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Buster Posey: Preparation is important
Giants catcher helps pitchers get ready for upcoming starts
Over the course of the season, every club has a number of different series to play, whether it be at home when a new team comes into town or your club on the road, or heading to a new city to face another team.
For me to be ready, as both a hitter and catcher, I have developed a routine that works for me, even though it is a routine that I tweak all the time. I think as my career goes along and I continue to gain more experience, there will be more times and instances where I can find a different way or two to make me feel as best prepared as I can be.
As a hitter, the main thing prior to the start of a new series is to go over the video of the opposing pitcher you are going to be facing. On the whole, I am really not that big of a video guy. I think it can sort of lead to a lot of paralysis by analysis.
As a catcher, I will watch a little video on some of the guys who our pitcher is going to face then. I will also touch base with Dave Righetti, our pitching coach, and a few more guys on our coaching staff to make sure we are all on the same page.
A series can be as short as two days and some extend to as many as four games. For me, I take it day by day, game by game. I do that because I want to put as much focus as I can on the game at hand, the one most immediate. From there, we will attack the next day and repeat a lot of the same routine when it comes to video.
You also sort of find the balance of what your starting pitchers like the day they pitch. Some like conversation and some don't like to talk much. Some guys want to really get into the zone. It is a mindset, and they like to be left alone most of the time.
I think it is your responsibility as a catcher to know and to be prepared for the way they like to prepare. Everyone is a little bit different in that regard, but really it is about trying to make everyone as comfortable as they can be.
Also, I think the work load can be less when you play a certain team a lot of times. In our division, we will see a lot of the Dodgers, Padres, Rockies and Diamondbacks. When you see them that first time during a season, it may be more work initially than it is as the season goes along and you face one of those clubs more often.
Sometimes you get to see the same guys for a number of years, but it is good to get a refresher prior to the first game of a series and to familiarize yourself with some of the new faces that a team might have.
When Interleague play hits, for me, it is more of a crash course, so to speak. That is because you only see those guys for that one time.
Giants catcher Buster Posey has made a fine return to the San Francisco lineup after being limited to 45 games last season due to a fractured fibula and torn ligaments in his ankle. He made the National League All-Star squad this year and is batting .297 with 11 home runs and 47 RBIs.


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subset: commoncrawl


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A collection of scholarly works about individual liberty and free markets. A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.
Magna Carta (1215) is one of the foundation documents of Anglo-American legal and constitutional liberty. The books in this collection contain various copies of the charter (in both Latin and English) as well as essays about its significance. To explore this topic further we suggest that you also look in the Forum under Key Documents and Essays on Law.


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In effort to spice up the really fun toys she owns and give them the chance to be a star, I made up 5 "fun boxes." Each box has a few toys and activities she hasn't played with in a while but I know she will likely still get a kick out of. Every weekday morning she gets a different box, and it's hers to play with for the whole day. I rotate some of their contents each week to keep things fresh.
We've been using the fun boxes for 3 weeks now, and I'm amazed by what a huge hit they've been. The first thing she asks for upon waking is "Today's fun box, please!" She spends a good deal of her independent play time with them. All her other toys, books, and art supplies are still readily available to her. The boxes are just a way of highlighting and encouraging that independent play.
This week's boxes feature:
Lacing/Sewing Activities
- lacing beads
- lacing dress-up bears
- sink mat (from Dollar Tree) and lengths of ribbon
- rubber drawer liner, yarn, and yarn needle
- cut straw segments and string
Fine Motor Activities
- magnet set
- pony beads, pom pom balls, buttons, ice cube tray, tongs
- puzzles
- reusable stickers (like Colorforms)
- bubble wrap
Art Activities
- paper and stickers
- paper and glitter glue pens
- paper, crayons, envelopes, old address labels
- paper, scissors, glue stick
- paper and Band-Aids
Card Games
I buy flash cards from Target's Dollar Spot. She loves to use the cards for storytelling, matching games, other made-up games, or just looking at and talking about the pictures.
This week she's really into my old Eyes on Nature animal books.
A few notes:
- I try to put one or two toys/activities I know she's crazy about, as well as a couple she hasn't shown much interest in in the past. It's amazing how the novelty of the fun box can make previously untouched toys seem so much cooler.
- I use plastic baby food containers to corral small items within the boxes.
- The best part of this is you can start with whatever toys/materials you have around and add more as you find good deals. She loves having a brand new trinket pop up unexpectedly in the fun box.
Here are some links to inexpensive (most are free!) homemade fun box activities we've made:
february Transferring
First Embroidery
Color Matching with Gift Bows
Magnetic Colored Popsicle Sticks
Magnetic Pom Pom Balls
Erasers and Suction Cups Activity
Paint Chip Matching Game
Uppercase and Lowercase Matching Eggs
Animal Matching Game
Pool Noodle Art
Button Snake Toy
Memory Matching Toy
Ribbons in a Bottle Toy
Clothespin Clipping Toy
Pom Pom Push Toy
Pipe Cleaner Poking Toy


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FLORHAM PARK, N.J. - By the time Will Campbell had gotten off the phone with his parents, the meeting between Geno Smith and the offensive linemen was over. But Smith made sure he got his hotel roommate up to speed before Day 1 of rookie minicamp.
"As soon as he got back in the room, he told me: 'Oh, you weren't in the meeting, come on,' " said Campbell, who went over play-count cadences with Smith for "a good 15-20 minutes" Thursday night.
Despite the reports of Smith being a prima donna, the Jets' second-round pick already has impressed his fellow rookies with his dogged pursuit of perfection. Even coach Rex Ryan took note of Smith's presence on the field, saying: "It's unusual the way he did command the huddle. That's sharp."
Soon after Smith fired his agents, reports surfaced that he was a diva with unrealistic draft-day expectations. The former West Virginia quarterback, who was taken 39th overall by the Jets, has denied those anonymous accusations and said Friday that he's never been one to pay attention to the media "and probably never will."
"I think it's been a more eventful few weeks for the media," Smith said. "I've just been my natural old self. Nothing's changed, I'm not feeling any way towards any of it. Like I said, I [couldn't] care less about it. My only job is to focus on what I have here and get better."
His new teammates use words like "wholesome," "humble" and "leader" to describe the QB, who will don No. 7. "As soon as he walked in, he ordered something to eat and got in his playbook," said Campbell, a sixth-round pick who played defense as a senior at Michigan but will switch to guard. "So as a leader, and as my quarterback, I love to see something like that."
"Right when he walked in the door, he was bright and happy," added guard Brian Winters, a third-round pick out of Kent State. "You definitely feel like he has those leadership skills that we definitely need as a rookie class. We've got some good offensive linemen coming in and we want to do everything we can to help him succeed."
Despite those rave character reviews, Smith was highly critical of his Day 1 performance. "I'll let the coaches do the grading. But if I say it, it's an 'F' because I want to be an 'A-plus,' " he said.
Smith said he already has studied film of former NFL QBs who played in similar systems, guys like Joe Montana, Steve Young, Jeff Garcia, Donovan McNabb and Brett Favre. "The West Coast system is one of the toughest ones to learn, but I don't think it was too foreign to me," said Smith, who has yet to choose a new agent.
Though he insisted he's not focused on being the starter in Week 1, behind the scenes, he's preparing like someone who expects to have the ball in his hand every down.


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The showcase village of CUMALIKIZIK, set on the lower slopes of Uludağ, 17km from Bursa on the Ankara road – head east, then south – is the most attractive of several such kizik (valley) villages in the region. While the earliest records of the village mosque and hamam date from 1685, it's thought to be at least three centuries older. Cumalıkızık's cobbled streets are full of traditional dwellings, some restored and painted, others leaning brokenly into each other.
The narrow alleys that radiate from the village square, dominated by two enormous plane trees, are often only wide enough for pedestrians and pack animals. The ground and first floors of the village houses traditionally harboured the storerooms and stables, while the living quarters with their latticed bay windows were upstairs under tiled eaves. Many of the surviving double-front doors sport large-headed nails, wrought-iron strips and massive handles.
Top image: Cumalikizik, Turkey © Hakan Eliacik/Shutterstock
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| 6.7°C Belfast
People should be braced for "very high" levels of air pollution over the next few days, experts have warned.
The East of England and Midlands are the worst-affected areas today but large swathes of England and Wales will see high levels of pollution tomorrow, the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra) said.
The elevated pollution levels have been caused by a combination of light south-easterly winds, the continental air flow and dust which has blown up from the Sahara desert, a spokeswoman said.
Today north-west Norfolk should experience the highest level of air pollution.
According to Defra's pollution forecast, the people in the region can expect "very high" levels of pollution.
Other parts of East Anglia will experience "high" levels and parts of south-east England and the Humber region will experience "moderate" pollution.
" The current elevated pollution levels over parts of the UK are caused by light winds allowing the build-up of pollution, plus dust from the Sahara contributing to pollution levels," according to the Defra forecast.
However, tomorrow experts are anticipating "h igh" or "very high" air pollution levels across much of England and Wales.
And the high levels of pollution are expected to continue across East Anglia and the Midlands on Thursday.
But the air pollution is expected to ebb away by Friday.
Last weekend, some people found their cars to be covered in a light coating of red dust. The Met Office said that a large amount of sand and dust was swept up by storm winds in the Sahara Desert.
Experts said that the airborne particles of dust were blown north to the UK where they combined with our warm air and were deposited during showers.
A Defra spokeswoman said: "The high level of air pollution this week is due to a combination of local emissions, light winds, pollution from the continent and dust blown over from the Sahara.
"We want to keep improving air quality and have introduced a new five-day forecast service in addition to investing heavily in local and transport initiatives to tackle this issue head-on."


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A couple of weeks after the earthquake, the werewolves came down from the hills.
"It's serious!" one man said.
He was talking about the lougarou, a distant cousin of the werewolf. In Haitian lore the lougarou was a kind of sorcerer who had learned to transform himself into an animal – a cat, a goat, or even a cow. Thus disguised, the lougarou went out into the night to feast on the blood of small children. Two or three days after such a visitation, children would sicken and die. Now, with so many people in Port-au-Prince sleeping in the open air, the lougarou were believed to present an exceptional danger.
He told me that not here but farther up on the mountain the werewolves had already killed a number of small children. This was the way the lougarou story always went – not here, but not far away, the lougarou were prowling. Another man told me that a brigade vigilance was formed to keep an eye out. Our baby's nanny later said that the police in her neighborhood had instituted a policy of zero tolerance for looters and lougarou: Both were killed on sight.
We were in the hills of Carrefour Feuilles, a neighborhood above Port-au-Prince. Before the quake small cinder-block houses had been stacked steeply one upon the next, climbing the bowls of the mountain, the inhabitants maneuvering through tiny alleyways. When the quake came, one house took down the next, leaving the entire hillside a smear of concrete and rubble and fallen satellite dishes.
"But why do lougarou want to suck children's blood?" I asked.
The question provoked discussion. One man proposed it was a vice, like a taste for whiskey or smoking. Another man just shrugged. But a third man said, "Le lougarou – c'est le mal absolu." The lougarou is absolute evil. I suppose, thinking it over now, that it was easier to stay awake at night watching for werewolves than it was to stay on guard for lethal aftershocks.
The earthquake was still recent enough that every passing truck gave me the shivers. Very early one morning, my phone rang, but when I answered it, the caller abruptly hung up. This pattern irritatingly repeated itself perhaps five or six times. This was Venance Lafrance's way of saying he was not dead.
I had met Venance three years earlier, shortly after my wife and I moved to Haiti. She had found a job in the justice section of the United Nations peacekeeping mission here, working with judges, prosecutors, and lawyers to reform the Haitian legal system. I had just published my first novel, and I figured that I could avoid writing a second one as easily in Haiti as anyplace else; in this I would eventually be proven completely correct. Cristina was initially assigned to the town of Jérémie, only about 125 miles from Port-au-Prince but remote, like an island off the coast of Haiti, 15 hours of bad road between us and the capital. There were more coffin makers in Jérémie than restaurants, more donkeys than cars, and the paved roads petered out at the edge of town. We rented an old gingerbread house flanked by a quartet of sturdy mango trees. In the mornings merchants came down from the hills past our front gate with baskets of fruit balanced on their heads, and at night in bed under the mosquito net when the moon was silver and big, we heard voodoo drums and strange, spooky singing. I don't know if I've ever liked a place more in my life.
Everywhere I went in Jérémie, people asked me for money. Out front of the internet cafe, a woman who was almost obese looked up from her breakfast and told me she was hungry. At the market, on the beach, in the streets, people would throw up their palms and say, "Blan, ba'm cinq gourdes" – White, give me five gourdes. I've been in other places as poor as Jérémie – the slums of Calcutta, the highlands of northern Thailand – but I've never seen more persistent and aggressive begging. There is a Creole proverb: Degagé pa peché – getting by isn't a sin. Asking someone who had money for money was just another way of getting by.
Venance Lafrance asked me for money just a few days after I got to Jérémie. I was walking to the beach – think goats, chickens, cows, pigs, and wild turkeys; mud huts; a strip of white dirt road snaking along high cliffs diving down to a postcard sea – when a young man with a bag of sweet potatoes on his head accosted me and told me in broken French after some conversational preliminaries that he wanted to be an artist. He was 17 at the time but looked about 12. He looked a little like a space alien, with very big eyes, a wide, tall forehead, and high, prominent cheekbones tapering down to a narrow, angular chin. He was wearing a T-shirt that read life is short. eat dessert first. He was very skinny. I don't remember how he began the conversation, but the upshot was this: He was a student; he had no money; his mother had no money; his little brothers were hungry; and he wanted to be an artist. He had a terrific smile – chiefly what the good Lord gave him in exchange for all his troubles was this smile like an exploding sun. He asked me for money to feed his little brothers and I gave him the change in my pocket – about a buck-fifty. I wouldn't have been sad if I never saw him again.
In the weeks and months thereafter, no pretty lady has ever been courted by such an animated and constant suitor as I was courted by Venance Lafrance. He came by the house all the time. He was unshakable. My wife and I tried many schemes to convince Venance to leave us alone. I told him that he was allowed to visit only every third day. Every third day without fail he showed up at our door. We asked him to visit only between five and six in the evening, with the result that we had a standing appointment with Venance Lafrance at 5:01 pm. We told him not to visit us at all. Ha! He was resistant to hints, oblivious to suggestions. What did he want? Not just to ask for money, but also to say hello, or to eat a meal, or to hang around, or to ask a question. After I had known him a week, he told me that he loved me like a brother; after I'd known him a month, that he loved me like a father. What he wanted more than anything, I think, was to sit with us out on the terrace in the evening and belong.
In the end Venance wore me down. I came to like him. It was hard to be mean to somebody so young who wanted so badly to be liked. He was the kind of kid you could horse around with. He was always up for kicking around a soccer ball, or taking a trip to the beach. You could send him up the mango tree and he'd come down with a half-dozen fresh, juicy pieces of fruit. He had an easy laugh. You could read a book around him and he'd amuse himself, or you could tease him about girls and he'd laugh. After a couple of months in Jérémie, it got to be an accepted fact of life that two or three or five days a week, Venance Lafrance would show up at our house and hang around until we told him that he had to leave.
Brilliant smile aside, Venance wasn't very handsome. He had terrible body odor, and his hair was reddish at the roots, a sign of protein deficiency. He asked me for money to buy deodorant and shoe polish, which he rubbed on his head. Though he said he wanted to be an artist, I never saw him actually make art. He was functionally illiterate. He was one of the laziest people I've ever met – and I say this as someone who is quite lazy himself. He had been admitted to a free school of ironwork, which he often didn't bother to attend. We would later hire Venance and his younger brother to sweep our yard on Saturday mornings. His brother would arrive on time and work diligently. Venance would show up late, work halfheartedly, and leave early.
Venance Lafrance had only one real asset in life – but it was considerable. Despite every disadvantage that he suffered, despite every self-inflicted wound, Venance was nevertheless making his way in the world with radiant, unwavering optimism. One day he bought a hen whom he named Catalina. This was to be the start of a chicken-breeding empire. Then his family got hungry and ate Catalina. Venance was undismayed. He asked me for money to buy another starter chicken. If you gave Venance 50 gourdes, he'd give half to the kids on the street to buy candy – Venance saw himself as somebody who could afford to be generous. When he told us he wanted to be an artist, I think he chose the word almost at random from a list of grand words that to Venance were synonymous with hope. He would tell me later that he wanted to be a preacher, a doctor, an engineer. Step by step he went forward toward an opaque future that he was sure – absolutely, unquestionably sure – would one day be glorious.
In the meanwhile, he got by.
Walking around Port-au-Prince after the quake and talking to people, I learned all sorts of ways to describe in Creole just how a building fell down. A house that had held was said to havekembé, or hung tight, thank God. This was the case with my own house, in which not even the wineglasses had broken. A house with a crack or two or a hundred was fissuré, generally considered to be alarming depending only on the depth of the crack or its location. Sometimes a crack could be so wide as to admit sunlight and rain. Still more severe was a house that was fracturé, or fractured. This was the case with our immediate neighbor's house, whose walls split open to reveal the steel skeleton buried in the reinforced concrete. Some houses split in two – half the house coming down completely, the other half perfectly intact, leaving little windows into the occupants' lost worlds: a table still set for meals, books on bookshelves, a toilet. Even more dramatic than the fractured house was the house that was penché, or tilted. We saw such oddities all over town – houses that had suffered little or no apparent damage but were now tilting at extreme angles to the horizontal. The gravest category of destroyed home was said to have been krazé, or wiped out. If you wanted to add emphasis, you'd say that the house had been krazé net – the word net in this case meaning 100 percent, down to the ground, nothing left whatsoever but a pile of cement and twisted rebar.
The Lafrance family had not always been poor. Venance's mother had once been a successful merchant. When Venance was 12, his little brother Frandi got into a fight with a neighborhood bully. The other child was the son of a prominent Jérémie sorceress. Madame Lafrance and this other lady got to words. The other lady said, "Evelyne, you're too rich! You won't have money again!" Various magical curses were thus effected, and after that Venance's mother no longer had the strength to go to the market. That's how the Lafrance family fell on such hard times.
A couple of months after we met Venance, his mother came to visit us. Madame Lafrance was a slender, pretty woman in an ankle-length skirt who never smiled – she looked a little like she was suffering at all times from a very bad stomachache. She wanted, she told us, to start a little business buying vegetables wholesale off the boat from Port-au-Prince, then reselling them in the market, and she asked if we would be willing to invest in her enterprise.
Was she, I asked, still afraid of the effects of the magic curse?
"Oh no!" she said. That was all finished.
We gave her the money, but things didn't work out as well as we had hoped: Madame Lafrance invested half her funds in the lottery and the remainder in a large stock of garlic. Madame Lafrance did not win the lottery. The garlic failed to move in the market and then rotted. When we asked her what happened, she explained that her enemies had – once again! – used black magic to curse her and her market stall.
We kept trying to help the Lafrances. There is only one upside to living on 50 cents per day: It shouldn't be that hard to reach $1.50 per day. That's the difference between the bitterest poverty and what Haiti's former President Jean-Bertrand Aristide called "dignified poverty." We were willing to try most anything short of giving them a large wad of cash. What follows is a nonexhaustive list of various schemes we employed to help them:
Venance wanted to sell coconut water on the beach, at the big party the local population held every August to celebrate Jérémie's patron saint. I fronted Venance the capital to acquire the coconuts, but he forgot to bring his machete. When he went back home to get his machete, people stole all his coconuts.
… And then there was the time Madame Lafrance wanted to sell clothes on the street at Christmas. This scheme, too, was a failure, as Madame Lafrance bought ugly clothes. Also, we later learned, she gave away half of the clothes to her relatives.
… And then there was the time my wife and I came back from New York with a suitcase stuffed with merchandise that we'd found in a dollar store in Chinatown – a dozen toothbrushes for a dollar; children's toys; little clocks; cheap cosmetics; and so on. Madame Lafrance and Venance got to squabbling about just whom this merchandise was intended for. Both insisted that the other would waste the profits: Venance told us that his mother would spend the money on the lottery and magic; Madame Lafrance predicted that Venance would buy himself new clothes. Venance eventually dropped out of school to sell the merchandise himself. All the stock was sold at a loss, and Venance never went back to school, although he did acquire a nice wardrobe.
This last failure was what convinced us to leave the Lafrances to their own destiny. Our small experiment in social engineering had done more harm than good, and the Lafrances were as poor when we were done as when we started.
Port-Au-Prince after the quake abounded in conspiracy theories. Many people were convinced that the United States military had caused the quake, using advanced high-technology weapons. Apparently such weapons had once been featured on the Discovery Channel. The earthquake was said to be either the result of an experiment gone awry, or the prelude to an invasion. Why would you want to invade Haiti? I asked. Who wants this place? It seemed I was naive: People told me that Haiti possessed vast mineral wealth and untapped oil reserves. All this jibed nicely with a central facet of the Haitian worldview – namely, that the great nations of the world all yearned to dominate plucky little Haiti.
A cartoon in the standard fifth-grade textbook, Histoire de Mon Pays, illustrates the thesis nicely. Haiti is shown not as a small island in the Caribbean, but as a huge and swollen territory sprawling from the reaches of the North Pole to the equator. Four figures, ostentatiously white and with rapacious grins, stretch from the four corners of the globe to lay huge hairy hands on Haitian soil. They are labeled France, the United States, England, and Germany.
If all the world were conspiring against Haiti, then your neighbor was probably conspiring against you. Truckloads of 55-pound sacks of rice were being given away every day throughout Port-au-Prince after the quake, a program organized by the World Food Program, working with a consortium of international NGOs. These NGOs were staffed by foreigners and relied on the cooperation of Haitian staff to decide who should receive assistance and who shouldn't. It was a commonplace of tent-city life that the Haitian staff had rigged the game: They were giving out rice only to their own families, or they were demanding kickbacks for the ration cards. People took me aside to level accusations at their neighbors, who were said to have counterfeited their card; or sold their rice on the black market at exorbitant prices; or feigned extreme poverty to receive aid, but were secretly wealthy.
The mood of suspicion was contagious: After a little while, I got suspicious too. People everywhere asked me for help. In the claustrophobic camp on the Route de l'Aeroport, one woman insisted that she had never received rice because she had been a partisan of the deposed President Aristide. Sitting inside her house in plain view were two full bags of rice. When I pointed them out, the little crowd around us began to laugh appreciatively. Nobody thought this lady had done anything wrong. Neither did I. Getting by isn't a sin.
About a year after I met Venance, he moved to Port-au-Prince. He was 18 years old, and he went without so much as a gourde in his pocket.
In Venance's way of thinking, the world was like a series of concentric circles, the absolute center of which was Carrefour Prince, the village where he was born and where his grandmother still lived. You might not eat as much in Carrefour Prince as you'd like, but you'd always have something: There was (almost) always breadfruit from the breadfruit tree. But you were absolutely trapped. Life today was like life yesterday and like life tomorrow. The next circle outward was Jérémie. This was the life journey his mother had made: to leave the countryside. Venance had explored every narrow alley of the town and gotten nowhere. He had discovered only the world of his mother – small, provincial, mistrustful, and suspicious. This was a world in which the best you could aspire to was just scraping by, in which either your enemies were plotting against you, or you were plotting against your enemies; a world dominated by the fear of magic. But Port-au-Prince – that was the outer circle of this particular human being's universe. It was the place to go in Haiti if you were young and excited about life.
Port-au-Prince was the only place in all of Haiti commensurate with Venance Lafrance's ambitions – to live decently, to eat copiously, to dress sharply – all without having to work very hard.
Shortly after Venance left Jérémie, my wife and I moved to Port-au-Prince also.
Venance was no longer a daily fixture in our life, but he made a point of staying in contact with us. He'd call every week or two, and from time to time we saw each other. A call from Venance Lafrance is a unique act of telephonic communication, because Venance, having no money to make a telephone call, will call – and hang up – until you call him back. There is no relenting and no choice. He might continue to call – and hang up – for an hour. Then he will take a break, perhaps to play dominoes or take a nap. He will then begin to call – and hang up – all over again, until finally you call him back. Venance is, above all, patient.
My Port-au-Prince was behind high walls and tinted windows: I shopped in a supermarket surrounded by a 20-foot wall topped with barbed wire, and a squad of shotgun-toting toughies patrolled the parking lot. Venance's Port-au-Prince ran parallel to mine and was there always, but without Venance was invisible to me. Venance could hardly walk a block downtown without slapping hands with another acquaintance. He knew how everyone on the street earned their living, every scam, dodge, and swindle. Venance could tell me the latest jokes (I never found them very funny) or the latest Creole slang. He told me gossip from Cité Soleil, the slum where he lived: Apparently the president of Haiti, René Preval, had spent an evening there not long before, drinking rum on the stoop. Every time I left Venance, I gave him a few bucks, and I considered the money well spent.
Venance was getting by in Port-au-Prince. He had scraped together the money to buy a portable telephone, and he wandered the city selling phone calls – anyone who wanted to make a call could use Venance's phone. Half of the young men in Port-au-Prince have the same job, but Venance was unusually good at it: Venance was social and knew everyone, and people liked to use Venance's phone. In the course of a long day strolling the city, he might make a hundred gourdes – about $2.50. This is why Venance had come to the big city. His job took him all over town: He could walk over to the sprawling neighborhood of Carrefour on the south side, with its narrow twisting lanes heaped high with garbage – he had family there – or he could park himself on the Champ de Mars out front of the National Palace. He could just sit on the corner with his buddies playing dominoes.
Venance's hold on the city, though, was tenuous at best. He was robbed at gunpoint and lost his phone and income. Then the cousin he was staying with evicted him from his shack and Venance was forced to mooch off a succession of different, more distant relations, who tolerated him for a short time, then got tired of feeding his perennially hungry mouth. At one point he thought he found a job as a houseboy: A childhood acquaintance had become a police officer and needed somebody to watch over his car and dogs. This fell through when the police officer was transferred to the northern city of Cap Haitien. The last of Venance's relatives was sick of him. Venance had just about exhausted his options in Port-au-Prince when he met Cousin Maxo.
Venance met Maxo Pierre on the Champ de Mars. Maxo made a living selling barbecued chicken there in the evening. It turned out that Maxo came from Chambellan, not far at all from Jérémie. Both Venance and Maxo were proud sons of the Grand'Anse province, so there was a bond between them. Thereafter, on seeing Maxo, Venance always asked after Maxo's bad foot, a kindness Maxo noted. Sometimes Venance passed all day with Maxo down on the Champ de Mars telling stories. This was about the time when Venance was out of a job and home and he opened his heart to the bearded older man. Maxo said, "Venance, barbecue business is good business. Tomorrow if you want you can become a big barbecue entrepreneur. Keep it up. Venance, stay with me for a long time. That way you can get ahead."
Chicken was a good business for Venance, not only on account of the fact that it suited his temperament and he was a good chicken cook, but also because he was observant and a fast runner. You needed to run fast if you were going to make it in the chicken game – the police would impound the barbecue of anyone caught grilling out on the Champ de Mars. That's why Venance was so useful to Cousin Maxo: Maxo had the bad foot, but when the police came down, Venance could grab that 'cue and fly. Together they made a good team, Venance and Cousin Maxo – Cousin Maxo teaching the young man the secrets of the Champ de Mars BBQ game, showing him the special Maxo chicken sauce; Venance protecting the BBQ from the police; the two of them sociable fellows, flirting with the ladies and grilling up the birds and laughing and joking until the early hours of the morning.
Not only did Maxo bring Venance into his business, but he invited this lanky kid off the street into his home, giving him a place to sleep right on the floor with his own kids. That's when Venance started calling Maxo "Cousin Maxo," as a sign of respect and affection. Venance appreciated the fact that Cousin Maxo treated him like a man, but treated him like family, too, showing him kindness, never telling him what to do, just letting him be.
In Maxo, Venance found something he'd been looking for all his life. His father had been a sorcerer named Destiné Paul. Destiné Paul quarreled with an unsatisfied client. The client swore he would take his revenge on Destiné Paul. Which he did – Venance's father died, a victim himself of magic, when Venance was just five months in the womb.
Each morning Maxo would give Venance a little money for coffee and bread. Venance saved a bit of that every day and soon was able to invest in a chicken breast or two, which he put on the grill. The profit was his own, and he turned it around into more chickens. What he was looking forward to and working toward was the day he could buy himself a whole case of chicken. Break up the birds, boil 'em. Rent refrigerator space. Get himself a barbecue of his own. Buy cabbage and bananas and manioc. Go out on the Champ de Mars at night, pay to plug a lightbulb into the generator, and call himself a chicken man, too.
Venance had been out every day with Cousin Maxo for about six months, selling chicken and earning, when Venance got it into his head that he wanted to spend the hot month of August back home in Jérémie. He had a little cash in his hand and he wanted to flaunt it, show the girls back home the success he was making of himself in Port-au-Prince. Cousin Maxo told Venance that this was a poor idea, that if he had a good thing going, he should stick with it. But Venance ignored Cousin Maxo and went home.
The National Palace had been a source of considerable pride. I was standing in front of its vast, very white edifice when a young man approached and asked me if it was true that the National Palace, before its collapse, had been the most beautiful building in the world, as he had learned in school.
"It was very beautiful," I said, looking for a diplomatic answer.
The conversation attracted, as often happens in Haiti, a crowd of kibitzers, all wanting to throw in their own two cents. Two Haitians can converse, but three is an argument. Some maintained that the Presidential Palace was the most beautiful building in the world; others that it was the most beautiful presidential palace in the world. The argument was not about aesthetics but about the precise recollection of a fact that had been memorized in a schoolbook. The conversation got quite heated, and in the end one man had to be taken away before he slugged somebody.
In a city of remarkable piles of rubble, the presidential-palace rubble was particularly spectacular. In its collapse it looked as if it had been constructed originally with Legos, then smashed by the hand of a very large child. It was somewhere between fracturé and krazé – it all depended on whether one looked to the wings, which were almost intact, or to the center. Certain portions of the rubble expanse could even be described as penché.
A large tent city had cropped up directly in front of the gates of the palace, and then metastasized to the palace's flanks. Each of Port-au-Prince's tent cities had its own character, as any small town will, and here the mood was surlier and more aggressive than in other refugee camps. I asked somebody why the mood in this particular camp was so rough, and was told that it was due to the presence of the many escapees from the National Penitentiary, which was just a few blocks from here – although I found this explanation unlikely. Surely if anyone had cause to rejoice these days, it was the escapees.
Just three days before the world came to an end, Venance Lafrance slunk back into Port-au-Prince like a beaten dog. His return to Jérémie had been disastrous. His mother had gotten sick. His brother had gotten sick. And then he'd gotten sick too. He had almost died. All the capital he had accrued in the chicken game sweating over a hot barbecue, he had lost. He'd gone home to Jérémie to show off what a big man he'd become. But now, just to get back to Port-au-Prince, Venance had visited a local politician and agreed to sell her his vote in the upcoming parliamentary elections in exchange for a place on the big Trois Rivieres, the weekly ferry to the capital.
The next morning, Venance made his way on foot (not even a gourde to take a bus) up to Cousin Maxo's little concrete house in Bel Air.
"Venance, I didn't know you were coming!" Cousin Maxo said, happy to see him.
Cousin Maxo wasn't just happy to see Venance on account of Venance being Venance, but also because Cousin Maxo needed Venance Lafrance. Madame Cousin Maxo gave Venance some bread and coffee, and then Cousin Maxo told Venance the bad thing that had happened in his absence. It was just a couple days back. Madame Maxo had been out grilling on the Champ de Mars when the police had come round. She wasn't fast enough. The police had seized the family barbecue and all the chicken on the grill, too. She had gotten away with just a bowl of raw bird.
Cousin Maxo sent Venance out to buy some water for the house. Venance came back with five five-gallon buckets. After he had bathed, Venance lay down on the floor of the house and went to sleep for the rest of the morning.
Venance was finally home. Venance was finally needed.
The Rue Dalencourt winds down then up the steep valley between the Avenue John Brown and Canapé Vert. Before the quake, this had been a shady street of small houses and apartment complexes. The largest of these apartment complexes, a homicidal five-story monster, had come down. A few surviving relatives – a young woman, her brother, some friends – had hired a group of young men to do the dangerous work of pawing through the rubble. I sat outside and watched the diggers for a few minutes. Not far from us on the ground was a charred spinal cord and skull. The smell of decomposing flesh was quite strong in the air. Later, the diggers came up with the body of the young woman's sister – a large woman, to judge by the six men needed to carry her. Haiti is a country where women take pride in their voluptuous displays of grief – there exists an entire profession of paid mourners, whose copious tears and loud wailings are taken as a tribute to the qualities of the departed. I had been at a funeral not long before the quake where distant lady friends of the deceased had attempted to throw themselves bodily into the coffin. Now this young woman walked over, identified her sister, and walked back with a cool smile on her face.
This was like another country than the one I thought I knew.
On Tuesday, January 12, in the late afternoon, Venance Lafrance was playing dominoes out front of his friend Alfred's house. The board was balanced on the players' knees. They'd been slapping the bones for hours – days even. There was a big crowd around the board waiting to get in on the game. The board started shaking. The tiles started sliding. One of the fellows said, "Who's shaking the board?" Another fellow said, "Not me." Then the bricks started falling – ka-choo, ka-choo, ka-choo! Venance heard a noise like 10,000 trucks roaring up a steep hill. The street itself started making waves. Some of the fellows who'd been waiting to play dominoes started running – but Venance didn't run; he just stood his ground, watching the houses shaking and the street swinging up and down like a rubber hose, rolling up, down, left and right. The dominoes that had been on the board were on the ground, clattering like they were dancing. Right in front of Venance a two-story brick house leaned over on its side in a big cloud of dust, like it was tired and needed a break – penché.
When the ground stopped shaking, Venance's first thought was Cousin Maxo. He ran home through the streets. He passed collapsed house after collapsed house; the entire population of Port-au-Prince was in the streets.
Cousin Maxo's two-story house lay on a little alley. The cinder-block walls had given way and buckled outward. The first floor had come down, exploding massively as it made contact with the concrete foundations. Then the roof had come down also, staying largely intact. The house that had been two stories, or about 20 feet tall, was now just concrete slab on a waist-high pile of rubble. Krazé net.
Madame Maxo was outside. She was showing up at the house just as Venance was getting there. She was saying, "Where's Maxo?" Then she was saying it all over again: "Where's Maxo?" And again, "Where's Maxo?" Venance knew where Cousin Maxo was. When Venance had left to play dominoes earlier that afternoon, Maxo had gone upstairs to take a nap.
"Maxo's inside," he said.
"Are you sure?" Madame Maxo said. "Is it true?"
Venance thought a second. But he knew Maxo had been sleeping. He was sure of it.
"Yes," he said.
"Then he's dead," she said.
Venance stayed with Madame Maxo for two days in front of the ruined house. For two days he didn't sleep. Neighbors cooked and passed around food – only Madame Maxo didn't eat. Venance had never been responsible for anyone before. Now he washed the children and made sure they ate, and kept far from the rubble, and stayed far away from the burning bodies. When Madame Maxo cried, he consoled her, as best he could. Madame Maxo had a little money in her pocket when the quake hit – that's what kept the family going. Venance himself didn't cry for Cousin Maxo. The tears wouldn't come. He felt light in his head – like he had been transported to some strange new world.
Behind the Eglise Sacré-Coeur – Krazé – there was a little garden, with benches and a small statue of the Madonna. Both a school and a rectory had collapsed here, and many priests had died, their bodies decomposing not far from where we stood. A middle-aged man with a trim beard and spectacles approached me and asked in French if I had noticed the amazing particularity of the Madonna.
"No," I said. The Madonna had neither fallen nor was it weeping.
He looked at me a long time, as if I couldn't possibly be as dense as I seemed.
"She's turned to the east," he finally said.
"To the east?"
"To the east."
The Madonna, on further examination, had shifted slightly, several degrees off the horizontal.
The man went on to claim that all of the Madonnas of Port-au-Prince had shifted to the east. He had gone around and examined them, he said. I asked him what was the significance of this unusual fact.
"This could not be an accident," he said.
Venance Lafrance, wearing sandals, stepped on something soft and squishy – a lady's arm, just lying out on the Champ de Mars. Venance Lafrance, whose fast feet had made him a natural in the chicken game, sprinted off. Bodies. Bodies starting to smell, bodies rotting in the sun. Fat dead people. Skinny kids. Big strong corpses, corpses built from lifetimes of lifting, toting, and hauling. Bodies of families. Bodies of naked old ladies. Bodies of naked old men. All the bodies puffy and gray. A guy saying, "You got to see this," then a big crowd watching a couple of dead kids having sex in a hotel room on the Grand Rue. More bodies. Some covered. Some not covered. Bodies in flames – the smell of meat cooking. Still more bodies. A tractor loading up bodies, scooping the bodies into a dump truck. Venance figured, based on the numbers of bodies he saw in the streets, that most all of Port-au-Prince was dead. That's what Venance saw on the way from Cousin Maxo's house in Bel Air to my house. When he got to my house, it was closed, locked, and empty. Then Venance kept walking, all across town, to his niece's house in Carrefour. On the way he saw two young men, handcuffed, splayed out on the ground, sticky blood running riverlike from their heads. Shot by the police. The folks watching them called them voleurs – thieves. When Venance got out to his niece's house, it was gone, collapsed, like all the others.
On the radio they had announced that the government of Haiti had arranged free transport to the provinces by all available means. Venance left Madame Maxo and her children on the street beside the rubble of the house they had occupied: He was just another mouth to feed. Cousin Maxo's body still lay trapped under the crushed cement – a few days later he would be pried out and burnt on the street. Venance left Port-au-Prince with nothing but the clothes that were on his back when the quake struck.
By the time the ferry returned, barges had been stacked to create a makeshift dock. He found a place on the boat – nobody knows just how many were onboard, but every available inch of the boat was packed: the aisle, the stairs, the decks. The mood was tense. A large aftershock hit, and from the boat you could see the city rise and fall. The passengers began to stampede back to solid ground. Venance shouted, "You're on the boat, you're on the sea! Why are you running? If you run on the ground, you could die!" But nobody listened. When the ground calmed down, they came back on the boat.
Then, finally, the boat set sail, and Venance Lafrance watched Port-au-Prince recede into the distance.
Venance's story has an epilogue, of sorts.
When Venance called me very early in the morning, it meant that he was alive – and that he wanted money.
He told me that he had big plans: He wanted to start his own business barbecuing chicken in Jérémie, and he was looking for an investor. I gave him a hundred dollars. Later, I learned that he spent it on a couple of pairs of jeans and some shoes. When I remonstrated with him, he explained that nobody wants to buy chicken from a chicken man who looks like a bum.
Where there's life, there's hope; and where there's hope, there's life.
Long live Venance Lafrance.
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You may be mistaken for thinking you have flown into a tropical paradise upon arrival at Bargara. Palm trees line the foreshore, the Southern Great Barrier Reef stretches out before you, and the climate is just like Hawaii - it's time to kick back and relax.
This very family friendly seaside town just 13 kilometres from Bundaberg has heaps of parks, beaches, cafes, shops and activities to explore.
You can swim all year round here, with several beaches stretching from Neilson's Park to the north to Kellys Beach to the south.
The Esplanade is perfect for your morning or afternoon walk with six kilometres of paved pathway perfect for scooters, bikes, trikes or walkers. Say hi to the pooches (and their humans) that you see each day on their regular walk.
The Basin is a protected swimming spot for young and old, best dipped in high tide, where you can take some bread down and feed the many fish that swim around your legs or pop some goggles on to take a peek.
The Turtle Park offers shaded grass areas and a big playground in the shape of a turtle.
Note: Information on listed products and services are provided by the operator and were correct at the time of publishing. Rates are indicative based on the minimum and maximum available prices of products and services. Please visit the operator's website for further information. All prices quoted are in Australian dollars (AUD).


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The fluid processes research laboratories provide high quality laboratory expertise and specialist services for a range of clients ranging from the BGS (through its National Capability Programme) to commercial organisations and public sector clients around the world. The laboratories are split into five complementary sections providing state-of-the-art facilities and services for the understanding of complex fluid processes (biological, chemical and physical) in the geo- and biosphere, where appropriate, under representative in situ conditions. Laboratory scale experiments are supported by field-scale tests/observations to provide important information on scale and its impact on process. Expertise and the development of process based knowledge is supported by a wide network of laboratories within BGS, providing key inputs from analytical geochemistry to mineralogy and petrography.
The Geomicrobiology Laboratory facilities include specialised equipment to study the processes and effects of microbes on contaminant breakdown, transport and containment in a range of geological settings. Biological processes are increasingly recognised as an important part of the subsurface environment having major implications on the interpretation of geochemical and hydrogeological information.
The Hydrothermal Laboratory is an experimental facility able to simulate chemical reactions occurring between minerals and fluids at depth in the Earth's crust. Rock overburden pressures equivalent to depths of 2—3 km (50 MPa) and temperatures equivalent to depths of 10 km (400°C) can be reproduced using specialist pressure vessels.
The Hydrates and Ices Laboratory is the newest research facility within the BGS, having been 'spun out' from the Hydrothermal Laboratory in 2002. It was created to study the behaviour of gas hydrates within sediments under conditions commonly found in relatively shallow sediments in deep water, but has since broadened its capability to include ice-related processes such as those found in permafrost conditions. Study areas include gas hydrate dissociation within sediments, and its impact on slope stability and global climate; investigation of carbon dioxide (CO2) hydrate within sediments, and its potential importance for underground storage of CO2.
The Transport Properties Research Laboratory (TPRL) was founded in 1993 and undertakes research to examine the processes and mechanisms governing the movement of fluids (gas, water and solutes) in low permeability materials (clay-rich media, bentonite, landfill liner clays, mudrocks and shales) using custom designed experimental apparatus. Studies have focused on the development of process understanding associated with single/multiphase flow and accompanied rock deformation. Capability has expanded to include specialist equipment investigating the behaviour of fractures/faults and the development of novel tracer methodologies (injection of nanoparticles and the radiological tagging of gas) for the identification and characterisation of flow pathways.
The Gas Monitoring Facility provides equipment and facilities for the field measurement of a range of gas concentrations and fluxes in the near surface environment. This includes soil gas and atmospheric observations and those of the flow of gas across the soil/air boundary. The main current focus is on monitoring related to the geological storage of CO2, but research has also been carried out on radon, landfill gases, volcanic gases and in relation to geothermal projects.
A deeper insight into CCS experimental studies here at the BGS, as we investigate the system controls such as fluid chemistry, pressure and temperature, biological presence, faults and the formations of new minerals.


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TriStar Pictures has released the first trailer for the upcoming thriller The Call (previously titled The Hive). Directed by Brad Anderson (The Machinist), the film stars Halle Berry as a 911 operator who, after taking a life-altering call from a teenager (Abigail Breslin) that's been kidnapped, realizes that she must confront a killer from her past in order to save the girl's life. Though the premise is fairly straightforward, the trailer is actually pretty interesting and makes The Call look like it could be a neat little thriller.
Hit the jump to watch the trailer. The film also stars Morris Chestnut, Michael Eklund, and Michael Imperioli. The Call opens on March 15th.
Via Yahoo!
Here's the official synopsis for The Call:
When veteran 911 operator, Jordan (Halle Berry), takes a life-altering call from a teenage girl (Abigail Breslin) who has just been abducted, she realizes that she must confront a killer from her past in order to save the girl's life.


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Too often, we fall into a negativity trap when it comes to our country's education system. It's certainly easy to focus on the things we do wrong. But we have a lot to celebrate as well. And leveraging those reasons to celebrate offers an important angle on how to improve our nation's schools.
Schools identified as high-poverty or high-needs often pose the biggest challenge to educators. They can also evoke the most pessimism. How can kids learn, people ask, when they lack adequate food, clothing or safety on the way to class?
Still, some schools are doing it. In fact, nine high-poverty, geographically diverse schools throughout Ohio offer case studies for how such schools can and do achieve remarkable results and become beacons of hope.
This is not to say that these schools answer all of our questions or challenges as we seek to improve educational opportunities for all students. We can't throw considerations like funding, class size, teacher quality and access to technology out the window. But we can look to these nine examples for attributes and practices that schools everywhere can learn from and adopt for improvement from within.
In focus groups and interviews with principals, teachers, students and parents at these schools, certain qualities were mentioned with remarkable consistency. Among the lessons these schools provide:
Leadership matters. The principals at each of these schools earn trust and respect, and they inspire achievement through their attitudes and behavior. They lead with a strong vision, engage teachers in decision-making, take responsibility for their school's continued success and hold teachers and students accountable for the same.
Principals care deeply about the success of their students and their schools. Some even go so far as to call students at home when they're late or to remind them to study for a test.
"He's trained us to be a family," a high school teacher at one school said. "He models that. He shows a very deep respect and deep caring for all of the people that he works with."
Collaboration improves teaching and learning. At each of the schools, principals provide real and diverse opportunities and incentives for teachers to collaborate. For example, they designate regular planning times with set agendas, encourage team teaching, and make sure teacher collaboration is fun and includes downtime.
Collaboration also goes beyond sharing a successful lesson plan. Teachers work together to interpret standards, plan and align instruction, share and analyze data together, and discuss the issues their students are facing.
Teachers say that collaboration and sharing best practices are keys to their effectiveness. "I love the team that I work with... If I have a problem and I'm uncertain, I can turn to anybody here and say, 'I need help,'" said one high school teacher.
Student data has its place. Teachers at the nine schools regard student data as helpful and clarifying. They use it to plan instruction, approach test preparation and design interventions. Data analysis allows them to intervene immediately if a student falls behind.
Principals and teachers hold high expectations. In these schools, all students are expected to achieve academically and behave appropriately. The educators in the building accept no excuses for why a student cannot do work or does not care about grades. Leadership and staff also follow consistent procedures when responding to negative behavior. At some schools, teachers spend time at the beginning of the year practicing with students the type of behavior they expect.
At the same time, administrators, teachers and support staff model this behavior. They do not resort to excuses when their classes do not meet benchmarks or when their students fall behind. They strive to model punctuality, hard work and ambition as well as the collegial, cooperative and respectful behavior they expect from their students.
Caring is just as important as high expectations. Across all of these high-achieving, high-poverty schools, students state that they feel loved, valued and challenged. They are confident that their teachers will help them and be at their side if they hit a rough patch. Many emphasize the personal connection they have with teachers and other staff. They are also encouraged to think of their paths forward, beyond their present school days.
"They can be your friends," said one high school student. "You can go to them for advice. They help you individually, too. If you're having trouble learning something, you can just go to them personally, and they will help you to figure out like what your problem is."
At these nine Ohio schools, the interplay of these and other important practices produces a school environment in which high achievement becomes the norm. Yet what the individuals at each of the schools do is replicable -- it is not magic. They say themselves that their success can be achieved elsewhere.
Hopefully, such high-achieving, high-poverty schools can stimulate a fresh and constructive dialogue on how we can help all kids learn, regardless of the obstacles they face.


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Report: New Orleans Hornets to change name to Pelicans in 2013-14?
Hornets owner Tom Benson will reportedly change his franchise's name. (Layne Murdoch/Getty Images)
By Ben Golliver
Tom Benson said that he would pursue a name change for the New Orleans Hornets when he purchased the franchise from the NBA and he reportedly could deliver on that promise as soon as next season.
Yahoo! Sports reports that the Hornets could be re-branded as the "Pelicans" for the 2013-14 season.
The New Orleans Hornets are expected to change their nickname to the Pelicans as early as the 2013-14 season, numerous sources told Yahoo! Sports.
The Hornets also considered the nicknames Krewe (groups of costumed paraders in the annual Mardi Gras carnival in New Orleans) and Brass.
Louisiana is the Pelican State. The brown pelican is the state bird and appears on the state flag and seal, and official state painting. Moreover, the Pelicans played minor league baseball in New Orleans in all but nine seasons from 1887-1959 and in 1977.
Benson, who also owns the NFL's New Orleans Saints, told the Times-Picayune in April that he would investigate the possibility of a new name.
"We need to find a name like (Jazz)," Benson said, referring to New Orleans first NBA team that relocated to Salt Lake City in 1979. "Whether we can get that or let us use that, you've got to know we're working on it. We'd like to change it tomorrow. We have not gotten that approved, but we're not letting up on it, either. Because we've got a good relationship with the commissioner and his people and we're going to be on them daily to do something."
Back in November, the Times-Picayune reported that Gayle Benson, wife of Tom, said that she wants the team's color scheme to be navy blue, red and gold. The paper reported Tuesday that Greg Bensel, a Hornets spokesperson, would not confirm plans for the name change.
"We're not confirming that is the name,'' Bensel said. "This is a process that's ongoing and still in discussions. And it will be eventually decided by the NBA.''
The Hornets name came with the franchise when former owner George Shinn relocated the team to New Orleans after 14 years in Charlotte. Shinn then sold the Hornets to the NBA in 2010.
The Pelicans moniker has been rumored as a possibility for some time, according to Hornets247.com. A Facebook fan page advocating for the name change was founded back in April and ESPN.com's UniWatch even posted possible jersey designs and logos to support the name change in May.
Charlotte Bobcats owner Michael Jordan told the Charlotte Observer in November that he would be interested in reacquiring the Hornets moniker, which existed in Charlotte from 1988-2002, if it became available.
"It's definitely an interest down the road, but right now it's the New Orleans Hornets," Jordan told the Observer. "We would definitely entertain the opportunity. That's as much as we can say right now. We've heard the community ask the question, and we would listen."
There's no telling what the cost or lead time of a name change would entail. However, NBA Deputy Commissioner Adam Silver said last April in Charlotte that this would be an easier process than other name changes because the league already owns the rights to the name "Charlotte Hornets."


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South Lake Tahoe, Calif. –Beginning Monday, July 1, 2013, fire restrictions will go into effect in the Lake Tahoe Basin. Campfires and charcoal barbecues will be restricted to designated recreation sites, and other fire-related activities will be prohibited until the end of fire season. "Weather patterns this winter and spring are similar to conditions in 2007, the year of the Angora Fire," said Fire Prevention Officer, Beth Brady. "Even with the rain we have received, at this point, it won't alleviate this summer's high risk of wildfires."
During fire restrictions, certain activities are not allowed. Prohibited activities include: building, maintaining, attending or using a fire, campfire, or stove fire, except within the stoves and fire rings provided in designated recreation sites; smoking on National Forest land, except within an enclosed vehicle or building, or within a designated recreation site; welding, or operating an acetylene or other torch with an open flame; and operating or using any internal or external combustion engine without a spark arresting device properly installed and maintained in effective working order. Fire restrictions are intended to reduce the possibility of human-caused wildfires over the summer season.
Campfires are prohibited in all semi-developed sites such as Luther Pass, Blackwood Canyon, and Watson Lake, as well as in all dispersed recreation locations, such as the Meiss backcountry area on Luther Pass. Forest users should obtain specific information about restrictions and the area they are visiting before venturing out.
For additional information regarding fire restrictions, call the Forest Supervisor's office at (530) 543-2694, Monday through Friday from 8 a.m. until 4:30 p.m.


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Day 0 (Friday night):
- Start from Bangalore, overnight journey to Agumbe
Day 1 (Saturday):
- Reach homestay close to forest, freshen up
- Fuel up with nice breakfast, grab packed Lunch from Homestay
- Drive to the base of ancient Kavaledurga Fort & hike up to enjoy the amazing views of the rain forest. This is a 2.5 km easy hike (one way) with stunning views from the top. There is an ancient temple in the middle and many ponds that served as water stores at that time.
- Head back to the vehicle, jungle walk of 1 km to take a dip under the pristine waterfalls of western ghats that is Agumbe special, have lunch overlooking the falls,
- Head back to the homestay
- Bonfire at night with long conversations in the dark,
- Well deserved hot & delicious vegetarian dinner
- Rest in the tents.
Day 2 (Sunday):
- Freshen up and Breakfast, pack your bags, leave Homestay
- Hike up the Kundadri hills - The highest point in Agumbe mountain range (2.5 kms easy hike one way)& have a sneak peek of extremely beautiful & dense Agumbe Rain-Forest filled with thick green forest, pristine rivers and gigantic lakes!
- Break for Lunch at a local restaurant
- Head to temple town of Sringeri and visit an ancient temple built in the 8th century in the banks of Tunga river, get charmed by the architecture at this wonderful place in the heart of Western Ghats.
- Visit close by Waterfalls, take another dip if you wish to!
- Get back to the vehicle and start journey back towards Bangalore
- Dinner on the way close to Chikmagalur town
- Reach home early Monday morning
Day 3 (Monday):
- Reach back BLR very early in the morning
Pic: A beautiful old temple at Kavale Durga fort.
Cost: 4150 /-
- Travel
- Experience all Hikes/Mountains/Waterfalls/Other places mentioned in the itinerary,
- Shared stay at our beautiful village home stay close to thick rain forest,
- 2 Breakfasts,
- 1 Lunch (veg),
- 1 Dinner (veg),
- Campfire (if it doesn't rain at the time),
- A local Guide,
- Forest Dept permissions for specific hikes/waterfalls
- Organizer to look after all activities & entertainment!
- Sundays Lunch, Dinner
- Any miscellaneous expenses that not mentioned in inclusions above.
Important notes:
- Our facilities in Agumbe are very basic without any luxury
- We have 2 rooms for men and 2 rooms for women at out homestay. No private rooms will be given.
- Do not forget to read our "Terms & Conditions" before registering
By buying the ticket on Events High platform, I am giving unconditional acceptance of the below
Terms & Conditions of Muddie Trails:
- No Luxury. We assure awesome memories every trip, but not awesome facilities! We provide basic facilities in terms of food, travel & accommodation.
- The itinerary is fixed. No special requests to change itinerary/schedule are permitted
- Absolutely No littering during our travels. We swear to protect our environment.
- No alcohol & smoking during Treks & adventure activities. There would be separate window and space (usually at night) to have these at campsite/homestay for interested people
- Co-operate with the organizer(s) in following the schedule set for the day (especially getting up and getting ready in the morning). This will ensure travelers won't miss out on the real fun part - that is traveling.
- Every traveler is responsible for his/her for your own safety while traveling with Muddie Trails. Don't indulge in any illegal or silly activity that causes harm to you or fellow travelers.
- Every traveler is expected to sign a liability/waiver form given by the organizer(s) after boarding the vehicle that discharges Muddie Trails of any unexpected incident like injury/death/theft etc.
- Unexpected situations: It may happen we do not cover all the places mentioned in the itinerary because of unpredictable reasons like bad weather, wild animal presence, abrupt blocking of sites by the police/forest department, delay in travel because of an issue with our group itself, traffic conditions etc. In most cases, if the time permits, organizer(s) will take travelers to an alternative place. But in some cases, we may have to skip a place altogether.
- The event will stand cancelled if less than 8 travelers signed up for the trip/trek
- Travelers are expected to respect each other and help each other.
- Avoid discussing sensitive matters like sex, politics and religion/caste/race.
- Using foul or abusive language, eve teasing, arguing with fellow travelers/organizer(s) and/or involving in physical assault will not be accepted and will stand a chance of being deserted by Muddie Trails.
Refund policy:
- 80% refund if the cancellation request is made before 48 hours of event start time
- No refund within 48 hours of event start time
- No refund during/after the event
- No postponing your ticket to future events


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After a series of heated emails, break-room fisticuffs, and one suspicious and threatening note stuck to a desk with a knife, we chose 12 of the best cars of 2013 that clocked in under $30k.
So now you tell us: did we blow it, or nail it? If you have better suggestions, let 'em fly.
The cap is is based on MSRP, so be specific. And the car must be available now, new, at dealerships. Find us some decent alternatives and we'll whip up a Kinja Reader's Choice list, with commentary from the staffers who drove those cars.
Any love or hate, direct to the comments below. And please, no knife-play …


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One of the nation's first law schools to offer a systematic opportunity for students to focus on business law, UCLA Law continues to be at the forefront of this field today.
Our approach is comprehensive and multifaceted, combining theory with real-world opportunities for students to explore the intersection of law and business, and specialize in business law and policy. We prepare students for sophisticated practice in a wide range of areas from bankruptcy, corporate law, and mergers and acquisitions to securities regulation, finance, commercial law and taxation.
Whether students are attending a lecture with our world-class business law faculty; drafting an agreement for a Business Deals class; participating in discussions with top executives from one of the world's premier auction houses; engaging with experts at the Lowell Milken Institute for Business Law & Policy; taking part in a program at the renowned Ziman Center for Real Estate; or participating in an externship at the Securities and Exchange Commission, UCLA offers access to insight and opportunities that redefine business law education.
We equip our graduates with the skills necessary to adapt to a changing legal marketplace, empowering them to identify emerging areas of economic opportunity. With the benefit of their training at UCLA, our alumni go on to positions of leadership in business, the nonprofit sector and philanthropy.


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Recently my family visited a small science center that's attached to a progressive community school. The place was packed, but it never felt crazy or chaotic. It was loud, but not ear-splitting. It was messy, but never dangerous.
My kids started out at a glider station, where they designed and raced various gliders using random objects (straws, paper clips, paper, buttons) and observing the materials and design influenced flight. They saw a live demonstration of a sewing machine and they asked questions about how it worked. In another corner, kids were making bridges out of straws.
"This is the overflow room," a man said. "Wait until they get to the main area."
There were places with magnets and gyroscopes, sound equipment, natural elements, a climbing wall, and a magnet station. Some were highly structured (the optical illusion station) and some were incredibly loose. Some allowed for inquiry, others began with guided inquiry. It was balanced. The workers rarely answered questions, but instead reframed questions to guide observation.
I kept hearing parents say, "I wish my kid's school had that," and I kept hearing kids say, "I wish science class was like this."
And it struck me that there is a big difference between what we say we want in public schools and how we act. People paid money to visit this science center in their free time, noticed the learning, even said it would be great in school. But they stopped there. Transformation has to include the next step.
Demand better schools. Opt out if you desire. Go create a charter school if that's the only option. But also demand quality, constructivist learning as loudly and boldly as the corporate reformers tend to do with test scores and KIPP academies.
Parents and community members need to speak out against homework, grades and behaviorism. We need to question whether life-long learning really belongs with "college and career readiness" and whether it makes any sense to treat a six-year-old like a twenty-six-year-old. We need to ignore test scores rather than buying nice homes in the areas with the "good districts" or allowing only the gifted kids to have project-based classrooms.
We need to ask whether it is logical or even humane that a kindergartner would spend the whole first week taking tests and why students in Arizona will spend 30 hours taking one test assessing one subject while their teachers take a 4 hour test to see if they are highly qualified to teach those very subjects.
We need to articulate a vision where we either walk out of the factory or we repurpose the factory to be a viable, sustainable learning community.
photo credit: woodleywonderworks via photo pin cc


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By David Ponce
Holy crap! Now this is useful as hell. If you're the motorcycling type, know that a UK company called Reevu has made an ingeniously designed helmet that actually increases your level of safety… well, aside from the usual preventing your head from plopping on impact, and such. The MSX1, manufactured in Italy, is a helmet with an integrated heads-up display that lets you see what's going on behind your head. And the best part is that it's very low cost, at only about $400. How does it do this? Well, it uses a system of unbreakable mirrors constructed out of ABS, rather than a more expensive camera and projector setup.
Ten years in the making, the helmet has been designed to ensure it meets all international safety standards, and is of a similar size and weight to conventional helmets. It should be available early 2006.
More at the website. Story VIA Gadgets.zive.cz.


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Events for July 19, 2020 › Lounge
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8:00 pm
Swingin' Sundays! Free Dance lesson 8PM. Live band 9-12
No cover….Swing dance lessons at seven with a live local band to swing to following!… find out who's playing visit our friends over at WWOZ liverwire HERE!Find out more »


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B.A. English and Sociology, Wichita State University
M.A. Educational Psychology, Wichita State University
Ph.D. Adult Education, Kansas State University (Magna Cum Laude), Manhattan, Kansas
Email: email@example.com
While I have not knowingly created knowledge through the rigors of research, and my writing shows up in company publications and not in the annals of the refereed journals, I teach first from practice. With over three decades as a team member, and team leader and senior leader at The Boeing Company, my teaching combines the day-to-day practice of leadership behavior with the knowledge created by my academic colleagues. It's exciting to apply a theory to something we're doing at work or school and assess the results of different strategies and tactics. I use simulations and small group work as foundations of the learning experience, and both individual and team performance is examined. And it is always my hope our learning is fun.
Zenger-Miller/Achieve Global, Inc, Leadership 2000 and Front Line Leadership
Harvard University: Negotiations in the Corporation
Advanced Certification: The Birkman Method, Birkman, International
Blessing White: MPG and Helping Others Succeed
Power & Systems, Inc.: The Organization Workshop
Center for Psychological Type: Myers Briggs Type Indicator
I have over thirty years' experience in Human Resources and Operations with an emphasis in leadership development and performance consulting. I have designed, developed, and conducted a variety of learning programs ranging from leadership skills to business writing. In addition, I am currently on the adjunct faculty of University of Washington, and consult (outside Boeing) with a variety of clients in the private and public sectors.
I have managed a variety of operations, human resource, and training organizations: Led the redesign of a nine-week manufacturing engineering class; managed a group of management and organization development consultants and trainers; helped build a leadership curriculum for first-line and senior managers at Boeing; led the design of a performance management process for Boeing's commercial division; led a team of five supervisors and over a hundred employees in support of management development and engineering training; designed and led the recruiting process for Boeing's Wichita division. In addition, I managed an operations group responsible for FAA Certifications.


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It's the weekend y'ulz. Not sure what to do with myself. Starting to feel like drained by being a 'adweblebrity'. Sometimes I just wish I could live a 'normal' life. Marry some 'normal' guy and forget this online stuff ever happened. Wish the old saying 'once you put something on the internet you can't take it off again' wasn't true. Wish someone had told me how fame was gonna 'eat me up, spit me out & turn me into a banner ad on facebook without asking for my permission' before I released my 1st sex tape / social media campaign. Can only hope that I'm a lesson 2 y'ulz.
What do normal ppl do on weekends? Have heard it's quite rad to 'chill with a beer at &Union' bcoz they only serve 2 types of food and say fuck-you to anyone who complains. Have heard that normal ppl 'tolerate being treated like crap' and actually enjoy it.
Have also heard there is some 'party at the Biscuit Mill' on Sat. Haven't been to a party 'just anyone can go to' in years. How do the caterers manage if they don't know how many ppl will be there? Do 'open' parties often run out of Moet? (that was a trick question – Moet is cheap crap).
Maybe I'll venture out of the city bowl, except the ppl outside the city don't always get 'netiquette' and sometimes do crass things like 'ask 2 add me on facebook'. Worried that if I smile at someone in the southern suburbs they will take it as permission to ask to 'pick my brain' on their latest 'social media activation planning schedule' when all I want to do is shop for scented vanilla candles at The Space in peace.
What do y'ulz 'normal people' do for fun on the weekend?


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Posts by andrewspradlin
- By andrewspradlin
- On 02/02/2018
Babysitting is a mission for Derrick McReary, Packie's brother in Grand Theft Auto IV. In this mission, Niko and Derrick help a North Korean named Kim Young-Guk smuggle a boat full of counterfeit 100 dollar bills into Liberty City on a boat. This mission introduces the Rocket Launcher, the most powerful explosive weapon in the game. Niko meets Derrick in a boat. He takes Derrick in the boat to Kim Young-Guk, a Korean criminal that is wanted by the police for counterfeiting money. Niko and Derrick follow Kim and use guns to blow up a few boats that want to use Kim's counterfeit money for themselves.
Mission Objectives
In order to complete the mission the player must:
- Go to Kim's boat
- Follow Kim
- Stay close to Kim's boat. Protect him from the attackers
- Use the rocket launcher to shoot down the chopper
- Eliminate every attacker
- Follow Kim
Niko meets Derrick on the pier at Alderney City waterfront. There will be a short cutscene showing Derrick pulling up in a Squalo speedboat. After the cutscene the player will be at the wheel of the boat with Derrick at which point he tells Niko they need to get to a boat anchored off the northern tip of Alderney. On the way there, Derrick explains the situation, Kim is his Korean contact who is arriving with a boatload of counterfeit $100 bills. He also tells Niko about Aiden O'Malley, who is currently in prison, and a guy who, like Bucky Sligo, thinks Derrick ratted him out to the police and wants him dead.
Upon arriving at Kim's boat, Derrick tells Kim that he will text him the route he is to follow in order to avoid the security checks of entering the city, and that he and Niko would protect him and his boat.
As Niko and Derrick follow Kim leading up to the Humboldt River, several enemy boats appear and attack Kim, trying to steal the counterfeit notes. Derrick and Niko immediately start open firing on the attackers, aiming for their engines for easy destruction.
When Kim veers east and passes under the East Borough Bridge, that connects Bohan to Charge Island, he picks up another attacker, a helicopter, or as Derrick calls it, the "airbourne cavalry."
Niko then stands on the deck of the speedboat and arms himself with the rocket launcher that is onboard and fires rockets at the helicopter until it is destroyed. Niko then turns his attention to the remaining enemy boats, and starts shooting until every attacker has been eliminated. Once the area is clear from attackers, Niko, with Derrick, follow Kim until he reaches his destination to Industrial.
Be very careful after taking out the helicopter. The boats will all pull up beside the player, and killing the driver will blow up their boat, possibly killing the player, Derrick, Kim, or "wrecking" Derrick's boat.
Learn more


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You want to know how important your vote is? Consider this. Nearly 6,800 people voted on November 8 to determine who would be the next supervisor for the Town of East Hampton. If 8 people who voted for Bill Wilkinson had instead voted for Zach Cohen, the future of East Hampton Airport would be much different than its past—and possibly even torn up and shut down.
Here's how high the stakes were. Leading up to this election, one group of people argued that the thriving airport, owned by the Town but run by the Federal Aviation Administration, should continue along as is. And then there was another group of people arguing that the noise of the planes and helicopters coming and going had become intolerable, and what they wanted was it shut down.
Two members of the five-man town board were on one side, two members were on the other side, and the fifth man, with a decision about the airport looming, would be the winner of the Town Supervisor race. Bill Wilkinson, the incumbent, favored the airport. Zach Cohen, the challenger, has said he'd vote to send the F.A.A. packing.
The campaign was bitter. Campaign signs were defaced. The Town Budget Director, Len Bernard, who is not even running, was accused of using town property to fight for his boss Bill Wilkinson. He was sending messages out on a town-owned computer. As election day approached, the town board braced itself for a show-down, because decisions about the F.A.A. needed to be made imminently. There would be a decisive meeting on Thursday night, December 1, four weeks after the election. One way or another the vote would be 3-2. If Wilkinson won, they'd stay the course. If Cohen won, they'd head down this path to kick out the F.A.A. and bring the East Hampton Airport completely under the town's direct control. And from there, it would only be a short way to shutting out the helicopters and, eventually, shutting down the airport entirely.
This airport had been built in a forest back in the 1930s. But housing developments had grown up around it. The noise was intolerable. Or so those living there said.
Three separate action groups were formed to carry the banner for the residents now living in the shadow of the airport. One, Quiet Skies, was created as an offshoot of Dark Skies, the highly effective organization dedicated to putting an end to glare in all outdoor public and private lighting clusters.
Election day came. It was expected that by 10 p.m., two hours after the polls closed, a winner in the Wilkinson-Cohen contest would be announced. One would concede and thank everybody for their help. The other would make a victory speech and announce that now the town could move forward into the future with renewed (or new) confidence.
That's not what happened. The initial tally, without the write-in votes and without any challenges which would come later, showed Wilkinson leading Cohen by just 177 votes. It was too close to call.
As a matter of fact, as the days went by and stretched into weeks, it got even closer than too close to call. The reason? The original votes had to go through a recount. And then there were 840 absentee votes, in unopened envelopes, still to be counted—which, if history were any guide, would be more for Cohen, the Democrat than for Wilkinson the Republican. Advantage Cohen.
Then there were about 70 challenges to be dealt with. There were reasons why certain people might have voted when they shouldn't have and during the recount, the monitors pointed them out. For example, if they were already registered voters in New York City they'd be ineligible to vote from their second homes in East Hampton. Most of the challenges came from the Wilkinson camp. Truth is, there are more registered Democrats who have summer homes out here than Republican. Advantage Wilkinson.
The recount, the absentee count and the challenged vote determination took place day after day in a large warehouse space filled with banquet tables and lit with florescent lights on Yaphank Road at Exit 67 on the Long Island Expressway. Monitors from the Republican Town Committee were there as were monitors from the Democratic Town Committee. Also present were employees and numerous observers. Early on, there were other recounts going on for other towns at other tables. But at those tables the people began to drift away one after another as the balloting was completed and decisions reached.
As for East Hampton, at the end, there were just two of the dozen or so tables in use. Jeanne Frankl, the Chairperson of the Town Democratic Party was there at one table with the attorney Sam Kramer facing the Board of Elections people. Adjacent to them were attorneys hired by the Democrats facing more Board of elections people. All were paying close attention as a particular envelope would be opened up, the ballot inside unfolded and then looked at by everyone one at a time for discussion. Occasionally, one side or the other would state an objection, and a more comprehensive discussion would ensue.
More days went by. Slowly but surely, Wilkinson's lead melted away. On Thursday it was down to 151 votes. On Friday it was a 54-vote margin. And then, finally, on Monday, November 17, matters had been resolved on everything except 33 envelopes – and Wilkinson's lead had dropped to just 17.
What would happen with these 33? One after another was presented, discussed and decided upon. One for Cohen, one for Wilkinson. The lead dropped to 16, then went back up to 17.
At this point, a strange calmness settled over everybody. All of these people, on both sides of the election, had been working so long they had come to trust the fairness of the process.
"I think you guys won," someone said.
And then everyone realized it was over. Wilkinson was ahead by 15 votes, and there were just 14 envelopes yet to be evaluated. Everyone knew what this meant. Cellphones came out. Calls were made.
"Do we need to open these envelopes?" someone asked.
"No we don't," came the reply. "But we will anyway."
It was over.
And so, the choppers will continue to come into East Hampton Airport as before, but now there surely will be a very vigorous effort to solve the noise problem. Wilkinson had been so widely favored. He had done so much to repair the finances for the town. He had lowered taxes. And now this—hardly a show of confidence. The closeness of it all was truly a shock.
The last 14 votes? Split evenly. The final tally was incumbent Bill Wilkinson 3,403 and challenger Josh Cohen, 3,388.
If you lived in East Hampton, boy did your vote count on November 8.


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Girls' Shoes
Keep your little girl happy and super stylish with our amazing collection of girl's shoes. From pretty patterned ballerinas to sparkly party shoes we have all the styles you need. Don't forget our great range shoes featuring all their favourite characters like Hello Kitty, Peppa Pig and Minnie Mouse.


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Anyone can tell you if a trailer "looks good" or not. But Drew Magary, who spent over a decade working in advertising, is here to tell you whether or not a trailer WORKS. This week's trailer? "The Hunger Games".
With "Harry Potter" finished and the "Twilight" series mercifully coming to a close, where oh where will American teenagers get their serialized blockbuster Hollywood book adaptations from? Fear not, for "The Hunger Games" arrives in late March of 2012, which isn't that far from now. I hope you've already grabbed your toy bow and quiver, and camped outside the local cineplex! Let's take a look at the new trailer that dropped this week and see if Katniss Everdeen will shoot her way into your heart.
Does the trailer let us know what the movie's about? Yes. Even if you haven't read "The Hunger Games" (I have), the trailer does a wonderfully concise job of letting you know what's gonna happen. Twenty-four go in. One comes out. Easy as that. I also really like that the trailer only highlights the build-up to the Games. Once the game begins, the trailer cuts off and leaves you wanting more. It's one of the few trailers I've seen that offers just the right amount of plot.
Does Jennifer Lawrence look sufficiently gritty to play Katniss? Sure. She's BRUNETTE. That means she's crazy tough. Also, I saw "Winter's Bone," so I'm always waiting for Lawrence to grill a squirrel and call everyone around her a filthy varmint.
Is that Lenny Kravitz? It is! He's the hairdresser. Perfect casting.
Is that Woody Harrelson's real hair? Not a chance in hell. I think he picked up the scraps from Tom Brady's last haircut.
Do we get a token shot of Katniss and Gale hanging out in the woods before the you-know-what hits the fan? Oh yes. And then a big ol' spaceship flies above them and you know that this is not a trailer for some loser indie movie. This is a REAL movie.
Do we get the heartbreaking scene where Katniss takes her sister's place in the drawing? Yes. CHILLS AHOY.
Are there little teasers for fans of the book? Yes. You get a quick glimpse of Rue, and you get Rue's little whistle call worked into the score at the end. Nice touch.
Does lots of stuff blow up? No, but the threat looms. Instead, you get lots of arrows being fired, plus you get a cool training sequence featuring a dude with paisley sideburns. You also get a wide CGI shot of the dreaded Capitol, which looks quite stunning.
THAT LOGO IS ON FIRE! I know! That means something is totally gonna burn.
Do we have a slogan? We do. THE GAMES WILL CHANGE EVERYONE. Indeed it will. Jennifer Lawrence will totally be able to buy a villa in Lake Como once this movie drops.
Does this trailer work? Yes. Best trailer of the year. You get a good sense of the story with minimal spoilers. You get a good sense of the cinematography (director Gary Ross has favored a washed out look that makes the action look pretty realistic). You get a masterful buildup to the action just before it cuts off and leaves you hooked. It's a brilliant trailer. A great looking trailer, especially compared to the "Twilight" movies, which look so cheaply done. After "The Dark Knight Rises," this will be the biggest movie of 2012. Bank on it.
Trailer Park: "The Hunger Games" Delivers the Best Trailer of 2011!
Anyone can tell you if a trailer "looks good" or not. But Drew Magary, who spent over a decade working in advertising, is here to tell you whether or not a trailer WORKS. This week's trailer? "The Hunger Games".


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STERLING — The newborn at Davis Farmland has oversized ears and limbs that look too big for his body. He sleeps and eats all day. Sometimes he runs, but stopping is an adventure.
Although he has no name yet, he has many admirers here in Central Massachusetts and beyond. He is a purebred Poitou donkey, one of an estimated 100 worldwide, his owners said.
"They're just the goofiest animals," said a smiling Larry Davis, co-owner of Davis Farmland. "Huge lips, big ears."
Mark Meyers, executive director of Peaceful Valley Donkey Rescue in Texas, said he has seen more than 5,000 donkeys across 27 states in his 15 years in the business. He has never seen a purebred Poitou, though, and he said it might be worth a trip to Massachusetts to get a look at the newborn.
"That's cooler than a unicorn in our business," Meyers said.
The baby, born Saturday, has long, knobby legs like a llama. His skinny tail resembles that of a giant rat. His floppy ears are reminiscent of a kangaroo. Someday, when he's older, long, matted dreadlocks will coat his sides, the signature hairstyle of his breed.
His mother, Duchess, was pregnant for a year and three days. She and the newborn's father, Duke, came from Tennessee about a year ago, after the Farmland's beloved Pete the Poitou died. The Davises put them together and hoped.
"They pretty much fell in love, actually as soon as they hit the farm," said Larry's brother, Doug.
The Davis family runs a sanctuary that features several rare breeds of farm animals for children to see and pet. Doug said the dual mission is to have fun and to protect the health of some dwindling species.
The story of the Poitou breed tracks the fate of most beasts of burden. Originally raised in west-central France and used heavily in agriculture, they were exported to other countries like the United States.
They grow large, up to 14 hands, or just shy of 5 feet from hoof to the crest of their backs. A standard race horse, the kind you would see at the Kentucky Derby, is about 16 hands, said Eric Davis, founder of Rural Area Veterinary Services and a specialist on donkey health.
But the Poitou was no match for the modern engine, and, by the 1960s, its numbers had decreased dramatically, Davis said.
"The advent of the combustion engine" was a near cataclysm for the breed, he said.
Like most other babies, the donkey's arrival at Davis Farmland was marked by blue balloons and a pastel flag that says: "Welcome Baby." His mother's sonogram from when she was 2½ months pregnant was shown on a nearby sign with a laminated note: "It's a boy!"
On Monday, children and parents cooed at the wooden fence that surrounds his pen. They watched as Duchess nursed and shielded her baby from visitors. Mothers scoffed at the thought of a year of pregnancy.
Doug Davis looked on proudly from inside the fence as the young donkey stared at a photographer's camera, almost posing.
"He's just as curious as any baby, finding out about the world," he said.
The newborn has started mimicking his mother, Davis said. Sometimes he picks up hay in his mouth but doesn't eat it. Solid food will come in about three weeks.
Ben Davis, Doug's 17-year-old son, discovered the birth when he went to feed the donkeys early Saturday morning. He said he walked in and the baby was already standing with his mother.
"I ran out and yelled to my dad, who was all the way across the farm," he said.
Ben is part of the seventh generation of Davises on the farm, so he said it was significant for him to discover the long-awaited Poitou.
"This being a very special animal; I was pumped," he said.
Davis Farmland is having a naming contest for the baby. Whoever comes up with the best name gets a free season pass.
Some ideas were floated on Monday.
"Pickles," said Kaelyn Steward, a gleeful 5-year-old from Bedford, N.H., who was visiting the farm.
"Jonathan," said Giovanni Courtemansche, 4, of Milton.
"It has to be something cool, and probably in French," said Meyers, the donkey rescue center director.
Larry Davis expects to get many more entries in the naming contest, but he has an early favorite: Jester, a perfect moniker for the gangly firstborn son of a Duke and a Duchess.
Zachary T. Sampson can be reached at zachary.sampson@
globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @ZackSampson.


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Deleersnyder, Barbara and Dekimpe, Marnik G. and Steenkamp, Jan-Benedict E.M. and Leeflang, Peter S.H. (2007) The Role of National Culture in Advertising'S Sensitivity to Business Cycles: An Investigation Across All Continents. [Working Paper]. p. 43. ERIM Report Series: Research in Management