text:
January 28, 2008 08:45 ET
VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA--(Marketwire - Jan. 28, 2008) - International Beryllium Corporation (TSX VENTURE:IB) - International Beryllium Corporation ("IBC") is pleased to announce that further to its news release dated January 17, 2008, outlining the proposed acquisition of Rare Earths Limited, LLC ("REL"), that it has additional information concerning the 371 Utah beryllium mineral claims referenced in the January 17, 2008 release.
REL has completed filing of 371 mineral claims near Spor Mountain in Juab County, Utah. IBC will acquire the rights to the 371 claims constituting approximately 7,630 acres proximal to existing beryllium mining operations at Spor Mountain through its acquisition of REL. The 371 claims filed by REL, and which will become the property of IBC upon completion of the acquisition of REL, are strategically located in an area of known beryllium mineralization described in US Geological Survey Professional Paper 415.
To view the Location of IBC Claims map click on the link provided below:
Studies conducted by the U.S. Geological Survey and by the U.S. Bureau of Mines in the 1960s confirmed the extent and grades of the beryllium deposits in this area and their chemical, mineralogical, and physical properties. The IBC claims abut the mineral property of Brush Engineered Metals (NYSE:BW) at Spor Mountain, a mine site that has experienced declining reserves during the past four years. Current production rates at Spor Mountain of approximately 48,000 tons of bertrandite ore annually grading 0.35% beryllium constitute nearly 60% of world production.
The beryllium deposits discovered at Spor Mountain in December, 1959, have been the major source of this metal in the western world for more than 40 years. The beryllium mineralization at this location occurs in tabular deposits situated along major faults and fractures in an altered water-laid rhyolitic tuff within a valley that was once part of paleo-Lake Bonneville. The IBC claims are located on extensions of the geologic structures initially described by USGS geologists and that are presently being mined. This sparsely populated area of Juab County has good road access and electrical power availability for industrial development. IBC has been advised in a January, 2008 letter that Juab County is actively seeking economic development of mining and processing facilities.
"Over the past few decades, this area has been intensively studied by impartial U.S. Governmental agencies, which have confirmed the presence of beryllium mineralization," stated Lindsey Maness, IBC's Vice President of Exploration. "Further geochemical, geophysical and field geological investigations will be used to identify and delineate any additional ore zones that may be suitable for mining."
"We are very pleased that REL has been able to establish such a large and potentially valuable claim area so close to a large known beryllium operation," said Anthony Dutton, CEO and President of IBC. "Such opportunities do not present themselves often and we are very excited to be acquiring REL and believe that with their combined knowledge and claim portfolio they will play an extremely important part of IBC's growth strategy."
Historical information in this news release should not be treated as current and should not be relied upon.
This news release was prepared by management of IBC, which takes full responsibility for its contents. The TSX Venture Exchange has not reviewed and does not accept responsibility for the adequacy of this news release. There can be no assurance that the proposed acquisition will be completed as described, or at all.
About International Beryllium Corporation
International Beryllium Corp. is a global exploration and development company focused on beryllium, beryllium oxides and beryllium master alloys. Beryllium and related alloys are used in a broad range of specialized industrial applications such as nuclear power, defence, electronics and automotive. International Beryllium's common shares are traded on the TSX Venture Exchange under the symbol IB.
International Beryllium CorporationAnthony G. DuttonCEO(604) 689-1515 ext 111Email: firstname.lastname@example.com: www.internationalberyllium.com
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text:
I am unimpressed by everything, these days. Perhaps I am getting old. Or is it the mark of the sinner, that ambrosia itself can no longer stimulate the palate — for I am sure that a saint, even the air he breathes in has its own specific sweetness. I know that in the past, there were times when I was simply amazed by everything; I do not know if that was necessarily better in my case, though. My problem was that I did then no longer strive to do anything better than to soak in the fabulousness of the everyday. Perhaps a certain dissatisfaction can be good for me. Everything can have a purpose, n'est-ce pas? Or it may be that there is something else I need learn, and my sense of wonder restored, like the treasure of regaining what you once took for granted, and was taken away. But for now — the poetry of it all is lost on me. So what?
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subset: commoncrawl


text:
In past posts, we've written about athletes who have had to make the hard choice whether to play when their games are scheduled on the Sabbath or key holidays on the Jewish calendar.
On Tuesday, when the NFL announced its 2015 fall schedule, Jewish football fans learned that the kick-off, normally held on the second Thursday of September in recent years, has been moved to Sunday. This year, that Sunday, Sept. 13, is Erev Rosh Hashanah.
All but six teams in the league are affected, but the change will especially impact fans in the New York area the most, as the Giants are due start their game at 8:30, more than one hour after the start of the holiday.
As well, according to JTA, the Philadelphia Eagles, Atlanta Falcons, Minnesota Vikings and San Francisco 49ers will be playing their first games the following night, on Rosh Hashanah.
Abstain from services or add one more sin to those requiring repentance on the High Holidays? Either way, many observant Jews/fervent football fans will undoubtedly lament their choice.


text: Sofia and her family are getting prepare to celebrate Wasilla when suddenly an unexpected guest came. A skeleton name Sans the skeleton had came and in need to go back to celebrate Christmas with his family. It's up to Sofia, her animal friends, and her family to get Sans back home in time for Christmas. Can they do it?


text: I agree that there are games being played. I am not sure what the goal is in his. As a game player myself, I play them as a defense so as not to show my feelings if I am unsure of how they will be received and/or reciprocated. If you could clarify what you mean by his playing games, I would appreciate it. This covers a broad spectrum with different purposes. Quite honestly, by your using "games", I am thinking that you are certain he knows I like him, he doesn't want to do anything on his end about it but throw me an occasional crumb. If that's the case, how humiliating! I have never done anything for him to know unquestionably that I like him; in fact, I breezed right by him and could only muster up a quick answer over my shoulder afterwards -- then he followed me to sit behind me!


text:
While browsing the Cognac aisle, I came across this Courvoisier 12 year old which was only US$52.00+tax. The idea was to put this head to head against the VSOP which comes in at US$44.00+tax and decide whether or not it would be worth the extra $8.00 for the 12 year old. I posted my tasting notes on the VSOP in another thread.
When put into a glass side by side with the VSOP, the 12 year old comes off much nicer in the nose. According to the label, this is mostly a Borderies blend which probably explains why the nose is much brighter than that of the VSOP. Raisins, maple syrup, pecans, figs, oranges, this has a pretty nice aroma to it. There is also some vanilla, flowers, and cigar in the nose.
Taste: First impression is that it's quite sweet. Buttery toffee, caramel, turbinado sugar, and molasses are the first things I can pick up, but once the sweetness subsides, it has a nice lemony citrus taste which then goes into a clove spiciness.
First off, I'd have to say that this is a much better product than the VSOP. You don't have to bury your nose in the glass looking for the aromas, they are right there. The taste is much more like cognac is supposed to taste over the VSOP. Personally, it's just way to sweet for my liking but will admit that I am quite impressed at the quality considering the price. VSOP drinkers looking to up the ante and move to finer products, this one is definitely worth a try.
Courvoisier 12 Year Old
3 posts • Page 1 of 1
Re: Courvoisier 12 Year Old
Yeah, I have a bottle and it is impressive. As for comparing with the VSOP, which is much younger, right?
Re: Courvoisier 12 Year Old
I believe the VSOP is definitely younger than the 12 YO. More accurate would be to state that they are two completely different bottlings as they smell and taste nothing alike. The barrel has had much more of a profound effect on the 12 YO than the VSOP and this is not a bad thing especially in the aroma department.
3 posts • Page 1 of 1


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|Lunch With Rita
by Mike Tauron ©
I had spent about half an hour of Tropical Fish Therapy (i.e., sitting in the waiting room) before my doctor decided he couldn't fit me in after all that morning. The nurse said he had a cancellation in about three hours, so I decided to have lunch and maybe go out for a walk. Since I hurt my leg playing squash last month I've had to use a walking stick, but my doctor said some gentle exercise would be good for me so I limped off down the street.
After lunch I wandered about at random, marveling at how different the downtown area looks when you roam through it on foot instead of driving through it. Something I hadn't expected was that only two or three blocks from the smart shopping area, the tone of the district changed drastically. The place looked downmarket, almost disreputable, though I could still hear the hum of traffic from the central business district. It was something quite new to me.
While idly sight-seeing, I nearly collided with a young woman who was standing against the shop front of a shabby second-hand store. "Sorry, Miss," I said automatically.
"What's the matter, grandpa, lost your guide dog?" she replied with a sort of bored sarcasm in her voice. I looked at her again. She was probably about 20, the age of my youngest daughter, and it wasn't hard to work out what she was doing here the t-shirt was a little too tight, the skirt was a little too short and she wore a little too much make-up. She didn't exactly wear a sign that said "I'm a Hooker" but few people would have mistaken her profession.
"No," I smiled, "just looking around." She wasn't bad looking, meaning she probably hadn't been on the streets that long, and had a flip don't-mess-with-me manner that made me suspect she could take care of herself. She ran an appraising eye over me, obviously calculating her chances of doing any business. It struck me that with my silver hair (it runs in the family) and my walking stick, she had probably written me off as being too old for a customer, which rankled a little.
"Bad part of town for someone your age, gramps," she said, her eyes sliding away as she dismissed me mentally. I decided that if she thought I was an old codger, I'd play up to that.
"Show some respect, young lady, or I'll put you over my knee," I rumbled.
She raised one eyebrow and clicked her tongue - "Promises, promises, grandpa!" But she turned back towards me, willing to consider me as a human being rather than a non-person. I could see her wondering whether or not to proposition me, and decided to move the game along a square.
"A nice young woman like you shouldn't be hanging around this part of town either, some people would think," I said in a more ordinary tone of voice.
She smiled a little at this description and replied in a low drawl "Maybe I'm not as nice as all that." She tilted her head a little, staring up at me. "So, you looking for nice or naughty?"
I should have made an excuse and left about this stage, but something in the situation made me want to push the envelope and see how far things would go. "Which are you?" I said and she smiled "Whichever you want, honey." Automatically she arched her back, pushing her firm young breasts against the material of her t-shirt. I had to admit she looked very inviting, and she saw me hesitating. "Whichever way you want it," she said.
"Hmmmm, my leg...." I began, but she waved this excuse away. "Don't worry, honey, we can work around that problem." She gave me a professionally seductive look. "And your leg will be the last thing on your mind."
It was crazy, but I was starting to feel... interested. Most of my partners since my wife died had been women from our own section of society. I had never thought of venturing into the play-for-pay business or of chasing nubile young girls. But this girl had a certain something. I gave a discreet cough and made a quizzical motion with my head and she leaned forwards to whisper a price in my ear. It wasn't cheap but I've paid more for a meal at a good restaurant. I decided I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
"You have somewhere near here?" I asked.
She jerked her head sideways. "Nice and quiet behind that alley, mister," she said calmly. Geez, I thought, this is getting just too weird this morning I was on my way to a doctor's appointment, now I'm humping young prostitutes in sleazy back alleys!
"Come on, honey," she said in a manipulative tone, leading the way into the shaded alleyway. I followed with mixed emotions 10% disbelief, 20% caution and 70% enjoying the roll of her hips in that short skirt. The alley was L-shaped, and I found we were in a reasonably private little cul-de-sac. She sat me down on a packing crate and relieved me of the agreed sum; the cash vanished from sight with a speed that would have done credit to a stage magician.
I stirred uneasily. "I'm not sure...." I began but she cut me off. "Don't you worry, honey, I know just what to do to help you," and dropped to her knees in front of me. I realized with amusement that she thought I meant I might not be able to get an erection (something that has rarely been a problem for me since puberty).
While she fumbled with my zipper, I couldn't help but notice her unfettered breasts bouncing. I cleared my throat and raised my eyebrows hopefully, indicating her t-shirt. She rolled her eyes and said in mock disgust "Men! They never change at any age..." before pulling the t-shirt up to reveal a handsome set of tits indeed. They were tipped with perky brown nipples that poked out at me in a friendly manner. It was a long time since I'd seen such a firm young bosom (except in PLAYBOY) and I hardly noticed her fingers in my groin till they closed around me suddenly.
"Just take it easy now, sweetie, little Rita knows how to take care of this...." And then she said nothing more, because her mouth was busy. My eyes widened and I inhaled sharply as an electric shock seemed to run through my body, spreading out from my crotch. "Waughh!" I groaned and my head lolled back till I was looking straight up at the sky. Sitting there, staring into the clear blue of infinity while I felt her educated tongue working on me, I felt as though I had reached some personal apex of sexual pleasure.
Then the sensations stopped, and I heard her say "Wow!" in a surprised tone. I looked down and saw I had the biggest, stiffest erection I'd had all year. My lady friend was still on her knees, looking up at the phallus towering above her. "Damn, I knew I was good, but I didn't think I was that good," she said softly. I bit my lip; if she wanted to think she'd performed some miracle of sexual healing, I wasn't going to disillusion her. I was too busy waiting for the next step.
"That's wonderful," I managed to croak, feeling the blood pulsing through my manhood. She rose to her feet, and with a practiced gesture slipped out of her panties and pulled back her skirt, revealing the sweetest little pussy I'd seen since Junior High.
She moved over me, her hips shimmying invitingly. Then she paused. "You're sure you're OK for this? I mean, you don't have a heart condition or nothing?" At the moment, I wouldn't have sworn to that, the way my pulse was pounding, but I shook my head in what I hoped was a sincere and encouraging manner. She frowned for a second, then shrugged and took my throbbing maleness in her cool little hand, held it steady and began to slide her beautiful little pussy lips over it.
"OH GAAAAAAAAAD!" I groaned involuntarily in sheer sexual delight. My cock was incredibly hard and erect, and it had just slid into the smoothest, wettest little harbor you could imagine. All the way into the depths of her totally gorgeous cunt. I was buried in the most divine piece of pussy imaginable. This girl was a goddess...
My delirium was interrupted by a harsh voice just next to my ear. "I said, are you all right? We can stop if you want to." I shook my head again and mumbled something about being OK. She shrugged and returned to her customary attitude of sardonic defiance. With a roll of her hips, she began to move up and down on top of me, forcing my rampant masculinity in and out of her moist passage. For a hooker, she felt really tight.
I was losing control as she fucked me resolutely, her young body driving me crazy with pleasure. I realized I was burbling wordless sounds of delight as my entire universe seemed to contract down to the junction between our two bodies.
"Oh no....." All too soon I felt my cum beginning to rise, my body unable to slow down. My buttocks shoved upwards violently, lifting her half an inch as I felt the primeval urge to penetrate the woman as deeply as possible. My balls twitched and a torrent of sperm came rocketing out of the head of my cock, pulsing into her again and again as I moaned softly. She slowed as she felt my orgasm exploding, pausing with her chest just opposite my eye level. If there was a better way to climax than with my cock in her educated pussy and her lovely young breasts swaying in front of my eyes, I couldn't think of it.
She rose to her feet and with quick professional movements cleaned herself up and arranged her clothing. Now if anyone came down the alley, she looked perfectly presentable. I, on the other hand, was red faced and shaking, my half erect penis slowly relaxing as a few last drops of my seed dripped from its head.
She looked down at me and a half smile crossed her lips. "I got to admit, gramps, you proved me wrong. I didn't think you had it in you." She started to turn towards the street and I croaked "Wait!"
"Yeah, hon?"
"Could I ... see you another time?"
"Sure. I'm usually on this block. But remember - cash, no cheques, no credit cards. So long as you don't forget that, you're always welcome." With a swing of her hips, Rita (or whatever her name really was) strolled back to the street.
It took me
about five minutes to collect myself. Even without my bad leg I think
I would have needed that walking stick. My doctor would wonder when he
took my blood pressure what on earth I'd been doing. When he advised gentle
exercise, I don't think Rita's mouth and pussy were exactly what he had
in mind!
|Another stimulating story by Mike Tauron.
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text:
- Spending Christmas Eve overdosing on sugar with my cute-as-buttons niece & nephew, Ellen and AJ.
- Receiving a gorgeous book of portraits of southern authors from Alan.
- Going to Christmas brunch at the lovely Sarah & Lisa's house and eating "cowboy casserole," which is made with Texas toast soaked in milk and eggs, along with lots of butter, cheese and sausage.
- Seeing the movie Marley & Me and realizing that Raney is a really great dog.
- Wondering if my comfy Christmas experience, while wonderful and highly pleasurable, is perhaps too disconnected from the radical and deeply uncomfortable message that the birthday boy preached.
p.s. um, this is not the *actual* image of the cowboy casserole i ate. it's just one i found on the web. it's kind of like those craigslist ads for NY apartments for rent: the image is similar to other egg & cheese casseroles in the building.


text:
My name is Richard Arce, I'm the author of this blog, and I just realized that haven't updated this blog for a while! So I'm back, and I'm going to update it on a regular basis from now on!
The reason I did this blog was to combat a lot of the negative and racist stereotypes about Filipinos that I had to suffer and endure growing up in Honolulu, Hawaii. And so a lot of the posts I did, there is a sense of overnationalism, and it was a sense of fighting back, saying "Oh yeah? That's what you think of us? Well f--- you, and this is how I'm going to break all of your prejudices and stereotypes!"
And it was extremely cathartic, and I grew into a stronger and more confident person as a result of the work I put into this blog. I no longer felt ashamed about any aspect of my Filipino heritage, which is something that a lot of Filipinos, and a lot of Asians and non-"Whites" who grow up in America tend to feel. The normalization of White America teaches a lot of non-Whites to feel ashamed of their heritage, and it's a process that has slowly been getting better as the years go by, but it's still there, and if you want a glaring example of it, all you have to do is turn on the TV.
So the nationalism that I've displayed in this blog was an emotional response to the scars of my childhood, and a lot of the nationalism displayed in the world is a direct result of negative prejudices, and so that's why people "fight back" with nationalism. But in the process, I also realized why nationalism is detrimental to everyone in the world. At the end of the day, we're all human beings, regardless of what country we come from and what language we speak. So race in itself as a concept should be null and void, and by logic so should racism.
But of course, the world is not that simple. But I wish it would be.
Take care, and God bless to all my friends and family, and I can't believe that this little blog I started up a few years ago has received almost 2 million visitors around the world since 2007! Thank you all, my human brothers and sisters around the world for supporting this blog, and may you all find happiness and love in this world of ours.


text:
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text:
Eugene, Ore. – Many in the largest football crowd in the history of the state of Oregon started pouring out of the stadium early, hoping some local pinot noir might ease the pain of getting steamrolled. They had just witnessed the return of a once-mighty Oklahoma program. The 59,269 fans gave tailback Adrian Peterson a nice ovation as he vaulted further into Heisman Trophy contention and wished OU fans good luck as they march toward dethroning Texas in the Big 12.
Or so those who left early thought.
Before the first bottle was uncorked in the Autzen Stadium parking lot, the 15th-ranked Sooners went from a surprising national title contender to a program in trouble. In what will go down as one of the most monumental collapses in the history of Oklahoma football, the Sooners gave up two touchdowns in a 26-second span late in the fourth quarter Saturday and lost to No. 18 Oregon, 34-33.
Oklahoma doesn't give up two touchdowns in 26 seconds, let alone the final 1:12 of a game when they've had a 13-point lead. But this is no longer the Oklahoma that played for three national titles from 2000-04 and won it in the 2000 season. This is the new Oklahoma, the one that misses tackles against Alabama-Birmingham, gives up a 54-yard touchdown run on the first play against Washington and makes Oregon's Dennis Dixon look like Steve Young auditioning for the Hall of Fame.
Coach Bob Stoops knows it, too. He stood in the concrete bunker that serves as Autzen's visiting interview room with a glazed, far-off look in his eye. He might have been staring back two years ago when Oklahoma gave up 14 points only five times.
"You need some defensive stops," he said. "You can't come in someplace and give up 34 points."
Defense wasn't supposed to be Oklahoma's albatross. Picked by the media to win the Big 12, Oklahoma went under the gun when Stoops tossed sophomore quarterback Rhett Bomar for having a bogus summer job. However, once-banished quarterback Paul Thompson returned from receiver and earned the Sooners' respect.
Thompson had another solid game in one of the most hostile environments in the country, hitting 13-of-23 for 174 yards and a touchdown. Combined with Peterson's 211 rushing yards – 161 of which came in the second half and included a touchdown – the Sooners' offense was good enough to win Saturday.
But Oklahoma's defense is just south of mediocre. It gave up 501 yards, including a 65-yard drive that brought Oregon back within seven. Then nickel back Nic Harris got torched so badly on Dixon's 23-yard TD pass to Brian Paysinger with 46 seconds left, he was barely in the TV screen.
"You feel like you let the team down," defensive coordinator Brent Venables said. "We couldn't stop them all day. It's discouraging."
Oklahoma has not been the same since Mike Stoops, Bob's brother, left his defensive coordinator position to be head coach at Arizona before the BCS title game in the 2003 season. While Oklahoma's defense starred in 2004, it gave up 55 points to USC in the title game and got burned last year by Texas, 45-12, and UCLA, 41-24.
But none of the above matched Saturday's pratfall.
Dixon's 16-yard untouched jaunt with 1:12 left to make it 33-27 wasn't taken seriously until Luke Bellotti, son of Oregon coach Mike Bellotti, executed a towering onside kick that Patrick Chung recovered on the Oregon 48.
Then came a bizarre final minute that had Oklahoma coaches standing on the field waiting for official reviews of the onside kick (ruled a Sooner touched it first) and a pass interference call on safety Darien Williams (ruled the ball wasn't tipped first).
Oregon's winning TD could not have looked easier. Playing simple man coverage, Harris somehow let Paysinger, a backup junior who had never scored a touchdown, get behind him for a wide-open, 23-yard TD pass with 46 seconds left.
It was an awful ending for Harris, who highlighted a surprisingly strong showing by the young secondary with two interceptions. With tears welling in his eyes, Harris was asked what he thought his man would do on the play. "Not get the ball thrown to him," he said. "That's what I was expecting."
When asked why, Harris shook his head and somberly walked away.
Venables can't just walk away. He has a Big 12 season to prove that this defense with six returning starters can win a title. Even if Garrett Hartley's five field goals had made him a hero for the Sooners, Venables would remain under the gun.
UAB gained 115 yards on missed tackles. Washington had more. Oregon could have scored its touchdown on its first 76-yard, four-play drive if they played flag football.
Peterson could win the Heisman if his team stays in the spotlight. Instead, OU's defense is under the microscope.
"It's my responsibility to make sure that they do their job," Venables said. "You start to press a little bit and a good team will take advantage of it, and they did."
As Venables and the Sooners walked to the locker room, the public address announcer, Don Essig, gave a mocking send-off, saying, "And let's give a round of applause to all the Duck fans who left early."
John Henderson can be reached at 303-954-1299 or firstname.lastname@example.com.


text:
All Time in London
Johnny Depp – seen here arriving at the London premiere of Sweeney Todd today looking… delicious. As usual. Even though he's wearing grandpa's jacket.
Laura, my producer at eTalk etalk.ctv.ca, interviewed him over the phone a couple of years ago. At one point she commented on something and heard him chuckle on the line. Can you imagine? Making Johnny Depp laugh?
Her heart and loins swelled simultaneously. Mine would too.
I'd do anything to make Johnny Laugh. Is this cheese?
Photos from Wenn.com


text:
Figurehead – Magda Knight
I stare at the figurehead on the prow of the deck, her brass curves dulled with salt and hail. Her head tilts slightly at my approach but she doesn't care to speak to me; her lidless eyes stare unblinkingly into the horizon.
Could they not at least have given her lids?
"You. Mrs. Nesbitt. Show some sense and get below. I tell you once, I tell you twice: you are in the way."
Captain Mabbard may on this occasion be right; I should retreat to the safety of below decks, for the storm lies directly ahead, a dark mound in a rosy sunset, and we can't outrun it. I've paid close attention to the sailors ever since we set sail but what little assistance I can offer will hardly be appreciated. I will, as the good captain makes such a point of saying, be in the way.
The figurehead twitches a finger, curling its tip as if to beckon the storm closer. I've not seen her fingers move before. They are attached by pins and delicate yet durable strands of hemp to the sails of the ship. As she moves her digits, the sail twitches and the airship veers away from the oncoming storm.
I consider the smoothness of her arms, the way they've been latched to the hull as if she carries the weight of the entire airship on her back. It's bizarre and, I think, rather fascinating that Victorion's women are clothed in a multitude of layers while its automatons are cast in bare-naked classic forms and left to walk the earth in all their glory. Does this mean Victorion thinks little of its automatons, or little of its women? Or am I reading too much into whims of design? It makes me less of a journalist to admit it, but I've never quite been able to decide.
I don't think she is very happy, is Marionette. My name for her, of course… the sailors call her Spread Sue but I can't refer to a fellow woman in such a manner, whether her generously rounded bubbies are brass-enamelled or not.
I look again at her twitching finger. Perhaps we've just had a run of bad weather and the sailors' superstition is catching, but I'm minded to believe she creates these storm clouds with a single stern look. She's moved us marginally away from the storm, yes, but a vestigial, primitive part of me still believes she called it in the first place.
She's like our albatross. We mustn't kill her, and her presence brings me nothing but bad dreams.
"I want you gone," snarls the captain as he grips my arm. "Below. Will you not be told?"
I glare pointedly at the hand grasping my jacket. When I first met the commander of the Aether
Witch in Victorion's bustling port he was a vision in bear-fat pomade and epaulettes, every inch the sky captain. Up here in the air, his natural territory, he looks like all his men: skin cracked red from the winds, naval insignia concealed under oilskin hood and cape, surly and unshaven.
"I will not be told. I paid well for my passage, and you accepted. I've no intention of being limited to the cabin."
I'm rather glad I took this freight ship rather than the passenger liners. Not only will I reach Nova Yorka sooner, but the bitter weather and faces on this journey appeal to the romantic in me. I feel as though I have somehow, in this jaded age, managed to find a new frontier. Something wild and free of rules. The rudeness of these sailors is refreshing; it hardens the soul and armours the spirit. If one can't deal with an insult here and there, how on earth can one be expected to deal with the Great Beyond?
I thrust my chin forward in a manner I've been told is either charming or aggressive, depending on whom you ask. I am certain Mabbard thinks I am the albatross, not his precious Spread Sue.
The storm cloud looms near, forked with lightning. I glare at the captain until he releases my arm.
But, recognising the sense of it, I get below deck.
Though small, the central cabin is easily capable of holding six crew along with myself, the only passenger. Normally weighted by cargo crates packed deep and tight, the ship's hold lies empty and we make good time in favourable headwinds. Even in the face of the impending storm.
I sit myself at a table with raised edges. The mugs and plates slide about but they do not fall. Sykes and Tosher are there already, playing a hand of cards, and Sykes nods grudgingly towards the whiskey.
"Help yourself to a tipple, Mrs. Nesbitt. It'll settle your stomach, what with the turbulence and all."
I nod my thanks as I pour out a finger's worth and leave the water to one side.
"God save the King!" I down my toast in a single burning gulp. I have no fear of my personal safety among these dour men of the air. They genuinely loathe the thought of a flesh-and-blood woman on board and believe that if they touch me in kindness, their ship will fall. To protect themselves from my disgusting femininity they've even given me a private cabin of sorts: I sleep on the floor of the pantry, jars rattling overhead. I'm safe enough; the captain and I share the only key.
I had to pay them substantially to take me on as a passenger. And, surrounded by grizzled faces and salty talk, I consider it money well-spent.
As I open my mouth to form a question the cabin judders and I cling to the table; three sailors head up to help the captain with the ship.
"Only a bit of turbulence," says Sykes with brooding satisfaction. "Don't worry, Mrs. Nesbitt. It's gnat's piss, this storm; the lads'll deal with it. Since you're a journalist, I expect you'll want another drink? You seem to have relished your first."
It's something of a relief to be judged by my profession not my gender, especially when it comes to my capacity and taste for alcohol. With tongues loosened and metaphorical corsets unlaced by another round of whiskey, Sykes and Tosher show me how to play a hand of cards as rain lashes the portholes.
"Why on earth do you want to go to Nova Yorka anyway? With all them earthquakes off the coast last Monday it'll be a bugger to land." Sykes eyes me with disdain. "Why not detour to Cape Cod instead?"
"Some hunt air kraken," I say into my whiskey tumbler. "I, however, hunt stories. My pen is my rifle. Our field journalists in Americky have succumbed to the sea, for their hotel was on Nova Yorka's east side and it has crumbled and fallen in. What has caused the earthquakes? Is their damage done, or will the tremors continue? What is the death toll? What aid does Nova Yorka require – money, or helping hands, or prayers? What can be done to restore order? Someone must be there to tell the story. The Hourly Herald thought it best to send me."
I consider the emptiness of my glass. "Perhaps I was sent because the editor shares your captain's views and considers it no great loss if a journalist falls into the sea… if they are of the female persuasion. Captain Mabbard's already threatened to have me thrown overboard, you know."
"Don't pay no heed to him, Mrs. Nesbitt." Sykes flushes red beneath his unshaven cheeks. "We've nothing against your womanliness back on land. It's up in the air that's the issue, you see. Bad luck to have a woman onboard. Them sky-adventuresses can do as they please with their gussets and guns, but they'll never set foot on the Aether Witch. Spread Sue is easily woman enough for us."
"But you let me on board," comes my crisp reply. "Wasn't I one woman too many?" "Aye. But then you did offer us an awful lot of money."
"And what's bad luck between friends?" I say brightly. "Although… I must confess I've never quite understood why it's bad luck to have a woman on ships, yet good fortune to have an unashamedly feminine creature like your Spread Sue."
Sykes and Tosher laugh, then Sykes turns cold on me.
"She navigates, Mrs. Nesbitt. She faces the future proud and bright. We've done better trade since we had her installed on the ship. She's the true face and heart of the Aether Witch."
"And she's got bubbies," says Tosher helpfully. "Bare bubbies."
"Aye," says Sykes. "Bare bubbies."
Sitting here drinking whiskey and playing cards, I feel an element of risk rising.
"So if I had bare bubbies I'd be more welcome aboard the ship?"
Tosher snorts and Sykes doesn't know where to look.
"Well, aye, I suppose," he says hesitantly. "You'd keep the rain off, at least. See, a woman
onboard is bad luck, but if she bares her bubbies she'll stave off the foul weather. It's a fact, that is." "Well, your Spread Sue hasn't done the job, then, has she?" My voice rises, for while I'd never dream of showing these sailors my bare breasts, I'm somewhat envious of the figurehead's classical form.
"She's done well! She's done the job proper, she has." Sykes favours me with his filthiest glare from under bristled brows. "Storms would be a lot worse if it wasn't for Spread Sue."
I hastily change the subject, for superstition is what it is, and no amount of discussion will change that.
"How does she navigate, anyway? She can't talk. Do you stick a map in front of her and bid her track it with her eyes?"
"If she hasn't talked to you, could be that you haven't said anything she's felt a need to reply to," says Sykes with some hostility. "She talks well enough. With a lovely voice, too. She was an entertainment for fine folk before she joined us. A harpsichord player and singer. But she went out of fashion and was sold on."
"And how do you think she feels now about being lashed to the prow, when she used to move about so freely?" Though I'm somewhat uneasy around Marionette, I can't help but feel the urge to campaign on her behalf.
"She hasn't complained once," says Sykes dourly. "She hasn't answered back, at any rate. Which is more than I could say for some."
It's only a gentle dig by Sykes' standards, but I see that the whiskey has made us all fretful. As wind buffets the cabin I try to slump and relax into it, like the sailors do, and deal us all another hand of cards.
The next day is clear and sweetly cold. I dress quickly. From the porthole in the pantry I see the Sargasso Sea deep and wide and blue below us and not a cloud in sight.
After a breakfast of devilled eggs and ham I head onto the deck. Captain Mabbard is still looking at charts and whatnot in his tiny office cubbyhole below; the sailors on deck ignore me, but with what I take to be an affable air. I step along the wooden boards to the ship's prow, where I pay my daily visit to Marionette.
"You gave me bad dreams again last night," I say quietly. "I know it was you. I dreamed of a sea made still, and cut into great planes that swooped and shifted at odd angles. I dreamed of the reflection of a storm, of being enclosed in a tiny box of hugeness.
"Was that you, Marionette?"
The figurehead says nothing. With a delicious shudder I realise that the talk of ill fortune from the sailors has made me take temporary leave of my senses. But isn't that what the frontier is all about? Wildness, loss of control, the unknown? When I reach Nova Yorka there'll be scientists and politicians to interview and heads to count, attached to torsos or otherwise. A natural disaster is an awful thing,
but by its very nature not unnatural. This ship of the air, solidly suspended in nothing, this trapped figurehead of such stern beauty with her eyes that move… these are unknowns.
If Marionette had remained a harpsichordist she would have been perfectly natural. Here on the ship, she's a thing out of place. A figurehead. Nominally the fount of all power, yet a prisoner still.
And mightn't such a predicament lead to rage?
"The sailors like to touch your bubbies as they walk past," I say softly. "Do you like that? Does it appeal to you? Do you cause the storms, Marionette?"
And finally she speaks.
"N'gai, n'gha'ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y'hah…"
Or something like that.
The sailors were right: her voice is lovely and amiable. Its throaty timbre makes me think of windpipes crafted from warm-hearted wood, not brass. Pipes oiled like a treasured string instrument for hundreds of years. A noble sound. I hear loss, wisdom, sadness in her tones. Tolerance. Burden and offering.
Yet the words she utters make me feel airsick.
Letting out the deep breath I had no idea I'd been holding I clutch the hand rail, acutely aware that we are thousands of feet up and there is nothing below us.
"I don't understand…" I'm hesitant. The figurehead's lip curls and she remains silent. I try again.
"May I call you Marionette? Do you have a name you prefer? What is your name?" "None. My name is only a casing."
"Do you mind when the sailors touch your bubbies, Marionette? Does it disgust you?" "No," she says in a voice without inflection. "They touch only my casing."
"Does it appeal to you?"
"Do you cause the storms?" There. It's madness, but I've said it again. My head is still a tumble
of images from last night's dreams. Maybe she'll reply this time.
"I would like to cause them. But no."
"But how? And why?"
Marionette stays silent. If it wasn't for the distant conversation of the sailors back at the stern, I'd struggle to believe my ears could still hear in this eternity of quiet. No sound from the passing wind or the rippling sea far, far below.
"What were those strange words you spoke, anyway?" My words falter but my hands don't. "And how do you spell them?" Ever the journalist, I pull a notebook from an inner pocket in my jacket and begin to scrawl the foreign words down exactly as they were said.
"N'gai, n'gha'ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y'hah: Dagon, Dagon," repeats Marionette dutifully, though she does not offer to spell them. I notice that she has added two words at the end.
She turns her head infinitesimally and replies with tones of infinite yet weary patience. "It means that the stars are in their correct alignments. And that Dagon comes."
"And what does that mean? Are you referring to navigation? And who or what is Dagon? And… how do you spell it?" My hand flies across the page, noting and cross-referencing; my pen has always moved faster than my thoughts.
Damnation. Back to terse replies again, just when I thought we'd made a breakthrough. I thought we were women together, confiding in each other. If she'd spoken such words to the sailors, surely they would have mentioned it.
"If I'm to understand, I need your assistance," I beg. "You shouldn't be chained up like this. I'd like to help, but I don't understand what you want, Marionette. Or, indeed, what you are." I hadn't even thought I wanted to help her until I'd said the words out loud. I'd assumed I just wanted to find out what quality of hers it was that made me so uneasy. Perhaps one automaton's plight is easier to feel kinship with than the fate of millions of Nova Yorka residents tumbled violently back into the ocean from which, long ago, they came.
I'm glad I've inadvertently offered my help, however. To this, at least, Marionette has some kind of reply.
"What am I? A servant…" Her voice lightens; it trickles across the crosswind in a bubbling stream.
"I was made to make music, to serve men who love music. I was sold to men who both love the air and despise it to serve no purpose save to manipulate sails. I express my satisfaction at servitude. But it is important to serve the right ones."
"The sailors of the Aether Witch?"
At this Marionette's head rotates in a half-circle like an owl, her eyes suffused with blank scorn. "No."
The wind puffs up a little. The sun still hangs in the sky, fat and close to our heads and glinting the sea a rich blue, but the fluffy clouds dotted here and there coalesce at a speedy rate. Now that I've been at sea for a few days, even I can tell those clouds will join to form one fat rain-rich monstrosity. It may be hours off yet, but another storm comes.
In spite of further questions, Marionette refuses to tell me any more about Dagon or the strange language she speaks, other than that a whey-faced stranger had wandered up to her when we were last moored, touched her face (not, I notice, her bubbies) and whispered a few words in her perfectly- rendered ear that made her decide to be a servant of Dagon. Whatever Dagon is and whatever becoming his (or her) servant entails, Marionette simply will not say.
In the end, my line of questioning proves futile. But at least we have finally conversed, I think. Perhaps becoming better acquainted with the ship's figurehead will ease the relentless strangeness of my dreams.
It is Sunday today. I don't know if the sailors on the Aether Witch are religious men, yet one thing is certain: they certainly like to drink on a Sunday. Even Captain Mabbard joins in, downing a shot of whiskey with his beef wellington breakfast, and as he converses with his crew I see his face break into a smile for the first time.
"Topsy-turvy day, we call it." Sykes offers me a pinch of snuff, seeming to have dealt with his superstitions by making me an honorary man. "It's an Aether Witch tradition. Everything is turned on its head on a Sunday, since there's precious little else by way of entertainment. Dinner for breakfast, pudding before savoury, whiskey at all hours…"
"Does it extend so far as having the captain swab the decks?" A facile question for me to ask, but it is Topsy-turvy day, after all.
"That it does, Mrs. Nesbitt." I turn to see Mabbard clutching a frying pan, for he is the one that has been cooking our Sunday breakfast. "And today you shall be a man in our eyes. But don't forget that Topsy-turvy Sunday is always followed by a Monday, drear as you please…"
We drink heavily through the day, admittedly at my encouragement, and by late lunch I realise that might have been something of an error on my part; once again, a storm brews. I am still unable to judge distance as well as I would like, with so few landmarks in these aetherial waters to give a true indication of size. The storm seems some way behind us, but I've learned how quickly it can reach a vessel if the winds are not on our side.
Nevertheless, it is too late to worry about that now. Lunch has been a picnic of cheese and cold meats spread out on oilskins, and we all sit cross-legged on the deck as Tosher brings out an accordion.
Delighted to be a nominal crew member at last, I laugh and clap my hands as the crew of the Aether Witch belts out one sonorous sea shanty after another; some of them rough, some melodic and harmonised, and all of them filthy-rude.
I very rarely get drunk, mostly on account of my habit of drinking regularly enough to avoid such vulgarities, but I can tell I am, indeed, tipsy when I mistakenly stuff Sykes' snuff into my cheek like a wad of tobacco.
"You know, Marionette used to play the harpsichord. And sing."
"Who the devil's bells is Marionette?" Sykes' words are slurred, and I feel an impish pride that it was I who forced this mischief upon him.
"I mean your Spread Sue," I reply, not wishing to cause offence by explaining my reasons for changing her name. "Your figurehead. She can sing."
"Aye, and now she's our sailsmistress." Mabbard looks at me as if I was mad. "A far more worthy profession. What of it?"
"Well… perhaps we should sing something she knows," I say. "Then she can join in. You'll forgive me for noting that her voice is far better than ours."
Mabbard slaps me on the back. "A capital idea!" he roars. "A song, then, for the brass lady… a landlubber's song such as she might know!"
We try so many songs. So many hymns and carols and the national anthem… But the figurehead is silent. Instead, as I peer at her, or at two of her, if I'm honest about how much whiskey I've consumed, I see her head has rotated fully round to eye the storm clouds closing on us and her fingers twitch irritably on the sails, pulling them to and fro to snatch up as much wind as possible and increase the distance between us and the storm.
"Look." I point it out to the captain, but he has already tugged on his oilskin. His muzzy eyes are once more hard as flint, and I have the feeling it's not the first time he's been piss-drunk in a true storm.
Picnic things are kicked out of the way as Sykes and the other men leap to their positions with notable speed. Adrenaline has even cleared me of my own drunken fugue. I have experienced vertigo and bad dreams and all manner of fear on this voyage: but now the storm is right on our tail, and as lightning forks from it and thunder deafens my ears it is as though we are being swallowed into God's very own brain.
"Lash yourself to the rails!" roars the captain and I do as he says. I realise that this is no ordinary storm. It cannot be. Mabbard's not sent me below; he'd rather lose a passenger than dismiss another potential hand on deck.
Wrapping a coil of hemp round my waist and latching it to the windward jackline on the handrail, I try to stay out of harm's way as the crew fling themselves from starboard to port, trying to reef the main sails and ready the smaller headsail while jettisoning gas from the companion balloon's large central hull. The crew do everything they can to descend through the storm's eye while Marionette jitters and twitches her fingers and does what she can with the sails.
Even I help. Under barked orders from Sykes I tension the headsail halyard, helping him to move the jib sheet leads aft to flatten the foot of the headsail and to twist off air aloft. Maritime poetry translated into physical action.
A part of me thinks we will die. Tumbling into the sea, we'll perish as surely as did those poor unfortunate souls in Nova Yorka. Another part of me thrills; this is the unknown, slapping me in the face with wind and stinging rain, tearing my hands raw with slippery hemp rope which tries to drag itself from my hands no matter how fierce my hold.
This is a living story, and I am part of it. The unknown is all around me and in my eyes and ears, and I cannot help but feel peace.
And then we're speeding down, down like an arrow. Such a steep slope on a mountain of nothing.
I scream.
Mabbard calls to me, but his words are snatched away by the storm, and I determine his words most because I see his lips move. "Spread Sue is taking us down! Safe beneath the storm's main weight!"
I take his word for it. I have to trust him; I can do little else. As we descend at our fierce pace I soon realise that he is right; this headlong tumble is a controlled and graceful dive, with Marionette tirelessly working the headsail, her fingers plucking delicately yet with the strength of a dozen men.
Nevertheless, the dive is steep. With what little strength I have left, I cling to the rails and close my eyes. And begin to sing. The tune comes ragged at first, then sweet and low. It is a sweet sound, almost like a lullaby, the opposite of everything a storm could be.
If I get to the end of the song, I will live, I think. I am sure of it. A sailor's superstition, and one of my own strange making. But I believe fervently in it, the way a child trusts in tooth fairies. Eyes closed, I'm dimly aware that the thunder strikes not about my ears but somewhere above us, and I can now hear waves crashing in the sea.
As the Aether Witch judders I open my eyes with a snap. This juddering is not natural, I think. And then I see it. The figurehead is finally, at the worst of all possible times, responding to my song….
Passemezzo di nome antico. It's a sixteenth century tune by the Italian composer Marco Facoli. Written, I believe, for the harpsichord. For all her talk of constellations and servitude, Marionette – or whatever her name might be – remembers her original purpose in the scheme of things.
With fingers attached to sails tugging erratically this way and that, she can recall the tune I'm humming, and she's trying to play.
With this ditty I will surely kill us all. Yet fear makes me sing on, for I believe with a sailor's fervour that if I stop, I will die.
We careen towards the waves. Eyes fixed on the moiling Sargasso Sea, I view an island rise out of the water, the waves writhing around it.
"Dagon!" The figurehead screams with wild joy. Her voice sounds like the trumpets of a thousand angels on the very last day.
As the island rises further I realise it is a humped back, scaled and vast, and the entity whose spine it forms is larger still. There is a venting, hooting sound as the creature raises its hideous head and emits measured calls that resonate in my guts even more than Marionette's speech in that strange foreign tongue. Its gigantic dark-scaled arms rise up to pull the Aether Witch closer into its maw, and the figurehead howls with delight.
"Thank you!" Her mellifluous voice rises into a screech as she faces me with a terrible lack of expression on her burnished face.
"N'gai, n'gha'ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y'hah! Dagon! Dagon!"
This is, perhaps, her Dagon, I muse as waves slap against the undersides of the airship. Fear has made me calm and still, time stretched like India rubber. Perhaps Dagon is a dark god striding the unknown terrain of the sea. Perhaps the constellations were right, and it has been awakened or freed. Perhaps it wasn't naturally-formed earthquakes that took the people of Nova Yorka. Perhaps the ripping of the land was a result of the morning rise-and-shine greeting of the most unnatural thing I have ever seen.
Perhaps, perhaps…
And then the cold waves blessedly take me, the crew, the damned figurehead and ship into numbing void, and I know no more.
I awake to find myself encased in a box that matches every line in my body, with empty space only where my breasts are. My flat bubbies.
Two small portholes lie before my eyes. The Sargasso Sea has underwater visibility of up to two hundred feet, I am told, and as I move through the depths I view everything all too clearly.
A strange keening thrums all around me, sonorous but echoed by the ocean's mass. A tune.
Passemezzo di nome antico.
I do not know why, but Marionette has saved me. She ripped herself free of the ship's prow and took me into herself, and left the rest of the crew to drown or be consumed.
"Why?" My voice echoes oddly, pressed flat by metal and lack of space.
She is all around me. I'm sure she can hear me. I hear her tune; I know she can speak.
But Marionette does not reply. She flounders towards a great scaled living tower of flesh, its dulled eyes the size of St. Paul's domed roof.
And she should be in my power. I'm a human, like her creator. She's in my debt, for I'd unwittingly sung the notes that let her navigate down to the sea where she felt she most belonged. With this thing. This Dagon.
She was born to serve, but it's not me nor any daughter or son of mankind she serves.
I am carried onward, her trapped figurehead, her esteemed charge, her prisoner. And the ocean's currents undulate us ever-closer towards the horror of the true unknown.
@MagdaKnight is the Co-founding Editor of www.mookychick.co.uk, an alternative lifestyle site and community for (mainly) young women. She writes cross-genre fantasy and horror, and tells YA tales that glow in the dark. She has never quite gotten over the joy of writing for 2000AD, home of Judge Dredd.


text:
They're the quintessential afternoon tea nibbles -- scones and cucumber sandwiches. Beverly (i.e. the Queen of Scones) calls this recipe The Best Scones, and they really are. They're the flakiest, tenderest, moistest scones you'll ever have. And why not round them out with some tiny sandwiches, and a cuppa English Breakfast, Assam, or Ceylon?
I halved this scone recipe for our household of two, but you can probably freeze some right before they go into the oven and bake them up on demand. I also halved the amount of salt, but whether you do the same is up to you. Check out the flaky layers of this baby.
The Best Scones by Beverly
4 cups all-purpose
2 tbs baking powder
2 tsp salt
¾ lb. cold unsalted butter, diced (that's 3 sticks)
4 large eggs, beaten lightly
1 cup cold heavy cream
1 egg beaten with 1 tbs water or milk, for egg wash, Or use cream
Raisins or currants (I used ½ cup)
Preheat the oven to 400°.
Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. You can also make this in a food processor with the metal blade like I did, or by hand with a pastry blender. Add the butter and mix on low speed until the butter is in pea-sized pieces. Mix the eggs and cream together, and quickly add them to the flour-and-butter mixture. Combine until just blended. Mix in the raisins or currants.
Dump the dough onto a floured surface and knead just until it comes together. Roll the dough ¾ inch thick. Cut into 4-inch squares and then in half diagonally to make triangles, or any shape you desire. Brush the tops with cream. Bake on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or a silicone mat for 18 minutes, until the outside is crusty and the inside is fully baked.
Makes 16 scones.
This is my thrown-together cucumber sandwich recipe.
Cucumber Sandwiches
1 cucumber, peeled
6 slices bread
2 oz. cream cheese, softened at room temperature
½ tsp salt
1 tsp chopped fresh parsley
2 tsp chopped fresh chives, plus more for garnish
You'll need a vegetable peeler, paper towels, and a tall biscuit cutter.
Cut the crusts off the bread. You can freeze them in a zip-top bag to make breadcrumbs out of. Holding the cucumber so it stands vertically on a cutting board, use the peeler to shave off thick slices of cucumber, until you get to the seedy part. Discard the seedy core. Lay the cucumber on paper towels to soak up excess moisture, so your sandwiches don't get soggy.
Stir the salt, parsley, and chives into the softened cream cheese. Spread the mixture onto the bread slices, then top with the layers of cucumber. You can leave them open-faced or top them with another slice of bread. Cut them into triangles, or use a biscuit cutter to cut out little teatime-sized rounds. The cutter has to be tall enough that it won't get lost in the sandwich, and sharp enough to cut through.
Scatter some chives over the tops for garnish. Keep the sandwiches covered so they don't dry out.


text:
Praline Supreme will soon be getting a pretty significant accessory--a basket. I like this one. It should be sturdy enough to hold the huge amounts of plastic bottles I take to the recycling center. It might it even hold my sister. (Don't worry. My "sister" is my mom's Yorkshire Terrier).
Praline will also be getting some more retroreflective tape between her spokes and a Knog Skink headlight (as soon as they launch in August at a better price than $29.90). In the distant future, she'll probably have her tires replaced with white ones. But back to the basket. I may get really crafty with it and make some sort of padding to make my sister more comfortable if she decides to travel in it. I don't even know if I'll enjoy having her along for the ride as she's not one of those poorly-bred, runty, misnomered "teacup" Yorkies. She's a classic Yorkie and she's a little bottom heavy (my mom gives her too many treats). She's probably nine pounds more than I want on board. Then again, this lady seems happy with her traveling companion.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
I have plans for you, my dear
/ Accoutrement, Pets
2 comments
- Charlotte said...
I'm contemplating a wald front basket too. Silver or black? I can't decide.
- July 3, 2008 at 10:49 PM
- The Bronze Bombshell said...
I think the silver looks nice with with just about everything, especially if your bike's paint is on the metallic side or you have silver fenders.
Now that I have my Wald basket, I think I could've gone for a larger size. It's probably okay for a singleton like me picking up a few groceries, but nothing big like laundry detergent. Buttons just barely fits too. I saw a basket made by Sunlite that was 18x13x6. Maybe I should've gotten that one, but I still have room in the rear for a rack and panniers if I need them.
- July 6, 2008 at 11:39 PM
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text:
I do a lot of traveling but I would take a road trip ANY DAY over airline travel....
I thought I would do a little roadside scene using some of the brand new inks, dies and stamps from this month.....HERE WE GO!
I started with one of the Hit the Road Die-namics and placed one of the World Traveller Die-namics cars on the road.
A few little sentiments and icons from the new Enjoy the Journey stamp set.
The roadside "trees/shrubs" are sponged with the new Fuse and Olive ink pads and the brown dirt lining the road has been airbrushed in with E37 of my copic markers.
To the left is a look at the inside....love the new Peek-a-boo Chevrons Die-namics that point the way to my sentiment.
Just one more day for the release! Here is the supply list from this card:


text:
Glenn reviewed his orders of battle and discovered he needed more Prussian cavalry and some generals to command them! He sent an order into Eureka, and I held the army until I could finish these last 31 mounted figures.
5th and 6th Uhlans, 3rd and 6th Dragoons
8th and 9th Hussars, 1st Elbe and 2nd W. Prussian Landwehr
Blucher and His Generals
On Monday I will have pictures of the whole Prussian army.


text:
Damn, not Claydo! Not cool.
Does Dan have any thoughts ?
Last edited by Hic; 05-08-2018 at 12:45 PM.
"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself - John Billings
That's good to hear. as Kendal said maybe it was a bad burrito or he forgot his Ophone was in his shirt pocket
Damn, just saw this. I hope you're doing OK Clay. We are too damn young for this nonsense.
"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."
-Albert Einstein
Has TrIdiot gave you any ideas , mebbe possibilities ?
"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself - John Billings
Is Clay still doing ok?
I texted him a few weeks ago, but never heard anything back. Hope all is ok.
He posted a funny pic on Facebook last week
I talked to him today. He said he is doing better. Losing weight and no permanent damage to his heart.
Don't want to say too much more since he doesn't know it's being posted. But he's good.


text:
Townsville Flexible Learning Centre
History and Philosophy
The Edmund Rice Education Australia Townsville Flexible Learning Centre was established in 2006 to provide appropriate responses to the complex needs of young people in the Townsville region who have found themselves outside the mainstream educational system. The Centre operates through a common ground framework based on the four principles of respect, honesty, participation and safe and legal. The staff of the Centre build honest and authentic relationships with young people and their families or carers, supporting and celebrating the uniqueness and dignity of each individual.
The Centre provides transport and meal services to support young people to attend.
The Centre offers a suite of accredited and non-accredited learning options informed by the Australian Curriculum and assessed against the Australian Core Skills Framework. Our curriculum is characterised by a project based learning approach and informed by consultation with young people.
Mobile/Outreach Learning
The Centre has multiple modes of engagement including an Outreach Program and a Bridge Burragah Program. These mobile programs offer additional support to young people who may not be ready to attend the main Centre.
22-26 Ingham Road, West End QLD 4810
Contact Details
Head of Campus: Todd Alloway
Phone: 07 4724 9600
Email: email@example.com
Student Protection Officers: Todd Alloway and Pam Searle
EREA Student Protection Processes and Guidleines CLICK HERE
Code of Conduct for Interacting with Children and Young People CLICK HERE
EREA Screening Policy and Guidelines CLICK HERE
Complaints Policy for Parents and Volunteers CLICK HERE
Child and Youth Risk Management Strategy Checklist CLICK HERE
22-26 Ingham Road, West End, QLD 4810
Phone: 07 4724 9600


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Salesforce has delayed the Spring 14 Release. This counts as the second time in this past few months this has occurred. Most people will say this isn't a good thing, however this tends to remind us of some very key points in using a platform like Salesforce.com:
1.) It enforces that Salesforce is customer success driven first and functionality driven second. Let's be honest, it takes a lot of guts to pull back a scheduled go-live of this size. I actually feel more at ease that they taken this action to ensure we as customers are successful. Good for SF to make the gutsy call.
2.) It reminds us how fortunate we are to work in a platform that has so many releases. No other system or software handles or provides releases and functionality like Salesforce.com does. For most on-premise software, releases can be a nightmare to roll out. How fortunate we are to work in a platform with such a great track record.
3.) It confirms our trust in a cloud platform like Salesforce. In my opinion, working through this strengthens our partnership with them.
Looking back, this hasn't happened that many times. Salesforce has a great track record when it comes to system availability and release roll outs. I'm still motivated as ever to work in the most cutting edge cloud environment!!


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There are two major reasons why people come to Alaska.
First of all, in business – to seal deals with local entrepreneurships engaged in oil and mineral production.
Secondly, in pleasure – to enjoy one of the most stunning natural views a man can find in the world.
No matter what your motives for coming here are, getting along with a lively Alaska dating mate is mostly recommended! Preferably – of the opposite sex. For a fun on-the-road chat. And maybe SOMETHING else. Something piquant.
Have some free time to spend? Go to Anchorage – the central city in Alaska and its social and cultural life (although the capital is Juneau).
Here you can visit a great number of drinking establishments as well as indulge in unique artistic expositions. The Alaska Center for the Performing Arts, The Alaska Aviation Museum, The Anchorage Museum at Rasmuson Center, The Anchorage Symphony Orchestra, and The Anchorage Football Stadium are at the top of the must-visit places of interest in the city.
Lonely hearts can be found everywhere and especially in such frosty state as Alaska. People here are usually cheerful and really into a good conversation. Women are beautiful but tough, seasoned with colds. However, a couple of drinks and they gladly melt down!
So note that before you board the plane leaving to the US North – explore Alaska adult dating variants in advance. Just sigh up with UpForIt.com (free) and browse profiles of local female contacts seeking a man to spend time. Chatting? Flirting? Casual dating? Serious relationships? You'll find a proper woman here.


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It occured to me today, as we cleaned out our little frog's home, that I have neglected to introduce you. I feel a little guilty about this, actually. I went on and on about the butterflies, but never once mentioned the frog, and she was here long before the caterpillars ever were!
We got our little tadpole in February from Grow-a-Frog and watched it daily with great whoops and delight at every little change. It stays in the water its entire life, just coming up for air. Originally, Cullen named it "Thomas" after the train, I'm sure. Thomas the tadpole sounds kinda cute though. Now that we have an increasingly fat frog, the name doesn't seem to fit quite so well. Cullen has been trying to come up with a new name that would also be okay if "Thomas" turns out to be a girl, which is what I think we have here. (Notice her lovely figure!) Today he decided on "Dookie." I think that is perfectly suitable and actually plays upon the little frog's unique personal talents! (grin)
Here is "Dookie" admiring her trifold reflection in the corner of her tank. Nowadays, we enjoy watching how quickly she snaps up her food pellets when we drop them into the water - just like catching bugs. I think we may have to come up with a bigger tank before too much longer. We may keep the red sand, though. Don't you think the color suits her?


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Using HTTP Tunneling
This article elaborates on the HTTP Tunneling connection method and explains how to configure it by means of dbForge Studio for MySQL.
Introducing HTTP Tunneling
HTTP tunneling is a method of connecting to a MySQL Server through HTTP/HTTPS protocol and via the port that is used by a web server. The method may come in useful when a direct connection to MySQL Server, that utilizes port 3306, is problematic for certain reasons, e.g. it is closed by security reasons, or firewall blocks access from all network protocols, except HTTP. Since port 80, that is used by web server, cannot be blocked, HTTP tunneling seems to be the ultimate technique to solve a range of MySQL connection issues.
How To: Automatically Email Comparison Report
dbForge Studio for MySQL allows you to automate report creation process by using command line utility. There is a simple way to send comparison reports automatically via email.
To accomplish this task we will use the Collaboration Data Objects (CDO), previously known as OLE Messaging or Active Messaging. CDO is an application programming interface included with Microsoft Windows.
Below is the simple BAT file that automatically saves a comparison report in the HTML format on the "D:\\" drive and runs the send.vbs script file.
call "C:\Program Files\Devart\dbForge Studio for MySQL\dbforgemysql.com" /datacompare /compfile:d:\project.dcomp /reportformat:HTML /report:d:\report.html
start send.vbs
Special Aspects of Sphinx SE Support
At the moment, dbForge Studio for MySQL allows you to create a connection to Sphinx Search Engine. Due to technical restrictions, a warning message appears in some cases. The reason the message appears is because, there is no possibility to define that the connection happens to Sphinx SE. We requested the Sphinx SE developers team to fix this problem.
When the warning message appears?
Case 1: When you create a connection to Sphinx Search Engine, the message appears for the first time.
Case 2: The same message appears when you create a new SQL document. It appears only once and doesn't repeat for other new SQL documents.
Case 3: The message appears when you click a Sphinx SE connection in Database Explorer.
In any of these cases, just click OK, and continue your work.
How To: Convert a Database from Microsoft Access to MySQL
The current version of dbForge Studio for MySQL does not allow to import the whole Access database at once. Instead, there is an option to migrate separate Access tables in MySQL format.
The article below describes the entire process of converting Microsoft Access tables to MySQL.
Enhanced Entity Framework Spatials support for Oracle, MySQL and PostgreSQL
Entity Framework v5 and v6 support spatial data types. They are represented as two DbGeometry and DbGeography data types from System.Data.Entity.dll in .NET Framework 4.5 (Entity Framework 5) or from EntityFramework.dll (Entity Framework 6). We have already supported Entity Framework Spatials for Oracle database (see Using Entity Framework Spatials with Oracle Spatial and SharpMap). In the new versions of our providers we have improved Entity Framework Spatials support for Oracle and added spatials support for MySQL and PostgreSQL.
MySQL WorkBench Worthy Alternative – dbForge Studio for MySQL
Did you know that dbForge Studio for MySQL is a great alternative to MySQL Workbench? In case you have used MySQL Workbench in the past, or consider using it now, you might want to take a closer look at dbForge Studio for MySQL, to make sure you pick wisely the tool that will meet your requirements the best.
Every single year the software industry introduces new DBMSs which allow developers to achieve goals and objectives more efficiently. However, in order to benefit from all the features provided by the modern DBMS, you should define which one is more suitable for team's needs.
Today we are going to draw a parallel between two similar products, that allow performing numerous tasks in MySQL environment. Both of them are specialized visual database design tools for MySQL databases. These products are MySQL Workbench 5.2.47, and it's alternative — dbForge Studio for MySQL 6.0. (more…)
Adapting Diagram File to Another Database
Some of our users have faced the situation when they need to change the connection details of the existing Database Diagram file.
Let's assume the situation when you have several databases with identical schemas which are only located on different MySQL servers and you have created a database model that was saved in a Database Diagram file. Now, you want to avoid redesigning the database model from scratch and only reassign the existing database model to another MySQL server. (more…)
Using MySQL Full-Text Search in Entity Framework
MySQL database supports an advanced functionality of full-text search (FTS) and full-text indexing described comprehensively in the documentation:
- Full-Text Search Functions (MySQL 5.5 stable release)
- Full-Text Search Functions (MySQL 5.6 development release)
We decided to meet the needs of our users willing to take advantage of the full-text search in Entity Framework and implemented the full-text search functionality in our Devart dotConnect for MySQL ADO.NET Entity Framework provider. (more…)
Workaround for 'Authentication failed' Issue When Connecting through HTTP Tunnel
Some of our users have encountered problems with establishing a connection over the tunnel.php script despite the fact that the tunnel.php script is installed correctly. The following error message occurs:
'Can't connect to MySQL server on 'your.sitename.com' (10061): Authentication failed.'
The problem appears to be with cached proxy servers and will be fixed in one of the next builds of our product.
Currently it can be fixed by replacing the dbforgemysql.exe.config file, that can be found in dbForge Studio for MySQL installation folder, with the attached one.
Mind data modifications via Data Editor in dbForge Studio for MySQL
Since one of our users has encountered a problem when modifying data via Data Editor, we decided to bring such a situation to our users' attention.
Let's assume you have the following table:
CREATE TABLE dept(
DeptNo INT(10),
DName VARCHAR(14),
loc VARCHAR(13),
Salsum FLOAT
Let's execute the following query in the SQL document:
SELECT DName, loc FROM dept WHERE DeptNo = 20;
Now if you change any of the values of the first record in Data Editor, the changes will be applied to all records of the original table that have 'DName' = 'Research' and 'loc' = 'Dallas'. (more…)


text:
Love to remember, remember to love
Opinion: Ken Trainor
By Ken Trainor
Scoville Park at Oak Park Avenue and Lake Street takes up just shy of 4 acres, or one square block. It doesn't look big, but there's a lot more going on here than meets the eye. The park is collared by trees and almost every one tells a story. This is the epicenter of the park district's memorial tree program, the largest concentration of trees dedicated to individuals, the dead and the living.
In honor of Memorial Day, I decided to take a self-guided tour and found 56 plaques, if you don't count the World War I monument, most of them planted at the foot of an oak, crabapple, elm, horse chestnut, hackberry, pine or redbud. They testify to our need to remember and to cherish — "in loving memory" being the most commonly repeated phrase.
If you think Twitter is compact, you should see these plaques. Yet they still manage to tell a story.
Under the low-hanging boughs of a ginkgo tree, an older plaque reads: "In loving memory of dear husband and father, Dr. Emanuel W. Demeur, 1898-1982." Zigzagging north through a shady grove inhabited by practitioners of benign indolence who recline at various angles of repose on blankets, chairs or unmediated interface with thick green grass, the plaques multiply:
"Charles R. Navolio, 1920-1998, We'll always love you, Dad."
"Our friend, Harry Talmage, 1916-1986."
"Celebrate Life, Florence A. Navolio, 2001."
"Martha W. Conn, 'Mi Chiamano Mimi,' Inspirit."
"Joseph M. Cheney Sr., Beulah A. Cheney, in loving memory, Joe, Jim, Ann."
Under a large, speading maple: "In memory of Barbara Downs, 1939-2010, Gardens were her pleasure."
Beneath a red oak: "Best friends, Jimmy Krenzer, from Pat Berggren."
The oldest plaque dates back 85 years: "Presented to the Park District of Oak Park by the Garden Club of Oak Park and River Forest for use as a permanent Christmas tree, May 1, 1937." This is not, however, the tree the park district lined with lights each December.
The most elaborate tribute can be found at the foot of an ornamental pear tree nearest the corner of Oak Park Avenue and Ontario Street:
"A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty 'Hi, Ho, Silver!' Dedicated to the memory of Peggy Stallone and champions of justice everywhere." The Lone Ranger rides again.
Close to the sign for the Continental Divide, which runs diagonally through the park (did you know?), there is a white oak, tall and true, the truest tree you know, located kitty corner from Ernie's museum. The plaque reads, "In memory of Ernest Miller Hemingway from his sister, Madelaine M. Miller."
Hunting memorials is a surprisingly interesting way to see this place. I have walked past this park or through it many times, but I have rarely "visited." Under a chestnut tree near the tennis courts, covered by grass clippings, is the second oldest plaque: "In honor of Col. H.R. Brinkerhoff, 1836-1921. This tree was planted on Nov. 5, 1939 by St. Mihiel Auxiliary to Col. Brinkerhoff Post V.F.W."
Nearby is one dedicated to "My treasures – gardens, trees, people. Barbara Furlong, June 1, 2002." Fortunately, Barbara, a former village president, is still with us.
Beneath a young maple (perhaps a second planting) is a plaque honoring the "10th anniversary of the United Nations, 1945-1955." This has to be the handiwork of the late, great Elsie Jacobsen, who lived by the motto: "Live well, inspire others, and do good work," which makes a pretty good epitaph. Maybe you can find it on a memorial tree in one of our other parks.
Under a pine tree, thick with soft needles, on the hill that slopes down toward the former front lawn of James Scoville's mansion, you'll find "Lived well, laughed often, loved much. Terrance W. Stone," which makes an equally good epitaph. To its right, an older pine, the one the park district did deck with lights in past Decembers, commemorates "the distinguished service of Clarence W. Schilke to Oak Park."
A nearby Hawthorn remembers "Bill Stone. His love, smile and a wink blessed us all." Never underestimate the power of a good wink.
Directly west of Peace Triumphant, aka "the war memorial," by the walkway he traversed each morning and evening on the way to and from the Green Line (until cancer prematurely took him from us) is the majestic elm dedicated to "John Lukehart, committed to a diverse village." He (and many others) were successful.
On the west edge of the park now, heading south:
"In loving memory of Peter M. Constantinides, Oct. 21, 1952 – Feb. 15, 1985. To live in hearts we leave behind means not to die."
"Nick Allabastro, 1973-1999, to your giving heart."
"Robert A. Papp, Eileen L. Papp, Two souls soaring on together."
"What a Wonderful Life, Kenneth Van Wieren, July 8, 1931 – Feb. 17, 1995."
"In our hearts forever, Michael A. Powell, dedicated 2006."
A beautiful breeze is blowing. Parents and kids gambol in the expansive meadow. This place, surrounded by memorials to those who have died, couldn't be more alive. In the shadow of the main library, several trees honor word-lovers:
"Barbara Ballinger, librarian, friend of reading, 2001" (and, I'm glad to say, still among us).
"In loving memory of Peter Saecker, author, editor and library friend, 1935-2001" (and my travel companion on the Hemingway Foundation excursion to Cuba in 2000).
"Sue Blench, reader, gardener, friend. Mom's Book Club, 2002."
The place is a thicket of memorials:
"Edy Eul, we'll always remember you."
"Richard A. Murphy, a giving man who lived, loved, laughed always."
"David Pintor, beloved father, florist and friend."
"Mondi Fosco III. Like this tree, our love shall always grow. Grandma Gloria."
On the south edge along Lake Street, "Gerry's Tree" is "dedicated to him by his friends and fellow park district employees for a dedicated guy who always appreciated a good joke, a good cigar and a job well done, 5/31/94."
"Morris Buske, teacher, author, historian, Oak Park advocate, May 11, 1996."
A red oak for Carolyn Poplett (should have been a poplar), "a dedicated volunteer, calls others to serve," and, like this park, also very much alive.
I never would have guessed that the best way to see Scoville Park is tree by tree. It made for a memorable afternoon.
Email: firstname.lastname@example.com
Reader Comments
3 Comments - Add Your Comment
Note: This page requires you to login with Facebook to comment.
Laurie Van Wieren from Minneapolis
Posted: August 26th, 2012 6:01 PM
Thank you so much for this. I had no idea that my Dad, Ken Van Wieren had so much company. His marker- "What a Wonderful Life",marks a Ginko tree, planted near the tennis courts, where he loved to play and teach tennis. I will have to stroll through the whole park, next time I am there. Thank you.
Brent from Oak Park
Posted: May 23rd, 2012 8:19 PM
Brent became "B", but it still gets a big LIKE
B from Oak Park
Posted: May 23rd, 2012 8:17 PM
LIKE! Thanks Ken!
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text: Equuleus is a constellation. Its name is Latin for 'little horse', a foal. It was one of the 48 constellations listed by the 2nd century astronomer Ptolemy, and remains one of the 88 modern constellations. It is the second smallest of the modern constellations (after Crux), spanning only 72 square degrees. It is also very faint, having no stars brighter than the fourth magnitude.


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DVD Rough Draft
Savanna is writing a script … a porn script … and every time she thinks it's done, her boss just can't sign off. He wants a scene change, a set change, a character change, but what he really wants is a sex act … with the writer herself.
Bryan Xin, AVN's "hottest director," has taken his game up to the next level and Savanna right along with him in Rough Draft. A script within a script, in a movie within a movie, all in hi-def, with facials, anal, toys and everything else a Xin (or a Savanna) would put in a script.
OFLC No 47517706


text:
Recently moved home, set up the TV, retuned it, watched it on DTV. Then the following night we switched it on and nothing - black screen and when I press "menu" on the remote it briefly flashes with the choice of channels, then goes black again.
Still able to watch DVDs
Heard there may be a firmware problem? Any ideas on how to resolve this?


text:
This farmer has exclusive solution to Farmer Suicide which involves Cows
We Indians follow old traditions, rituals, Hindu rites but does anyone like to follow old Indian practices? Yes I am talking about farming: practiced before the Indus Valley Civilization. Nobody wants to, everyone strives to be successful but they don't see farming is one step towards success. When everyone was running after modernisation, his footsteps… Read More »


text:
NASHVILLE, Tenn. — Kerry Collins threw for two touchdowns and 237 yards and Chris Johnson ran for a touchdown and 130 yards as the Tennessee Titans snapped a six-game losing streak by beating the Houston Texans 31-17 on Sunday.
With their win and Indianapolis downing Jacksonville 34-24, the Titans (6-8) kept their anemic playoff hopes alive for another week with their first victory since Oct. 24. They also avoided being swept for only the second time by the team that replaced them in Houston. The Texans (5-9) have lost seven of eight.


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On The Same PagePosted by Bit Hawk at 12:44 AM
"Hey Pinky baby, Mama told me that you did some great painting today at school" , said papa as he entered the room with his brown suitcase late that night.
"Yeah papa", smiled Pinky, obviously happy for the recognition she was getting. Pinky, the 6-year old was wearing a baby pink skirt. She had two short pony tails that made her look like a mickey mouse with a normal nose.
"Good, so what did your teacher say?"
"Very good". She smiled, as if a smile represented the end of a sentence.
"So what did you paint today?"
"I painted a...a..."
"I got it. I know you are not into too much abstract or symbolism. You must have done something representational. Was it a scenery?"
"Yes. I painted one hill, one river, one sun...", she was interrupted by the over-enthusiastic papa.
"I know sweety, it must be as wonderful as Koppelaar's 'Landscape Near Bologna'. Your last year painting of your school was very similar to Picasso 'Guernica', you know that?"
"Papa, I also painted you and mama. I painted you in blue color and mama in red"
"Thats fine baby. It does not really matter. What matters is how you use the shade, the tone, the intensity, the nuances. I bet your painting was as beautiful as a Monet. I am proud of you Pinky", he hugged and gave her a kiss.
Pinky did not understand most of what her papa said. She also realized, at that instant, that her papa did not even bother to listen to what she wanted to say. He was just imagining things. But, she was happy that her papa was happy (for whatever reasons) She wanted that to remain as it is. She smiled for one last time and went to bed.
(Inspired by the conversation between a project manager and a client! :))
3 Comments:
- Anonymous said...February 24, 2007 5:27 AMaiyyo!when did you learn so much about paintings?I didnt even give you credit for knowing about Monet ;)
But what I like best about the story is its inspiration;)
- Anonymous said...February 25, 2007 8:33 PMfor ur assistance
Pinky = PM
Father = Client
- Raghu said...February 26, 2007 4:28 PMhehehe...super! :)


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The Functions of a Pediatric Dentist
A trained and qualified dentist who offers dental services to the children is a pediatric dentist. Generally, pediatric dentists attend to patients below the age of 12, but younger children form the majority of their patients.
How are they different?
A family dentist in Holladay gets a normal dental training. But a pediatric dentist is a specially trained professional. They undergo training in the aspects of milk and permanent teeth and learn about the challenges they are likely to face during their dental practice.
They also receive training in child psychology, which actually sets them apart from other regular dentists. This training really helps them to deal with children, who are unwilling to open their mouth for a dental examination.
Duties of a pediatric dentist
It is advisable to take your child to a pediatric dentist when he or she is six months old when the first milk teeth will erupt. The professional can assess and monitor the state of oral health in the subsequent visits.
They can attend to crooked teeth at that stage and ensure that the permanent teeth sprout in a straight manner when the time comes. They also attend to other issues such as cavities, crowded teeth, and gum issues. Good teeth in children are essential as it affects the speech, smile, and confidence of little ones.
It is the duty of the pediatric dentist to make sure that the current milk or primary teeth is in good condition and facilitates the growth of healthy permanent teeth, as the child grows older.
For the child, dental visits will be a scary experience, but a well-trained pediatric dentist will use all the child psychology training he or she has received to make the child comfortable on the dentist chair.
A good pediatric dentist will be able to calm the child and coax them to receive the necessary treatment. These dentists also educate the parents on the importance of their child maintaining the necessary dental and oral hygiene.


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Good Evening Ladies! As promised here come Vol.2 of our Studio Glossy Gloss Swatches! This morning we're showing you some of the rouge glosses which oozes red carpet glamour - Perfect for Party Season!
It looks like bold lips will be here to stay for a while, any thing from crimson red to blood berry is set to be the hottest beauty trend this season!
Texture is key to this trend, think luxurious, rich and velvety shades to give this AW trend a smouldering appeal, or go for high gloss shine for a playful but chic take of the statement lip.


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This Microsoft Excel 97 (or later) spreadsheet will compute an individual's score on the Dissociative Experiences Scale (DES) and also the person's probability of being a "dissociative type."
Niels Waller and his coauthors have used statistical methods to determine that scores on the Dissociative Experiences Scale (DES) may cause researchers to overestimate the percentage of their sample that has a dissociative disorder. According to these authors, "normal dissociation" (such as the capacity for imaginative absorption) exists on a continuum within the general population, but "pathological dissociation" does not. In their reasoning, pathological dissociation is a class variable; either a person is a pathological dissociator, or a person is not; there is no continuum. The "dissociative type" of person is described by Waller and associates as a member of the dissociative taxon.
Waller's articles provide a method (and the statistical justification for that method) to calculate the probability that a person is a member of the dissociative taxon. The calculation is elaborate. One of the article on the DES taxon provides an SAS computer program for doing the calculations, and Darryl Perry has kindly translated that program into an Excel spreadsheet for wider accessibility.
The spreadsheet is in the public domain, and may be distributed free of charge, according to Darryl Perry, so long as he is credited with its construction. Go to the DES Taxon calculator when you click here.
ISSTD does not warrant the accuracy of its calculations, but we have tried it out using the sample data in The prevalence and biometric structure of pathological dissociation in the general population: Taxometric and behavior genetic findings (Waller and Ross, 1997) and we arrived at the same results as listed in the article. ISSTD does not provide technical support for this spreadsheet.
Thanks to Peter Barach, PhD for writing this material and providing the forms for posting.
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text: Share: Comments Print October 12, 2013 at 9:11 AM Saturday Memo: Dawgs or Ducks? … Rain today … Insurance help Posted by John Saul National Weather Service forecast Big game day: It's Dawgs versus Ducks in the rain today at Husky Stadium, and the excitement started early and was amped up by the appearance of "College GameDay," ESPN's pregame show that is in Seattle for the first time in its 19-year run. Set up in Red Square on the University of Washington campus, the TV on-air crew has an active background of waving signs mostly saying encouraging things about the UW's football team (ranked 16th in national polls) and appalling things about Oregon's (ranked No.2). The actual game? That starts at 1 p.m. Big rain day: Whether you're playing football, at the stadium watching it or doing any other outdoor activity today, plan on doing it in the rain. That's the forecast for today, but the week coming up looks very nice: clear, with temperatures in the high 60s by Thursday and Friday. Big insurance questions: If you have them about the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) and want to talk to a real, live human being, head out to the Third Place Commons, 17171 Bothell Way, N.E. in Lake Forest Park. Public Health – Seattle & King County is putting on the event, which will allow people to learn more about Washington Heathplanfinder, compare health-care plans side by side and find out whether financial help might be available. It's from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. today. To enroll, you'll need to have your Social Security number and information on your income. Most-read stories on seattletimes.com: ESPN's 'College GameDay' puts Seattle on big football stage Justin Ferrari's widow meets, talks with the man who killed him Cougar flags aim to score, too, on 'GameDay' Oregon losing streak epitomizes Washington's long climb back to relevance | Jerry Brewer Tears fade, expletive flies when killer hears sentence Memo light: See more Comics & Games Nick Provenza: 206-464-2142 or firstname.lastname@example.com Follow @NickProvenza1 // Comments | More in | Topics: Affordable Care Act, college gameday, ducks


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The Haines Tuxedo
Yup, you read right. There is now a real, honest to goodness Haines Tuxedo, and I'm not talking about Dan Henry's Salvation Army dinner jacket or Lee Heinmiller's T-shirt with the tux design on it. North Face has a brand new heli-ski suit called the Haines Tuxedo. It's only 999.00. Really. I'm kind of curious about the "internal media security pocket" feature. Is that catalog code for a concealed weapon holster? (They are allowed in the Haines Borough.) Also, can you even buy one in Haines? Perhaps the Haines Convention and Visitors Bureau will host a party surrounding its release, a More Formal Than Normal gala featuring it, and other less ( or more) inspired versions of local formal wear. Maybe we should chip in and buy one for gold miner and town economic development booster (and former sawmill operator, logger & mayor )John Schnabel. He's turning 90 and having a big bash to celebrate at the Elks this weekend.
If you would like to subscribe to my blog, please create an account and/or log in. Once you have done that, you will see the option to subscribe at the bottom of my blogs.


text:
For distance between two GPS coordinates as I googled I realized the best method to use is haversine formula.
The haversine formula is an equation important in navigation, giving great-circle distances between two points on a sphere from their longitudes and latitudes. It is a special case of a more general formula in spherical trigonometry, the law of haversines, relating the sides and angles of spherical "triangles".