text:
By Slash, with Anthony Bozza
Note: This excerpt contains obscene language.
Once you've lived a little you will find that whatever you send out into the world comes back to you one way or another. It may be today, tomorrow, or years from now, but it happens; usually when you least expect it, usually in a form that's pretty different from the original. Those coincidental moments that change your life seem random at the time, but I don't think they are. At least that's how it's worked out in my life. And I know I'm not the only one.
I hadn't seen Marc Canter in about a year, for no other reason than that we'd each been busy doing other things. In the interim, he'd undergone a metamorphosis: when I'd seen him last, he was a music fan and was just beginning to take on a role in running the family business at Canter's Deli. He was by no means a total "rock guy"—that was more my angle, if broad strokes were drawn. When we reconnected, Marc was someone else entirely: he was a sterling specimen of the obsessed, die-hard rock devotee. I wouldn't have called it in a million years, but he'd dedicated his entire life to Aerosmith. He'd transformed his room into a wall-to-wall shrine: his Aerosmith posters were a continuous collage that looked like wallpaper, he had cataloged copies of every magazine that they'd ever appeared in, he maintained an orderly gallery, in plastic sleeves, of signed photographs, and he had amassed enough rare foreign vinyl and bootleg concert cassettes to open a record store.
Marc definitely didn't dress the part; he looked like no more than a rock fan with a taste for Aerosmith T-shirts, because he never let his fandom go so far as to inspire sartorial homage to Steven or Joe. It did, however, inspire stalking, stealing, trespassing, and a few other mildly illegal pursuits in the name of the cause. Marc had also gotten himself in with the local ticket-scalping community somehow: he'd buy a load of tickets for a show, then trade among the scalpers until he had bartered his way up to the perfect pair of ?oor seats. It was all a big game to him; he was like a kid trading baseball cards, but come showtime, he was the kid who walked away with the rarest cards up for grabs.
Once Marc had his seats sorted out, his little operation was just getting going. He'd sneak in a very nice, professional-grade camera and a collection of lenses by taking the whole apparatus apart and stashing the individual pieces in his pants, the arms of his jacket, and wherever else they fit. He never got caught; and he just caught amazing live shots of Aerosmith. The only problem was that he got into Aerosmith a little too late: when he started really digging them they broke up.
A cornerstone of Marc's collection of Aerosmith memorabilia was an empty bag of Doritos and a small Ziploc bag full of cigarette butts that he'd snatched from Joe Perry's hotel room at the Sunset Marquis. Apparently he'd staked the place out and managed to get in there after Joe checked out and before house keeping showed up. Joe hadn't even played a show or anything the night before—at that point, he had quit the band actually. I thought it was a little weird, Aerosmith wasn't even together, but Marc was living for them 24/7. Marc has been one of my best friends in life since the day we met, so I had to support him by contributing to his collection: I did a freehand sketch of Aerosmith onstage for his birthday. I did it in pencil and then shadowed and highlighted it with colored pens and it came out pretty good.
That picture taught me a lesson that's been stated by the wise and otherwise throughout history: what ever you put out into the world comes back to you one way or another. In this instance, that picture came back to me literally and brought with it just what I'd been looking for.
The next time I saw the drawing I was at an impasse: I had been struggling unsuccessfully to get a band together amid a music scene that didn't speak to me at all. I wanted the spoils that I watched lesser players enjoy, but if that meant changing as much as I'd have to, I wasn't having that—I tried but I found that I was incapable of too much compromise. I won't lie now that retrospect is on my side and claim that deep down I knew it would all come together fine. It didn't look like it was going that way at all, but it didn't keep me from doing the only thing I could do: I did what felt right, and somehow, I got lucky. I found four other dysfunctional like minded souls.
I was working in the Hollywood Music Store the day a slinky guy dressed like Johnny Thunders came up to me. He was wearing tight black jeans, creepers, dyed black hair, and pink socks. He had a copy of my Aerosmith drawing in his hand that a mutual friend had given him: apparently prints of it had been made and circulated. This guy had been inspired enough to seek me out, especially when he heard that I was a lead guitar player.
"Hey, man, are you the guy who drew this?" he asked a bit impatiently. "I dig it. It's fuckin' cool."
"Yeah, I did," I said. "Thanks."
"What's your name?"
"I'm Slash."
"Hey. I'm Izzy Stradlin."
We didn't talk for long; Izzy has always been the kind of guy with somewhere else that he needed to be. But we made a plan to hang out later on, and when he came by my house that night, he brought me a tape of his band. It couldn't have sounded worse: the tape was the cheapest type around, and their rehearsal had been recorded through the built-in mike in a boom box that had been placed on the ?oor. It sounded like they were playing deep inside a jet engine. But through the static din, way in the background, I heard something intriguing, that I believed to be their singer's voice. It was hard to make out and his squeal was so high-pitched that I thought it might be a technical ?aw in the tape. It sounded like the squeak that a cassette makes just before the tape snaps—except it was in key.
AFTER MY INCOMPLETE STINT AT HIGH school, I lived with my mother and grandmother in a house on Melrose and La Cienega in a small basement room o? the garage. It was perfect for me; if need be, I could slip out of the street-level window undetected at any time of day or night. I had my snakes and my cats down there; I could also play guitar whenever I liked without bothering anyone. As soon as I dropped out of school, I agreed to pay my mother rent.
As I mentioned, I held several day jobs while trying to put together or get into a band that I believed in amid the quagmire of the L.A. metal scene. Around this time, I worked for a while at Canter's Deli in a job that Marc basically invented for me. I worked alone upstairs in the banquet room, which wasn't suited for a banquet at all—it was more or less where they stored all kinds of shit that they didn't necessarily need. I didn't realize the humor in that back then.
My job involved comparing the waitsta?'s checks with the corresponding cashier's receipts so that Marc could quickly and easily figure out who was stealing. It was so easy; a job that the biggest idiot could do. And it came with perks: I'd eat pastrami sandwiches and drink Cokes the whole time, while putting those papers in two piles, basically. My job did have its place: through my sorting, Marc caught more than a few sta?ers who had probably been robbing his family for years.
After I left, Marc willed my job to Ron Schneider, my bass player in Tidus Sloan. Our band still played together sometimes, but we weren't taking things to the next level in any way—without a singer, we weren't going to ever gig on the Strip.
My job at the Hollywood Music Store was one of a few that I saw as stepping-stones to playing guitar professionally, full-time; I wasn't in it for the fame and girls, I wanted it for a much simpler reason: there wasn't anything else in the world that I enjoyed more. At the music store I was a salesclerk who sold—and played—every guitar on the ?oor, but that was by no means my only area of expertise. I also sold all kinds of shit that I knew absolutely nothing about. I could fake my way through explaining the ins and outs of bass amps, but when it came to drum sets, drumheads, drumsticks, and the wide array of percussion instruments I sold, I'm still impressed by my ability to put a shine on a pile of bullshit.
I liked my job in the music store, but it was a voyeuristic purgatory. I'd spend every idle moment staring through the front windows at Cherokee Studios across the street. Cherokee was a bit of a recording destination in the early eighties: not that I was a huge admirer, but every time I'd see the Doobie Brothers roll in there to cut a song, I can't say that I wasn't totally fucking envious. I was, however, totally fucking starstruck the day that I happened to gaze out the window to see Ric Ocasek walking down the street, heading to Cherokee.
Around this time Steven Adler returned from his exile in the Valley and we picked up precisely where we left o?. Each of us had girls in our lives and the four of us became an inseparable unit. My girlfriend Yvonne was a senior in high school when we met; she was a disciplined student by day and a rock chick by night, and she managed those dual identities very well. Yvonne was an amazing girl: she was very smart, very sexy, very outspoken, and very ambitious—today she is a high-powered lawyer in L.A. After she graduated, she enrolled as a psychology major at UCLA, and since by that point I had begun to more or less live with her, on my days o? she'd somehow talk me into accompanying her to school at something like eight a.m. I'd spend the morning at the UCLA campus, sitting outside, smoking cigarettes, and watching the yuppies go by. Some days, whenever I found the course or professor interesting, I'd sit in on her larger lecture classes.
I don't even remember her name anymore, but Steven's girl at the time and Yvonne became fast friends because the four of us went out every single night. I didn't even want to most of the time, but there we were, out there hitting the Strip—and I didn't even like the music of the day at all, though I tried to be positive. The coup de grâce came when a very hyped, overrated "innovation" known as MTV first aired. I expected it to be like Don Kirshner's Rock Concert, the live, hour-long program that ran on Saturday nights from 1973 to 1981. That show spotlighted an artist a week and aired amazing performances by everyone from the Stones to the Eagles to the Sex Pistols to Sly and the Family Stone to comedians like Steve Martin.
MTV couldn't have been more of a polar opposite: they showed Th omas Dolby's "She Blinded Me with Science," the Police, and Pat Benatar over and over. I would literally wait for hours to see a good song; and usually it would be either Prince or Van Halen. I felt the same way when I explored Sunset at night: I saw a lot, I liked very little, and I was fucking bored the entire time.
Steven, on the other hand, was in his element. He was all about what was going down on the Strip, because it was his chance to realize his rock-star dreams. He'd never exhibited such ambition before: he did what ever it took to get into a club, to meet people, to make connections, and be in the mix to what ever degree possible. Steven posted up in the Rainbow parking lot every Friday and Saturday night, and he kept tabs on every band that ever played as often as he did everything but give his balls to get himself inside.
I rarely cared to go along, because I could never do what most often needed to be done: I was incapable of humiliating myself to go that extra mile. I don't know why but I had a problem hanging around parking lots and stage doors, looking for any way in that might present itself. As a result I was so infrequently present that Steven's never-ending morning-after tales of incredible bands and hot chicks eventually got to me. But I never saw any of those mythical creatures when I decided to accompany him (against my better judgment). I witnessed nothing but a string of evenings that never…
One night that stands out started with Steven and me borrowing my mom's car (I was seventeen at the time, I believe) to go the Rainbow to mix it up.
We drove down to Hollywood and walked up to the club, and discovered that it was ladies' night.
"That's fuckin' awesome!" Steven shouted.
I had gotten into the Rainbow for years, thanks to my fake ID and Steady, the club's bouncer. He's still there, and he still recognizes me. For what ever reason, though, Steady wasn't having it on this particular night: he let Steven in and sent me packing.
"Naw, not you," he said. "Not tonight, go home."
"What?" I asked. I had no right to be indignant but I was anyway. "What do you mean? I'm here all the time, man."
"Yeah, I don't give a shit," he said. "Get out of here, you're not coming in tonight."
I was so fucking pissed o?. I had nowhere else to go, so I followed Steady's orders and went home. I drowned my embarrassment in alcohol, and once I was good and drunk, I came up with the crazy idea to return to the Rainbow dressed as a girl. It made complete sense in that special way that drunken plans do: I'd show Steady—I'd get in the club for free thanks to ladies' night, and then I'd fuck with Steven. Adler hit on every girl in sight, so I was sure that he'd hit on me long before he realized who I was.
My mom thought my plan was hilarious: she outfitted me with a skirt and fishnets, piled my hair up under a black beret, and did my makeup. I couldn't wear her shoes, but the outfit worked—I looked like a chick . . . no— I looked like a Rainbow chick. I drove back up to West Hollywood in my outfit; I parked a few blocks away on Doheny and walked to the club. I was both drunk and on a mission, so my inhibitions were nonexistent. I sauntered up to Steady and nearly laughed in his face when he waved me in with no pause for ID.
I was on top of the world; I had won—until I realized that Steven was nowhere to be found. It was like reaching the end of the roller coaster before the car had even gone over the first hill. The reality of the situation hit me square in the face: I was dressed as a girl, in the middle of the Rainbow. Once I saw the light, I did the only sensible thing—I left. On the long walk back to my mom's car, I thought that every shout was directed at me, I thought every laugh was at my expense; I thought to myself just how hard it must be to be a girl.
STEVEN'S GIRLFRIEND RAN INTO TOMMY Lee out on the town one night and Tommy invited her down to Cherokee Studios to hang out and watch Mötley record Theatre of Pain, the follow-up to their breakthrough album, Shout at the Devil. Steve's girl thought nothing of inviting Yvonne, Steven, and me; I guess she figured that Tommy's invitation included a "plus three." Steven and I should have known better. The four of us headed down there, all ready to hang out and watch the proceedings; when we arrived, we were informed, in no uncertain terms, that the girls could go inside—which they did—but Steven and I could not. It was suggested that we go home. We were fuming: we watched our girlfriends head into the studio, and spent the night in the two lounge chairs in the lobby trying to be cool while we discussed what they might be doing in there. It was not a good scene.
I'm not sure how, but somehow that experience didn't scar me enough to desert the notion of getting a job at Cherokee. I had been pestering the studio's day manager to hire me for an entire year. I'd stop by daily, like clockwork, during my lunch break at Hollywood Music across the street. I continued to do so, business as usual, but a few weeks later he finally gave in and o?ered me a job. In my mind, it was a milestone; I was now just one step away from becoming a professional musician. I was very wrong, but my plan was that once I worked in a studio, I would make connections because I would meet musicians and producers every single day. In my mind, a studio was the place to meet other players who took it seriously and by working there at the very least I'd get free recording time once I got a band together. With that kind of bullshit in my head, I quit Hollywood Music feeling like I'd just won the lottery.
I was hired at Cherokee to be a gofer to the engineers, no more no less. I didn't care; I showed up to my first day, ready to run errands, take out the trash, what ever, whenever. Or so I thought: I visibly wilted when I discovered that my job for the week was to fetch what ever Mötley Crüe might need, day or night. Just over a week before, these same guys had refused to let me into the studio and might have had my girlfriend (I believed her when she said nothing happened, but still . . . ), and now I would have to spend the next few weeks as their errand boy. Great . . .
The studio manager gave me one hundred bucks to fill Mötley's first order, which I was sure was just the first of many: a magnum of Jack Daniel's, a magnum of vodka, a few bags of chips, and a couple of cartons of cigarettes. I looked down at the money as I walked outside into the sunlight, debating the pros and cons of swallowing my pride. It was a really nice day. I stopped when I got to the liquor store to think about this for a minute.
I squinted up at the sky; I stared at the sidewalk, and then I started walking again—toward home. That was all she wrote for Cherokee and me: considering how many hours I've spent in professional recording facilities over the years since, it's almost ridiculous that I've never again set foot in Cherokee Studios. At this point I have no intention of doing so—I owe those guys a hundred bucks. The one day I did spend there taught me an invaluable lesson, however: I needed to pave my own way into the music business. It didn't matter that any idiot could fulfill the duties of fetching for Mötley Crüe, or anyone else for that matter—that job was something that I refused to do on principle. I'm glad that I did; it made it that much easier when Mötley hired us to open for them a few years later.
SO I'D DITCHED HOLLYWOOD MUSIC, thinking that my studio job would be the last day job I'd ever have before I made it. Hardly. Things weren't looking too good for me at that point: I hadn't graduated high school, I wasn't going to college, and as far as I knew, I'd walked out on the only job that might have helped me on my way.
I was unemployed and undirected there for a while, which was a perfect moment for my mom to get me into school again—any school. God bless her perpetual commitment to getting me educated. This time she did the only thing that made sense—she knew that I loved music, so she enrolled me in some weird vocational music school.
I'm very disappointed in myself that I can't remember the name of this place, though I do remember how unfocused our teachers were. I'm now pretty sure that my mom found out about this place via a ?yer at the Laundromat. In any case, I enrolled, I showed up, and within weeks my teachers had me out in the field laying cables and putting filters ("gels" they're called) over lights at various live venues. This place educated its students in the arts of sound and light engineering for live performance in a very hands- on fashion. There were about six of us in my class and almost immediately we were assisting techs on-site at venues like the Country Club, the FM Station, and various others in L.A. Actually it was a total sham: the school was clearly funded or run by the production company that put on these shows, so we, the students, were not only working for them for free, they had also taken our tuition money. Shady as it was, I did learn to run light and sound for live concerts. I enjoyed it, too, until the night I did the light show for a group of Duran Duran wannabes called Bang Bang. I realized two things as I watched their set: 1) it wasn't possible for a music performance to be more ridiculous, and 2) this sound-and-light gig was taking me nowhere fast.
I WAS DESPERATE TO BE IN A BAND; SO I combed the ads in The Recycler—L.A.'s free musicians' paper—every week, looking for an invitation to something that appealed to me. For the most part it was futile: the ads were nothing but shredders seeking shredders. But one week, I saw an ad that intrigued me: it was a singer and guitarist looking for a fellow guitarist in the vein of Aerosmith and Hanoi Rocks. And more important, it expressly stated that "no beards or mustaches" need apply.
I called the number in the ad and made arrangements to meet them at this guesthouse that they were renting on some street up in Laurel Canyon. I showed up there with a girl that I was dating and recognized Izzy immediately from the day he came into the music store with my Aerosmith drawing. I then realized that the other guy must be that high-pitched singer I'd heard on the tape. I thought, Cool, this might actually go somewhere. Th eir little shack was more like a closet: there was room enough for a bed, with space to sit on the ?oor in front of it, and room enough for a TV—which was the only source of light in there.
I talked to Izzy for a while, but Axl never got o? the phone, though he nodded his head in acknowledgment when I came into the room. At the time I thought it was rude, but now that I know him I understand that wasn't the case. When Axl gets into a conversation, there's no stopping him. In Guns, we used to call it a Twain Wreck: when Axl started telling a story, he was as long-winded as Mark Twain. That first meeting, though, was pretty uneventful: either they'd decided that they were no longer interested in a second guitar player or I just didn't look the part. What ever the problem was, it went nowhere at all.
THE MINUTE STEVEN GOT BACK TO HOLLYWOOD, he proudly informed me that he'd learned to play drums at his mom's house out there in the Valley, which I am sure contributed to his being kicked out again. Steven was ready to start our band, even though at the time I was still halfheartedly playing with Tidus Sloan and answering the odd ad in the paper looking for a guitar player. I didn't take him seriously; to me Steve was my social director—and a bit of a nuisance: he started coming to Tidus Sloan rehearsals, and every chance he got, he insisted that he was a better drummer than Adam Greenberg. When I eventually found myself without a band, Steve had annoyed me so much that I wasn't even willing to watch him play, let alone play with him.
Steve's grandmother had given him her old blue Gremlin; a car that looks exactly like it sounds—stout and boxy. Apparently, every day, since he couldn't practice in his grandmother's house, he'd been loading his drum kit into this thing and driving out to the public park on Pico across the street from Twentieth Century-Fox studios that includes a swimming pool and a golf course. I knew it well; I used to play soccer there when I was nine. As weird as it was, Steven would set up his drums next to a section of the walking path and just practice all afternoon and evening. I'm sure the seniors, joggers, ducks, and dog walkers were happy about it; a blond rock kid with teased- out hair playing a full-size double-bass- drum metal kit as hard as he can is bound to be a crowd pleaser in any setting.
I eventually agreed to check him out, though I continued to wonder what the hell I was thinking as I drove out to meet him. It was completely dark when I got there. I parked next to his car and wandered out to the jogging path and there he was, drumming away in the dark. He was backlit by the distant ?oodlights, while the huge expanse of the park and the golf course loomed behind him. It was a very weird scene. I took that in for a while before I even paid attention to his playing. But once I did, I forgot about the backdrop. Sitting there in the dark, watching Steven play, I wasn't convinced of his abilities, but I was satisfied. Besides, I didn't have a better option open to me anyway.
STEVEN AND I WERE IN A SITUATION that was familiar and unwelcome—we were looking for a singer, and this time, a bass player as well. Steven was an asset in that regard, because he knew all the players: he was out so much that he had seen nearly every band there was to see in the L.A. rock scene at the time. Steven was also up on the gossip: once Mötley Crüe took o?, Steve heard that Lizzy Grey, Nikki Sixx's cofounder in London, intended to put that band back together. That was huge—Steven and I had seen London when we were younger and they blew our minds. Izzy Stradlin was in that second version of London, but once he left, things fell apart a bit and there was a vacancy for a guitar player and a drummer. Steve and I auditioned for them at the space where the legendary funk band War used to rehearse and record on Sunset, down the street from Denny's. By this time that spot was nothing but a bombed- out hovel; today it's where Guitar Center Hollywood is, by the way.
So we rehearsed there with London for four days; we learned a ton of their songs, and even though it was a step up from nowhere, nothing ever came of it. If anything, the experience was interesting because I saw firsthand just how pompous those who believe themselves to be rock stars can be. The guys in London behaved like they were larger-than-life, as if Steven and me and everyone else in the world existed on the other side of an invisible fence. It took me back to my childhood and all of the rock stars that I'd met back then through my parents. Growing up around my mom and dad's clients and friends, I'd seen it all and had learned how to act and how not to act. I'd seen real rock stars throw temper tantrums and watched my mom deal with them. I'd learned through observation just how delicately to treat those personality types.
At the time I thought the guys in London were worldly and I was intimidated and impressed. Not so much now. I saw the guy who was singing for them at that time on the street in early 2007 while I was driving to the studio to record with Velvet Revolver. There he was, cruising down Sunset Boulevard wearing the same getup, still looking for a gig.
After that fruitless endeavor, Steven and I struck out on our own. We needed a bass player and a singer, but we figured we'd go about things logically and land ourselves a bassist first so that when we began auditioning singers, we'd actually have a whole band for them to sing over. We took out an ad in Th e Recycler; it was in the "Seeking" section, and it went something like this:
Bass player needed for band in?uenced by Aerosmith, Alice Cooper. Call Slash.
We got a few calls, but the only guy we wanted to meet was someone named Du?. He'd just moved out from Seattle and he sounded cool on the phone, so I told him to meet us at Canter's Deli at eight p.m. Steven and I got a corner booth right near the front; we had our girls with us—my girlfriend Yvonne had a big bottle of vodka in a brown paper bag in her purse. She was the one who introduced me to vodka, actually; before I met her, I drank nothing but whiskey.
No one remotely resembling a musician came into Canter's for a long while and the girls were definitely drunk when Du? did show up. I think the four of us were debating what he might look like when this bone-skinny, six-foot-plus guy with short spiked blond hair rolled in wearing a Sid Vicious–style chain and padlock around his neck, combat boots, and a red-and-black leather trench coat in spite of the seventy-five-degree weather. No one had predicted that. I kicked Steven and hushed the girls.
"Check it out," I said. "This has to be him."
Du? had been in a series of punk-rock bands in Seattle: the seminal but mostly overlooked outfit the Fartz, for whom he'd played guitar, the legendary pre-grunge power quartet the Fastbacks (drums), and a few others. Just before moving down to L.A., he had taken up bass. Du? was as musically versatile as he was driven: he didn't leave Seattle because he wasn't creatively satisfied; he left Seattle because he knew that the scene (at that time, at least) was a losing proposition and he wanted to make it. He knew that Los Angeles was the West Coast music capital, so without a plan and with no friends waiting to take him in, he packed up his beat-up red Chevy Nova and drove down to L.A. to make a name for himself. I respected him immediately for his devotion: he and I shared a similar work ethic. It established a kinship between us right away that hasn't faltered at all over all of these years.
"So you're Slash," Du? said as he squeezed himself in beside me in our booth at Canter's. "You're not what I expected at all."
"Oh yeah?" I said. "Well, what were you expecting?"
"With a name like Slash, I thought you'd be much scarier, man," he said. Steven and the girls and all laughed. "I'm not even kidding, I expected you to be some kind of punk-rock psychopath with a name like that."
"Oh yeah?" I said smirking. We shared a laugh.
If that hadn't broken the ice, my girlfriend Yvonne made sure to smash it a few minutes later. We'd sort of settled into small talk: Du? was getting to know us and vice versa, when, apropos of nothing, Yvonne leaned across me and put her hand on Du?'s shoulder.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" she said, louder than necessary.
"Yeah," he said. "Sure."
"Are you gay? I'm just curious."
For the first time in hours our table was silent. What can I say, I've always been attracted to outspoken women.
"No," Du? said. "I'm definitely not gay."
After that exchange faded the five of us went upstairs, piled into the bathroom, and broke out the vodka. And not long after that, we formed a band right then and there, and once again spent the next month or so looking for a singer. We auditioned Ron Reyes, better known as Chavo Pederast, when he was the front man for Black Flag for a few months back in 1979. There were a few other characters in there as well, but as usual, we couldn't find the right guy. All things considered, we wrote some really cool material: we came up with the main ri? to the song that later became "Rocket Queen," and a few more great ideas.
Despite the creativity ?owing between the three of us, I began to get really frustrated with Steven. He never kept up with the dedicated work ethic that Du? and I shared; though he maintained twice the social schedule. It was so aggravating to watch him expend his energy on partying when we had so much to do. At the time, it was obvious that should we find the right singer, we would really have a band that was worth something. Th e problem was, we didn't have a singer, but Steven was behaving as if we'd already been signed by a major label. In the end I was the one who broke up the band; I told Du? it just wasn't working and I broke o? with Steven in every way for a while, too. Du? went on to greener pastures: coincidentally, when he'd moved to Los Angeles he got an apartment on Orange Avenue, directly across the street from Izzy. Soon enough, those two ran into each other on the street, and that was that; Du? became a player in the L.A. Guns/Hollywood Rose universe.
THOSE WERE THE ONLY TWO BANDS COMING up behind Mötley Crüe that were worthy of note—L.A. Guns and Hollywood Rose, each of which were revolving-door outfits that shared a number of local players to an incestuous degree. L.A. Guns was founded by Tracii Guns, who had gone to Fairfax High with me—that band was nothing but a tighter, harder version of the sleazy blues shredding he played at keg parties back then.
Hollywood Rose was something else. I met up with Steven just after he'd seen them, and as he described their high-pitched singer, a guy who could tear the roof o?, I realized that for once, Steven wasn't exaggerating. I didn't put it together that I'd already heard this guy, probably because I'd heard him on what is most likely the shittiest, low-fi recording of a live band that had ever been made.
Steve and I went to see Hollywood Rose at Gazarri's and it was the first time that I beheld, hands down, the best singer in Hollywood at the time: W. Axl Rose. Much like the tape, the show was nothing more than an amateur garage band doing their best, but they had an amazing sense of reckless abandon and unbridled energy. At least two of them did: apart from Izzy and Axl, the band was pretty nondescript, but those two friends from Lafayette, Indiana, had an ominous presence about them. Izzy kept doing knee slides all over the stage and Axl screamed his fucking heart out—their performance was blistering. Axl's voice drew me in immediately; it was so versatile, and underneath his impossibly high-pitched shrieking, the bluesy natural rhythm he had was riveting.
As I said, Hollywood Rose (like L.A. Guns) was a revolving-door band whose players all knew one another and were always coming or going. Bass player Steve Darrow worked with Izzy delivering the L.A. Weekly during the afternoon, so they were tight, but Axl didn't seem to like guitar player Chris Webber for what ever reason. Axl apparently up and fired Chris without telling anyone else and somehow Steven heard that they were holding auditions for guitar players the next day.
It's all as vague and illogical to me now as it was then, but Steven convinced me to show up at their rehearsal space, which was a room in some hovel called Fortress on Selma and Highland. That place was the epitome of ratty Hollywood punk, because only punk rockers would have thought to trash it so extensively. Rock guys don't trash things until they've made it and are older; only punks do that out of the gate. I'm not sure what color it was originally, but the carpet at Fortress had turned a sick yellow brown, not only on the ?oor, but all the way up the walls and ceiling, where it had been installed to dampen the noise. Every corner was disgusting; the entire room was a lice-infested cube.
I started rehearsing with them and it was going fine—until Izzy took o? during the second song. Now I know that bolting is Izzy's defense mechanism when he thinks things aren't quite right: he never makes a show of it, he just slips out and won't look back. Apparently Izzy had no idea what I was doing there that day and understandably didn't like it that Axl had fired Chris Webber without consulting, or even informing, him.
Eventually, a while later after we'd become good friends, I asked Izzy about it. Izzy always maintained an aura of cool; he was never ru?ed, he never let that guard down. But when I asked him about this, he leveled a deathly serious gaze at me, so I had no doubt that he was sincere.
"It's pretty fucking simple," he said. "I just don't like being dictated to under any circumstances."
In any case, he split. I'd been dragged into the middle of that situation, entirely clueless to it. After Izzy left, there was a short, awkward moment . . . and then we just started playing again.
I didn't even know that there was another concentric circle of tension around the move to bring me in: Tracii Guns had been vying for that gig. He'd been trying to recruit Axl and Izzy into a band for quite a while. I can't imagine that he was excited to hear that they'd chosen me over him. I had no idea about any of this, and even if I had I would have ignored all of it anyway. Finally, finally, I was in a band with a great singer—or a singer at all.
Axl had been brainstorming on how to put together the right band, and he thought Izzy and I would make a great pairing, but since they'd never actually discussed it before he put it in motion, I was in but Izzy was gone. Hollywood Rose, as I knew it, was Axl, Steve Darrow, Steve Adler, and me. We booked gigs at Madame Wong's East and West and rehearsed in a studio called Shamrock on Santa Monica Boulevard between Western and Gower. That place was an incredible scene, where just about anything might happen; considering that it was located way past East Hollywood, anything really could happen without arousing the authorities. There were three studios in the complex and the owners threw insane parties every weekend, where it was always balls to the wall.
Axl and I became really good friends during this period because, for a while, he lived with my family and me. It wasn't because we were soul mates or anything: Axl never had a place of his own back then; he just crashed wherever he could. When he lived with us, he'd spend his days sleeping in my subterranean room surrounded by my snakes and my cats while I was at work. When I got home, I'd wake him up and we'd go to rehearsal.
All the same, I learned a lot about Axl during that time. We talked about music and the things we thought were great; we'd listen to a particular song and dissect it, and it was clear that we had a lot in common in terms of our musical taste. We had a mutual respect for all the bands that had in?uenced me.
Axl also had an interest in talking about life, both his own and in the greater sense. I didn't have a lot to say but I was always a good listener. So he told me about his family and the hard times he'd endured in Indiana; it was half a world away from anything I could comprehend. Axl impressed me then the way he always has: no matter what anyone might say about him, Axl Rose is brutally honest. His version of events might be singular, to say the least, but the truth is, he believes in what he says with more heart than anyone else I've ever met.
It shouldn't be shocking to hear that it wasn't always smooth sailing when Axl lived with my family. As I mentioned, my room was o? the living room, down two ?ights of stairs, under the garage. For the most part, Axl kept to himself when I wasn't there, but one morning after I'd left for work, apparently he wandered up and crashed out on the couch in the living room. In other households that might not have been that big of a deal, but in ours it was. My grandmother, Ola Sr., was our matriarch and that couch was the throne from which she watched her favorite TV shows every afternoon. When she arrived, right on time to enjoy her regularly scheduled programming, and found Axl there, sprawled out, Ola Sr. politely roused him. In her sweet, soft, old-lady voice she asked him to go back downstairs to my room, where he could sleep as long as he liked. For whatever reason, that didn't go over well: from what I understand, Axl told my grandmother to fuck o? then stormed downstairs to my room—at least that's what my mom said.
My mom took me aside when I got home from work, and as easygoing as she is, she insisted that if Axl was going to live under her roof for even one more day, he needed to apologize to her mother and promise to never behave that way again. It was my duty to make it happen, which at the time I didn't think was that big of a deal.
My mom used to loan me her green Datsun 510, and as Axl and I drove to rehearsal that evening, I mentioned, in the least confrontational way, that he should probably apologize to Ola Sr. for telling her to fuck o?. I hadn't known Axl long, but I already knew him well enough to understand that he was a sensitive, introspective person who endured serious mood swings, so I chose my words carefully and presented the issue in a very nonjudgmental, objective tone. Axl stared out the window as I spoke, then he started rocking back and forth in the passenger seat. We were driving on Santa Monica Boulevard, doing about forty miles an hour, when suddenly, he opened the car door and jumped out without a word. He stumbled, kind of hopped, and made it onto the sidewalk without falling. He steadied himself, then took o? down a side street without looking back.
I was shocked; I did a U-turn and drove around in vain, looking for him for an hour. He didn't show up back at my house that night and he didn't come to rehearsal for four days. On the fifth day he appeared at the studio as if nothing had happened. He'd found somewhere else to crash and he never mentioned it again. It was pretty clear to me from that point forward that Axl had a few personality traits that set him very far apart from every other person I'd ever known.
The last Hollywood Rose gig took place at the Troubadour and it ended eventfully. It was an "off" night all around, basically a series of almost right moments. We went on late and everything sounded terrible, the crowd was rowdy and disengaged, and no matter how hard we tried, there was no turning the vibe around. Some heckler in the front row antagonized Axl and soon he'd had enough; he threw a glass at the guy or broke a bottle on his head—it doesn't matter which, but it was a fitting expression of the pent-up frustration within the band that night. As I watched the altercation with this guy build throughout the set, it was such a big distraction during the show that I knew I was going to quit as soon as the set was done. Axl going after him was like affirmation from the universe.
It's not like I hadn't seen it coming; I wasn't satisfied and the whole situation didn't seem very stable. We'd had only a handful of gigs in the few months we'd been together and the lineup never felt quite right. By that point, it didn't take much; and the bottle scene seemed uncalled for—it distracted from the music to say the least. Here we were, a fledgling band with enough internal issues trying to scratch out a name for ourselves, having to contend with incidents like that. It meant something to Axl, of course, but not everyone necessarily agreed with him. It was the way he felt and, seriously, if it was called for, fine, but sometimes you gotta pick your battles. Stopping the show to deal with this situation was a bit much. In the spirit of rock and roll, I had an appreciation for the full-on fuck-you, but as far as professionalism was concerned, it was an issue for me.
Axl is a dramatic kind of individual. Everything he says or does has a meaning, a theatrical place in his mind, in a blown-out-of-proportion kind of way. Little things become greatly exaggerated, so that interactions with people can become magnified into major issues. The bottom line is, he has his own way of looking at things. I am a pretty easygoing guy, so I'm told, so when Axl would fly off the handle, I never followed suit. I'd be like, "what?" and blow it off. There were such dramatic highs and lows and extreme mood swings that being close to him always felt like a roller- coaster ride. What I didn't know then was that this would be a recurring theme.
In any event, I told everyone in Hollywood Rose that I quit as soon as we got o?stage. The band split up after that and Axl and I parted ways for a while. He went on to join Tracii Guns in L.A. Guns, which soon became the earliest incarnation of Guns N' Roses.
I went on to join a band called Black Sheep with Willie Bass, which was a rite of passage for a succession of talented musicians. Willie is a great front man; he's a really tall black guy who sings and plays bass and he had a penchant for landing the hottest shredder guitar players of the day, one after the other. He'd had Paul Gilbert, a virtuoso, Yngwie Malmsteen type; Mitch Perry, who had played with Michael Schenker; and for a time, me. Shredding was not my forte—I could play fast, but I valued classic rock-and-roll, Chuck Berry–style playing over heavy metal showboating. I took the gig anyway, because, after Hollywood Rose, I realized that getting out there and being noticed was essential: it was a way to meet other players and learn about other opportunities in a fashion that suited my personality more than networking on the Strip.
I took the gig and played to about eight hundred people out at the Country Club in the Valley, and it was a particularly good show, I must say. It was also the first time I'd ever played to so many. I enjoyed the exposure, though I remember thinking that I'd played terribly. I found out later that Axl was there, but I had no idea at the time because he didn't come up and say hello.
Black Sheep wasn't really doing much by this point; after that one gig, we didn't have any others booked; we'd just get together to rehearse now and again. My brief experience with them might not have been exactly what I wanted to do, but it did make me more public, so it seemed to me that if playing in a well-liked L.A. club band was winning me attention and putting my career on some kind of track, joining the biggest L.A. club band of the day might not be a bad idea at all.
Poison's guitar player, Matt Smith, called me when he decided that he was going to leave the band. His wife was pregnant and they had decided to move back to Pennsylvania to start their family. Matt and I had friends in common and he'd invited me to a few of Poison's parties. Matt was a good guy, he was down to earth—the least poisonous of the bunch. Matt knew that it wasn't my thing at all, but he said that it was a good gig that paid well and I already knew the band was definitely in demand. I was pretty against it, but Matt talked me into trying out.
Poison rehearsed in a big ?at way down in Venice on Washington and La Brea or something like that, which was plastered with posters . . . of themselves. I showed up to the audition wearing my typical uniform: jeans, T-shirt, and that day a pair of these really cool moccasins that I stole from the farmer's market—they weren't beaded, just really plain brown leather with short fringe around the ankle. I had learned four or five songs from a tape they'd given me and I just killed them when we ran through it all. Th ey called me back for a second audition and I remember Bobby Dall, the bass player, looking me over as I played. The vibe was very di?erent; there was a tangible attention to detail.
"So, like, what do you wear?" he asked me. "You don't wear those shoes onstage, do you?"
"I haven't given it much thought, to tell you the truth," I said. He looked concerned and confused.
I was one of three that they were deciding on, and I saw another guy at the callback that day. He had platinum-blond hair, a sparkly white leather jacket, and full makeup, complete with frosted pink lipstick. I got one look at him on the way out and knew that he'd get the gig. He did, of course—it was C.C. Deville. I had played the shit out of Poison's material, but that was the one and only way that I was a perfect fit for what they were all about.
IN 1984, AXL HELPED ME GET A JOB AT Tower Video and when he did it was bittersweet to see him again. When Hollywood Rose broke up, it wasn't exactly acrimonious but in the interim, another source of contention had come between us: Axl had hooked up with my then ex Yvonne.
I had met Yvonne through Marc Canter at a Ratt concert, where they were playing with Yngwie Malmsteen, at the Hollywood Palladium. She'd actually been Ratt front man Stephen Pearcy's girlfriend at one time. We went out to a late-night dinner afterward at this place the Beverly Hills Café that was one of Marc's favorite spots and that's where we got eyes for each other. We started dating after that. Yvonne was really cool—she was the person who turned me on to Hanoi Rocks and front man Mike Monroe, which was a band that I definitely appreciated. They were an in?uence on Guns N' Roses and are still an undervalued rock-and-roll institution as far as I'm concerned.
Anyway, Yvonne and I dated for a while, but during one of those spells where we took some time o? from each other, Axl fucked her. I was not happy about that at all, but I can't say that I was surprised because it was obvious that he always had a thing for her. When she and I got back together, of course she had to tell me about it, under the guise of "being honest," when the real motivation was probably revenge for my dumping her.
I called Axl at his job at Tower Video to confront him. I was just pissed.
"You fucked Yvonne," I said. "What kind of cheap shot is that?"
I have to give Axl credit—he was honest and didn't try to weasel his way out of it. He told me that of course he did but that at the time I wasn't fucking her, so what did it matter? I didn't see it quite the same way, so things escalated from there until he invited me to try and kick his ass. I was going to go up there and duke it out but I let it go. Needless to say, it took some time to defuse the animosity. And one day, after hearing I was looking for a job, he told me about an opening at Tower as a peacemaking gesture. Axl always chose to patch things up with grand gestures.
Tower Video was located directly across the street from the Tower Rec ords where I'd been busted shoplifting a few years earlier. Axl was living with one of the managers, and once I'd joined the ranks it didn't take me long to figure out that I was now one of a truly loony cast of colorful characters; I imagine that we were the most ludicrous and utterly negligent sta? that any Tower location has ever employed. There were also some great, senile alcoholics who worked at the Tower Classical next door.
Every night at about eight o'clock, after the general manager for rec ords and video left for the night, those of us in video would stock up at the liquor store across the street, throw porno movies on the store's video system, and just drink. We'd put our friends' bands on the stereo and generally ignore every customer that wandered in.
It wasn't anything that the security cameras picked up because we didn't have vodka bottles next to the cash register, so it went on unnoticed for a long time—I imagine, though, that if those tapes were viewed, we'd come o? as lazy and unhelpful. We'd mix our cocktails back in the o?ce and walk around with them in plastic Solo cups; we'd be ringing up any purchases with one hand around a screwdriver. I'm sure the customers knew what we were up to the moment we breathed on them, but nobody ever complained because they were shocked speechless. All things considered, we were way too scary for most people; they just got out of there as quickly as they could.
Unfortunately, one of the tighter-assed managers caught on to us and when he did, Axl took the fall: he was fired for the antics that we were all guilty of. Even then, I knew why: Axl has the kind of presence and star power that threatens authority figures; they see someone like Axl as nothing but a "ringleader."
MY MEMORY IS HAZY ON THE VARIOUS events that led to the forming of Guns N' Roses, because, to be honest, for most of it I wasn't there. I'm not here to present the academic history of the band or set straight every misconception; I can only speak of my experience. In any case, sometime in early 1985, Axl and Tracii Guns started putting a band together; they brought in Ole Bench and Rob Gardner, who'd played bass and drums, respectively, in L.A. Guns. Not too long after that, Izzy joined their group and that is when Axl opted to change the name to Guns N' Roses for obvious reasons. Tracii had finally gotten his dream situation—as I said, he'd been after Axl and Izzy to be in a band with him for a while. They did a few gigs, they wrote a few songs—in that order.
I was still working at Tower and had nothing else going on. I was envious, to say the least, when Izzy came in to give me a ?yer for a Guns N' Roses show in Orange County. Somewhere along the line, Du? replaced Ole; they did a few more gigs and wrote a few more songs. I believe that during those Orange County shows Tracii and Axl had a major falling-out. Tracii quit pretty soon afterward and then one night Axl showed up at Tower to ask if I'd be interested in hooking up with Izzy to write some songs and give the gig a go. I stopped for a moment to think about what that meant.
Axl and Izzy were a unit, so any other players coming into their band had to work well with both of them, and Izzy had left Hollywood Rose too quickly to get to know me at all. I liked Izzy. He was, after all, the first guy I met and I enjoyed his style and admired his talent. In dealing directly with Izzy, I'd have something of a bu?er with Axl. Axl and I got along in so many ways but we had innate personality di? erences. We were attracted to each other and worked together tremendously well yet we were a study in polar opposites. Izzy (and later Du? ) would help. At the time, Izzy was enough to take the pressure o? .
I showed up at Izzy's apartment a few days later and he was working on a song called "Don't Cry," which I immediately took to. I wrote some guitar parts for it and we fine-tuned it for the rest of the evening. It was a cool session; we both got a lot out of jamming with each other.
We found ourselves a rehearsal space in Silverlake: Du?, Izzy, Axl, Rob Gardner, and myself. Everyone knew one another, so we started throwing songs together that evening and it just gelled quickly; it was one of those magic moments that musicians speak of where every player naturally complements the other and a group becomes an organic collective. I had never felt it that intensely in my life. It was all about the kind of music I was into: ratty rock and roll like old Aerosmith, AC/ DC, Humble Pie, and Alice Cooper. Everyone in the band wore their in?uences on their sleeves and there was not a bit of the typical L.A. vibe going on where the goal is to court a record deal. There was no concern for the proper poses or goofy choruses that might spell pop-chart success; which ultimately guaranteed endless hot chicks. That type of calculated rebellion wasn't an option for us; we were too rabid a pack of musically like-minded gutter rats. We were passionate, with a common goal and a very distinct sense of integrity. That was the di?erence between us and them.


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My desire to become a math tutor is to help students and adults improve and achieve higher levels of math skills and problem solving. I work with my students so they may reach their highest potential and gain self-esteem.
I graduated from Indiana University of Pennsylvania with 2 degrees. In 1975 I earned a Bachelor of Science in Education; my major was secondary math education and in 1983, I earned a Master's Degree in Education in Educational Psychology. I made the Dean's list in the Fall of 1974 and have been nominated by 2 different students I have taught to Who's Who Among America's Teachers in 1990 and 1998.
I presently am in my 5th year of tutoring a young lady starting with General Math, Pre- Algebra, Algebra I, Algebra II and now Geometry. My recent previous tutoring positions were 2008-2010, an elementary student, working on 4th and 5th grade math. In the 1990's I worked with a few adults who needed to improve their math skills for school and employment and in the 1980's school students.
I have 23 years of math teaching experience: 22 years in Marion Center Area School District 1979-2001, where I taught Algebra I 8th and 9-12th, Pre-Algebra 8th, General Math 7th and 8th, Academic Math 7th, and Remedial Math 7th, 8th, and 10-12th. I created, wrote, implemented and taught the course of study for Pre-Algebra and an individualized Remedial Math 10 required by 10-12th graders who did not achieve an 8.6 grade level on their 9th grade standardized math test, a requirement for graduation.
I was on the Book Selection Committee for General Math and Algebra every time the district updated and bought new books. When the district considered changing to a middle school concept, 5-8th grade, I was on the original start-up committee to help in making new and positive changes and set up programs for the new school and students. I also worked on the Math Curriculum Committee, K-12th grade, to make a smooth transition in math from grade to grade.
My 23rd year of teaching, 2001-2002, was in Monongalia County School District where I created, wrote, implemented and taught a new program for the district. This new class 9-12th grade was, Remediation Skills for Math, Language and Reading. I worked with low-scoring students to improve and achieve higher standardized test scores needed for graduation requirements.
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I graduated from Indiana University of Pennsylvania with 2
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Category:Erotic films
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
|Pages in this category should be moved to subcategories where applicable.
This category may require frequent maintenance to avoid becoming too large. It should directly contain very few, if any, pages and should mainly contain subcategories.
Films on erotic topics — not to be confused with pornographic films, though some articles may appear in both categories.
This category has the following 6 subcategories, out of 6 total.
- ► Erotic films by country (19 C)
- ► Erotic films by decade (7 C)
- ► Erotic films by genre (9 C, 2 P)
- ► Direct-to-video erotic films (1 C, 4 P)
- ► Erotic film series (6 C, 3 P)
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LOCAL and generalized dermatoses are common, owing to the application of therapeutic chemicals to the skin.1 One report disclosed an incidence of overtreatment of 35 per cent2 and another 75 per cent.3 When the irritating and sensitizing chemicals were removed, as a rule prompt healing of the lesions took place. In some cases, however, lesions healed slowly, indicating a severer chemical injury to the skin. In others the patients appeared to have recovered but complained about dryness, roughness, redness, chapping in cold weather and ease of irritation. Soap would burn, and exposure to sunlight caused itching and hiving. Many patients, when seen long after their dermatitis had healed, noted itching, burning and transitory rashes when they became warm enough to perspire. A complaint that is heard more and more is, "When I get hot I itch and break out." This cutaneous injury from exposing the skin to
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Lesson Plan
Find Your Match Icebreaker Activity
This game is a fun way to pair up students and help them get acquainted.
- Grades: 6–8, 9–12
The customizable nature of this icebreaker makes it perfect for incoming students of any age. Choose opposites or animals for young grades, or book characters and celebrities for older students. Once students have found their match, they will interview each other and present information about their partner to the class.
You will need approximately 40 minutes to complete the activity with a class containing 24 students.
- Index cards, one per student
- Interview sheet or plain writing paper, one page per student (see explanation below in Directions)
- Pens or pencils
Set Up and Prepare
Think about the student population at your school and what they typically relate to. Students will not need extensive knowledge of the subjects of the cards, but they will need to recognize the names. Create index cards that contain easily linked individuals or businesses. Here are some of the matches that I have used with my students:
- Index Card 1: Beyoncé — Index Card 2: Jay-Z
- Index Card 1: Bill Gates — Index Card 2: Microsoft
- Index Card 1: George Bush — Index Card 2: Condoleezza Rice
- Index Card 1: Russell Simmons — Index Card 2: Def Jam Records
Note: Be careful not to create cards that could have more than one possible match. For example, in the set of matches above, students may match Jay-Z to Def Jam, the record label of which he is CEO, instead of matching him to his wife, Beyoncé.
Step 1: Hand out one index card to each student. Then have the entire class stand, hold up their index cards for everyone to see, and walk around the room looking for their match. Note: Students are should be prohibited from speaking until they have found their match.
Step 2: Once students have found their match, they will sit and interview each other. Note: You may want to brainstorm possible interview questions as a class. Suggested questions include:
- What was the last school that you attended?
- What is your favorite book or genre?
- What really annoys you?
- What really makes you happy?
- What was your most embarrassing moment?
- What are 2 of your hobbies?
Step 3: After the interviews are complete, each pair will introduce their match to the entire class, presenting the information gathered during the interviews.
- Subjects:Interviews, Play, Games, Toys, Back to School, Autumn Themes, Understanding Self and Others
- Skills:Listening Comprehension
- Duration:40 Mins


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When is XSLT an appropriate solution for defining XML transforms instead of using a scripting language like Python?
We started with Q&A. Technical documentation is next, and we need your help.
Whether you're a beginner or an experienced developer, you can contribute.
When is XSLT an appropriate solution for defining XML transforms instead of using a scripting language like Python?
If you don't want to consider things like developer familiarity, I would say pretty much always, assuming you have XSLT 2.0 or at least EXSLT, as XSLT 1.0 is pretty limiting (if you only need structural transformations, 1.0 suffices, but if you need to do anything with the content, you want to stay far away from 1.0). XSLT is specifically designed for transforming XML, and I have found it a lot better for that task than XML libraries in general-purpose programming languages.
Of course, that's all assuming that you only need to transform input XML into some other form. In the real world, requirements change, and suddenly you end up not only having to transform the XML but also perform some operations based on it. And though XSLT is Turing-complete, it's not really a general-purpose programming language, so for future-proofing it might be safer to use another language. Still, I would probably implement the first version in XSLT because I find it faster and easier to understand, and only if XSLT later on proves unsuitable would I consider something else.
There is a great deal of overlap.
It's mainly to do with XML being a hierarchical tree sort of data structure.
You can set operations to happen when certain patterns are matched wherever they appear in the tree of an XML file.
If your XML data is relatively flat and a tag of
I find that XSLT is very useful for simple jobs and it is also platform-independent (XSLT is built into many languages). However I don't find it scales easily and since I also need to do domain-specific computation it is very tedious to write normal operations in the recursive functional manner.
Also XSLT2.0 is really necessary for operations such as grouping (without it you have to remember the Muenchian method which is clever but non-intuitive). However not all systems support XSLT2.0.
Performance-wise, some XSL processors compile the transform into binary before running it. If the transform will be used many times, that can be a large performance advantage.
Right off the bat, if you're transforming the XML into anything other than HTML, XML, or text, XSLT's not what you should use.
Other than that, I've done a ton of work with XSLT, and I have yet to run into a case where I've used XSLT to transform XML and found myself wishing I'd picked something else. As with jk, my answer's "pretty much always."
If you or someone you are working with is more comfortable in XSLT, or if there is some technical benefit you'd gain from using XSLT (integrating the XSLT into Cocoon, for example), then use XSLT. Otherwise, it's almost always more of a pain than you think it will be. You'll be much happier using a language like Python (with lxml), Ruby (with rexml) or even PHP (with SimpleXML). You can even pair it with a templating library (like genshi, with Python) to make the job even easier.
Having taken both approaches myself, I feel confident that you'll be happier in the long run using something other than XSLT.


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Vernon A. Gardner Jr.
Published: Friday, July 2, 2004 at 4:30 a.m.
Last Modified: Friday, July 2, 2004 at 12:00 a.m.
Vernon Alexander "Gramps" Gardner Jr. of Brevard left his earthly home to spend eternity with our heavenly Father on Wednesday, June 30, 2004.
He was an Air Force veteran of the Korean War. He retired as postmaster of the Pisgah Forest Post Office after 16 years of service. He was an active member of the Transylvania Youth Association and also involved in the Senior Olympics.
Survivors include his loving wife of 40 years, Linda Gardner; a son, Trip Gardner and wife, Michele, of Hampden, Maine; a daughter, Cheryl Smith and husband, Sean, of Brevard; five grandchildren, Tristen and Noah Gardner and Zach, Hank and Sawyer Smith; a sister, Betty Bradley of Raleigh; his father- and mother-in-law, J.C. and Sadie Sprouse; four brothers- and sisters-in-law, Johnny and Debbie Sprouse, Steve and Edna Mullinax, Buck and Lynn Sprouse and Ray and Christine Sprouse; eight nieces and nephews; and nine great-nieces and great-nephews.
A celebration of life will be held at 7 p.m. today at the Transylvania County Recreation Department, 1150 Ecusta Road. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the Transylvania Youth Association, 1150 Ecusta Road, Brevard, N.C. 28712.
His laugh was what love sounds like out loud. He celebrated life each day.
Moody-Connolly Funeral Home is in charge of the arrangements.
Reader comments posted to this article may be published in our print edition. All rights reserved. This copyrighted material may not be re-published without permission. Links are encouraged.
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Category:British Columbia New Democratic Party MLAs
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
This category has the following 2 subcategories, out of 2 total.
- ► British Columbia Co-operative Commonwealth Federation MLAs (1 C, 47 P)
- ► Leaders of the British Columbia CCF/NDP (14 P)
Pages in category "British Columbia New Democratic Party MLAs"
The following 153 pages are in this category, out of 153 total. This list may not reflect recent changes (learn more).


text: Posted June 16, 2013 Is short and star an upgrade over Ron and Dwan? Since Ron couldn't stay on the field, I'd have to assume yes on that part. I'm really hoping they sub out the DTs a lot, to keep the rookies from hitting the wall. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites


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Amazon.com Review
Nevada is on the edge, on the wire, off to one side, in the empty quarter, or even in the rest of the country's head as an idea, a possibility, an alternative. It is an experiment, or a kind of theater.... for America has used Nevada as a testing ground, and not just for weapons and their destructiveness but also for new social ideas, and their explosiveness. What happens if you allow divorce, prostitution, gambling? Can there be community and purpose if you encourage things deep in human nature yet supposedly alien to order and togetherness? Don't we need to find out?Much of the union's most rapidly growing state remains a mystery. Area 51, for instance, just 50 miles northwest of the Las Vegas neon, is a chunk of desert larger than Connecticut, forbidden to anyone without official government clearance. Such desolation defines much of the state, whether or not off-limits. Indeed, "it is the deep and ultimate vacancy of the place that stimulates storytelling," says Thomson, and to prove his point, he covers topics as varied as the Burning Man Festival, Frank Sinatra, pugilism, conspiracy theories, alleged UFO storage facilities, nuclear waste, and gambling, to name precious few.
Thomson's meandering style is well suited to the subject. Moving easily from the floor of a frenetic casino to the loneliest stretch of highway, his compelling stories and observations convey "the power of Nevada as a place and as an idea." The result is an absorbing and amusing tour rife with surprises. "I hope I may leave you wanting to go there, to be there, to see and feel it for yourself," he writes. In Nevada undoubtedly succeeds. --Shawn Carkonen
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.


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Walter Payton, Extraordinary Running Back for Chicago Bears, Dies at 45
By FRANK LITSKY
Published: November 2, 1999
Walter Payton, the Chicago Bears' running back whose single-minded aggressiveness and singular combination of power and speed made him the leading ground gainer in pro football history, died yesterday at his home in Barrington, Ill., a Chicago suburb. He was 45.
The cause was bile duct cancer, said Dr. Greg Gores, Payton's physician at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn.
On Feb. 2, during an emotional news conference in Chicago, Payton disclosed that he had primary sclerosing cholangitis, a rare condition in which the bile ducts are blocked. He said doctors had told him he would need a liver transplant within two years. A week later, after further tests, doctors told him he needed a transplant by the end of 1999. He was said to have been on a waiting list with 12,000 others at the Mayo Clinic. Dr. Gores said yesterday that Payton had received chemotherapy and radiation treatment after the cancer was diagnosed but it had progressed to where ''transplantation was no longer a viable option.''
The fact that Payton had cancer was not made public before his death.
Playing from 1975 through 1987 for the Bears, who endured many mediocre seasons before becoming winners, he set a host of National Football League records. He retired with career marks for rushing yards (16,726) and attempts (3,838), combined yards (21,803 rushing, receiving and returning), 100-yard rushing games (77) and 1,000-yard rushing seasons (10). He was voted the league's most valuable player in 1977 and was voted nine times to the Pro Bowl.
Marcus Allen and Emmitt Smith subsequently broke his record of 110 rushing touchdowns. Payton's other career records still stand. The only other player within 3,000 yards of Payton's rushing total is Barry Sanders, who retired from the Detroit Lions before the 1999 season with 15,269 yards.
After Payton's retirement, he turned his full attention to the business career he began during his playing days and earned far more than he ever had on the football field.
Jim Finks, the late general manager of the Bears, once described Payton as ''a complete football player, better than Jim Brown, better than O. J. Simpson.'' Yesterday, Dick Butkus, the Bears' Hall of Fame linebacker who retired two seasons before Payton arrived, called him ''a perfect example of what a true back was supposed to be.'' And Paul Tagliabue, the N.F.L. commissioner, praised Payton as ''an inspiration in everything he did.''
At 5 feet 10 1/2 inches and 204 pounds, Payton was not big for a running back, but his strength and conditioning were legendary. He could bench-press 390 pounds and do leg-press series with more than 700 pounds. He could throw a football 60 yards, punt it 70 yards, kick a field goal of 45 yards and walk across a football field on his hands.
Fred O'Connor, the Bears' former backfield coach, once said, ''The first time I saw Walter Payton in the locker room, I thought God must have taken a chisel and said, 'I'm going to make me a halfback.' ''
One part of Payton's conditioning regimen took on mythic proportions in the football world. For several months before the start of each N.F.L. season, he would run up a steep hill near his Illinois home about 20 times a day. Sometimes he would bring along teammates or local college players. ''I enjoy seeing them try it once or twice, and then vomit,'' he said.
Although he routinely carried the ball 20 or more times a game and was known as one of the best blockers among running backs, Payton was never seriously injured. In his 13 professional seasons, he missed only one game, during his rookie season when he had an injured ankle. Missing that game grated on him for years, and he blamed an assistant coach for not letting him play.
Mike Ditka, who coached Payton during the last half of his pro career, called him ''the very best football player I've ever seen, period, at any position.''
Payton was given his nickname, Sweetness, by teammates in the Senior Bowl college all-star game. He was unsure whether it referred to his sweet movements on the field or to the sweet, sincere personality and high-pitched voice.
Known as a selfless team leader, Payton would hand the ball to an offensive lineman after scoring a touchdown because, he said, ''They're the ones who do all the work.''
Payton was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1993, the first year he was eligible, and to the College Football Hall of Fame in 1996.
For his induction ceremony at the Pro Hall of Fame, he chose as his presenter his son, Jarrett, then 12 years old. In his speech, Jarrett said, ''Not only is my dad an exceptional athlete, he's my biggest role model and best friend.'' The son, now a freshman running back and kick returner at the University of Miami, returned home Wednesday to be with his father.
Even at 33 and in his final season, Payton had undiminished devotion to football. ''This is something I want to do,'' he said, ''something I love to do. Money isn't everything. Do you get married because of money? Do you have kids because of money?''
Payton seemed almost hyperactive, never wasting a moment. Paul Zimmerman wrote in Sports Illustrated: ''You get a feeling of electricity. Sparks seem to shoot from him.''


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What degree looks better to an employer, an entrepreurship degree or a finance degree?
I know it all depends on what you want to do. I would like to start a company but I would also like to raise money by working for a high end company out of Cal State Fullerton.
That depends on the employer and the type of employment, particularly the job description. There is no general preference one way or the other.


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intensive 1
- 1 (concentrated)(study/preparation)
intensivo(fire/shelling)they made an intensive search of the building
intensivoregistraron el edificio detenidamenteExample sentences
Example sentences
- But many of these ingredients haven't been subjected to intensive research that proves this benefit.
- A passenger whose baggage triggers an alarm might in turn be subject to intensive search procedures - and those are no laughing matter.
- Security inside and outside the court was heavy with everyone entering the building scanned and subject to intensive searches.
- Nor is a return to 'primitive' farming practices the only alternative to factory farming and highly intensive agriculture.
- Like intensive power production, so intensive agriculture spares the landscape.
- The location of participation across the state, as expected, closely follows the areas of intensive commercial agricultural production.
- 2 (Linguistics)Example sentences
- Fernando Pereira emailed an anecdote about intensive use of eh.
- 3 (Physics)(property/measurement)
intensivoExample sentences
- Clearly, the intercept differences produced by the intensive properties were substantially smaller than those produced by spatial properties.
- It is an intensive physical property of a particular material and does not depend on the amount of material present.
- The first one is the vestibule of the channel, where the curvature of the dielectric boundary generates intensive electrostatic forces.
Definition of intensive in:
Grammar and usage help for Spanish:
intensive 2
- (US) → intensifier 1Example sentences
- Particles are added, usually as completives and intensives, to two and three-syllable verbs of Latin origin: contract out, divide off/up, level off, measure off/out, select out, separate off/out.
- That is from the words of the intensives used when they talk about 'very likely', 'you see it all the time', et cetera.
Definition of intensive in:
What do you find interesting about this word or phrase?
Comments that don't adhere to our Community Guidelines may be moderated or removed.
Grammar and usage help for Spanish:
= trending


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Results 16 to 19 of 19
Thread: Which more unusual name
May 6th, 2013 07:04 PM #16
May 6th, 2013 08:41 PM #18Senior Member
- Join Date
- Apr 2013
- Posts
- 296
I like Alaric and Elric.19 year old name lover with impeccable taste (◡‿◡✿)
May 6th, 2013 09:05 PM #20Ashley | namenerd | Christian | storyteller
List under major construction.
Isabelle Aurora Grace | Caleb Elias Joseph | Arianne Eleanor Daisy | Everett Joshua Charles | Grace Odilia Lily
Grant Frédéric Conrad | Adele Sofia Eloise | Casper Nathaniel Eden | Audrey Lila Pearl | Samuel Gaspard John
Thinking about Arabella Lilavati and Leo Maximilian today.
I've recently started a story--join me! havengermany.blogspot.com
May 6th, 2013 10:14 PM #22Simon, Eloise/Louise, Faye, Judah, Thea, Felix, Iris, Cordelia, Roscoe, Lydia, Jasper, Phaedra, Adrian, Lucinda, Jane, Conrad, Wallace, Finnegan, Sylvie, Charlie, Dashiell, Juniper, Atlas, Matilda, Julian, Alice, Marlowe, Octavia, Jack, Marigold, Archer, Gabriel, Persephone, Raphael, Dov
Just a grad student, dreaming ahead...


text:
- Menu
- Boats
Fish & Sport
Hunt / Utility
Get top-flight performance that rides right with the VT series from Crestliner. An outstanding tournament companion, the comforts of this bass boat give you a full-on competitive edge with every cast, reel and adventure you meet. Add in the loaded fishing features that make this a serious competition-honed contender, and it's easy to see how Crestliner's VT series is one of the most popular aluminum bass boats on the water today.
Bring everything and have room to spare with large lockable port and starboard rod storage compartments, each holding eight 7'6" rods. In-floor center locking rod storage holds up to eight 8' rods.
Sleek elevated console includes carbon fiber style gauges, cup holder and in-dash instrument panel.
An ergonomic recessed foot control provides innovative, hands-free trolling from the bow-mounted motor.
22-gallon aerated stern livewell complete with timer is right where you need it, when you need it.
Step to the bow includes dry storage compartment.
With the VT's large casting platforms, you get all-day fishing comfort with the freedom to maneuver when a catch is on the line.
SureMount aluminum accessory brackets let you slide your favorite accessories along the gunnel for perfect placement without drilling.
Optional starboard and port console windscreens keeps the elements at bay while you attack the water.
Non-slip, durable and easy to clean, with Crest-Liner interior coating in matte-gray you can focus on the catch. Camouflage paint optional.
Blue LED cockpit lighting keeps your cockpit illuminated and ready for action.
Port console comes equipped with drink holder, glove box and visor.
Upgrade to the aluminum mag wheel trailer to get the best looking trailer at the launch.
The optional VT Pro Edition comes with an upgraded trolling motor and wiring harness, recirculation livewell system, automatic bilge, Pro hullside designator, trailer ratchet straps and mag wheel trailer.
The optional Platinum Edition package includes 3D chrome logo, chrome Platinum Edition Badge, stainless steel steering wheel and stainless steel flip up cleats.
Scroll right column to view.
|Overall Length
|Boat/Motor/Trailer Length
|Boat/Motor/Trailer Width
|Boat/Motor/Trailer Height
|Chine width
|Transom Height
|Weight (Boat only, dry)
|Max Weight Capacity
|Max Person Weight Capacity
|Max HP Capacity
|Fuel Capacity
|Side Depth
|21 gal.
Scroll right column to view.
|Aluminum gauge bottom
|Aluminum gauge sides
|Aluminum gauge transom
|Unpainted base w/Black Metallic accent
|Unpainted base w/Blue Flame Metallic accent
|Unpainted base w/Red Flame Metallic accent
|Unpainted base w/Silver Metallic accent
|Unpainted base w/Storm Blue Metallic Accent
|Unpainted base w/White accent
|Silver Metallic base w/Black Metallic accent & Gray interior
|Silver Metallic base w/Blue Flame Metallic accent & Gray interior
|Silver Metallic base w/Red Flame Metallic accent & Gray interior
|Silver Metallic base w/Storm Blue Metallic accent & Gray interior
|Silver Metallic base w/White accent & Gray interior
|Black Metallic exterior w/Matte Gray Crest-Liner interior
|Blue Flame Metallic exterior w/Matte Gray Crest-Liner interior
|Red Flame Metallic exterior w/Matte Gray Crest-liner interior
|Storm Blue Metallic exterior w/Matte Gray Crest-Liner interior
|Silver Metallic exterior w/Matte Gray Crest-Liner interior
|White exterior w/Matte Gray Crest-Liner interior
|Mad Fish graphics
|Shock Effect Wrap
|Mossy Oak Break-Up camouflage exterior and interior w/Crest-liner interior coating, camouflage upholstery and black console
|Mossy Oak Shadowgrass camouflage exterior and interior w/Crest-Liner interior coating, camouflage upholstery and black console
*colors/graphics not available on select models
|Console, starboard, w/switch panel, carbon fiber style instrument panel w/black sterling gauges, drink holder, throw tray, 12V power outlet & 3" in-dash fish finder (space for 7" in-dash)
|Steering wheel, black sport
|No-feedback steering
|Speedometer, tachometer and trim gauges, black sterling
|Fuel gauge
|Sport visor
|Carpet, 16 oz. marine-grade, w/aluminum flooring
|Seat, modified bucket, w/flip-up bases (2) w/center fold-down step seat (3-across seating)
|Seat, Deluxe w/pedestal (2)
|Pedestal floor bases (2)
|Platform (bow)
|Recessed trolling motor foot control (bow)
|Bow step w/dry storage
|60/40 split access under seat storage
|Platform w/storage compartment (stern)
|Storage compartment, insulated w/tackle tray inserts (port & starboard, stern)
|Drink holders (3)
|Rod storage, lockable (port, bow) (holds 8 @ 7'6" capacity)
|Rod storage, lockable (starboard, bow) (holds 8 @ 7'6" capacity)
|Rod storage, lockable (center, bow) (holds 8 @ 8' capacity)
|Topside rod strap (starboard)
|Livewell, 22 gal. aerated w/timer (stern) (32Lx14Wx11.5D)
|Wood-free construction
|Light, courtesy (touch-button)
|Light, navigation
|Mat, non-skid (bow)
|Bilge pump (manual)
|Lanyard, ignition stop switch
|Level flotation
|Hull, aluminum, all-welded
|Keel, extruded full length, welded (center)
|Chine extrusion, welded
|Ribs, extruded, extra strength
|Gunnel, extruded w/SureMount & J-Hook systems
|Paint process, urethane
|Eyes, stainless steel (bow & stern)
|Rub rail
|Strakes, formed 1-1/4" (6)
|Cleats, black composite (4)
|Battery charger, 2 bank
|SureMount accessory mounting bracket (1)
|Lowrance Elite-3x Color Fish-Finding Sonar
|MotorGuide X3 45FW FB/ 45" 12V Trolling Motor
|Trolling motor outlet w/wiring harness (bow)
|Trim switch (bow)
|Karavan black bunk w/Chrome wheels (2200-70-19-SF-ST-CL-FLT BLK)
Platinum Edition Package
Pro Edition Package-Black trailer w/mag wheel
Pro Edition Package-Galvanized trailer w/mag wheel
|Hydraulic steering
|Console, port w/glove box & sport visor (factory or dealer installed)
|Windscreen, dual (Requires port console option)
|Seat, exchange (Deluxe for Pro fishing w/pedestal (1), Gray)
|Seat, exchange (Deluxe for Pro fishing w/pedestal (2), Gray)
|Pedestal base (bow) (2 additional)
|Center Seat Delete
|Seat, butt, removable w/adjustable pedestal (Gray) (exchange deluxe seat)
|Rod rack inserts for rod storage compartment (TC19/VT19)
|Transom riser, 5" (dealer installed)
|Battery charger, 3 bank exchange
|Bilge pump (automatic)
|Cleats, flip up, stainless steel
|Crestliner transom plate
|Fire extinguisher
|Lighting, Cockpit, LED
|Livewell pump, recirculating (stern)
|Stereo, Jensen 2-channel bluetooth w/2 speakers
|SureMount accessory mounting bracket, additional
|Transom saver
|Trolling motor recess delete
|Trolling motor outlet, w/6-gauge wiring harness exchange (24V capable) (bow)
|Cover, custom travel, ratchet VT/TC 19
|Cover, custom travel, ratchet, dual console VT/TC 19 (Requires port console option)
|Exchange Lowrance Elite 3X Color Console For Lowrance Elite 7 Chirp Console
|Exchange Standard MotorGuide X3 45/45" 12V For MinnKota Edge 45/45" 12V
|Exchange Standard MotorGuide X3 45/45" 12V For MotorGuide X3 70/45" 24V or MinnKota Edge 70/45" 24V
|Exchange Standard MotorGuide X3 45/45" 12V For MinnKota Edge 70/45" 24V
|Ratchet tie-downs
|Karavan Galv Bunk w/ Mag Wheels (2200-70-19-ST-CL-AL-GLV)
|Karavan Black Bunk w/ Mag Wheels (2200-70-19-SF-ST-AL-CL-FLT BLK)
|Karavan LB-2200-70-19-SF-ST-CL-RDL-FLT Black


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Osteoarthritis Health Center
News and Features Related to Osteoarthritis
FDA OKs Voltaren Gel for Osteoarthritis
Oct. 23, 2007 -- The FDA has approved Voltaren Gel, the first prescription skin gel to treat osteoarthritis joint pain. Voltaren Gel contains diclofenac sodium, a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug (NSAID) that's also in oral Voltaren. The gel can be applied to joints that hurt because of osteoarthRead Full Article
Calcitonin May Fight Osteoarthritis
July 30, 2007 -- A drug currently used to treat osteoporosis may also help protect the bone and slow or perhaps even halt the progression of osteoarthritis, according to early research. A new study shows treatment with calcitonin, a hormone, effectively prevented erosion of knee cartilage in rat modRead Full Article
When Aches & Pain Disrupt Sleep
Aches and pains give everyone a sleepless night now and then. It doesn't take much -- a pulled muscle from an overenthusiastic workout or an afternoon spent helping a friend move furniture. Next thing you know, you're lying in bed at 3 a.m., staring at the ceiling above your bed, aching, and prayingRead Full Article
Acupuncture May Help Knee Arthritis
July 7, 2005 -- Acupuncture may offer some relief from osteoarthritis in the knee - at least in the short run. Researchers report the finding in The Lancet. They studied nearly 300 people with knee osteoarthritis. Acupuncture's long-term effects on knee osteoarthritis now need to be tested, write thRead Full Article
All About Osteoarthritis and Women
If you've just been diagnosed with osteoarthritis (OA), you're not alone. Many women past age 50 discover OA is the reason for their creaking knees, aching backs, and sore fingers. Suddenly life is all about osteoarthritis -- but luckily, arthritis doesn't have to take control. Arthritis is "the mosRead Full Article
Osteoarthritis Treatment Now
While there's no cure for osteoarthritis , you can still do much to relieve pain and stay active. Your osteoarthritis treatment will depend on several factors, including the severity of your pain -- and how much it affects your everyday activities. Osteoarthritis often progresses slowly, with periodRead Full Article
Exercise Before Joint Replacement?
Sept. 29, 2006 -- Getting a total knee or hip replacement? A sensible exercise plan before surgery may help you recover after it. That news appears in Arthritis & Rheumatism. Researchers included Daniel Rooks, ScD, of Harvard Medical School, Boston's New England Baptist Hospital, and Beth Israel DeaRead Full Article
Are Anti-Inflammatory Pain Relievers Safe for You?
At age 62, April Dawson lives every day with chronic pain from wrist arthritis. "There are a lot of everyday things I just can't do now," she says. "I can't open packages or jars or even lift a half-gallon of milk. Some days I can barely turn the ignition in my car." But despite the pain and inconveRead Full Article
Arthritis and Knee Surgery: New Twist
May 12, 2006 -- People with severely arthritis -damaged knees may still be candidates for a certain type of knee surgery called meniscus transplantation. So says a study in Arthroscopy: The Journal of Arthroscopic and Related Surgery. The researchers who worked on the study included Kevin Stone, MD,Read Full Article
Patients Rate Knee, Hip Replacement
May 5, 2006 -- A new survey by Consumer Reports shows a high degree of patient satisfaction with knee- or hip-replacement surgery. The survey included 1,001 knee- and hip-replacement patients. The results, published in the magazine's June issue, include: 82% reported being "very" or "completely" satRead Full Article


text:
item(s) in cart
My Account X
Kühl Men's Impulse Long-Sleeve Shirt
Item # 754385
Key Features
ELUXOR performance polyester feels like cotton
Designed to dry quickly and wick away moisture
IONIK silver ion finishing for antimicrobial prope
UPF 50 sun protections shields skin from UV rays
Flatlock stitching for low bulk
Our Price $69.00
Sale Price $34.94
Availability: Sold Out
Prices, promotions, styles and availability may vary by store and online.
detailsback to top
Product DescriptionConstructed with Kühl's ELUXOR fabric, the Kühl Impulse Shirt offers revolutionary wicking and quick-dry performance with a touch as soft as cotton. ELUXOR fabric is a 50% Merino wool, 50% Tencel blended polyester treated with IONIK silver ion finish for antimicrobial properties. Easy to care for, wrinkle-resistant, and odor fighting. Flatlock stitching for low bulk. Kühl stealth thumbloops. Articulated sleeves and UPF 30 keep you protected from the elements no matter where your adventures take you! Machine washable. Imported.


text:
Hi There:
I have modified the new Twenty Ten theme to use as my new DJ site.
I need to fix a few things, one of which I was given an answer to (I think) and will give a try. The immediate issue concerns the new Pages option that allows me to choose "one column, no sidebar." The problem is that the comment area below is displayed between the content and the footer. I'd like to get rid of it, but I'm unsure which template is "one column" based on.
What's the best way for me to make the page static without the comment section? Thanks for reading; looking forward to some helpful assistance.