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Feb 25th Return flight
I remember sitting on my hotel window sill one evening, looking out, five days after I had landed in Tasmania. The rooms large corner windows looked out over Hobart's marina, and back over the city and the steep forested slopes of Mount Wellington right above. The sky looked dramatic, crowded with towering, low cumulus clouds starkly coloured orange, grey and black in the last light. The clouds hid the mountains and seemed to press on the town. Looking the other way, out to sea, the sky and the waters were peaceful and clear blue. The fishing boats in the harbour below me looked very familiar, the same sort of small trawlers and creel boats that worked the east coast towns I grew up in. Stretching away from the marina I could see bigger quays with a couple of icebreaker ships tied up. I could see lots of people in summer clothes strolling along the tidy waterfront past restaurants, cabins, piers, and the preserved equipment of a once-busy working harbour. I felt a deep contentment to be here, but at the same time I didn't know what to do. I had had a strange few days in Hobart. Restless, unsettled.
The Astrolabe had arrived on Friday, February 17th. After five days sailing across the southern ocean in progressively calmer seas we spent a very happy afternoon enjoying the view of the nearing Tasmanian coast. The first grey shadow of land on the horizon gradually resolved into tall cliffs, sloping forests, and green and yellow fields over the course of the afternoon. There was no swell at all anymore, and I was very contentedly standing in the lookouts at the bridge, enjoying the view, the warmth, the calmness, the ordinariness of it all, so much. Particularly to see wildlife. Pods of dolphins occasionally swam past or underneath the boat. Birds, everywhere. Against a backdrop of those cliffs we saw a distinctly circular patch of water several metres across, become white as a frenzy of birds - petrels or shearwaters - dived over and over into the sea, their cries and the splashing audible over the ship's engines. I realised I was seeing them fishing a baitball. Some underwater predators had rounded up a shoal of prey fish, forcing them to swim in a tight ball and trapping them up against the surface. I wondered if it was the dolphins, but it could equally have been a group of predatory fish, or sharks, or seals. The birds, taking advantage of the trapped fish, dived into the shoal to catch a meal for themselves. All of a sudden the commotion melted away and the boiling white patch vanished as the ball of prey escaped their predators. The birds settled to rest on the water. Then moments later it erupted again a hundred metres away, and then again, and again as the unseen action between the circling predators and their shoal of prey went on. A fine diversion for a short while.
The Astrolabe crawled slowly into the long estuary of the Derwent river, lined for miles by gentle green hills. Rural roads sined through the farmlands and occasional houses to either side, and as the land closed in I could see buses and tractors driving along. The normality was such a novelty. Further up, leafy Hobart spread out on all the hills that surround the water, and above them thick forests cover mountain ridges that crowd over the city and the river. We passed the city centre and and the harbour, and went on further up into the mouth of the river to a refuelling jetty. And this is where we disembarked. The sky by now was dusky and thickly clouded over. A fine, quiet rain obscured all the hills and most of the town. We could have stayed on the ship for the night if we wished, but very few actually did. Some went straight to the airport for a plane that night, some just vanished. The goodbyes were very quick and perfunctory. For most, they were essentially 'see you in Antarctica next November.' Others returned to their bunks, having decided to stay on the ship. Within fifteen minutes, the ship seemed empty. An hour later and it was dark. I disembarked with Yves-Marie, DDU's winterover doctor. We crossed the pontoon and found ourselves at a crossroads in empty, unlit industrial yards, waiting for a taxi. We sheltered from the rain under a makeshift corrugated-sheeting shelter in the dark with a few other guys from the ship. Apart from the quiet drizzling rain it was silent. Dark towering fuel tanks, sheds and warehouses all around.
Hobart's pretty fully booked out and it took a lot of help from the cab driver to find us a room for the night. Then I and a crowd of French guys, most I knew but some I didn't, had ourselves one big night out on the town. Since then, with hotels a problem, we got spread out more and more. Our email accounts were variably deactivated or inaccessible, phones defunct, broken or out of contract. Trying to arrange meeting points with variable success, it was hard to keep in touch. To my amazement, my French was sufficient to hold conversations and even have a laugh with the guys I could keep in touch with. But it was still very simple stuff and I didn't really fit well with the crowd. After struggling with communication for so long, the English speaking world here in Hobart was much more inviting. I found myself each day walking and walking around the town, really quite aimlessly, but I guess I explored it pretty thoroughly. The best was sitting outside at the restaurants on the piers. Amongst the boats, in the warmth, I could sit happily for hours. The others, mostly summer campaigners back in town after only a couple of months in Antarctica, were making plans to get out and do some sightseeing but I found I had no wish to go out of Hobart. After a year in the wilderness of Antarctica what I really wanted was to stay in the town, rest in coffeeshops, read newspapers, get some new clothes. We didn't quite realise that Hobart would be so booked out and trying to get accommodation was very difficult. I think I stayed in four different places in the eight nights I spent in Hobart. One place was a terrible hotel, deep in suburbs, whose reception was a large betting shop. The next was the five star 'Grand Chancellor' hotel on the seafront. The next was a bed and breakfast in North Hobart which I enjoyed the most. I spent the late evenings sitting out on thier veranda, looking out in the dusk across a valley at the city lights on the hill on the other side. It was warm and humid, and so comfortable to sit outside. I can't describe the complete contentment I felt there. Even the muted, distant noises of city traffic seemed reassuring and pleasant. I was glad to stay within civilisation and just be.
Whilst the warmth was certainly nice, what I found myself delighting in over and over was water – in the seaside air, the steam in a shower, swimming pools. Even the drinking water because it had minerals, rather than the essentially distilled water I had been drinking in Antarctica. Being able to breathe so easily again because in the normal, humid air the lining of my nose healed and the constant blood and dried mucus in my nose was gone. So I slept normally at last. Physically, I found that my leg muscles had weakened a fair bit. I could get thigh and hip joint pains after a morning walking around town. When I went to a swimming pool, I found that I had a much larger oxygen carrying capacity as you would expect from living at altitude for so long – I could swim far longer doing breath-holding strokes - but that the stamina of my arms and legs was much reduced and I had to stop very soon.
But, funnily enough, being in Tasmania made me so homesick. The culture, Tasmania's cool climate, the buildings, even the roadsigns are so similar to Britain that it felt like home was just a few miles down the road. I had a week booked in Sydney but sitting on that hotel windowsill, looking out I realised that really, I had spent the week pacing round Hobart waiting for my flight out, just exactly like the guys who had paced Concordia, waiting for the weather to lift and their plane to go. I didn't want a holiday, I just wanted home. I decided to cancel it and go straight home.
And now I'm on my way, writing this on the dark, softly roaring plane from Hong Kong to Paris. It's mostly empty, and essentially I'm alone with just my thoughts. M has just moved to Cambridge to start a new job, and she has temporarily taken a room at our old College, Wolfson. It's where she and I first met, where I lived for four years as I studied medicine. It's funny to think I'm heading back to the College. It's a good place and I'm looking forward to it. Much more so than I felt it in Hobart, I suddenly feel how good it is to be back in the normal world.
Feb 29th Wolfson College, Cambridge
Radio, Radio, from Eoin, over
- Go ahead, Eoin
Back at base, over
- Copy that.
Wolfson College's reading room. It's a very pleasant place, lit by soft lamps and a long wall of tall windows looking out onto the gardens of the college. The room's other walls are lined with bookshelves and photographs of past students celebrating rowing successes. People come here to chat, or read, or write in a quiet comfortable atmosphere. It's where, in a way, my adventure really began. Years ago I sat on one of these leather sofas waiting nervously to be called for an interview for a place on my medical course. And I found out much later that the house the interview took place in used to belong to Sir Vivian Fuchs, the expedition leader of Antarctica's first land crossing. After, I lived in the College for four years while I trained to be a doctor. So I remembered with wry appreciation the routine call I would make as soon as I returned to the station from a walk outside. I would be standing, still with suit and boots on, in the dark metal corridor between the towers and I would radio up to the radio room to say I was inside. If the radio's button had frozen I would use a nearby telephone. Then replace the radio battery with a fresh one, check it then turn it off, stow it back in my suit. Ready to go, in case of emergency.
I make myself more comfortable on the sofa. It feels particularly cosy today, with a classic Cambridge fog chilling everything outside. The trees take on an uncharacteristic, stricken appearance, the gardens mostly invisible, and people hurry outside, head down against the cold, pale figures in the fog. Inside, only the rustle of a college fellow turning the pages of a newspaper disturbs the quiet. I sip a coffee contentedly and wonder whether this, or the Epica workshop with its puttering oil stove and wood smell, is a better place to relax in. The epica workshop, I think. Perhaps it's just about the contrast within and without, perhaps its the warm smell of wood and grease or maybe I just prefer that kind of rough, easy company you find in such workshops everywhere.
It's been interesting to sit here and read over my blog. Through the winterover I wasn't able to see it at all. Once in a while Paolo would be allowed to use the satellite link to download a newspaper pdf, and when the link was active we could get online to look at a website or two. I would use it to upload photos but the satellite link was so slow and unreliable – the connection would drop again and again - that I never wasted time to look over previous posts. So when the Italians established a permanent internet link two weeks before I left the base it was the first time I got to see my blog. I can see there have been some formatting problems, and I see I occasionally posted something badly edited, and once or twice just plain rubbish. I put most of that down to hypoxia. I never stopped making errors of inattention at DC and even to the end everything I did I had to double check on another day.
There's so much more to that year than I could ever put into words but now that I read it, I'm a bit sad that I couldn't or didn't write more.
There were many many things I couldn't write at the time, to avoid causing worry. Like how exceptionally badly I was affected by altitude sickness when I arrived first. Two days after I arrived at Concordia I was vomiting so badly I couldn't keep down water. But Ales had to leave so there really was no choice but to keep working. I remember that we went to the grey water unit to learn the sampling process and I stayed on my feet for as long as I could, a bit dizzy and disorientated, then we went to the hospital where I got 2 litres of fluid infused intravenously and then I got straight back on my feet and we returned to finish the training. Ales and I were both a bit concerned about the possibility of progressive cerebral oedema, because nobody had ever reacted like this to the altitude before. But there wasn't much to do except wait and see how badly it developed. For about four days after I was so lethargic I could hardly move from my bunk. I wasn't keen to worry my family at the time with that.
And likewise I could say little about other's difficulties. I could not say any more about the emergency evacuations we had to do. Partly, I certainly didn't want anyone at home dwelling on what could go wrong up there, but mostly because of my obligation to keep individuals' medical confidentiality – being such a small group of people secrecy is not an easy matter. But that first medical evacuation in December 2010 was a salutary experience. I had not prepared for the medical problems of the station as I expected to defer on all that to our station doctor, and preparing for my own job was a busy enough task. But our station doctor, a surgeon, was not prepared for a challenge of pure internal medicine like HAPE, nor the challenges of remote medicine. I walked into the tiny hospital room and could see literally from the end of the bed the patient's bounding carotid pulses and cyanosed lips. He was in a desperate state and needed evacuation at once. But for all that I demanded the doctor go and discuss evacuation with ENEA's Italian office, I didn't have the diagnosis right straight away. I made the very classic mistake of thinking his fever, neutrophilia, cough and chest and peripheral signs indicated a right lower pneumonia and impending septic shock. It took a four hour rush to get the evacuation organised, and it was only when the rush was over and the plane was in fact taxiing away that realisation hit. Thank goodness we got him down, and he recovered well. But the fall-out that evolved between myself and the station doctor, from having to get involved in the case, would severely sour our relationship for the whole winter.
Then, there were all the times that were indescribable because they were so simple, so unimportant taken alone, but now I look back they were the moments, the laughs and the fall-outs, the challenges, the successes and the mistakes, the minor disasters, the conflict, the reconciliations and the co-operation that make a single crew out of fourteen very different people. How the relationships between us as individuals appeared so, so important through the time, but looking back seem less so now. So, some of the guys did fall out. Some people didn't like other people. So what? We held it together well through the winterover. Everyone did their job. The base at the end of the winterover was in good shape and so were we - individually and as a functional crew. The experiments were done, the data and the samples ready to go back for analysis. When I look back, these are exactly the challenges that I'm proud of, that makes it mean something forever, to me, that I was one of the crew of DC7.
Too, I'm a bit sad that I never did write much about my departure from Concordia. My last week on the station last week was utterly chaotic. My replacement had arrived but was distracted by the need to attend to Monsieur Rochard, and then by the DC8 station doctor's decision not to do the winterover. He was unable to find time to come up to the lab to learn the job. I was writing guides for him, photographing and filming everything and anything relevant, helping Vera (the ESA representative that came to the station for a few days to set up the DC8 experiments) prepare the equipment, both new stuff and the equipment I had been using last year. Too, I was getting involved in medical provision, and also advising Alex on how to prepare for being the station doctor. And I had to pack up my room into my cases to send back to Europe, and train and prepare for working on the raid. I had a pretty fraught week. The day I left, much to my disappointment I was busy right up to midnight and I missed the opportunity to say goodbye to my many friends. I remember that the base was asleep by the time I finished up. I rushed out of the lab at midnight and down to my room, swept everything left on my shelves into a bag and walked out of the base without looking back or giving any thought at all to the fact I was leaving this station. I had to be ready to start on the raid early the next morning and that was all. I forgot to download photos other people had taken of the winterover – I'm no good at photos of people really, and I wanted copies of photos that the others took of some of the good times. So sadly I just don't have those kinds of photos to put up here on the blog and I really wish I did.
In part, I do miss Antarctica. Not for the land –it's beautiful but I certainly have had enough of that. What makes Antarctica a special place, as far as I'm concerned, is the people that you find there. That's how I would sum up the place: a bitterly hostile landscape, full of wonders, populated with really good people. Friendly, good fun, and very capable. One of the things that stands out most in my memory was the email greetings that all the bases exchanged at midwinter. More so than our own midwinter celebrations, It took the edge off the loneliness, and for me it lifted my eyes off the particular difficulties I was working through in the depths of the darkness made me appreciate again that a winterover is indeed a tough thing to do, and that it was reasonable to find it so. It was very nice to be reminded that others shared the same challenges, and it was fascinating to see for the first time that pretty much every base that stays lit and occupied through the night does so in their own unique environment – no two are at all the same. And it was wonderful too, to get greetings from people around the world who thought of us, people like the staff at IPEV and ENEA, others who had done a winterover before and thought of us. No-one back home made anything of it, which just tells me that you really do have to have experienced a winterover to understand what it means to do a winterover.
On reflection, I am so very glad that I went to Concordia. It was an indescribably superb adventure, albeit tremendously tough. But, I have to say, it's good to be home, too.
Coming back has been easier than I expected it would be. I got good advice from the astronomers who had done winterovers before – Karim, Eric and Djamal -that, if I wasn't going back to the same job I had before, it would be wise to stay away from work for a couple of months at least. And that's what I am doing! IPEV pays us a basic holiday rate right through to June to cover all the annual leave and weekend days off I missed by being on the station. It does give me time to recover and also some kind of target date to aim to get a job by. Having a year's worth of salary in the bank does take the pressure off a bit. So I'm not in a hurry and I'm enjoying that, but I'm concious that its important to make sure I don't become aimless.
M's move to Cambridge, where she started a new job the week before I arrived, is a good thing for us. It means that, as we try to re-establish our relationship, we can look at making a new life together here, rather than I try to fit into her established life in Glasgow. Our relationship only barely survived my year away.
While I was at the station, our once weekly phone conversations were difficult and rarely an enjoyable thing. We both found them to be really stressful. I think that M was struggling with the fact I was away in a place she could not really imagine, and with some degree of danger, so she found it difficult to sustain a conversation about it. I was not keen to dwell on all the things I was missing by being so isolated, so it was hard to talk to her about her life. One week was not much different to the next at the base, so I really didn't have very much to talk about. She had thrown herself into her work seven days a week and so neither did she. So our talk was stilted, frequently unhappy and almost always disappointing for both of us. The time zone separation could not have been worse so usually we were both tired, and aggravated by the transmission getting dropped every few minutes. I was physically uncomfortable, sat in a small hard plastic chair in a cramped metal room under the quiet tower's aluminium steps. Week after week the frustration built up to the point I think we both found the phone call unbearably difficult, and we started to seek excuses to avoid it. Emails got less and less frequent. And for me, each time I struggled to write or speak to M I felt so guilty that I had ever come to Concordia. It felt our relationship was, bit by bit, slipping away even though we were both doing what we could to preserve it. It got sharply worse as I got closer to my return to Europe, and I had to start thinking about actually meeting her again. I wondered if it was going to be just impossible. For sure I still wanted our relationship to survive but, after a whole year of such difficulty I think I had just about given up on it. Particularly as my departure got put back and put back - it was so frustrating that I had to stay. The station simply would not have been adequately covered if I left and of course, it's friends and colleagues I had been working with a long time asking me, face to face, to stay. It was a tough situation. My temper deteriorated on the station and led, directly and indirectly, to a couple of confrontations with the station leader. By the time I left Concordia, I really needed to leave.
It was M that saved our relationship. Just when I thought a reunion seemed too difficult and that to be honest, I was feeling that I didn't deserve another shot at it, M wrote a couple of really positive, optimistic emails when I was on the astrolabe. So in the last days, against all my expectations, the difficulty of facing her really turned to a feeling of fragile optimism. But when I stepped off the train at Cambridge and found her, her eyes were so, so full of uncertainty and reservation. I think my emailed replies had more communicated the anxiety and the uncertainty I had felt than the optimism, and she really didn't know what was going to happen. Standing looking at her in the busy station I felt wracked with regret and guilt more than anything, at how hard I could see she was finding it. And I thought - how do you start a conversation after fifteen months apart? Thankfully, I didn't have to. I was late arriving and we had to go straight to see a house she was thinking of renting. Instead of a conversation, we had something we needed to do. And actually, that worked out well. I guess the fundamental thing was that we both wanted to make it work. From there, we've started to build new foundations together. I think that all the long distance living we had to do before I went to Antarctica, thanks to the structure of medical training in the UK, stood us in good stead too, like pre-stress on a heart about to suffer a heart attack. Within just a few hours, being together felt right.
Anyway, today is good. I still get weary surprisingly easily, and after a short time walking in Cambridge I'm glad to come back to the college and take it easy here in the reading room. We haven't found a place to live yet but sharing the purpose is really helping us. And being in a comfortable, familiar place helps a lot adjusting back to normal life.
April 16th Little Shelford, Cambridge.
We found a place to rent in a beautiful little village just south of Cambridge, called Little Shelford. It's a quintessential, colourful English village, much friendlier and quieter than the city - I found the crowding in Cambridge extremely stressful, although that is easing now. It's a sunny morning today so I took a walk through the village. I didn't feel like going far though, so I thought I could go and pick up a few things from the co-op. On my way back, I walk down quiet roads lined by tall trees, past very old garden walls and thick hedges, churches, timber-beamed and brick houses, thatched roofs, green gardens, friendly strangers saying hello. A little stream flows between Little Shelford and Great Shelford, the next village just a fifteen minute walk from our house, where there are a few shops and a couple of pubs. It's a very good place, and it's close enough to Addenbrookes for M to cycle to work when she wants to.
There are so many songbirds here. And the trees rustle in the breeze all the time. Children, music flowing from windows, church bells - the world seems incredibly rich in sound. I realise that, of all my senses, my hearing was by far the most deprived in Antarctica.
Legs are back to normal, the tendinitis in my shoulders and elbows much improved. My stamina is almost back up to normal. I've been eating unbelievably a lot - I guess my body really needed repair. My old drive to get out climbing, mountaineering, walking, sailing, whatever, is just about completely absent. M and I spent the last couple of weekends tidying up our garden together. Happy as I am, I do hope some spirit for adventure comes back soon, though.
I have some meetings in London tomorrow to start locum work, hopefully in emergency departments in the area. I've spent my days recently reading emergency medicine and doing some exam revision to polish up my slightly rusty knowledge. And, we're starting to organise a reunion for the crew in Cologne, at the European Astronaut Centre in June.
At the door of our house I stop to watch some little birds swooping and stalling as they shoot right past me and round the side of the house, on their way to the bird feeder we have at the back. I notice that there are new green shoots growing up by the garden wall, I wonder what they will become. I go into the kitchen, put the bag of shopping on the table, and go to the window to see if the birds are still there.
I'm home.


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PORTSMOUTH — Celebrating the life of Lizzi Marriott and supporting a family still at a loss for definitive answers surrounding her death, a ceremony featuring belly dancers will be held this weekend at St. John's Episcopal Church.
On Saturday, 15 dancers and two dancing troupes will host a benefit from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. where the public is welcome to remember a life that had become part of the Seacoast community through her studies at the University of New Hampshire.
In October, Marriott went missing and was presumed dead by officials after vanishing following a class at UNH and failing to arrive for a work shift at the Target store in Greenland.
Since then, an outpouring of support, as well as extensive search efforts, have been under way to let her family know her life will not be forgotten.
The dances are intended as a celebration of Marriott's life and also as a way for mourning friends and family to begin the healing process.
Tickets for the event are $10. Raffles and a silent auction will feature items donated by New Hampshire-area vendors as the event is intended for those who knew and will remember Marriott in New Hampshire.
All proceeds will benefit what is called the Lizzi Marriott Intrepid Explorer Fund.
The Westborough Athletic and Social Association will also sponsor "A Night in Remembrance of Lizzi Marriott," the event from 7 p.m. to midnight Saturday, Jan. 26 at the Indian Meadows Country Club in Northborough.
Tickets for that event are $25 and can be purchased at locations near the venue.
The show on Saturday in Portsmouth will conclude with a healing dance circle where audience members are welcome to join in and dance with the performers.

subset: commoncrawl


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MONTREAL - Have you ever played a round of golf with someone who shot a 65?
I have – and it's a day I will never forget. It was during the pro-am event at the 1994 Quebec Open at Golf Dorval, which was won by Dana Quigley, who shot a 6-under-par 65.
I was fortunate to be in Quigley's foursome that day, along with Gazette golf writer Randy Phillips and copy editor Geoff Howard. It's one thing to watch a golfer shoot 65 on TV ... but it's another thing to experience it live.
Even more incredible is the fact Quigley had never played the Dorval course before.
I had never heard of Quigley before that day. But while chatting with him during the round I learned he was a 47-year-old club pro from Rhode Island who was working on his game in hopes of joining the senior Champions Tour when he turned 50.
A lot of good golfers in their 40s have that dream, but it rarely comes true. It did for Quigley.
He qualified for his first Champions Tour event four days after his 50th birthday and has gone on to win 11 tournaments while earning $14.8 million to rank fourth on the tour's career money list. Not bad for a guy who earned only $92,298 when he played on the PGA Tour from 1978-82.
But these days Quigley is living a nightmare, as Phillips reports in a feature story in our annual golf supplement to tee off a new season (Page D4). Quigley's 27-year-old son, Devon, has been in a coma-like condition in a Florida hospital since being seriously injured in a car crash on Nov. 30.
Quigley is looking forward to returning to Montreal next month for the third edition of the Montreal Championship presented by Desjardins at the Richelieu Valley Golf Club, but his thoughts and prayers will be with his son.
"I think of him every moment of every single day," Quigley told Phillips.
Quigley is the kind of golfer you want to root for. He only started playing the game at age 15 and was self-taught, never taking a lesson.
His swing isn't pretty – with hardly any backswing and a short follow-through while punching most of his shots – the result of a broken arm when he was 13. He rarely if ever hits balls on the range, preferring instead to play 36 to 45 holes every day to work on his game.
"I play golf just for the sheer love of the game," Quigley has said in the past.
Now, Phillips reports, the 65-year-old Quigley is also playing with a heavy heart.
Phillips has another feature on Sherbrooke native Maude-Aimée Leblanc, a 23-year-old rookie on the LPGA Tour who stands 6-foot-1 and hits her average drive 282 yards (Page D6).
Phillips also catches up with Hudson-based golf course architect Graham Cooke, who built the spectatular Fox Harb'r course in Nova Scotia (Page B8). We've also got the latest in equipment (Page B13) and some gadgets (Page B15) that might help you shoot 65 one day. We're allowed to dream, right?
I hope you enjoy reading the section, and you might want to think about saying a prayer for Devon Quigley when you're done.
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Found 1 resultsAuthor Title [ Type] Year
Filters: First Letter Of Title is S and Author is Lerner, SP [Clear All Filters]
Journal Article
"Summary and Recommendations from the National Cancer Institute's Clinical Trials Planning Meeting on Novel Therapeutics for Non-Muscle Invasive Bladder Cancer", Bladder Cancer, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 165-202, 2016.,


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Mouchoir de Monsieur
Eau de Toilette
The worldly gentleman's fragrance
Spray 100 ML
Indisponible -
In the early 20th century, dandies wore perfume in a discreet and refined way, starting the fashion of delicately perfumed handkerchiefs of fine batiste. With a nod to this indispensable accessory and the turn-of-the-century's emblem of good taste, Jacques Guerlain created one of the very first men's fragrances in 1904. Mouchoir de Monsieur marries citrusy freshness and the vivaciousness of aromatic notes with the subtlety of a fougère accord nuanced with delicately powdered wood.
At first in a bottle with a "snail" theme, it now comes in the Bee bottle engraved with his majesty's coat of arms: a bottle bearing a constellation of 69 bees, the symbol of the Empire.
Citrus Fougère.
Refined, elegant, rare.
Composed of rare and noble essences, Mouchoir de Monsieur takes flight with top notes of citrus and aromatic accents leading to floral notes of rose, jasmine and neroli on a woody dry-down enveloped in a whisper of powder.
Guerlain creations each have their own story and sometimes have intertwining themes. This is the case of Mouchoir de Monsieur and Jicky, which both have a very bold and classic fougère accord.


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Essentially a tweaked version of its predecessor, the K-30, that can be two-toned to your heart's delight, the Pentax K-50 doesn't seem like much of an update apart from the colors and a nonspecific update to the autofocus system. That said, it still stands out from the competition with the same weather-sealed body, the aforementioned colorific cornucopia, and Pentax's usual broad set of shooting features. However, the image quality is a bit disappointing -- especially when using the default settings -- and the performance, while fast enough for most tasks the family photographer might require it for, is slower than you get from the competition.
The K-50 has a cheaper brother, the K-500, which lacks the weather sealing and only comes in serious black. For review purposes, it's more or less identical.
Image quality
Overall, the image and video quality disappoint, especially on the default color settings. Following a long Pentax consumer tradition, Custom Image still defaults to Bright, a setting that indiscriminately pumps up color saturation and increases contrast, resulting in serious hue shifts and clipped shadow detail. Switching to the Natural setting or shooting raw helps somewhat. If you're not worried about color accuracy, the occasionally surreal colors might appeal. On the other hand, the interface for the Custom Image setting is really nice -- it shows you exactly how the presets and changes affect the color gamut.
Pentax K-50 sample photosSee all photos
For JPEGs I wouldn't recommend going higher than ISO 800. The K-50's images generally look pretty soft, and that gets worse as the noise reduction really kicks in. It also looks like the camera adds some sharpening at ISO 400, as there's a noticeable jump in sharpness at that point.
It renders a respectable tonal range, with a reasonable amount of recoverable shadow detail, though like the rest of its class it doesn't retain a lot of highlight detail. Exposures look correct, with no metering surprises, even in this sunny, high-contrast July.
|Click to download
Video also ranks as subpar, with lots of moire and aliasing, as well as severe rolling shutter. The 18-55mm kit lens is also pretty noisy.
I think the K-50's performance should be fine for most kids-and-pets photography -- it's especially fast for continuous shooting -- but it's just OK compared with other models in its price range. It takes about 1.2 seconds to power on, focus, and shoot. Time to focus, expose, and shoot runs about 0.4 second in good light, but close to 1 second on average in dim conditions. The latter seems to be the result of variability in the response of the autofocus system, at least with the kit lens: at best, the camera locks and drives the lens directly to position in about 0.8 second. But just as often it hunts a couple of times before fixing, increasing the time to as much as 1.4 seconds.
It takes 0.3 second for two sequential JPEG or raw shots, essentially the result of taking focus out of the equation. Adding flash ups that to about 1.1 seconds.
(Shorter bars indicate better performance)
|Time to first shot
|Raw shot-to-shot time
|Typical shot-to-shot time
|Shutter lag (dim light)
|Shutter lag (typical)
The camera can sustain a burst of 5.7-frames-per-second JPEG shots essentially indefinitely (at least 31 shots using a 95MBps card), which should be fast enough for all but fast-action sports. It can burst for eight raw shots at 6.4fps, but then drops significantly.


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By Gabrielle.
At first glance, I would've sworn Meta's home was somewhere in Sweden. Denmark, possibly. Or Norway. It's got all the markings of a home from that corner of the world, with its crisp white walls, heady bursts of brights, and edited knickknacks that look like they traveled a long way to get there. But, no…the Coleman home can be found in Utah!
This home tour isn't all about pretty things and fresh decor. The Colemans endured a devastating loss earlier this year, and part of what inspired me most about Meta is the way she's finding her way through the sadness to happy again. I wanted to share her story with you because I know there are many others trying to find that way, too. I hope this helps. And I truly hope you enjoy this tour. Friends, please welcome the Coleman family!
Q: Please tell us all about the family who lives in this crisp and cozy home!
A: Hello! We are the Colemans: Nicholas, Meta, Henrik, and Maja. My husband and I met when we were three years old carpooling to preschool. We have been friends ever since and have been married ten years. We have a six year old son Henrik, who loves to work on claymation figures (literally every waking moment). And a two and a half year old girl Maja, who loves her brother "Haek" and tries to boss him around and do everything he does. My husband is a an artist and I am an Interior designer, a furniture designer, and have a blog called One More Mushroom. We like to be together as a family, swimming, hiking, camping, visiting museums, and especially traveling.
My mother is German, so growing up I had the wonderful opportunity to spend all my summers in Germany visiting my family. During those summers we would take small trips to Italy, Denmark, England, Holland, and other countries. This opportunity broadened my understanding and appreciation for other cultures and sparked my fascination with how other people live.
My husband and I hope to provide similar travel opportunities for our children. We want them to know that there is more to the world than what is in our small community.
Q: I was shocked to learn your home is in Utah! What makes it the perfect state for you?
A: Ha! Both my husband and I are from Utah and have so many wonderful family and friends that make living here ideal for us. Nick also paints the landscape and wildlife of the west, which is still so well preserved in Utah. He and I both love to travel as well, and have been able to visit many countries together during our marriage. We like to think we have the best of both worlds.
Q: How did this home come to be yours?
A: My husband bought our property before we were married; he was a very responsible bachelor! After a couple of years of marriage we decided to build. Looking back, it was a steep learning curve for us, especially being newly married! We joke that if you can survive building a house together, you can survive anything in your marriage.
I have a BFA in photography, but when we built our house I discovered another passion for interior design.
Q: How intentional are you with the design of your home in terms of how it affects your kids?
A: I believe that a home should reflect the personality of the family living in it and only be filled with the things you love. My children are the most important part of our home, and I want their furniture and toys to be a part of our every day life.
When designing their spaces and our shared spaces, I try to incorporated their interests and make it a fun environment where they can freely express and be creative. My daughter is still too young to notice, but my son loves it when I hang or display his artwork or clay figures. It makes him feel like he is contributing to the home, and he is.
Q: A furniture designer? How did that come about? What were your influences?
A: Over a year ago I was shopping around for a twin bed for my son and I couldn't find exactly what I wanted, so I decided to design one. I was so happy with the quality and look of the bed, but I never thought that others might be as well.
In January of this year, we lost our third child. A baby boy. Dealing with that loss has been the hardest thing I have ever gone through (and am still going through). Ever since our loss I have felt a strong desire to make something beautiful and positive come from my heartache. The production of the Henrik bed is a start in that direction, and is a tribute to my beautiful children.
Q: You've experienced such loss in the making of your family. You mention the act of making something being very therapeutic for you. Do you feel it's important during rough times to express yourself creatively, especially in your surroundings? How has this process manifested itself in your home?
A: In January, my life became a living nightmare. I was six months pregnant. We were so excited and felt so lucky (especially with our difficult infertility journey) to be able to welcome another child into this world. I went to my O.B. appointment on the 18th for a routine check-up. But, after digging around with the heart-rate monitor for what felt like an eternity, my doctor couldn't find a heartbeat.
I had to wait 20 agonizing minutes for the ultrasound tech to come and confirm my worst fears. My baby boy was dead.
That night I went into labor. Each contraction a painful reminder of how different my labor was. The next day I delivered a tiny perfect lifeless baby boy. The doctor required that I stay in the hospital 12 hours, which was bittersweet. We got to hold our baby in the hospital and say our goodbyes. My son Henrik even got to hold his brother. He was so sad and distraught to hear his brother had died that I thought it would help him gain some closure. And it did help. I'm very glad we let him see his brother.
This was the most surreal experience of my life, and yet it's more real than anything I've ever experienced. I experienced postpartum depression with an intensity and pain unlike anything in my life. I literally felt like there was a dark cloud hovering over me controlling my thoughts and emotions. And I didn't get to have a sweet baby to help get me through it. My heart was broken and my arms were empty.
I discovered that what was most helpful for me was to give myself rules. Positive things I had to do everyday to help myself move in a positive direction. For example, taking my kids out on a small activity, laughing with them, and making craft projects for them.
I am a person who likes to make things with my hands. To me, there's something therapeutic in the act of creating. So, in the beginning, I forced myself to make projects. I found once I was in the process of creating, my mood would change and I would start to feel more optimistic and excited about the project…and life in general.
I think my coping skills manifest themselves in our home perhaps by the amount of projects I have going on. I keep myself busy with creative projects, which keeps me happy.
Q: For those going through IVF, any words of advice when it feels like nothing will ever work?
A: This is a tough one. My heart aches so much for the many women who must endure the pain and heartache of infertility and all the invasive procedures such as IVF. I do believe that women have a special intuition and will be guided to the right path for them in growing their family. I learned that once I let go of how it had to look and when it had to happen, that's when things started working for us.
But everyone's infertility journey is different and unique and personal to them. Even the failures can become an experience that will make you even greater. If nothing else it will give you more empathy and understanding for others. I am who I am because of my unique experiences…and that makes me beautiful.
Q: What are the rules you try to follow when working from home? How do you ensure that your online time doesn't get out of control?
A: I don't want my children growing up thinking that electronics are more important than they are, so I give myself rules (which are sometimes very hard to follow). Most days I try to work while my daughter is napping and my son is in school. I also work at night – sometimes till very late. There are, of course, times when this is not possible.
Thankfully I have a very helpful supportive husband, who also works from home.
Q: What has the online community added to your life?
A: It has been wonderful to get to know and make friends and collaborate with people across the world I would never normally meet. I think it is so important to surround yourself with those who will build you up and those for whom you want to do the same.
Q: What do you hope your children remember about this home?
A: I want them to remember that this was a home of love and happiness. I want them to feel like they can be themselves and feel comfortable in our home. I want them to always know they are more important than stuff.
Q: What has been the best part about living with your own kids? What has surprised you about being a mother the most?
A: I am not much of a morning person, but seeing my children in the morning always makes me happy and excited to start my day. Also, I love reading to them before bedtime. I think I'm surprised that I love being a mother as much as I do. It has brought me more joy and fulfillment than anything else I could ever do.
Q: Please finish the sentence: I wish someone had told me…
A: That I would learn so much more from my children than I could ever teach them. That when you think you've given all you can, there is always more to give. That the most powerful lessons come from the hardest experiences. Most importantly, how these little human beings would change who I am and how I love.
Meta, I can't thank you enough for your candor. I'm quite sure you've helped someone today. Myself included.
Friends, I was struck by one of Meta's thoughts: "I think it is so important to surround yourself with those who will build you up and those for whom you want to do the same." So many people dismiss online friendships as malarky, but I strongly disagree! I've found some of my best friends online. How about you? Do you have any virtual friendships that evolved into professional meet-ups or business partners? Do you find them easier to maintain than a friendship that exists in your neighborhood? I'd love to hear your experiences!
P.S. — Take a peek at all the homes in my Living With Kids series here. And if you'd like to share your own home with us, just send me a note! It's a lot of fun…I promise!


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The Delta Flyer escape pod was a one-person escape pod assigned to the Federation shuttle Delta Flyer, attached to the USS Voyager. The Delta Flyer carried at least three such pods, which were equipped with a phaser, a tricorder, and enough emergency rations to allow someone to survive for less than ten days. (VOY: "Muse")
In 2376, the Delta Flyer was damaged by an encounter with a dark matter lifeform while exploring a class T cluster. Captain Kathryn Janeway took the Flyer to the radiogenic rings of a T-class gas giant to restart the warp core, but the Flyer was threatened by more lifeforms. Thus, Janeway ordered Crewmen Tal Celes, Mortimer Harren, and William Telfer to abandon the Flyer in escape pods while she provided a distraction.
Only Harren took an escape pod, while Celes and Telfer remained with Janeway. Harren attempted to divert the lifeforms himself by plotting a course towards them, but Janeway refused to allow him to sacrifice his life and transported the pod back aboard. The Flyer ultimately escaped the lifeforms by igniting the radiogenic particles. (VOY: "Good Shepherd")
Later that year, B'Elanna Torres and Harry Kim were on a mission in the Delta Flyer searching for dilithium. Encountering turbulence, Torres ordered Kim into the escape pod and both soon crash landed on a class L planet. Kim was able to salvage a few emergency rations, a phaser, and the escape pod's transmitter before he left in search of Torres and the Flyer. (VOY: "Muse")
Background information
According to the design specifications of the studio model, [1](X) the Delta Flyer escape pod was endowed with:
- 1-Person Accommodation
- RCS Thrusters
- Sensors
- 1-shot phaser emitter
- Limited Impulse Capacity
- Length: ~7.55'
- Width: ~2.02'
- Minor Borg Enhancements
- Locator Strobes/Subspace radio beacon
- Delta Flyer-type Hull Coloration
Studio model
Only seen in the episode Good Shepherd, the escape pod was designed by Rick Sternbach who finalized his design in January 2000. As for the location of the escape pods within the Delta Flyer, Sternbach remarked:
"Just aft of the 74656 [registry] on the starboard side of the D[elta]F[lyer], there are two flaps(...). Under each flap was supposed to be one lifepod, stored along the same general fore-aft line as the hull curve. I always thought the launch of the pod would be similar to firing an aft torpedo tube on a submarine; if the DF is headed toward certain destruction, shoot the pod back along the flight vector. Of course, any time there was more than four people aboard, the whole concept of an escape method would probably have been somewhat awkward. [2](X)The escape pod was eventually built as a CGI studio model by Doug Drexler during his stint at Foundation Imaging. [4](X)
"The Flyer was "supposed" to hold four of these things, but it was another Hollywood case of innards not matching exteriors (just like those movies where rowboats appeared as spacious as cabin cruisers). The aft cargo compartment was being cooked up separately by Richard James and the set designer folks, and there really wasn't any place to indicate entry hatches for the lifeboats. You just had to have faith that they were stored in the aft walls. The lifeboats were sacrificed for extra impulse booster rockets in the space race episode, BTW. Technically, the DF stasis chamber where Seven was stored stuck out into space, so it was definitely a problem trying to get *anything* to fit properly." [3](X)


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Devil is in the Details of Budget Proposal
Another version of this was published in the Concord Monitor.
The budget proposal now under consideration in the House Finance Committee calls for a $7 million cut in the budget of the Sununu Youth Services Center, the state's residential detention center for juvenile offenders. It also mandates "the option for the Department to enter into contracts to operate the facility." The outsourcing provision would be included in HB 2, the budget "trailer bill."
We've been around this block before.
In 2011, the budget trailer bill, HB 2, mandated creation of "a committee to develop a plan for privatizing the department of corrections," and specified that "on or before September 1, 2011, the commissioner of administrative services shall issue a request for proposals by vendors for provision of correctional services or any other services provided by the department of corrections."
That line, buried in what became Chaptered Law 0224 when it passed on June 22, 2011 and became law without the signature of Governor John Lynch eight days later, set in motion a costly two-year investigation into the possibility of outsourcing the state's prisons to a for-profit firm.
First, staff at the Departments of Corrections and Administrative Services spent five months preparing three lengthy "Requests for Proposals" to solicit interest from private firms.
The responses from four companies, which arrived between late January and early March. There was so much paper in the bid documents — said to be so bulky they filled a room at the State House Annex – that the State needed an outside consultant. It took four more months, and an appropriation of $177,000, for the state to hire MGT of America to analyze the proposals.
It took nine months for MGT to compete its report.
Among its findings were that the "annual compensation for security staff" in the bidders' business plans "was one-half the current compensation currently paid to similar positions in the state."
High Turnover, Low Safety
"The state should be concerned that this significantly lower wage may make it difficult to maintain a trained and experience staff," MGT said. "This could result in high turnover and ultimately impact and safety and security of the correctional facilities." In other words, the way to make a correctional facility profitable is to lower the wages and benefits paid to workers. That dooms the facilities to dependence on workers who hope to leave and find a better job, not the kind of people we want to manage adult or juvenile corrections.
Based on the consultant's report, the State "determined that it was in the best interest of the State to cancel the solicitation process," according to a report released in April 2013, nearly two years after the process started.
"The decision to cancel, after having invested so much time and consideration, was not made lightly," the Departments of Corrections and Administration said.
With that in mind, we should not go lightly into a new privatization process, this time for youth corrections.
Evidence from around the country has shown that for-profit companies are ill equipped to handle the responsibility of incarceration, whether the prisoners are juveniles or adults. Their facilities tend to be under-staffed, less secure, and don't even save money for taxpayers.
Riots and Abuse in Florida
Just last week a riot broke out at the Les Peters Academy, a juvenile correctional facility near Tampa, Florida. It's the third time violence has broken out at one of G4S Corporation's juvenile facilities, and that's just in the Tampa area. The State of Florida is investigating "whether all policies and procedures were followed."
Last summer Florida cancelled a contract with another for-profit operator of youth detention facilities, Youth Services International, after evidence of excessive or unnecessary use of force. The company is barred for a year from bidding on new contracts, but it still runs nine other Florida facilities.
A lengthy report by Chris Kirkham for Huffington Post says "those held at YSI facilities across the country have frequently faced beatings, neglect, sexual abuse and unsanitary food over the past two decades." Not only that, according to Kirkham, Florida's "sweeping privatization of its juvenile incarceration system has produced some of the worst re-offending rates in the nation."
Caroline Isaacs of the American Friends Service Committee, who has documented abuses at for-profit facilities in Arizona and nationwide, says "the track record in juvenile facilities is even more horrifying than the usual for adult prisons."
We've been around this block before. Let's not go there again.
Arnie Alpert is New Hampshire Co-Director for the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker organization devoted to social justice and peace.


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Current Best Actress Oscar nominee Jennifer Lawrence was recognized as Outstanding Performer of the Year at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival (SBIFF). Whether it was her memorable debut in The Poker House, her first Oscar-nominated role in Winter's Bone, indies like The Beaver and Like Crazy, or her star-making turns in last year's The Hunger Games andSilver Linings Playbook (for which she has received her second Oscar nomination), the 22-year-old from Kentucky is proving herself to be one of Hollywood's most talented young actors. Collider was there to cover and attend the event, and we've compiled the highlights of what she had to say, both on the press line and during the Q&A.
While there, Jennifer Lawrence talked about what this past year has been like for her, how she got her start in acting, why she's never taken any acting lessons, what the experience of making her first feature film The Poker House was like, what spoke to her about the character of Tiffany when she read the script for Silver Linings Playbook, why she doesn't like to read her scenes ahead of time, working with Bradley Cooper again on the Depression-era drama Serena (due out in theaters in September), what made her hesitate about taking on the role of Katniss Everdeen for The Hunger Games franchise, what it was like to revisit the character for Catching Fire, what she learned from working with Jodie Foster on The Beaver, why she fought for the role of Ree in Winter's Bone, her desire to direct, and the fact that she's a bit less terrified of this award season. Check out what she had to say after the jump.
Question: What has this year been like for you?
JENNIFER LAWRENCE: Well, it's good and bad, just like any job. There's an amazing side of it that feels incredible, and then there's the side that's the bad side and you just have to move on. But, it's been amazing. A lot of things that I didn't even think could ever be possible for me have happened, all in a year. It's been really overwhelming, but in a wonderful way.
Are you able to step back, at all, and really enjoy and appreciate all of the opportunities and acclaim that you're experiencing?
LAWRENCE: Yeah, it's an incredible feeling! This doesn't happen very often. It's very rare. So, I can definitely take a moment to think that it's amazing.
Do you like where you are, right now, being this famous star?
LAWRENCE: I find that the more I stay in my house, the less I'm overwhelmed by it, so I've just been spending a lot of time at my house. It's overwhelming, but it's an honor. This is what I want to do. It makes me so happy. It's like getting a promotion at your job, but when you get that promotion, you can't leave the house. But, my dreams have come true. It's always funny because I find that I can enjoy myself for the few hours that it takes to do a red carpet. It lasts for a few hours, and then I'm ready to go home. Then, it's over and I go back to being normal.
How did you get your start, as an actor?
LAWRENCE: I went to New York on spring break because it's very close to Louisville, Kentucky, where I'm from. So, my mother and I just went for spring break. I had never really thought of acting because it was never really a possibility. Now, looking back, we know that I was an actress since birth. I was dressing up in different outfits and introduced myself as Lucille Ball. But, I didn't really discover it until I was 14 and some man asked if he could take my picture, and I was like, "Yeah, sure!" And then, he called and said that all of these agencies wanted to meet us and we were like, "Well, we don't have anything better to do in New York." So, we got in the car, and from the car at our hotel to the modeling agency, I decided that I didn't want to be a model. I was only going to be an actress, and I would only sign with an agency that would let me act. So, I was turning down these modeling agencies and my mom thought I was an idiot. But, she told me all the agencies were lying because they just wanted my money. So, we didn't sign with anybody. We went back to Kentucky and I just begged, every day, to let me try it, just to have a chance. Weren't your parents supportive of you?
LAWRENCE: They weren't, at first. My parents would have never let me go out to New York, but my two older brothers called them and said, "You've traveled all over the country with us, for baseball, football and basketball. This is her baseball game. You have to support her." So, they were forced to, at that point.
Did you ever do any theater, growing up?
LAWRENCE: No. I did church stuff. I was in the choir at church. When I was nine, I had a feather boa and would sing in the church choir.
Did you immediately start to take acting seriously, as a career?
LAWRENCE: Yeah. I tried for a little bit and I got little jobs. It was the first time I was ever good at anything, really. I wasn't that great at school. I was fine. I got As and Bs, but I felt dumb, every day. We had to do sports, in our family. That was a rule. But, I never really liked sports. I couldn't find that thing, which is normal for a 14-year-old. But then, when you find it, I felt like it was the only thing that I had ever known that I understood, and I didn't want to let go of that. I think my mom saw the same thing and didn't really want to send me back to school, where I wasn't very happy. She saw how happy I was, living in a rat-infested apartment by myself, just auditioning.
Why didn't you take any acting lessons?
LAWRENCE: Because my parents weren't going to pay for classes. They were like, "If you want to be an actor, we're not going to pay for your lessons." That was the main reason that I didn't have lessons. That was actually the only reason. I'm not against them. If you can afford them, go for it.
The Poker House was your first feature film. What was that experience like?
LAWRENCE: It was amazing, but at the same time, it was terrifying because it was my first real movie and I loved it so much. I loved being at work, every day, and I loved the director telling me to do something, and then doing it. At the same time, there was this fear because I hadn't taken classes and I didn't actually know what I was doing. So, when we would cut and move on, [director Lori Petty] would be like, "Good! Great job!," I didn't know what I did. That scared me when we wrapped and I was like, "Well, I might be a one-trick pony. Maybe I did everything she liked, but I don't know if I'm going to be able to do that again."
What was it like to work with Lori Petty on The Poker House, especially with the story being autobiographical for her?
LAWRENCE: It was incredible! Lori was so fantastic! She's such an amazing director and person. I've never played a person that was in the room, watching me perform. That's just such a heartbreaking story, and the more I grew to love Lori, the harder it became to emotionally do those scenes.
What spoke to you about the character of Tiffany, when you read the Silver Linings Playbook script?
LAWRENCE: I loved what she taught Bradley Cooper's character, and that taught me when I was reading the script. I love how she tells him, "You're not always going to be able to fix yourself, but just like yourself." She teaches him to just accept certain things about yourself, and I loved that. I loved her strength and her weaknesses, but her strength is accepting her weaknesses. And I'd also always wanted to work with David O. Russell. There was just something about her. I think it's probably the same reason that audiences have fallen in love with her.
What made you decide to do a Skype audition and really fight for the role?
LAWRENCE: I had never done that before. I heard that it was David O. Russell and I was like, "Yes!" And then, I read the script and fell in love with it. We know he's the most brilliant director, but he's also an unbelievable writer. But, they didn't want to hire me because I was too young. He was only going to meet with me on Skype, so I was like, "Well, I guess I'm going to have to learn how to use Skype." I had to fight for Winter's Bone, as well. When it's the right one, you've gotta fight for it.
Since he was someone you'd always wanted to work with, what was it like to work with David O. Russell?
LAWRENCE: To date, it was probably the best experience of my life because of his passion and spontaneity. It's really rare that somebody who's a genius can actually communicate, and he can. A lot of people have these amazing ideas and amazing stories, but they don't have a way to communicate. He can communicate technically and emotionally, and I've seen him tailor himself to whatever an actor needs. Most of my favorite performances from my favorite actors are in his movies. I've always wanted to work with him, just to see what that would be like. He's also one of the warmest, nicest, funniest people that I've ever met, in my entire life. He made that experience the best experience.
How was it to work with actors like Bradley Cooper, Robert DeNiro and Jacki Weaver?
LAWRENCE: It was incredible! Before I flew there, I went to the table read and was going to meet Bradley Cooper, Robert DeNiro and Jacki Weaver, who are these amazing actors. But then, the second that you meet them, they're the nicest, warmest, most normal people. By the time we got to the set, they were just so normal. It was weird.
How intimidating was it to take on Robert DeNiro for that one scene in the film?
LAWRENCE: That's not how it felt that day. I never actually read my lines until I show up, and that was not a good day to do that, with a two-page monologue. I was just focused on memorizing it and trying to get through it, all morning. So, by the time it actually came time to do that scene, it was great. I didn't realize until mid-way through the monologue, and then I thought, "You are Robert DeNiro, and I am shouting at you," because I was so busy trying to remember [my lines].
Why don't you read your scenes ahead of time?
LAWRENCE: Well, it started out as a lazy thing. And then, my friend was over and she was like, "What scene are you doing tomorrow?," and I was like, "I don't know. Is that bad? Is there a point in my career where I should start learning my lines for work?" And she was like, "Well, if it ain't broke, don't fix it." So, that's that. I don't have a way of doing anything, so I like to just mold to whatever the director likes. And I find that a lot easier to do when I don't already have something set in my mind and I can just show up. Also, acting is just talking. If I start over-thinking it, then I don't feel natural. I feel like I can't change it.
David O. Russell said that he saw some similarities between you and Tiffany. Do you see them?
LAWRENCE: No, but there's a reason I feel passionately about certain characters. Sometimes that's because you see a little bit of yourself in them, and sometimes it's because you see zero part of yourself in them and you're just fascinated by them as people. So, I find it absolutely possible that that would be true.
Did you know that you had this performance in you, with this character?
LAWRENCE: No. You never really know. It's just one of those things that develops. It starts with the rehearsal. And then, there's the collaboration with the other actors, the director, and the costume has a huge part to do with it. It just grows.
Has it been nice to hear feedback about how much this movie is really helping people, on a personal level, because of its subject matter?
LAWRENCE: Of course! We hoped, with everything we could, but with any movie, you never know if anybody is going to see it or like it or care. So, just the idea that people do like it and they care, and that it could help anybody out there, is amazing.
Why were you hesitant about taking on the role of Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games?
LAWRENCE: Because it's really rare in your life that saying yes to something will completely change your life. I was happy with my life and I just didn't know if I wanted it to change. I've always had this imaginary future in mind where I would be a soccer mom that drove a mini-van and my kids were normal and I had the same family that I grew up with. That just didn't fit with taking on a giant franchise. So, I took three days, and each day was a different answer. I finally talked to my mom. I had only really done indies before that, and she said, "Every time people ask you why you don't do studio movies, you always say that it's because you don't care about the size of the movie, you care about the story and the character. But, you're a hypocrite because now you have a story and a character that you love, but you're not saying yes to it because of the size of it." So, I said yes, and I haven't regretted it. I expected to, but I haven't, so far.
How do you feel about so many young women looking up to you now, since having taken that role?
LAWRENCE: It's exciting! It's really nice. And I'm so happy that I don't have a secret life because that would be so stressful.
What was it like to revisit the character for the second film, Catching Fire?
LAWRENCE: If possible, there's even less preparation because I was like, "I've done this before." It was incredible because it was like going back to high school. We had a lot of the same crew, and obviously Josh [Hutcherson] and Liam [Hemsworth] were there. Normally, when I do a movie, I'm meeting people for the first time, so it was just amazing to be able to have the same group of people. It was so fun. And it's a character that I love, and a story and message that I'm passionate about, so I haven't managed to get bored. That's a pretty hard character to get bored with, though.
When you're acting, you seem to naturally be able to tap into any emotion. Does that just come easily for you?
LAWRENCE: I guess, but I feel like everybody has that. I couldn't write. I couldn't take pictures. I'm a horrible photographer. There are people who are just so visual. My friend can write the most beautiful songs you've ever heard in your entire life, in 10 minutes. I could never do something like that. Everybody has their gifts. Fortunately, mine is very lucrative.
Are you going to continue to pursue indie films?
LAWRENCE: I still think of myself as an indie actress. The only actual studio movies I've done are The X-Men and The Hunger Games. There's a feeling when you do indies, when you're on your 20th hour into overtime and everyone else is too, and everybody is freezing cold, and the only reason that you're there is because of this passion for this tiny little thing that you love and you believe in, but you don't even know if anybody in the world is going to see it or care as much as you do. You know that 100 people have the same feeling about this tiny little thing, and you can't get that on a studio film. You can get different feelings from better food and bigger trailers, though.
Jodie Foster was a child actress who grew up in front of the camera. What was it like to work with her, as your director for The Beaver? What did you learn from her?
LAWRENCE: It was amazing! She actually gave me so much hope. There are so many people that are famous and they're really nice, but they're not normal. And I met her, and it was like she just had no idea that she was famous. She's someone who's been working since she was two. It just gave me so much hope. I was like, "Okay, I can do this. I can be a normal person." That was probably the biggest gift that she could have given me. But, she's also very brilliant, very free and obviously gives wonderful acting advice. What I like about working with an actress, as a director, is that she's not afraid of actors. People tip-toe around actors like they're emotional land mines, which is probably right, but I always find that annoying because I grew up with sports and I just want someone to tell me what I'm doing wrong. That's just so much easier. She was very blunt about things like that. She would just be like, "Talk louder. Do this." I like that a lot.
You've worked with Anton Yelchin on both The Beaver and Like Crazy, and now you've worked with Bradley Cooper on both Silver Linings Playbook and Serena (due out in theaters in September). What's it like to get to work with the same actor on different relationships?
LAWRENCE: It was wonderful. It happened the same way. We did a movie together, and we were like, "This was awesome! We should totally do another movie together!" And then, another movie came along. Bradley and I were on the set of Silver Linings, and I was attached to a movie called Serena. We were both saying, "This was really fun! We should do this again!" They were looking for a male lead on Serena, so I was like, "Do you want to read this?" And then, a few months later, he was cast. Now, it feels weird to do a movie without him.
What was it about the character of Ree in Winter's Bone that made you fight for that role?
LAWRENCE: I just loved that movie, I loved that script, I loved her. Really amazing scripts, unfortunately, are very rare. It was amazing and I knew it wasn't going to come around a lot, so I went in and auditioned in L.A., a few times. My agent kept calling and saying that they didn't think I looked right. They moved the casting to New York, and I took a red eye and didn't shower or wash my face. I was like, "If I don't look right now, what is it going to take?" I walked there in February and had snot frozen on my face. I walked in, and then the audition was two hours long.
Was Tiffany far more of an acting challenge than Ree, who you received your first Oscar nomination for playing?
LAWRENCE: No, not necessarily. There were different challenges to both. Winter's Bone was a very hard schedule. It was 25 days, and it was freezing. Physically, it was just really hard. I ate Golden Corral, every day. That was our only catering, and I was so puffy. And then, with Silver Linings, the dancing was the hardest part. Also, what I love about David's movies is that each of his characters are their own story, and they're unlike anyone you've ever seen. I remember wrapping Silver Linings and sitting in the airport thinking, "Oh, god, I blew it!" I would think back on the scenes and the choices that I made, and it just seemed like a very bizarre person that I had created. I thought it was too much. But then, I saw the whole movie and saw this world that David created, where all of the characters were too much, in this beautiful way.
Was Tiffany a scary character to play?
LAWRENCE: She's just an enigma. She's very stubborn and bull-headed, but at the same time, she's full of insecurities. For every flaw, she has a reason for why it's okay. She has a lot of different parts to her.
What was it like working with writer/director Guillermo Arriaga on The Burning Plain?
LAWRENCE: When we first started, he hardly spoke any English, but somehow we fully understood each other. He totally adopted me into his family. He was so wonderful, and he's so brilliant. He's a beautiful writer. He also wrote 21 Grams and Amores Perros, which are amazing movies. And we had Robert Elswit as a cinematographer, and the film is just stunningly beautiful. We shot it in New Mexico and some of the cinematography was just out of this world. Working with Guillermo was amazing because I feel like we both taught each other stuff. It was his directing debut and it was my second movie, so we were both just totally clueless, figuring it out together.
Do you see a pattern in the type of roles you've played and that you're attracted to?
LAWRENCE: I think that good stories follow really strong characters. I remember Jodie Foster telling me that, one day, I was going to look back and see a pattern in the movies that I was doing, and that it would reflect something that was going on in my life that I didn't really know about. I don't know yet. When I look back at them now, it's like I was a young person with way too much responsibility, and then I turned into an ex-sex addict. Hopefully, a few more movies will help give me a better perspective about what's going on in my life and what that means.
Of all the characters that you've played so far, which is the one that feels closest to who you are?
LAWRENCE: I don't know. I think it's dangerous to compare your characters to you, or try to make something about them come from you. I feel like it's important for them to be a different person and a different entity. Tiffany didn't react to anything the way that I would have reacted to it, and I would have never been able to do half the things that Ree or Katniss have done. So, I don't know. I don't ever really feel like I have anything in common with characters. It takes other people saying it. David O. Russell always calls me stubborn and tells me I have that in common with Tiffany. It takes other people to point it out. I don't really know because I never really felt like, personally, I had a lot in common with any of my characters. When David wrote Tiffany, he had no idea who I was. One of my favorite parts of making a movie is creating this person, at the very beginning, and watching it evolve with the director and other actors, and then the costumes. They just kind of form.
Do you have any interest in directing?
LAWRENCE: Yeah, I would love to direct. I've wanted to direct since I was 16 and I saw Lori [Petty] directing. And I've been fortunate enough to work with some of the best directors in the world that I can hopefully learn something from, but I don't think I'm ready. I try to soak up and learn, as much as I can. I just don't want to annoy anybody.
If you were to direct a movie, what would it be like?
LAWRENCE: It would be like Step Brothers. I'm serious! I saw Step Brothers and I was like, "Why didn't I direct that?!"
Why do you think you're attracted to such dark dramas?
LAWRENCE: I don't know. I would hope that every actor who does a dark, intense movie isn't dark and intense, all the time. I'm not. When I was younger, I loved sitcoms. I wanted to be Lucille Ball. I loved all sitcoms. I loved The Cosby Show. But, Lucille Ball was my hero. It wasn't really until I started reading scripts that I started gravitating towards those roles. I was still auditioning for other things, but The Poker House was the first job that I got. That was when I felt like I knew what I wanted to do and was passionate about. And I was in a sitcom when I was 16. I feel like there are a million different sides to people. I have a serious, intense side, I guess, but I also like to watchStep Brothers.
How does the Oscar nomination feel, the second time around? Are you enjoying it more, this time?
LAWRENCE: I think I am, yeah. The first time, it was just terrifying. I was so new to the industry that it was my introduction into this business, which was terrifying. I felt like I didn't really get a chance to enjoy it because I was so scared. Now, I'm still scared, but I know more people. And I know that I made it through the first time, so if I did it once, I can do it again. It's an incredible honor. The first nomination hasn't really set in. I'm afraid I'm going to go my whole life, just being scared like a Chihuahua. It's not my comfort zone. Making movies is where I belong. I don't belong on a stage. I shouldn't be heard, just talking. So, when I'm doing movies, I'm really happy. That's where I'm comfortable. That's my home. When you put me on a red carpet or on a stage, I turn into Chihuahua Jennifer, so awards season is always terrifying for me.
Source: Collier