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Past Present Printed news Real time news via internet Either oral or written communication Audio-visual, mixed Kids play Pinoy games outdoors e.
Going beyond connectivity Rapid changes in IoT technology make it challenging for even the most experienced experts to anticipate the future of standardization in the field.
Soon every device you own — and nearly every object you can imagine — will be connected to the Internet. People live-tweet arguments they overhear at restaurants, Snapchat clips from concerts in real time, and even pose for social media shots at funerals.
This, in turn, has actually decreased the significance of personal life events, like family, college, and high school reunions. Conclusion The impact of the internet on the American society is deep. This doesn't make sense: There needs to be some penalty for illegal downloading, although slowing the access speed of a lawbreaker makes more sense than cutting their account entirely.
Moreover, since media influence is powerful, it tends to be described as a reflection of society. But the real fight is between media executives and technology investors — it's worth remembering that Napster received money from a hedge fund — who want to use the media to build their businesses.
Piracy was always a nuisance, but never a serious threat. Importantly, the internet is also the fundamental enabler of the Fourth Industrial Revolution. NBC isn't the only major media business that has fallen on hard times. One is able to cherish accomplishment only if it comes after a struggle.
Legally or not, the companies essentially outsource their costs. Technology companies often promote the idea that "information wants to be free", as technologist Stewart Brand said, because it's so cheap to deliver.
Necessities of the past have been long removed from the worries of today as inventions and innovations came into play. Perhaps worst of all, the difficulty of making money on original work is curtailing the kind of innovation promised by the internet.
Many reformers say they favour protection, but view any attempt to enforce it as unacceptable. The network earned its ratings by pushing boundaries — Miami Vice stylised the police drama, while Hill Street Blues gave it gritty realism. When your communication skills are lessened gradually, you begin to spend less time speaking to your family, experience more daily stress, and feeling depressed and lonely.
American couples are including aspects of Indian culture in their weddings ; European youth are beginning to throw American-style graduation parties. Traditionally, that market was created by copyright, but those laws haven't been enforced effectively online. It has that cultural and mass effect.
Some pundits even suggest the price of media will inevitably fall to that level. By sensing the things in our world, systems will be better able to keep running without human intervention until something needs or will need, e.
Most people want to play safe so they prefer the tried and tested way. Knowledge management — Due to the shift of traditional media to converging with the internet, specifically Web 2. Evanhoe lists the multiple benefits: By the same token, why should internet users be allowed to access sites that clearly — and that last word is important — violate UK law?
For example, if a company that develops smart clothing is different from a company that develops smart home technology, the chances of their products communicating are minimal.
Notice how sensationalized the headlines are? The Washington Post is one of many media companies losing money for their work through the internet. Although much progress has been made in closing the digital divide, the challenge remains huge, complex and multidimensional. The Internet also makes communication easy and fast, whether that is via calls, such as voice over internet protocol VOIPvideo calls like those available with Skype, emails, forums or social media.The Internet of Things (IoT) has the power to change our world.
And while we are starting to see its incredible impact, we are still very much at the beginning of the transformational journey. Here's a look into the current state of affairs in the race to standardize IoT, along with what people are saying about it.
The growing market for tech jobs will continue to increase as technologies become even further integrated into society. More and more jobs will become available to individuals that obtained degrees in technology orientated fields.
Clearly, there has been an increase in many teenagers' addiction to the Internet. While teenagers use the Internet effectively for educational research, they also the Internet as a way of communicating with society. The Impact of the Internet on Society The internet is a big impact on our society today.
It has been around for quite some time. In fact, inthe U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency initiated a research to develop communication protocols that would allow networked computers to communicate transparently across multiple.
The impact of the internet on the American society is deep. It's both negative and positive. It's both negative and positive.
The internet has largely affected every aspect of. The Internet Society participated in a Routing Security Workshop that was held during the Internet2 Technology Exchange on Load More The Internet Society supports the work of the Internet Engineering Task Force (IETF) to create open standards for the Internet.Download


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All in Hashem's Hands
The Gemara in מסכת מכות teaches the idea that בדרך שאדם רוצה לילך בה מוליכין אותו, that a person will be led on the path that he wishes to take.
This is learned from Bilaam. Hashem told him not to go with Balak to curse the Jewish people, but he went anyways.
The תורה תמימה says that Hashem allowed Bilaam to go because of the principle, הכל בידי שמים חוץ מיראת שמים, that everything is from Heaven, except for fear of Heaven. Man has complete free will as to choose whether or not he will fear G-d.
What this means is that Hashem saw how badly Bilaam wanted to go, so He allowed it. Part of the way that Hashem runs the world, is that He allows a person to take the path that the person wants to take.
The only thing that went wrong in terms of Bilaam's plan, was that Hashem allowed him to go, but He would not allow him to harm עם ישראל.
The bottom line is that we must never forget for a moment that it is Hashem that is running the world, and we are totally dependent upon Him.

subset: commoncrawl


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Database shows robust use of open government provisions in county
U-T Watchdog compiled a database of public records requests across the region to mark Sunshine Week, a national effort to raise awareness of open government issues.
The Watchdog asked 107 agencies for their log of records requests, from January 2015 to the present. All but 10 have complied. The result is a database of 11,166 requests for everything from unpaid parking citations at UC San Diego to sprinkler plans at the City of Poway and dam inspections at the Rainbow Water District.
You can search the requests by agency, by requester and by item requested:
"Unknown" indicates that the agency provided information in a particular field, but that specific entry was left blank, redacted or indeterminable through emails. A "not provided" indicates the agency did not provide any information for that particular date category. Some blanks were created because the U-T redacted people's phone numbers and email addresses.
Some agencies provided partial information. For example, the City of Del Mar was only able to provide requests made early this year because of a server failure. Fallbrook Union High School District did not keep a log and was only able to search emails from the last 180 days.
Also see
San Dieguito Water District is not included in the database since it has not received any requests since January 2015, according to the Encinitas City Clerk who handles all requests for the district.
Ten public entities have yet to comply with U-T Watchdog's request for their public records request log after almost a month: Tri-City Health Care District, San Diego Airport Authority, San Ysidro School District, Dehesa School District, Lakeside Union School District, Oceanside Unified School District, San Diego Unified School District, Warner Unified School District, San Marcos School District and Vista Unified School District.


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About Busy Mornings (From Mr. Speech)
Post 598:
Mr. Speech: A Novel
Added Content
Entry One: Mr. Speech—Beliefs—Buses
It was never the plan. I was reading my old fingerprint-stained copy of Samuel Thatcher's Orders From the Mountain, doing a decent job of shutting out the muted but unflagging sound of the crowd outside. He came charging in the tent, cumbersome, hands full with Nelson's rumpled suit. Nelson was an okay guy. Sort of. I probably wouldn't say that if he hadn't gotten me the job and been moderately cordial in grad school. I thought to engage the situation on some level, but it was complicated. The Secret Service was on the other side of the flap, poking their heads in every second or two, ever watchful of their charge, ever aware that he was far from typical. Dumb thought. They didn't protect the typical.
I was on my back, feet up on an old couch. It smelled like a grandmother's house. Probably a donation to the campaign. Old ladies liked him for reasons I imagined but didn't fully understand. The thought made me sad. Being old and confused. Sadder still, I'd probably think it again before it was all over.
Stay out it. My lips tightened to prevent any fugitive comments. It seemed an unreasonable time to abandon one of my life philosophies.
I drew the old novel closer to my face. Attempts at blending in were of course ridiculous, but I felt as frozen as a child caught in a game of hide and seek. Samuel Thatcher and his wonderful prose couldn't begin to save me; I thought I'd perfected the art of shutting out my surroundings, but the tent was steaming, full of anger and noise and the pushing and pulling of waning testosterone and waxing frustration. The nerves started to pile on; my toes curled tight inside my old 80s-style Adidas as they hung over the end of the couch.
"You're fired," he said, letting Nelson collapse to the floor. "It's not cutting it. People want passion. Inspiration. Your approach doesn't make me feel anything. If I don't feel anything, how can they?"
A reasonable enough question. Sort of. Having the candidate worry about the feelings of others was double-edged. It meant he cared. That was good. It also meant he was thinking. Not so good.
Little things I was picking up along the way.
Nelson pulled at his tie, droopy cheeks red as he tried to gather his breath. Another peek away from Mr. Thatcher told me the poor guy was on the verge of tears. I felt bad. He had a reputation to think about.
I tried not to think about it.
That I was quitting at the end of the week gave me some comfort. This was no place for a person like me. Me and the couch made sense together. Made for another time. I liked to read Mr. Thatcher and write novels with ideas buried so deep down, I wasn't even sure what I was driving at. Sound bytes and sociopaths weren't my scene.
Out of touch narcissists were more my speed; people with too many degrees and love for the world but no one in particular.
As Nelson's head fell at the candidate's wingtips, I closed my eyes. He was crying. It was horrible. Male fragility. A fine thing, but better in theory.
"You," he said, snapping his giant thumb and giant middle finger. I swung my feet around and stood up with a straight back, trying my best not to be Nelson.
"Yes, sir."
"What's your name again?"
"Is that your last name?"
"No—sorry, sir. Harold Abbot."
"Do you want the job?"
I'd been around enough for the last few months to know that he didn't like to wait for rejoinders. I took one more look at sad, snotty Nelson, and gave the man lording over him as firm an answer as I could. "Eh. No thank you."
He didn't seem offended or surprised, which I found rather surprising. He smiled mischievously and asked, "I've seen you around, looking like you're someplace else. Where is it you're going?"
"Europe, I think. My first novel did okay. Trying to finish another."
"That sounds small and I don't like it. Small talk, while there's giants to be slain. You realize that makes you ridiculous?"
"Yes, sir. I suppose it does."
"We're all stupid in youth," he said. "But you're the message guy. I need you. It's time to matter. Europe and novels don't matter."
I should've been horrified. Nothing mattered more to me than novels, and I rather liked Europe. Slender streets. Quaintness. Real romance. Imagined romance.
And yet.
Loaded with all that, I still acquiesced. My resolve had flown. As Nelson continued to blubber at our feet, I tentatively accepted his job, shaking Karl Donnell's bulky, hairy hand. The bones felt thick, like they'd been broken and healed without proper setting.
I thought about Mr. Thatcher and a fresh batch of shame asserted itself.
"Let's go get a beer, Speech Man."
"Are you going to call me that all the time?"
"I like it. It's a title. Titles are important. You don't like it?"
I didn't answer.
"What were you reading?" he asked, manhandling me through the trucks and tents, people I'd tried to ignore and who'd tried to ignore me for the last few months. They were all leering, thinking the same thing I was: What's Harry Abbot doing at the side of the big guy?
"Orders From the Mountain," I said, trying not to crumble at the hands that had just crumbled my predecessor. "By Sam Thatcher."
"Always liked that one," he said, loosening his grip on my shoulder as we walked into a trailer. Inside was the head of the campaign, Bridget Waterton. She had one of the most beautiful faces I'd ever seen. It was impossibly symmetrical and without blemish. She was well into her forties and somehow looked brand new. Her dark eyes and warm olive skin made it hard not to stare.
I buried my chin against my chest, looking down to my Adidas and their fraying shoelaces. A fitting compliment to sweaty khakis and rolled-up sleeves. My only salvation was a white dress shirt—it was days from a wash, but the color hid the pools starting to collect underneath each arm. Though the entourage was sitting in the shadow of a massive stadium, my skin was just about cooked from our hurried walk from the tent. "I'm sorry, sir?" I asked, having forgotten his last comment.
"I said I always liked Orders From the Mountain. A rich commentary on the dissemination of belief."
I looked at the candidate and tried my best for a poker face.
"Or is that wrong?" he prodded. A look over at Beautiful Bridget told me she was interested in my response.
I smiled tightly and said he was right.
"Then what's so funny?"
"If I'm being honest, most people know at least that much about the book. It doesn't mean you've actually read it."
Beautiful Bridget's beautiful eyes were as open as hangar doors. She was aghast at my cheek. So was I.
The candidate held out an admonishing hand as a signal to take a seat. I buckled at the nonverbal request and gave Beautiful Bridget a look like Tell my parents where they buried my body. It was then I realized she was might've been interested, but she didn't care.
Shit. I was screwed. My parents were screwed. They were destined to become people that spent their retirement years hoping underneath their breath, waiting for my return.
"Ms. Waterton. This is Mr. Abbot. He doesn't want to work for me. I like that about him, but it needs to stop."
"Sir," she answered. I guess it meant yes or that's great, though you could've said it meant this guy's a complete joke and it wouldn't have surprised me.
He sat down next to me. Close. I scooted over. It was one of those L-shaped cushions that half-surrounded a small table. There was very little room. He was a hefty man. The trailer didn't seem appropriately sized, thought I'd never been in one. I thought of cruel, tiny cages at zoos where they keep magnificent beasts. I imagined them, to be more accurate. Like most people, I didn't know much about things. Things like zoos and airplanes and political campaigns and talking to the most talked-about man in America. I'd just turned thirty. I was a great, obscure artist, and my greatness had just begun. Nascent. A sap. No. A sapling. Whatever.
The candidate crossed his legs and looked away from my perspiring face, staring at the little laminated table. His eyes went soft and his posture slackened. He was suddenly professorial—maybe even protective. It was weird. "I love the way Sam Thatcher ended up using Davis' wife as the agent of his end. You could feel the irony coming all the way, but it didn't make it any less horrifying."
"I agree." I did agree. His assessment of the novel wasn't bad, but I was still unconvinced. Maybe the wily bastard had read a synopsis on his phone. Part of prep for selling me on the job. Connell was a political figure now, so it seemed a safe assumption that every word he uttered was contrived.
"'And with the flood that was their belief, it mattered little. He smiled and wept during his last breaths. The voice that had inspired a few and then millions was forever silenced. If he'd mattered more to a few, it might've been better. He slipped off, regarded by millions, regarding himself no more. She hung over him half-proud, half-remorseful, as he'd been during those last years.'"
"Not bad, sir."
"I've read it."
I nodded. "The quote aids my credulity." It did. Still. I was most likely just one more dupe in a long cue. My mind wandered to an especially rough encounter involving my undercarriage and a rusty turnstile at Fenway.
There was a tickle in my throat. Catching it was loud enough to change my own thought direction.
Karl Donnell was still looking at the table. His superhero jaw was disengaged. The candidate was holding to his avuncular settings. Beautiful Bridget was still impossible with her beauty. I was twitchy and needing a haircut. "What's going to happen to Nelson Andrews?" I asked, not fully understanding why it was first on my docket.
"Andrews will be fine," said the candidate, issuing a dismissive wave of his giant hand. He was five moves down the line from a moment that felt five seconds ago.
Huh was all I could manage for a rebuttal.
"We'll make sure he lands upright," said Beautiful Bridget, snapping closed her laptop with an air of accomplishment. "Punitive isn't our style."
"Really? Because the guy looked stooped. For life. That was watching a time lapse video of a person succumbing to arthritis."
"We're giving him a lot of money to go away. You have no idea." Bridget Waterton came over and sat down on the bench. It was ridiculous. There were other places to sit. Now I was crumpled between them, feeling like a guy in a Scorsese movie right before he gets whacked, pinned in by two overly familiar strangers. "We want you crafting the message. We want someone that doesn't care about the game."
"I care."
"No you don't," Bridget said, smiling, applying a hand to my knee. I looked down and prayed she wouldn't plunge her blood-red fingernails through my khakis. "You're here for a paycheck, and you're smart. We like that."
"I don't understand."
"We know that too," she returned. "Smart and understanding aren't the same thing. But it'll start making sense. The world is too strange for the same old tired sentiments. We need someone to do a job. Someone creative, ready to innovate, and completely dispassionate about politics."
"Isn't that your job?" I asked, wrinkling my eyebrows at Beautiful Bridget. She smelled too good. It was the first time I'd ever been terrified of breathing.
"It's all our jobs. But someone needs to put the words together. Do it, and we'll pay you enough to write novels for the rest of your life. Not yet, but eventually. The money, if you do the job we think you can. Then your little books. People will actually read them. Reputation. Status. It's a great deal."
I had no idea what to say, but I didn't feel like they were going to let me call timeout. "I'll do it. Pay me double what you were paying Nelson, and I never get mentioned as the speechwriter. Not until I want. Or if I want. That's the deal. It's important. Needs to be in writing."
"Good enough," said the candidate, thumping the table with a closed fist. The bus' hydraulics bellowed and the engine immediately started. It was like a magic trick. A very creepy magic trick. Was the bus driver listening in? Was that wise? My eyes were dilating in disbelief as I mentioned that all my stuff was back in the tent.
"We'll get you new stuff. New. And no more laying on couches. Actually, check that. Do whatever it is you have to do. I understand process."
Karl Donnell said process ten or fifteen more times. It was like sitting before a more robust Howard Hughes. Suddenly he went quiet and leaned back, falling asleep.
Part of his process, I assumed.
A thin man came out from behind a partition wearing a suit and looked at me unflinchingly. I asked if he was on the protection detail and he continued staring until he gave me the courtesy of a microscopic nod. Beautiful Bridget went back to her little table and started whacking her laptop. I could breathe now, but thinking wasn't coming so easy. Was this how the universe worked? Maybe so. It hadn't worked according to any of my previous theories. Maybe there's life and then there's a bus and you get on.
Maybe. I found my own nook and went back to reading Orders From the Mountain. It was hard. Suddenly Samuel Thatcher didn't understand me at all. Joey Bottoms, the main protagonist, had nothing to say about my situation. He was a soldier from the Appalachians who killed his brother after the Civil War. Joey Bottoms was an idiot. Whatever the reasons, they'd made it through a conflict famous for pitting brother against brother. Joey couldn't just let it go. What an asshole. Samuel Thatcher was a silly man. He didn't understand being whisked away on a magic bus with a guy running for president. Sam Thatcher was dead. And they didn't even have buses when he was alive.
"I'm going insane," I said, quite loud.
Beautiful Bridget stopped key pounding and turned to me. "Just do your best to manage it. Try going through a divorce at the same time."
It was a normal thing to hear, oddly. Domestic. A thing normal people go through. I sat up from my stupor and said, "Sorry to hear about that."
"It's fine. The whole thing with Nelson's going to make the break a lot cleaner."
"How's that?"
"I'm married to his brother."
"Jesus. You people."
Bridget shrugged her shoulders and put on a giant pair of white headphones, recommencing the destruction of her keyboard.
I grabbed for my book and immediately started apologizing to its wrinkled pages. Joey Bottoms wasn't an asshole. Buses or no buses, he was more real than the surreal storm of shit swirling around me.
Entry Two: Mattering—Red Hair—Slugger
It was almost two in the morning. A few weeks into my job as the campaign's head speech writer. I hunched over at the bar of the Hotel America Dryden. It was almost completely dark, making it challenging to work up my notes for the following day's event. A rally in Milwaukee. I squinted and let out a rudely audible sigh. The sound caused the bartender, an attractive redhead about my age, to pause and look up from cleaning glasses. "Everything okay over there?" She added an oblique look, unique to service industry folks at the end of a long shift. I'd thrown similar shade at many a customer over the years, pouring drinks to pay for the completion of my PhD. Three degrees in little frames, hanging on a wall in a lonely apartment I never saw; they represented honest toil, but I couldn't help thinking they were utterly meaningless. Still in a bar. Late at night. A sense that something had gone wrong.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask."
"Do you give a crap about politics?"
"Sort of an odd question. Well I guess not, considering the circus." She leaned on the bar and her face caught more of the low light. She was prettier than my initial assessment; a little thin, but kind. Her hazel eyes were open and interested. I blinked away a wave of fatigue and tried recapturing my manners.
"Sorry. Been a little one track lately. Not much chance for normal conversation." I set down my pen and looked over her head, catching an unflattering reflection of my face over bottles of high-end liquors. "Can't remember having an actual conversation, actually."
"Sounds weird."
"Weird for sure. Again. Apologies."
"You work for Karl Donnell? The guy running for president? That's the big time."
I hesitated. My attachment to the campaign remained unofficial and had to stay that way. I was a literary man. One couldn't be known to jump from political hack to purveyor of prose. The two worlds didn't mix, both full of the most judgmental and exclusionary lunatics anyone would ever have the good sense to flee. "What's your name?"
"Gail Frasier."
"Can I buy you a drink, Gail Frasier?"
"Scotch like yours?"
"Anything you want. Figure it's fair play after sitting over here sulking."
"You are a bit of a brooder," she smiled, refilling my glass and pouring herself a double.
"A handsome brooder." A small smile formed on her lips before the glass met her mouth. I drank mine dry and did what I could to keep from coughing.
"Kind of you." The low light saved me. I was blushing like a little girl.
"Answer to your question, though, I do care. About politics. Concretely. Tonight it's sorta ruining my life. That doesn't make sense. But you know what I mean."
"You mean business is slow." My eyes were a little fuzzy and my insides fought the sting of the fifteen-year-old whisky.
"Exactly. Big shot comes to town and completely has the run of the place. We fight for shifts here. Nicest place in town. Friday night. But I'm out a half month's rent because his people aren't allowed to drink."
"And as a corollary, the press guys find a cheaper spot."
"You get it. The Commodore Room. Shithole down on the corner. My girlfriend's are cleaning up down there." Gail Frasier set down her glass and put a hand to her forehead. "Geez. That wasn't cool."
"Don't worry about it. Seriously. I worked bars for years. Tended. Played music. The door. A pendulous trade."
"A pendulous trade. That's a way of saying it."
"Stupid to talk like that. Bad habit." I knew I shouldn't, but I held out my glass for another. It was cloudy from my ink-stained fingers. She switched it for a fresh one.
"Not if it's the way you talk. If that's the way you are, then screw the rest of us for not speaking the same language."
I hid a smirk. It was one of two things. The lovely Gail Frasier was buttering me up, making a final play for a big tip before closing, or, she was interested in taking it upstairs.
Or maybe she just wanted a few free belts.
The two or three customers sitting at little tables in the back began closing out. "I'm going to—"
I stood up and slipped a stack of yellow notepapers into my journal, smiling what I hoped to be a disarming smile. I didn't work. She seemed mad, which meant maybe she did like me. Did like me.
"There's three hundred dollars."
Gail Frasier nodded with an air of quiet satisfaction. She'd expected more. That I could afford more. I couldn't, not yet, and the fact that I couldn't somehow found a sweet spot with her. Women in bars at night, drinks going back and forth. Not exactly hard and fast rules.
"You headed to your room?" she asked.
"I am. Long day tomorrow. Can I ask you one more question?"
"Suppose the three hundred buys you a little leeway."
"You ever read Claire Lauren Sees Through?"
"In high school. Don't remember much of it. Think it was boring, the way anything you have to do is boring when you're that age. Why?"
"You remind me of the main character. Rosaline. Red hair and pretty. Independent but sweet. Not one to suffer fools."
"Wasn't she the one that refused the what's his name? Some rich guy or something?"
"Yeah. Rosaline found exactly the thing she wanted. Society told her one thing and her own morality told her another. It's a good story. Classic. Good."
"Sort of a weird guy. Aren't you?"
"Probably. Definitely a bit of a brooder."
"Never got your name. What do you for the Donnell campaign?"
There was a half finger of scotch still in my new glass. I breathed it in and set it gently down on the smooth dark wood, close enough to Gail's hand to just about feel her skin touch mine. "I never said I did. Goodnight, Miss Frasier."
A bit abrupt. The thought occurred to me, just walking away like that. Maybe a little bit smooth, but mostly just rude. Still, it seemed the wisest course. I was tipsy and might reveal my position to a girl I knew nothing about. I considered lying. Lying was always a viable option, though it wasn't the sharpest tool in my kit. A story, perhaps. Giving out a fake name, regaling her with tales of my burgeoning fake real estate empire on the way up to my limp queen mattress for a roll that would probably be a little bit great and a little more awkward.
I was choosing sleep. It was time to get it together. If she was objecting to my quick exit, I couldn't hear it. With my journal and notes clutched against my stomach, I just about gained the door to the lobby when Oliver Page Andrews lumbered to a sweaty stop, completely blocking my path. He was holding a porcelain vase by his side.
Moving would've most likely been hampered by the sheer surprise. Ollie Andrews was the brother of Nelson Andrews and soon to be ex-husband of Bridget Waterton. He wasn't a particularly intimidating guy, but there was a chilling sort of desperation written on his face. "Are you screwing her, too?"
The question didn't make sense. I hiked up my shoulders and made a noise I hoped would signal disbelief. He then hit me in the head. With the vase.
When I woke, Gail Frasier was holding a rag full of ice against the bridge of my nose. I seethed and bit down and asked where I was. "On the floor," she told me. "Pretty much where you fell."
"What happened?"
"Well, like I said, you dropped like a rock. He hit you two or three more times, but it looked like the first one had done the trick."
"Noted," I groaned. There were jagged little pieces of the vase all around. My neck and shirt were wet. "Then what?"
"I told him I was calling the cops and he bolted. They usually don't. But he didn't seem drunk. That was like… something else. That guy was really pissed at you. Seemed like he was crying."
The bartender continued to apply the ice as the pain lingered, strangely serving to aid my comprehension. "I probably deserved it."
"So you and his woman?"
"No. But I took his brother's job. Not sure about the woman thing." I climbed slowly to my feet. "Sounds like drama and he got the wrong guy." My tongue was loosening, but I was beyond caring. Deception felt silly. She was looking at my notes. The pages had spilled on the floor, and even a cursory glance would tell her it was a political speech. The papers were populated with nothing but banalities and empty expressions of hope, tailored for a Midwestern audience. Words like better and tomorrow ran rampant. I was still getting the hang of things. "I'm helping Donnell. Kind of an outside consultant. It'd be big if you didn't say anything. Really big."
"Outside," she said, handing over the notes. "Is that why you get to drink in here? Special privileges?"
I was on a roll with the honesty thing. Figured might as try it with both feet. "Yeah, I feel bad about that. The drinking ban was my idea. Thought it might look good. Put a wholesome face to our merry band. The press being someplace else didn't seem so horrible, either. Far as ancillary benefits go."
Gail shook her head. I readied for a chiding. "What's your name, slugger?" she asked. The inquiry was mercifully sparse, considering the circumstances.
I slipped the notebook under my arm and held out a hand. "Harold. Abbot."
"What say I close up and we take the bottle to your room, Harold Abbot?"
She was beautiful, of course, and sure, I'd just received a beating. But that's not why I said yes. It was what we talked about before. How we talked. That we talked. A mostly real conversation. I didn't realize how isolating this journey had left me. If keeping her company meant a few other things, I guess I'd just have to bear it.
Entry Three: Jackie—Gail—Love
One thing most people don't know about Karl Connell—he's a bit strange in the mornings. There was a guy on the campaign that handled him from six to ten. Everybody felt bad for that guy. His name was Jackie, but most people knew him as Worthless or Disgusting or Infuriating, as these were the most common appellations employed by Candidate Connell. Jackie was around my age but it was more complicated than that. He was descended from a form of Irish that aged particularly fast, and he just a whisker over five feet tall. Jackie had the strangest hair; it was balding in one distinct spot on the top, but he did nothing to cover it. The rest was dark brown and thick as a crow's nest. Surely someone had told him it was an easy fix. Surely Karl Connell had observed it from above during one of his diatribes.
Jackie was a nervous little guy and made a mistake here and there, but it wasn't as if he was inept. One couldn't last around the candidate if they were incompetent. Just ask the guy whose job I now had.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of Jackie rapping his little knuckles on my heavy room door. The Hotel America Dryden was a high-class place and spared no change on things like doors, light fixtures and nonsensical modern art prints. Doors, light fixtures and nonsensical modern art prints keep rich assholes coming back to the Hotel America Drydens of the world. It's the little things, turns out, even with the wealthy.
So, Jackie was rapping and starting to shout. It was just after six when I noticed it. Correction. Gail Frasier noticed it. "Someone's knocking," she mumbled. The mumble went straight into my ear. We were waking in a position I wasn't all that familiar with. It was nice. I didn't want to slip away. My arm was under her body and somehow not uncomfortable. The part of me where my shoulder and chest and arm came together served as her pillow as she breathed gently into my face. A little bit of morning breath, but nothing that would stop me trying my luck again. I sunk my nose into her soft red hair and remembered everything in an instant. It was almost dark, except for a little light sneaking out from the bathroom. "Your job," she said, adjusting to set her chin on my chest. "It's calling you."
I moaned and snuck another glance at the clock. Something had to be wrong. They'd been pretty good about leaving me alone early. Mornings weren't my thing. If Karl Connell was a supernova at sunrise, I was a black hole. "Maybe they'll go away," I groaned into Gail's hair. Her shampoo and my boozy tongue combined strange and started making moves on my baser instincts.
The knocking continued. The struggling voice was getting louder to the point of an unbearable squawk. She ran a finger down the middle of my torso and kept going. Despite the unsuitable hour, all was becoming right with the world. Except for Jackie. "Go find out what it is."
"I don't care. I've never cared. Did I mention that last night?"
"Many times. Go. I'll be here when you get back."
A kiss on the lips and an ardent push confirmed she meant business. And she's right, I thought. Deal with it. Back in a flash. "I'll make this quick."
In fewer than ten seconds I was at the door in last night's pants and nothing else. A herd of wild horses wouldn't deter me from immersing myself back in that messy, smelly, wonderful bed.
I looked through the hole and saw nothing but the vacancy atop Jackie's head. I raised my toes for a stopper and opened the door short and quick. "Little early, isn't it?"
He smiled and I closed my eyes long enough to be inadvertently rude. The lines in his face grew deeper as he said, "These are the big leagues, Mr. Abbot."
"Don't do that."
"I'm sorry?" Jackie asked. He wasn't annoyed or flexing. He was truly surprised.
I opened my eyes as wide as I could to the bracing hallway light and said, "Don't be like that. I have a… thing."
"Not sure I understand." Jackie was rapping his scrawny knuckles on a thick white binder. He was nervous. Overwrought. Overwhelmed. I didn't need to make him understand. That would mean explaining how phrases like big leagues and playing for keeps made me sick to my stomach. The self-evidential manner in which everyone involved in politics bandied around those words annoyed me to an illogical degree. I couldn't tamp down the feeling; it was like we the anointed were in the big leagues and nothing and nobody mattered except our heightened importance. We were the only ones facing stakes. People fleeing machete wars in Africa, homeless veterans dying in the streets—they couldn't possibly conceive of the mountains we had to scale.
I said it was illogical.
"Don't worry about it, Jackie. How can I help?"
"That looks pretty bad," he grimaced, taking full stock of my face. "I can't believe he really hit you."
"Several times. Once with a piece of décor. The rest, I can't say."
A door slammed down the hall and the singular sound of the candidate rumbling toward us grew loud until he was standing in Jackie's previous spot. "Let me in," he said, motioning me back with his massive hand. There was fire in his eyes. Crazy alertness. It was like he'd been awake for hours and was hitting his stride. The oil in his hair had already dried. "This woman thing isn't going to work, Hemingway."
Connell had taken to calling me Hemingway. It was because one night he'd seen me wearing a sweater. I was still trying to figure out the connection.
"Let me in," he repeated, adjusting the thick, gleaming knot of his red necktie. "And go away, Worthless," he barked, waving at poor little Jackie.
It was a tight spot. "I can't let you in, sir. Whatever you have to say, it's going to have to wait."
"To hell with that." He growled about something being his. He might've been referring to the campaign, the staff, the strategy, the rules. I honestly couldn't hear him. My brain had gone ten seconds into the future, where I was being read the riot act for my unchecked libido.
My foot and shoulder were no match for the candidate's heft. He was by me, searching for the light switch. I leaned my bare back against the wall and closed my eyes. Gail would be under the covers or caught in the open, naked. There were certain activities frowned upon on the road. One was shacking up with the local help. It was our duty to be as unsexed and wired as little Jackie at all times and in all places. It made sense. The scrutiny was hard to get your head around.
The lights came on. Connell sat down on the end of the bed. There was no sign of Gail. There was a clear line of sight to the bathroom. Empty. With this new data, I thought it best to defend myself.
"You need to know what's going on," said Connell. He didn't look very dignified. His pant legs were almost halfway up his calf. For such a thick man, he had slender legs. I hated seeing them.
Sir, if I could," I started. I had a case to make. Lies to tell. Wonderful Gail had been too good to be true. She was a vision that had apparently evaporated.
"No, let me," he continued, hunched over and rubbing his forehead. His perfect suit went wrinkly from the lack of posture. "The girl."
My eyes jammed closed.
"I'm really sorry about all this," he said.
My eyes shot open. "Excuse me, sir?"
"That face of yours. Ollie Andrews couldn't attack me, so he went after you. It's inexcusable."
"I'm not sure I understand."
Connell stood up brusquely and shoved his hands into his pockets, frittering with what sounded like a hundred dollars worth of loose change. "Andrews left five drunken voicemails last night. He knows about me and Bridget. He obviously came here last night and hit the first thing he saw."
"You and Bridget?"
"Completely not a thing. And, even if it was, to come and do something like that…"
Connell charged close and put his hands around my neck. The openings in his flat nose were dilated. He was expelling sulfur on my scrunched, battered face. He loosened his grasp and dropped his head. "I'll quit the race. And don't worry about writing up the speech. It'll look more dignified if I speak from the heart, tell the people straight."
"This is a lot to process."
"I'm very sorry, Hemingway. I don't know what I was thinking."
I was thinking a lot. Clearly, Connell and Beautiful Bridget were a thing. I wasn't hit out of Ollie's fraternal duty to his brother's usurpation. My battering was the result of Ollie's jealousy toward the candidate. The girl wasn't Gail. This had nothing to do with me. Except for getting knocked unconscious.
It was a warm blanket of relief, and yet, I found myself saying the following: "Maybe you should take a minute before you do anything drastic."
"It's no use. My wife will find out. My kids."
"Is this a first time thing?"
"Not really. And my wife bounces between at least three men at any given time."
"You've seen my kids. They're grown. The only thing they care about is my money and the businesses I've had to abandon for this fool's errand. I'm sure they'll revel in my failure."
"This is a lot to process."
"You said that already."
"Take it as an indication that I'm being truthful. Sir?"
"Would you mind letting go of my neck and stepping back a bit?"
"Sorry, kid."
"That's okay. I've seen you in the mornings." With room to breathe, I let the thousand thoughts swirling in my head collect into manageable pockets. "Do you want to resign?"
"It's really not about what I want at this point."
"Speak plain, Hemingway."
"This may be small. Something you can work around. Does Oliver have any tangible proof?"
"He didn't mention anything concrete. But he suspects. And whatever the case, it's true. I was lying a minute ago."
"So he may not have proof. I'm not saying it's possible to kill this in the crib, but at least find out. If so, it's small. You can get by it and go back to slaying giants and all that stuff you said to me when we met."
Karl Connell turned sideways and started sifting the change in his pockets once more, lost in contemplation. I considered putting on a shirt, but instead leaned back against the wall. What was I doing? I had a clear way out. Torpedoing my clean escape from the world of politics unscathed had been a constant desire since the day Nelson Andrews knocked on my door:
I'm working on my next novel, I told him.
He inquired as to how it was going.
I'm actually going through a bit of a lull, I said.
He looked at the state of my apartment and wondered how I was fixed for money. A question he and most of the people I went to school with never had to ask once in their lives.
I'm a little lean. The last one didn't exactly break any records.
Nelson walked his casual blueblood walk around my living room and with an elevated nose began to describe my history back at me like I hadn't been there for it. The degrees from Texas, Yale, and Oxford. How I should at the very least be teaching at a distinguished institution. Wondering if I recalled outshining him and most everyone in most every class. That writing novels in the twenty-first century made as much sense as enlisting a horse and buggy for a trip down an expressway. He wounded my pride and sense of direction, but he killed me with money. It's a paying gig, he added, and all you ever talked about at Yale was the magic of making the rent with words.
I'll try it, but no promises.
He assented. To him, I was worth the risk.
I'm serious. No commitments. Nothing I can't get out of the second it feels unmanageable.
Two days later I was an anonymous part of the retinue, slumping wherever I walked, finding dark corners, passing Nelson notes; we became schoolgirls in the hallway between classes. Now he was gone. His brother had thrown me a beating. And I was inexplicably talking myself and Connell into keeping the train rolling.
Light was beginning to poke through the thick curtains. "I have people that can look into these things."
"Yes you do. There's people everywhere around here. They're all yours."
The candidate slapped his time-worn cheeks and reengaged his standard bombast. "If we make it through the day, you're going to have a check for fifty-thousand dollars waiting at the next stop. A bonus."
"Sir, I'm not even sure that's legal."
"Are you the legal guy? I thought you were the word guy?"
"I'm the word guy."
"Don't worry about the law. This is America, son. Nobody ever got to the top worrying about the law."
He shook my hand and offered an expression of gratitude and resolve. "I'm sorry about your face. And do I need to say it?"
"I can't talk about this. Ever."
"This can't leave the room. I'll make you sign something. Something legally binding."
Considering what he'd just said, I thought he was joking. He wasn't.
"I wouldn't even entertain it. But the fact that it's you. That's why I may go on."
"Sycophants. That's all there are. All except you, Hemingway. You don't give a damn. This is beneath you, and yet you care. There's something to that. Maybe I'm worth saving. Just maybe. And Harold…"
"I'm really am sorry about your face. No matter what happens with everything else, I'll make it up to you. That's my word." It was a few seconds of true tenderness, and then once again he was a heaving mass of energy, out the door to sift the fallout of his dalliance with Beautiful Bridget.
I looked down at my bare feet. The motion of this life was so rapid. It didn't allow for much more than flash reaction.
"That was kind of hilarious. And kind of strange."
Gail poked her head from the curtains. Not a magician or a figment, after all. I smiled immediately and then went cold immediately after that.
Hopping back into the bed she said, "Don't worry. I can see that you're worrying. Don't."
Of course, I was worrying. The man who might still be the front runner for president had just unwittingly spilled his guts to my one-night-stand.
She vaulted from the bed naked and wonderful, but I hardly noticed. "This is crazy." It's all I could manage.
"Come back to bed. I don't have class for two more hours, and you may not have a job at all."
There wasn't much in the way of an objection. We made some of the sleepiest, coziest love two strangers had ever made. That's how it felt, anyway.
I rolled over and looked at the clock. Eight. No news. No rapping on the door from Jackie. I could infer nothing. In less than two hours I'd made the journey back to caring very little about my job, but I did care for the woman next to me. Though I might never see her again, I couldn't betray the small time we'd spent together by avoiding what needed addressing.
"Dammit," I sighed, staring at the ceiling while she played with the hair over my ear.
"Tell me."
"How are you so relaxed? You sound really relaxed."
"Buddy, if that didn't relax you, nothing will."
"I need to say some things."
"All that stuff you heard. It's up to you. I mean, you're a person. Rights and protection and a woman and everything."
"A woman and everything," Gail repeated, barely opening her lips. She was mocking me, but too calm to sting. Half of her face was planted on the bed where the pillows once were. "Are your speeches this eloquent?"
"It could be serious. I'm not telling you what to do. I'm really not."
"I think I believe you. But seriously. Why did you tell him to stick it out?"
In one night this woman had me figured out perfectly. She was already asking the same questions I was asking myself. It was either a testament to my transparent nature or my shallowness or both. "Not sure. It was like for a minute he was just another guy and I was trying to say it's not the end of the world. You say things like that to people. Only, he's not people."
"Seemed human to me. As crazy as the next one. Crazier, maybe, but that's partially because we think he shouldn't be. Us thinking he's above being a little crazy because he's running for office makes us crazier, could be."
I was in love. I might not be in an hour, but I was right then. Gail Frasier could make sweet love and talk elegant sense back-to-back. "Can we stay here for a few weeks?" I asked.
"Don't trust me," Gail said, still motionless.
"Seriously. It's not logical. You can't trust people. I promise I don't want any involvement, but the stakes are too high."
She went on to explain that if Connell's affair was still a secret, it might be wise to remind the guy that hit me that there was a witness. "Say I'll testify. No way he won't cut a deal. Or whatever these people do. I think that could work. Everyone's happy."
I was in love. It scared me that Gail Frasier was so clever and calculating, but not enough to make a mark.
"Wow," I said. "That's really good."
"I want to nap."
"Thought you had class?"
"Who cares. Read to me. That book over there." She closed her eyes and drew closer, waiting for a story. I turned on the bedside lamp and started from where I'd last left off.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It's called Notes on Weather and Roads. By Davidson G. Wright."
"Sounds horrible."
"Yeah, but it's not. It's about a group of people that find all these crazy deep messages in the mundane everyday happenings of existence. Like finding the meaning of life just by living. It's heartening."
Gail's voice was growing softer. "You're the opposite. In a cute way."
"You're at the center of everything, and you roll your eyes."
She was asleep before I could start reading. And I was still in love.


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Extortion scammers have found a new hook to bait Internet users: old passwords. A new wave of messages that began popping up in mid-July has stepped up the ploy by showing passwords in the subject headers as attention-grabbing 'proof' that someone has deeply burrowed into your computer and has your personal information.
So what is virtual currency and why should businesses care?
If you have followed the growth of Bitcoin and other virtual currencies over the years, the concept of e-money may have seemed more of an interesting experiment used by hitmen and malware developers – like the much-publicized Cryptolocker (see Sinu blog, 12/1/13).


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Love Action Drama Box Office Collections (Day 1): A Racy Start For The Nivin Pauly-Nayanthara Movie!
Love Action Drama, first among the Onam releases to hit the theatres, has reportedly got a very good start at the box office. Starring Nivin Pauly and Nayanthara in the lead roles, Love Action Drama is the debut directorial venture of Dhyan Sreenivasan and the collection reports that have been doing the rounds reveal that Malayalam film audiences have given an astounding reception to the movie. In Kochi, which is one among the prominent centres for Malayalam movies, Love Action Drama has got a good opening in the multiplexes as well as single screens. Similarly, the movie is off to a fabulous start in other centres in Kerala as well. Read Love Action Drama box office collections (Day 1) report to know more about this.
Day 1 At Kochi Multiplexes
Love Action Drama had 28 shows on its first day at Kochi multiplexes. Reportedly, the film collected around Rs 7.57 lakh at an impressive occupancy rate of 88%. The film registered eight houseful shows in total on day 1.
Kochi Cineplexes
Reports suggest that Love Action Drama has got an equally good start at the cineplexes in Kochi as well. According to trackers, the film has collected around Rs 6.52 lakh from these centres with the movie registering a total occupancy rate of 72%.
Day 1 At Carnival Cinemas
Love Action Drama had as many as 100 shows across various theatres under Carnival Cinemas in Kerala. Reports doing the rounds reveal that the film collected around Rs 19.61 lakh on day 1 from these centres.
The Way Ahead...
Love Action Drama has opened to some good reports from audiences and the film has been tagged as a perfect entertainer. With such good reports, the film is sure to enjoy a long weekend ahead. The advance booking for the film also looks good.
(Statistics Courtesy: Forum Keralam)


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GODLY COUNSEL with PASTOR KATAI
Dear Pastor
I AM a younger man based in Lusaka. I read your column for the first time and I am sure you can help. My problem is I am dating a person who is older than me and she plans one day we can get married. However, no one in my circles is in support of the relationship. I don't know how to tell her because I'm sure she will be heartbroken and I don't intend to break her heart.
ANS: Dear younger man, the fact that you are considering the opinions of your friends regarding your relationship is a clear indication that you are not ready for commitment. Usually, it is older men courting younger women that raise eyebrows but in any case be it older woman or older man what is important is the love and mutual respect shared between the couple.
The love of God should shine through the love shared between a couple
-age should not be a factor (Psalm 39:5, I Corinthians 7:36). However, too late, better you tell her that you are not ready for a long term commitment instead of wasting her time. The earlier you do it the better. The more time you are taking the more heart break she will suffer later. Blessings!
My wife is cheating on me
Dear Pastor,
I am a man aged 31 who has been married for four years. We have one child who is two years. Last week I was checking my wife's phone and could not believe what I saw. My wife and her former lover have been exchanging love text using whatsapp. What should I do?
ANS: Brother, being a Christian does not lessen our chances of having an affair. Frankly, it is inevitable that you will be tempted to have an affair.
When an affair occurs and it is noted by the affected partner, it is imperative that the offending partner quickly comes back to his/her senses and instantly goes on his/her knees to beg for forgiveness.
Brother, trust is the big question. You have to forgive your spouse before you can trust her again. (Colossian 3:12-14, Malachi 2:13-16). The repentant spouse must be careful to keep his or her word. No matter how small or unimportant a promise may seem, he or she can't afford to make promises that won't be kept anymore. Find out what really went wrong with your wife and rebuild your marriage and commitment to each other again. I wish you all the best. Blessings!
Dumped, what will I do?
Dear Pastor
I have been with this man I love so much for three months. Recently, he came to know about one of the men who dumped me two years ago and because of that he also dumped me. Pastor should I let go as well? What should I do?
ANS: Sis thanks for your text. I find it difficult to understand what really transpired between your current fiancé and your ex. What happened for him to abandon you in the manner your ex did? May I hasten to say that before you call it quits an investigation into the cause of disbandment of your courtship has to be launched to ensure that in future this does not happen again. Do not be frustrated yet; be patient with him and courageous enough to seek audience with your current man to find out what went wrong between you and him. If possible make mends. Your ex should not be the subject for now. To me your failed past relationships is water under the bridge. Find out today from your man. I trust all will be well. (Hebrews 13:5-6). Blessings!!
Whom should he marry?
Dear Pastor
I am a woman aged 25. I have a problem in my relationship – a man I am in love with has a child with another lady and I also have.
He said that he should marry the one he has a child with but not me. However, he has continued to say that he loves me so much. Now I am confused, what should I do since he loves me much so much?
ANS: Sister, I do not think this man really loves you as he professes.
Their relationship started with a man who dated her for the wrong reasons and thus never truly felt fulfilled in his commitment to this woman. Since they have a child together and that is the only bond they share. This bond will continue to oil their relationship whilst on the other side he will be giving assurances of loving you too. He is not being truthful to you. This man wants to eat with both hands. What he has failed to tell you is that he has finally settled for the woman with his child, since you both have a child. His love for you is worthless, it is plastic – not real so you better not waste your time and energy on this double-standard man. (James 1:7-8, Genesis 13:7-9). Peacefully leave and thank him for the time you had together. Blessings!
Love lines
Dear Pastor,
I am a single lady aged 23 looking for a serious God fearing man without children. Aged 27-29 based Lusaka, Kafue or Ndola. Call 0973-339578
Dear Pastor,
I am a man aged 42 looking for a lady aged 20-35 working or business minded. Call 0962-864324.
Dear Pastor,
I am a single lady aged 39 without children looking for a serious man to marry. Interested call 0979-490687.
Dear Pastor,
I am a man aged 26, looking for a serious matured God fearing
lady aged 18 to 23 years. Call me on 0974-056666 and 0954-942525.no time
Tip of the Week
Marriage: "Be an open book. Let your partner see through you and don't keep secrets you would not want your partner to find out. In all you do or say be transparent enough†Blessings!
Comments and queries text 0955/0967-778068 or email firstname.lastname@example.com or email@example.com.


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Hahaha.. I don't think so..
Those damn feeling come into play. Dane's gf, Laura had gone to QLD for a week and she had only just come back on Sunday....and now I'm pissed. I kinda wish he wasn't with Laura...I kinda wish he was with me....
Originally Posted by Nemo
It seems very odd that you know her exact pay, take home, debt, etc.
Places that have self serving ice cream is a great place
LDRs require a lot of trust. If you are not a trusting person, don't get into an LDR, it will eat you alive
Hi. I'm max I am a veteran was injured in Afghanistan I like to play video games going for walks play pokingmon go is cool lol like fishing hunting I aim a vers bottom looking for top vers to play.
The very night of the wedding on their honeymoon she refused sex exclaiming she was really tired as it had been a very long day. Wow!
That's a big rack on a tiny chassis
Hi there,
The moment before a lolfail.
Give her the chance to come to you.
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Stretch Crepe Wide Leg Pants
Stretch Crepe Wide Leg Pants - INDIGO-BLUE - 2 - Talbots is rated out of 5 by 8.
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Style # P193016590
Special Offer
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P193041196Sale Price $149.00
Additional Information
The shape of the season. In a timeless fabric that's enhanced by the beautiful drape, distinctive loft and soft feel—now with a touch of stretch. Pair with a blazer from our Stretch Crepe Collection.
- Wide Leg
- Hits: Above Waist
- Full Length
- Closure: Fly Front with Hook and Bar
- Pockets: Front Slash and Back Welt
- Imported
Fit and Material
Fit: Inseam: Misses: 32"; Petite: 29 1/2"; Plus Size: 32"; Plus Size Petite: 29 1/2"
Material: 92% Polyester, 8% Spandex
Care: Machine Wash; Tumble Dry Low
Stretch Crepe Wide Leg Pants - INDIGO-BLUE - 2 - Talbots is rated out of 5 by 8.
Rated 1 out of 5 by Unhappy customer from Terrible fit Pants are so tight in thigh area they are unwearable.
Date published: 2019-09-28
Rated 3 out of 5 by ellie72 from How they fit me. I had to return the pants because they did not fit me properly. Liked the fabric. I will try the curvy instead.
Date published: 2019-09-25
Rated 1 out of 5 by Linnie87 from Women's Petite??? Zero stars. I ordered these pants in a Women's Petite to wear with flats. These pants are 6 inches to long. The store in Old Town Alexandria would not take the return "could not accept a catalog return." They arrived without the sale tag, but in a Talbots catalog order bag. Now I have to spend $35 to have them shorten. So much for the sale price.
Date published: 2019-09-24
Rated 5 out of 5 by Michele G from Stylish yet comfortable I've been keeping an eye out for something similar to my favorite pair of Talbot's pants from years ago, which were crepe with wide legs and a nearly skirt-like appearance (two layers). This is the closest I've seen and I love them. They look dressy, yet they're fairly comfortable. I wear a 12 or 14 in Talbots pants (5'8" and range between 165-175 lbs). I bought these in a 14 and they fit comfortably (seem true to size).
Date published: 2019-09-24
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Are these pants lined?
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About us
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A night out at Nandos!
Our young people's group enjoyed a night out at Nandos and even got to learn a bit about jobs in the process. Read on to find out more!
17 January 2019
Skip to main content
Better Health
Don't Lock Us Away
Good news
In the Community
Independent Travel
Jobs for People with Learning Disabilities
Justice for LB
Power Up
Reasonable Adjustments
Self-advocacy Group
Before Christmas, the MLMC Young People's Group chose to have their Christmas meal once again at Nandos in The Westgate Centre in Oxford city centre.
The staff were so friendly last year that it encouraged the members to want to return this year. The staff did not let us down this time and did everything they could to make the meal a really great success!
One member of staff was so friendly that the young people decided to interview her about her time at Nandos, and to find out more about life in the workplace:
Her name was Asia. She had worked in a clothing store before but much preferred working at Nandos.
She went to The College Of Oxford to study business studies.
She had been recruited by Nandos at a National Citizen Service event and had been working there for 14 months.
She liked it very much as she liked being with people and got free meals!
The best thing was free food, the worst thing was rude customers.
She earns £8.25 an hour and is paid weekly, which she liked.
The group all joined in the interview process and did a great job! Well done MLMC Young People's Group!
You can find out more about the Young people's group
, or visit our
campaigns page
to find out what work we are doing to help people with learning disabilities get into work.
Categories: Good news, In the Community, Jobs for People with Learning Disabilities, Self-advocacy Group
Related blog
Getting Fit and Healthy – Paul's Story
29 Jul 2019
MLMC gets £261,135 from the Big Lottery Fund!
8 Nov 2018
"I've learnt that I am not alone": What our members think about our self-advocacy groups.
25 Oct 2018
Gig Buddies has landed!!
4 Sep 2018
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Search Results for 'Patrick White'
4 results found.
GIAF reviews: Incantata, The Aspirations of Daise Morrow, Class
"AND DEATH shall have no dominion' Dylan Thomas once wrote, though if he had been at GIAF 2018 he may have revised that opinion. Death was a major theme of Incantata, The Aspirations of Daise Morrow, Gardens Speak, Orfeo ed Euridice, and Wit, while characters also died in the course of Baoite, Flight, and Class, with a hint of suicide in Shelter for good measure.
Five days and counting to Galway's biggest arts festival yet
Over 14 days, the city can look forward to more than 200 events, across 32 venues, and involving more than 600 artists and performers, in what is to date, the largest Galway International Arts Festival ever staged.
Sitting on stage amid The Aspirations Of Daise Morrow
WHEN YOU walk into the Black Box to see a theatre show, what do you expect to find? A mixture of tiered seating and ground level seating facing the stage. However a show at this year's arts festival, will do away with all that.
Galway International Arts Festival 2018
A PSYCHEDELIC journey for the ears with The Flaming Lips, and for the eyes and feet with the Miracoco Luminarium installation; getting up close and personal and with the moon (even its dark side); to harrowing stories from victims of the Syrian civil war to a survivor of the Holocaust - this is the Galway International Arts Festival 2018.


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America is no longer the fattest major country on Earth.
Fat chance, you may say. But Mexico has surpassed its neighbour in the global battle of the bulge stakes, a new health league table shows.
While Mexico's traditional diet of tortillas, tacos, beans and chilli is high in fibre and vitamins, it is also laden with calories and hard to burn off for those leading a sedentary lifestyle.
And with incomes rising in Mexico, where more and more people are moving to big cities for work, it seems the country has developed a taste for US culinary favourites – cheap junk food.
Almost a third of adult Mexicans (32.8 per cent) are obese compared with 31.8 per cent of Americans, according to a study by the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation.
Diabetes and cardiovascular illness are increasing, plus-size clothing fills the racks in stores but Mexicans keep eating. And obesity is cutting across class lines. In a country where half the population is poor, malnourishment is also feeding the problem, according to physician Abelardo Avila of Mexico's National Nutrition Institute.
'In the poor classes, we have obese parents and malnourished children,' he said. 'The worst thing is the children are becoming programmed for obesity. It's a very serious epidemic.'
Mexicans consume more soft drinks per person than any other country and there have been warnings about its failing fight with the flab. In 2011, Mexico revealed it had the highest rate of child obesity in the world.
Official figures show 28 per cent of five to nine-year-old and 38 per cent of those aged ten to 19 are obese.
While Mexico is fattest major nation, it is way behind the Micronesian island of Nauru, where 71.1 per cent of adults are obese, suggests the UN study.


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Know more about this business than we do? Cool! Please submit any corrections or missing details you may have.Help us make it right
Be the first OregonLive.com user to add photos or videos of Charles H Gillis Attorney At Law
Gillis Charles H Attorney At Law is located at 1306 Adams Ave, La Grande, OR. This business specializes in Legal Services and Law Firms.
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I've been really into Earl Grey tea lately. The taste takes me to an old world where we wore hats to our after noon tea and ate cucumber sandwiches. Very dainty foods were consumed, and you left the tea feeling like you needed a nap.
Nowadays our lives seem short because we are so rushed in every direction. Each step that we take is just another one toward a chaotic lifestyle and away from slowing down. We forget about the table, sometimes entirely.
Downton Abbey is a visual reminder of how people used to live. Those of privilege were able to enjoy the table together, while the servants and lower class joined together in the servant's quarters. No matter which class you were a part of you ate together at the table.
I find this to have great significance. Meals are a time to bring people together. The conversation might not flow as easily at first, but later it will come. Sometimes just discussing the food before you is the best start.
The recipe I want to share with you brought my husband to the table when he was distracted with his "list" of duties and didn't have time for eating together. He has repeatedly asked for me to make them.
Potato Wedges:
- 5-10 potatoes (depending on the amount of people; I used 4 the first time doing this and it was great for 2 people)
- 4 C. Rice Bran Oil
- 1 Tbsp. Sea Salt
- 1 Tsp. Black Pepper
- 1 Tsp. Paprika
- 1 Tsp. Garlic Powder
- 1 Tsp. Chili Powder (optional)
Place the oil into a deep saucepan. I used my 4 qt. saucepan and filled it ¾ full with the rice bran oil. TURN ON YOUR EXHAUST FAN! Most frying recipes call for a thermometer, I don't use one, partly because I let a friend borrow it and they left it in too long and it exploded, and also I just like figuring things out as I go. So, I say that when the oil has bubble forming and coming up to the surface, not boiling, then that is the time you are to place in the potatoes.
While the oil is heating up over Med-High heat, cut the potatoes into wedges. It should be about 3-5 minutes for the oil to get to hot enough for the potatoes to go in.
You don't want the oil to reach its smoke point before you place the potatoes in. This can cause a lot of smoke in your house and your potato wedges wont turn out well.
Place the potatoes into the oil using a ladle. For extra protection, use an oven mitt while doing the recipe.
Allow the potatoes to fry in the oil for about 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally. Once the potatoes have a golden outside, use a slotted spoon to remove from the oil and place on a plate or bowl covered with a paper towel. Add your seasonings and mix. Let the potatoes cool for about 10 minutes before enjoying.
Now for the dipping sauce!
Cilantro, Lime and Mayonnaise Dip
- ¼ C. Cilantro
- 1 Lime (Juice and zest)
- ½ C. Organic Mayonnaise
Mix all ingredients together and serve in a ramekins alongside the potato wedges.
(Potatoes and Mayo is such a British concept… that is my tie in today)


text: I went to PlayerAuctions.com and purchased 500 gold. The person sent me 100 gold, then told me that he was giving me 5 bonus gold. He sent me 5 gold. Then, he sent me 400 gold. The next day, I only had 105 gold. Later, I found out that there is a 500 gold limit per week to receive gold in the mail in GW2. Did the 400 gold go back to the sender/seller or did it just disappear/get deleted? Was I scammed, or did I simply lose my gold to the game?


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Liposuction Philadelphia
If a healthy diet and exercise is not providing you with satisfactory results, you might want to consider liposuction in Philadelphia with Craig Mezrow, M.S., M.D. Our board certified Philadelphia liposuction expert can help you achieve the results you've been hoping for! Also known as "liposculpture," this cosmetic surgery procedure is intended for men and women who are within their normal weight range, but find that specific areas of the body have not responded to their healthy lifestyle.
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See the type of beautiful results you might expect from our Philadelphia plastic surgery provider by viewing Dr. Mezrow's before and after photos!
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Do you have further questions you would like answered about liposuction in Philadelphia? Then feel free to call our office at (610) 664-8888. You can also fill out our online contact form for more information or to request a free consultation. We look forward to hearing from you !


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California leads 16 other states, the District of Columbia and the City of New York in federal lawsuit.
Billions of birds are born in this northern region every year, and Indigenous Nations are leading the way to ensure it remains protected.
A new United Nations report details the triple-threat that climate change poses to the ocean and its wildlife.
Report illustrates the need to protect the seabirds and other wildlife that depend on the earth's best asset: the ocean.
Unlike other drying lakes, Utah has the opportunity to change course and avoid those costs.
Carbone joins Audubon from the American Civil Liberties Union.
After filling thousands of holes with food in the fall, the white-eyed hoarders spend winter reorganizing their stockpile.
Novice and experienced birders alike will find food, music, community, and plenty of birds at meetings and festivals around the country.


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July 4
- Sertoma's Fourth of July Family Celebration
The Sertoma Club of Georgetown celebrates the Fourth of July with its annual event featuring more than 80 vendors, a petting zoo, live music, a parade and a fireworks display. 11 a.m., fireworks start around 9:30 p.m. Free. San Gabriel Park, 445 E. Morrow St. http://gtxsertoma.org
2. Brix and Ale Independence Day Cookout
Celebrate Independence Day with barbecue favorites, including pulled pork, smoked chicken and char-grilled sausages, while listening to live music by Cam Dozier and Lola Pearl. Attendees can also enjoy a view of the San Gabriel Park firework display. 6:30-10 p.m. $25 (adults), $12.50 (children under 12). 1101 Woodlawn Ave., Georgetown. 737-444-2750. www.brixandalegtx.com
July 5
3. First Friday on the Square
Visitors to the downtown Square can enjoy an evening of live music, gallery hopping and downtown shopping as part of First Friday, a monthly event when shops and businesses remain open later than their normal business hours. 6-8 p.m. Free. 710 S. Main St. https://visit.georgetown.org
4. Boomtown Escapes group game night
Enjoy group game night at Boomtown Escapes. Games include Apples to Apples, Brain Games, Codenames, Jenga, Pictionary and Scattergories, among other games. Different game night events are held every Friday through the month of July. 7-9 p.m. Free. Boomtown Escapes, 215 W. Eighth St., Georgetown. 512-591-7816. https://boomtownescapes.com/
July 6
5. Texas Bach Festival Camerata
The Texas Bach Festival Camerata returns with music by Bach, Corelli and Mozart. Visiting artists include Patrice Calixte on violin, Chris Flores on double bass and Barry Scoot Williamson as conductor. 8 p.m. $20-$30. St. Helen Catholic Church, 2700 E. University Ave., Georgetown. www.texasbachfestival.org


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UGANDA: FDC preacher Nyanjura advises Museveni
Replacing Kayihura with Ochola, Sabiiti is a no change
A huge sigh of relief reverberated across the country when news of General Kale Kayihura's dethronement first broke. A sense of high expectation is palpable in the air. However we need to exercise cautious optimism because the problem is much bigger than Kale Kayihura. His replacement by Okoth Ochola does not inspire confidence or represent a break with the past.
As Deputy IGP, Ochola can be described as a pious character that would never dare contradict his master. He is not a Julius Odwee or Francis Rwego who would sometimes exercise a level of independence and seek to uphold professional standards albeit very hostile circumstances controlled by military generals in police uniform to whom civil policing is alien. He betrayed those under his command who sought to act professionally by not standing up to defend them.
Secondly and most importantly, Ochola is not the man in charge. Since the appointment of Gen Katumba Wamala as IGP in the early 2000s, Power in the police force has been vested in the hands of military Generals. This is in fulfilment of Museveni's pledge to sort out the police when he complained that if he were to contest with a cow, the police would vote for the cow and not him, this was after he had been resoundingly defeated on almost all polling stations where the police voted in the 2001 presidential elections.
Therefore the man to watch is not IGP Ochola but rather his deputy Brigadier Sabiti Muzeeyi. I will plead guilty to knowing next to nothing about his personality. However I can comfortably assert that he has a huge task before him if he is genuinely interested in changing the police.
The police that muzeyi inherits is literally a rogue police force! Therefore the main task he has is to institute administrative reforms to curb criminality and impunity in the force. I advisedly skip the question of institutional reforms because it would be a redundant observation given that there is no political will to carry out such reforms. Muzeyi will definitely follow the job description given to him by the appointing authority and I swear by my great Grandfathers that institutional reforms and professionalization are not part of his execution orders. The incompatibility of professionalism and despotism is indubitable.
To patch the force's tattered image, Muzeyi must take swift and stern action against all those officers that have been named in various criminal scandals. The police being the law enforcement organ of the state must not only learn to respect and follow the law it seeks to enforce, it must be seen to be doing so. We have seen the police work closely with known notorious criminal gangs in the name of fighting crime! The result is that murder, rape and other forms of violent crime have become order of the day.
Indeed senior police commanders have been alleged to be directly involved in these crimes. The response from the top was to shield the suspects and jail those officers that sought to play by the rules of professional morality and the rule of law; the message was as clear as it was shocking- The criminals are in charge! Merely taking these criminal officers on forced leave will not suffice. They should be put behind bars where every other suspect is normally put as investigations go on. Charges against those that have been victimized for speaking out against evil should be dropped forthwith.
With his background of the military and being a Muhoozi protégé, his allegiance is unquestionably to the despot and not to the institution, this is a challenge that will continue to dog the force. Remember that the military was introduced to the police ranks to sort them out such that they can vote ''wisely'. Therefore we can assert that under Museyi, the force will continue to be the armed militia of the ruling party. The opposition and other activists will continue to be brutalized, CID will continue to level trumped up charges against opposition activists and tear gas will continue to be the opposition activists' daily bread until the regime is finally shown the exit.
It is interesting to hear NRM supporters shout for joy that the problem was that 'Mzee' M7 let Kayihura stay on the job for too long that he started treating police matters as personal family affairs. The question is if overstaying is bad for Kayihura, how can it be good for Museveni?
At the very best, Sabiti Muzeyi may implement administrative reforms and they too can be modest. The institutional questions especially as they relate to professionalizing the force to serve all citizens equally without fear or favor, affection or ill will will remain a tall order even for the most well intentioned professional. The nature of the regime is such that all institutions of State are subordinated to and serve the whims of the despot.
Those who truly hunger for a professional police force should actively work for the despot's down fall. Under the NRM despotism, the more things change, the more they remain the same for their creed is NO CHANGE, SO WHY ARE YOU EXCITED AND EXPECTANT?
The author is an FDC NEC member &
LC5 Woman Councilor Makerere University.


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44 mm-thick mullions, 60/90 mm boards. Assembled through an inner flush tube made of 16 mm-galvanized steel.
Mullion and transom section 44x80 mm, 19x60/80 mm matchboarding fitted to the outside edge of the frame and screwed onto the transoms. Intermediate transoms always located at the centre.
External matchboarding unit joined to internal matchboarding; matchboarding 22x70/140, screws visible on entire side.
20x30/60 external matchboarding, with a 20x70 mm frame screwed from the inside with diagonal, intermediate cross-pieces.
Multi-layered panel, pantographed with vertical and horizontal milling.
Shutters with vertical, folding matchboarding. Various typologies available: from one to four, symmetrical or asymmetrical shutters per side, with shutters folding on both sides or only on one.