text:
I have a replica of me. She follows me wherever I go and insists on making every decision with me. I think she's the ugly side of me, but she says she's the innocent side of me. She's not, so you see that she plays games with me. We try to trip each other up, confuse the other in hopes we can lose the other, but it's safe to say it's hopeless. Rather, it's a kind of burden, a sort of burn scar you can't make over, no matter the surgeon's skill.
Every morning, she says three words. I hate you.
She sits at the table, consumed with nervous ticks. The fingers curling and running through her shoulder-length blonde hair, foot bouncing up and down against the table's wooden leg, posture switching between slumped and straight. Bustling restaurant goers with their unpredictable commotion invade any sense of peace she may have had when she sat down.
This is the second time.
He enters, sees her from afar. The flash of white neck, silhouette of curves. Remembers. There's his instantaneous, sharpened smile, the warmth of it ballooning into the room, stretching towards her, ready to burst and bite. The luminescent pearls and pink sweater read as innocent, reticent. He senses what the night might be like. A delicate flower amidst the humdrum of the world. And this is the effect she wanted.
They hug their greetings lightly and take their seats. Their expressions crackle with bold intrigue, matchsticks wanting to alight. Not like the furtive first time. There are crumbs of talk regarding work and food as the stiff waiter receives their orders.
"It's been awhile," she says. Voice throaty yet demure. Takes a sip of wine.
"Work has me jetting about," he responds, pauses. "Maybe next time you'll join me." It isn't a question, rather a command.
She nods and smiles. Switches the subject to sous vide, a new gourmet method of cooking she's discovered. She likes the slip of the words on her tongue, rounded, slow vowels. Smooth, sophisticated, French. The top front teeth pushing against the lower lip in the "vvvide".
He half listens and half lets his senses become taken over by the visuals of the room. The modern atmosphere and seductive music, the beautiful people eating and conversing, and her. Full lips, the slope of her thin shoulders rolling down to a fullness. Feminine promise.
They eat, or rather he eats and she takes a few bites here and there. She's never hungry on dates. She worries she'll bloat and look unattractive. She tells herself her movements must be liquid languid. Think about sensuality, exude it. All while he talks about work, which is everything he lives and breathes at this moment in his life. He's youngish, mid-thirties, a go-getter on the fast track, accustomed to solidifying lucrative deals. Just starting out, dipping a toe in the lifestyle.
She reads him, sees that his mannerisms are as studied as hers. He's conscious of conveying a certain something. That whiff of money, the important nonchalance. Not just the rules of etiquette, but the rules of the elite. How to personify them, yet be above it. And she knows this because some of the old background falls through the cracks once in a while, now and the last time. An errant tinge of a down-home Midwestern accent. Reaching for salt immediately instead of first tasting the delicacy in the rich, mustard sauce.
But it's all okay with her. He's nice enough and maybe she can hook herself onto his rising star, help him fulfill a sort of picture-book fantasy of success. He will need someone like that. She senses his ambition leaking from every action, like blood into water. He wants, wants, wants, and he hides it behind a polished smile, wide as a shark's appetite.
They finish with a creamy dessert. And she waits patiently, looking off into space at the night past the windows as he pays the bill. She rises and he helps her with her jacket. They exit arm in arm, cozy yet with some space between them that suggests a beginning. They walk across the gleaming floors towards the elevators, their steps clicking and echoing, and then to the padded muffle on carpeting that leads to his suite.
She enters, walking ahead of him as she drops her coat on the marble floor, slides off the heels, which collapse like fallen rubble. She takes in the view, the sparkling city lights, as he drinks in a view of her. She's taken by the beauty, the golden shimmer against the black, all the little beacons. And she's sure to display her awe and happiness as her arms raise up and wide in front of the windows as if to say, all this… and it's yours. She knows this will feed his ego and his pleasure at having her there. It punctuates his fantasies about who he is and who he wants to be.
He takes her arms, pulls them down as he kisses her soft and slow, as if engorging on bruised fruit. He reaches under her skirt and pulls her panties down as they look into each other's eyes.
She untangles herself from his dead-weight arms as he sleeps. The glittering pricks of light illuminate the room, making it feel like a floating constellation in a sea of stars. It's so quiet. A departed kind of quiet. She tip-toes, finds her clothing and dresses. Picks up a blue envelope and counts the money in it. It's correct. And she slips out, leaving the silence to grow without her presence.
Her twin says the expected words, "I hate you."
And she says it back without much thought as she stares in the mirror while removing eye makeup. "I hate you too." The black liner and shadow smudges across her lids and cheekbone like a quick, hazy thought.
A pause.
"What do you think about him? How do you feel?"
"I like him. He's nice and smart." She shrugs.
"Are you being yourself when you're with him?"
"Who cares?"
"I'm going to make some mac and cheese. Don't complain about the powdered cheese. You can have a bite too," She tells her twin.
"Okay. But what if you grow an attachment to him?"
"He will grow an attachment to me. I'm what he wants. Blonde, beautiful, tall, slim with curves. Legs that go on for miles. I'm what every guy wants."
"Sure, lots of guys want that. But someone with a good heart too. Kind."
"I'm kind and I have a good heart. The biggest."
"I guess, if you say so." Sarcastic.
"Damnit, why do you always fight me. You're a little bitch."
The twin sees shadowy, gauzy blurs, the layered nests of life. Smells the scent of old, dried sweat. Yawns her small, pink mouth as she awakes. Lies back and closes her eyes.
She remembers movie scenes in a peripheral way. That demented side angle that made things look perverse, very large and very small when in reality they were the same size. It gave her an extraterrestrial sense of the movie, whether or not the director intended to let this on. It was the truth told in a mirage of a look, that hint of sound and twitch of mouth before words were uttered. All the views from just outside, the seconds before the action, when you don't belong.
She thinks of a white orchid she came face to face with once. The white petals ultra-still in meditation, purple spots dotting them in odd, random patterns. Not designed. How up close it looked like an ugly girl with white vitiligo on her eyelids, lips and nostrils, how it looked beautiful as she moved further and further away. She wonders if that's what she looks like.
And then there's the light when the darkness lifts.
The third time.
He holds her arms down, pulls her body this way and that. Mind games played out in a rough and tumble. Not like the glow and sensuality of the past. As if he wanted to let her know he owns her. This time and these hours. As if to say, don't you forget. As if to fight whatever closeness has grown between them. His kisses push taut and hard.
Nothing organic grows, no linger or languor. No crystalline moments suspended in time. Only the pounce and claw.
He flips her over, body slamming into the bed, mind escaping to the left and gone while simultaneously present. He enters from behind and aims to pull her hair as if taming a braying animal, but she pushes his hand away. He's about to… as he's emboldened by his ownership, power, an urge to perpetuate pain.
Afterwards, he falls into stupor, stooping to the bathroom, bewildered by this animalism that's arisen. Yet in awe. He falls into bed, looks into her eyes as she lays fallen and flat next to him. Kisses her nose. He thinks, cute as a button as she lays like a doll.
She rises to clean herself in the bathroom when he asks what she thinks of orgies. A sour moue passes through her face quickly as she turns away. She can only think of beige worms slithering over and under each other. She says she's never tried it, before hiding under the cover of urinating. She wants to leave, gather her dignity, but she knows he must feel in control so she returns to bed and lays mummy-like, waiting for him to fall asleep.
But the session has energized him and he'll want it again sooner than later. The give and give and give.
"You don't have to do this," the twin says.
"You don't do much so I have to."
"We can survive so don't blame me."
"A receptionists' salary isn't going to help us."
"It's fine, it works, you're just a climber."
"I have to do everything for us."
"We can do fine on the salary. You just want the finer things."
"Shut up. You're selfish."
"Selfish for speaking the truth? Huh. Selfish for thinking there's another way. A better way. But you don't want to know. You're all about appearances."
"You cause all the problems between us."
"You're the queen of pain."
She walks home in the rain, her shabby, beige umbrella sagging under all the weight. Steps slow and dragging. The monotonous sound of rain drops perforating her thoughts.
He was another client and she doesn't want to remember. The cold and odd and clinical. His strange predilection's, the way he asked about using vegetables as if she were a toy… She'd rather shut it out, make it go away with a dismissive hand wave. She doesn't tell her twin, but the twin understands. They eat their dinner of soup and crackers in a sacred quiet. The spoon clinking against the delicate bone of ceramic. Now is not the time.
She sits at the white, dressing table. Its curves and flourishes gilded with faded gold, as if it used to exist for a child or a princess, both encased in their own bubble, both seeing what they want to see in the antique mirror. Delusions of a grandeur.
The razor-thin clips pull tight and she pulls them off carefully so as to not get any hair caught in them. She must preserve what she has. Her fingers dig in the back, at the base of her skull and she pulls off the blonde wig, feeling the room's cool atmosphere lightly swirling around her. That sense of a new room, the private one.
And there it is, her true self. A skull with wispy brown hairs, mousy. Her round, bright blue eyes, like a doll waiting to be sparked alive. The full lips, pouty and fleshy. Small ears tucked close to the head. And the twin, nestled in between the right side and the back of the skull. Her smashed nose, puffy, slanted eyes watering in the corners. The pink lips like a porcelain rosebud. An amalgamation of old woman and fetus, an ugly that conveys an oracle-like aura. That kind of fortune teller that cannot possibly have her own life. She squints and adjusts her eyes to the light. Clears her throat for she hasn't spoken the whole day. Wants to be sure she still has a voice.
I take the accusations and mean comments, but I let it slide off like slick oil. None of it bothers me because she is me and I am her. We both would rather be free, or so we say, but then what would the world look like. Upside down, dark turned inside out. Something like our privates splayed open for all the world to see and smell.
Me, my face shown to the world. Would it see my light? My beauty and worth. Or would it see a puckered, smashed ball of slimy flesh. Would it project its deformities onto me, thus making me feel darker and darker, pinching out the flame I was born with. Make me the bad one because I'm the ugly one.
No, it's better this way. I tend my fire, my light, and she can show the bright, pretty hair and eyes to the world. They see it and don't know there's a darkness within her. She passes.
And I get what I want, my secret world.
I take the tiny square of cheese from her fingertip. Pull it into my mouth with my tongue. Fattiness floods my taste buds, my rounded teeth hole-punch the gooey texture. And when all the juice and flavor have been completely wrung out, I make a small hum to call her finger back and spit it out. I've had enough taste, enough savor. Sometimes she taps her finger next to my head to hurry me up. It's enough, you always want more and more she says.
I sometimes long to swallow, feel the fullness. I wonder what it is to feel satiated and bloated to the max. But my throat enters her brain, a canal into a dead end.
"Do you love him?"
"No… maybe…"
"He doesn't love you."
"Maybe he does. You don't see the way he looks at me."
"I can hear it in his words. He likes the idea of you. But doesn't even know you."
"That's fine with me."
"I don't like him. He's a climber, a user."
"You're jealous, like all the other women in the office."
"Oh God… ugghhh. Get over yourself."
"You wish you could switch places with me. That's why you don't want me to be happy. You want to be with him."
"Never in a million years. I actually detest him."
"You better not. Better not."
The umpteenth time.
He doesn't pay anymore. It's that time of limbo, not a client anymore, not a boyfriend. Or maybe he is, she thinks. It's that tight rope a female tip-toes on when she doesn't feel her power. The now and the future are all up to him.
He works and she brings over Chinese take-out. As they eat she delights him with sweet nothings, high pitched gossip reminiscent of small minds, tidbits of tedium that occupy the thoughts of air heads. A high wire act to make him feel in charge so he can fall in love with her. And he thinks she's so delightful and lovely and easy to control because he knows the lay of the land beneath her.
He takes her hand, leads her to his bedroom. This time there is no drama, no power plays, just the mellow routine of knowing each other for the umpteenth time. Knowing where the skin is smooth and where it undulates. Grasping familiar mounds and contours. Hearing the moans he's followed before. And then he hears a meow. Soft, but definitely present and identifiable. Startled, he looks up and pulls out of her. He hears it again, jumps out of bed to search for it under and around. How did it get in here?
She can feel the vibration.
"Where is it?" He asks.
She shakes her head no. Pale as a ghost. Turns her head when he hears it again.
He looks askew, towards the side. "Here, behind the bed."
"No…" She shakes her head.
He doesn't understand.
"It… it's…" Her blue eyes as big as saucers. A pale, naked zombie doll frozen in fear.
"What is it?" He's impatient at the distraction.
"It's me."
They hear it again. This time followed by a cough, as if coming from someone in the other room.
"It's me… or really… her."
"Who?" Mystified.
"My twin." She pauses then turns her head, mouth grimaced. Pulls up the back of her wig to show him. The twin's eyes squint, adjust to the low light in the room. She sees the expensive modern furnishings, the city skyline through the windows and him, naked, on all fours like a wolf ready to pounce. His stunned eyes, animal form, raring with snarling instinct.
"What the hell?" He backs away, falls off the bed, stands in the corner. "Out! Get the hell outta here!"
She's paralyzed, can't believe it's come to this. She thought…
"Now!" He throws her clothes at her and storms out.
"Out! You freak!"
"How could you do that to me?"
"I hate him. He's not right for us."
"You don't know him."
"Well, I don't like him."
"He was our chance…"
"He's not real, he's a fake Ken doll."
"But he was my Ken doll."
The twin hears the sobs, feels the shakes. But can't feel sorry for her sister. It was for the best after all, although bitter medicine. She knows of her sister's shallow aspirations. But she has her own. To find a true friend, a soul mate of sorts. Kindred spirit. And he was no one's kindred spirit, not even his own. He wasn't the type to even know this about himself.
The fever's been lifted, she thinks. The nest of hair hides her, keeps her webbed in, close to the bone, but she's never felt freer. She hasn't spoken to her sister since then, a few weeks ago. She follows her, doesn't have a say of where she goes and yet she's happy. Lighter. She couldn't bear the thought of living a lie with him and now that possibility is gone. Gone.
And maybe this is how it should've been all along. The sisters living two separate lives yet yoked together. Spinsters on non-speaking terms, without a man. The only acceptable one would be the kindred kind. And for once… she feels like she has a say. Even if she had to exert herself, show that she could sabotage if she needed to.
She wants to tell her she won't do it again. That what she did was wise, her sister would eventually understand once they found the kindred one. She wants to believe that beneath that counterfeit façade her sister has a soul. Understands. But there's always been this wall, that dead end to her brain. Insatiable need to climb.
We are separated, she thinks. But we'll come back together again. One day.
She hears her sister answer the phone. The conversation is cryptic. Words, not sentences. Trifling sounds, braille in space. And she doesn't share the same ear canal as her sister.
Of course.
I'm here.
A bleak quiet. She's devastated, but doesn't know why. Has a sense of dust settling around her, a finality. Then the dark web descending over her. Was it a new client. An emergency of some kind. Someone who wanted her to stay. Someone who wanted her to go. A beckoning.
They walk through the drizzle. She sticks her small tongue out to taste the wet hair, to glean hydration. She hasn't tasted anything since then. That was the punishment. She hears the familiar traffic, the honking, the swish of tire treading through puddles. Inhales the damp, fragrant rain. Breathes in fully to relish it. She loves to savor, experience and discern things through her senses.
There's the ding of the elevator. Her ears plug up as they fly higher and higher. Into the never ending.
The door clicks and opens. There's a formality, coldness echoing off icy walls, where are they. Some whispers, like feathers tickling the atmosphere. She wishes she had fingers, she'd run them through the air.
The sound of cloth brushing on itself. A noiseless vacuum, shadow figures pantomiming. She imagines hands attempting to grasp wind, current flowing under the palm, that widespread wing.
Then her sister's deep moan. She thinks it sounds authentic, not a pretend fake one. A kindred one. Then a man's exhale, careful with a strum of vocal cord. Oh… baby… Dashed and seasoned with sadness. And that's when she knows.
She yells "No! No!"
"Stop, stop it!" Her sister shrieks.
The wig comes off with a harsh jerk. He stands above her as her eyes acclimate to the shining light. This time he's inflated with strength, not the shock and awe of the last time. Not the caving into fear. But a defiance.
"You!" His finger stern and pointed at her. "Shut up. You don't have a say. And you never will."
His words hit her to the core. She's heard them before. And now him.
"How could you sis? You know how I feel. He's not right for us."
Her sister sobs, "Yes, he is." Body shakes. "I'm sorry… but…"
His finger goes to his lips to shush her sister. He whispers something slight, something that makes her sister sit up straight. The moment puts her on the spot. His hands goad her down and she acquiesces, a docile child, eyes steady and closing. He lays on the bed behind her, faces the twin. Looks into her eyes, those dusky, milky beads. Notices her pink miniature lips, the dip in the center rimmed with sweat. Touches it with his finger and shudders as he pulls it away quickly.
She suddenly feels ugly and untouchable. A diseased freak. Why put that on me, she thinks. You, you. You are the diseased freak.
He takes a pillow and lays it on top of her. And pushes and smothers. Her screams are muffled, the no, no, no force fed into her sister's brain.
The sister closes her eyes, scans her body to see if she feels anything physically as her twin dies. She detects a lightning of energy striking from the brain for the briefest second. A last beat and then a deadening of senses, of shared history, of an unsaid goodbye. Every nerve limp and lazy, sighing in relief. The ultimate.
He pulls the pillow off, sees glassy, unblinking eyes. Closes the lids and sits up in bed.
Her hands turn back to feel her twin's profile. The crimped, sweaty face, puffed lips, chin bump. She pulls back in fear, as if her twin could come alive and bite her.
And she senses a hollowness, a breeze in place of something solid, a seclusion from the world.
"It's over, I can't believe it…" His Midwestern accent sneaks to the forefront, through his well-conceived mask. "It's over…"
He stands, looks at his hands in the dearth of the room, the deed.
© 2017, Suzanne Marine. All rights reserved.


text:
Online love scams are running rampant in Asia. A 66-year-old widow and businesswoman from Hong Kong sent HK$23 million (US$ 2.9 million) to a man she met online, but never met in person. The con artist posed as a British engineer who needed money for his projects. The woman sent him the money in more than 200 transactions between April 2014 and July 2018.
Hong Kong lonely heart loses $23 million to an online love scam, on InkStoneNews.com.
In the meantime, 280 cases of Internet love scams were reported in Singapore over the first half of 2018. The victims lost a total of SG$ 12 million (US$ 8.7 million).
Total of $12 million cheated in 280 cases of Internet love scams: How to avoid falling prey, on Straitstimes.com.
Singapore has developed a scam alert website to warn potential victims about the scams. It's theme is "Don't Panic, Don't Believe and Don't Give." Certainly good advice.

subset: commoncrawl


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Off the back of their latest LP, Not.Psych, seemingly a nod to their distain at being psychedelically pigeon holed, Cali trippers The Growlers brought a Wizard of Oz vibe to the Scala, playing in full Halloween get-up. Known for their tweaky live shows, they are part of a 60s revival-reverb fuelled-surfing-stoner that hails from the waves of Southern California, a sound they have coined as 'Beach Goth'. Miles from the coast in central London, it was a surf commune brought to the big smoke.
The venue seems a step up for the band; their visit last time had them in the Shacklewell Arms. This tour comes off the back of their newest LP, but the band are sitting on 4 full-lengths and countless other b-sides and releases, as well as never spending more than a few weeks off the road, they have earned the slot. For a band named after old surf chat for taking a dump ("I gotta take a growler") it's not bad going.
London's Big Cosmos starting the proceedings, with chilled coast vibes flooding in as nonchalant surf trio, Tomorrows Tulips follow them. Fronted by Alex (he's big in the surf world) Knost. Their four-to-the-floor reverb laced, Velvet Underground style, sets the mood for a night full of throwback moustache clad punters.
It doesn't take long to get people off their feet and in the air, it all adds a flying' monkeys feel of the evening. They pile in with 'Gay Thoughts', already there are beer cans passing heads and shielded pedal boards. Singer Brooks Nielsen's signature bop takes full swing as tunes covering their entire back catalogue are delivered in their own inimitably lackadaisically baled way.
At times a few faces are left blank at older songs, but are rejuvenated as the twee bop of new songs like 'Tell It How It Is' and 'Ol' Rat Face' set the place alive. They're self-aware and make the embellished stage show look effortless as they piece together b-sides ('People Don't Change Blues') and singles ('Acid Rain') to keep everyone in the room happy.
After a demanded encore and very little chat, they have stormed through a lengthy set and kept the place dancing and sweaty. It was another UK stint over for the salty Costa Mesa kids, but part of a growing journey for a band that refuses to keep things simple. Their drug-tinted take on classic pop keeps them interesting and their live shows wild, even if it's something that would suffer in larger venues.


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This morning I woke up and I couldn't figure out why I was so tired. It wasn't that I worked a double shift yesterday. It wasn't that I am running again and feeling the effects. I got enough sleep (well, kindof- the smoke alarm went off causing me to leap out of bed and frantically use all the air in my lungs to blow on the darn thing (ummm headrush) while flapping my arms and generally looking crazy).
Then I realised. Get ready for it guys. I FORGOT to have coffee. Wow, I am really ashamed to write that. Coffee is one of my favourite things ever and forgetting it is firstly pretty scary (that headrush must have cost me some much needed brain cells), and secondly highly unlike me. I am not addicted to coffee (HA, that is what all addicts would say), but I do very much enjoy my morning cup(s).
(FYI, just because my cup has red and green and white, it does not mean it is a Christmas cup, it is a penguin cup and penguins are always ALWAYS appropriate).
Anyway, once I got over this little atrocity and made myself a nice strong cup and whispered a little forgiveness prayer to it, it was yoga time. When is it ever not yoga time? The balcony was calling to me, I am forcing myself to not run today even though my run-loving heart is telling me that it would be fine, and so I settled in for some Ashtanga with a particular focus on Tree pose.
I started off with Leslie's thirty minute class.
I actually quite like this video for morning practices because while she gets right into it straight away, the fact that it is Ashtanga means that there are the regular five-breaths-in-a-pose pauses which help me wake up. It definitely gets the blood flowing (that is kindof a yucky expression, I am sorry). It makes me laugh when Leslie says "Your head may or may not be on the ground (when we are in wide-legged forward fold)". Ummm sorry Leslie, my head is like a meter from the ground 🙂
The more I do Ashtanga the more I love it; I used to be a strictly Vinyasa type girl, if it wasn't flowing I wasn't down with it, but now the stillness in some poses is something I really welcome. Maybe I am just getting old 😉
After that I threw on one of my fave kirtan songs and did an intuitive practice for half an hour.
I spent a lot of time working on my Tree pose ( Vriksasana). This article has some great tips on how to do it. I did a bunch of variations of it, placing my lifted foot at different heights on my grounded leg as I progressed, and changing my arm position around. I also spent a bit of time playing with closing my eyes- result: I am nowhere near balanced enough to do this. I noticed a huge difference in my balance even just compared to three weeks ago though, my sprained ankle was wobbling like mad at that time and now it is much more stable and burning a whole lot less. Soo nice to be able to see it healing like this. I also feel like Tree pose is a really powerful pose and really uplifting. That is the yogi-hippy in me talking, we will move on 🙂
Have you done Tree pose before? -Please whip it out if not, it is awesome 🙂
Do you drink coffee? Or tea?– Both are amazing but coffee slightly more so in my world 🙂


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MARELITT Baltic at World Water Week in Stockholm/
The MARELITT Baltic project was presented during the seminar "Plastic soup and dead zones: Source prevention for cleaner seas" at the World Water Week in Stockholm on the 27th of august.
World Water Week is the annual focal point for the globe's water issues. It is organized by SIWI and this year, World Water Week addresses the theme "water and waste: reduce and reuse"
The presentation of the MARELITT Baltic project was part of a wider presentation held by project partner Keep Sweden Tidy focusing on how Sweden and the EU can work to prevent marine litter in the Baltic Sea environment. Along with several other speakers and panellist at the seminar was Andrew Hudson, Head, UNDP Water and Ocean Governance Programme and H. E. Karolina Skog, Minister for the Environment, Sweden.
The event followed-up on the outcomes of the High-Level UN Conference to Support the Implementation of SDG 14 held in June 2017, discussing the opportunities and challenges to improve fresh-, coastal- and marine water quality as a part of SDG implementation. During the event, some the present experiences and innovative approaches of source prevention to reduce marine pollution and litter, were discussed.


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When African football is the subject matter of any heated discussion, nobody would underestimate the significant contributions of notable Nigerian footballers. Remarkably, football has gone beyond a mere sporting activity and this is proven by how footballers (including Nigerian footballers) earn big. { Top 10 Richest Footballers In Nigeria }.
Every young Nigerian footballer is passionate about exploring the shores of wealthy continents (such as Europe, America, and Asia) where footballers are paid massively. This continually remains factual because the richest and most prominent Nigerian footballers have all taken their football careers beyond the confines of Nigeria. If you're a talent-driven Nigerian footballer, then you should have an utmost desire to play in top European, Asian or American football clubs.
Without any dubiety, Nigerians constitute some of the wealthiest footballers on the African continent. Regarding this, it is always exciting to hold discussions about Nigeria's richest footballers and how these fortunate athletes have taken their football careers beyond their fatherland.
This article extensively discusses the Top 10 Richest Footballers in Nigeria. As a notable point, these athletes might not be the highest-paid Nigerian footballers but based on endorsements, salaries and the other fortunes they have garnered so far in their careers, they are the richest Nigerian footballers at the moment.
Top 10 Richest Footballers in Nigeria 2019
1. John Mikel Obi
- Net Worth: $57 Million
- State Of Origin: Jos
Mikel Obi, who began his football career in Nigeria, is Nigeria's richest footballer at the moment. His professional football career began in Lyon Oslo –a Norwegian football club. Many years back, John Obi Mikel performed remarkably at a youth world cup whereupon his incredible performance earned him honour as the second most valuable player of the competition. Following this, Chelsea –an English football club –developed an interest in the Nigerian star. Soon, he joined Chelsea from the aforementioned Norwegian club.
Mikel's spell at Chelsea proved to be one of his significant moments in football. His prolonged Chelsea spell of 10 years or so earned him massive wealth and incredible recognition as one of the most notable Nigerian footballers across the world.
Though Mikel Obi doesn't have significant individual awards to his name, the Nigerian star is fortunate to have won a number of important trophies with London-based Chelsea. Currently, Mikel Obi plays for Tianjin Teda –the Chinese team where he is rewarded massively with £8.4 million as annual earnings. With this sumptuous salary base, one would easily believe that John Mikel Obi is immensely rich. Though a Nigerian, Mikel Obi is in a strong marital affair with a Russian model and child of Abrahimovic –a wealthy Russian man and owner of London-based Chelsea. Mikel is rumoured to have been in this marital affair for five years. So far so good, the affair (between Mikel and the Russian model) has yielded a male child.
Regarding his personal lifestyle, Mikel is seen as a person who fancies expensive assets and by reason of this, he possesses a number of colourful cars coupled with other assets in Nigeria and London. With the net worth of $57 million, Mikel Obi is unarguably the richest footballer of Nigerian descent.
2. Obafemi Martins
- Net Worth: $35 Million
- State Of Origin: Lagos
Obafemi Martins is a reputable footballer of Nigerian descent. At the young age of 16, he moved from Nigeria to Europe where he has played for a number of football clubs. Obafemi Martins, who is in his early thirties, has made his mark as a professional football across continents like Asia, America, and Europe. For the past 16 years, his career across different football clubs makes him the Nigerian footballer with the highest number of clubs played for.
Nearly two years ago, Obafemi Martins joined Chinese-based team Shanghai Shenhua from Seattle Sounder –an MLS side. At Shanghai Shenhua, he is reported to be earning the whopping sum of £8.4 million on a yearly basis. During his spell at the MLS side [Seattle Sounder], Martins was reported with the estimated net worth of $35 million. With this enormous sum, Obafemi Martins perfectly fits into this list as the second richest Nigerian footballer. In addition to his Italy-based assets, Martins owns a number of assets in other places.
3. Victor Moses
- Net Worth: $20.1 Million
- State Of Origin: Jos
Victor Moses is a professional Nigerian footballer who plays as a winger for both Chelsea FC of England and the Nigeria national team. He has been in Chelsea for years but his Chelsea career, so far, has seen him serving loan spells in several other English clubs like Liverpool and West Ham. Precisely, Victor Moses is seen as a vigorous and diligent footballer. Meanwhile, his laudable performances contributed to Chelsea's triumph as the EPL champions of 2017, giving Conte a successful debut season as Chelsea's manager.
Currently, Victor Moses' net worth is estimated around $20.1 million. Although football is his major source of income, Victor Moses doubles up his wealth with several endorsement deals estimated in excess of $1 million on a yearly basis. Above that, the Nigerian star possesses significant assets most of which are landed properties.
4. Ahmed Musa
- Net Worth: $18 Million
- State Of Origin:
Ahmed Musa is a Nigerian footballer of Hausa descent. Currently, he plays as a forward for both CSKA Moscow (a Russian football club) and the Nigeria national team. As a professional footballer, Ahmed Musa began his football sojourn in Nigeria and in 2010, he secured his move to the European continent where he now plays as a striker in the stated Russian side. In course of the 2016/2017 football season in Europe, Ahmed Musa completed his move from CSKA Moscow to England-based Leicester City. But due to his failure to impress at the English club, the Nigerian star eventually found his way back to CSKA Moscow.
Going by Islamic norms, Ahmed Musa decided to marry a second wife to make him a polygamous man. However, his wife Jamila, objected to this proposed move and afterward the couple divorced each other in April 2017. Ahmed Musa, who is now married to another woman, is considered a wealthy Nigerian footballer with the mouthwatering net worth of $18 million.
5. Emmanuel Emenike
- Net Worth: $18 Million
- State Of Origin: Imo State
Emmanuel Emenike is one of the prolific footballers of Nigerian descent. Currently, he plays as a striker for the Nigeria national team as well as Turkey-based Fenerbahce. Undoubtedly, Emenike was instrumental to the Nigerian squad that won the AFCON competition in 2013. As a prolific striker, Emenike is acclaimed for his physique and the ability to threaten defenders while on the ball.
Emmanuel Emenike once happened to be a victim of racial discrimination when some people at his club side identified him as a monkey. Despite how ridiculous this was, Emenike gave a shocking and funny response implying that next time, they shouldn't hesitate to identify him as a rich monkey. Fortunately, Emenike's success at the club level has earned him massive wealth, making him one of the richest Nigerian footballers. His current net worth is valued at $18 million and sources have claimed that he is fond of appearing at grandiose parties alongside musicians and other Nigerian dignitaries.
6. Yakubu Aiyegbeni
- Net Worth: $14.5 Million
- State Of Origin: Edo
Yakubu Aiyegbeni is a professional footballer born in the capital of Edo State, Nigeria. During his spell in the Nigeria national team, he served as a forward and bagged a significant number of goals. Importantly, his football fortune is believed to have stemmed from his career across Europe. In this regard, Yakubu Aiyegbeni has played as a striker for a number of English football clubs. In 2017, Yakubu Aiyegbeni became a free agent due to the failure of his club side to grant him a new contract offer. Despite the slight downturn, this has brought upon his football career, Yakubu Aiyegbeni remains one of the richest Nigerian footballers.
Yakubu Aiyegbeni is said to be out of contract offer from his last football club and regarding his age (34 years), he might not have the opportunity to be bought by a new club. Nevertheless, the professional footballer has taken the advantage of his long football spell in Europe to amass sumptuous wealth which now gives him the net worth of $14.5 million. Like other Nigerian stars, Yakubu Aiyegbeni possesses a number of assets including a petrol station and Auchi-based hotels.
7. Victor Anichebe
- Net Worth: $11 Million
- Place Of Birth: Lagos
Victor Anichebe is a professional footballer of Nigerian descent. He plays as a striker and he is best known for his athletic strength. He is a Nigerian-born footballer who relocated to the UK at the tender age of 1. Though Anichebe has gathered significant recognition and substantial wealth at the club level, his football career has had no significant impact on the Nigeria national team.
In 2013, he sparked a lot of controversies when he declined a return to the Nigeria national team following an injury setback. Apart from his initial record of 11 caps coupled with 1 goal, Anichebe is yet to mark another appearance for the Nigerian national team long since then. However, it is rumoured that the Nigerian has had conversations with the Super Eagles' coach concerning a possible return to the Nigeria national team.
At the club level, Victor Anichebe is recognized for his EPL spell which has seen him play for English clubs like Everton. Anichebe, who is currently in a relationship with DJ Cuppy [a daughter to Nigerian billionaire and business mogul Femi Otedola], plays for England-based Sunderland and is declared with the net worth of $11 million.
8. Vincent Enyeama
- Net Worth: $7 Million
- State of Origin: Akwa Ibom
Vincent Enyeama, the former goalie of the Nigeria national team, is one of Nigeria's richest footballers. During 2002 World Cup hosted by the pair of Korea and Japan, Enyeama marked his debut against England as the shot-stopper of the Nigeria national team. Since he marked his Super Eagles debut with that match which ended in a 0-0 draw, Enyeama has traveled around and played professional football in France and Israel.
While Enyeama was the shot-stopper of Enyimba –a Nigerian-based professional team –he helped the team in winning the CAF Champions League for two consecutive seasons. This marked a remarkable feat in the Nigerian Professional League, making Enyimba the first football club to achieve it.
In consequence of a quarrel with Sunday Oliseh –a former Super Eagles fellow –Vincent Enyeama resigned from the Nigeria national team only a few years ago. Precisely, Vincent Enyeama has made his mark in the Ligue 1 [French league] as the number 1 goalie of Lille FC. Annually, the Nigerian star earns the total of £1.8 million and his current net worth is estimated at $7 million.
9. Taye Taiwo
- Net Worth: $6.6 Million
- State Of Origin: Lagos
Taye Taiwo is a professional Nigerian footballer of Yoruba descent. During his spell in the Nigeria national team, he served as a defender and was highly commended on his impressive shooting ability. Many years back, Taye Taiwo began his football career in Nigeria and after having served in NPL teams like Lobi Stars and Gabros FC, he secured a move to French league in 2004. Thereupon, he spent years in Marseille –the club side he is believed to have earned recognition outside Nigeria.
Taye Taiwo –a left-footed footballer –is considered one of the richest Nigerian footballers and at the moment, he is declared with the net worth of $6.6 million.
10. Osaze Odemwingie
- Net Worth: $5.5 Million
- Origin: Russian/Nigerian
Osaze Odemwingie is a Nigerian with a slight Russian descent –probably because his birth came about many years ago in Russia. 35-year-old Osaze was raised both in Nigeria and Russia. During his spell in the Nigeria national team, Osaze played as a forward and was often praised for his diligence, athletic skills and his commitment to giving Nigeria his best. As a professional footballer, Osaze marked his Super Eagles debut at the Korea-Japan World Cup of 2002. Thereupon, he continued appearing for the Super Eagles until 2014.
At the club level, Osaze has played for a number of football clubs but he is best known for his spell at West Brom –an English football club. Osaze's years in the English Premier league yielded him a remarkable goal-scoring tally and significant recognition as a talented Nigerian footballer. Osaze, who currently plays for Liga 1 side Madura United, is highly recommended for his football success in the EPL. At the moment, he is declared with the net worth of $5.5 million. Besides football, Osaze is said to have made some reasonable money for having appeared on the endorsement deals of mega brands like Pepsi.
That's all about The Richest Footballers In Nigeria 2019.
- Top 20 Richest Football Clubs in the World
- Richest Musicians in Nigeria 2019, Top 50 {Forbes Latest Ranking}
Tags: Richest Footballers In Nigeria 2019


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Hello! So, World of Final Fantasy has been out for a week now and I've been able to play through a good chunk of it. I'm really liking it for the most part, so let's get this review started!
With this being a Square Enix game, no one should be surprised that the battle system is a bit silly. There are two different forms in which you can do battle, Lilikin and Jiant. The form you choose determines the types of mirage's (in game monsters) you can fight with. You can only use mirages that you've already caught throughout the game Pokemon style. Each mirage has its own set of stats and abilities that add on to you and other mirages stacked with it.
When I say stacked, I mean it literally. As a Jiant (your characters bigger form) you can have a small and medium mirage stacked on top of your head. If you're in Lilikin form, you are the medium sized one, so you can be standing on a large mirage with a small one balanced on your head. The mirage's health combine with yours to make you a tougher foe.
I like the unique way they chose to go about this. I've never seen anything like it, and it makes the turn based battle mechanics a little less boring. You have to read the environment and try to guess which mirages you need for upcoming boss battles based off of their abilities, and each one is really fun to look at. Their ability trees are different enough that they all feel like their own monster and not just a clone of all the others.
Character Development
Ok, so I usually love Final Fantasy characters. Their quirks are what make them lovable and memorable. That being said, some of these characters make me want to rip my hair out.
Reynn is fine. I can handle her because she's snarky and I love it. Lann however is an idiot. I'm really hoping that he chills out once we get towards the end of the game, but I don't think he will. The way his lines are written are terrible, and I'm sure the jokes he makes are much funnier in Japanese. It comes down to translation and things that don't work well from one language to another.
I like Tama (your fox companion) as a mirage, but the way she injects the word 'the' intp random places makes listening to her difficult. I'm sure it was supposed to be cute, like moogles saying 'kupo', but it didn't work the way they wanted in my opinion.
They did a good job with keeping certain characters mysterious though. I'm a big fan of The Masked Woman and the Girl Who Forgot Her Name because you have no idea what they want. It gives you a reason to keep playing.
Everything is very pretty and colorful. This was to be expected since we are talking about Square, but it's always nice to see something contrasting the dark grittiness we've been seeing with Final Fantasy XV (don't get me wrong, I'm very excited about XV as well).
They went to more cartoon – y route which fits the style of the game well. The monster catching aspect is hard to illustrate in too many ways, and they meshed the art well by adding in chibi versions of all the characters within the game.
The landscapes and dungeons are breath taking. Each creates its own atmosphere that feels like you're actually there with them. Field barriers add more to it and help keep the mirages invested in the story.
The major selling point of World of Final Fantasy was that you get to see characters from your favorite Final Fantasy game. While they changed the story lines of the characters, they kept true to the essence of where they came from. The areas you visit take you back to times when you were absorbed in whichever game you love the most.
They brought in a nice mix of characters from all of the games, some well known and some less so. The biggest surprise for me was Quistis. Final Fantasy 8 is my all time favorite, and you rarely see her in anything. When I ran into her I squealed like a little kid! Hearing characters speak that never spoke in their own games is fun too.
Lenn and Reynn have an air of mystery to them like a few of the other new characters, making you want to continue the story just to find out. Even if you don't like them, the story is set up in such a way that you want to keep playing.
Trophies / Collectibles
My favorite part of any game. WOFF doesn't disappoint! With a total of 49 trophies, a lot of those only achieved after you collect a bunch of other stuff, you will busy for a long while.
The collectibles are broken down into three categories: Mirages, Intervention quests and Side quests. Mirages are needed to battle, so you begin collecting those quickly. But there are a lot of them and some aren't very easy to find. You have a book in the twin's room that you can view in order to see how many you've seen / caught.
Intervention quests are unlocked with Arma Gems and show you tidbits about Final Fantasy characters lives with Grymoire. They end with a boss battle and are a fun way to experience beloved characters!
Side quests are given to you by villagers throughout the game. These are usually fetch quests which give you small rewards once you complete them. They are a nice break from the Mirage catching.
All in all I very much enjoyed World of Final Fantasy. It's a fun game with a decent story and some beautiful art! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you later.


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Chapter One
I COULDN'T control the whimper of delight. Since we were out in Elmwood, where we never were, I'd begged and pleaded with Ian to stop at Johnnie's Beef and buy me a sandwich before we got to the house we were sitting on. I hated stakeouts; they were so boring, and I tended to use them as an excuse to eat good instead of the alternative. It could be argued that an Italian beef sandwich with sweet peppers was not, in fact, a gourmet meal, but anyone who said that had obviously never had one. Just opening it up, with the smell that came wafting out… I was salivating.
"This better be worth the long drive outta the way," Ian groused.
No amount of grumbling was going to get in the way of my happiness. And besides, he owed me. The day before, on our way to the same stakeout, I'd stopped and gotten him hot dogs at Budacki's—Polish with the works, just how he liked it. I'd even broken up a fight over ketchup between a native and an out-of-towner while I was there and still managed to deliver the goods. So swinging by the beef place was the least he could do.
"You wanna screw the sandwich?" he asked snidely as he started on his pepper and egg one.
I lifted my gaze to his, slowly and purposely seductive, and I got the catch of breath I was hoping for. "No. Not the sandwich."
He had opened his mouth to say something when we heard the shots.
"Maybe it was a car backfiring," I offered hopefully, having peeled back the wrapper, ready to take a bite. On this quiet tree-lined suburban street, the kind with white picket fences and people walking their dogs and little A-frame houses with picture windows, it could definitely be something other than a gunshot.
His grimace said no.
Seconds later, a man came flying across the street and down the sidewalk past our car that was sitting quietly on the storybook street at a little after one on a Tuesday afternoon.
"Motherfucker," I groaned, placing the sandwich gingerly on the dash of the Ford Taurus, out the passenger-side door seconds later.
The guy was fast—I was faster, and I was gaining on him until he pointed a gun over his shoulder and fired.
It would have been a miracle if he'd hit me—he was moving, I was moving—but still, I had to make him stop. Stray bullets were bad, as we'd learned in our last tactical seminar, and more importantly, we were in a small, quaint residential neighborhood where at this time of day, women could be jogging with strollers, followed by beagles or labradoodles. I would make sure reckless discharge of a firearm was tacked on to the charges as soon as I had the guy in custody.
He shot at me a second time, missed me by a mile again, but it was enough of a threat to make me alter my course, cross into a heavily foliaged yard, and cut through two others—one with a swing set, the other with wildflowers—to catch him at the corner. Arm out, using the classic clotheslining move I knew from my days of fighting in foster homes, I had him off his feet and on the pavement in seconds.
"Oh shit, what happened?" Ian asked as he came bounding up beside me. He put his boot down on the guy's wrist, pinning it painfully to the sidewalk as he bent to retrieve the .38 Special. I'd been the one stepped on before, so I knew the pressure hurt like a sonofabitch. "Look at this. I haven't seen one of these in years."
I nodded, admiring my FIORENTINI + BAKER suede boots on him, not even caring if he messed them up, loving more that what was mine, he considered his.
"This is a nice gun that you tried to shoot my partner with," he said menacingly, his voice icy.
"I'm fine," I reminded him. "Look at me."
But he didn't; instead he lifted the gun and bumped it against the stranger's cheek.
"Fuck," the man swore, his eyes wild as they rabbited over to me, pleading.
"How 'bout I make you eat this," Ian snarled, much more pissed than I'd realized as he hauled the runner up off the sidewalk and yanked him close. "What if you'd hit him?"
The man was either smarter than he appeared or his survival instinct was exceptionally well honed. He correctly surmised that talking back to Ian at that moment, getting lippy, was a bad choice. He kept his mouth shut.
"Everything's fine," I soothed Ian as police cars surrounded us.
"Freeze!" the first officer out of the car yelled.
Instead of complying, I unzipped Ian's olive green field jacket, which I was wearing, and showed them my badge on the chain. "US Marshals, Jones and Doyle."
Instantly they lowered their weapons before surging around us. Ian handed off both the prisoner and the gun, and told the officers to add reckless discharge of a firearm to whatever else they were charging the guy with.
I was surprised when he grabbed hold of my arm and yanked me after him a few feet down the street before jerking me around to face him.
"I'm fine," I assured him, chuckling. "You don't have to manhandle me."
But he was checking, looking me over, still scared.
"He missed me clean."
He nodded, hearing but not listening, not taking my words in. I was about to tease him, wanting to nudge him out of his worry, when I realized he was shaking.
"Come here," I prodded, tugging on his sweater, getting him closer, unable to hug him—not with so many people around—but able to whisper in his ear. "I'm okay, baby. I swear."
He muttered something under his breath, his shoulders dropped, and his fists unclenched. After a second, he seemed better. "I bet your sandwich is cold," he whispered.
"Fuckballs," I muttered, turning to trudge back to our car.
"So what'd you learn?" he teased, normalcy having been restored with my swearing.
"Not to run after other people's suspects when we're supposed to be eating."
Ian's snicker made me smile in spite of myself.
A LITTLE more than eight months ago we were Deputy US Marshal Miro Jones and his partner, Ian Doyle, but it hadn't meant what it did now. Then, it was us living apart, him dating women, me wishing he was gay so there would be hope that I could have him instead of comparing every man I met to my very straight, very unavailable partner. Everything changed when I finally saw what having his full and undivided attention actually meant, and when he got up the guts to tell me what he wanted and needed from me, I dove in quickly, drowning in him as fast as I could so he wouldn't have time to think that maybe, since he'd only recently discovered he was bi, he might want to try the dating scene before settling down. The thing was, though, Ian was one of those rare guys who wanted the one person in the world who fit him like a glove, and that person, it turned out, was me.
So, yes, Ian was still technically bi, but was exclusively now Miro-sexual andwasn't interested in trying the buffet. All Ian wanted was to stay home with me. I couldn't have been any happier. Everything was mostly working in my life. Professionally I was in a great place, and personally I was ready to put a ring on Ian's finger. Like really ready. Like maybe even too ready for Ian, but all in all, my life was perfect except for the grunt work we were currently doing.
After our interrupted lunch, we had to drive all the way back downtown to file a police report to be in compliance with Chicago PD—since we'd been the ones to make the collar—and then turn around to head back out to Elmwood.
"This will teach you to help," Ian grumbled, and even though I knew he was kidding, it was still a huge pain in the ass.
We were supposed to sit on the house of one William McClain, who was wanted for drug trafficking, but I got a call from Wes Ching, another marshal on our team, asking us to help serve a warrant out in Bloomingdale instead. He and his partner, Chris Becker, were already in Elmwood on another errand, so they would take my and Ian's crappy stakeout chore and we would take their more—in theory—interesting warrant duty.
I was not a fan of the suburbs, any of them, with or without artery-clogging food, or the hours it took to get to them from each other or the city itself. Traffic in Chicago, all day every day, was a beast, and added to that was the fact the radio in the new car didn't get Ian's favorite channel—97.9 The Loop—and the crappy shocks that let us feel every bump and dip in the road. Because we drove whatever had been seized in a criminal investigation, sometimes the cars were amazing—like the 1971 Chevrolet Chevelle SS we had for two weeks—and other times, I worried if maybe I'd died and gone to hell without anyone letting me know. The Ford Taurus we were in currently was seriously not working for me.
"It's fuel-efficient," Ian prompted me, reaching over to put a hand on my thigh.
Instantly I shifted in my seat, sliding down so I could get his touch on my cock instead.
"What're you doing?" he asked slyly even as he pressed his palm against my already thickening shaft.
"I need to get laid," I said for the third time that day.
It was all his fault.
Instead of getting right out of bed that morning like he normally did, he'd rolled over on top of me, pinned me to the mattress under him, and kissed me until I forgot what day it was. He never did that; he was so by the book in the morning, so on task and barky with the orders. But for whatever reason, I got Ian in languorous vacation mode, all hard and hungry, hands all over me, putting hickeys on my neck, instead of the drill sergeant I normally had to deal with until he got the first cup of coffee in him. He was ravenous and insistent, but then our boss called and Ian was up, out of bed, doing the "yessir, right away, sir" thing and telling me to hurry up and get in the shower fast.
"What?" I roared, sitting up in bed, incredulous when I heard the water running. "Get your ass in here and finish what you started!"
He actually cackled as he got into the shower and was still chuckling as I sat there in bed, fuming, before I fell back to take care of myself.
"Don't you dare touch that!" he yelled from under the water.
I groaned and climbed out of bed and plodded downstairs to get coffee. Chickie Baby was happy to see me, mostly because I fed him. Stupid dog.
"There was no happy ending for me this morning," I complained to Ian, back in the present. "You didn't take care of me."
"What?" He chuckled, moving his hand back to the wheel. "I woke you… up nice… and… crap."
I wanted Ian, needed Ian, but he was distracted as he slowed the car, and when I dragged my gaze from his profile to the sight in front of me, I made the same noise of disgust he had. Immediately I called Ching.
"You fuck," I said instead of hello when he answered.
Snort of laughter. "What?" he said, but it was muffled like he was chewing. "Me and Becker are doing stakeout for you in Elmwood and then following up on a lead from the Eastern District warrant squad."
"Where the fuck are you?" I snarled as I put him on speaker.
He said something in reply, but it couldn't really be categorized as a word.
I was instantly suspicious. "Are you at Johnnie's Beef?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Asshole!" I yelled.
"Oh, come on, Jones, have a heart. We're doing you a favor, right?"
"I'm sorry, what'd you just say to me?"
All I heard was laughing.
"You know we'd rather follow up a bullshit lead than serve a warrant with a task force, you dick," Ian growled from beside me. "This is fucked up, Wes, and you know it."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ching finished with a cackle. "You two get to work with the DEA and the Chicago PD for the second time today. That's awesome."
I should have known when he offered; it was my own fault.
Ian reiterated my thoughts almost perfectly, which made things that much worse. "You have no one to blame but yourself."
After Ian parked the car, we walked around to the trunk and got out our TAC vests, put the badges on our belts, and Ian put on his thigh holster that carried a second gun. Walking over to the group, Ian asked who was in charge. It turned out to be exactly what Ian and I expected; it was a clusterfuck better known as a task force. We saw both district and regional groups, this being the latter because I could see local law enforcement as well as guys from the DEA who all looked like either grunged-out meth addicts or GQ models. There was no in-between with them. I had, as of yet, never met a DEA agent I liked. They all thought they had not only the toughest job, but also the most dangerous. They were a bunch of prima donnas I had no use for.
It was amazing how many people thought that marshals did the same things other law enforcement agencies did. They assumed we investigated crime, collected evidence, and sat in front of whiteboards to try to figure out who the bad guy was from a list of viable suspects. But that was simply not the case. Much like it was in the Old West; we tracked people down and brought them in for trial. As a result, a tremendous amount of time—when we weren't out on loan to a joint task force, for instance—was spent running down leads, watching houses, and basically doing surveillance. It could be a little mind-numbing, and so, occasionally, when the usual was broken up by things like traveling to pick up a witness or taking part in an undercover operation, it was viewed as a welcome diversion. But neither Ian nor I ever thought working with the DEA was a good thing.
Today the task force was looking to pick up three men with ties to the Madero crime family who'd slipped federal custody in New York and were apparently hiding out with one of the guys' distant cousins in the burbs of Chicago. That was what serving a warrant meant. It was fancy phrasing for taking someone into custody.
The plan was for us to go into the five-story apartment building like thunder with battering rams, the whole deal. The raids were my least favorite, but I understood why we were there. Normally a Fugitive Investigative Strike Team consisting of Feds, local police, and other state agencies extracted a witness, and FISTs fell under the purview of the marshals service. It wasn't a task force without us, so our office had been tacked on.
Chicago PD went in first, the DEA douchebags following. Ian and I stayed put on the first floor until we heard shots fired in the stairwell. We went straight up while people yelled that there were men escaping onto the roof.
I yelled first to let anyone else around know what was going on, then for backup, but they'd all scattered to the lower floors, so that left Ian and me to charge up to try and head off whoever was up there.
"Do not go out that door!" I yelled after Ian, who, as usual, was in front of me. The only reason he'd been second earlier in the day was because I'd been in the passenger seat when the guy ran by the car. Nine times out of ten, I followed Ian into whatever the situation was.
He burst through the heavy metal door leading to the roof and, of course, drew immediate answering gunfire.
I ran out after him in time to see Ian level his gun and fire. Only in the movies did people yell "don't shoot" when people were actually shooting at them.
The guy went down, and I watched another turn and run. He didn't have a weapon that I could see, so I holstered my gun and took off after him as Ian rolled the guy he'd shot onto his back and roared at the men who had followed us up to take him.
I raced across the rooftop hard on the fugitive's heels, churning my legs and arms to catch him before he reached the edge. He sped toward the building's ledge, then launched himself into the air. I had no idea if there was another building there, but since there had been no scream, I pushed myself harder and followed after him into the sky.
The rooftop of the four-story building across the narrow alley was a welcome sight, and I landed easily, somersaulting over onto one knee, then pushing up into a dead sprint again. I guessed we were out of real estate when the man abruptly stopped, whirling to face me. Pulling a butterfly knife from his back pocket, he flipped it open and advanced on me.
I pulled my Glock 20 and leveled it at him. "Drop the weapon, get on your knees, and lace your fingers on top of your head."
He was deciding—I could tell.
"Now," I ordered, my voice dipping an octave into a cold, dark place.
He muttered under his breath but released the knife and went to his knees. I moved fast, reaching his side before he complied with the entirety of my request, kicked the knife away, and pulled a set of Plasticuffs from my TAC vest. Shoving him facedown, I waited for backup.
My phone rang and I winced upon seeing the caller ID. "Hey."
"What the fuck was that?"
"That was the Ian Doyle special," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"Oh, no, fuck you! I don't jump off shit, Miro, only you do that!"
I did have a bit more of a history with that than he did. "Yeah, okay."
"Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm good," I replied, smiling into the phone. "Promise. I'll meet you downstairs as soon as I get some fucking help up here."
His inelegant snort made me smile.
Moments later I was swarmed by police officers ready to take the fugitive off my hands. As I was following the men down four flights, I asked the sergeant in front of me if we were transporting the criminals to their station, whichever one that was, or if they were going in our holding cell downtown.
"I think the DEA is taking custody of all three."
That meant all three men would be questioned and the one with the best information would be given a deal. The others would be turned over to the police. It was a waste of time for Ian and me to have even been there.
"Did you hear this bullshit?" I groused at Ian as he came hurdling up to me. "We don't even get—"
"Shut up," he growled, grabbing the armhole of my vest and yanking me forward. His gaze ran over me and I heard how rough his breathing was.
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," I whispered, leaning close so he could hear me but not touching, the motion making it seem like I was relating privileged information and nothing more.
"I have faith in you, don't get me wrong," he said quickly. "But you know as well as I do that you leaped without knowing what was there, and that's plain stupid."
He was right.
"Don't fuckin' do it again."
"No," I agreed, leaning back to search his face. "So am I forgiven?"
He nodded, and I finally got a trace of a smile.
We were going to head back to file a report when we saw the people who were flushed from the apartment, three guys in all, now sitting outside on the sidewalk.
"What's goin' on there?" I asked the closest officer, gesturing at the men.
"We're about to let 'em all go."
"Why?" Ian asked, clipping the word, clearly irritated.
"Hey, man," the cop responded tiredly, "we ran those guys through NCIC for outstanding warrants already, and they all came up clean. There's no use keeping 'em."
"Mind if we check?" I replied, trying to make my tone soothing.
"Only if you take custody," he replied petulantly. "I don't have time to stand around here with my thumb up my ass waiting on you."
"Sure," Ian agreed, his tone silky and dangerous. "Transfer custody to us."
It was done in moments, and the freed officer jogged over to let his sergeant know. His superior gave us a head tilt, clearly thinking we were DEA since he couldn't see the back of the vests. Had he known, he wouldn't have given the go-ahead. No one ever turned people over to the marshals because with our warrant information network we could always find something extra, just that bit more and being shown up pissed them off like nobody's business. No one ever hated asking for our help to pick someone up after the fact or on a lead that'd gone cold, but having the marshals show them up at the scene of a bust made everyone bitchy.
Ian pulled out his phone as I squatted down in front of the first guy.
"So who the fuck are you?" our first suspect asked.
"Marshal," I answered. "We're going to run you all for warrants again."
No one seemed concerned.
Mike Ryan and his partner, Jack Dorsey, were on desk duty that morning, which meant they got to look up the records of the men sitting on the curb. We released the suspects one by one—Ryan and Dorsey making a note of it over the phone—removed their cuffs, and wished them a good day. "Go to hell" was the most popular response to Ian's cheerfulness while "fuck off" ran a close second.
It turned out a warrant for attempted murder and aggravated battery came back for the last guy.
"Winner winner chicken dinner," I announced, smirking at him.
"Fuckin' marshals," Dario Batista griped. "I thought this was a DEA bust."
Ian cackled as we hauled him to his feet.
"Come on, man," he whined. "I have information I can give you. Let's work out a deal."
"We're marshals," Ian said as the three of us began walking back to the Taurus. "We don't make deals."
I called in as we stuffed him into the backseat.
"What the hell kind of clown car is this?" Batista complained.
"It's fuel-efficient," I rationalized as I set the childproof lock on the back door before getting in.
"God, I hate this car," Ian growled irritably.
I promised we'd check on a new one when we got back to the office.


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Huge, hospitable and a hive of activity. That sums up the scene at the Perdeberg cellar now and over the next few weeks with harvest in full swing. At least seven ranges of pocket-friendly wines of consistent quality flow from this impressive set-up, but the winery is first of all known for putting chenin blanc on the map before the trend became universal. It also makes fullest use of the fact that among its 37 member-growers there are many who supply the cellar with the fruit-intense grapes from thousands of hectares of bush vines, many of them venerable and influenced by varying micro-climates
Recently I sampled wines from four of the ranges , adding up to a delicious and diverse case of enjoyment.
I started with the 2018 chenin blanc from the Perdebeg Classic range: Just as expected, mouthfuls of fresh and fruity flavour, notably peach and melon, delivering the characterful Swartland flavours that no other region can duplicate. A crisp wine that will happily take on the roles of both sundowner and partner summer brunch and autumn picnics. It's a wine that complements a wide range of vegetarian and poultry-based savoury fare with imperceptible ease. R43 from cellar door.
Rossouw's Heritage takes chenin blanc up a notch or three, leading a patrician blend, with grenache blanc and viognier bringing up the rear in the 2017 vintage. I opened the 2015 wine, which is made up of 40% chenin, 27% Roussanne, 13% viognier, finished with 10% each of clairette blanche and sauvignon blanc.
The wine pays tribute to Jan Rossouw of the farm Vryguns, who, 78 years ago suggested to his fellow grape farmers in the Perdeberg area, that they should join forces and increase marketing strength. Which is exactly what they did, to become producers of mostly dryland, or non-irrigated vines, many of them venerable, yielding intensely flavoured grapes.
This is a memorable wine, showing off the Cape 's ability to make outstanding white blends. The nose offers a mix of stone, citrus and sub-tropical fruit, followed by the spectrum of summer fruit flavours on the palate along with vanilla from 20% oaking. The fruit is well balanced by fresh crispness, adding up to rich and memorable mouthfuls. Deserves to accompany gourmet creations based on shellfish, duck and chicken and Moroccan tagines. R120 from cellar door.
Perdeberg has added a new rosé to the substantial Vineyard Collection. The label of the 2018 Cinsault Dry Rosé is self-explanatory – the alcohol levels are a pleasing low 11,5%, the dryland cinsault adds its own distinctive character to this light-bodied, fruity summer sipper that will also make an excellent autumn picnic mate. R70 from cellar door.
Another rosé from the Vineyard Collection, this time a Cap Classique sparkler produced from pinot noir. Silver-topped, offering inviting hues of salmon pink, the Perdeberg pinot noir rosé MCC 2015 combines bubbles with berry and watermelon flavours, medium-bodied with whiffs of characteristic biscuit on the palate. A delicious choice for Valentine celebrations..R120 from cellar door..
On to the reds, starting with the Perdeberg SSR, (Soft Smooth Red) 2017 from the recently introduced Soft Smooth range (just three labels, white, rosé and red), an entry-level, easy-drinking blend of shiraz, cinsault, cabernet sauvignon and cabernet franc. Partly wooded to add a little body to the juicy fruit and soft tannins, with alcohol levels at 14% this is a sweetish wine that will go down well at braais and happily accompany pizza parties. The mountain zebra image is repeated in the markings of the screwcap. R45 from cellar door.
And, finally, back to The Vineyard Collection fo the Perdeberg Malbec 2017, a dark-hued medium-bodied wine lent backbone by a year in French oak. Accessible and destined to partner red meat dishes throughout the cooler months. R80 from cellar door.


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- Patentanmeldung (2) (entfernen)
Organisationseinheit der BAM
- 8 Zerstörungsfreie Prüfung (2) (entfernen)
Standardization in fibre-optic sensing for structural safety - activities in the ISHMII and IEC (2015)
Fiber-optic sensors are increasingly established in the sensor market. Their advantages have unquestionably been verified by numerous demonstrations to enhance the operational performance of aged structures or to monitor the structural behavior of safety-relevant structures or their components. However, there are some barriers in use due to a lack of extensive standardization of fiber-optic sensors. This leads very often to restraints in the users community. The paper shows the status in international standardization of fiber-optic sensors as well as current activities in leading institutions such as IEC and ISHMII and others with the purpose of providing relevant standards for a broader use of selected fiber-optic sensor technologies.
Measurement and data recording systems are important parts of a holistic Structural Health Monitoring (SHM) system. New sensor technologies such as fiber-optic sensors are often used; however, standards (or at least guidelines) are not yet available or internationally approved. This lack in standardization makes the acceptance of FOS technologies in complex SHM systems substantially difficult. A standard family for different FOS technologies is therefore being developed that should help to design SHM systems in an optimal way. International standardization activities take place in several standardization bodies such as IEC and ASTM, and within SHM societies such as ISHMII. The paper reports on activities in standardization of fiber-optic sensors, on results already achieved, and on newly started projects. Combined activities of fiber sensor experts and SHM experts from Civil Engineering are presented. These contributions should help owners of structures as well as developers of sensors and monitoring systems to select effective and validated sensing technologies. Using these standards, both parties find recommendations how to proceed in development of SHM systems to evaluate the structural behavior based on e.g. standardized fiber optic sensors, and to derive necessary measures, e.g. the optimal maintenance strategy.


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Your Eco-Code is your Eco-Schools mission statement, demonstrating your commitment to improving the school environment.
Video - Eco-Code
Find out what makes a good Eco-Code, including an example of a rap!
Your Eco-Code gives you a great opportunity to draw attention to your Eco-Schools work within your local community. The format of the Eco-Code is entirely up to pupils. It could be a list of statements, an acrostic, a mascot, a logo, a rap or song or a poem. It should be memorable and familiar to everyone in the school and reinforce the main objectives of your Action Plan. As part of your Green Flag application, we will ask you to share your Eco-Code with us towards the end of your Green Flag journey.
Your Eco-Code should:
- Be created by pupils with input from the whole school.
- Be reviewed every two years to ensure that it continues to reflect your Action Plan.
- Be displayed on your Eco-Schools noticeboard and prominently throughout the school.
Eco-Code Case Studies
Lumsden Primary School
Middlefield Residential School
Your Eco-Code can use boardmaker symbols too.
Shaw Mhor PS - Eco Warriors Song
Cults Primary School
Cults Primary School's Eco-Code is an acrostic. Download.
Douglas Academy
Govanhill Nursery
Avoch Primary School
Summerside Kindegarten
Wallace High School


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The three-day Barbados Masters Waterpolo Tournament splashes off at the Aquatic Centre this Friday.
The Barbados Waterpolo Club will host the Old Mission Bay Water Polo Club from San Diego, as well as combined teams from Texas and Atlanta, USA. Barbados' two teams for this tournament will be the Sharks and the Dolphins.
Waterpolo has been around for decades in Barbados and has been re-energized in more recent years through the senior and junior programmes developed by the Barbados Waterpolo Club. The inaugural Darren Eastmond Waterpolo Tournament held during Easter 2013, showcased the growing talent pool on the island, as teams from the USA as well as individuals from the United Kingdom competed for the championship trophy. After a hard fought battle throughout the weekend the Barbados A team emerged victorious.
Not only will there be exciting games to watch this weekend, but club members will be available to provide information on joining the Barbados Waterpolo Club, the youth, junior and upcoming school programmes as well as instructions on the sport and the fitness benefits.
Friday 15th August
– US Combined Team v Dolphins – 6:30.p.m.
– Old Mission Bay v Sharks – 7:45 p.m.
Saturday 16th August
Morning Session
– US Combined Team v Old Mission Bay –
9 a.m.
– Dolphins v Sharks – 10:15 a.m.
Evening Session
– US Combined team v Sharks – 5:30 p.m.
– Dolphins v Old Mission Bay – 6:45 p.m.
Sunday 17th August
– #2 Ranked Team v #3 Ranked Team – 9 a.m.
– #1 Ranked Team v #4 Ranked Team –
10:15 a.m.
– Bronze Medal Game – 3 p.m.
– Final – 4:15 p.m.


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Kinh Do's Financial Stategic Report
Treasury Team: Tran Minh Thuy
Do Thi Hai Ha
Dang Huyen Anh
Pham Thu Hang
Dang Huyen My
To Huyen Linh
Ha Noi, March 19, 2013
Hanoi, March 19, 2013
Dear Board of Directors – Kinh Do Corporation
We have the honor to present to you the strategic financial report of Kinh Do Corporation. This report aims to analyze both internal and external factors that affect the position of the company in present as well as in the future. An overall picture of growing opportunities also contributes to the future development of Kinh Do Corporation by presenting potential projects. Our report has been prepared in accordance with the Annual Financial Statements of Kinh Do Corporation from 2008 to 2012. As a result of detailed and in-depth research, Overview, Environment Scanning, Financial Analysis and two Project Plans have been incorporated to provide background information concerning current financial status and scenarios for future growth of Kinh Do Corporation. Board of Directors could utilize our report as a source of stimulating ideas to enhance the business operation of the company. If you have any questions regarding the content of this report or would like to get further information, please contact us. This is a list of our group members: 1. Trần Minh Thùy - 1113150044 – email: email@example.com 2. Đặng Huyền Anh - 1114150040
3. Đỗ Thị Hải Hà - 1113150045
4. Phạm Thu Hằng - 1114150039
5. Đặng Huyền My - 1114150042
6. Tô Huyền Linh - 1114150041
We hope that this report will merit your approval.
Respectfully yours,
Treasury Team of Kinh Do Corporation
I. Overview of the confectionery industry in Vietnam
The Vietnamese sweetmeat industry is one which has strong growth and is barely affected by economic changes. Figures show that since 2008, retail sales of confectionery products in US dollars in Vietnam have grown by 114 percent. At the same time, Vietnam's confectionery market has attracted more local and foreign companies thanks to the country's large population with high demand for a variety of foods. Recently, it is said that Nabati, a popular brand from Indonesia, planned to build a factory in Vietnam. Meanwhile, foreign confectionery producers around the world have increased exports to Vietnam via local importers. Though only occupying 20-25% of the market shares for the time being, the flood of imported sweetmeats with high quality and spectacular designs in the market calls for Kinh Do to upgrade our technology so as to improve productivity and quality, satisfying consumer demand. Especially, with a good understanding of local consumer psychology, we can do researching and create new flavors suitable to the palate of local consumers. Thus, we prepare this report with the aim of further reinforcing Kinh Do's position of the domestically dominating brand. II. The main objective of the report
The main purpose of this report is to evaluate the current financial status of Kinh Do Company with analysis of both internal and external factors that affect the position of Kinh Do Company. This report also brings forward a scenario of growing opportunities for Kinh Do Company by presenting two profitable projects. We hope that this report helps the Board of Directors have a comprehensive insight so as to make wise decisions for the flourishing of the company. III. The content of the report
1. Overview of Kinh Do Corporation
2. Environment scanning
3. Financial analysis
4. SWOT analysis and two potential projects
IV. Data
We collect data from financial reports of Kinh Do Company in the 5-year period from 2008 to the fourth quarter of 2012. V. Limitations
Due to the lack of information, some data is inadequate, not well-proportioned and difficult to search for or calculate. We also don't have the sufficient raw data to evaluate the capital investment and profits of the...
References: 59
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Network for Creative Enterprise
A partnership which offered business support for creative individuals and small companies to develop a creative idea into an economically sustainable business.
Bristol+Bath Creative R+D
Current activity
A five-year programme connecting the worlds of university research and creative business to develop a shared vision for tomorrow's creative industries.
Cinema Rediscovered 2019
Thu 25 - Sun 28 July
Join us for the fourth edition of Cinema Rediscovered – a chance to discover some of the finest new digital restorations, contemporary classics and film print rarities from across the globe where they were meant to be experienced – on the big screen.
Welcome to the Pervasive Media Studio
Want to be inspired, take a break, and learn more about brilliant projects and people working with creative technology? Maybe you want to know what creative technology even is exactly? Visit the Pervasive Media Studio and find out more!
Layered Reality 5G weekend: an introduction
A short film introducing the Layered Reality 5G weekend: the first urban testbed for public users.
Unlimited Connects
Ended in May 2018
MAYK, Unlimited and Watershed worked in partnership in May 2018 to deliver Unlimited Connects, a day-long celebration with Deaf and disabled artists.
Bristol Youth Links
Ended in March 2018
A collaboration between Watershed and Bristol City Council to create a platform for young voices in Bristol.
Layered Realities, 5G showcase
Ended in March 2018
An exploration of the potential of 5G through a series of experimental events - asking artists, researchers and creatives to produce bold new works in public space.
Current activity
We develop young people's digital skills, voice, confidence, experience and networks so they go into the creative sector and thrive. We want young people's voices and creativity to be setting the agenda in the sector, driving it forward so it continues to innovate and inspire.
BFI Film Academy Bristol
Current activity
The film and television industry in the UK is thriving but a skills shortage and lack of diversity within the sector threaten to undermine it's future. The BFI Film Academy identifies and nurtures young talent to help the sector continue to thrive.
The Last Blues Song of a Lost Afronaut
An immersive theatre piece, developed as part of our 2016 Artist in Residence programme, in which protagonist Afronaut Femi travels through space in search of life on other planets.
Playable City
Current activity
Playable City puts people and play at the heart of the future city, re-using city infrastructure and re-appropriating smart city technologies to create connections – person to person, person to city.
Venue hire
Current activity
Watershed runs a thriving Event, Conference and Room Hire business with all income generated going to support our programme of cultural cinema, art & technology and work with young people.
Our Residency Programme
Current activity
Watershed's annual funded Residency Programme supports practitioners to develop creative technology projects.
City Campus
Current activity
Watershed is part of University of West of England's City Campus
Developing Virtual Reality
Current activity
As Watershed partners on a new Bristol VR Lab, we share knowledge and learning across Virtual, Mixed and Augmented Reality.
Film Hub South West
Current activity
Watershed is the regional Hub Lead Organisation for the BFI's Film Audience Network initiative to develop audiences for a broader range of film. We work with cinemas, film exhibitors and distributors across the South West to promote great British and international independent cinema.
Current activity
Talks and interviews recorded as part of our annual Filmic programme, exploring the enduring relationship between music and moving image.


text: Stolberg Law advises designers, retailers, brokers, agents, models and consultants in the fashion industry. As an off-shoot of its Product Distribution practice group, Stolberg Law, LLC understands the chain of distribution of merchandise from designers and manufacturers to retailers and consumers. In addition to distribution of fashion merchandise, Stolberg Law advises designers in joint ventures and employment agreements, and models in the procurement of agency contracts.


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As we prepare to present our newest showcase The Authentic Fake, we
start by asking the question: What is hyperreality?
The idea of reality and fiction seamlessly blending together to the point where human consciousness is no longer able to distinguish between the two is not new. It can be argued that Plato's allegory of the cave was already dealing with the problem of differentiating between reality and appearance. Centuries later, German philosopher Immanuel Kant would declare that perceiving such difference is simply impossible since there is no way of telling how reality in itself looks like since we don't actually perceive the real but rather construct it in our minds while trying to categorise and conceptualise our surroundings.
While some thinkers posited some ways of approximating the real, such as
intuition or the use of the body as a system of knowledge, it was
Postmodern thought that took the problem one step further by declaring not only that reality cannot be known, but that such impossibility was due to the fact that the real had already been swallowed and replaced by its own copy. The hyperreal corresponds to a state of affairs where the blending of reality and fiction that Plato described thousands of years ago has taken over as a 'simulation' of the real. The complexity and imperfection of individual and social life has been replaced by its own perfected representation, as if layers of simulation and re-creations have ended up burring the real deep down, leaving us to live in a simulated version of the world.
Monira Al Qadiri, The Craft, 2017
This is what the title of our upcoming showcase refers to, The Authentic
Fake is the way theorist Umberto Eco has described hyperreality and the
frenetic efforts to fabricate 'real' experiences by creating fake environments that aim to be even better than the real thing, usually with the goal of making us into better consumers and continue to feed into the market economy. In this way, we increasingly see how stylised, simulated versions of people, places and situations are displacing organic reality and replacing it with a model of the real generated from ideas and that bears no relation with anything we can actually perceive.
As we progressively accept the simulation as real, for example by taking
social media images as the real thing or even better than the real thing, the
difference between model and copy, fake and real, organic and inorganic,
humans and things, collapses and clear distinctions can not longer be made, allowing us to experiment the fake as real and vice versa. But far from taking this as a sign of the triumph of the fake, artists and creatives are turning this break down of differences into a territory of possibility.
For this showcase, our line up of creatives are taking the concept of the
hyperreal as a starting point to question and destabilise totalising concepts such as identity, origin, truth, gender and other constructions. We are asking what are the possibilities of a reality that no longer has to adjust to the observable but that can be generated from the multiplicity of ways that we feel and think as individuals, and what this means for our own social realities. The hyperreal can introduce a playful aesthetic element into social and political discourses, breaking up rigid ways of being that respond more to the repetition of old patterns rather than to the inner lives of individuals.
The Authentic Fake is the culmination of a programme exploring the nature of reality. After looking into the way we receive and decipher sensorial
information in Decoding Sensations and diving into altered states of
consciousness with [IN]sane, we are turning our eyes to the world of
hyperreality. Join us in Amsterdam , London and Berlin for a programme
presenting visual art exhibition, live art presentations, talks, non-monetary
auctions and more, and discover how artists today are playing and
responding to the notion of the hyperreal.
This blog post is written by Jimena Mendizábal del Moral


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PC ConnectableLablecity PC Connectable Label Printers
Labelcity offers reliable and quality label printers from popular brands such as Brother, Seiko and the Dymo LabelWriter range. PC connectable label printing machines. Labelers that connect to your pc or laptop via usb. The most efficient solutions for your professional labeling needs. These label printers use direct thermal printing. Direct thermal printers do not use ink, toner or ribbon.
Need Help? With an established sales and support department, we can handle any label machine query you may have. Give us a call or chat with us on our Live chat.


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Thank you....
You are now registered to participate in the Bruce Gilden, Miami Workshop - "Be Yourself". Your application has been processed and images received.
We'll be in contact shortly after your application and images have been reviewed by Gilden.
If you should have any questions please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.com


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UPDATE: More than 100 Protest the Houston Raid
There is a great report from Para Justicia y Libertad about community members protesting last Wednesday's ICE raid at Action Rags USA in Houston, TX. Below is a little bit of detailed information on the raid and the protest:
More than 100 community members and organizations met in front of the George Thomas "Mickey" Leland Federal Building yesterday to denounce the raid that took place Wednesday at Action Rags U.S.A. in the heart of Houston's East End. According to local CBS affiliate, KHOU, agents arrested 166 of the 186 employees. ICE released 73 people who had medical problems or were sole care providers. Another 20 were released by cause they either were here legally or were born here. So here is the break down:
166 - arrested -20 - released, here legally ——— 146 - remaining -73 - released for medical problems ——— 73 - detained
The remain 73 who are detained, 70 of them are women, so only 3 of them are men.
Click here to view the original post.


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Last week: As reported by the Sun Sentinel, for the second straight year no school will be permitted to drop more than one letter grade when the State Department of Education releases its report card on schools. The Florida Board of Education took the commissioner of education's recommendation to take a year and not implement more vigorous grading standards. School grades are due soon and many A and B schools were expected to drop to a C or D because of tougher cutoff scores on the writing portion of the FCAT and mediocre performances in reading and math, according to Sun Sentinel reporting. While a continuous raising of standards for the last decade for students and schools has led to significant improvements in our schools, this delay should give the commissioner of education, working with outstanding superintendents like Robert Runcie, an opportunity to improve the data and grading system, basing it on more realistic measures, as well as time to implement the very important new Common Core standards that will lead to more students being prepared for college and meaningful jobs.
Looking ahead: School facilities at public education institutions at all levels, K-12, state colleges and universities are falling behind in deferred maintenance, renovation and remodeling needs because the primary source of funding, Public Education Capital Outlay or PECO funds, has virtually run dry. Serious policymakers are starting to realize that Tallahassee needs to find a solution, or face deteriorating facilities and inadequate space to grow higher education. Meanwhile, lawmakers are sounding more optimistic about passing some form of casino gambling in the next legislative session. There will be much to debate on this topic, but if it is going to happen, this could provide a source of funds to help schools upgrade and update and expand their facilities to the 21st century, and create construction jobs that prime the pump of our local economies and educate our students in our increasingly global society.


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Christmas Jam
The Commonwealth Room
195 W. Commonwealth Ave.
Salt Lake City, UT
Doors 7:00 PM / Show 8:00 PM
This event is all ages
Bring the entire family to this all ages show featuring familiar tunes of the season performed by a collection of Utah's finest musicians and vocalists. Celebrating its ninth anniversary in 2018, this annual event is produced by Christmas Jam of Utah and proceeds from every performance benefit local charities. We are proud to continue supporting The Road Home this year and adding Toys For Tots to our efforts!
Christmas Jam began in 2010 as an all ages, holiday themed rock concert meant to bring the local music scene in the Salt Lake City, Utah area together to celebrate the season and serve the less fortunate through the gift of music. What happened that first year was nothing short of miraculous and we have enjoyed overwhelming growth in both attendance and participation with each passing season.
Bring new, unwrapped toys, clothing, shoes, or blankets for discounts on concessions at the show! (Does not include alcohol sales)
Follow us on Facebook (ChristmasJamofUtah), Twitter (@ChristmasJam), Instagram (christmasjam), and on the web at www.christmasjam.rocks for chances to win tickets and other prizes!
Buy now with no additional fees!
Show your ticket for Christmas Jam to your server at Pat's BBQ the night of the show for 10% off your entire meal! Pat's is conveniently located next to The Commonwealth Room at 155 W Commonwealth Ave.
The Commonwealth Room | 195 W. Commonwealth Ave. | email@example.com
Follow us on social media: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter
Thanks for keeping it live!
Who's Going
Upcoming Events
The Commonwealth Room
- Sorry, there are currently no upcoming events.


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During the 40th Anniversary thanksgiving service of the St. Barnabas ECCE Centre, Mrs. Joan Yuille – Williams receives an award for Community Service.Giving the Award is Ms. Glenfield, the daughter of Mrs. Marjorie Theodore the founding Principal of St. Barnabas Nursery School.
Ms. Magdalene Warner receives a Long Service Award at the St Barnabas ECCE Center 40th Anniversary Service.
During the 40TH anniversary Thanksgiving Service of the St Barnabas ECCE Centre, Mrs.. Lenora Ross receives an award for Community Service for her contribution to the Centre over the years. Giving the Award is Ms. Lynette Roberts member of the Parish and Sunday School teacher.