uranium, lead, zinc, and copper was not a lucrative calling, but it was a demanding profession. Dad was often gone for months at a time on stints in Angola and Mozambique; in Aruba; in Manitoba, Alberta, and on the Queen Charlotte Islands of Canada; in Alaska; and all across the western part of the lower forty-eight states. His trips prompted a childish interest in vexillology: I used to draw pictures of the flags of the countries and states he worked in and treasured a small book of flags of nations and history he gave me.
I keep a picture of my father on a shelf near my desk. It was taken in a remote corner of Angola in the early 1950s. He is surrounded by bush children who probably had not seen many Westerners. When I was young, the picture seemed to me to be of a young, tanned demigod. In reality, he was a gangly young man fresh out of college, trying to chart his way in life.
We were brought up on tales of Africa, of his beloved monkey Chico, who later died in the Lisbon Zoo, and how my father had come to possess an eighteen-foot-long snakeskin, a zebra hide, and a rhinoceros horn?revered as sacred family totems in our home. We showed them to our friends with great ceremony.
In Colorado, our family first lived briefly in the company town of Kokomo, near the Climax mine north of Leadville. Then we moved to a house in a big field outside Arvada. There was a large pond in the southeast corner and a ditch meandered over the lower part of the property, providing welcome territory for games and exploring.
We had a chicken coop and a garden that provided us with much-needed eggs, carrots, tomatoes, and green beans. To this day, I think there?s almost nothing better than a ripe strawberry plucked fresh from the garden and nothing worse than eggplant, especially when it?s been fried the night before and served cold for breakfast because you left it on your dinner plate.
We never lacked for anything we really needed, but the family budget was always under pressure. My mother could spend more money to less effect than almost anyone I have ever known. To her credit, she tried earning money, but her ideas usually lasted only a season or two. One year, we collected pinecones and sold them to local nurseries. Then Mom became an Avon lady and my brother and I (and eventually all the kids) became experts at bagging orders. I knew by heart the code for almost every shade of Avon lipstick. We delivered newspapers, cut grass, babysat the neighbors? kids, sold lemonade, and helped out at Grandfather?s store. As a teenager, I waited tables and washed dishes, ran a cash register at a hippie shop that sold patchouli oil, worked in a hospital kitchen, and held down the night shift at a convenience store. My parents made me quit the last job after I was robbed twice?once with a pistol and the second time with a sawed-off shotgun. I was stoic during the robberies, but shaken afterward and happy my parents insisted I quit.
Even with all these efforts, and especially when we were young, there didn?t seem to be enough money. The Christmas I turned five, the bonus Dad had been promised turned out to be a pittance, leaving him with no money for presents, so he talked a buddy who flew a helicopter like the one in the M*A*S*H television show into landing his chopper in the dusty field surrounding our house and taking us up. Dad explained it was Santa?s helicopter, so we had to take our ride the day before Christmas rather than on Christmas itself. It?s still the best Christmas I ever had.
For my brothers and sisters and me, it seemed like an idyllic childhood, with Boy Scouts, Little League, playing ?war? in the fields nearby, stamp and coin collections, trading baseball cards, and fried chicken dinners on Sunday at our grandparents? house, where we watched Bonanza and The Wonderful World of Disney on their color TV. I looked up to my older brother, Eric, even though he used to beat me up, as all older brothers do. I thought he was the smartest person I knew. He spent his life outdoors, working in highway construction after attending the University of Nevada. Alma, six years younger than me, looked the most like Mom and, like her, had more than her share of misfortune in life. Olaf, eight years younger than me, was a happy and thoroughly content child who grew up to run computer systems. And the baby, Reba?nine years younger than me?was especially smart, disciplined, funny, prone to tricks, and, at least when it comes to her childhood memories, also prone to good-hearted exaggeration. We were an outgoing, active group.
We didn?t have a television at home until we moved to Nevada. Dad said it was because he wanted us to read, exercise our minds, and do our homework. I suspect family finances had something to do with it, too. When he was home and read to us or made us listen to the opera sponsored by Texaco and explained the stories we were hearing, not having a television didn?t matter so much.
During breaks from school, Dad would take his children with him when he had geological fieldwork nearby. It fostered a love of the open spaces of the West and of nature and its processes. Dad?s frequent travels and our family?s mobility made me a natural extrovert, with both the ability and the need to make friends and connect with others. And living in a tidy middle-class household with only a few, but nice, pieces of furniture and art never made me yearn for material things.
Mom ran the household in Dad?s absence and she could alternately act like a Marine drill instructor or a soft, caring figure. She was not stable or predictable and had a penchant for melodrama. The family was always headed over a cliff tomorrow. She would be seized by some crisis and then share her fear with her children. The moment would eventually pass for her, but some anxiety and uncertainty would remain with us.
My father and my grandfather helped organize the First Presbyterian Church of Golden, Colorado, so there was also Sunday school and summer church camp. The young minister they called to the pulpit told me many years later that he and my dad attended a local Presbyterian meeting where the little daughter of one of the pastors played the piano to entertain the group. She was Condoleezza Rice, whose father, John, was an associate pastor at Montview Presbyterian Church in Denver. My parents were later active in helping form Westminster Presbyterian Church in Sparks, pressing me into service as a canvasser and then an usher.
We caught glimpses of life?s casual cruelty, especially after we moved to Nevada when I was nine. Sometimes neighborhood kids would show up unannounced for dinner at our house, which was inevitably spaghetti or macaroni and cheese with hamburger meat. I learned that these kids were from families where the parents had gambled away their paychecks. The experience gave me a lifelong aversion to gambling.
Because my father was often gone and my mother prone to erratic behavior, I took refuge in books. They were dependable, solid, and an exciting escape to a better place. ?There is no Frigate like a Book / To take us Lands away,? Emily Dickinson once wrote. I wasn?t good at sports, and my family couldn?t afford entertainment, so books were my savior: you can blame them for my love of politics, and the career it produced.
I still have the first frigate I can remember reading: a gift from my second-grade teacher called Great Moments in History. Its pages on the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Alamo, and the Civil War fascinated me. I read everything I could get my hands on, especially biographies and histories. The coming of the centennial of the Civil War in 1960 meant I was exposed at the age of seven to a flood of books on it.
To me, the Civil War was not just compelling and stirring, it was real. It was a true drama of real people with real lives whose decisions settled the question of whether the young democracy would remain Lincoln?s ?last, best hope of freedom.? I pored over Civil War picture books and even copied the wartime drawings from Frank Leslie?s Illustrated Newspaper and Harper?s Weekly, which appeared in Fletcher Pratt?s Civil War in Pictures. The maps in the American Heritage Picture History of the Civil War especially enthralled me. They were pictures of the battlefields with drawings of tiny armies, North and South, smashing into each other at Bull Run, Spotsylvania, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Atlanta, Petersburg, and Appomattox.
But my bookishness doesn?t entirely explain why I fell in love with politics and became a Republican. My parents never expressed an interest in politics. My mother voted Republican in 1970 because I was working for the GOP, but in 1972 she voted for the Peace and Freedom Party, headed by radical Eldridge Cleaver, because my brother was supporting it.
Republicanism fit with my childhood of growing up in the Rocky Mountain West, a place of big horizons, long vistas, and most important of all, a palpable sense of freedom. There is something about the West that encourages individualism and personal responsibility, values I thought best reflected by Republicans. In the West, people tend to be judged on their merits, not their pedigree. From there, Washington seems undependable and a long way away.
At the age of nine, I decided I was for Richard Nixon in the 1960 presidential election. I got my hands on a Nixon bumper sticker, slapped it on my bike?s wire basket, and rode up and down the block, as if that alone would get him a vote. Instead it drew the attention of a little girl who lived in the neighborhood. She had a few years and about thirty pounds on me and was enthusiastically for John F. Kennedy. She pulled me from my bicycle and beat the heck out of me, leaving me with a bloody nose and a tattered ego. I?ve never liked losing a political fight since.
At the age of thirteen, I was wild for Barry Goldwater. I loved that his philosophy celebrated freedom and responsibility, the dignity and worth of every individual, the danger of intrusive government, and the importance of politics to protecting those ideals. I had Goldwater buttons, stickers, and posters, a ragged paperback copy of Goldwater?s The Conscience of a Conservative, and even a bright gold aluminum can of ?Au H2O,? a campaign artifact that played on the candidate?s last name. I got ahold of a Goldwater sign, but it didn?t last long in our front yard. I don?t know whether my parents or a supporter of Lyndon Baines Johnson removed it. LBJ not only crushed the Arizona senator, he also crushed me. I was devastated. But for budding Republicans like me, there was nobility in Goldwater?s loss. He went down with guns blazing and his ideology on full, unapologetic display. Goldwater was a ?conviction politician,? the kind who shaped a movement.
Economics came on my radar screen when I was twelve or thirteen, when someone gave me a copy of Capitalism and Freedom, by Milton Friedman, one of the greatest defenders and advocates of capitalism. ?Government power must be dispersed. If government is to exercise power, better in the county than in the state, better in the state than in Washington,? he wrote. Reading Friedman led me to next plow through Adam Smith?s Wealth of Nations. The pin maker, the division of labor, and the ?invisible hand??all of it made sense to me.
Then there was William F. Buckley, Jr. The Sparks, Nevada, library had a subscription to Buckley?s National Review magazine, with its unadorned cover and its bold credenda. I eagerly awaited its arrival each week, devouring articles using words I didn?t know (such as denouement) but whose meaning I could often guess. I couldn?t get my hands on Buckley?s books quickly enough. At age fifteen I laughed out loud all the way through The Unmaking of a Mayor.
When I took my first civics course in the fourth or fifth grade, and classmates were doing their first term papers on ?Our Constitution? or ?The Congress,? I was writing on the communist theory of dialectical materialism, since I had read Karl Marx. But I wanted a bridge from the world of ideas to the world of practical politics?and at fifteen, I received my first experience in government.
Between junior high and high school, I wrangled a summer internship in the Washoe County clerk?s office in Reno, Nevada. At the beginning of that summer, my family moved from Sparks to Holladay, Utah, near Salt Lake City. I stayed behind, living with my scoutmaster and his wife and spending the summer riding the bus to and from the courthouse to work. Somehow, filing papers and making photocopies in the clerk?s office seemed exciting and fresh. The process of government was thrilling. I spent most of my time filing crime and divorce papers, but I also watched trials and county commission meetings and even sat in on the Board of Equalization, though I couldn?t figure out what they were talking about, other than that it had to do with money and taxes. I was fascinated by county government and read whatever I could find about the esoteric disputes of county government theory.
Summer ended on a thrilling social note. On the final day of my internship, the cute eighteen-year-old clerk asked me to walk her home. Outside her apartment she gave me a quick kiss (my first). But the last bus from downtown Reno home to Sparks was fast approaching its stop a block away, so I had to bid her good-bye and run to catch it.
As we settled into a modest house in Holladay in the fall of 1966, I entered Olympus High School in suburban Salt Lake City feeling lost. I didn?t know anyone. I was a non-Mormon in a school where 90 percent or more of the students did follow that faith. I had no particular skill at sports or with girls. But I did have an ability: I could talk and argue. I was fortunate that at Olympus specifically, and in Utah generally, high school debate was a big deal, an activity where a bookish boy could find affirmation. I joined the debate team, found my tribe, and was off.
The coach, Diana Childs, paired me with Mark Dangerfield, who was a year ahead of me. Mark and I clicked right away. He had a great smile, a sharp mind, a competitive spirit, and the ability to scrape away some of my rough edges. We turned out to be alike in many ways.
For example, we were obsessive about preparation. We wanted better research and more of it than any of our competitors (a habit I still have to this day). We spent a small fortune on four-by-six-inch cards on which we wrote our information in precise block lettering or typed it with a small manual typewriter we had scored at a secondhand sale. We then meticulously arranged the cards in giant boxes behind dividers that made possible the quick recovery of facts, quotes, and authorities. I developed an elaborate color scheme to help us pluck just the right card at that special moment to confound the opposing pair of debaters.
In high school debate, you had to be ready to argue both sides of the question on a moment?s notice. So we picked apart our own arguments, anticipated the counterarguments, and picked those apart, too. Gaming the debate out as many moves in advance as possible was great training for politics. Debate gave me the habit of examining the case of my candidate and that of his opponent. In a campaign, you need to think not just about what you want to say now, but how that train of arguments, and even events, will play out over time. It taught me that staying on offense was important and that once you were on defense, it was hard to regain control of the dialogue.
Being fanatical about research, Mark and I came up with a favorite tactic. We?d quote authorities the opposition had never heard of, and when they rose to dismiss our source, we?d roll out their impressive title such as the ?Assistant Secretary of Defense for International Security Affairs? and express astonishment that our worthy opponents had never heard of that significant policy leader.
The debates were staged in high school classrooms, generally in front of speech, history, or world affairs classes. They were often tough audiences, uninterested in what we had to say but stuck in their seats and forced to listen to the scrawny guys in three-piece suits. If we got them to laugh or otherwise favorably respond, it was almost as good as getting the most points on a judge?s score sheet. We became the only undefeated team in the statewide high school speech and debate competition, and won an important western regional meet as well.
Debate led to other activities. I became involved in Model U.N., which was big in Utah, and eventually became Model U.N. Club president. I took part in speech competitions such as the Veterans of Foreign Wars? ?Voice of Democracy? and the American Legion?s ?Americanism? contests. Students delivered patriotic addresses on an assigned topic to veterans audiences. I won several competitions, even traveling to Merced, California, for a western regional contest.
Debate wasn?t the only way my horizons were broadened in high school. My political vista was ready to be stretched as well. The man who would do that was a short, natty, bespectacled, bow-tie-wearing high school teacher named Eldon M. Tolman. He was a lot of things I wasn?t and didn?t like?including a Democrat, and not just any kind, but an LBJ Democrat. Tolman was also a union official, president of the local chapter of the Utah Education Association. If I learned anything from Goldwater, it was not to trust union bosses.
But those differences were far less important than the fact that Tolman loved politics and wanted his students to love it, too. To his credit, he didn?t care what his students? views were. As luck would have it, he was my teacher in 1968, and he made sure I kept up with all that year?s earth-shattering events. But he also took me aside and in his prim, proper manner told me that if I wanted an A, I had to get involved in a political campaign. At the time, I was a little over five feet tall, had glasses with thick frames, wore hush puppies, and carried a briefcase. A?s mattered a lot to me.
The campaign I chose was that of Utah?s senior United States senator, Wallace F. Bennett. Bennett was seventy years old, having been elected to the Senate the year I was born. A brash, charismatic young professor at the University of Utah named J. D. Williams was running for the Democratic nomination. Anger was rising at the Vietnam War and many young people across the country were flocking to support antiwar candidates like Williams. Bennett supported the war and, unbeknownst to me, was planning a big effort among young people to counter the Democrats? appeal.
Somehow I became the Salt Lake County high school chairman of Students for Bennett. I cajoled friends to volunteer, handed out stickers, worked at the headquarters, and recruited teams of similarly minded young political junkies to put out yard signs and attend campaign events. There weren?t that many of us, so I pressed my younger siblings into service frequently.
Tolman, meanwhile, decided that in the spring Olympus would have mock conventions in which students would nominate the presidential tickets. I threw myself into helping organize the GOP one. Hundreds of students played the roles of state delegations and party leaders. Like the real Republican National Convention, we nominated Richard Nixon?but not before we?d made the rounds of campaign headquarters, scoring buttons, banners, and baloney to decorate the school cafeteria for our convention.
Tolman?s greatest contribution was to make certain that his students saw all the presidential candidates who came to town. It?s hard today to think of Utah as a swing state, but in 1968 it was. The three major candidates?Nixon, Hubert Humphrey, and George Wallace?appeared at the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake, and I saw them all.
Wallace was angry, belligerent, and nasty, and even to my untrained ears, a pure demagogue. A protester heckled and the Alabama governor taunted him back, saying that if the protester lay down in front of Wallace?s limousine, it would be the last one he?d lie down for. The crowd screamed in agreement. As the Alabama bantam rooster strutted on the Tabernacle stage, I realized this was the first time I had seen a bigot, and the racial hatred he engendered, up close. I actually felt fear: his harangue was practiced and effective, and drew angry shrieks from the audience. These ordinary people were furious with their country and this man fed their frustration.
Nixon was polished and programmed, promising change ?from top to bottom.? He was an odd combination: one of the most effective politicians of that year, yet a man who was visibly uncomfortable as a campaigner. He drove himself by force of will to great heights. Vice President Humphrey struck me as nervous and old-fashioned. Nelson Rockefeller came across as a patrician with a nice, unforced backslapping folksiness when he came to open his Utah campaign headquarters. He also had the best campaign materials and plenty of them. Robert Kennedy stirred the crowd into a frenzy but he seemed cerebral, distant, and tired, yet inspiring and sad, all at the same time. I saw Ronald Reagan leave Republicans on their feet screaming and cheering in the loudest room I?d ever been in. The antiwar Eugene McCarthy was aloof and cold at a rally in a downtown park.
I had, then, a front-row seat in a rare, memorable, and consequential year in American politics, all courtesy of a liberal high school teacher who loved politics and his students. I was permanently bitten. I even became a candidate myself. In fact, for the first time I watched a savvy campaign manager (my world history teacher) pick a neophyte candidate (me), run a clever campaign, and produce a winner.
She insisted I run for second vice president of the student body, even though my nerds weren?t numerous enough to elect anyone. But she recruited the senior captain of the basketball team and the popular senior girl with the brand-new yellow sports car to co-chair my campaign. I had instant credibility with influential endorsements and the adroit behind-the-scenes maneuvering of a powerful sponsor. The fix was in.
There were two activities by which Olympus students judged candidates for student body office. The first was the quality of the posters candidates hung in the hallways. A friend who was an art student helped me and my debate team buddies manufacture dozens of posters using cutouts from magazines and then covered them with a shiny shellac to make them stand out. Most of the posters were witty, risqu?, and eye-catching. Having the help of people who played with words for fun turned out to be an unanticipated advantage. I recall only one poster: it echoed a popular car ad by encouraging students to ?Support the Mini-Brute.? I was confident we had the best ad blitz?but would that be enough?
The second test of the candidates was skits and speeches. My opponent, John, had gotten elected sophomore and junior class president on the strength of being rolled into the gym in a full-sized cardboard outhouse, from which he sprang to give a speech sprinkled with references to his fake outdoor commode. (A john?get it?) It had worked for him twice and we correctly anticipated he?d fall back on the tactic again. Students had seen it before, so its novelty had worn off. But we had a surprise: As my name was announced over the sound system, we fired up a VW convertible, flung open the gym doors, and drove the bright Bug into the packed arena with a basketball hero in the front seat behind the wheel and me in the back waving to the crowd, flanked by two attractive girls. Principal John Larsen, a tall, brooding hulk, reacted to the scene with a scowl that would have scared the bejesus out of the toughest biker gang. But a VW driving across the gym with the nerd in the back between two babes brought the students to their feet cheering and laughing and made my remarks almost unnecessary. I won.
Something else happened to me that fired up my love of politics: I went to Washington, D.C. I was chosen by my state for the Hearst Foundation?s U.S. Senate Youth Program, a seminar in the nation?s capital on American government. I met senators, congressmen, past and future presidential candidates (Barry Goldwater and Ted Kennedy), and a future president (Gerald Ford). But the week culminated in a visit to the White House to meet President Nixon. When it came time to shake the president?s hand in the receiving line, he asked me where I was from. When I told him Utah, he said, ?It?s really something when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir begins to sing, ?This is my country!?? as he warbled the tune for a few notes. I was taken aback by the singing president, which seemed to me so out of character, and wasn?t quite sure what to make of the whole thing.
But for a boy of my interests, the week could not have been more exciting. It wasn?t just the history that permeated every street corner, the famous buildings, the museums and monuments. This was the center of politics for the world?s most powerful nation, a place where high-minded ideas and less high-minded practical politics mingled. I left Washington with a raging, incurable case of Potomac fever. I didn?t know how and I didn?t know when, but I knew someday, some way, I?d be back.
But while I was finding my life?s work, my family was falling apart. In late 1968, Dad had gotten a new job with Getty Oil?s minerals division in Los Angeles. At first the plan was for the family to join him by moving to California after my graduation from high school the following spring. But as the winter turned to spring, my mother hinted that the plans were on hold, raising questions about whether the Getty job would last. So facing application deadlines, I sent my paperwork off to the University of Utah. If we were still going to be living in Salt Lake, it was the only place I could afford to go. Between the mortgage, my father?s small apartment in Los Angeles, and my brother?s expenses at the University of Nevada in Reno, the family?s finances were tight. In the fall of 1969 I entered the University of Utah with high hopes and, I thought, a bright future. I found the College Republicans and a fraternity, Pi Kappa Alpha.
Then it all started to go bad. My brothers and sisters and I were all looking forward to Christmas. Dad was coming up from L.A. for an extended stay. He hadn?t been home since the summer and, I believe, had been out of the country on geological work for part of the fall. There was tension simmering in the household about why the family hadn?t moved to Los Angeles after I graduated from high school. Dad arrived home on the afternoon of Christmas Eve.
Shortly after Dad?s appearance, he and Mom argued?angrily and heatedly. Things were smashed. And Dad left. Before he stormed out the door, he told me where he would be staying until he could get a flight back to California. I didn?t know what had caused the argument, but I knew his decision to leave wouldn?t be reversed. My mother provided no answers and withdrew to her bedroom. A little while after Dad left, I drove to the airport motel he mentioned and found him getting ready to catch a plane to L.A. He said he was sorry it had come to this, that he loved my mother and she him, and that they both loved all of us children, and he asked me never to forget that. He hugged me, I cried, and we parted?him for the airport and me for the worst Christmas of my life.
It wasn?t just that my parents were splitting up. Shortly after New Year?s Day, Mom told me I?d have to find somewhere else to live. She was selling the house and moving back to Sparks. She?d always felt uncomfortable in Utah and wanted to return to Nevada immediately. Whether I survived now depended on whether I let myself falter.
After minor negotiations over child support, my parents? marriage was dissolved in a Washoe County courtroom in May 1970. After Mom arrived in Nevada in January, she farmed out my three younger siblings for a month or two to neighbors and friends she knew from Westminster Presbyterian Church in Sparks. My young brother and sisters thought she had returned to Salt Lake to sell the house (whose sale closed days after she left town), and I thought she was in Sparks, but she wasn?t in either place. To this day, her whereabouts during that time are a mystery.
My mother?s hasty moves made life a lot more difficult. Being left to shift for myself could have been a shattering event. But when faced with adversity, my tendency is to break the problem down into its parts and tackle what I can. I couldn?t shrug off that Mom had proved unreliable, but I could focus on keeping things from falling further apart. Recovery would start with finding a place to stay.
I had too little money for an apartment. It was too late to get into a dorm?and that was too much for my budget, anyway. Fortunately, the fraternity house had an empty storage closet under the eaves and I was allowed to stay there until a bunk became available. The price tag for the storage area was in my price range: free. I moved in the day Mom left town.
My ?apartment? was cramped and the ceiling slanted downward; I couldn?t stand up straight. The floor was the uninsulated ceiling of the outside porch, so the space was cold. I hung my shirts, pants, and coats on a nail and stored everything else in a battered clothes hamper. Like other students, I kept my books on wooden boards held up by cement blocks. Light came from an industrial lamp that was plugged into an outlet with a cord that snaked down the hall. But I had a roof over my head and was grateful for it.
There would be no more meals at home, no family washing machine or dryer, no parents to buy school clothes or provide gas money. I had a few dollars from my part-time job at a gift shop and $500 a semester in tuition and books from a scholarship. I?d have to get more hours at work and figure out how to make ends meet until Mom and Dad were able to send money.
Only it turned out, there wouldn?t be any money. When Mom surfaced a month or two later by phone, she told me Dad wasn?t sending support money even though she was desperately urging him to do so. I found out two years later that my father had religiously sent money to all his children, starting in January 1970, and, starting several months after that, had sent separate checks specifically for me.
My Mom had hidden this from me, as she hid so much from all of us. When it served her purpose and especially when it affected her survival, she had a problem telling the truth.
I asked for more hours and found other jobs, like waiting tables. I got an internship at the Utah Republican Party that came with a small stipend. I watched pennies, ate lots of macaroni and cheese, stopped using my antique light green station wagon?bought during a flush moment the summer after my graduation?and rode the bus or walked instead. A bunk opened up in the frat house that spring after about three months.
But the shocks kept coming. I learned by accident several months later that I had been adopted. My father, it turns out, wasn?t really my father. While working in Illinois that summer for a U.S. Senate campaign, I would visit my aunt and uncle who lived in suburban Chicago. My father?s sister, Louise, and her husband, Colonel William Ver Hey, often invited me over for a home-cooked meal. The colonel was career Army and a paratrooper with multiple tours in Vietnam. He was my childhood hero, and my aunt reminded me of my father. They were terrific.
On one visit for dinner, the colonel presented me with a grown-up drink (a weak gin and tonic, I think) and the three of us began talking about Dad. Then my aunt said something like ?When you were adopted.? I dropped my glass. The look on my face must have shaken her, for she worriedly asked if I hadn?t known I was adopted. I hadn?t.
She then told me the real story: Louis C. Rove, Jr., adopted my older brother, Eric, and me when he married our mother. Eric, two years older than me, apparently recalled our biological father. As a teenager, Eric had tried to contact him but was rebuffed. I was blissfully ignorant about the situation, or at least had driven whatever memories I might have had of my life as a very small child into a dark recess.
After Aunt Louise?s revelation, it took me months to finally confront Louis about his failure to mention the fact that he was my adoptive father. After confirming from aunts and uncles on my mother?s side that I?d been told the truth, my head was spinning with questions. Why hadn?t I been told before? What were the circumstances? Who was my biological father? I just couldn?t bring myself to ask Louis these questions over the phone or in a letter. And when we were next together the following summer and I blurted out my questions over dinner in his L.A. apartment, he offered a simple explanation to the first. He said, ?It never mattered to me and I hope it never matters to you.? I have often thought about his statement, which could be taken as dismissive or nonchalant. I don?t think it was either. My dad gave all five of his children unconditional love, whether he had brought them into this world or not. He sacrificed to make certain we wanted for nothing important. He nurtured in us an appreciation of art, music, and books, all priceless gifts. What mattered to him was that he was our father and that he loved us and we loved him.
As to my other questions, he told me that my mother had been married before to a fellow Colorado School of Mines classmate. He gave me the man?s whereabouts, but cautioned me not to have high expectations of a relationship. Everything he told me was offered calmly and economically.
It took me more than a dozen years to try to contact my biological father. The delay was partly out of anger that he hadn?t tried contacting either Eric or me; in fact, he?d rejected Eric?s attempts to contact him. But part of the delay was also because I didn?t want anything to interfere with my relationship with Louis. Eventually I reached out to the man who had given me up. I wish I hadn?t. Dad had been right to dampen my hopes. While cordial, my biological father made it clear he did not want a relationship. It could have been devastating, but by then I was at peace with the knowledge that the man who raised me was not the man who brought me into the world.
For a long time, Louis was reticent about discussing his life with my mother. It was clear the breakup of his marriage stung deeply. I raised the topic when I visited him in Los Angeles in the summer after my sophomore year, but he refused to say why or how their marriage had dissolved. He also refused to speak ill of my mother, even when we discovered that his child support checks for my college expenses had been rerouted. He encouraged me to think about my mother?s sacrifices for me and my brothers and sisters and how much she loved and cared for us. It was apparent he still loved her, regardless of what kept them apart. As for my mother, she never offered an explanation.
Over the years, Dad grew closer to all his children, especially after he retired from Getty and moved from Los Angeles to Palm Springs, California, in 1986. He had a large house with two extra bedrooms that were often filled by his children and grandchildren. It was there that, approaching his seventies, he opened up more about Mom. In response to gentle questions from Darby, Dad emotionally explained she was the love of his life and that he had never stopped loving her. The conversation touched a deep regret, and he started weeping, which I?d seen him do only once before, when his stepmother died. It was shocking to hear a stoic Scandinavian like him talk about his and Mom?s physical passion and how, when he returned home from weeks or even months away on geological fieldwork, the ?naps? he took were really an excuse to exile the children from the house so the two of them could repair to their bedroom to make love. My parents even tried ?dating? years after they divorced, once embarrassing my youngest sister, who found herself their chaperone as they played footsy under the table.
I also think he wept in those later years because he wished he could have saved her. Twelve years after she deserted the family, when I was thirty years old, she committed suicide. Her third, and by now very unhappy, marriage was in the process of ending. It had lasted just three months. She was approaching her fifty-first birthday with the expectation that much of what she had in life?her modest home, her marriage, and her life savings?would all soon be gone. Her house had three mortgages on it. Between her and her latest husband, the little she had of value, everything she had saved, was now gone for boats and gambling and God knows what else. Even my childhood stamp, coin, and baseball card collections were gone. Mom was never good with money, and so a spouse who shared that weakness was a recipe for disaster.
On September 10, she had breakfast with my youngest sister, Reba, and they discussed Mom?s declining prospects. The two of them made arrangements for what Mom would do once she had split from her husband?including a place to live and a car to use. Reba thought she had left Mom in good spirits, but Mom failed to appear at home the next day. However, her husband did not call the police.
While on routine patrol, the Washoe County Sheriff?s Department found my mother, Reba Wood Rove, slumped over in her small pickup truck. It was September 11, 1981. She had driven into the desert north of Reno, found a secluded but visible place to park, run a piece of hose from the tailpipe through the cracked-open rear window of her pickup, methodically taped the area around the point at which the hose entered the vehicle, gotten in the truck, and killed herself by carbon monoxide poisoning.
Like her mother before her in 1974, my mother had dealt with life?s punishing blows by attempting suicide. But unlike my grandmother, Mom succeeded. I was stunned when I got the news but at some deep level I had always known she was capable of this. My mother had struggled, even in placid waters, to keep a grip on life.
Why did she do it? There aren?t easy answers. Mom left two letters in the truck, one to whoever found her and the other to her children. The first was to make it clear to the police that she took her own life and was not a victim of foul play. In the letter to her children, she wrote of her love for each of us and her pride in how we?d ?grown up and matured into fine adults.? She expressed her disappointment that after the ?great hope? for a life with her new husband, ?things hadn?t turned out that way.? ?Living alone and being so bossy and making all the decisions that had to be made?made me into a very hard person to share a life with,? she wrote, before saying, ?it has also made me very tired, deep inside tired. So I am taking my own life and I know this is a chicken way to do it. Please forgive me for failing all of you.? She wrote a few lines for her granddaughters and then closed, ?Love you all?please forgive me.?
I suspect she killed herself because her third marriage failed. Life had been hard for her after she failed to follow my father to Los Angeles in 1969. If our family had moved to L.A. after my high school graduation, as my parents had planned, I believe there would have been no reason for her to drive into the desert, write such a wretched letter, and then so meticulously end her life.
I write about this in more detail than is comfortable for me because some journalists have used her divorce and her death to advance theories about me. One journalist alleged that my father was gay and that my parents separated that Christmas Eve because he ?informed his wife that he was gay and that he was coming out of the closet and wanted a divorce.? Another journalist suggested Dad?s coming out meant my mother ?suffered emotional damage from which she never fully healed.?
A pair of journalists wrote that as ?a man of almost startling intelligence,? I was ?not likely to have ignored the possibility that [my] father?s homosexuality might have figured in [my] mother?s choice to end her own life.? Actually, it never occurred to me that this would be the reason she wanted to kill herself. None of the five Rove children heard such a thing or believe that was the cause of their divorce and her lifelong pain. If this was the issue she wrestled with and lost to, she would have talked about it with family or close friends. But to her children, family, and friends she mainly talked of too little money or her fear of being without a loving husband; she never spoke of Louis?s alleged homosexuality. Just over a year after their separation, Mom wrote Dad to admit ?I am sorry I caused you so many lonely hours . . . I made a mistake by not moving [the children] with you to L.A.? She wrote again to deny she?d been having an affair at the time of the breakup. These suggest that other reasons were at the heart of their dispute and they are a reminder of playwright Tom Stoppard?s insight: ?No one, no matter how well informed, can possibly know what goes on inside a marriage except the two principals themselves.?
Some reporters?a relatively small percentage, it should be pointed out?speculate on things they know nothing about in order to attack those with whom they politically disagree. They are an example of the ugliness to which journalism and journalists can descend. They are driven by hatred, and hatred submerges everything, including journalistic standards and even basic decency. Some reporters are inclined to practice psychology without a license?one of the modern media?s biggest shortcomings, especially in its political coverage. For these writers, the juxtaposition of my father?s alleged sexual orientation and my personal support for the traditional definition of marriage as being between one man and one woman is just too delicious to pass up. Karl Rove, antigay crusader, had a gay father. Get it? The pair of journalists even used the timing of my father?s death to write that after living as ?a gay man? my Dad ?passed away quietly at home on July 14, 2004. His son was in the midst of launching the antigay issues campaign that was to lead to the reelection of George W. Bush.?
Could Dad have been gay? I didn?t see it. I know he had gay friends and volunteered for years at the Desert AIDS Project in Palm Springs. But having gay friends or being concerned about whether someone who is sick gets driven to a clinic appointment or gets a delivery of groceries doesn?t make you gay. To this day, I have no idea if my father was gay. And, frankly, I don?t care. He was my father, with whom I had a wonderful relationship and whom I loved deeply.
The writers who are fascinated with whether my father was gay are really more interested in implying that all people who have gay relatives or friends must support same-sex marriage; otherwise they are bigots and hypocrites. And if one of these people happens to be Karl Rove, so much the better.
This mind-set has also led some writers to offer up inaccurate accounts about his death. That same pair of journalists wrote, ?The seventy-six-year-old Rove was not buried in either of the two cemeteries in the Coachella River Valley on the southern edge of the Mojave Desert. A close friend said there was no funeral. The final disposition of his mortal remains is known only to Louis Rove?s immediate family. The son, of whom Louis was so proud, has kept a photo of his smiling father in a star-shaped frame in his office in the West Wing of the White House, a few steps from the Oval Office. And Karl Rove is convinced his father was a happy, contented person.?
Actually, there was a simple and moving funeral service, presided over by the pastor whom my father had helped call as the founding minister of the First Presbyterian Church of Golden, Colorado, in the 1950s. My father?s mortal remains were handled precisely as he wanted. I know because as he came to life?s end, worried and anxious, Dad asked me time and again as his executor if I understood his instructions. He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered at his family?s ancestral cabin in northern Wisconsin, at the big rock beside the lake where the ashes of his father, his mother, and his stepmother were all scattered. His instructions were followed to the letter two years after his death on a bright day under a summer sky with his children and grandchildren, his sister, and his best friend as witnesses. Also in accordance with his desires, the ashes of his wife were mingled with his. They lie together again, only now for eternity.
I wasn?t very close to my mother in her final decade. She was erratic and undependable when I was growing up, left abruptly when it was convenient for her, and withheld the financial support my father provided. So I was wary of her. We saw each other infrequently, once in the mid-1970s in Washington, D.C., and every once in a while in Denver, where her mother lived, or on my rare trips to Nevada.
When Mom called, it was generally to ask for money, which I tried to provide within my limited means. Sometimes I would receive, unannounced, packages filled with childhood drawings or elementary school report cards or black-and-white snapshots with scalloped edges or other debris of my early years. It was as if she wanted to share parts of those years when we had been an intact family. There is a picture taken shortly after she and Dad married. She is a young, beautiful woman, but even then there?s a tired quality to her eyes. Sadness never left her. Our relationship was at times shaky and always insecure, but I love her still. And I will miss her always.
Every life contains sorrow and regret, and my father and mother carried their share. But I know that my father, for his part, knew happiness and contentment. Near his end, as I sat in his hospital room, or as he lay on his couch at home, tethered to an oxygen bottle, he would tell me how grateful he was for his life. He would express his thankfulness for a career spent in geology and his gratitude for children and grandchildren whom he loved and who loved him. That was difficult for such an emotionally contained man. If that?s not an expression of contentment and happiness, I don?t know what a life richly and fully lived would be. I am proud he chose to call me his son. And I am proud to call him my father.
? 2010 Karl Rove


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How high are our taxes, really?
Many of my past blog posts discussed taxes and their effect on our ability to save for the future. On many occasions I have brought up the idea that taxes will very likely increase in the near future. It seems that France may be beating us to the punch.
France's Socialist President Francois Hollande recently announced his plan to raise the tax rate on individuals whose income is more than 1 million euros to 75 percent. He is defending his plan as part of an effort to shrink France's budget deficit.
Sound familiar?
We seem to be battling the same demons at home. Our government is running a $1.3 trillion dollar deficit, and if nothing is done between now and December, the tax rates on the upper class are set to increase.
Fortunately the rate increases won't be near those France is proposing. In fact, our top tax bracket would be just over half of France's top bracket (39.6 percent as compared to 75 percent).
But globally, we still have some of the lowest tax rate structures. Many countries have top marginal tax rates in the low to mid-50s, including Austria, Belgium, Denmark, Finland, Japan and Sweden. The highest taxes are paid in Aruba, as someone making $171,000 falls in a tax bracket of 58.95 percent. This is still a far cry from France's proposed rates.
Historically speaking, here in America, our rates have been the lowest we have seen for the past 60-plus years. It wasn't that long ago that we had tax rates similar to that of Hollande's proposal. Back in the 1980s, the highest brackets were in the neighborhood of 70 percent, and even higher back in the '60s, with rates as high as 90 percent.
Do I think we will get back to rates that high? No, I don't believe we will. However, is 39.6 percent as high as we will go? Only time will tell.
The best course of action is to prepare for the worst, and that means taking a hard look at how you are investing your money. Years ago, it was widely accepted that socking away as much pre-tax income as possible was a solid plan for retirement. But is this still the best strategy if taxes are likely to go up in the future?
Maybe the best thing to do is something different. Since the financial times are changing rapidly, maybe your planning techniques should be keeping pace.
Joe Wirbick is the president of the Lancaster financial services firm Sequinox. Joe specializes in retirement planning and distribution. This allows him to concentrate on developing strategies that help address the unique issues that confront retirees and those approaching retirement.

subset: commoncrawl


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Problem is, what do you do with the unwanted SUV? You sell it, of course, and thereby in some cases (like buying a new car to replace it) actually make matters worse. Now there are two cars being used instead of one. The SUV that you used to own is now owned by someone else. It's just as climate-unfriendly as it was when you owned it and it will continue to pump out pollution for years to come. See what I mean?
Solutions? The ideal would be for you to forego the money from the SUV's sale and have it broken up with all its component parts recycled into something more useful. Get real, you might say, that's never going to happen. But it could happen if some special fund were to exist whereby you could get back the full second-hand value whilst the vehicle was permanently taken off-road (!) and recycled. This, done properly, could yield quite a deal of valuable materials as well.
Who would provide this fund and new infrastructure? Any ideas? I suppose some sort of consortium between governments and industry backed up by smart tax structures would do the job. And the principle could extend to other carbon-hungry infrastructure: giant motorhomes, Hummers, aircraft... anything that could be sold on and otherwise continue to pollute for years to come. How can we make it (or something like it) happen?


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Our Titanium is Nickel Free, half the weight of Steel, and available in several brilliant colors, without the use of dyes to color it. We only use G23TI Surgical Titanium or 6AI-4VEli Implantable Titanium. Both of these grades have been successfully used worldwide for heart valves, pacemakers, and implants.
Circular Barbells are a great design for people who frequently remove or change their jewelry. 16 gauge and larger circular barbells are all Internally Threaded, and can be worn with virtually any piercing. Circular Barbell's are measured using the inside diameter.
They are available in a wide variety of colors, with either Matching Colored Balls or balls in a different color if requested.
This is true with the exception of the 0 Gauge, 00 Gauge, 7/16″, and 1/2″ gauge. These are only available with Surgical Steel Balls only. Also on All Gauges Rainbow is only available with Surgical Steel Balls.


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Bank Customers Vote for Reserve
The Hawk and Owl Trust is celebrating a £6,000 North Norfolk NatWest CommunityForce award for Sculthorpe Moor Community Nature Reserve.
In July 2011 NatWest and RBS launched CommunityForce, a new initiative to help support local charities, organisations and groups, to raise publicity for their work and attract volunteers. The programme also provided the opportunity for three groups in each of the banks' 158 CommunityForce areas to win awards of £6,000 each. Organisations and charities applied for awards during the summer and an online public vote took place to decide which three organisations in each area would receive the awards.
Around 7000 eligible charities and community projects in the UK applied to take part in CommunityForce and over 450,000 votes were cast.
Nigel Middleton, Hawk and Owl Trust Conservation Officer for the Eastern Region said:
"Being voted the winner in the CommunityForce Award has given an enormous boost to our fundraising efforts. We are really hoping to buy some specialist machinery to help us make sustainable use of the fen vegetation we have to cut each year and this money will make a great start towards the amount we have to raise.
"We would like to say a huge thank you to all the people who voted for us in the awards."
CommunityForce, which forms part of the bank's Customer Charter, offers organisations more than just financial support. By applying for the awards, local charities and projects became part of a local online network giving them greater visibility and the opportunity to attract volunteers from the local area. NatWest and RBS staff are also getting involved by volunteering their time and expertise.
Andrew Ingham, NatWest's Local CEO for North Norfolk, said:
'We had a fantastic response to CommunityForce and it's clear that people in the local area are very passionate about these good causes. Local residents voted for Hawk and Owl Trust, Stalham Community Gym and Cromer Youth Football Club in great numbers and this certainly demonstrates how important these projects are to the community."
Find out more about Community Force here.


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U.S. stocks were little changed, following the biggest advance in two months in the Standard & Poor's 500 Index, as a tumble in Hewlett-Packard Co. shares tempered data showing an unexpected increase in housing starts.
HP slumped 12 percent as it announced a charge of $8.8 billion linked to its Autonomy Corp. business, saying there were "accounting improprieties" before its 2011 acquisition of the company. Intel Corp. dropped 2.7 percent after UBS AG cut its recommendation for the largest chipmaker. Best Buy Co. sank 14 percent as the largest consumer-electronics retailer reported a $10 million loss on weaker-than-expected sales.
The S&P 500 fell less than 0.1 percent to 1,386.69 at 10:24 a.m. in New York. The Dow Jones Industrial Average dropped 22.84 points, or 0.2 percent, to 12,773.12. Trading in S&P 500 companies was almost in line with the 30-day average at this time of day.
"There are lots of things going on," said Madelynn Matlock, who helps oversee about $14.7 billion at Huntington Asset Advisors in Cincinnati. "The housing data is great because it's good for the overall economy looking forward. Still, companies like Best Buy and HP have had problems for a while and they are not getting any better. Everybody is on the sidelines waiting to see how Europe deals with extending more credit to Greece."
Housing starts in October rose to a four-year high. European finance ministers will try to plug a 15 billion-euro hole in Greece's finances and win over the International Monetary Fund in the latest installment of three years of debt- crisis brinkmanship. The meeting comes a day after France lost its top credit rating with Moody's Investors Service.
Budget Deal
Stocks capped a two-day rally yesterday amid better-than- forecast housing data and as President Barack Obama expressed confidence on a budget agreement with Congress. The benchmark gauge for U.S. equities gained 2.5 percent in two days, the most since July.
"One day it's risk on, the next it's risk off," said Benoit de Broissia, an analyst at KBL Richelieu Gestion in Paris. "Visibility is limited and the market can over-react in one direction or another."
HP tumbled 12 percent to $11.66. The charge from the acquisition of Autonomy was due to "accounting improprieties, disclosure failures and outright misrepresentations" that happened before Hewlett-Packard purchased the company last year for $10.3 billion. HP also forecast fiscal first-quarter profit that missed analysts' estimates amid a continuing slump in personal computer sales.
Copyright 2014 Bloomberg. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Copyright 2014 Bloomberg. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.


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I learned that a long walk and calm conversation are an incredible combination if you want to build a bridge.
Local Area
Express Check-In Available
Late Check Out Available
Minimum Check-In Age: 16
Accessible Parking On-site
Wheelchair Available
Guide dogs/service animals are not allowed
Learn more about the IHG Green Engage™ system
All of the hotel guestrooms feature flat-screen TV, satellite channels, a large workspace and high-speed Internet access. Hotel boasts 1600sqm of flexible event space in seven meeting rooms, including a grand ballroom that can seat up to 900 guests. Let the Crowne Meetings Director tailor our facilities to suit your event's needs, whether it is a boardroom meeting, exclusive product launch or annual company dinner. Our master chefs will craft full banquet menus, customized cocktail receptions or refreshing working lunches for your events.
Treat yourself to the finest cuisine at our all-day dining Matrix and convenient room service. Then relax with an evening cocktail at our T-Zone Lobby Lounge.
Stay at Crowne Plaza Beijing Lido and let us host your next event in Beijing.
The hotel offers a fitness facility and swimming pool to keep you fit and invigorated. The lobby lounge or Crowne Plaza Executive lounge also awaits you for a refreshment and relaxation with a wide selection of drinks and snacks.


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The Hot Tub Dialogues at Subterranean Gallery
with the help of 58 kickstarter backers, Ayla Rexroth and Clayton Skidmore raised $2773.00 to cover the installation of a hot tub in their basement apartment, which doubles as an art gallery. The Jacuzzi, which was donated by an exhibiting artists parents, served as a wet, hot podium for a series of three discussions that included regional curators, artists, and an architect. An audience of 30 squeezed into tiny plastic folding chairs to eavesdrop on a brilliant mix of high- and lowbrow art talk. The Hot Tub Dialogues encouraged speakers to reveal a little more (skin and theory) than usual, when discussing art, life and their careers. File under Best Talent Pool.


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Sachachurchill needed a new logo design and created a contest on 99designs.
A winner was selected from 126 designs submitted by 26 freelance designers.
Phoenix Age
We are a very close group of friends, whose interest in gaming led us to develop fun and awesome games steeped in great gameplay mechanics and stunning visual. We used to be on the casual gaming arena, but have since moved over to the social and mobile platform. We are a self-funded company that is looking to grow and expand, but at the same time, maintaining that fun people make fun games!
We have multiple titles that targeted multiple audience categories. "The average user of our company are 27 year old's who work in the games industry creating, designing and playing games. We are targeting the cool. hip retro crowd who enjoy being in the games industry and feel hip for being so. Most of the logo's in games are not corp branded more fun, cheeky or simply very cool." <--- This is definitely us.
Incorporate our company name into the logo, be it text represented or graphically represented. It has to be cool, not stuffy corporate. It should also be bright and noticeable, but not glaringly so. Simple, yet elegant. Majestic, but not over the top. Like a Phoenix.
Find out how a design contest works or learn more about our logo design services.


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The Forsyth County Board of Health is the governing body for Forsyth County Department of Public Health. State law mandates that there be a local Board of Health for every county or local health district. The Board of Health is the appointing authority for the Local Health Director and oversees the Health Director in his/her role as executive director of the Health Department. The Board of Health has the authority to adopt local rules which address health issues and which are enforced by the Health Director and staff of the Health Department.
Membership of the Board of Health is also prescribed by state law. The Board is composed of 11 members including: a physician, a dentist, an optometrist, a veterinarian, a registered nurse, a pharmacist, an engineer, a county commissioner, and three representatives of the general public. The members are appointed by the Forsyth County Board of Commissioners, and may serve a maximum of three consecutive three-year terms.
The Forsyth County Board of Health meets on the first Wednesday of each month at 5:30 p.m. in the Board Room at the Health Department, 799 N. Highland Ave., Winston-Salem, NC. The meetings are open to the public.
The following appointments are open for applicants:
|Capacity and Additional Information
|Deadline to Apply


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|January 22, 1998
|Agency Addressed
|William O. Monroe, Director
Division of Accounting & Auditing
Office of Comptroller
We are pleased to announce that effective February 2, 1998, agencies will be able to access the Comptroller's paid warrant information for the most current 12 month period via a new "Paid Warrant Inquiry" screen. This function will appear as PW - PAID WARRANT on the Central Accounting Mini Menu which users access by the SC function. Upon entering PW_I on the Central Accounting Mini Menu, a screen will be returned asking you to enter warrant type and warrant number. The same screen will provide valid warrant types listed at the bottom. The last screen will return the following information listed from left to right: WARRANT TYPE, WARRANT NUMBER, ISSUE YEAR, PAID DATE, BATCH NUMBER, SEQUENCE, and BANK NUMBER. This screen does not however, contain any information on EFT transactions. Agency personnel that desire access to this new function should contact their Security Administrator. If problems occur in using this new function, you should contact the SAMAS Help Desk at 487-2627 or SunCom 277-2627.
Agencies will no longer have to call staff in our Reconciliation Section to obtain paid warrant information for the most current 12 month period. This enhancement should allow us to provide a quicker turn around for copies of paid state warrants. The information returned on the last screen contains the data we need to access the particular roll of film from which we can make a copy of the listed warrant. Effective February 2, 1998, if you desire a copy of the paid state warrant that appears on the return screen, simply do a screen print and fax it to our Reconciliation Section (FAX number 921-0607, SC 291-0607). Make sure you include a return address. On requests for copies of a large number of state warrants paid within the most recent 12 month period, agencies will be required to submit a roster or spreadsheet listing all the data returned on the last PW_I screen for each warrant. Requests for copies of paid warrants that are more than a year old should be submitted separately. If you have any questions on this new procedure, please call Mike Manderfield at 414-1804, SunCom 994-1804.


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is she sickly thin or do you just want to add weight to her??? Post some picts. Her weight may be fine for her structure not all APBTs are beefy looking LOL. Really they aren't supposed to be bulky at all. How old is she what is her height and weight proportion?Jesseca wrote:I need to add some weight onto Summer. She's still scrawny and would like her to bulk up a bit. Is there anything that is good for an old girl that I can add to her kibble? I didn't know if raw egg would help or something like that.
satanscheerleader wrote:One thing to keep in mind with the seniors, if the vet isn't concerned, being lean is actually much healthier on their joints and heart.
pLaurent wrote:For a dog that size, a 12lb loss is quite drastic and could indicate serious illness! Is she eating as she always has?
I really think you need to get a complete exam for her, including bloodwork if you haven't already.
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Stay stylish and keep warm with this unisex hooded jacket.
- Cool and fashionable unisex hooded jacket
- Front full zip closure and two side pockets
- Comes with a drawstring around the hood
- Ribbed cuffs and hem
- Soft fuzz lining
- Polar fleece construction, colored in black
- Women Size: L (also fits teenager school boys)
|Women Size
|Neck Breadth (Approx.)
|Shoulder Breadth (Approx.)
|Waistline (Approx.)
|Sleeve Length (Approx.)
|Jacket Length (Approx.)
|9.5 inch (24cm)
|16.5 inch (42cm)
|35 inch (88cm)
|24 inch (61cm)
|24.5 inch (62cm)
|9.5 inch (24cm)
|17 inch (43cm)
|36 inch (92cm)
|24.5 inch (62cm)
|25 inch (64cm)
|10 inch (25.4cm)
|18.5 inch (47cm)
|40 inch (102cm)
|25 inch (64cm)
|26.5 inch (67cm)
Package Includes:
- 1 x Hooded jacket
Note: Please be reminded that due to lighting effects and monitor's brightness/contrast settings etc, the color tone of the website's photo and the actual item could be slightly different.
Keywords: Hooded jacket, hooded coat, hoodie coat, unisex jacket, winter jackets


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|3 Years
|Type of Engine
|Number of Cylinders
|4 Cylinders
|Weight (lbs/kg)
|359.00 lbs / 162.84 kg
|Fuel Delivery
|Fuel Injected
|Displacement (cu/cc)
|91.00 cu / 1,491.22 cc
|Shaft Length Options
|20 in for L / 25 in for X
|Steering Control
|Power Assist
|Alternator Output
Honda Marine's BF90 and BF75 4-stroke outboard engines offer boaters two models that provide immediate response coupled with smooth, powerful acceleration and fuel efficiency in both fresh and salt water.
Both products deliver virtually smoke-free performance and meet California Air Resource Board (CARB) 3-Star requirements, which are 20 percent lower than those federally mandated by the EPA.
A Closer Look at Soft Spoken Operational Excellence
Quiet and dependable, the Honda BF90 horsepower (hp) and BF75 deliver solid and responsive power with every start. The models share a collection of built-in technological advantages that not only make them excellent performers, but also exceptionally reliable. The duo's 1.5L, 16-valve, inline 4-cylinder engine is inspired by the same remarkable power plant found in Honda's top-selling Fit automobile. Honda's number one selling vehicle globally, the Fit has proven itself time and again to be economical, efficient and durable – all necessary traits in the harsh marine environment.
A Single Overhead Camshaft (SOHC) design uses dual intake valves to deliver an optimal air/fuel mixture for maximum torque and combustion efficiency. In addition, a Multi-Port Electronic Fuel Injection system (PGM-FI) accurately controls ignition timing during start-up, providing optimum overall operation. The ultimate benefit is smoother and quieter operation on the water with instant throttle response and performance.
Top Mounted Electronics are standard features on both engines. The alternator, ignition and other critical components are mounted near the top of the powerhead to ensure all are kept cool and dry. By extension, a crankshaft-driven, automotive-style Trochoid Oil Pump guarantees long-term durability of critical engine components.
The BF90 and BF75 boast an Engine Alert System that uses visual, audio and rpm reduction circuits to alert the operator of conditions which contribute to engine damage, such as overheating, low oil pressure and over-revving. A Fresh Water Flushport works to flush debris and salt water out of the engine, and the patented 4-Front Corrosion Protection System features a double sealed multi-layered paint process; both features extend the life of the outboards.
A Built-In Pitot Tube in the gear case eliminates the need to drill holes during installation, and an Adjustable-Angle Tiller Handle offers convenient and accurate steering.
Honda Exclusive Design Elements
Both the BF90 and BF75 engines feature a number of Honda design exclusives, including:
"Our goal at Honda Marine is to maximize boaters' experience on the water," said John Fulcher, senior manager, Honda Marine. "The new BF90 and BF75 offer boaters a reliable start, simple maintenance, efficient operation and explosive acceleration – all necessary factors for the most enjoyable and most productive time on the water."
The Honda BF90 engin
|Smoker Craft 162 Pro Mag
|Smoker Craft 172 Ultima DC (2007-)
|VIP Boats Bluewater 186CCF (2007-)
|Sundance B220CC
|Forest River Marine South Bay 922CR (2007-)
|JC Pontoon NepToon 21 TT (2008-)
|JC Pontoon SunToon 21 TT (2007-)
|C-Dory 22 Cruiser
|SunChaser 8522 RE (2007-)
|Calcutta 263


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High-Yield Selloff Just Beginning?
Our colleague Tomi Kilgore pointed out yesterday that the recent slide in high-yield bonds should give investors reason to be on high alert.
But perhaps what's even more worrisome is the selloff may be just beginning.
Martin Fridson, chief executive at FridsonVision LLC, a New York research firm, notes the Bank of America Merrill Lynch High-Yield Master II Index rose 1.5% from the end of last year through Jan. 25, a move that also coincided with a big move higher for the S&P 500.
For the high-yield market, "that was a huge move for a one-month period, considering the asset class's lesser volatility relative to stocks," Fridson said in an email.
Since Jan. 25, however, high yield has sold off while the stock market has continued chugging higher. Several analysts have said cash rotating out of bonds and into stocks can at least partly explain the recent trend.
"Some will interpret this divergence as a sign of the fabled Great Rotation, but that effect is hard to document," Fridson said. "What I'm more sure about is that the high yield market had gotten extremely overpriced before the recent selloff began."


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There are many aspiring authors, but not many achieve success. Even fewer writers are capable of gaining success in two genres, but the Scottish novelist Iain Banks has managed that rare feat, writing "mainstream" fiction under his birth name and high-concept science fiction as Iain M. Banks, including the initial of his unofficial middle name, Menzies, to differentiate between the two styles. His publishers, Abacus, used to further distinguish his books by using black and white covers for the mainstream novels, while printing the science fiction jackets in colour, though I'm not sure whether this branding was important, as Banks has walked confidently in both worlds throughout his career.
According to Time Out, Banks is "one of the most able, energetic and stimulating writers we have in the UK". Although his "mainstream" fiction is, by definition, less vividly imagined than the science fiction, he still mixes flights of gothic fantasy with a wealth of straight social realism. When you see Banks interviewed, with his irrepressibly curly hair, impatient eyebrows and glinting eyes, you can sense that he is a bit of a rebel, which is revealed in his books through attacks on contemporary politics, big business and technology.
"Happy talk"
Perhaps the most accessible and certainly most likeable of Banks' books is The Crow Road, which was first published in 1992. Banks himself described it as a "happier novel", but it still contains enough menace and dark humour to please fans of his first book, the macabre The Wasp Factory, as can be seen with the incendiary first few lines:
It was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mass in B Minor, and I reflected that it always seemed to be death that drew me back to Gallanach.
This is a black comedy with plenty of dry wit, but excludes the violent imagery of some of Banks' other work, so is arguably his funniest book. There is usually a deft splash of humour to lighten the tone of any dramatic, sinister scenes, though not so intrusive as to trivialise the seriousness of the situation. In this way any sense of melancholy arising from the main character's seemingly doomed love life is balanced with the hilarity ensuing from the protagonists' numerous eccentricities. The Crow Road is a long, intense tale, but the pace is never allowed to flag, due to its hip, droll humour.
"In the shadowplay"
Banks told an interviewer that The Crow Road was about "death, sex, faith, cars, Scotland and drink" and it's true that the novel considers all of these themes in depth, but it's also a story about the attempts of a young man, Prentice McHoan, to discover the secrets of his unusual family, while trying to cope with the problems and pressures of growing up.
Uncle Rory disappears while writing a book (called The Crow Road) and Prentice is tasked by his grandmother to solve the mystery of what happened to him: is he dead or alive? If he is dead, was he killed or did he take his own life? If he is alive, where the hell is he? During this quest, Prentice seeks to gain a better understanding of his wealthy and eccentric family, especially his parents' tragic and complicated generation. This becomes particularly important to him after his father Kenneth, a committed atheist, is killed by lightning while climbing a church tower, trying to settle an argument about the existence of God (told you about the dark humour).
However, Prentice's focus does not simply revolve around looking for Rory, as he is struggling with all the difficulties that normal life throws at a student: university studies, friends, lovers, enemies and financial hardship. Like any young man, he is trying to work out who he is, how he came to be that way and what he wants to become. He seeks help through the usual channels of drink, sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll, but is equally preoccupied with death and religion, so much so that he is not talking with his father, following a huge argument over the existence of God. His soul is not comforted by physical love, as he has an unrequited adolescent crush on his cousin Verity.
"The Player of Games"
In many ways, Prentice is a deeply flawed individual. Self-absorbed, selfish and stubborn, he is disengaged from his studies, meandering through his day-to-day existence with his head in the clouds. Exhibiting all of the arrogance, immaturity and uncertainty of youth, he is disastrous at relationships, but at the same time he's clever, witty, charismatic and occasionally charming. However, all of Banks' central characters ultimately possess an agreeable nature, however disturbing the background, and Prentice is no exception. He knows when he's being sulky or acting like an idiot, and berates himself for behaving so badly. Although he's packed with faults and foibles, you find yourself identifying with him, as he's just like any other flawed real person. He's a character that you shouldn't really like, but you cannot help but feel affection for this hapless hero. Like a more grounded Holden Caulfield, his youthful tone can be woeful and even depressive, but his sense of humour habitually rescues him.
It's not that easy to categorise The Crow Road. Ostensibly an old-fashioned mystery, it can also be viewed as a coming of age tale, though you could equally detect elements of a romance, a thriller and even/especially a comic novel. It is to Banks' credit that he manages to orchestrate the shifts between humour, pathos, tragedy and suspense so well without the narrative jarring. His subtle skill in balancing all these themes is admirable, though he has said that he is "not a particularly analytical writer. If it works, it works. It's almost a superstition: if you look into it too much, you might destroy the magic".
"In search of the perfect dram"
This is also Banks' version of the family saga, being a tale of three families, which are linked through marriages crossing the class divide. It's not quite Trollope, as there's a lot more sex and swearing in Banks' rendition, but there is a strong sense of time and place – and the family secrets are eventually unravelled. Prentice's key relationship is probably the one he has (or more accurately doesn't have) with his father, Kenneth, though others are more amusing:
Right, now this isn't as bad as it sounds, but … I was in bed with my Aunt Janice.
Indeed, the book contains a fascinating set of strongly drawn characters. Each one is memorable and distinctive without resorting to caricature, even though Prentice clearly feels somewhat lost and confused in his tangled family history. Many years later Banks returned to the family theme with The Steep Approach to Garbadale, but argued that it was worthwhile revisiting old territory: "Families are just such fertile ground. We've all got one and they're all a bit mad".
"No, I said Matter - not meter."
The novel charts Prentice's rite of passage. At first it describes that confusing period in your early twenties when everything seems to collapse at once, but it also speaks of the need to move on and mature. Prentice's journey is as much about discovering himself and there's a strong sense of growing up as his seemingly aimless, drunken walk through life takes a turn for the thoughtful and sober. His struggles to belong (within family, community and society) are eased, when he realises that he is not as inferior as he had believed:
People can be teachers and idiots; they can be philosophers and idiots; they can be politicians and idiots…in fact I think they have to be…a genius can be an idiot. The world is largely run for and by idiots. It is no great handicap in life and in certain areas is actually a distinct advantage and even a prerequisite for advancement.
However, this is also obviously a novel about death and its lingering effects on the living. The McHoans have a history of early, unexpected deaths in the family – and they tend to die in odd ways. The Crow Road itself, apart from being a real location in Glasgow, is a Scottish expression for death, as in: "He's away the Crow Road". The appropriateness of this title is immediately apparent, as the book begins with a funeral and many more meet an untimely end along the way. In some ways, this is a funny book - with a lot of death in it.
"You talking to me, Jimmy?"
One of the major topics is the quest for truth as the narrator searches for the answers to the great questions of life, including religious truth. Prentice's father is an atheist who has brought his children up to question everything and make their own decisions. He is therefore extremely disappointed when his son, perhaps in a fit of childhood rebellion, tells him that he believes in some form of higher power.
Fairness is something we made up. It's an idea. The universe isn't fair or unfair. It works by mathematics, physics, chemistry, and biochemistry. Things happen. It takes a mind to come along and call them fair or not.
The story takes place in Scotland and captures the atmosphere of the country perfectly from the stunning imagery of mountains, lochs, valley and cairns to the mundane details of everyday life. Oh, and there's some drinking too - actually an awful lot of drinking with a variety of consequences, including a painfully funny account of an almighty Hogmanay hangover.
One of the stylistic features in Banks' writing is frequently switching back and forth in time, even having flashbacks within flashbacks. While this confuses some (primarily those of a limited attention span), for me this non-linear narrative is handled very well. Banks only introduces background knowledge when it is relevant, for example helping to create more depth to a character. As the novel progresses, we discover that all the insignificant and apparently random movements in time contribute to the main plot. Moreover, this is exactly how our minds work in real life with memories being sparked by other events and then cascading to form a whole. Far from being a gimmick, this results in a more natural way of looking at things.
Another writing trait is the use of multiple voices and points of view, switching the narrative between Prentice and his father. Thus, we get a more balanced view than most books with a teenage protagonist, as we can also understand the father and his motivations. It is interesting to see the reasons for Kenneth's actions as well as the reactions they provoke in his son. Given the multi-layered narrative, the quality of the dialogue is particularly impressive.
Prentice, have you been reading crime novels instead of your history books?
No. The worst crimes are always in the history books, anyway.
Speaking of history, the story is very precisely set in the early 90s with its references to the first Gulf War, the Thatcher government, the Poll Tax and, er, Lloyd Cole. The book gives a very specific snapshot of young people, their clothes and their music from that time ("when I started to understand the lyrics of a Cocteau Twins song, I knew I was wrecked"). In a way, it's starting to feel like a period piece, but the book remains as sharp and witty as ever.
"Stone the crows"
The book has been adapted for a television series of the same name, starring Joseph McFadden as Prentice; Dougray Scott as his smart-alec, elder brother Lewis; and a young Peter Capaldi (the superb Malcolm Tucker in The Thick of It) as uncle Rory. Unlike many similar adaptations, this one was a high class, delicate and engaging production with Banks sending the producers a letter thanking them for "looking after my baby".
The Crow Road may be Banks at his most bankable, but it's also an extraordinary tale rendered so carefully that it feels universal. It has entertaining characters and situations, realistic relationships and problems with a solid and enthralling plot. Banks has said that he "wanted to write something big and a bit untidy, a bit scruffy in itself". He's done much more than that, but as a great man once said, "creative minds are rarely tidy".


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Get W-2s onlineUniversity of Nebraska faculty and staff may elect to receive their W-2 statements exclusively online through Firefly's Employee Self Service.
If you choose to continue receiving a printed W-2, you will NOT have access to the online form at any time.
Benefits of receiving the W-2 electronically:
- Provides earlier access to your W-2 than the traditional mail process.
- Eliminates the chance that the W-2 statement will be lost, stolen, delayed or misplaced during delivery or after receipt by the employee.
- Access is available through the secure website ESS on Firefly which an employee can access their wage information at any time of the day or on the weekends.
- Employees can print multiple copies at their convenience.
- Employees are contributing to cost savings (forms, printing, and postage) for the university.
Federal regulations require employees give their consent to receive the W-2 in a secure electronic format. Once the consent is given it carries forward each year* and does not need to be repeated.
To request an electronic version of your W-2:
- Log in to Firefly
- Click on the link "Enroll Now" on the home page or click on ESS, then Payment, and select "Enroll for Online W-2 Tax Year 2012."
- Click on the button to select the option "Receive W-2 only via online service." NOTE: If you choose the option Receive W-2 only in paper you will NOT have access to the form online at any time.
- Once you have made your choice, click the box next to Declaration of my W-2 delivery choice.
- Click on Save and Submit.
You will receive a confirmation email stating you have elected to receive the online delivery of your W-2. You can change your option as many times as desired up until the deadline.
To receive the electronic W-2 you must enroll online by 5 p.m. CST on Monday, Dec. 31.


text:
The Tour de France arrives in the UK tonight as all 198 riders in the world's most famous bike race take part in a city centre parade before appearing at the opening ceremony event.
The team presentation and opening ceremony at Leeds Arena will feature cycling stars like Britain's Chris Froome and Mark Cavendish as well as entertainment from Girls Aloud's Kimberley Walsh and the West Yorkshire-based band Embrace.
The curtain-raiser is a prelude to the opening stage of the 101st Tour, which starts in the centre of Leeds on Saturday morning.
Tonight's parade from Leeds University to the arena will involve all 22 teams taking part in the race as well as cyclists from local clubs and community groups.
Event organisers Welcome to Yorkshire say the opening ceremony at the city's brand new arena will be the first of its kind for the Tour.
As well as a performance from Embrace and Kimberley Walsh singing the official anthem of Yorkshire's Grand Depart with songwriter Alistair Griffin, the show will feature the band Hope & Social and Opera North.
Saturday's opening stage will see the teams ride to Harewood House, just north of Leeds, where the ceremonial start will be conducted by the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and Prince Harry.
The riders will then tackle the hills and lanes of the Yorkshire Dales before a sprint finish in Harrogate.
British hopes are pinned on Cavendish, and hundreds of thousands of people are expected to line the route to cheer him on to the finish line in his mother's home town.
The royal visitors will also be in Harrogate to welcome the leading riders and the peloton.
On Sunday, stage two will take the Tour from York to Sheffield and feature some of the toughest climbs in British cycling.
Despite the opening two stages being billed as Yorkshire's Grand Depart, t he other side of the Pennines has also tapped into the Tour de France excitement with Rochdale making the most of the fact that a 0.6-mile section of stage two passes through the borough.
On Monday, the entourage moves south to Cambridge from where the teams will race in stage three to London and a finish near Buckingham Palace, on The Mall.
The Grand Depart is expected to attract up to three million spectators.


text:
Chai is black tea brewed with spices and milk. A cup of chai gives a wonderful sense of warmth and has a soothing effect. The mere aroma of chai makes you to want one; it is hard to resist. There are endless recipes, and every household has its favorite spice mix.
Makes spice mix for 24 cups
Spice Mix
- 24 green cardamoms
- 18 black peppers
- 1 teaspoon anis seeds
- 1/2 teaspoon ginger powder
- 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon powder
Tea for 2 Cups of Chai
- 1-1/2 cup water
- 1/2 cup milk
- 2 teaspoons tea leaves (I prefer Brooke Bond Red Label or Lipton Yellow Label)
- 2 teaspoons sugar adjust to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon Chai Spice Mix from above
- Mix all the spices and grind to a powder. I prefer to use a coffee grinder, the one I keep just for spices. Store the chai spice mix in airtight container.
- Boil the water and milk with 1/4 teaspoon spice mix. When the water boils, reduce the heat to low and add the tea leaves and sugar. Cover the pan and let it simmer two to three minutes.
- Strain the mixture and serve hot.
- Adjust the sugar to your taste.
- I use 10 oz tea cups or mugs.
- Use 1/8 teaspoon of spice mix for 1 cup of tea.


text:
SBC_Memory necesitaba un nuevo diseño de logotipo y lanzó un concurso de diseño en 99designs.
Un ganador ha sido elegido entre 41 diseños de 16 diseñadores freelance.
We need a logo! (2nd & 3rd place designs also win a small gift)
SBC Memory
In 2006 I started an Ebay business, SBC Memory. We specialize in memory for laptops - SODIMM, mainly SDRAM right now but when we build a website we'll look at expanding into DDR and DDR2. Eventually I'll post a contest for the website design, but first I need a logo (I'll also be using it on business cards). I had a basic design in mind before I came to 99 Deisgns, but looking around on here I've seen some designs & colors that I thought looked super cool that I probably would never have thought of, so I think I'm going to give you guys/gals a clean slate to come up whatever you think looks great. As for the 2nd & 3rd place designs.... I used to be a bartender & DJ while I was in college, and I still make 5-disc sets of mix CDs from time to time for friends & family. I'll contact you and if I have something you're interested in I'll send you a few free copies. :)
- Item 1 - Must say "SBC Memory"
- Item 2 - Would like it to say "Laptop memory is our specialty" or something similar
- Item 1 - The description of this box says "Give a list of things you don't like, for example capital letters or rainbows." I can't really think of anything I don't want at the moment, but rainbows probably wouldn't be such a good idea lol
Descubre cómo funciona un concurso de diseño u obtén más información sobre nuestros servicios de diseño de logo.


text:
Public Enemies (Starring Johnny Depp) [Movie Trailer]
Director: Michael Mann Writer: Ronan Bennett Studio: Universal Pictures Cast: Johnny Depp, Christian Bale, Marion Cotillard Release: July 1, 2009
Please click the "Report" button below if the video on this page is not working properly.
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See our new GNSS Signal Architect Simulator Software product
here and the related paper from ION GNSS+ 2013
GPS World contributing editor, Tony Murfin, wrote an article
about NAVSYS titled "Transitioning to a Commercial Business
Model". Read the article
The first GPS enabled cell phone (pictured left), developed
by NAVSYS Corporation, is now on display at the Smithsonian
National Air and Space Museum's TIME and NAVIGATION
exhibition in Washington, D.C. NAVSYS President
and CEO, Dr. Alison Brown (pictured right), attended the
opening of the exhibit. Read our
release or visit the
Smithsonian website for more information.
Broadband GPS Data Capture for
Signal and Interference Analysis
Distributed Network Opportunistic Positioning (DiNO)
Dynamic Reconfiguration
in a GNSS SDR for Multi-Constellation Operation
GPS M'-Code and P-Code Signal Simulation Using
an Open Source Radio Platform
SatGen GNSS Signal Simulation Software
Precision Navigation for UAS Critical Operations
GPS Distributed Aperture Positioning (GDAP)
GPS Signal Simulation using Open Source GPS Receiver Platform
» Papers archive
We are hiring! Join the team
with a passion for R&D and technical excellence.
NAVSYS is a member of
Rocky Mountain
Technology Alliance (RMTA)
In the News
Army Cyber Electromagnetic Activities (CEMA) in a Denied
MilitaryTechnologies.NET June 16th, 2017
Dr. Alison Brown speaks with Jared Nichols for The Road
Ahead: Small Business in the 21st Century
Podcast regarding women breaking the class ceiling.
Podcast January 20th, 2017
NAVSYS Awarded the James S. Cogwell Outstanding Industrial
Security Achievment Award
Press Release June 13th, 2016
Alison Brown: Tally Ho! The Hunt for GNSS Innovations. InsideGNSS, Sept./Oct. 2014
NAVSYS CEO to Chair SBA CommitteePress Release, March
5, 2014
NAVSYS Corp. expands to SalidaThe Mountain Mail, February
17, 2014
'Good Drones' DiscussionSalida Daily Post, February
11, 2014
Transitioning to a Commercial Business
ModelGPS World, June 18, 2013
GPS Cell Phone on Display at SmithsonianPress
Release, Apr 12, 2013
NAVSYS Announced Finalist in Excellence in Local Industry
Awards 2012 (Video
for Awards Ceremony)Colorado Springs Chamber of
Commerce, Oct. 29, 2012
NAVSYS CEO Dr. Alison Brown shows girls the fun in STEM
EducationPress Release, Oct 12, 2012
Simulating GPS Signals - It Doesn't Have to be Expensive -
NAVSYS Signal Simulator in GPS World
GPS World, May 2012
NAVSYS Unmanned Air Systems Precision Navigation for Critical
GPS World, Mar 2012
NAVSYS Showcased at Defense
The Central Resource, Mar 9, 2012
NAVSYS Corporation President Offers Testimony to Congress
NAVSYS Press Release, Dec 06, 2011
Female CEOs Point to Over Regulation
The Daily Caller, Dec 05, 2011
Profiles In Success
Inc., Fall 2011
» News archive
NAVSYS Corporation
Honored as 2007 Tibbetts Award Winner for Talon NAMATH
Award ceremony photo.
NAVSYS receives Congressional
recognition for 2007 Tibbetts
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The Ohio State University
Creating the Extraordinary Student Experience
Time: Tuesday, February 13, 2018 5:00 PM - 7:00 PM
Location: Multicultural Center, Office 1019, Ohio Union
One on One Drop in Hours with LGBTQ Intercultural Specialist, Appy Frykenberg
Come by for consultation, conversation and support regarding coming out, issues with sexual orientation +/ gender identity and navigating queer life at The Ohio State University. Appy is also happy to provide guidance on LGBTQ-related research, and information about on and off campus resources for LGBTQ, questioning and allied studetns.
Feel free to stop by and meet with him! Drop in hours are first come, first served. If you would like to schedule a meeting outside of the MCC and/or at an alternate time, please email Appy using the address below.
Appy Frykenberg
Multicultural Center
Add to your calendar
© 2019 The Ohio State University – Multicultural Center
Ohio Union, Suite 1000, 1739 North High Street, Columbus, OH 43210
Phone: 614-688-8449 | Fax: 614-292-4462 | email@example.com
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