text:
I gained very little weight during my pregnancies. No, I'm not one of those lucky people who never puts on weight. It was due to prolongued morning sickness that lasted well into
the ninth month and reared its head at all hours of the
day and night. So, no one told me I was as large as a
house (thankfully) but I was subjected to all manner
of etiquette violations because, an impending birth,
like all of lives monumentous occasions, brings out
the crazy in people. I could write an entire blog about
the dos and don'ts of maternity etiquette but I've distilled
my pet peeves and advice to ten tips that will help whether
you are the expectant mother, the doting partner, family,
friends, colleagues, or a complete stranger. As a disclaimer,
I have to admit that I've written these from the point of view
of a woman who has carried two babies. I'm sure if my husband wrote this post, he would have different things to say but he didn't go through it now did he?
1. Things You Should Never Say to a Pregnant Woman
Are you pregnant? - If you have to ask, don't! All sorts of things can go wrong here. If the woman in question is not indeed pregnant then she does not need the implication that she has gained weight. Perhaps she is pregnant but has not yet shared her good news, in which case you've put her on the spot. Often times she has already delivered the baby but is still working on shedding the baby weight (no easy feat). Obviously, as women get farther on in the pregnancy, it becomes more obvious but I would say this is after the six month mark.
You're huge - Take it from me, if a pregnant woman has reached the point where her appearance elicits that kind of comment, she doesn't want to be reminded of it. She's large, uncomfortable and starting to wonder if she'll ever get her pre-pregnancy body back.
Are you planning to breastfeed? - Until I had my own kids, I didn't realize what a politicized issue this had become. How a mother will choose to nourish her offspring is a personal decision based on a host of factors. She should not have to disclose this to strangers or even well-meaning friends and colleagues. And, once the decision has been made, she should not have to defend it to anyone. Try to resist the urge to preach or change her mind.
2. Things You Should Try Not To Say To A Pregnant Woman
Are you getting an epidural? - This question is often asked with the best of intentions and in the spirit of sharing your own experiences or giving advice. But pregnancy, especially with the first child is so overwhelming and unknown that it's really hard to make this decision until the moment arrives. If someone asks for your advice, feel free to share but if they don't, let them make up their own mind. And don't judge them if they change it when they're in labour.
Your whole life is going to change - Duh, no kidding! As anyone who has gone from childless to parent in 24 hours knows, this is true. But that doesn't mean that an expectant mother (or her spouse) needs to hear it over and over for nine months. If possible, share the joy of parenthood more than you talk about the lack of sleep.
3. Etiquette tips
Put comfort first - Just as you would with any friend or colleague who is not in their normal state of health, try to remember that a woman in the latter stages of pregnancy may not be able to stand for a long period of time, might need more water or more bathroom breaks. If you're having a gathering in your home, let the pregnant woman have the comfy chair. She'll love you for it.
Give up your seat - I was disappointed during both my pregnancies to see that the old rule of giving your subway seat to a pregnant woman was not followed by everyone. While people did occasionally offer me their seat, they were almost all females and elderly people. I don't want to tar everyone with the same brush but many able-bodied men looked right through me even when I was very obviously ready to give birth. I don't know if this was a lack of etiquette or a misguided fear of offending me in a post-feminist world but you should make the offer. If the person says "no" then at least you've done the right thing.
Keep your labour war stories to yourself - Many parents feel that someone else's pregnancy is an opportunity for them to talk about themselves. Sentences that start with "when I was pregnant" or "I hope you aren't as sick as I was" or 'I had the longest labour ever" are not helpful to someone who is already nervous about an unfamiliar stage of life.
Don't offload your junk - In the early years of parenting you amass hordes of stuff as you go through the stages of newborn, crawler, toddler, etc. until your home is filled to the brim with jolly jumpers, strollers, exersaucers, mobiles, sheets and clothes that no longer fit. Once your last child has used these acoutriments, the urge to rid yourself of them becomes an obsession and the temptation to dump it on an unsuspecting pregnant couple is almost too good to resist. But resist you must. Let them know you would be pleased to pass on your nearly-new items if and when they are interested. While some will appreciate it, others may want to buy their own baby things for varioius reasons and that's their decision.
4. For Spouses
Please don't complain about your pregnant spouse - I have a friend who's about to give birth and over dinner recently, her husband was kvetching about how she's become irritable. Maybe she has. She's probably exhausted, uncomfortable and anxious to bring a close to a tough nine months. Cut her some slack. I know that sometimes pregnant women can seem cranky and unreasonable. There is a famous story in my household from my second pregnancy when I asked my husband to bring me a Dairy Queen Skor blizzard and instead he went to Loblaws and bought a carton of vanilla ice cream and a jar of chocolate sauce, thinking it would be cheaper if we made our own blizzards. Apparently I went ballistic although my memory is foggy. Was I irrational? Absolutely! Did I have a right to be? Damn right.


text:
Macc2020 aims to make Macclesfield sustainable by the year 2020
Recent rises in fuel prices, for transport and domestic heating and lighting, are not a blip; they are signs of a trend that is likely to accelerate in the future due to Peak Oil
Macc2020 helps people save money now by making the best use of energy and resources, and indirectly reduce the effect of climate change in the future.
This website contains information to help you make informed choices, and points to other sources of support.
We have groups working on the main topics of Energy, Transport, Food, and Waste .
If you would like to be involved in one of these groups, join our mailing list, or simply learn more about us, please call us on 07824 860566 or email email@example.com
See Diary for Next Public Meetings
Click here for more about the Town Centre plans

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Sugar Rainbow Drops
Sunshine, lollipops, rainbows and sugar gummy drops. Everything I want to put in vodka. Well that wasn't exactly a song, but it is a bastardized pathetic version. I found a few of the sugared gumdrops and thought I would give them a whirl.
First we take a look at the heaping rainbow pile, that looks like a unicorn threw up. Either that or they pooped this. Mythical creatures, like women, are a mystery to me.
Now they are separated by colour like the unicorn asked me to. Yes, unicorns are racist. Why else are there only white unicorns?
Now we separate them by colour just to get a better idea of what is going on. I only had two containers so I decided to group similar ones together, just so we wouldn't get a murky mess, like the Sweet Tarts.
I knew I had to be careful because of other sugary gummies. Because of that I only allowed them to sit for roughly two hours.
And now you drain them before they completely dissolve. They had enough sugar and space so that they don't become one giant blob either.
This was a shot from the pink and orange dish. Their flavours transcended decently. It's not the perfect mix either way, but for those who hate straight vodka, you can do this.
Vodka Sugar Rainbow Drops: 3/5
Sugar Rainbow Drops Vodka: 3/5
Posted by
Gordon Edward
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text:
Lucille and Maud -- tercer lliurament
I had a telepathic revelation – all those chiliastic scholastics pole-axed in the hottest heat of intimacy. Smile like there's alum in your teeth. Take a mulligan and better luck this time – phew...! – sailing through the cunt-shaped mandala. My (his) urethra bathed in sophrosyne. Calm, heavenly visions. Clouds of gory glory and so on. A spectrum, a rainbow of colored avenues with young short-skirted collegians trickling in miserly pearly drops, the stimulus all those spermatozoidal goblins working down and around my indusia and trochiluses, saying ave atque vale, fast.
Or how does it go, the famous saying by the pseudo Xeicspia…? Our paltry lives being but canards told by a parrot, full of goofiness and fury, and signifying shit, signifying zilch…?Huat-hanat-huat. Repeat the incantation, again, again; thence to supper, and so to bed. Smell the camphorated balm. Huat-hanat-huat. Ok.
All my parrots have to learn the proper dictionaries. They belong to high-ranked fellows. Cardiologists, men of state, the steadiest sadists, and so on. Master Txúrtxil had one: Txarlie – he had to know about strategies and tortures galore. That psittacus a general and an obdurate crook among psittaci, and the psittaceous birds, taught furhermore by a great diction professor, despite his tongue impediment – Lang's "M", the little girl's murderer. One of those old man's winding vagaries. It wasn't always like this.
Greatness is latent and you've got to presuppose it on almost anybody, it may lurk imbedded even in your very membranes. Though, also, so may the lousiest of creepiness.
Gigi: her grandmother tells her: "-You girl, listen, don't ever have any business with your girlfriends' dads, as they wait for their charges at the gates of your school." But now he is absolutely taken by the natural and obvious charm of certain little girls – shapes so alluring – there, true, nature excels itself, never did better, hazards of life.
Myrrha knows what she likes, and enough: she's all for an older fellow, and basta. An older fellow such as my dad, she says, swearing by Ovid, for, hey, natural always beats artificial by a mile, it is never so poisonous as... And the animals follow the healthy rule of nature, cows exult when their bullish father rams them, same thing mares and such, and the old goat with delight mounts his daughters no matter how young and tender – and talk about birds, happiest of creatures, the old guy fucking in midair with the fledglings and the more recent specimens of the surrounding broods – everyone reams and rocks with the easiest available, yet we foolishly demur, only we neurotic fuckers enforce rules against nature.
Sixth century: when sex is the light of life. Faulkner: small frail oldish guy, a watcher of girls. Claims Sound and Fury is born with the striking image of a little girl's trying to climb a tree, her muddy scant panties patent.
Atavist religious impulse – imprinted images of the much adored vestals of yore – from the hallowed ancients to us – worshiping the virgin bodies – the smooth godgiven bodies: images, figurations, mirrorings of the gods (the goddesses!) on earth. That's what we did, that's where we went if we really wanted to be blessed and, whatjumacallit, virtuous – we visited in awe the vestals at the temples and consecrated, humbly and selfishlessly, rendered our homage, our sacrifice, our vigor, our manhood. Young virgins, the most well formed, offered at exhibition, as proof of the incontrovertible existence and bounty and goodness of god, whomever – beauties so delicious they could only had been heavenly – and you could look at them most devoutly and purified – could even touch 'em most reverently – could fuck 'em even – if you could meet such strictures of self-abandonment and arrive at such summits of worthlessness – I could never – too overzealous (I mean in a manic squeamish way) to defile such perfection, of course – the act versus the intention as religious statement of utmost devotion, here's the rub, I mean, the question – the intention must suffice, replenishes the spirit plenteously enough, thanks – not like fucking despaired Nevolus, buggered pimp and badly bilked too, as told by saint Juvenal (not a delinquent!) in his satire number something – he goes from temple to temple officiating at the crotches of all the virgins he meets – at Isis's, of course, but also at Peace's cathedrals, at Ganymedes's, at Ceres's, at the secret groves of the White Good Goddess herself..., plus plenty of other addresses the hoary author doesn't care to name and I haven't neither the leisure nor the scholarship to go chasing after...
Or who needs Humbert, mystical fucker, enslaved to an aesthetic idea of scurrying youth, propagating unsteady fallacies about Sicilians and other peasant Greeks to justify no longer trendy, alas, tendencies.
No, but what was that she...? Ah yes, I'm insisting, piggedly boring in with my sharperst horns, I'm telling and retelling the stolid despisig nurse: "-No, but hear here, these are my books, I brought 'em for the old woman to peruse if thus inclined; now I want some of 'em back." The dirty snake-faced termagant won't believe me, she hardly deigns to answer, gruffly sends me off to sell my shitty wares elsewhere. And I'm on top of it bitterly complaining: "-Hey, they are my books, and they are all irretrievably impaired, look, but only look, please, look, ripped through – have they been also in the loony ward...? Most patients aren't well enough to be entrusted with books of so deep a meaning either, anyway, you know, let alone the crazies, cappish...? – Would you please take a gander at..., crippled, all crippled by a bunch of idiots with scissors or razors, how could you allow...? – insanely intent on defacing the garnered truths, most invaluable marginalia have been trimmed off...! – who's been cutting up pellmell the lamest references...? – These are not public property, these were mine, they were the repository of what I decided I needn't keep permanently on call in my mind because I had them otherwise so candidly handy, at hand, and now..., would you only tell me what I'm gonna do with them now!" I'll do nothing with 'em, because before I can take any along she's kicked me out of the waiting room and locked the door and haughtily walked away down the corridor. Poor Fang, crestfallen, a cuckolded would-be pedophile.
Rattled, a rat trapped at the dead end of a bowel, left alone with the anointed to die, and how full of shit they are because of the fact, and how they relish hammering at you with the naked cloacal facts, raggedly zombies, all nuts, a window, how fast I'd bolt, all their nuts and bolts rusted beyond rescue, recognition even, oozing green matter, ichorous, pussy, slimy.
Beware – be most severely warned – people who remind you so nicely of your mortality ("you'll die also, you know," "you'll be gone in a few, whether you want it or not," "but how long you imagine you've yet got, you silly misled goat?") – this criminal people wish you dead ("perhaps you think you'll be spared and won't die; come on, are you this daft?" "how much time are you deluded into reckoning remains you before also your neck – nyack! – baby, is wrung?") – they wish you so dead ("death's turning the corner, ask for whom she tolls and you're it," they doggedly insist and singsong, and: "watch it, you'll be buried and done for afore next bantam crows or himself's been cooked; even the land itself seems sick, the planets, the suns, the universe is doomed,") – they can't even wait, they wish you dead, and dead forwith, they want you dead: now!
There she was, the opposite of all your fanciful illusions on this paradise earth gone terribly to diseased seed – how couldn't it have been kept frozen in youth, a world of nymphs benevolently shepherded by this softy satyr – huh? – out of the dancing bugaboos and into the totem in fire – there she appeared, sole hole for the rat to smuggle out of, this trolloppy poltroon of a woman, my mother...
What am I doing here at plain sight, ashamed to think some thoughts, lest I'm by my own face betrayed, alternatively congealed in a blank or by my conscience eaten alive. Shouldn't again rather be hiding in the undercarriage? My time is too precious to waste now in the boring company of all those staring idiots. Old fellows, whose vital illusion alas is ready to burst into nothingness, a mirage shattered point-blank – for this ailment of the soul four salves seem to be extant (citing more or less the sage Cowper Powys now – recently perused wouldn't you know): One, study of books – mono-maniacally or -thematically preferably – let's say an author or a restricted subject, for instance that geezer staple: Tony Trollope, or the pseudohistoric fall of hither or thither empire. Two, utter devotion to a cause, say political, of course, or altruistic, or enviromental: "saving" this or that or the other... Three, an erotic obsession! Say to immature girls..., and... Four (the best according to what the hell does he know,) the punctuated search of pure sensation: Delight in, savor each separate instant in its unique liveliness and special loveliness – the classical (Mr. Plato and the rest of 'em deluded mothers) erotic impulse for what is beautiful, for the reuniting of the whole in loving adhesive sex-secretion, the soul is provisionally complete each time the communion is achieved – but why the target of this instant truly lived in full couldn't be – forget the trilling bird, the play of light on an umbrella's silk, the quiet ingenuity of its spokes, the extracted world of a raindrop on the leaf, the coruscating pollen on the petal-wing of a butterfly, the crowning cloud above and its magical lineaments, all those variegated slices of cute outdoors – the troubling unsurpassable beatitude of the angelic impuberous girl, top of creation, and no bones about it!
Here's the dichotomy – in our own minds we exist as projections, interminably watching backwards, interminably expecting forwards – while in the minds of other, same as 'em on ours, we are just a longer or shorter rosary of fixed entities – where's the woman I knew as a lovely child and fell forever in love with – she's nowhere, while the child, though she lived only these few moments of enchantment and then left no traces behind, in my mind she still comfily abides, beacon of illusion, spiritual smile, living mirage, quaint oasis, serious lull. Let me insist on it, 'tis mightily pregnant withal, a fortiori the key of living in zen-like peace of beingness for the remainder (and not unincluding in a further fortiori the remaints and all.) For projection's the culprit, now I've sized it: We exist only as projections of ourselves, hence the fear of death – we see ourselves destroyed: Become rot, mold, worms and beetles, ashes and dirt, nothingness – when in fact this projected asshole is never ourselves now. For we are only fixed in the moment, exactly as we coolly perceive the others – while our perceptions of the self are maimed and marred by the stupid sentimentalism of favoring and extracting from the throng and the cold common destiny this paltry pitiful imagined image we've grown so attached to after so often consorting with: The assumed alleged mental construct called self, hollow figment indeed. Where is – and a sob of emotion comes shatter my soul every time I remember him – where is my boy, my beautiful intelligent angelical son, his lovely silhouette cut against the glare of the peaceful river as the crepuscle sets in and he is so glad with his catch and he so gracefully explains his marvelous world...? He's turned into a soldier malefic...? No! No, he is a much loved, a revered fixed entity, a hallowed tangible presence, an icon shining with an inner happiness-imparting warmth, a charmed beatitude niched in my heart, forever there and nowhere else – least of all in the petrified core of the gruff qualm-less death-meting hate-instilled warrior he's projected himself, alas-alas, and become!
Same thing exactly – damn you! – with all those perfect beauties that will develop pete knows into what! – sick harridans all – why are women always nattering about cancer? Where are they projecting themselves, which horrors are they calling incessantly forth...? – But those full-blown monsters will always be something else, other entities, other mirages, alien implantations, knotted fleshings, blurred blubberings, foreign, unfounded, lost.
...but this, brought forth, would exonerate everyone! – yessum, yes! Anyone projected is innocent; no, sir, am no creepy dapper crapper christ, fluting away, clumsily faggoting with his craven chickenshit injunctions for living dead (living while dead, living in death): "-Whoever isn't fucking guilty, let 'im fling 'em first of lousy rocks, eh...?" Would he had been stunned, stoned by the lichenous iniciative and brazen determination of some cop-minded thug. What then...? What a silly reprobate crook all told, wonder who'd ever believe him, if not some other wooden sanctimonious nitwit. On the contrary, I say: Be wise! Anyone who feels guilty better unproject himself post-haste, or he is doomed! Most useless empty soul-corroding activity, projecting thyself to whilom kingdoms of smoke, to a confusion of hells in pimping pestiferous abeyance. Confounded, conundra, unfound.
...and yet, wouldn't this absolve point-blank this particular sinner and by implication and furtherance even one and each of the judged...? What of it, why the frightful to-do! Of course you spare the sinner! Anyway which sinner...? An adulterous wife? You wish! – No, the only sin extant is the sin of present bodily harm against you own now: Your own now – the rest's rubbish, anyone is innocent of the a-fore and the to-come, there are only culprits of the now (and crazy, possibly non-rescueable non-rescue-babble people, of course, too messed up, ulcerated inside by the current idiot notions) – this makes prosecutors and judges and such... – Yessum, agents of evil, you are right, sir, extraneous devils with an agenda to enlist one and each into their roster of lost souls, deluded painful livers-in-death all, agents of total destruction and inner annihilation, projecting left and right and every which way tentacles of poisoning and blame, and oodles of ubiquitous lying, and envenomed transfixig spikes of wilting rays of utterly maddening or else paralyzing guiltiness. Projecting all around tainted unholy adulterated death. Scape-goating their sempiternal hatred with the duped, bamboozled and beguiled, the allured, and the baited, and the hooked, and the trapped... Bury them in garbage. To the garbage stockpile with those douchebags and the shit-scrapping stercorarians which feed on them.
But is your pretension, sir, that even an avowed, please remark: an avowed serial murderer can avail himself of your displaced generosity of scope and saunter off scot-free after he is caught (alas, not in flagrate, mind you,) and all just because the flimsy technicality that he has become literally an alter ego..., or, in other words, how in bloody hell do you stop a serial killer...? – A certified warrior for instance, you mean...? – Let's not be specious and piecemeal – Whatever, you kill him in the now (on the spot,) hey, lacking which! Lacking which, you castrate him, you lobotomize her, you commit them to an asilum for the rest of their natural... – But is this more humane...? – You don't kill before or after; you kill in the now and that's it, or not at all, for anything else is murder (much worse) again.
"I lost me 'at last night, tossed me 'at into the ring, and lost it," a bit of banter on the tracks. Or: "Mädchen kleine und reine" (bis, bis,) whistles me magic piffle along with me magic mind to the rhythms of the train – the rhythms, the rhythms, the rhythms of the trains: Cheapest grand accompaniment to the opera featuring the languid spirits of the toiling masses back from the stultifying pits – fleeting musings serene last night clattering back home while the bit of schmutzy newspaper dreamily lays forgotten, ah, tremolously aside.
There she was, this poltroonish trollop of a slovenly woman our moth mother, who would offer me a buck (and later even less my half price kid broth) to go on scraping with my nails retracting by fear the often bloody scabs of thick dandruff stuck to her skull – she wouldn't wash her chickenshitty scalp for weeks on end, not if it could at all be helped, not for the worthless spending of any vigor, not for the slothful hell of it, not if another glaciation wouldn't stealthily slide to her parlor and have swept her thus, seated barefoot in front of the tv – she just heavily perfumed it, her foul caked greasy hair, yikes, most disgustingly... – but what am I griping about? – that asshole projected in the rere, nauseatedly scratching some hardened crap off some filthy old whore's head 'tain't me neither! – phantoms, like Jimmy the murderer, desideria inapprehensible but with the sham net of untruthful concatenations – tenuous daydream formations dying with the sudden dry winds that separate the tiny cells of time – oases? mirages? dunes! – dunes: cenotaphs of the existed – the desert of being shifts like the sands in the equitremoeidous universe – kissing self-spinning funnels of unimagined magnitude – no matter, we are soon broomed away, fading glomerations of refuse – diabolo in capsicum: Hi, Jack!
"-What? Yes! I have the fucking ticket, here."
Trying to rescue the thought, no way, agog over the conclusions, the corollaries, though – it seems so magnanimous were I, and not a cent from me pocket, I had forgiven all old criminals no matter how noxious – exterminate the young, of the old let go – what an ungroomed joker with a thinking machine in a worse state still of disrepair – sorry case of oversqueezing the curvaceous citron of hokum, I trow – cosmically vacuous landscapes where the taut rows of aligned crematoria wane into the lost horizon – abashed, I was about to swallow, with a much unpleasant curl of a grimace, the gaggingly enormous bitter pill for the nonce and all at once roughly ingratiating whatever the nonsectarian powers, when I said what the hell, why should I always be wrong; after seeing how right are the others, the chiefs foremost, where do we get off and goof...? – What the fuck, exactly. Bring 'em on, anyhow; aporias are my dairy, they teat me; off 'em can't be weaned, not on your sanitized life, throve on 'em since I realized, still a baby in festering diapers, the fundamental disjunctive was: stay alive or die.
A sudden double swarm of hourglass wasps, the shocking rush, a couple of chained-on dusty yellow-black flashes paying visit to each of the compartments. Shouts of deepest displeasure, the ladies faint and whatnot. As I was saying, the ugly anonymous co-tripster had gotten up to grasp maybe a snack, low-rent barrister or rather barrackster on leave, had both his eyes stung on the wing, crumbled, a twisted suited garbage, on the smutzy floor, too tragical, yellow-turd bellied indeed: "-I'm, like, again: Oedipally fingered; oh no, why me, my gad, why me!"
Too glad it weren't moi.
And then clunkety-clunk for miles and miles, trying to forget the terror of the dense blood congregating around the ears, the orbits of the eyes, the scalp, inside, the nightmare awake each evening before the constant repetion of catastrophic failures itself knocks me out. Gotta stop projecting myself – nothing more destructive, ay, annihilating – images of an always deteriorated ego that feels exacty the way I'm feeling at the precise moment the contorted projecting takes place, up-river with all those unmitigated failings, embarrasments, odious acts, shams, shamings, mistakes, down the lying river of being with all those strangulating rueful wretched outrageous opprobious miserable deaths, and deaths – and deaths. Your humble survivor's only imaginable cure lies in projecting not himself, pete forbid, not oneself, never, but the others, always the others, at all times the others, projected, projected, the others, my creations, id est, my theraupetic alter egos, my dandy parasites, them, them.
Them the suffering (even the joyful, enjoying) assholes, them the living in the wracking glum of a most strenously punishing hell called I believe earth, not me, spared, constant, unmovable. I alone immune pure untouched, by no dirty passions infected, with only a friendly eye for esthetic appreciation, this yes, but that's all, and enough, for the present eternity. Like a birdie on the wing – maximum desiderium! – deciding on the spot on the whim of the instant where next to land, where next, where next.
I flew as they say on the flimsy wings of desire – gossamer goose's wings, in perfect formation, bound to a crepuscle of promised felicitous tranquillity. A violent jerk and back impinges dizzy-crazy crazy-daisy reality. Back alas to dreary crummy me-now, now-me, his dull unglamorous dire self still stuck to shit, yes, by the seat of his locomotioned pants.
This world indeed a klink, a clunker, a clunker of a klink teeming with wicked interlocked strangers – was onto something fucker said it weren't no leaking hell proper but the cosmic prison per se where all damned souls came to purge their variegated penalties – here again on the mirror of the face of others, here's old Tithonus, yeah, present at all times, ubiquitous like the very quantum foam surrounds and subsumes us, devil-pronged, prodding at the inmates, all kinds of no end aggravations, droning sounds interspersed with blunt thuds, coarse swearings, sudden crumblings, quaint silences, intimations of what awaits farther on, trying to discern from the planted simulacra the pertinent cravings, tough endevor, with the uninterrupted tinnitus in his ears, the never-stopping nuncial and tolling tintinabulations of burials and births and three-fire alarms, and the daily clunk-clunk of the trains all the undying seasons, and the days themselves, nauseatingly repetitious beggar: "-Please-please-please," in a puling wishy-washy voice, so caress-hungry, a single hard hug: wanna die of happiness, "-Yes, please-please-please," all wrinkled grasshopper, born old, sentenced to clopper forever, disabused maybe, so far gone, just hoping for a merciful lull – would you be actually praying for death...? – put yourself into a totally consciously assumed condemned felon, no hope whatsoever of parole, of respite, of release, or death proper in all fucking eternity – doomed to the same useless act – years that I don't come, I can't, I wouldn't, too sad a business, anxious, excruciatingly breathless, strangled by fatefulness: Once you do, once you've had, then what, re-start the build up, clinkety-clunk, just in order to come again, and, more appalled still, re-, and re-, and again re-start – Scottsboro train stuck in a rowdy double bind, internicine slapstick, you slap yourself silly: -Wake up, you creep, wake up – this self-spiraling labyrinth's got no let-up (double equitremoeidal, or kissing, arsy-turvy spirals: Atavist symbol of eternity indeed, exactly when you think you've gotten out you've just gotten in) – every fucking day, back to square one – recurrent nightmare of a waking life from which you are condemned never to wake up – who wouldn't prefer the daintier dreams of heavenly sleep? – if hell is repetition, this clunkerous klink is hell – earth with a reputation indeed – withering leaf redone; plough of gristle, a flop, breaking again the unbroken terrain; what else? – hymen untrundled anew, what, yesterevening I seem to remember a mess, and all bleeding crushed it was; the terrors untold of all those virgin births coming to a head, widdershins, at crossed impulsed paths, the crash always unhappened, unhappens, though – didn't happen, did it? / it did / didn't / did.../ down to first step: Unstigmatized, that's mighty odd; strove unyieldingly, and to what end...? – a mystic almond, a mandorla, a cunt of marvelous free pourings, better'n the corn of plenty and Pandora's big loose-withies side-busted kyack both all at once, and yet regularly it shuts like lids over your eye, eraser lids, of course: Reopened, you drew anew another blank, faint dullish afterimages mayhaps, had to try hard and recall the vision again, but with which guarantees of exact reproduction? – None, déjà vu all over da cappo, man, I think, not sure, but beautiful manifestations of (or for?) the senses, undeniable, huh...? – Ah, shiny little cunt earth, how poetical, how rich in sensations and sentimental adventurous journeys, only that when anyone finally manages seemingly or for all material purposes to exit and turn in for scrap metal the individuating dog-tag, all around sigh so sadly: He's done suffering, poor guy – trying hard to keep up with appearances of decorum, honorable, dignified – all appearances, though, and to which avail? – Wanna be called poor guy when the time comes again – your little own personalized again – again: pivotal crux where your quantum foam lies firmly anchored indeed, try rather viciously impaled – nice landscape, though, your private molehill golgotha, could even hear botchedly oozing from the dismal background – frantic estrapades, desperation masturbatory self-destructive piecing apart – the insistent Mussorgski accords on No-life Million Skull Garbage Mountain by Night if you'd be ever so inclined – no pickings left after the hordes of clumsy ravenous mouths, even the marrows devoured clean by sedulous toothed bothriums – and beyond, and subsuming the whole bloody global trap, nice and cute and lovely as Tartarus itself, where repetition is it – Sisyphus his mammoth rock, Tantalus his thirst, old girls carrying water in their sieves, fellah falling forever down his toad-rich well, tarry tacky sticky goblins in their cullion-bags, inside the indusium, the trochilus, the carousel, the ferris wheel, the roller coaster, bumper car, stationary plane lost in its flights of fancy, spirals with stunt bikers, albino ravens talking, humping pirates, snapping turtles, sitting ducks..., blinking, bumping, humped Fang the clown, geezer hooked along in his neverending wheel, crucified into the spokes, the hub forever sodding him, worse crimes to pay for, pompous deleterious hellhole ass Fracidous Domingo, farting out some spic royal shit of his: -Hail, inhale, immerd it..., indigestible epic bore, from the boom boxes, worse hell, a grinning sardonic beast saluting all the way, mechanical twists of the neck, maniacal thrusts of the fists, Prometheus his minced liver reconstituted re-ripped apart by untiring raucous rancorous clockwork beaks – clangorous birdcage of moth-eaten parrots and cuckoos performing to never-exhaustive-enough exhaustion the very same selfsamest sameselfest trite trick – till hey, here we are, clunking breaks, next station once more – only blink shortest of whiles and chug-chug already, yep, there we go... – so let's re-commence...
Born preconceived – tough luck, though: bungled all through; by concord of sweet sounds really, let's not kid ourselves, stuttering girl, kid thyself not, unmoved – the annoying dad and his damned birds; the crazy wife – thick layers of cloying perfumes (egad, fetid strata, faith and forsooth,) smells are always nauseating – dying mother – now, that's nicer, the stinks heavenly of course, fucking Chuzslitt, mournful cleric, at her side, egregiously waiting like a humped indeed, hurrumphing vulture to go first for the pus-oozing eyes – son luminously eagerly expounding a fantastic universe I've been painstakingly longing for since before we came a cropper, our own paradisiacal age, now like himself gone irretrievably missing, catalogued since as unhappened, not real, unknown – a job more as a derogatory tag hanging from a goods unsold, internally defective, no hope, unredeemable – a now for the positive streaks, he fancies, or do I...? The nymphets to enliven the eye, self-understood, ok, a pale softy passion for imagined mandorlas, amygdaline mandalas, darb-al-mandals, magic oval mirrors: to get lost in; reborn into the paradisiacal past, the garden of delicious delicacies: rather – an imagined passion for forbidden passing visions of what some foaming idiots have convened to forbid – a bit of salt to season the anxiety, thanks still – distracted to death with distractions to distract you from death – pitiful destiny, shit.
Instead, given the choice, of course today it's a no brainer. If one could be, albeit for the briefest of seasons, the reincarnation of anybody at all, please let it be Peter. Being by nature a dabbler at arts, who better, I solemnly ask, who better after all to become than old Peter, Peter Brueghel the old, the ancient that is, the ancient master who, I find, unassumingly went to work every single day he could and, endowed as he was by natural nature, did his meekly best (and most of the time his meekly was the best,) looking the while forward only to next morning when the started work set you again lusciously afire. A world of forms to give better shape to.
Said which, I see myself obliged to notch in such thoughtful incision as: the pleasant side of rep.rep.rep...
I must be a balanced gal (guy) after all. Tautology, or to repeat: repetition, then, as a lovely plus, witness some exquisite music, or the rain, the weaving, the writing, the penciling, the little brush strokes, the waving of the sea, the smiley safe-side leering, the tilting with the breeze, the tender up-welling of tears, the routine, the regularity: oh for being in a groove, when all comes smooth and easy, when the calming thinking can't be interrupted from the outside, not even from the infected within – for that's still a worse hell: the constant interruptions to the train of thought that tries to go round your continent, endevoring hard, bound at last to make you one and whole, a known entity who's found its place in the map of being, no longer terra ignota, shitty icongnita pars, festering virgin territory full of savagery and anonymous beasts fucking it all up; the noises, of course, the brain attacks undertaken by the others, those foreign parasitic souls, their contagiousnesses, agressions, animosities, hatreds, prejudices, envies, core sicknesses all, and the duties, the honors, and deadly deadening work.
A contrario, the blessed daily figuring on how to add to the elevated reconstruction of one's own philosophical locked-in-mentation, mental image like an imago forever pinned down in the undelible collection of that's-it, the done template, the finished original, the dead pool at the center of the static eyeball of the universe where the wind-blown results desolately stuck, one no longer a loose sheaf of shorn spikes, a paltry work in progress too unravelled to pass even for a jagged spall of a structure promised to almost great complexity and fair completion, gone the cares and worries and bungles and falls and snafus; now the quiet, the rest, the nothingness, found at last one's due entitlement to an all-shaped firm unchangeable entity and its place in the all-inclusive world-shaping of finite in-order, not inordinate, things – reproduced in the long wardrobe mirror of existence in one's full measure and perfected entirety, painted definitely right by the master spirit of one's own, a masterpiece of unmendable consummation, at every now identical to itself, from right this instant to both doubtful infinitudes of every other minute rung-instant of afterwards or before – a chain of I multiplied without any kind of possible error, or leakage or slip-up, round the limits of what is and isn't both inside and out.


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Sony Classical (88697-06590-2)
Release Date: 2007
Format: CD
|"I Knew I Loved You" - Celine Dion
|"The Good, The Bad & The Ugly" - Quincy Jones featuring Herbie Hancock
|"Once Upon a Time in the West" - Bruce Springsteen
|"Conradiana" - Andrea Bocelli
|"The Ecstasy of Gold" - Metallica
|"Malena" - Yo-Yo Ma
|"Come Sail Away" - Renee Fleming
|"Gabriel's Oboe" - Ennio Morricone
|"Conmigo" - Daniela Mercury featuring Eumir Deodato
|"La Luz Prodigiosa" - Dulce Pontes
|"Love Affair" - Chris Botti
|"Je Changerais D'avis" - Vanessa and The O's
|"Lost Boys Calling" - Roger Waters
|"The Tropical Variation" - Ennio Morricone
|"Could Heaven Be" - Denyce Graves
|"Addio Monti" - Taro Hakase
|"Cinema Paradiso" - Ennio Morricone
|Total Album Time:
|by Tim Clark
April 10, 2007
At the 2007 Academy Awards, the presentation of Ennio Morricone\'s honorary lifetime achievement award took nearly thirteen minutes. At a ceremony where time is at a renowned premium, and where Martin Scorsese took only two minutes to accept his first Oscar, it said a lot about the esteem in which Morricone is held both within the film industry and right around the world.
As if we needed confirmation of that fact, this lovingly crafted tribute album brings together an astonishingly diverse line-up of artists to pay homage to the work of this gifted and prolific composer. The album\'s title works on two levels, explaining the collective admiration held by the contributing artists, as well as offering a statement on the universal appeal of Morricone\'s work. The album itself doesn\'t always make the music shine as it should, and some of the interpretations will ruffle the feathers of purists, but it adds up to a reasonably satisfying whole with more hits than misses.
Part of the reason why Morricone\'s Oscar presentation took so long was Celine Dion\'s premiere performance of a new version of "Deborah\'s Theme" from Once Upon a Time in America, set to lyrics by Alan and Marilyn Bergman and featured as the opening track here, under the new title "I Knew I Loved You". The Bergman lyrics ride a fine line between cliché and respectful restraint, neither overpowering Morricone\'s theme nor adding any real depth. More than anything, the song serves as a reminder of Morricone\'s gift for richly emotive melodies and of Dion\'s talents as a vocalist.
Somewhat inexplicably, considering the sheer volume of music Morricone has produced, the album\'s seventeen tracks showcase music from only twelve of his scores. Two tracks are drawn from the soundtrack to the 1990 TV mini-series Voyage of Terror: The Achille Lauro Affair. Renee Fleming\'s breathy, aching soprano on "Come Sail Away" doesn\'t quite gel with the song\'s sentimental lyrics while Denyce Graves\' rich mezzo-soprano seems too refined for the bluesy style of "Could Heaven Be". Other contributions from classical artists include Yo-Yo Ma\'s precise interpretation of the theme from Maléna, and violinist Taro Hakase\'s sublime take on "Addio Monti".
Apart from the Voyage of Terror tracks, Morricone\'s television work is represented by two tracks from Nostromo, the 1997 adaptation of Joseph Conrad\'s novel. Andrea Bocelli acquits himself well, if unremarkably, on "Conradiana", while Morricone\'s own arrangement of "The Tropical Variation" demonstrates his ability to make more of less, the instrumentation stripped back to give maximum impact to sudden bursts of full orchestra. It\'s one of the album\'s highlights.
Further highlights include Dulce Pontes\' impassioned rendition of the theme from La Luz Prodigiosa and Morricone\'s octave-jumping piano arrangement of one of his finest compositions, the "Love Theme for Nata" from Cinema Paradiso. After following this album on its wide-ranging journey, hearing this desperately romantic theme feels like coming home. I only wish there was more of it.
Two tracks from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly are outstanding, but not necessarily for the right reasons. Quincy Jones\' tacky and overblown take on the film\'s seminal theme drags on aimlessly for far too long, replete with keyboard and bass guitar riffs and strange tribal chanting,. Metallica has more success with "The Ecstasy of Gold", despite being the only hard rock performers on the album. Surprisingly enough, they produce one of the album\'s most affectionate tracks; they make it their own, rocking away on grinding guitars, whilst retaining the epic quality of Morricone\'s original. Similarly, Bruce Springsteen\'s electric version of the theme from Once Upon a Time in the West holds onto the spirit of the original but gives it a haunting, contemporary twist that at times evokes Terje Rypdal.
Vanessa and the O\'s offer a welcome interlude with one of Morricone\'s most enduring non-film score tracks, "Je Changerais d\'Avis", based on Francoise Hardy\'s interpretation of the Italian pop song, "Se Telefonando", originally performed by Mina. It\'s a wonderful song and, while it would be hard to top Mme Hardy, they give it a good shot. Daniela Mercury\'s performance of "Fica Conmigo (Hurry to Me)" from Metti una sera a cena is similarly spirited but the vocals are sometimes distorted to the point where it sounds like she\'s singing backwards. Still, it\'s better than Roger Waters\' somnolent, nasal performance of "Lost Boys Calling" from The Legend of 1900. It\'s frustrating to think that this was chosen over a multitude of other compositions for inclusion on the album.
All of the tracks are held together by bridge passages composed by Morricone especially for this release. This personal touch lets us know this is not just another utilitarian compilation of Morricone\'s work. Unfortunately, it\'s also not the wondrous, thrilling tribute it could have been. But if it does go some way to letting Mr. Morricone know just how much he\'s appreciated, as well as bringing his work to a new audience, it\'s been a worthwhile venture.
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Cinema Paradiso - 30th Anniversary Remastered Edition
Released: December 10, 2018
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: The Trio (Single)
Released: August 17, 2017
Metti, una sera a cena
Released: October 2, 2015
Un pugno di dollari / C'era una volta il west
Released: October 2014
Cinema Paradiso - Remastered
Released: March 14, 2014
Metti una sera / L'assoluto naturale
Released: January 9, 2014
Morricone. Uncovered: Il cuore mio-mi corazon Single
Released: September 18, 2012
Morricone. Uncovered: The Woman in Me - Single
Released: September 18, 2012
Morricone. Uncovered: Ti Ho Amato Single
Released: September 18, 2012
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - Single
Released: September 4, 2012
Nuovo Cinema Paradiso: Musica Originale Del
Released: May 29, 2012
Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo - Digitally Remastered
Released: December 7, 2011
Viaggo Nel Terrore L'Achille Lauro
Released: October 25, 2011
C'era Una Volta Il West
Released: 2005
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly - Expanded Edition
Released: May 18, 2004
Once Upon a Time in America
Released: March 31, 2003
Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo - Complete
Released: April 1, 2001
Released: February 6, 2001
Cinema Concerto: Ennio Morricone At Santa Cecilia
Released: 2000
The Legend Of 1900
Released: September 14, 1999
la Leggenda del Pianista sull'Oceano
Released: 1998
Released: October 17, 1990
Released: February 23, 1990
Once Upon A Time In America
Released: June 1, 1984


text:
Faithful to its tradition of innovation, the horological company Cvstos has thrilled watch enthusiasts with its new Challenge Chrono Tourbillon rattrapante sport watch, which strikes the eye with its revolutionary design. The latter is a result of a fruitful collaboration between two esteemed watchmakers, Pierre-Michel and Jean-Pierre Golay.
The concept-S (sport) represents a clever blend of sophisticated technology and decidedly sporty design, which turns the brands innovation into a horological masterpiece. The creators of this marvelous product have accomplished a technical feat: they brought a complication to the forefront and made the basic function of indicating the time of secondary importance. Thus, the highly-qualified craftsmen manufactured a true chronograph rather than a chronograph timepiece.
The key feature, characterizing the brand, is its continuous desire to push the extreme limits of modern technologies way beyond what was thought possible. This progressive concept model has established the companys credibility and technical virtuosity among the elite of watchmakers.
read more


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Lemaitre - Relativity 3 EP
Lemaitre are a young Norwegian duo with the electronic universe at their feet and their stunning new EP 'Relativity 3' marks the start of what promises to be a remarkable year for the dynamic pair.
[youtube_sc url="http://youtu.be/skLfWOMaN1s"]
Lemaitre are Ketil Jansen and Ulrik Denizou, a young Norwegian duo with the electronic universe at their feet. Their stunning new EP 'Relativity 3' is set for release and marks the start of what promises to be a remarkable year for the dynamic pair.
Taking inspiration from an assimilation of influences ranging from: Daft Punk, Röyksopp, Justice, Ratatat, Phoenix and Noisia, Lemaitre's sound is an eclectic mix of dreamy electro-pop with constantly evolving sonic layers and soundscapes, disco beats and catchy melodies. From the sublime opener 'Continuum' right through to the buoyant keys and playful house beats of closing track 'Cut to Black.' 'Relativity 3' is the product of 2 supremely talented and ambitious 20 year olds. In February, Zane Lowe featured the pair as his 'Next Hype,' previewing 'Continuum' on his BBC Radio 1 show.
Since forming, Lemaitre have reached number 1 in the iTunes Dance Chart in the U.S and Canada and number 9 in the UK. They count the likes of Madeon, Netsky and Porter Robinson as fans and have written a track for Camo & Krooked's next album. Their live shows are more of a multi media event as they play with light, visuals and sounds to create an entertaining, visceral and thought provoking experience. The duo are involved in every step of the process from conception to performance. With a promising year ahead of them and exciting tours on the horizon, Lemaitre are ready to kick-start 2013 with a 'big bang.' Live dates will be announced very soon.


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Social LEADia: A Facebook Discussion
updated 8/9/2017
Two years ago George Couros came to our school district gave an powerful talk about the importance of using social media as a tool in the classroom. As he was speaking, I began following Couros on Twitter and through him discovered and followed Jennifer Casa-Todd.
Jennifer's blog, Endless Possibilities is a candid reflection of her journey as an educator and parent. She shares ideas and thoughts about a variety of topics including the use of technology and social media. I love learning from her blog posts and was excited when I heard she published the book Social LEADia, which I have now read multiple times.
Social LEADia challenges its readers to move out of their comfort zone, to overcome challenges and to work with students to find opportunities to use social media in authentic and meaningful ways. It is one of the best professional books I have read in a long time.
I reached out to Jennifer Casa-Todd through Twitter and her Social LEADia Facebook group (yes I love the book so much I follow her everywhere). I was interested in joining an online book discussion although I admit Twitter chats make my head spin. Jennifer offered me the opportunity to host a book discussion in her Social LEADia Facebook group. I was honored and suddenly panicked. I have never run an online book discussion and the AUTHOR was going to be a part of it!
This is my first experience with using Facebook for book discussion and I realize some people may be completely new to Facebook so I thought I would give you some tips and the plan for the evening.
- The conversations in the Social LEADia Facebook group are only accessible to the approved members of the group. Please request to join the group to participate.
- Discussion questions will be posted approximately every 10 minutes.
- Please "Comment" to the posted question to discuss. This will keep the conversations organized.
- Some questions are in a Flipgrid format, you maybe record your answer using Flipgrid or type your answer. You may also respond to each other through Flipgrid.
- It has become common practice that if someone is interested in a thread but has nothing to offer they comment "following" so they receive notifications when future comments are made. You do not need to do this. Instead, click on the arrow in the right hand corner of the post and select "Turn on notifications for this post."
- If you are not able to make it for the live chat, please pop in any time with your comments or sharing.
Our hope is that our two evenings of discussion are just the beginning of continuing conversations and sharing so that we can all help our students use social media for learning & sharing their learning, standing up for causes that are important to them, and to be a more positive influence on others: ultimately social media leaders.
I want to thank Jennifer Casa-Todd for her assistance, responding to my questions as we worked together to plan this event. Jennifer also assisted with this blog post and allowed me to use her graphics.
Update 8/9/2017 - Reflections after first Facebook chat
What worked well:
- conversations easy to follow
- replies were not limited to 140 characters
- more in-depth sharing
- smaller group - more meaningful connections
- easy to refer back to conversations
- easy to jump in after the fact to see what discussed and add to conversations
- too many questions - the ability to have longer responses made it hard to keep up
- limited number of people - not open to public (both a pro and con)
- forgot to have people introduce self
- people seemed to like to type more than Flipgrid for this type of limited time sharing


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Crave is a production kitchen for many of Wellington's artisan producers.
Do you have a fledgling foodie company that you would like to get off the ground?
Give us a ring or drop us a line - we'll show you around the kitchen,
and make your dream of becoming a small producer a reality.
Wellington Foodies and Wellington Foodies Kids have been hosting their events and classes at Crave for the last three years. Check their websites to join them, for updates on coming events, and to book.
Montfoort makes delicious Dutch fare, using honest ingredients, traditional methods, and carefully crafted recipes.
Broken Food Company is dedicated to finding whole fixes for a food system broken by processed and modified ingredients.


text:
Entirely restored in 2012, Riad HOUMA offers peace, tranquillity and comfort with all the magical charm and authenticity of riad living.
It has combined modern lines, comfort, sobriety and with the refinement of an elegant traditional Moroccan architecture.
The guesthouse is perfectly located and easily accessible. There is a big guarded car park nearby, the ideal departure point or meeting point to all your excursions, car rentals and taxis.
The area is quiet and so safe that you would almost feel at home.
The famous Jamaa Elfna Place is only a few minutes away and The Bahia Palace just round the corner. Many other places of interest are also within walking distance.


text:
The CyArk Visualization Internship program is interdisciplinary and includes both undergraduate and graduate students. Interns will work with digital data sets collected using state of the art reality capture devices. These data sets include high resolution digital images collected using high dynamic range and panoramic techniques, digital video, GPS survey data and high definition survey techniques using laser scanners to create high resolution and accurate three dimensional models of these sites. Students will work with these data sets to produce a range of digital content and will be exposed to a wide variety of technologies and software packages. Interns will also receive training on the aquisition of these data sets and will participate in a HDD heritage documentation project.
Participants of the Reality Capture and Dissemination Internship will potentially have the opportunity to participate in CyArk documentation projects conducted at World Heritage sites across the globe and further part-time and post-graduate employment opportunities are possible to participants of the program. The Reality Capture and Dissemination Internship is sponsored by CyArk (a non-profit entity located in Orinda, California, http://archive.cyark.org/), the Department of Anthropology and the Office of the Chief Information Officer UC Berkeley.
Current focus: The internship is currently focused on the post-production side of laser scanning. The interns will learn all the techniques necessary to process high definition documentation data and create content from this data.
View announcements relating to CyArk
- Ben Kacyra, Program Sponsor
- Ruth Tringham, Faculty Sponsor
- Oliver Monson, Instructor
- Elizabeth Lee , Instructor
- Michael Ashley, Liason, Office of the CIO
- Elizabeth Ha, Media Specialist
- Zaven Demerjian, Intern
- Magen Farrar, Intern
- John Mink, Intern
- Alejandra Reyes, Intern
- Alex Baer, Intern
- Cory Smith, Intern
- Gabrielle Patacsil, Intern
- John Chenoweth, Intern
- Jon Lesser, Intern
- Department of Anthropology, UC Berkeley
- Office of the Chief Information Officer, UC Berkeley
- Information and Data Services, UC Berkeley
- Kacyra Family Foundation
- CyArk 3D Heritage Network


text:
|The new lineup that Fleetwood Mac successfully unveiled with their eponymous 1975 album became even more successful with the multi-platinum Rumours, which was the band's most celebrated album and one of the best-selling albums of all time. To be sure, this was a very different-sounding Fleetwood Mac than the blues-rock outfit of the late '60s-- and this edition of the band generally wasn't well received by rock critics, who tend to be critical of all things commercial. But as commercial and slick as Rumours is, the music has a lot of heart, and never comes across as insincere. From Christine McVie's optimistic "Don't Stop" (which President Bill Clinton used as his campaign theme song in 1992) to Lindsey Buckingham's remorseful "Go Your Own Way," Rumours is conistently memorable. In fact, the folk-ish "Gold Dust Woman" (covered by Courtney Love and Hole in 1996) and the melancholy hit "Dreams" made it quite clear just how much depth and substance Stevie Nicks was capable of. (Alex Henderson, All-Music Guide)
All Music Guide review submitted by Luke Arnott.
|You can download a free Real Audio player or obtain help. It is possible that the Real Audio sound clips provided on this page are a different version from that appearing on the actual album.


text: Each year our school takes a piece of literature to base our yearly theme around. In 2016 Linda Krantz's "Only One You" was chosen. Linda Krantz, the author of 'Only One You' describes the story as one about a deep love that is shared between parents and their child which emphasises the importance of sharing wisdom across generations. We can apply this to us as well, the love shared between teacher and student. As parents and teachers, our hope is that our words will be embraced and stored away until they are needed. This colourful story is a springboard that allows families, teachers and students to talk about memories and life lessons with each other. There is certainly nothing more enjoyable then the sharing of a special story with your students or child.As adults, we get tangled up in our busy, everyday schedules, and we need to be reminded that we should be making time for ourselves, our own families and our school families. We should be enjoying life each and every day.


text:
One thing we noticed as we got older is that it became more of a challenge to find websites and online communities that spoke to us. For some reason It was like people thought that once you reached 40 you stopped logging on or caring about certain things which could not be further from the truth.
Mature women share information online.
Mature women code.
Mature women blog about beauty, fashion and style and we do a darn good job at it all.
One of our goals is to develop the ultimate list of sites specifically for and/or by the seasoned woman. If you know a site that should be on our radar, please share it with us in the comments below. In turn, we will update this post when we come across a site that excite us. Let's prove the naysayers wrong.
We'll start with a list of our go-to blogs. More coming soon!
Girls of a Certain Age – For women 40 and above who are looking for great style on the internet.
That's Not My Age – The grownup guide to great style.
Advanced Style – A project devoted "to capturing the sartorial savvy of the senior set."
Accidental Icon – Lyn Slatter is hands down one of the most stylish women online.
Bag and a Beret – Style. Comedy. Art. Melanie Kobayashi is someone you want to have brunch with on a lovely Spring day.


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[John Dowland (1563-1626)]
Allen Ginsberg's January 1980 Basic Poetics class continues (in preparation for future notes on John Dowland)
AG; Apparently, I have.. the "Fine Knacks For Ladies" that you gave me the recording? – I have some (John) Dowland around and I had that so I'll try and bring in a… I was going to try and get Charlie (Ross - sic) to bring in a phonograph today. Were there any others on that beside the "Fine Knacks For Ladies" ?
Student: There's Dowland's setting of "Weep No More Sad Fountains" on that other one.
AG: Ah, good ok.. We've got both of them then - "Dough-land" (that's how (Basil) Bunting pronounces it)
Student: What's that?
AG: You pronounced it (that way) also.
Student: Yeah, I definitely lose points for saying "Dow-land"
AG: What?
Student: I definitely lose points for saying "Dow-land"
AG: Who knew better?AG; "Dough-land" (Dowland) is the composer.
Student: "Dough-land" (from the Anglo-Saxon)
Student: "Dough-land" (from the Anglo-Saxon)
[Basil Bunting (1900-1985)]
In fact, I think what I'll do with the Bunting, I may.. I may bring in a tape and just play it, a few minutes of it, just some essential points, and also Bunting pronouncing (Sir Thomas) Wyatt and (Thomas) Campion (which is a real treat, because this is (with) this marvelous English, or Northumbrian accent with rolling "r"'s , and, you know, like, very finely pronounced consonants. It's really a pleasure to listen to). Nobody (here) knows Bunting? - I don't know. I've spoken of him here in previous classes, but.. He has Collected Poems, put out by Oxford University Press [Editorial note - now updated in the new Faber edition - see here]. He was one of the great.. with Marianne Moore, (Ezra) Pound, (William Carlos) Williams, (W.B.) Yeats, in the early part of the century. He was in obscurity for many years but.. the phrase that I've used here over and over - "Follow the tone-leading of the vowels" - was attributed to (Ezra) Pound (it comes from Pound's introduction to Bunting's Collected Poems (Dallas, Texas, 1950, a little paperback, the Square Dollar series of Pound. [Editorial note - Allen is factually inaccurate here - the 1950 edition of his Collected published by Dallam Flynn, an edition Allen owned and treasured, was actually published by The Cleaner's Press, Galveston, Texas] Then, later on, he was picked up by Tom Pickard and the younger British poets and then brought back to life by Jonathan Williams, and Oxford, last year, two years ago, [1978] published his Collected Poems. And he's really worth reading. And his specialty is condensation..
Student: What?
We might play some.. for the rest of the class we might play some of the.. a couple more of these.. a couple more of these ballads [Dowland's ballads] next time. So we'll hear the rest of them.
[Audio for the above can be heard here, beginning at approximately thirty-six-and-three-quarter minutes in and concluding at approximately forty-one minutes in ]


text:
They shared opinions on beers from their hometowns, called each other by their first names and discussed the clutter in their children's bedrooms.
Mr Obama has seemingly shied away from developing warm personal ties with other world leaders but he did seem eager to show his public respect for "David" as Mr Cameron did for "Barack."
At the outset, Mr Obama discussed the beers they swapped from their home cities at last month's Group of 20 summit in Canada, with the American president saying: "I thought the beer was excellent but I drank it cold."
Mr Cameron continued in the relaxed tone and said he was going to need to speak to his children about their bedrooms after seeing how tidy were the White House bedrooms of Obama's daughters, Sasha and Malia.
The two leaders, both judged to be telegenic and displaying a youthful vigour, stated early and often that the US-British "special relationship" was alive and well and revived anew.
That amounted to a rejection of the view voiced by some experts that Mr Obama's Democratic administration and Mr Cameron's Conservative government are bound to have differences over economic and foreign policy.
Mr Obama called it "a truly special relationship," and Mr Cameron said it was not only a special relationship but an "absolutely essential relationship" needed to renew economic prosperity.
Discussing the BP oil spill, the two men were careful to avoid a public disagreement.
Mr Cameron promised to help a US Senate probe but said that he saw no need for a British inquiry into questions on whether BP had pressed for the release of Abdel Basset al-Megrahi.
Mr Cameron, under pressure to stand up for the British energy giant against the bashing it has faced in Washington, also insisted it was in US and British interests for the company to remain strong and viable.
Mr Obama, whose approval ratings have been undercut by public outrage over the spill, avoided the tough language he has often used against BP over its handling of Gulf disaster and also played down the simmering controversy over the Lockerbie case.
"I completely understand the anger that exists right across America. The oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is a catastrophe," Mr Cameron said inside the White House.
"It is BP's role to cap the leak, clean up the mess and pay appropriate compensation."
But he also cautioned, "Let us not confuse the oil spill with the Libyan bomber."
Mr Obama said he was confident the British government would co-operate to make sure all the facts are known.


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End of the line for 'Sister Wives' polygamy decriminalization case
|The Brown family
The U.S. Supreme Court has declined to hear the Kody Brown family's case that they be allowed to challenge Utah's anti-bigamy law. The court did not address the merits of the case; it decided that an appeals court was correct in ruling that the family did not have standing to bring its case because it had not actually been charged with the supposed crime, merely threatened with possible charges.
In 2013, the federal court in Utah that originally heard their case ruled in their favor that the law was unconstitutional.
From the AP in USA Today:
Sister Wives' polygamous family turned away at Supreme Court
...The justices left in place a lower court ruling that said Kody Brown and his four wives can't sue over the law because they weren't charged under it.
A federal judge sided with the Browns and overturned key parts of Utah's bigamy law in 2013, but an appeals court overturned that decision last year.
The Browns sought to argue before the high court that the law infringes on their right to freedom of speech and religion. The family said they should be able to challenge the law because the threat of prosecution forced them to flee to Nevada and still looms over them when they return to Utah.
Utah's law forbids married people from living with a second purported "spouse," making it stricter than anti-bigamy laws in other states and creating a threat of arrest for plural families. But state officials have followed a long tradition of not prosecuting polygamists unless they commit some other crime, such as child or spousal abuse, domestic violence or fraud.
Police investigated the family after their show premiered in 2010, but closed the case without filing any charges. The family argued in legal briefs that the state should not be able to thwart a constitutional challenge to the law "by changing its enforcement policy during the pendency of litigation."...
The whole article (January 23, 2017).
More news coverage, including another AP story:
'Sister Wives' family says it won't end fight
An attorney for a TV's "Sister Wives" family says the U.S. Supreme Court decision not to hear an appeal of Utah's law banning polygamy won't end the larger fight by plural and unconventional families for equal status.
Lawyer Jonathan Turley said Monday in a statement posted on his blog that he and the Brown family are disappointed but not surprised by the decision that was issued by the high court without comment....
From Turley's statement:
...The Browns remained steadfast in their commitment to equal rights and have become the voice for not just plural families but many families which do not meet the strict definition of monogamy practiced by the majority of citizens.
Labels: legal, polygamy, Sister Wives


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"The closest we've come to that laid-back cottage experience we love." Diana Ballon, Travel Alerts
Our cottage areas are like summer communities, with many guests returning year after year. Perfect for a private getaway for two, a boys' or girls' weekend or the whole family, our rustic cottages come with one, two or three bedrooms and can sleep up to eight people in the largest cottage.
Many are right on the water, and all boast gorgeous views of Stoney Lake. Our cottages are pet friendly, and include:
- studio, one, two or three bedrooms
- one or two bathrooms
- efficiency kitchen
- microwave
- toaster
- sink and counter area
- coffee maker
- full-sized fridge
- seating area or living room
- fireplace (select cottages)
- flat screen TV and DVD player
- iPod docking station alarm clock
- air conditioning
- patio with barbecue
What to Pack
So what do you actually need to pack? Check out our handy packing list right here!
A full resort breakfast is always included with your stay, as is access to our year-round recreation program and activities.
Wondering exactly how far you'll be from your favourite pool lounger? Check out our property map.
Are you more of a visual person? See the Viamede cottage experience in video form:


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Before you doubt that your correspondent suffers so you don't have to, remember this: I went to see Disney's The Lion King on Broadway. I am still recovering, and any small votive lit for my complete recuperation is deeply appreciated.
The Lion King makes for a completely wretched evening of theater. One arrives at the Minskoff Theater on West 45 prior to curtain – only to have all bags and some pockets checked by security thugs right out of central casting. At $155 for Mezzanine seating, one can only imagine that the Minskoff people are expecting the better class of terrorist.
Patrons are then herded like cattle by ushers more at home on the Old Chisholm Trail, who hector and insult customers already turning off cell phones a good 15 minutes before curtain. (Not that the patrons on hand deserved better treatment; dressed as if for a hockey game and behaving much like people waiting on line in Costco, one wonders where they thought they were.)
And please never for a moment believe that the Minskoff is a theater … it is not. It is an auditorium. If you are interested in serious theater, you are in the wrong place, physically and aesthetically. Vast and drafty, with practically no proscenium and, if I recall correctly, no orchestra pit, this is a space better suited for proletarian joys like rock concerts and revival meetings.
Which, in all honesty, is pretty much what one gets with the now-congealing mess that is The Lion King. To "bring to life" various jungle animals and rain forest locales, director Julie Taymor had Disney's bottomless coffers at her disposal. Sadly, all of Taymor's directorial decisions were wrong. First off, this adaptation of the Disney cartoon is completely devoid of actors. Yes, there are performers onstage, but all wear body microphones since they can project neither speaking voice nor song. (One wonders why they bother … there would be no difference if the poor saps on stage merely moved their lips to a recording.) Worse still, the actors are all heavily burdened with pounds of puppetry to simulate animal life – it is impossible to connect with any of them in any human way. Imagine wanting to be an actor and becoming, instead, a walking special effect.
The internal politics of The Lion King are also of special interest. The entire enterprise is infused with a faux-African PC chic, as if the doings of jungle fauna represented a great cosmology of the universe. The sole non-African accent on hand is that of Patrick R. Brown, who plays the villain Scar. (Naturally.) Imagine, if you would, a lisping Boris Karloff aping Quentin Crisp and you get the idea. No doubt oceans of self-loathing Upper West Siders nod in appreciation and abnegation; I merely shrugged in disbelief.
The book, by Roger Allers and Irene Mecchi, jumps (literally) all over the place. I had a thought for many of the screaming children careening through the aisles, wondering how they would understand anything that was going on. Then, I realized that was never the intention – the real plan was simply to overwhelm them with noise.
Noise, of course, is probably the best word to describe the score by Elton John and Tim Rice. I cannot say if the score is consistently wretched throughout, but what I did hear sounded rather like subway drummers pounding on plastic paint cans. After sitting through such first act numbers as Chow Down, Be Prepared and I Just Can't Wait to Be King, the audience was treated to the big first act curtain number, Hakuna Matata. I think Hakuna Matata was probably Ugandan for "please be sure to visit our gift shop," but I never waited to find out. As the curtain fell, I fled for the nearest exit. The second act of The Lion King will forever remain a mystery to your correspondent.
Clearly we were not the only sufferers. Several ushers congratulated us on our sound judgment as we made for the doors, hurrying away from hoards of singing lions, dancing chimps, wailing children and suffering parents.


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Kids Club is for kids in grades 1st through 5th. At Make & Take Craft Day, kids do fun hands-on crafts that they can take home. Make & Take is every 3rd Wednesday at 4:00 pm.
All Library programs and events are free and open to the public.
201 Fourth Avenue East
Twin Falls, ID 83301
Phone: (208) 733-2964
Fax: (208) 733-2965
Email: firstname.lastname@example.com
TFPL Mission Statement
(208) 733-2964
Twin Falls Public Library
201 4th Avenue East
Twin Falls Idaho, 83301
The Mission of the Twin Falls Public Library is to provide for the Community of Twin Falls access to information, materials, and services that enhances quality of life, builds community, and encourages a love of reading and lifelong learning.


text:
Last updated:
30 June 2018
The rates and bands for the new tax have now been approved by the Scottish Parliament.
The below tax calculator allows taxpayers and agents to work out the amount of LBTT payable on residential and non-residential or mixed property transactions, based on the rates and thresholds.
LBTT is a self-assessed tax and therefore Revenue Scotland does not accept liability for the use by taxpayers or agents of this calculator.
The LBTT on Property Transactions Calculator has been updated to allow for calculations where the supplement applies.


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So clearly I haven't been on here in awhile. I won't apologize. Life happens and it happens even more for a law student who also is trying to continuously get better at CrossFit. So to sum up the past 2 months or so of 2015. Well I started a whole new schedule, which has given me more work to do this semester and I've had to rely on supplements to understand everything better. Supplements are basically like "law school for dummies" books, sad but effective. So that's that, not much to report really, I only took 1 midterm and it hasn't been graded yet so I have no idea how I did.
I started a job at the law school library at the end of January and I do love it. It's perfect because I generally only work around 10 hours a week and during at least one of my shifts I'm able to do some homework. So the job is definitely good for sure and it is helping me to save up for this summer when I go back to St. Lawrence county to intern in the public defender's office again.
CrossFit! Well the open started last week and according to mine and my coach's plan I am doing the workout scaled (first year there is this division), in order to see what I really need to work on. The first workout 15.1 wasn't too terrible and I did decently. The second workout today 15.2 just was absolute crap on my part and was I'm sure horrible to watch. My wod buddy Kevin, whose 58 and usually kicks my butt, was not having a good workout either. 15.2 scaled had movements that both of us are weak in; for me its pull ups and for Kevin its ohs. He was given an option to scale further but would then disqualify and I promise you I have never heard him swear more! He was like I don't care if I no rep every single one, I'm not getting disqualified. I swear he inspires me every day with the amount of heart that he puts into the sport! So even though we were both disappointed we know what we have to work on and we are going to work on it.
So basically I had a little mental breakdown yesterday because I really want to qualify and make it to regionals my 3rd year of law school. So I was texting my coach and asking if I was doing everything I could possibly be doing. Well, when I went back in for my 2nd workout he pulled me aside and gave me a talk. He reminded me that am a law student 1st and a crossfit athlete 2nd- no matter how much I love it. Law is my future, crossfit is my fun. But besides all of that he also reminded me to be patient (Something I definitely need to work on!). I'm steadily getting stronger, even since I started at this box in August I've put on muscle and increased all of my lifts. But more than that I've been perfecting my form, without which you can't continue to get stronger. But also, he reminded me that by taking my time and mastering all the basic movements now, I'm building up my strength and movement pattern and I'll be better off in the long haul because I'm working in such a way to prevent injury.
So basically, without my coach to remind me of all these things and to keep me on track all the way, I'm pretty sure I'd get into my head far more. I don't know what I would do without him!
So then Brian was helping me work on my kip today after my 15.2 rough time and I definitely can do it. I just need to work on my strict pull up strength, which will help me when it comes to kipping pull ups. So he gave me a whole variety of things to do to work on that. Basically, I have my work cut out for me over the next year because next year I'm doing the open Rx! Oh did I mention that Kevin and I have decided to practice our burpees?!? Right? who does that?? We do I guess because we both know we kinda suck at them and that we need to get better so every day we have decided to do some burpees and just add more each day. Why did I think that would be a good idea?!
But other than all my complaining I have spring break in 2 weeks. It will be great to sleep in and to not have to go to class- I can just do homework and outlining all day instead of classes and homework all day-YAY! Plus, it'll be nice to have someone else doing the cooking, even if its just for a week. Oh and I guess it'll be nice to see my family too… I have missed them a bit- but only a little bit!
So that's it for now, I hope to be better about the updates. Maybe over spring break I'll write so much that no one will want me to post for awhile!
So until later, TTFN.


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Consumers perceived rightly or wrongly that financial advice was "free", and the struggle now is how to take the "R" out of that, and establish that advice deserves a fee. There are basically just 5 steps to being able to do that successfully.
By implementing these steps you will be able to move from the concept of providing FREE advice, to providing advice that is worth a FEE.


text:
he Phoenix Jazz Group performs jazz in a melodic fusion style. Group
members are very versatile in a number of different genres. A review
from The Jazz Society of Oregon stated " they're a Canadian quartet of
musicians with impressive credentials whose program of all original
music swings with ease. " Since their debut album " Extensions " was
released in 2009, the music of The Phoenix Jazz Group has received
ongoing airplay on Canada's Premier Jazz Station Jazz FM 91.1 in Toronto
as well as on jazz radio in the U.S. and over 60 other countries worldwide. Phoenix performed at the 2018 Uptown Waterloo Jazz Festival in Waterloo On. A review of the group's most recent album Amparo from Whole Note
Magazine in Toronto states " It is in the fusion of myriad styles that
the group's music speaks best. This can be felt throughout the album, but
nowhere more strongly than in the profound beauty of Amparo, the title
track itself."
JOHN McLELLAND, Piano and Keyboards, has performed with many of Canada's jazz notables including singers Trish Colter, Rita Di Ghent, Jackie Richardson, Heather Bambrick, Barb Lica and instrumentalists Phil Nimmons, Rick Wilkins, Alex Dean, Peter Appleyard, Dave McMurdo, Ted Warren, Duncan Hopkins and Mike Malone as well as American jazzers Louis Smith and Mike Grace. He has performed internationally at the Focsani Blues Festival in Romania with Barb Lica and Chris Cigolea and at The Queenstown International Jazz Festival in New Zealand with Jason Thornton. He holds Bachelor of Music ( Honours ) and Bachelor of Education degrees from The University of Western Ontario, studied at The Banff School for the Performing Arts and spent three years in New Zealand teaching Jazz and Improvisation at James Hargest College.
ANDY KLAEHN, Clarinet and Saxophones, is a dynamic multi-talented, professional musician, bandleader, and master teacher. He is a highly sought after soprano, alto and tenor sax player as well as a flute and clarinet player performing with various artists in a wide array of collaborations from duos to sextets. Andy is an active member of the Faculty of Music at the University of Guelph as well as a woodwind teacher in local private studios.
JOHN GODDARD, Percussion, is very active in both the jazz and classical idioms. During his career as a jazz drummer he has performed with a variety of recording artists including Carol Welsman, Peter Appleyard, Phil Nimmons, Shirley Eikhard and Heather Bambrick. His experience in the classical field has included gigs with a number of orchestra and theatre companies in South-Western Ontario. In addition to maintaining a private percussion studio he enjoys his positions as Director of the University of Guelph Concert Winds and instructor of Applied Percussion.
GREG PRIOR, Bass, is a feelance bassist who has performed with the Waterloo Chamber Players, Big Band Theory, as well as Michael Wood, Ernie Kalwa, Andriy Tykhonov, Tim Moher and many other artists. Before he moved to Waterloo from Calgary he performed with The Lethbridge Symphony, The Red Deer Symphony, and the Symphony of the Kootenays. He has toured with many artists at Jazz festivals throughout Canada and at the Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland. Greg studied and performed in Havana,Cuba with the Latin jazz ensemble Masacote. He holds a Bachelor of Music degree from The University of Calgary and studied at the Banff School for the Performing Arts.
This area is fully editable and gives you the opportunity to go into more detail about your business, what you do and what sets you apart from the competition.
This area is editable and gives you the opportunity to go into more detail about your business, what you do and what makes you just that little bit special.
This area is fully editable and gives you the opportunity to go into more detail about your business, what you do and what sets you apart from the competition.
Your homepage should be the first page that visitors to your site see, so make sure you give a concise overview of who you are, what you do and why you are right for them. This area is 100% editable and you can use it to say whatever you wish to your website visitors. And remember, of course, all the images are fully editable so you can add your own!


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I've been to the Oregon Coast more times than I can count. I mean, when it's a clear and warm sunny day, there is nowhere else on earth more breathtaking, more jaw dropping, more (enter cliché here. You get it) than the Oregon Coast. But, even with all of these visits, I haven't seen everything that there is to see. Not by a long shot.
In Newport, for example, there is Mariner Square and it's trio of otherworldly attractions.
Newport, Oregon lies about two hours south west of downtown Portland. In addition to stunning Oregon Coast lines, delicious, fresh seafood, the smell of fresh ocean air, Portland's weirdness permeates—even this far south, with the three strange attractions found here.
One three day weekend, we piled into the family Subaru and made the trek south. We checked into our beach front hotel and listened to the waves caress the shoreline. We made our way to Mariner Square and attraction number one: Ripley's Believe it or Not!.
I think most of us are familiar with Ripley's, or at least the concept of Ripley's. Oddities. Strangeness and general weirdness, all combining into one delightfully creepy museum. Beginning nearly 100 years ago as a cartoon strip penned by Robert Ripley, Ripley began collecting oddities from all over the world. As the product of this strange hobby, Ripley's Believe It or Not! at Mariner Square features a plethora of oddities, from shrunken heads to a magic harp. After touring through the museum, we entered into the deep-space hall of mirrors and a live stage performance filled with little-known facts and bizarre sights. My son and I were enthralled. My daughter gave the exhibit a rating of "Gross." And, thus, we moved on to attraction number two.
Celebrity sightings galore, Madame Tussaud style at the Wax Works Wax Museum. Who knew that these wax figures, which start out as shapeless clay blobs, could produce such eerily lifelike results. The ensemble—which includes Marilyn Monroe and sci-fi legends including Frankenstein and Mr. Spock—are created with such skill that on more than one occasion, I had to do a double take. I hope no one saw me. That would make me feel quite silly.
We all loved it, but, we were hungry and tired so, it was off to dinner at Mo's and back to the hotel where the waves would lull us to sleep.
I was sure to sleep well because I knew the second day in Mariner Square would be a big one. This was the day where my daughter, the future marine biologist, would get her big treat with the Oregon Undersea Gardens.
After enjoying a continental breakfast and a quick frolic on the beach, we made our way back to the square. The Oregon Undersea Gardens is housed within a 150-foot-long ship. From this ship, we saw collections of luminous alabaster and ruby sea anemones. An enormous coral octopus puffed its way through schools of rainbow colored fish while a scary looking, grey wolf eel lay in wait for his next meal. More than just a display, though, my daughter got her first glimpse of marine biology school during the live show, which featured a diver displaying and pointing out undersea creatures and a narrator who detailed how starfish move, helped tocoax the octopus out from hiding. My daughter dubbed this attraction: "Awesome."
Mariner Square in Newport, Oregon is a super cool way to spend a weekend. And, if you purchase all three attractions together, you can catch a discount, which makes this happy Portlander even happier.


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Tuesday 15th January - Friday 1st February at The Theatre Chipping Norton
A fine art photographer who lives in the Vale of Evesham and exhibits in the Cotswolds is staging her first major solo show at The Theatre Chi
Sunday 25th November - Sunday 27th January 2008 Shipston-on-Stour Warwickshire
A Christmas Exhibition at the well known and well loved Where I Fell In Love Gallery at Shipston -on-Stour.
Painting by Lynette Pierce, Judy Symons and Sarah Mayne.
Ceramics by Sonia Lewis, Lucinda Brown, Ian Rylatt and Anthony Eccles.
Sculpture by Janine Hadley, Julia Gatrill and Joao.
Glass by Jonas Bragi Jonasson.
Wood by Roy Dutton and Mark Hancock.
Jewellery by Andrea Thorpe and Wen
Sunday 14th October - Sunday 18th November, Where I Fell in Love Gallery
Bruno Dauvin has gathered together exhibits by the following four leading British artists for his Autumn Show.
Ceramicists Emma Rodgers and David Jones, Painter Anuk Naumann and Woodturner Mike Scott "Chai", all leaders in their respective artistic fields.
Emma Rodgers is a Wirral based a
2012 - London Olympic Games & 400th anniversary of Cotswold Olimpick Games
During their successful bid for the 2012 London Olympic Games the British Olympic Association included the following statement "An Olympic Games held in London in 2012 will mark a unique anniversary - it will be exactly 400 years from the moment that the first stirrings of Britain's Olympic beginnings can be identified.


text: To be clear, WE ALL WANT the new Apple Watch, or do we? So who mocked it better? In terms of "mocking" as in "ha, ha," hands down Colbert's wins. But back in O'13 we did create our own mock up of the device. While we can't compete with Colbert's comedic timing, his writers messaging, and large captive audience, maybe his prop master could have consulted us to make a more elegant looking contraption to poke fun of the Apple Watch. Continue reading


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And if I am at home, its a food bonanza. The first thing Ma does when I come home is to list all my favourite dishes and draw up a schedule for them !!! By the end of the day, my stomach is groaning in protest , and Ma is showing no signs of relenting. In fact, she's just started and is looking forward to a whole week of cooking some 100 dishes. No point looking to Dad for support. Although he himself eats hardly anything, he gets all caught up in the flurry and becomes enthu about the whole affair and actually contributes his own ("I'll make my special fried rice today!!!").
At breakfast Ma discusses the menu for lunch.
At lunch she discusses the menu for dinner.
At dinner she discusses the menu for the next day's breakfast.
Each meal has at least 3 different kinds of dishes.
There is a brunch between breakfast and lunch.
And a "high tea" between lunch and dinner.
My sister raises a strong protest ("No fried stuff for me...and NO Ma I will NOT have a third helping...Of course its tasty but how much can one girl eat anyways???"). So Ma has unofficially adopted two of my school friends who're in Bangalore and plies them with food every time they come to visit (which is oftener than me!!!!). No wonder Ma is a hot fave with all my and Pree's friends. Its amazing how much food can be cooked in one day and by just one woman!!
So much love, so much affection, so much enthusiasm and care goes into the preparation of each delicacy. Standing and grinding the idli batter for hours.. sifting, mixing, boiling to the right consistency.. baking till its just right.. beating till its soft and fluffy.. stirring tirelessly to make sure it doesnt burn.... who else but Ma could do all this just for the pleasure of seeing others relishing those exquiste flavours, savouring the aroma. She hardly eats anything herself, but fills herself with the satisfaction of seeing me bloating before her very eyes as I take that extra helping which I promised myself I wouldn't take...
There's magic flowing through Ma's hands..and the magic comes from her heart... Love you Ma!!!


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Anatoliy Solovianenko
Anatoliy Solovianenko
Anatoliy Solovianenko, circa 1984
|Native name
|29 July 1999 (aged 66)
|Opera singer (tenor)
Anatoliy Solovianenko (sometime transliterated as Anatolii Solovyanenko;[1] Ukrainian: Анатолій Борисович Солов'яненко; Russian: Анатолий Борисович Соловья́ненко) (September 25, 1932 – 29 July 1999) was a Soviet operatic tenor, People's Artist of the USSR (1975), People's Artist of Ukraine, and State Taras Shevchenko prize-winner.[2]
He was born into a mining family in Donetsk and graduated from Donetsk Polytechnic Institute in 1954. He also studied singing with Alexander Korobeichenko from 1950. Solovianenko began his career in Donetsk, where there is now a monument in his memory.[3] He made twelve performances at the Metropolitan Opera in Kiev, then graduated from Kiev Conservatory in 1978. For 30 years, he was soloist at the Taras Shevchenko National Opera and Ballet Theatre in Kiev, and performed at Expo 67 in Montreal.[4] During the 1977–78 season, Solovianenko performed as a soloist at the New York Metropolitan Opera.[5][6] He also performed as soloist for the Alexandrov Ensemble during its UK tour 1988, singing "Kalinka" and other songs.[7] He recorded 18 LPs of arias, romances and songs.[8]
Life and career[edit]
Anatoliy Solovianenko was born in Donetsk (Stalino at that time) on 25 September 1932 into a miner's family.[9][10] In 1954 he graduated from Donetsk Technical University,[11] after which he taught there in the engineering graphics department.[5]
He began taking singing lessons in 1950 from Alexander Korobeychenko, Honoured Artist of the Russian Soviet Republic. Success in a popular talent show of 1962 led to an invitation to sing at the National Opera of Ukraine. But before starting work in the National Opera, Solovyanenko won the young singers' contest at Milan's La Scala, and studied there for three years (1963–1965). He became the first Soviet singer to receive an invitation to perform at New York's Metropolitan Opera.[10][12] Starting from 1965 Solovyanenko performed with the National Opera of Ukraine. In 1967, he was awarded the rank of Honoured Artist of Ukraine, and in 1975 the rank of People's Artist of the USSR.
He graduated from the Kiev Conservatory in 1978. Being the soloist of the National Opera, Anatoliy Solovyanenko sang 18 parts, among them: Duke (Rigoletto), Alfredo (La Traviata), Tenor (Requiem), Edgar (Lucia di Lammermoor), Rodolfo (La Boheme), Kavarosen (Tosca), Faust (Faust), Lenskiy (Yevgeniy Onegin), Pretender (Boris Godunov), Andrey (Zaporozhec across the Danube) and many others. Anatoliy Solovyanenko was married and had two sons, Andrey and Anatoliy.
Anatoliy Solovyanenko died suddenly from a heart attack on 29 July 1999. Among various government officials who attended his funeral was President Leonid Kuchma,[1] and several months later, in December 1999, the Donetsk State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre was renamed in his honor by the Ukrainian Cabinet.[13] In 2001, a statue of the singer was installed at Kozyn (within the Kyivska oblast), where he is buried.[14]
- 1967 - Honoured Artist of Ukraine
- 1975 - People's Artist of the USSR
- 1980 - Lenin Prize, money prize was transferred by A.Solovyanenko to the Peace Committee
- 1982 - Miner's Glory Medal, Order of Friendship of Peoples
- 1993 - Badge of Honour from President of Ukraine
- 1997 - Taras Shevchenko National Prize
- Donetsk Opera and Ballet Theater was named in honor of Anatoly Solovyanenko. The monument to him was installed near the theatre.
- Another monument was installed in Kiev at 16 Institutska Street; the house is marked by a memorial plaque.
- A musical named "Vyzov Sud'be" (eng. - Defy the odds) featuring A. Solovyanenko was filmed at the Dovzhenko Film Studios
- In 1982 a book by A.K. Tereshchenko "A. Solovyanenko" was published, and reprinted in 1988.
- ^ a b "Anatolii Solovyanenko, world-renowned tenor, 66". Ukrainian Weekly. 1999. Retrieved 18 November 2011.
- ^ Bank.gov.ua webpage: commemorative coin celebrating Solovianenko 1999. Archived 2011-09-27 at the Wayback Machine
- ^ Olymp Travel Ltd: travel guide to Donetsk region.
- ^ "Ukrainian Music in Canada". The Canadian Encyclopedia Archived June 8, 2011, at the Wayback Machine
- ^ a b "Ukrainian opera singer Anatoliy Solovianenko dies at 66". Associated Press. 30 July 1999. Retrieved 18 November 2011.
- ^ V. A. Smoliĭ; Oksana Onoprii︠e︡nko (2001). Golden Book of Ukrainian Elite , Volume 2. Kompanii︠a︡ "I︠E︡vroimidz︠h︡". p. 417. ISBN 978-966-7867-11-9. Retrieved 18 November 2011.
In 1977, A. Solovianenko toured in the USA giving a triumphant concert at New York Metropolitan Opera.
- ^ Information from VHS packaging: see Alexandrov Ensemble discography page.
- ^ Translated narod.ru webpage: Biography and discography of Solovyanenko (in Russian)
- ^ словари. "Соловьяненко Анатолий Борисович (1932—1999) — Кто есть кто в культуре — Яндекс.Словари". Slovari.yandex.ru. Retrieved 2013-09-01.
- ^ a b RIN.RU. http://rin.ru (1932-09-25). "Solovyanenko Anatoly, photo, biography". Persona.rin.ru. Retrieved 2013-09-01.
- ^ http://who-is-who.ua/bookmaket/nagorody2006/17/119.html. Retrieved August 30, 2013. Missing or empty
|title=(help)[dead link]
- ^ "Anatoly Solovyanenko. Ukrainian folk songs. // www.UMKA.com.ua". Umka.com.ua. Retrieved 2013-09-01.
- ^ "History of Theatre". donetsk-opera-ballet.org. Retrieved 18 November 2011.
- ^ Yevgeny, Orlovsky (30 July 2001). "Фото УНІАН". UNIAN. Retrieved 18 November 2011.
External links[edit]
|Wikimedia Commons has media related to Anatoliy Solovyanenko.


text:
"He might be Danish by birth, but from the first dirgey guitar chords of the titular opener of his third album Dark Hours, Jacob Faurholt instantly transports the listener to the sort of gothic Americana hinterland that has been populated by the likes of Will Oldham and Sparklehorse."
We at IndieLaundry couldn't agree more with the review in Drowned In Sound . You have to chef Jacob Faurholt out. It's a gem.
"Creatures in the Sea" is from the album "Dark Hours" (out August 15th 2011 on Raw Onion Records). It features Sóley from the Icelandic band Seabear on vocals and piano.
Jacob Faurholt - Creatures in the Sea from Jacob Faurholt on Vimeo.