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Chapter 1: Storm Warning
Cobalt waves lashed the beach, whipcracking as they broke, the gray sky deceptively placid, accepting of the storm gathering just beyond the horizon. This was a cool time of year for the greater Miami area, but something nasty was coming. Something hot, and not weather.
Here and there empty hotels seemed like great tombstones, as if the city were slowly turning into a cemetery, however much the remainder of the skyline greeted the Atlantic with glittering optimism. Tonight, the ocean seemed unconvinced, moving in like a dark-hooded figure with a scythe, the threat of the impending storm growing more absolute by the minute and Miami Beach's neon welcome ever more strained as the sky went from gray to charcoal to now very nearly black.
Along Ocean Drive, with only the thin emerald strip of Lummus Park between concrete and roiling water, cars passed in their usual slow parade while the well-lighted line of Art Deco hotels studded the darkening sky with their vibrant pink-blue-yellow geometry. Occasional storefronts in the row of businesses were dark now, gaps in the street's commercial smile, the stiff competition of South Beach killing off the weak. Still, despite the strobe flashes of lightning at sea, a party atmosphere managed to thrive.
This was Miami Beach, after all, and there was a reputation to uphold -- not necessarily a good reputation, but a compelling one for the young of all ages.
Hundreds of pedestrians, mostly tourists, strolled up and down the west side sidewalk, gawking at menu boards, confronted by hard-bodied, navel-baring, pretty hostesses who hawked their restaurants and hotels (each "the best" along this pastel strip).
At every stop, the pedestrians were inundated with pulsing music that poured as easily from assorted sound systems as the liquor in every South Beach bar. Cool jazz rolled from the Tides, reggae from the Breakwater, classic soul from the Leslie, and so on down the row, the only pauses coming as the rubberneckers passed the vacant husks of dead rival clubs.
At the Archer Hotel -- a three-story, white stucco building with mint-green-and-pink trim -- both the lobby bar and front dining terrace were jammed with patrons apparently not put off by what the sky might bring. Sixties rock blared from state-of-the-art speakers, and a queue of potential diners stood near the hostess stand on the front walk, seemingly oblivious to the storm knifing toward the coast.
The distant rumble of thunder was lost in the prominent bass line of the Spencer Davis Group ripping through "Gimme Some Lovin'." Here and there, diners tapped their feet to the familiar, infectious beat, while a few others tapped silverware on the table, keeping time with the pounding drums. At a square table, at the south end of the open front porch, however, the four men seated there seemed to not notice the music at all.
With his back to the window that looked in on the lobby bar, Kurt Wallace gave not a thought to the possibility of getting shot.
The burly, well-dressed men seated to his left and right as he faced Ocean Drive were security staff who'd been with him for years. On his right, the pug-faced Cummings watched the street. On Wallace's left, Stevens eyed the restaurant, the watchdog's head seeming to swivel from side to side without the benefit of a neck.
A third bodyguard, Anthony, was out of sight inside the bar, but he, too, was a longtime employee, and Wallace trusted the wide-bodied ex-pro footballer (a lineman, of course) to cover his back. The small security contingent's custom-fitted suits -- Anthony's was black, Cummings was in brown, and Stevens's a gray pinstripe -- helped them fit in to the Miami Beach nightlife, even while that expensive tailoring hid the fact that they were heavily armed.
One of the best haberdasheries in the city took care of Wallace's boys; as for their employer, tonight he had chosen an Armani suit, tailored especially for him.
Tall, with curly black hair showing flecks of gray, Wallace was handsome and knew it. What might have been conventional, male-model good looks -- his long straight nose sat absolutely perpendicular to the thin line of his mouth, for example -- had an edge, thanks to dark brown eyes that seemed always to suggest anger or cruelty or both, depending on the light, the angle, and, of course, his mood. Thick dark slashes of eyebrow provided punctuation whenever his expression changed.
With the assassination of Peter Venici earlier this year, Wallace had solidified himself as the new padrone of organized crime in Miami. For perhaps a decade, Wallace had dreamed and schemed of this rise to the top. But right now, the all-American businessman who had finally displaced the old Sicilian Mafia leadership was wondering if killing Venici had really been worth it.
Though he now controlled the docks, the unions, prostitution, and most illegal gambling, Kurt Wallace found himself constantly battling the youthful gangs that had matured into mini-cartels in recent years, stealing away much of his drug business. The most bothersome were Las Culebras, the group of second- and third-generation Cuban-Americans once headed by Juan "El Patan" Padillo.
That Padillo, known in certain circles as Johnny the Slouch, had been "disappeared" by Venici was no great secret, and Wallace had figured the Culebras might be a new ally when he dispatched the crime boss.
It hadn't turned out that way.
Las Culebras' new leader, Antonio Mendoza, seemed to hate Wallace even more than he had Venici. That Wallace had betrayed Venici -- however despised the old-school mob boss might have been -- labelled Wallace a traitor to Mendoza. Didn't these young punks understand how business worked? That the occasional unfriendly takeover was to be expected?
Las Culebras weren't the only ones horning in on Wallace's drug trade, either; the list was depressingly long -- the Mitus from Colombia; the Faucones, whose headquarters were in Little Haiti; the Trenches, named after the famous Kingston slum; and even those self-styled neo-Nazi meth freaks from upstate...all of them intent on helping themselves to slices of the Venici pizza.
If he'd known it was going to be this much trouble, Wallace wondered if he still would have made his move on Venici.
Who was he trying to kid? He already knew the answer: of course he would.
Kurt Wallace may have looked like a fashion-plate slickster, but at heart he was a fighter, and he wasn't about to let anyone come in and divide his territory among themselves.
Which was why he was having dinner at the Archer Hotel with Sonny Spencer tonight. The current situation was, in fact, the only imaginable reason he could conjure up that would have him even consider sitting down with the slimy likes of Spencer.
Spencer was a representative of what was referred to nowadays as the Dixie Mafia. In his white suit jacket over a pastel T-shirt and jeans, Spencer apparently thought Miami Vice was the latest thing.
The blond neo-Nazi sat across the table from Wallace, his blue eyes fixed in a squint that Wallace assumed was meant to make him look tough, when the effect was of myopia. Granted, he was a lieutenant -- and nephew -- of Billy Joe Spencer, head of the outfit Wallace hoped to strike a deal with...but Spencer was not exactly one of the best and brightest of his outfit.
Consider that Spencer had consented to coming alone and was right now also sitting with his back to the busy street. On the other hand, Spencer's apparent lack of precaution reflected something of which he and Wallace were both well aware: The younger Spencer had nothing to fear from Kurt Wallace.
Truth was, right now Wallace needed any allies he could muster in a war that seemed to be bearing down on him just as inexorably as the approaching storm was heading for the coast.
So it was that these two competitors between whom no love was lost sat preparing for a dinner that both hoped would end in a peace accord that would allow each side not only to survive but also to prosper in this world of ever-present danger.
Picking up his menu, Spencer said, "Seriously, Kurt -- we're gonna need each other when all these lowlifes come outta the woodwork after what's rightfully ours."
Kurt Wallace nodded agreement even as he pondered just how much he hated the ignorant asshole across from him.
He seriously wondered if the price of survival might not be too steep if it meant lying down with the flea-ridden dogs that Sonny Spencer represented. Still, it was only business -- the first rule being, it doesn't matter who you sell your goods to; and the second being, it doesn't matter who you do business with. Let this so-called superman obsess on race all he wanted; the only color Kurt Wallace cared about was green....
And Wallace had to do something before Las Culebras and the others figured out how tenuous his new position truly was.
"And I think we oughta start with these candy-ass Culebras," Spencer said.
"No, Sonny," Wallace said. "I can't agree."
Spencer frowned, as if forming a thought were painful.
"Let's start," Wallace said with his most charming smile, "with dinner."
Sonny beamed. "Frickin' A," he said, and focused his tortured attention back on the menu.
Actually, this idiot was right. Though every one of these former street-punk crime factions seemed to be lining up to take their shot at Wallace's holdings, Las Culebras were at the forefront of his thoughts.
By taking over Venici's business interests, Wallace had somehow inherited Las Culebras' animosity toward Venici.
It had been Venici who'd used that team of retired hitters from New Jersey, making "El Patan" disappear from the planet -- not Wallace! The Jersey hit team was gone now, one dead, the other two in jail. With Venici dead, the matter should have been closed.
Beyond Las Culebras and the competition from gangs, both Miami-Dade P.D. and the Feds were turning up the heat on Wallace's operations across the board. Not just the drugs -- hell, he expected that -- but gambling, prostitution, and everything from loan-sharking to construction, all coming under ever closer scrutiny.
Two cops in particular had been making Wallace's life miserable of late. Horatio Caine, that hot-shot Crime Scene Unit supervisor with Miami-Dade, had taken down the Jersey retiree hit team, which had opened a real investigative can of worms on local organized crime.
Even worse, DEA agent Jeremy Burnett was constantly intervening in Wallace's drug business. Aiding and abetting that Goody Two-shoes was Kenneth LaRussa, a U.S. attorney who prosecuted everyone in the city caught with anything more potent than a bottle of aspirin.
Turning to Cummings and Stevens, Wallace said, "You fellas might as well order, too."
Often the security boys ate later, but Wallace felt safe enough, here in the middle of a South Beach tourist trap. Wordlessly, the two bodyguards lifted their menus.
Picking up his own, Wallace wondered if he could talk Spencer into hitting any or all three of the law enforcement agents in question. A dangerous course of action, but if the credit and blame went to this group of malcontents from upstate, the reactive heat would be focused there.
Ideally, Wallace would have the law enforcement agents gone, and eventually the Spencers, too. With a faint smile, he read the menu, thinking that everything might work out after all.
Wallace decided on the fillet of sole and looked up, his eyes meeting Spencer's.
The blond man was saying, "Hope you don't mind if I order the porterhouse. I ain't much for fish."
"Order whatever..." Wallace frowned.
"You okay, Mr. Wallace?"
"Yes. Order anything you like, Sonny. My treat."
Spencer was grinning greedily now, reexamining the menu in search of other high-priced fare, but Wallace's eyes were on the street.
He had just realized that something was wrong. The music still blared in the background ("Goin' back to Miami!"), and because of that he hadn't noticed, at first, the silence gathering on the street. But, looking past Spencer, he could see that no cars were passing by in front of the hotel. Cars on Ocean Drive were as constant as the tide itself, and seeing no traffic, an absence extending all the way to the corner, sent warning bells ringing inside Wallace's head.
Cummings, sensing his boss's alarm, looked up from his menu, his eyes following the path of Wallace's concerned gaze, and saw the same disturbing thing. They both heard the squeal of tires at the same instant...and then time slowed for Wallace as he took in a silver car fishtailing around the corner to nudge a parked car, then come speeding south toward the Archer.
Some detached part of his mind drew fascination from this mini-spectacle, clearly seeing the head and shoulders of a Hispanic man protruding from the passenger side window.
He had large brown eyes, dark skin, curly black hair (Not unlike my own, Wallace thought, when I was younger), and a mustache so thick and black that Wallace wondered if it might be fake.
The passenger's mouth was open wide, his teeth bared, very white against his skin and the background of the black sky. The man seemed to be yelling something, but Wallace could not understand the words.
To Wallace's right, Cummings shouted something; but Kurt couldn't pick out those words either -- they too seemed drawn out, in this slow-motion dreamscape -- and his eyes remained riveted on the man in the car. Now he saw the brutish AK-47 in the brown hands, its barrel swinging in the direction of the Archer Hotel Cafe, the round drum of the magazine hanging down like a hornet's nest beneath the weapon, ready to sting when disturbed.
parThough the assassin was being tossed about by the swerving car, the man's moves seemed steady, almost elegant to Wallace, weirdly balletic, the colors so very bright as yellow and orange flames flowed from the barrel.
The crime boss heard people screaming and his two bodyguards were on their feet now, Stevens reaching under his suitcoat for his gun while Cummings moved toward Wallace with an obvious intent to shield his boss. Sonny Spencer's eyes went wide with wonder, and he, too, rose, his mouth moving, but again Wallace couldn't make out any words. Everyone seemed to be talking at once around him, and yet Wallace perceived himself in a vacuum of silence.
Then Spencer's lips stopped moving and crimson streamers of blood ribboned out of his mouth, slashing the air as he spun around, scarlet flowers blossoming from his white sports coat as he toppled.
Cummings's massive arm passed in front of Wallace, then slipped away as the bodyguard trembled and grunted and crashed through the interior window behind him, something Wallace more sensed than saw, unable to tear himself away from the hitman in the car. The vehicle was nearly past them now, and Wallace's eyes locked with those of the killer.
Still caught up in fleeting seconds that felt like lingering minutes, Wallace heard Stevens's gun clatter to the tile floor as the bodyguard went down. The assassin smiled at Wallace, and flame leapt from the weapon's barrel, and Wallace felt like he'd been prodded in the chest, once, twice, and then a third time, as if an obnoxious know-it-all had been thumping his chest with a thick forefinger, making a point.
Suddenly he was on his back looking up at the black sky. He had no idea how he'd ended up like this, but when he went to get up, no matter how he tried, he couldn't. An invisible hand kept him pressed to the concrete of the porch.
Relieved he'd not been seriously hurt, Wallace felt no pain, though he couldn't really see anything but the inky clouds and...how strange!...the shooter's grin dangling in space above him like a crescent moon. Like Alice in Wonderland, when that cat disappeared and left his grin behind....
The acrid smell of cordite hung heavy in the moist air and -- though he tried to listen for sounds -- all Wallace heard was the echo of a thousand gunshots. Turning his head, he saw Anthony on his stomach next to him, a neat red hole in the bodyguard's forehead. Anthony had died rushing out of the bar to save him.
How sad.
Goddamn Culebras. Someone would pay for this.
Antonio Mendoza, Padillo's Culebras successor, was not only smarter than his predecessor but also far more ruthless. This attempted hit had Mendoza's name signed to it. Where Padillo would have just tried to muscle in and take a piece, Mendoza was the type who'd figure that if he whacked Wallace, he could have the whole damn pie his own self.
Mendoza, Wallace knew, fancied himself the incarnation of Tony Montana, the gangster played by Al Pacino in that movie, Scarface. Many of the local gang members looked up to that character as a hero. Wallace, on the other hand, felt contempt for anyone who couldn't see that Montana was arrogant and stupid and, in the end, had wound up dead, riddled with bullets in a pool of blood.
That was not the ending Wallace saw for himself. He would pick himself up from this close scrape and teach Mendoza that Miami could not so easily be taken away from Kurt Wallace.
He gazed up at the sky again, unaware that his perception was still turning seconds into minutes, and the first drop of rain fell and kissed his forehead.
The sensation was a kind of wake-up call, and Wallace tried to sit up again. Funny -- he still couldn't seem to move. A woman's face crossed into his field of vision. Her lips moved, but Wallace couldn't figure out what she was saying.
She was beautiful, though, an angel whose long hair was a rich black that matched the sky as dark arcs swung around, the wind coming up. Her brown eyes were wide with, what was that...alarm? Fear?
Wallace opened his mouth to tell this bystander -- understandably spooked by the drive-by shooting -- that everything was all right. Instead he coughed and rather than words coming out, scarlet spittle did.
The woman's eyes went even wider, and the crime boss felt himself choking. For the first time, he realized he'd been hit. The rain came down harder now, pelting his face, and he felt cold all over. The storm had come quickly. He thought about his wife, Christina, sitting at home waiting for him. She was going to be pissed about this.
Finally he managed to speak, looking up at the hovering beauty: "My...wife'll...kill me."
Her face no longer soothed Wallace, and he closed his eyes.
He was lucky to have found a wife as good as Christina, who put up with his cheating ways and the kind of business he was in. He hoped Christina understood -- as finally, all at once, he understood that the blackness before him was not the sky -- that he hadn't meant for it to end like this.
With one last cool exhale, Kurt Wallace was gone.
Six feet and slim, Lieutenant Horatio Caine -- in black slacks and a navy blue CSI windbreaker -- leaned into the weather as he moved to the back of the Hummer to collect his crime scene kit. With a stiff wind whipping his red hair, he wondered glumly how much damage Mother Nature had done to his crime scene already.
Right now the gale snarled in off the ocean, nothing to abate it, ripping across Ocean Drive, rain slanting in, stinging like needles. Preserving a crime scene was impossible under such conditions, but at least he'd have his whole team with him for damage control.
The lab's resident firearms expert, Calleigh Duquesne, met him at the back of the vehicle. The petite platinum-blonde had a cool beauty balanced by a warm nature; her Miami-Dade PD ballcap was snug on her head, her hair tied back in a long ponytail pulled through the hole in the back. When Caine opened the rear Hummer door, Calleigh withdrew her crime scene kit and headed straight for the street and any possible shell casings she might find before they were carried away by the rushing water. What Caine prized most about CSI Duquesne -- kiddingly dubbed "Bullet Girl" by her peers -- was her passion for collecting and interpreting evidence in her area of expertise.
Caine hoped she was carrying bricks in the pockets of her CSI windbreaker, else she might just get swept away by either the wind or the torrent racing toward the sewer.
A second Hummer rolled to a stop, and, almost before the vehicle's engine died, Tim Speedle and Eric Delko -- also in CSI windbreakers -- were standing next to Caine, peering at their supervisor through the driving downpour.
"What have we got, H?" Speedle asked, working his voice up over the storm.
Speedle was the one member of the team that the whipping wind seemed unable to faze. His short, dark hair hugged his head, he appeared not to have shaved yet this week, and his eyes had a look that belied both his alertness and a keen intelligence.
"Drive-by shooting," Caine said, with a sideways glance toward the crime scene -- the Archer hotel. "And the weather's going to get worse before it gets better. Let's collect everything we can before the rain wipes this slate clean."
"Fatalities?" Delko asked.
Delko -- the newest member of their squad, taller than Speed -- had an alert wide-eyed look on his latte-colored face that one could misread for naivete.
"At least six," Caine said. "And maybe more, according to the nine-one-one call. Let's get wet, guys."
The other two CSIs turned toward the back of their Hummer. Delko's specialty was underwater recovery work, and Caine wondered wryly if the weather would grow so bad that Eric would end up in his scuba suit before this was over. The rain clawed at Caine as he lugged his crime scene kit toward the sidewalk.
Detective Frank Tripp, blinking his brown eyes against the wind and moisture, stepped forward to meet Caine. "Horatio."
Caine nodded. "Frank. How bad?"
"Eight dead, eleven wounded."
His upper lip tightened. "How many witnesses?"
"Ooooh," Tripp said, with a head tilt, "how about all of South Beach?...including Ken LaRussa."
"A U.S. attorney at a drive-by?" Caine asked. "Are we talking target?"
"He wasn't here -- he was having dinner down the street. Came runnin' when he heard the shooting and screaming."
"Where is he now?"
"Inside. But your instincts are right, Horatio."
"How so?"
Tripp gestured toward the restaurant. "It probably was a hit. Kurt Wallace and three of his bodyguards are among the dead. Another guy at Wallace's table bought it, too, only him I don't recognize."
"Public place, lots of civilians...not exactly mob style."
Tripp shrugged and his shoulders threw raindrops. "Which mob? There's a lot more than one these days...and they all got their own sense of 'style.'"
"Too true," Caine said hollowly. "Is it finally here, Frank?"
"Is what here, Horatio?"
"That all-out gang war we've been dreading?"
Tripp sighed. "If not, it's a damn good imitation."
"You've been interviewing witnesses?"
Tripp nodded. "And I got more to do."
"Anything so far?"
The detective let out a bitter laugh. "Twenty wits -- guess how many stories?"
"Twenty," Caine said with a shrug. "In the end, the evidence will tell its own tale."
"One thing they all agree on, though."
"Which is?"
"The vehicle that carried the killer clipped a parked car back on the corner of Twelfth. Haven't found the owner yet."
"That's what we call a happy accident -- we'll check it out." Caine touched the detective's wet sleeve, briefly. "I better get started before the evidence is all washed away."
As he knew they would be, his team was already hard at it. They scurried around at their various duties, but none of them hurrying. Work fast, Caine had taught them, invoking an old coaching rule, but don't rush. This was no empty mantra: When you rushed, you missed things. But the weather was upon them and time was running short, Mother Nature playing accomplice to a killer.
Since the shooting had been a drive-by, Calleigh started at the corner and combed the street for shell casings. Speedle photographed the deceased victims while EMTs aided the wounded. Delko pried slugs from the hotel facade and furniture, and Caine took photos and paint scrapings from the parked car that had been hit by the perp's vehicle.
In the end, however, the storm won.
Less than an hour later, Caine found himself standing in the bullet-pocked lobby bar of the Archer, broken glass crunching under his shoes, his team around him, shaking off water.
The dead had been taken away, the wounded transferred to South Shore Hospital. All that remained now were Caine's team, Detective Tripp, and one of the witnesses...albeit a significant one: U.S. attorney Kenneth LaRussa.
Olive-skinned, in his late thirties or perhaps early forties, the attorney wore longish black hair over his ears and swept straight back, à la Miami Heat basketball coach Pat Riley. LaRussa wore a white button-down shirt, dark slacks, and black tassel loafers. In the middle of the white shirt was a huge red splotch: not a bullet wound but a marinara sauce stain.
The ambitious attorney had burst on the scene a few years ago with a DA's office post, then had risen to his current position through hard work and an exemplary conviction rate. Rumor had it his goal was becoming the next Democratic senator from this largely Republican state.
Caine had no real problem with LaRussa, or the attorney's ambitions; no question, LaRussa had accomplished some positive things.
What Caine did have a problem with was LaRussa tossing loser cases back to the state and plucking the prime cases on some technicality that would allow him to charge a perp in federal court. Sure, that might mean that some bad guys did longer stretches when they got federal time, which was not a bad thing; but a couple of truly evil men had walked in federal court when their cases would have been a slam dunk at the state level.
Those cases, of course, LaRussa never talked about in his frequent media interviews.
Caine motioned the attorney off to one side, in a corner of the bar untouched by the drive-by shooter. They stood near a table over which a pastel impressionistic watercolor of an ocean sunset made an ironic counterpoint to the shattered room around them.
"Lieutenant Caine," LaRussa said, extending his hand. His other one gestured toward the red stain on his shirt. "Pardon the mess -- afraid I spilled my lasagna when we dove for cover."
Like any good politician, LaRussa had a ready, easy smile that put people at ease, as well as a firm handshake that was supposed to imply he was strong but not overbearing, steadfast but not stodgy, and just a plain good guy to know.
Caine thought the man might be better off practicing law and not his handshake.
"Mr. LaRussa," Caine said, waving off the attorney's apology. "I'm a little more concerned with this other...mess."
"Call me Ken." This he said with a smile, then studiously applied a somber expression to his face. "It's good to know that you and your celebrated staff will be working this case."
"Your confidence is appreciated," Caine said with no conviction and motioned to the table, where the two men sat. Just a small civilized conversation in a room shot to hell.
Forcing himself to use the lawyer's name, the CSI asked, "Did you see what happened, Ken?"
The attorney shook his head as a frown etched itself in place. "No, Horatio...it is Horatio, right?"
"I'm afraid I didn't. I was with my wife and some friends, having dinner at the Surfsider."
Caine knew the hotel, another Art Deco structure with front porch dining a block south.
"When I heard the shots," the attorney continued, "I dove over the table to Nance, to get her under cover." He offered a rueful chuckle; everything this guy did or said seemed forced. "That's when I got the lasagna stain."
"And Nancy...your wife?"
"Nancy wasn't hurt?"
"No. None of us were, thank God. The shooting was only at the Archer...but everybody dove for cover anyway. We had no idea when or where the shooting would stop."
Caine's eyes narrowed; he made himself smile, a little. "I'm surprised you could hear the shots."
"Why is that, Horatio?"
"Well, Ken -- over at the Surfsider, the music's pretty loud, isn't it? You were almost two blocks away?"
LaRussa's face lost all expression; oddly, he finally seemed sincere. "Horatio...Lieutenant...I was just a nineteen-year-old grunt when we invaded Grenada. But I heard the sound of an AK-47 tonight, and let me assure you, Lieutenant, it's not a sound that you ever forget -- even from a distance."
Nodding in thought, Caine said, "So, you know what weapon was used -- that's helpful."
"Glad to be, but that's about all I have for you." He shrugged elaborately. "Like everyone else around us, Nancy and I and our friends were behind an upturned table...hoping the shooting would stop."
"You didn't see anything?"
LaRussa shook his head. "Just a bunch of scared people. Myself included."
Appreciating this surprisingly human comment, Caine gave the lawyer a short nod. "And what did you do after the shooting stopped?"
LaRussa pondered that a moment. "First, I made sure that everyone was all right. That is, my wife and friends."
"Of course. And then?"
"You understand, we were having dinner with Brad and Darcy Willis."
The attorney spoke these names with reverence, but they meant nothing to Caine.
LaRussa was saying, "I told Brad to get Nance and Darcy back to their car and get them the hell home."
"Why didn't you go with them?"
"I thought maybe I could help here."
And get some TV air time, Caine thought.
This must have registered on Caine's face, because LaRussa blustered, defensively, "Wouldn't you have done the same thing, Lieutenant? As a law enforcement professional?"
"Yes," Caine admitted.
As if on cue, the first two TV reporters and their cameramen started straining at the yellow crime scene outside.
His eyes cutting to the media, LaRussa took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
Suppressing a smile, Caine thought, You wouldn't want to appear overanxious now...would you, Ken?
"Are we through here, Horatio?"
Caine considered that momentarily. "You don't have any trips scheduled? Work or vacation?"
"Nothing. As a witness, I'll make myself available should you need me, whenever that might be."
"Appreciate it."
"Thank you, Horatio."
LaRussa rose and again stretched out his hand.
Groaning inwardly, Caine got to his feet and suffered through another LaRussa handshake. Then the attorney was disappearing through the shattered lobby doors, and Caine was not sorry to see him go.
The CSI supervisor sensed someone next to him. He turned to see an eager Delko.
"Hello, Eric -- something?"
Delko grinned. Nodded. "Something."
Copyright © 2004 by CBS Broadcasting Inc. and Alliance Atlantis Productions, Inc.


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Mexican Fudge Sauce
If Mexican chocolate is unavailable, try this fudge sauce. Store leftover sauce in a covered container in the refrigerator. If the sauce becomes too thick, thin it slightly by adding a little boiling water.
Yield: 3 cups
1 (12 oz.) can evaporated milk1 3/4 cups sugar4 (1 oz.) squares unsweetened chocolate, broken into pieces1/4 cup butter or margarine1 teaspoon pure Mexican vanilla extract1/2 teaspoon salt1 teaspoon ground cinnamon1/4 teaspoon ground cloves1/8 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1. Heat milk and sugar in a medium-size heavy saucepan, stirring constantly, until mixture simmers.
2. Add chocolate and stir until melted. Beat until smooth. (If sauce has a slightly curdled appearance, beat vigorously; it will become creamy smooth.)
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Jane Butel Cooking School • Pecos Valley Spice Co. • Corrales, NM 87048 • Office: 505-243-2622 • email@example.com • Site Map • My Account

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Mains protections
A family of mains protection modules that provide the necessary protection functions to meet the requirements of all applications where generators operate in parallel with the mains.
|Utility Protection Relay
|InteliPro SYNC
|Synchronization and protection relay
|MainsPro LITE
|Mains Decoupling Relay
|Mains Decoupling Relay
Maintaining power supply stability
As the installed capacity in decentralized sources of energy continues to increase, the distribution system can become less stable resulting in a fluctuation of grid parameters such as voltage and frequency. To keep the equilibrium and ensure safe operation of the grid, mains protection is essential for every power source operating in parallel to grid.
As a result, Utilities and Distribution Network Operators (DNOs) issue regulations, which every site generating power must comply with. These regulations highlight the need for protection relays in order to protect the distribution network from dangerous effect of asynchronous generation and minimises the likelihood of equipment damage caused by disturbances coming directly from the mains network.
The importance of mains protection to Utility Companies
- Ensures safe balanced operation of the distribution system
- Guarantees reliable delivery of high quality electricity
- Allows smooth involvement of the distributed generation
- Enables remote control of power supply sources
The importance of mains protection to Plant Operators
With the responsibility for reliable protection of plant, operators must install and maintain adequate protection equipment. Protection settings at the interfaces between the network operator and the plant operator/connection owner is governed using country specific guidelines, whilst the network operator determines whether and which protection devices are to be sealed or otherwise protected against alterations*.
The plant operator then must ensure
- Compliance with locally applicable standards and rules
- Compliance with technical conditions on connection to the distribution network
- Prevention of generator damage caused by grid parameters out of limits
- Reduction of down time after generation disconnection / interruption
* extract from German standard BDEW


text:
Orange Nut Ring
|Refrigerated danish rolls with icing packages
|2 (Orange Or Cinnamon, 16 Rolls)
|Chopped pecans
|1⁄4 Cup (4 tbs)
Separate rolls and arrange 1 package (8 rolls), flat side down, around bottom of ungreased 6 1/2-cup ring mold.
Stagger remaining package of rolls on top of first layer, covering seams of rolls on bottom layer.
Bake at 375° for 20 to 25 minutes.
Invert on serving plate while warm.
Spread top and sides with frosting included in packages.
Decorate with nuts.
Serve warm with butter.
Recipe Summary
Rate It
Nutrition Rank
Nutrition Facts
Serving size: Complete recipe
Calories 1702 Calories from Fat 638
% Daily Value*
Total Fat 72 g111.3%
Saturated Fat 17.3 g86.5%
Trans Fat 20.7 g
Cholesterol 0 mg
Sodium 3524.7 mg146.9%
Total Carbohydrates 242 g80.8%
Dietary Fiber 7.8 g31%
Sugars 104.8 g
Protein 23 g46.7%
Vitamin A 0.3% Vitamin C 0.52%
Calcium 2% Iron 45.6%
*Based on a 2000 Calorie diet


text:
Want Cable TV? Get XFINITY TV in Belgrade, MT
To ensure you get the best TV programming for your home, get XFINITY TV from Comcast in Belgrade, MT, and choose from a number of affordable options. If you're looking for digital cable channels, DVR packages, and On Demand options, XFINITY TV is the perfect choice for you.
The majority of Americans watch 35 hours of television per week, so XFINITY customers in Belgrade, MT and beyond will enjoy what XFINITY TV has to offer. Belgrade sports fans rely on cable TV from XFINITY for their local channels. Watch the best classic films and new movies with XFINITY TV specials.


text:
Their bickering may be pushed for the cameras, but Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul's rapport is the real thing.
"She can be, at one point, totally endearing, and within seconds the most annoying person in the world," Cowell tells Zap2it.
The two resume their places behind the judges' table Wednesday (Sept. 21) on FOX's "The X Factor." Nicole Scherzinger and L.A. Reid join them, and though the former Pussycat Doll knows something about winning talent contests – most recently "Dancing With the Stars"– and Reid is an extremely successful record company executive, people are tuning into the season's most hyped show to see Cowell and Abdul together again.
"I don't know if she does it deliberately," Cowell says. "When we fall out, if one of us is resisting, it turns into a full-scale argument."
Cowell says he was delighted to bring her on board the show that's a massive hit in the U.K., and is in its eighth season.
"She came prepared when she came to see me six months ago," he says. "And we hadn't made our mind up. She looked fantastic, ft and healthy and did her research on the show and knew what she could contribute and sold herself to me. And the level of commitment and that crazy personality — I can't say 'no' to her!"
"I have never seen her in a better frame of mind," he adds.


text:
makes it clear you have to send 8 steps for a single motor step, thus for a 200 step motor you have to send 1600 steps to the board for one revolution.
I have stepper motor that is suppose to be 200 steps per revolution but it can't be that to translate in the code. If I use Stepper motor1(200, 9, 10) to specify 200 steps per revolution and then use motor1.step(200) it doesn't make one full rotation. It only moves a little bit.
Please enter a valid email to subscribe
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To complete the subscription, please click the link in the
email we just sent you.
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via Egeo 16
Torino, 10131


text:
Is Dr. Fresie R. Baring in Davao Del Sur incorrect or missing key business information? Update your Hotfrog listing today.
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text:
Below are the all-time best America poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of america poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for America poems, articles about America poems, poetry blogs, or anything else America poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
Don't stop! The most popular and best America poems are below this new poems list.
View all new America Poems
Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers
slaying the Beast in the East:
seeds hidden in the cuff links
that return home for the victory parade.
The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage: desert sand creeps
through the streets of Basra;
spray painted slogans of "Aryan Nation"
are left behind on pock-marked walls.
High level terror alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances
from commercial-class passengers
while they fly above fenced camps
where centralized secret service agents
watch the unloading of another train.
"Son, do you forget the sacrifices?
Have you lost all your respect?
Okay, it's possible that the Feds
were influenced by the Purebreds—
a minor repercussion
of maintaining our national security.
It isn't even about racial purity—
you are all mixed now, anyway.
Whether female, black, jew, or gay,
we must unite together as a nation;
raise its flag with pride,
and fight against a common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the cornerstone of our free society!
Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-
notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!"
—cold sweat.
I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images
sifting through my mind:
flocks of carnivorous sheep
with invisible shepherds.
The dream had felt so real.
I rush out of bed,
just to make sure.
From my bedroom window,
I see the neighbour's Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the west.
A lawnmower growls in the background.
Everything appears normal here
on 4th Reichstag Blvd.
2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016
(original version was written on March 29th, 2010)
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2016
Forever will I long for you
Remembering your love each day
Enabled me to make it through
Each time I shipped away
Do not be afraid," I said,
Oblige me in this task I take
Many people depend on me
Soldier's love do not forsake
Come to me in the dark of night
And I shall know you believe
Let me hear your silent prayer
Let your love help me achieve
Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2015
I like many others have lived in our dreams
In this world where I lived amongst forests and streams
Where the Great Plains stretched and our rivers flowed
If you could see through my eyes, how my tribe glowed
Born from my mother of Arikara descent
My father a Sioux warrior, his stature, augment
My growing up was no different than the others around
For the learnings that grew from our ancestors surround
Hunting and fishing, being told of the dangers in life
Cultural indifferences, to fearing tribal strife
But it's what my father taught me every single day
To learn from our lands for through the years they'd display
Tracking, seeking, searching, living from our lands
Every year more learned, growing in understand
From a boy to a man becoming a warrior through my years
Protecting what was ours, allaying modern fears
But the changes that we faced, suffocated our souls
There was only ever one outcome, other man's goals
I like many others, to live and eventually fall
Born from Arikara, Sioux, my name was 'Standing Tall'
A little story from my heart, where the Indigenous will always be.
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014
Love is not a color,
No hue, neither a race.
All of our blood is the same,
That runs deep within our veins.
If we could lift up each other,
And know that we all care.
If we help our sisters and brothers,
There's a bond that we'll share.
©2013 Honestly JT
Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013
Chocolate Fountain Abuse- for the lover
How easily I forget I'm allergic to chocolate
I want to dip the exquisite kosher in a Spanish brandy
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
At a store window; a dried up chocolate fantasy goblet
A taste of spoiled milk, nothing dandy with this candy
How easily I forgot I was allergic to chocolate
Snickers Bar, melting under the spotlight for-profit
Not edible, waging unassertive words like a pansy
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
Chocolate pop, a candy bar coming out of the closet
There was not much bandy, about this candy
It's easy to forgot I'm allergic to chocolate
Stubby nuts, stomachache, bucket of vomit
Butterflies, flipping when I hear a faucet of cocoa candy
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
Enrobed with small nuts, it dwells under the pocket
Caramel and peanuts American walnut vigilante
How easily I forgot I was allergic to chocolate
Sweet, sweet, cavity tarnish boxes of chocolate
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014
Forest fairies changing colors,
autumn's patchwork pattern weaving
in the foggy morning stillness
before winter's barren grieving,
up the river on the damp air,
up hollows through the shadowed vales
sounds the mournful, sobbing whistle:
once more memory rides the rails.
Childhood song for railroad watchers -
a tinge of hobo in my veins,
longing for the lonesome whistle
like a lost child for his name.
Life began beside the railway,
an open door to fantasy;
my dreamer's soul soaked in the flavor
hearing that whistle witchery.
Hungry tramps in search of breakfast
found our doorstep every time;
hobo network communication
marked mama's eggs and bacon "fine."
Bleary eyes and beards all stubble
made child imaginations fly
and the tales with which we clothed them
were wilder still than hobo lies.
Oh, for the days when trains were magic:
iron dragons breathing smoke and fire,
lashing long tails through the valleys
with monstrous strength that never tired.
Oh, the secrets that were hidden
behind the doors of plain boxcars;
feel the untamed urge to mount them
and plunder treasure from afar.
Delight was ours beyond measure
to waken on those special days,
finding, in the night, the dragon
had brought the circus train our way.
See the bearded lady waving
and catch the fat man's twinkling eye,
smell the coal smoke's pungent flavor
beneath our magic big top sky.
Grown up am I; steam train magic
comes swirling by once in a while
to view autumn's fleeting pageant
and make train lovers like me smile.
Nostalgic, rhythmic beating,
staccato yelps and sobbing wails
make my soul a mental hobo;
once more memory rides the rails.
Copyright, 2000
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015
Undone for all to see ... human fellowship, peace created
Every life has a beginning ~ brothers and sister
regardless of color or disease
For all the beauty that haunts our dreams
Can we turn the truth ... something more clearly
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Hey, Poets stop by, give me a shout out.
Tell Me Where You Are From;)
I promise I won't show up on your doorstep.
If you are having a bad day, let me have it
If you have awesome news, don't be greedy
By all means --- SHARE THE NEWS!!!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
These salted memories tell stories
The oceans and seas gave birth to.
Over the tempestuous waters
Echoes from the bellies of slave ships
Ride the tides of history
Spreading ripples over the shores
Of time proclaiming forgiveness
For lost souls.
We sashay along bleached beaches
Where white sands mask the shed blood;
And splashing waves drown out
The ghost echoes of rattling chains:
We no longer remember
Our beginnings here.
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015
1. Big Brother
Big Brother's protecting his mice
with a secret eavesdropping device.
If you hang up the phone
he'll just send in a drone
when a warrant won't really suffice.
2. Neutrality
The internet's meant to be free,
yes for all, such as you, such as me.
But now there's some doubt -
will it lose all its clout
with the death of neutrality's spree?
3. Privacy
'twas surely our forefather's dread
all our emails would someday be read.
Now that push comes to shove
by the powers above,
private thoughts must now stay in our head.
4. Guantanamo
Guantanamo bay's a resort
where the fishing's a fabulous sport -
with your back on a board
tepid water is poured
spawning tales for a kangaroo court.
5. Banks
To bountiful bailouts give thanks
for there's nothing much richer than banks -
making money galore
taking homes from the poor
while they're managing mortgaging pranks.
6. Health
If you live in the States don't get sick
(lest a cut of the upper class clique).
Whether injured or ill
all they'll give you's a pill -
if you're lucky you'll surely die quick.
7. Economy
Our economy's doing just fine
lying dead with a slug in the spine.
So come follow the call
where there's money for all
and pure profit's the bottom-most line.
8. Safety
Vigilantes and cops are wide spread -
as for justice… not even a shred.
The avengers of right
score when stalking the night
so beware of a cap in the head.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2014
He's staring off into oblivion;
dead-lights, who of their own free will choose to illuminate
the gray matter microwave that is TV:
too vain, too vulgar. Thought Vanquisher,
brought to you by your friendly-facade-keepers:
the politicians pussyfooting on a pedestal
built of an uninformed (yet united) public -
whose belief in "connection" is in reference
to a wall socket. Not love. Not kindness.
Who unwittingly become hamsters on a wheel,
convinced of stars held in our pockets; while promises of prosperity
dangle on a string. Like Maya's caged bird we sing
- but not of freedom - to sing of that would be akin
to declaring the sun has risen in the east. Freedom is a given,
at least that's the belief that's bandied about.
There's a boldface lie in that belief . . staring us in the face.
Are we too ignorant to see or too coddled to care?
Organic antenna, playing a fuzzy station;
our loved one's voice like a pesky fly -
six-legged silhouette on precious phones.
Halfhearted hmms-and-yeahs exuding from lazy lips. A lone
wolf, misunderstood youth - the euphemisms of today,
tomorrow's regrets. The diarrhea of words floating
in cyberspace; ricocheting off planets, but never touching earth.
The constipation of passion - nonchalant bloodbath of values -
no one strong enough to carry the hearse. We'll have to work
together - in unity redirected - to carry the load of our ancestor's past.
We descendants who reap the aftermath; let's carry on and forgo the calm.
Complacency is no destiny to pursue; crack the bottle against the bow,
that ship has sailed. Let us dabble in truth, instead of sugarcoat lies;
deception maybe be sweet, but give it time, it'll go straight to your thighs.
Embrace controversy with a bear hug, and give tyranny a timeout.
And should our words sharpen swords instead of mold minds,
may the massacre be only metaphorical - and the white flag of truce
be mistaken for a canvas - painted with the blood of your passion.
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2015
Summer Nights in the South
Green fireflies blink in the quiet of night
and our sleeping old dog heaves a sigh.
Dreaming, she sprints through a youthful blue sky
chasing delicate clouds, cotton-white.
A red-sunset tanager* colors the warm air
from a perch in the majestic oak limbs above
professing by lullaby, sincerely devoted love,
like some sublimely recited evening prayer.
I lay back and smile, through the leaves, at the moon
to the sound of crops rippling in the breeze
thinking how precious are nights such as these
when alone, with the Earth I commune.
*Summer Tanagers (Piranga rubra) are native to the southern U.S. but are not true tanagers. They are actually members of the cardinal family.
Submission for Contest: Nature Poems Only
Hosted by: Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
Pillows of clouds hid behind the black mountain
After showers fell like a light flowing fountain.
As the sun comes so unexpectedly today.
Air is mild enough for blissful thoughts to play.
Fall brings a day like spring without the flowers.
Just winter birds telling stories in tunes after showers.
Songs put the mind at ease with the rush of uncertainty
About those in power who are trying to appease.
The country waits to see what will come our way
With hope for unity so that we can together stay
Afloat in these turbulent waters we now face.
Waves out of a storm from some other kind of place.
Unlike anything we may have ever seen before.
We can rise above this because, we can be so much more.
Heidi Sands
Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2016
While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.
Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can't help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you've given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You've shown me something I can see, touch, and feel,
And so before it I choose to kneel.
I know I don't say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can't find any of the right words to say.
I'm just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we'll have to part.
I'll never be too far from you, always within arm's reach,
And in your days of darkness I'll be the light that you will seek.
I'll never let you leave too far from me, I'll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.
I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can't see in which I'm attracted.
Your thoughts I'd love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.
My day will come, I know someday I'll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I've given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we'll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I've given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2012
Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
as help?
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
For BATTER or worse!
Tired of facing this bat-less ball
My life tied up and beaten to a pole,
like the color black, the pain is endlessly
Facing life with no possibility
Facing life's judgment
The envy of all matters
A slave to my grave, with no redemption
Gathering the lies and insults
More powerful than a whip on my back
A trap with no way to disown and burn the tree
Falling far from - turnover tracks
Forgetting who I am,
feeling the flaws of my abnormality
Finding comfort in a noose
Suffocated by what seems to be dry air
Tired of living a life under self-brutality
Dying slow, darkness down a new path
Now I see, there's no escape
The more I see, the more I feel
Hell's got my running plate
My Beautiful beat but never forgotten soul
That's how my story unfolds
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
The British call it maths,
but the Americans ditch the s
causing much international scorn.
But for our sake, p'raps it'd be best
to keep subjects
only halfway grasped
in the singular form.
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
In Galilee, his voice was heard.
In Nazareth, he rested his spirit.
Cana is where he was first miraculous.
In Galilee, the crowds were like a flock of sheep.
But his crucifixion in Judea defeated their image.
My beloved Jesus knew his faith.
At the last supper, he told his disciples about his last days.
Oh Lord of greatness
How they hung you on the cross
Arms stretched to the limit
Not mindful (of it) at all.
The people of Galilee embraced your ministry.
In Judea, they crowded to witness your crucifixion.
Your mother cried out but
She knew that you were seeking your crown.
In Heaven, you reside.
You were raised from the dead.
Lord Jesus, you will meet your disciples once again.
Your resurrection was angelical.
An angel appeared to your disciples.
They were informed of your forgoing.
In Galilee, as promised, they would see you once more.
The prophecy of the birth of Christ is destiny that forfeited his life.
Penned March 20, 2015!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015
People make me smile the way
their eyes shine when they talk
about something they love
when they feed me food. Or tell
me how much they love me
when I look into someone's
eyes and see it I see that look
in their eyes I see love in them
When I see someone laugh and
have fun in what they do
The way they cry for there lost
When they give me a smile and
tell me how beautiful I am
People are beautiful well some
are and I wish someday I can
find someone who will look at
me and say "you have that look
in your eye" what look?
I want to find someone so
beautiful in the inside I can't
stay away they amaze me with
what they say an do how they
will dance in the rain and know
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a
rainy day and just talk about
the stars
I want someone beautiful
Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013
We are known for our football, bratwurst, and beer,
Iridescent blue lakes with fresh waters, crystal clear,
Summer's sun blazes hot enough to make skin burn,
Cheese producing dairy farms are around every turn,
Our bright autumn leaves change their colors with ease,
Near spring, the scent of lilac floats upon the breeze,
Snowy winters, with temperatures below zero degrees,
In our green forests, raccoons and deer have a home,
Near the roadside, wildflowers grow wherever you roam.
Harley-Davidson was born, where the eagles fly free,
Wisconsin is as close to heaven, as home can be.
Kim Merryman's contest - "Tell Me About Where You're From"
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
The traveler reeked of weariness,
His companion was Fatigue
Wear upon his clothes suggest
He'd come a million league.
Gaunt were eyes deep set and brown
Above his cheekbones high
His being was pure somnolence
And I heard his silent cry.
Hard roads had been his travel
The pains chiseled on his face
In lines of furrows on his brow
Permanently enlaced
Around I saw no motion there, then ...
His head began to rise
Finally he looked at me ...
Suffering in his eyes.
So quietly I attended
And with a heavy heart
I wanted so to speak to him ...
But knew not how to start
Within his labored breathing
He then began to speak
His words, when finally spoken
Were truthful and unique
His lips worked to form the words -
Then said; "My name is: Common Man,
I'm a father; I've worked hard;
' always done the best I can.
"The road's become uphill and steep with
Burdens I can't propel
I've tried to move on forward -
But, I stumbled here - and fell.
"There are others on me
Who so do depend
I must move on forward,
This mustn't be my end.
"Now I must reach out to you
'Cause before I've never failed
I'm turning now to you
'Fore on hardships I'm impaled".
A calloused hand then extended
Toward my outstretched hand
And I want to heed the call
For this Common Man.
But, Greed and Avarice have won
And assistance can't be lent -
Wall Street, you see, owns me now:
I'm Your Government.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
Hooves of aquatic thunder these white steeds
Of wonder, slamming against the coral reef
As hail storms rage, set us free their voices
Softly speak through the seashells littering
The sandy beach.
Enchantments cursed beast of purity's beauty
Trapped within the foam and spray, touching
Almost the land then in sorrow's undertow
Driven back is this mystical herd of wild
Poseidon's sacred water horses, surfing
Within the frothy s riptide of mermaid tears,
Clashing their silvery horse shoes, against the
Rocky edges of the under currents tidal surge
These titans of the fathoms deepest depths.
Lightening immortals shimmering, bathing
Translucent beneath the hued blue waves,
The last unicorns beg for release, to run
Freedom trails once more, to feel the
Mountains breezes of liberation flowing
Through their milk white manes again.
But silence is the reply from their capturer,
Unmoved is his trident of power, sitting on
His ivory thrown Poseidon watches these
Wonders of myth, and relishes in their
Spectacular beauty, vowing never to
Set them free, thee belong to me, my
Sacred water steeds of the bluest deep.
Within the seashells hear them weep,
These creatures of the mystical realm,
Crying out, release us please, can thrust,
Not hear us.
Out of the water, to feel mother earth
Beneath our silver hooves, we give our
Horns of crystal power, or the shimmering
Shine that beguiles our under sea father.
Out of the water, we'd roam in the wilderness
Wild, roll amongst the sandy duns of the desert,
Climb the mountain tops heights, and breath
The sweet air of freedom within our lungs.
Out of the water, for just one single day,
We sacrifice all that we are, or were in
Mysticism mystical realm, just to be free!
Hooves of aquatic thunder these white steeds
Of wonder, slamming against the coral reef
As hail storms rage, set us free their voices
Softly speak through the seashells littering
The sandy beach.
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
Along the mountain pine valley did the Iron Horse roar,
A steam belching black demon, burning red hot coals
Within it's steel belly.
Speed's hell bound creation, driven by greed's insatiable hunger,
Faster, faster it moves at acceleration rush, to
Achieve manifest destiny's final arrival on time.
In the distance hear another lone whistle blow, spitting,
And spewing with brimstone's gray smoke.
This indeed is the devil's train, carrying the forsaken,
To the depot of no return.
With a half empty payload aboard, Satan makes a deadly
Judgment call, stoke up those engines boys, ramming
Speed if you please.
Made man beasts are these mechanical monsters
Of destructions, lethal death weapons, chained
Down to the steel rails, and iron pikes.
Ebony stallion's racing against the winds,
As redden sparks sizzle and bite at the crisp autumn
Air, bellowing fumes poisoning the night.
The engineer of the 10; 15 out of Tombstone,
Checked his pocket watch, speaking impatiently,
He did so yell out, come along fellow's, we have a
Schedule to keep, and we've hours behind in our dead line,
So let's pick up the pace.
Now the devil's train came out of know where,
With hell's supernatural master at the wheel,
Heckling, and laughing, relishing in the carnage's
Utter calamity to come.
On a lone chewed up mangled piece of track,
Lies wreckages debris blood, flesh and twisted metal,
Lain stewned for miles beside the wild wilderness.
Broken bones, and sheared off limbs, weeping mother's
Cradling limp, lifeless bodies, crying why, God almighty
But the lord and heavenly father, had nothing to do,
With this unnatural disaster, nay the devil had many
Empty spaces to fill, and his passengers list was lean.
So he leveled the crimson ground with his dark gavel,
Taking souls at high velocities supernatural speed,
For this is the devil's ghost train, and it is so
Hell bound.
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
In This Land
In this land there is a mighty voice that can
sing a mighty song.
Often it is a song of I don't belong and all sort
of other things that are wrong.
This mighty voice can herald itself in the
grateful praise of being strong.
All while asking what else is to be spawn in a
struggle to do no wrong.
Should it be we shall live in all eternal
knowing wrong being strong.
It is God's place to be so strong and
to know all wrong.
So it is in praise to him we should knell as we
spawn our grateful song.
There is one more thing in his Love
eternal song
We all belong.
Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2015


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Specializing in all bisque dolls and other small dolls of finest quality!
About A Quiet Place Dolls
Our Service PledgeWe hope to win your trust by always being honest and accurate in our descriptions, and fair in our pricing. We want happy customers!
About UsI have been a dealer in antique dolls for over 30 years. I learned to love the smallest dolls at the very beginning of my collecting and have specialized in miniature dolls for most of those years. The all bisque dolls are my special favorites, but all types of dolls will be offered, and in many categories...I have always prided myself in having something for everyone. Not everyone can afford a Jumeau or Bru!
Recently I have enjoyed sharing my accumulated knowledge of dolls by giving talks and writing articles. In Oct. 2009 I gave a talk on dolls of Native America to the Doll Study Club of Boston. I later photographed all of these dolls and wrote an article for Antique Doll Collector Magazine which was published in May 2010. I next did 2 articles, for the same publication, on German All Bisque Dolls...these were published in the July and Sept. 2010 issues. In the August, 2011 issue followed my article called "Miss Love's Dolls", about the wonderful Loveleigh Novelty dolls made in Grantville, GA. Next came a short article "A Mystery Doll by Kestner" in May, 2012. In July, 2012 it was "Russian Dolls". I have turned these articles into powerpoint programs which I have been able to present to the Boston Doll Club as well as meetings of the Doll Collectors of America. I have recently finished a long article about Frozen Charlies...figuring out who made these. So few are marked yet so many companies advertised making "bathing dolls"! This has been very challenging but fun! It was published in the Fall 2015 issue of UFDC's "Doll News". Another article..."Displaying Your Frozen Charlottes"...was in the September 2015 issue of Antique Doll Collector magazine. My most recent article is in the February 2017 issue of Antique Doll Collector..."Rarely Found All Bisque Dolls of Color". Now starting on an article on Hertwig all bisque dolls for UFDC Doll News.
I have been a long time member of UFDC, and am currently a member of the Doll Study Club of Boston, and Doll Collectors of America. I sold on eBay from 1998 until I opened my Ruby lane Shop and have 100% positive feedback on that site. Honesty and accuracy have won me many loyal customers over the years...I plan to continue these practices and win many more new customers on Ruby Lane! I appreciate the solid policies of this wonderful selling site.
Westport, MA
Tel: (508) 636-8390
Please call only between 9am and 7pm EST.
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Does this attraction provide visitors with a taste of the local culture?
Does this attraction require above average amounts of physical activity (long walks, climbs, stairs or hikes)?
Does this attraction have good scenic or skyline views?
Is this attraction good for couples?
Would this be a good cold day activity?
Is this an outdoor attraction or activity?
Does this activity require advanced planning, ticketing or reservations?
Is this activity accessible without advanced planning or reservations?
Is this attraction popular with tourists?
Is this attraction a "must-see" location?
Thanks for helping!
The biggest monastery in Shangri-La.
One of my dreams is to see the Potala Monastery in Lhasa, after the visit of Sumtsaling Monastery I feel that dream is in part filled. Despite the fact that is amazing as u can...
read more
One of my dreams is to see the Potala Monastery in Lhasa, after the visit of Sumtsaling Monastery I feel that dream is in part filled. Despite the fact that is amazing as u can read from the many comments here I would like to explain how to go there and how it works, since I read some comments telling...
Essential a must-do when you are in this region - this monastery is a good introduction to Tibetan Buddhism and prologue for your future travel to Tibet, Bhutan etc. (though each is probably different in each own right).
However, similar to other attractions in most parts of China, admissions fees are steep.
The Ganden Sumtseling Monastery (噶丹松贊林, also called Sumtseling Monastery) is a Tibetan Buddhist monastery located around 5 km (3.1 mi) from Shangri-La City at elevation 3,380 m (11,089 ft) in Yunnan province, China. The original monastery was built in 1679 but was destroyed during the Cultural Revolution by Mao's Red Guard. The one we see today was rebuilt in 1983....
We had a wonderful Tibetan guide who took us around the monastery and shared lots of information with us.It was well maintained, easy to access and very interesting.
If you are in the area, you need to visit this monastery, although the entrance fee of almost US$ 20 is quite steep.
Avoid the monastery if you have already extensively traveled in Tibet (such as Lhasa) or you know similar monasteries already from other places such as Nepal.
Note that this is not quite a historic site, since the...
Take bus 3 from the town. It will stop at the ticketoffice were you need to buy your ticket. Then you will be transported with a touristbus to the monastery. On the way back you can take bus 3 directly, because it continues for locals. 1 yuan for the bus.
Try to go up to the roof from the building...
Beautiful architecture and landscape. But the ticket price quite expansive. Anyway this place is the must if you visit Shangri-La. "from Shangdi-la old town take bus no.3" it's almost the last stop, the officer will ask you to get off to buy the ticket > then take the free shuttle bus to the monastery.
*Dont forget to go to the...
I visit this temple on the last week of October. At that time there were not many people. You can take bus no.3 from the bus stop near the northern exit of Shangri-la old town. The bus fee is just 2 RMB. This bus is going to stop at the first entrance of the temple. Then the police officers will...
The sacred, solemn palace with stunning and peaceful view, where you must be there once in your life.
Sumtsaling Monastery is located in Shangri-la, Yunnan Province, China. The temple which shows a great religious of Tibetan, like a second Potala Palace. Although getting there is not that convenient but the view and people there are really impressed me. The entrance...
Nice tibetan buddhist monastery, where you a chance to experience in a way, the local buddhist culture. To access you have to pay entrance fee and our guide mention that inside the buildings, everywhere where the sun does reach was forbidden to take photos. Advisable to move slowly due to the altitude sickness.
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Hi All
I have sent direct mail to you but had no response.
Can you kindly inform me about the car hire - what size car - cost of hire - how long the duration. We plan to visit the monastery on Nov 3 leaving our hotel in Ringha in the morning and to return after the tour.
Similarly did you also rent a car from Lijiang to Shangrila. What is the rental cost for car to hold 4 persons? How long is the drive? did it include a break in Tiger Leap Gorge say for 2 hours?
Thank you in advance
See all questions


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This is a small cozy house located in a shore resort in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It is called Casa de Veraneo, designed by BAK Arquitectos Asociados. The building has only one floor with a large deck at the front. It is a vacation home set in the middle of the forest, among tall trees and fresh air. The respect and appreciation for nature is well displayed by preserving the trees where the front deck is built. The wooden deck is placed around the trees and has holes left for the trunks.The whole deck is build a little higher, above ground level so that water can easily reach the tree roots.
Casa de Veraneo – Wooden forest house
Thanks to this thoughtful idea Casa de Veraneo looks as though it has fused with nature and they both exist as one whole. We can say that the house is a great addition to the forest and that the forest is a great addition to the house. The material used for the construction of the house is concrete. The whole building lies on a concrete slab. The façade is made from wood and glass as a regular modern nature friendly home. The roof is also wooden. Wood makes the building look in place and blends in with the forest around it.
Casa de Veraneo – Home interior
The interior of Casa de Veraneo is left very rough and simple. Wood is the material that also prevails inside, as does concrete covered with stucco for the construction. The minimal furniture looks plain but it brings a certain amount of coziness to the atmosphere.
Minimalist bedroom
The bedroom has smaller windows for more privacy while the common living areas are much more revealed. Large glass walls and windows open the house to the outside views. The house has a very pleasant and calm presence among the sea of forest trees. It brings both a feeling of connection to nature and a feeling of home's warmth.
Wooden small kitchen
Dining area
Modern forest house
By K.H.Hristova


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Hip hop
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1000+ ideas about Dance Hip Hop on Pinterest | Hip Hop Dance ...
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There is a prevailing myth that revolves around the hip hop world that it is only African-Americans who listen to this genre of music, enjoy it, or promote it. Some believe that African-Americans were the first to create. As the statistics show, however, myths are very different from what reality happens to be. Almost two
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Enjoy the feel of 100% fine jersey cotton against your skin. This unisex shirt, by American Apparel, is one of the softest, smoothest shirt we sell. It's medium weight and made from combed cotton for your added comfort. Select this top-seller for a flattering and stylish fit. Select a design from our marketplace or customize it to make it uniquely yours!
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I Survived The Bird Flu Pandemic T-Shirt
I Survived The Bird Flu Pandemic! Actually, it never happened. Big pharma advertised it, the government spent millions stockpiling the vaccine, all my friends, family and neighbors got the shot. My local market had signs warning us to get it but it never came. Now they say the swine flu is coming... hum?
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Gift Premium Subscription To Arkwright
Join Date:01-11-2012
Last Activity:02-10-2013 7:58 PM
2 Likes on 2 Posts
Posted in thread: Which Yeast do you use? on 08-08-2012 at 07:53 PM
Lavin and redstar
Posted in thread: how much sugar needed for 5 gal? on 08-08-2012 at 07:07 PM
I just prefer high gravity wines/ciders
Posted in thread: What are you drinking now? on 08-08-2012 at 09:37 AM
I'm not sure what to call it...Used 2gal grape juice and 3 gal strong sweet tea. 14% still a
bit hot but rather refreshing.
Posted in thread: Fermenting 2.5 gallons in 5 gallon fermenter... on 08-08-2012 at 09:31 AM
The extra space won't hurt it so long as there's an airlock. Be warned though remove the air
lock for any reason and you will let in excessive oxygen that won't be pushed out quickly. When
you move to...
Posted in thread: how much sugar needed for 5 gal? on 08-07-2012 at 08:52 PM
Thanks everyone. :)
Posted in thread: how much sugar needed for 5 gal? on 08-07-2012 at 07:12 PM
I just bought two 5gal carboys primary/secondary I have some Lavin EC-1118 champhage yeast for
18% abv brews How much sugar would be needed for a 18% 5 gal batch?
Posted in thread: Fermented tea ,cider/wine on 06-19-2012 at 07:10 PM
I made another batch used 2x the tea bags as the first batch with nothing else for flavor. The
tea fermented dry. Slightly bitter strong tea flavor. Used lavin-1118 champage yeast fermented
to 20% abv...
Posted in thread: adding sugar to fermenting wine on 04-20-2012 at 02:15 PM
Thank you :)
Posted in thread: adding sugar to fermenting wine on 04-20-2012 at 04:18 AM
I no longer have a secondary ... I know yeast will cannibilize dead yeast when there's not
enough sugar to go around putting sulpher in the wine. If I add sugar as fermentaion slows down
is it possibl...
Posted in thread: stuck wine on 04-16-2012 at 01:54 AM
Juice was welches concord grape juice concentrate no preservitives no fillers. I'll have to
order a hydrometer online like my yeast so it will take 3-4 days. There's no brew shops in
alabama Since ala...


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NASA's Rover Photos From Mars
Curiosity and its supporting hardware landed on the Martian surface, and have begun sending back pictures from Mars. Here's the latest ones released by NASA along with other pictures related to the mission.
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In this black and white photo released by NASA's JPL-Caltech, Curiosity rover snaps picture of its shadow. This is the first image taken by NASA's Curiosity rover, which landed on Mars the evening of Aug. 5 PDT . It was taken through a \"fisheye\" wide-angle lens on one of the rover's rear left Hazard-Avoidance cameras at one-quarter of full resolution. The clear dust cover on the camera is still on in this view, and dust can be seen around its edge, along with three cover fasteners. Larger color imag
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Zap2it: "Finding Carter's" premise is that a 3-year-old was kidnapped from her front yard. As a mom do these stories just chill you to the heart?
Cynthia Watros: Yes, once I had twins myself. They're almost 13. Before I had children, you can listen to horrible things that happen in the world but you kind of go on. This strikes inside of your heart. It changes you. For example last night I wanted to watch this documentary about the end of life stuff. Maybe I can watch this and on the cover one of the stories showed it's going to be a child and I can't do it. I remember watching 'Titanic' and the water is rising and she is about to go under, and she says, 'My son is going to miss me.' [I thought then], 'Are you kidding me?' You are about to die!" And then I have kids, and you can completely get it. And it is about your kids.
Zap2it: Your character is a detective. Did you talk to cops, to learn the proper way to hold a gun, to move?
Cynthia Watros: I have. I have been around cops and with this role you want to look the part and you don't want to make a fool out of yourself on camera. You will get one point of view to do something then the other. You definitely should do your research so you know what you are doing how, to enter a room, how to hold a gun.


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Current Highlights on Broadway
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214 West 42nd Street, New York, NY 10036
Now showing, Open Run
Tony Winner
Aladdin is exactly what you wish for!
NBC New YorkBuy Tickets
Joshua Dela Cruz as Aladdin
Telly Leung as Aladdin (date to be announced)
Courtney Reed as Princess Jasmine
Major Attaway as Genie
Jonathan Freeman as Jafar
Brian Gonzales as Babkak
Steel Burkhardt as Kassim
Brad Weinstock as Omar
Clifton Davis as the Sultan
Don Darryl Rivera as Iago
James Moye as Standby Jafar/Sultan
Ensemble - Kathryn Allison, Tia Altinay, Mike Cannon, Andrew Cao, Lauryn Ciardullo, Joshua Dela Cruz, Yurel Echezarreta, Daisy Hobbs, Rodney Ingram, Adam Kaokept, Nikki Long, Nathan Lucrezio, Stanley Martin, Brandt Martinez, Michael Mindlin, Amber Owens, Bobby Pestka, Khori Michelle Petinaud, Ariel Reid, Jennifer Rias, Trent Saunders, Jaz Sealey, Angelo Soriano
Please note that casting is subject to change.
Directed by Casey Nicholaw
Book by Chad Beguelin
Music by Alan Menken
Lyrics by Tim Rice and Chad Beguelin
Sets by Bob Crowley
Costumes by Gregg Barnes
Lighting by Natasha Katz
Visual Effects by Jim Steinmeye
4 reviews, average rating: (4.9 Stars)
Mayra: "Favorite Broadway Play So Far"
My husband and I went the night before opening night! It was a wonderful sh... more
Fantastic show, beautiful lighting and costumes and wonderful performances ... more
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I flew from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to NYC recently for some occasions and ... more
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Skip to comments.Trangendered Miss Universe Canada Contestant Takes the Stage
Posted on 05/18/2012 1:45:58 PM PDT by jdsteel
After much controversy and a rule change, the first-ever transgendered contestant competed in the Miss Universe Canada pageant in Toronto on Thursday night. Jenna Talackova, 23, is from Vancouver, and though she was born male, she underwent sexual reassignment surgery four years ago and was allowed to compete. According to the Daily Mail, Talackova was one of 62 women who strut their stuff in evening gowns and bikinis on stage for a panel of 15 judges. The winner will be crowned on Saturday.
(Excerpt) Read more at shine.yahoo.com ...
I'm so confused...
sexual reassignment surgery?...
PC for slicing your pee pee off and replacing it with a snatch...
It's going to "win". The liberals and the morons who watch these things will think that it's cute. This is no different than the Nobel prizes. They give them to weirdos, deviants and communists for no apparent reason.
I'll ping him.
Canada...seriously now?
I refuse to call these people anything but what they were born as.
Her mother is Jenna Tolackapeter.
the question is...what is his..er..her...er, STUFF??
you cant make a silk 'purse' from a pigs staff...you can call it what you like...
That's a MAN baby.
That was no mere MD who did this work! Whoever that doctor was clearly was determined to create some kind of masterpiece.
And the remarkable thing is, in this case, you could likely NEVER TELL that "she" had formerly been a "he". Almost the quintessentially perfect female form (well, if you like your gals on the slender side).
I would have to say that this was a He/She from birth and the Doc went with the closest of the 2 choices.
This man is still a man, he has just had his penis surgically removed.
Odd question...how do they actually turn an outie to an innie?
I think he went for a lot more than "parts" surgery. Show me the original body (excluding the "parts" please).
Some dude has his pecker slided away and I am supposed to refer to him as "her." No sale.
Let's see the hands.
Me too.
Does this person have an adam's apple? Female reproductive system?
Just a man with mutilated genitals. I blame the surgeons as much as I do these troubled patients. Trying to change someone's gender was just wrong.
Odd question...how do they actually turn an outie to an innie?
They pull your pecker back up through your anus so your butt crack has a little face poking out...
If Obama had a son, that is what he/she/it would look like..... only darker.
I need mind bleach now...
Now come on folks, we all have to agree to do what (s)he did took balls...
Those are skinny man legs!...guilty!
Hey,it's not just Canada.In New York City anyone can go into any bathroom they want just as long as they feel that they're that gender.A very convenient little law for guys who gravitate toward young girls.
You must be a fruit. It has man-hands.
Oops! That comment was meant for billorites
Great, instead of sell home drug testing kits, drug stores can now sell chromosome detecting kits to see if your new girlfriend is actually an XY instead of XX.
Great, instead of sell home drug testing kits, drug stores can now sell chromosome detecting kits to see if your new girlfriend is actually an XY instead of XX.
IBNGP (In Before NOT GUILTY Posts!)
Dr. I. Kutcherpeckeroff
Yes, and can not Canadian women use steroids, hormones and surgery to enhance their beauty for the Pageant just like the transgendered?
You're pretty late.
waiting for Laz to weigh in....
waiting for Laz to weigh in....
Unless the doc figured out a way to change the XX to XY, Jenna is still a guy. A rather decent looking guy, but still a guy.
Abomination with two rectums.
"What can I say, that MD is a freakin' genius!!"
You're right, Dr, Peckerof is a genius!!
Must be the pizza that Willie Mitty sent over...
The dog made good his escape ....
I don't care how perfect the MD's work was. I wouldn't lay a hand on "it" if "it" was formerly a male.
Google it. There are doctors offices that show before, during and after pics.
No way, no pics! I'd be mentally ruined for life.
She gots an Adam's apple!
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