text:
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Since it is so succesful all of a sudden to discuss phonology, I should like to present to you a question:
In short: what's up with the failing destinction between i and u in Latin?
Slightly more elaborated (I would like to present a whole line of examples, but due to the lateness of the hour, only what springs to mind is included);
in verbs: we read 'legimus', the i somehow being grandchild of the thematic vowel o. In the copula, however, 1. person plural is one of the thematic forms, but is read 'sumus'. I remember having read somewhere that Octavianus is said to have pronounced sumus as simus.
nouns: the superlative of magnus is maximus - but the other day I stumbled across this form in Sallust: maxumus. And the opposite, in the same text (bel. Cat. ch. 6-7) minume instead of minime. Same chapter, legitumum for legitimum.
Today, reading Seneca (tranq. animi. ch. 9), I see him writing bybliotheca (I who thought Seneca of anyone would distinguish between iota and ypsilon) and in the samme passage monimentum instead of monumentum.
So, there you have a few examples that I can't quite make sense of. Have they anything in common, except the obvious mixup of these two (three) vowels - what makes them similes?

subset: commoncrawl


text:
02 November 2012
Avoiding 5 Common Genealogy and Family History Research Errors
The Rootsonomy blog recently had a great article about 5 research mistakes family historians want to avoid.
The short list is:
1. Don't believe everything you see or read.
2. Always document WHERE you got EVERY fact in your tree.
3. Avoid making assumptions.
4. Don't rush backward in time.
5. Don't assume you are related to Abraham Lincoln.
And, do read the full article both for the accompanying images and further details about each research mistake.
Let me add my 2 cents (maybe with inflation now 5 cents) to the first item! Even "original" documents contain errors! Just because information is found on a "primary" document (e.g. a birth certificate) does not mean it is accurate. My grandmother's birth certificate had 1 piece of data that was correct – every other data point had an error of some kind! Given that, go for a preponderance of evidence before you draw a conclusion on a birth date, a birth place, what a person's name is. We so often want to dot the Is and cross the Ts and yet what do you do when every document has someone's name "differently?" What is their "real name?" The one listed on their birth certificate? The one mom called them by? The one they used? The one on official documents? Which is truly their name?
What "common" research mistakes would you like to warn your fellow genealogists and family historians about?
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Posted by Diane L Richard at Friday, November 02, 2012
Labels: Research mistakes
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text:
Steven Winn and his wife, Sally, wanted to fulfil their daughter's dream of gettting a dog, so they adopted a scraggly terrier mutt named Como from a local animal shelter near San Francisco. But their daughter Pheobe's dream soon turned into a family nightmare.
"Come Back, Como" is the story of one man's quest to win the trust of an unruly dog. Through maddening adventures and terrifying events, Winn and his family discover the rewarding effects of learning to live with a rebellious pet in "Come Back, Como: Winning the Heart of a Relecutant Dog."
Author Steven Winn is a journalist and fiction writer based in San Francisco.
After reading the excerpt below, head to the "GMA" Library to find more good reads.
Chapter One: How It Didn't Begin
I wanted Ecstasy.
That, it seemed clear to me, was the direct route to the other things I wanted, too. I wanted family harmony and companionship. I wanted laughs now and stories to tell later. I wanted rituals and something new to photograph on holidays. A reason to be outdoors and a potential bond with neighbors and strangers.
I wanted a twelve-year-old daughter made happy and fulfilled beyond all she had patiently imagined and a wife beaming back at me in the mutual glow of a marital mission accomplished. I wanted reunions and separations—and more joyful reunions. A counter to my own bouts of loneliness and isolation. An end to this endless search.
But most of all, and for all those reasons and more, I wanted Ecstasy—suddenly, unmistakably, irrefutably. And there it was, in matchless canine form, gazing up at me from a cement floor on the other side of a hurricane fence at an animal adoption shelter in Redwood City, California. Part beagle and part corgi, this was the dog, I instantly felt certain, that we had been looking for all along.
For a long, soulful moment we communed through the diamond-shaped openings between us. A little shiver, a tremor of cross-species connection, ran up my spine as our eyes locked through the fence. This was it. This animal would soon become part of our family.
She was, first of all, a delight to behold. Saucer-eyed and crowned with perfect isosceles triangle ears, she had a soft white coat touched here and there with irregular brown spots, like morsels of chocolate melting into a creamy dough. She was exactly the size and weight we were looking for—lap-sittable at something under twenty pounds.
She looked healthy and untraumatized, holding my avid, appraising stare without going into some needy spasm or fearful cringe or one of those teethbaring, cage-rattling fits that had startled and alarmed us on numerous occasions during our quest to adopt a pet.
This dog did none of it. To her great credit, in my estimation, she did nothing much at all. Seated about two-thirds of the way back in her narrow enclosure, she looked serenely untroubled by me, by the starkness of her environment (bare floor, dim overhead lighting, battered metal food and water dishes, ratty looking blanket, and stippled rubber barbell), or by the tumult of wild howls, frantic barking, and claws scrabbling on cement that lent this perfectly respectable shelter, like the many other respectable and some not-so ones we'd visited over the past three months, the air of an asylum for the four-footed criminally insane.
In the midst of it all, this dog—"our dog"—remained comfortably seated. Very comfortably, in fact, with a rounded haunch tucked under on one side and her two back paws casually lolling on the other. She looked as if she were sunbathing out on some warm California beach, half hypnotized by the waves rustling in the distance. As if dimly aware of an admirer, the object of my new affections blinked softly and stood up on her stubby little corgi legs.
She moves, I marveled, and remembered Phoebe's first wobbly steps on her aunt Judy's front lawn in Milwaukee ten years before. Like that sublime waddle, this was poetic locomotion—leisurely and stress-free, a casual stroll around her confines.
As those short legs scissored back and forth beneath her plumply rounded form, a slightly oversize head bobbing as she went, I was freshly enchanted. There were none of the distressing behaviors we'd seen so often—no fretful pacing or sudden lunges at potential adopters, no leaping up on the fence or sad-eyed sulking at the back of the cage. Here was a dog so calmly self-possessed that nothing would rattle her.
What could be better for a family that had never had a dog and a daughter whose shyness and quiet disposition had made Sally and me uneasy in the first place about the unpredictable havoc a pet can wreak?
Plus, this one was cute and sort of comically disproportionate, now that she was up and in motion—beagle bigger in some places, corgi smaller in others. I smiled and started calling out to her:
"Here, girl. Here, girl. Come on, girl." She declined my invitations, went back to where she'd been sitting when I found her, and sat back down.
That was endearing, too, in a way. She seemed to know her own comfort zone and how to find it. Even as I was being charmed, that reflexively skeptical part of me did wonder for a moment:
If this dog is so great, why hasn't anyone adopted her? But I throttled that impulse and went on adding up all her positive attributes.
Maybe she'd just arrived at the shelter, I told myself, and we would be the lucky family that got her. She was beautiful. She was kind. She was loyal. All that shone through. I pictured her in our house, resting on the carpet in the living room, plodding into the kitchen to be fed, resting some more on the carpet. The dog's name, "Ecstasy," was hand-lettered on a sign wired to the door of her cage. Below that was another captivating line:
"House-trained. Gentle. Good with children."
"Phoebe. Over here. Quick!"
I called out to my daughter in an urgent, stagy whisper calculated to rise above the barking, braying, and choral whimpering of the other dogs and still not attract the attention of any other potentially competitive dog seekers. This was our third visit to this shelter, located twentyfive miles south of our home in San Francisco, and we knew the way things worked here.
You had to act briskly and furtively when a promising dog bobbed up in the sea of snarling pit bulls and broken-down setters that looked as if they'd been through the animal equivalent of the Crimean War and held out no hope for a happy conclusion. Good dogs went fast, as we always said.
One day we'd be here to catch one. Now here it was. Phoebe came around the corner from the next row of cages and stood next to me. She was silent for a long time, staring in at the dog of our dreams. Finally I couldn't contain myself. "So, what do you think?" I asked. "Isn't she adorable? See if she'll come to you."
Phoebe crouched down and waggled her slender fingers through the fence. Sure enough, Ecstasy arose and ambled over. Her tail, which I hadn't noticed before, switched back and forth a few times as she walked. After stretching forward to sniff my daughter's hand, Ecstasy came a few steps closer and allowed her short muzzle to be stroked. Sally should be here, I thought.
She should be seeing this. Just as I was about to go off in search of her, Phoebe stood up. A recent growth spurt had added several inches to her height. Taller than some of her friends' mothers already, with a face and body that seemed to be morphing into something lovelier and more limber every day, our daughter could give me the woozy, time-spanning sense that she was already fully grown. But she was actually only twelve, still very much our soft-spoken but single-minded child.
She locked her arms at her sides and stared at the ground.
"I don't like her, Daddy," she said of Ecstasy.
"Why not? You just met her. She likes you."
"I just don't. She feels funny."
"What do you mean, she feels funny? Kristof had that weird springy fur, and you liked him."
Mentioning Kristof was a mistake. I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth. I could see it in Phoebe's face, in her narrowed eyes and the combative set of her jaw. Kristof was a dog we'd found at the SPCA in San Francisco several months back, a poodle-mix puppy that Sally and I vetoed on the grounds of house-training issues and his likely size (thirty to forty pounds) as a full-grown dog. Phoebe had been furious at the time, accusing us of denying her the one and only thing she truly wanted and not ever meaning to get a dog in the first place. Her bleak, accusatory look hadn't been easy to forget.
That was early on in our search, and we'd told her—and really thought it—that there would be plenty of other dogs. We were right about that: there were plenty of other dogs, hundreds and hundreds of them.
The problem was that almost all of them were either too manic, too menacing, too unruly, too big, too old, or too hideous to consider. And the ones that weren't any of those things were snapped up so quickly that I became convinced insider trading was a bigger problem in the California dog market than it was on Wall Street.
After promising Phoebe on her twelfth birthday that she could finally have the dog she'd been campaigning for since the time she could talk (and she was an early talker), we'd entered into our search with a blithe, even slightly smug attitude.
Think of all the terrific unwanted shelter dogs out there that would be happy to have a home with us, we told ourselves.
Just think of what we offered—a decent-size house with a small fenced garden out back, proximity to Golden Gate Park and its acres of open space, a daughter who regarded dogs as semidivine beings, and two adults whose flexible work schedules as a community college teacher (Sally) and a journalist (me) would facilitate regular walks and plenty of daytime attention. What dog wouldn't want to sign on for all that? As a karmic bonus, we'd be saving some animal from a premature demise if he or she weren't adopted.
The idea of finding a shelter dog, instead of laying down five hundred or a thousand dollars or more for one of the boutique breeds that had become so popular, added a self-anointed sheen of virtue.
None of that counted for much with Phoebe. All she knew, as the summer wore on, was that she still didn't have a dog to come home to. For a while, as part of her sustained lobbying effort, she'd made a point of reminding us which of her friends and classmates had or were about to get a dog.
She'd go spend the afternoon with Laurie after their Saturday soccer practice or game and come home with stories of romping through the house with Laurie's Airedale, Spencer. Emily had a frisky white terrier named Popcorn. Molly had Lola, an immense, affectionate hound of some kind. Lily, whose parents were divorced, had Bagel the dog at her mother's house and a cat at her father's apartment, with a promised dog on the way there as well.
And then there was the troublesome case of Tobias, whose chocolate Labrador, Mia, died when the kids were in fifth grade. Minutes later, it seemed, Mia was replaced by Oscar, a dachshund puppy who made an appearance at school one afternoon when I was there to pick up Phoebe.
As a swarm of kids crowded around the squirming, undeniably adorable Oscar on the playground, my daughter walked stoically by and headed for the car.
"Don't you want to ... ," I started to ask, and then realized that I was the intended audience for her performance.
We drove home in a well-orchestrated silence. From time to time Sally and I would enter into discussions with Phoebe—actually, they were more like inquisitions—about our dogless state. Did she really think she was ready to handle the responsibility?
Would she feed him and bathe him and walk him, even if it was raining or she had too much homework or she just didn't feel like it? Did she realize that a dog wasn't just something you could pay attention to when you wanted to and ignore the rest of the time? Did she know it was a lifelong commitment?
Yes, yes, a thousand impassioned, ardent, and ultimately weary yeses to all those questions. I can remember Phoebe rolling her eyes once about that lifelong commitment line. She knew perfectly well, by age five, that a dog didn't live forever.
You had it and loved it with all your heart for a while and then it died, and that was that. For all her romantic fixation on the subject—the dog posters on her walls and sheets on her bed, the dog calendars and sweaters, her ceramic collection, and stuffed dogs of all breeds and sizes—Phoebe may have been more grounded and realistic about having a pet in the house than we were.
Sally and I would sometimes lie in bed with the lights out and confide all our worries and worst-case scenarios to each other as Phoebe slept soundly, dreaming of dogs, no doubt, down the hall. I was especially keen on running actuarial studies in my head and sharing the results with Sally.
"Let's say we get a dog now," I'd figure out loud, "and he lives for fourteen years. Phoebe's going away to college in six.
That means we'd have the dog on our own for eight more years. And he could live twenty years. Dogs do that, you know. That would be fourteen more years for us. You'd be seventy, and I'd be seventy-two."
Sally, an English teacher for whom numbers are largely meaningless, didn't say anything for a while. I wondered if she was thinking about the two of us in our graying, slowing seventies.
"Dogs don't always live that long," she said at last. "He might die before she ever leaves for college."
"Oh, that'd be great," I said. "Why don't we just go in there and break her heart right now?" By then we were both staring at the ceiling and unlikely to fall asleep anytime soon.
My conversations with Phoebe took on a different, quasi-legal cast. When she was working the evidence of her canine-enriched peers especially hard, I would sometimes cross-examine her and introduce conflicting testimony. I'd name all the families we knew that didn't have dogs.
"What about Jeanne?" I said. "Or Camille? They don't have dogs."
"Jeanne's dad's allergic," Phoebe answered. "Camille's family lives in an apartment. They're not allowed to have dogs."
"And Sophie?" I continued. "They've got a big house."
"Sophie doesn't want a dog. She likes birds." There was a pointed pause. "And she's got a bird." She added the name for emphasis: "Fellini."
"Well," I said, "we're not like other families. We do things our own way, in our own time."
"I know," Phoebe said. "I know."
Ecstasy was almost certainly a lost cause once Phoebe had declared her aversion to the way the dog felt to her. But I wasn't ready to give up.
"Wait here," I told her. "I'm going to go find Mommy." I glanced over my shoulder at Ecstasy as I left. She had resumed her customary spot in the cage, lying down now on the bare floor. It seemed a little odd that she avoided her blanket.
Sally was outside, taking one of her frequent breaks from the animal-shelter chaos that tended to produce a headache and/or hay fever attack. She stood at the edge of the parking lot, looking through a hedge at the back of a 7-Eleven.
"Come back inside," I said. "I think we may have found one." At some level I must have thought that if I just didn't mention that Phoebe had already spurned her, Ecstasy still might have a chance. After Sally said something back to me that I didn't hear, we walked in past the front desk, where a family with three small children was rejoicing over the big grungy Akita mix they'd just adopted, and headed for Ecstasy's aisle. Phoebe was nowhere in sight.
Sally did pretty much exactly what Phoebe had. She peered into the cage, leaned down, and got the dog to come over and inspect her hand. I leaned down, too, and made my first physical contact with Ecstasy. I noticed that her nose was a little warm, but her fur felt smooth, not "funny" at all.
"She's nice," I murmured, trying not to disturb the intimacy the three of us had achieved down there by the base of the cage.
The shelter was strangely quiet at that moment. "Her sign says she's gentle and good with children," I said. "You can tell that.
She's not skittish all."
Sally went on petting Ecstasy's head and neck and even got a finger behind one of her large pointy ears to scratch. The dog looked blissfully contented, as if she'd been drugged. Her eyes lolled upward. Even as she kept scratching, my wife threw a skeptical look in my direction.
Sally had come into this dog search as reluctantly, probably more so than I had. She knew going in, as she does about most things in our life together, just about what would happen. I'd talk up the limitless glories of something (a vacation, a remodeling project, now a dog), and she'd end up handling the bulk of phone calls and e-mails (to hotels, plumbers, the vet), not to mention the worrying and fretting that followed. No matter how much Phoebe and I insisted otherwise, a dog was going to be one more huge responsibility of which Sally would shoulder more than her share. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right, but there it was.
It was also only part of the pattern. For all her pragmatic, work-saving reservations about adopting a dog, Sally and I both knew what else was coming with a pet. No matter what kind of dog we found, she would fall hopelessly, heedlessly in love with it. Despite her practical toiling efficiency, my wife is far more swooningly romantic than I, with all my swashbuckling pronouncements, will ever be.
Movies (both sad and funny), Springsteen power ballads, a family photo album, Olympic athletes looking solemn on the podium—they can all bring on Sally's readily flowing tears. Fifteen years into our marriage, long after I was accustomed to this trait of hers, even I was startled to witness Sally's giddy laughter turn to tears when her father, on his eightieth birthday, spontaneously sang a Pepsi- Cola jingle from his youth. She was crying for his childhood, for hers, for her mother who had died suddenly in her fifties, for the bittersweet rush of it all. A dog was going to conquer her completely.
"Has Phoebe seen her?" Sally asked, withdrawing her hand from Ecstasy's cage.
There was no point in lying outright about that, although I was tempted. "Just for a minute," I said. "She didn't really spend any time with her."
"What did she say?"
"Not much. Something about her fur being a little weird. But that's just something to get used to. Real dogs don't feel like Dakta," I said, referring to the stuffed Alaskan husky puppy Phoebe had been sleeping with every night for years.
"I know what she means," Sally said. "Her coat feels dry. You wonder how well they really take care of these animals." She looked down the row of prisonlike cages and mouthed something else I didn't catch.
"What did you say?" I asked her. As often as I genuinely don't hear what my soft-spoken, at-times-inaudible wife says, my incomprehension is sometimes a delaying tactic to gather my thoughts.
"Of course they take care of them," I said to Sally's prior remark. "They'd get shut down if they didn't."
"How do you know that?" Sally challenged, her voice ratcheting up now.
"Nobody shuts down those awful puppy mills that turn out sick dogs."
"What are you talking about? This isn't some puppy mill. We wouldn't have come back here if that's what we thought."
Just then, as if he'd been set off by the rising pitch and tension in my voice, a bulldog unleashed a fusillade of barking in one of the cages behind us. I turned around and gave him a tough look, which only increased his fury.
Soon enough some of the other dogs joined in. It got so noisy that Sally and I, mercifully, had to stop arguing. A staff member from the shelter showed up and asked us if everything was okay.
"Great," I shouted. "Everything's fine. You've got a lot of great dogs here."
He didn't respond to that and went over to calm down the bulldog.
"Where's Phoebe?" Sally asked. "I thought she was with you." Now her voice had an edge. We took off in opposite directions.
I found Phoebe by the bulletin board in the lobby. She was studying, as she had on our previous visits, the snapshots of families with the pets they had adopted. Everyone in the photographs—even the dogs and cats and an occasional rabbit this shelter doled out—seemed to be smiling.
"That'll be us someday, sweetie. I promise."
She looked up at me. Her hazel eyes were wet and ready to spill over. "Why were you and Mommy yelling?" she asked me.
"We weren't yelling. Did you hear us?"
She went back to looking at the bulletin board. Sally slipped in beside her and put a hand on our daughter's head and stroked her fine-filament blond hair. It was one of those moments when I realize how much my wife and daughter resemble each other— their fair hair and sea green eyes, slim shoulders, soft voices, upright posture, and an uncanny way of expressing defiance, uncertainty, or tenderness with the slightest shift of their chins.
"What kind of dog is that one?" Sally asked Phoebe, who had made a study of breeds from the books she'd gotten for Christmas and birthdays over the years.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It might be part Portuguese cattle dog. Or maybe a laika." And then, still looking at the bulletin board, she said in a softer voice, "I don't want that dog, Daddy.
Estasy." She pronounced it without the hard c, so it came out "Ess-tuh-see." It was like the sound of air slowly hissing out of a party balloon.
I knew how hard it must have been for Phoebe to tell me that. She was passing, once again, on a chance to have a dog.
She didn't really know what she didn't like about this one. She didn't know when, if ever, the right dog would come along.
And she felt bad about disappointing me. She was trying very hard not to cry. I was both terribly proud of her and miserable about what she and all of us were going through. Sally and I exchanged a short, helpless look over our daughter's head.
"Let's get out of here," I said. "Who wants ice cream on the way home?"
"I do, I do," Sally said. We often did this when our daughter, an only child, turned somber. We acted like children ourselves in an attempt to jolly her out of moods that frightened us a little with their black totality.
Phoebe walked behind us to the car and then positioned herself in the backseat right where I couldn't catch her face in the rearview mirror.
We stood outside the ice cream store with our cones and dishes and watched the airplanes slant down over the bay to the San Francisco International Airport. "That was us a few weeks back," I said, recalling our flight home from a visit to my relatives in Missouri. No response. "This is pretty good," I tried again, motioning at my Caramel Pecan Swirl with a plastic spoon. "But it's no Winstead's malt."
"Why do we always have to go there?" Phoebe asked, of Kansas City's famous "steakburger" joint.
"Like you mind," I said. "I never hear you complain about the French fries." "The onion rings are really where it's at," Sally put in.
"That's so wrong," Phoebe answered.
They went at each other cheerfully for a little while on that inexhaustible topic. Then they started in on me for the time I almost made us miss our flight by insisting on a last-minute Winstead's run. This was good. We were done with dogs for the day and putting this latest failed attempt behind us. On the ride home Sally and Phoebe hatched a plan to go swimming at the YMCA later on.
I was glad the gloomy, defeated mood had lifted, glad to be headed home with my wife and daughter chattering away.
There were some decent leftovers in the refrigerator for dinner, which meant we wouldn't have to hurry up and cook something before they changed into their suits and took off for the Y. But as I drove north past the airport and headed across 380 toward the white hood of fog that often looms over San Francisco in the summer months, my thoughts sailed back to that docile, slightly vacant-eyed dog we'd just left behind.
I suppose I knew Ecstasy wasn't right for us. Maybe she wasn't right for anyone. "Gentle with children," I realized, could just as easily mean "Catatonic with everyone." "Nearly brain dead." "Requires regular resuscitation." And still, somehow, it did seem that something had slipped away.
Maybe we were the one family that could have coaxed Ecstasy out of her shell, found the core of love and loyalty that lies inside even the most unlikely dog. Maybe her peculiarly ill-suited name was a kind of clue, inviting us to find the buoyancy and joy buried in this decidedly unecstatic animal. We reentered the fog at the Stonestown shopping center and started the climb up Nineteenth Avenue.
None of us would have guessed it that afternoon, as the clammy wet air swirled around us and the parti-colored row houses streamed by, but we would soon be headed to Redwood City again. Back we would go, just a few weeks later, to the same shelter, hopeful but far from certain that anything would come of it. There was no way to have known it, but the Ecstasy that didn't happen that day was a prelude to the madness that did.


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Let me start by saying I'm only go to do this once. I promise.
Next, if you noticed a lot of chapter alerts with the same title, that's because they're all the same, skip/delete the others.
Finally, I wanted to give this big news to as many people as I could, which is the only reason I'm doing this (see first point)
Okay! The good news! I'm published!
That's right! If you've enjoyed my stories, which I bet you have as you've put me on alert, now is your chance to read a completely original story written by yours truly.
Cargon: Honour & Privilege is my first novel, but I already have two more complete manuscripts, so a second isn't far off. It is set on a future earth after a cataclysmic even has destroyed nearly all of our technology. It is the time of the second renaissance. The story revolves around Eve, a servant in a caste-style society who has the nerve and the guile to step out of her set role and take on a new and much loftier one.
Here's the back blurb:
Lives are won, lost and traded on the three-tiered Cargon boards.
Eve, a serving-girl, has watched the elite from the outside, seen the dramatic shifts based on the results of the Game. With a growing need to reach beyond her station, she can no longer accept her position on the edges.
Wagering her own life, she wins and emerges in a strange new world. New rules and old acquaintances tangle to make Eve's life less comfortable than her position would suggest.
One pawn moved, but an entire world shaken – Eve will change the world.
Copies are available at Amazon (kindle and paper versions) and signed copies, as well as information about up-coming book, blog posts from me, tour dates as I book them, are all be available on my website: Kimmydonn. com
I'm so excited about this, my first release. I've had a bit of a stumble out of the gate and that's gotten me down, but I'm hoping some of you will perk me back up, possibly with sales, but even with just reviews/PMs of congrats. I'll appreciate all of them.
I thought I'd finish by including an excerpt from the book. After demonstrating her wit to the High One, Eve was moved into classes with elite. She is still a servant, still apart from them, but in their realm. (Excuse the formatting, I pulled this from my final PDF copy ;)
Awaking early from the nightmare, she entered the classroom
an hour before the elite students. Even so, the Ernst was there
ahead of her. "If a rock is placed in the sea, does the rock become
wet or does the sea become rocky?"
Eve smiled, but didn't raise her eyes. This was exactly the sort
of question he would ask his class. "Both. The rock joins those on
the bottom, making the sea rocky. As well, the rock, having space
within, takes in water, becoming wet."
The Ernst smiled at her. "And, if the rock were not porous?"
"Then only the sea would become rocky, as the rock would
retain no water upon removal. Nor, if the rock were the only one in
the sea could the sea be said to be rocky either. Was this the only
rock in the sea?" Only after she asked did she realize she was
looking up at the Ernst.
His milky blue eyes shone. "You are a fine student. Take your
place," he sighed. Eve heard the students approaching. Today, the
Ernst quizzed his students on the nature of time and its flow. Was
it even, like water poured from a pitcher, or variable like the wind?
Eve imagined it was choppy like water in a stream. It generally
flowed in one direction, but it was possible to be thrown back, with
memory and dream, to an earlier time, only to be rushed forward
again. She made plans to write this after class was complete.
Prince Louis came to her as he had so many times before. He
was significantly older than his classmates, making Eve wonder
why he was still here. His hand came to rest over her breasts,
where she had pinned the bloom today.
"That bloom will never fade. I think his attention is not so
constant. But mine is, as you can see." Eve set her teeth at that. She
taunted him, but did not seek his affections. Prince Louis put his
nose to her hair now, inhaling deeply. He sighed. "Would you taste
as wonderful as you smell, I wonder?" His hand traced down her
side, just off her skin. It brushed the fabric of her skirt, and she
stepped to the side. It was not strictly permitted, but neither was
his touch.
He sidestepped with her, grinning now. "Skittish. I like that.
Where will you jump to next?" He moved to place his hand on her
chest again, and she leaned away to her left, twisting from him.
Her skirts brushed his legs. That wasn't permitted either. She
backed away again.
He continued to pursue her as she backed herself into the
corner. He put his hands to either side of her head, trapping her
effectively. Finally, unable to find another response, she turned her
eyes level to his. In them she held all of her hatred, her anger, his
loss of honour. Would he continue to ignore the impropriety he
was inflicting? Would he simply accept the slight she had
delivered by staring him down?
He seemed to, showing no offence and instead dipping his
nose to her bloom. He was nearly touching her breasts. She tried
not to breathe while he inhaled deeply. "Smells wonderful, but I
think that's not the bloom. I do wish our stations were not so
distant." He pulled his arms away and turned from her.
It had been over a year since the first time he had approached
her, but for the second time she fell to the floor in relief. She had
nearly spat on him! He would have had her beaten severely for
that. She sniffled, and only then realized tears streamed her face.
She pulled a kerchief and wiped them away before rising. She took
one more deep breath and strode to her lunch with what time
If you'd like to read a larger sample, there are a few chapters available on Google Books. Thanks so much for reading!


text:
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Canyon, TX - Former President Bill Clinton visited West Texas A&M University as part of the Distinguished Lecture Series.
His message was finding a solution to the disconnect between what works in the real world and what works on capitol hill.
Clinton agreed to speak at WT after the school made a 100,000 dollar donation to the Flight 93 Memorial.
He said on the 10th anniversary of that crash he met former President George W. Bush in Shanksville, Pennsylvania where the plane went down.
He and Bush agreed to try to get the last 10 million needed for the project as a sign that things can be accomplished if legislators can compromise.


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Meg's Labor of Love Kitchen
Like this entry? Favorite it below!
- Name:
- Meg
- Location:
- New York, NY
- Square Feet:
- 73
- Division:
- Own
- What makes your small kitchen so cool:
- When I bought my apartment, the kitchen was just a little separate nook with virtually no counter space and very little storage. I completely gutted the space and was able to create my ideal kitchen with tons of storage space and counter space (and a dishwasher!). This kitchen was a labor of love - I had so much fun through the whole process shopping around for deals and finding all the pieces to make the whole project come together.
- Describe a challenge you've overcome or a smart resource you've found for your kitchen.:
- I love to cook (and have lots of cooking supplies) and it was a challenge to maximize the space to create both usable surface area and as much storage as possible. The island, for example, serves multiple purposes - it creates a ton of storage space and also serves as a cooking and prep space, a desk and a kitchen table (this is key in a small NYC apt). I have additional folding bar stools so I can easily convert the island into a dinner table for at least four people.
- What's your favorite meal to cook here?:
- I love to bake cookies at the holidays for my friends and family and having this kitchen makes doing so incredibly easy. I have so much counter space to spread out all my supplies and set up an assembly line for assembling and baking the cookies (and, of course, having the storage space to keep my stand mixer is also a huge plus).


text:
Mark Berry reports on Dr. Gibson's introduction and Dr. Whittemore's keynote speech, at the 11th Invest in ME International ME Conference in London.
Discuss the article on the Forums.
serum levels - b12 low, folic acid high
Discussion in 'Detox: Methylation; B12; Glutathione; Chelation' started by alonaxis, Jun 3, 2014.


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How New York's Beloved Astor Place Cube Was Restored
Artsy Editorial
Signature: Incised "Rosenthal"
Image rights: © Estate of Tony Rosenthal / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY
Best known for his monumental sculptures in public spaces, Tony Rosenthal produced major works in cities across the United States, from Chicago, Detroit, and Honolulu, to Los Angeles and Miami. His most famous work is Alamo in Manhattan's Astor Place, also known as the The Cube, a 15-foot revolving Cor-Ten steel sculpture that is considered a New York City landmark. The playwright Edward Albee once observed about Rosenthal's work: "His monumental outdoor pieces, set in landscapes or in busy city spaces, seem always to have been there…Like all the important metal workers—like Stankiewicz, like Caro, like Serra, like Chamberlain—Rosenthal's objects instruct us, alter our perceptions, disturb and thrill us by their audacity, their wonder and their inevitability."
American, 1914-2009
How New York's Beloved Astor Place Cube Was Restored
Artsy Editorial
Tony Rosenthal, an interview
Robert Grunder


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Dabril shakes his head. Why cant they hit anything. points his finger at bg2 again.
* dabril points his finger *
Cheek approaches the tree with the dagger-thrower in it (BG3). He gives a mighty jab of his longspear at the cowardly attacker.
* Cheek stabs upward with his longspear *
* Damage if hits *
Last edited by Windstar; 10-01-2009 at 06:36 PM.
Dabril shakes his head. Why cant they hit anything. points his finger at bg2 again.
* dabril points his finger *
Jaysen grinned. These two orcs were obviously inept, but they weren't the only enemy. "A byt ofe ah Gambyle myght quickyn thys fyght," he thought. He maneuvered in between the two orcs (square m5) and cried, "Flynke thyse scume, we myst kyll thym wythe Spyde!"
He struck the orc with his war hammer again. It glowed as he invoked the holy words his mentor had taught him. He hoped to draw the orc's ire.
* Jaysen tries to smash the opposing orc's ribcage in with a holy strike. *
* warhammer damage *
Last edited by Jayzilla; 10-03-2009 at 05:23 PM.
OOC: attacks and defense rolled in chat w/Corereally as witness.
Paros continues his attack on BG1
Attack with Shortword = 7
Damage = 6
Attack with shortsword = 5
Damage = 5
As the Orc responded to Paros' first attack, it missed. Paros responded immediately, but the Orc had shifte its weight, causing both swords to cut the air instead of the Orc. Paros braces for impact as he prepares for the Orc's rebuke.
Last edited by Fly by Knight; 10-02-2009 at 08:40 AM.
The sudden attack from the hidden man in the tree couldnt help but concern Darren. Stepping quickly away, back onto the rough path he let two more arrows fly at the bloody howling Orc.
Meanwhile the scent of his preys blood consumed Deacon senses, ferociously driving him on. Attempting to move behind the Orc, he lunged again attempting to find a place between the Orcs heavy armor to sink his teeth.
(OCC: Darren shifts to J5 and uses Twin Strike [2 ranged attacks] against BG2, who is still marked with Hunters Quarry. Deacon shifts to M7 and attacks BG2 as well. I believe Jayzilla meant to move to M5 not M8, based on his description. If so Deacons Shift will give him Flanking and his attack will receive an additional +2, I will include that in my roll if I am wrong please subtract the 2 from my roll)
* Darren's first arrow *
* Damage from first arrow? *
* Darren's second arrow *
* Damage from second arrow? *
* Hunter's Quarry Damage? *
* Deacon's bite *
* Deacon's Bite damage? *
OOC: (yeah, sorry, m5 is correct. Enjoy the +2 )
Sys'lex stands behind the viscous orc, the smell of its fresh blood filling the air with a metallic taste. His spear still gripped tightly in his hands all he can think is that his beloved mistress had met some end at their hands. He could only feel the rage up swell in his tiny body, his spear acting as a receptacle for his emotion.
* Sys'lex sure strike attacks the orc from behind *
* Sys'lex damage, if he hits *
Last edited by mnemenoi; 10-05-2009 at 10:12 AM.
Targ shifts to the side of the Orc he has been attacking so that he and Jaysen flank the beast. With a silence that is almost the opposite of his earlier metalic howl he he shifts the way he holds his axe and brings it down in a strike known to give a uplifting and rejuvenating feel.
((Shift to M3))
* Targ uses Recuperating Strike. *
* Damage if Targ hits(Reroll the D12 if it is a 1 or a 2). *


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Principal: Karla Stinehart
Bio Email
Valley View Elementary is one of the top-performing schools in the District. Our school grade is a B this year.
Please see the NMPED site online to view our School Grade!
K, 1, & 2 Discovery Comparison Data
3, 4, & 5 Discovery Proficiency Graph
Valley View's Mission Statement
Please Like Valley View Pac on Facebook!
Email Valley View Pac
Check out our Spring Production below:


text:
Celebrities Who Had Crappy First Jobs
Did you have a shitty first job (or second or third job)? I definitely did. I worked for Mandee, a cheap, semi-crappy, clothing store for teens. I got the job right before I started my senior year of high school, and worked there up until I left for college. For a measly $6.25 an hour, I would walk around the store, putting clothes back, taking things off the tall rack, answering customers' questions, and suffering the abuse the disgruntled managers inflicted on us teenaged sales associates. We weren't allowed to discuss pay with one another or take off on major holidays like Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve, all rules which I broke. Looking back, I don't know why I stayed there almost a year. I didn't really need the money all that badly (not that I made a ton of it), and I was certainly busy enough in school, doing cheerleading, and applying to college. I guess I wanted to see what having a "job" was like and didn't want my parents to have to pay for my shopping and eating-out habits. It definitely showed me that one career that wasn't a good fit for me was retail, and that I was lucky to be able to go to a good college and never have to suffer through a job like that as an adult.
Luckily, I'm not alone in the bad first job experience category. Our very own editor here at The Gloss, Lilit, had perhaps the shittiest first job I've ever heard of, as a much-unappreciated assistant, and now she's an editor! The experience as an assistant inspired her to start a successful website and even write a book about her experience, called Save the Assistants: A Guide to Thriving and Surviving in the Workplace. Plenty of celebrities had less-than-stellar first jobs, and look where they've wound up! Many even credit their earliest jobs, which may have sucked, to leading them to where they are today in their careers. Take a look through the gallery to see which celebrities had unglamourous, and at times, embarrassing first jobs. This should give you hope, whether you're suffering as an underpaid, overworked assistant or dressed up as a hotdog handing out coupons on the street corner. And tell us: did you have a shitty first job?[ITPGallery]


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Stanley Cup
Sponsored By
A Long Weekend Travel Guide To TorontoA practical travel guide for a long weekend trip to Canada's largest city.
Kings Need To Score More To Beat BlackhawksAfter a rare day off for rest and contemplation, the Los Angeles Kings came back focused on what's missing from their run at a second straight Stanley Cup title.
LA Kings and Stanley Cup celebrate at Palms Casino Resort in Las VegasMembers of the Los Angeles Kings are celebrating their NHL championship while staying at Palms Casino Resort with their new Stanley Cup. The Kings are Stanley Cup champions for the first time, so they said a Las Vegas visit is the perfect celebration which was 45 years in the making.
Kings Earn Their Crown With Game 6 RoutThe Los Angeles Kings' 45-year Stanley Cup quest ended in a triumphant flourish of blood, sweat and power-play goals. After missing two chances to claim the title last week, the long-suffering Kings are NHL champions for the first time.
Never-Say-Die Devils Believing They Can Pull Off The (Nearly) ImpossibleWinning Game 4 of the Stanley Cup finals did more than keep the Devils alive. It gave them a sniff, a scent, a feeling. Call it momentum if you want.
Devils Come Alive In 3rd, Force Kings Fans To Put Away The BroomsAdam Henrique scored the tiebreaking goal with 4:29 to play, Martin Brodeur made 21 saves, and the New Jersey Devils beat the Los Angeles Kings 3-1 on Wednesday night to avoid a sweep in the Stanley Cup finals.
What Pressure? Devils Rookie Henrique Continues To Dazzle On Big StageAfter Henrique scored the tiebreaker to win Game 4 of the Stanley Cup finals on Wednesday night, he became the first rookie to get three game-winning goals in one playoff year since 1999.
Devils' Stanley Cup Dreams All But Gone After Kings' Game 3 RoutThe Los Angeles Kings are one win away from putting a Hollywood ending on one of the most spectacular playoff runs in NHL history.
Devils' Kovalchuk: 'We'll Be A Desperate Team In Game 4'Only three NHL teams have rallied from a 3-0 deficit to win a playoff series, and just one - the 1942 Toronto Maple Leafs - did it in the Stanley Cup finals.
Goodbye, Home-Ice Advantage: Devils Head To Game 2 In Early 1-0 HoleThe Devils had plenty of chances to score on Kings goalie Jonathan Quick, but they cashed in only one in their 2-1 overtime loss Wednesday night.
Almost Lost For Season, Travis Zajac Helping Fuel Devils' RunMost of the talk about the Devils and their run to the Stanley Cup finals has focused on Martin Brodeur, Ilya Kovalchuk, Zach Parise and Peter DeBoer. The guy who tends to get lost in all the talk is Travis Zajac.
Devils Exorcise '94 Demons, Advance To Stanley Cup Finals For 5th TimeAdam Henrique scored off a wild scramble in front at 1:03 into overtime and the New Jersey Devils defeated the New York Rangers 3-2 to advance to their first Stanley Cup finals since 2003.


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If the top Halloween costume in New England this fall isn't "Darth Quaider" then we have all failed.
Bruins rookie defenseman Adam McQuaid both improved by leaps and bounds in all areas of his game and inspired one of the greatest nicknames in franchise history, courtesy of teammate Andrew Ference.
Coming off a lackluster cup of coffee with the Bruins in 2009-10, hardly anyone could've imagined that McQuaid would spend large chunks of the Bruins' Stanley Cup championship season munching top-four minutes.
That he led the league in plus/minus for a few weeks of the season (and finished an amazing plus-30) and still managed to find time for 12 fights only added to his legend and made you wonder if he really could build hockey's version of the Death Star.
Regular season: 67 GP, 3-12-15, plus-30
Playoffs: 23 GP, 0-4-4, plus-8
Contract status: Signed through 2011-12 at $575,000 cap hit
Best regular-season moment: Any doubts that McQuaid could be an NHL regular were erased Dec. 18 against Washington. He not only recorded an assist on a Patrice Bergeron goal but beat down Captials forward Matt Bradley in a bout that Bradley started in an effort to turn momentum his team's way. The fight was immortalized on the HBO show "24/7."
Best playoff moment: By the time the postseason rolled around, McQuaid had become downright bold with his play at both ends. He showed that in the most crucial situation imaginable, as his pinch down the right boards and his work to dig out the puck in overtime of Game 7 against Montreal helped set up Nathan Horton's game-winner and clinch a first-round victory for the Bruins.
Worst moment: The puck-controlling ways of Detroit dazzled the Bruins during a home-and-home sweep by the Red Wings in February. McQuaid looked out of his league in the first game, with a minus-2 rating, zero shots and zero blocked shots. Luckily, the Bruins never had to face Detroit again after that series.
Regular-season grade: A-minus
Playoff grade: B. McQuaid's play tailed off a bit over the final two rounds, particularly against the speedy Canucks.
Carnac predicts … McQuaid will settle in on a third pair next season while sometimes filling in in the top four — enough to earn a better pay day and a top-four job somewhere next summer.


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To report an emergency in progress, call 911.
January 15, 2013
For decades, Placer County has been planning and establishing policies for urban and suburban growth in the unincorporated western areas of the county. County staff has considered land use, the balance between jobs and housing, and the need for infrastructure and services, and how those will be funded, in their planning. Those policies have been periodically reviewed by the Board of Supervisors, who has directed staff to make revisions as needed. As the area slowly emerges from the recession and considerations for a multitude of economic recovery issue are being addressed by the County, proposals from developers for implementation of projects will ultimately require some policy consideration by the Board.
Last week, staff provided additional information, reporting to the Board on historical and current land development policies in the West Placer area. Staff addressed specific goals and policies that the County has relied upon in reviewing development proposals over the last few decades. This review is part of a series of meetings and workshops on land use and development set up under Board direction last November when the Board heard a broad overview of West Placer development.
Growth projections for the western end of the county show a potential of doubling the population by 2060. The significant percentage of new urban/suburban growth is anticipated in the unincorporated area of the west county, and most dramatically in the West Placer Planning Area. Between 2007 and 2009, three specific plans (Placer Vineyards, Regional University, and Riolo Vineyard) were approved within the West Placer area, resulting in an authorization to develop approximately 20,000 homes, 4 million square feet of non-residential development, and one university campus site.
While no formal application for changes to project entitlements have been received from any of the development interests, owners have had discussions with county staff about specific plans and requirements for development of those plans.
The report presented to the Board last week gave policy detail on the three specific plans in the West Placer Planning Area. The County Executive Office and county departments with land development responsibility will return with workshops on West Placer Area Development in the coming weeks with a discussion of service levels, land development costs, and potential fiscal implications,


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Locals have been given the chance to see first-hand the vital life-saving service provided by Buxton Mountain Rescue Team.
As part of their celebrations to mark 50 years of service, the Buxton team is holding a series of four open days.
The first of these took place in the country park surrounding Buxton's Poole's Cavern on Easter Saturday.
Members were on hand to demonstrate some of the techniques which they regularly use to save lives in the countryside and hills of the High Peak and surrounding areas.
The remaining open days will be held at its rescue headquarters on Hallsteads, in Dove Holes, on June 17 from 7pm until 9pm; July 23, from 7pm until 9pm; and on August 23, from 2pm until 5pm.
To celebrate their 50-year milestone, the mountain rescue team has set themselves a fundraising challenge to raise £50,000 to purchase a new control vehicle.
To support the team, or for more information about the anniversary celebrations, see their website at www.buxtonmountainrescue.org.uk.


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American Heart Month
Along with Valentine's Day, February marks American Heart Month. American Heart Month is a great time to commit to a healthy lifestyle and make small changes that can lead to a lifetime of heart health.
Maybe you started off the year with fitness and health goals in mind and you haven't quite maintained them the way you had hoped. Now is the time to get back on track. Small changes can make a big difference. Here are a few things you can do today:
Schedule an appointment with your doctor to discuss heart health.
Add exercise into your daily routine.
Increase healthy eating.
Quit smoking.
These are just a few tips that can help lead to a healthier lifestyle, allowing you to treasure all of life's precious moments.
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I would like to hire a Fashion Designer
Presupuesto $30-250 USD
I need a clothes designer who is very good designing wedding dresses to casual outfits and won't need credit of designing the clothes.
12 freelancers están ofertando el promedio de $114 para este trabajo
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SPECIALIZE IN APPAREL DESIGN! Hello Potential Client! I would love to design for you! I am a Senior Graphic Designer with 7+ years of experience in the logo/branding/marketing materials/vector graphics/layout Más
Being a fashion designer myself, i think i will be great fro this project. i have experience and have won awards for my designing too.
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Please take a look at my work - have been in the industry for 10 years now and have a manufacturing unit as well .
im well experinced in designing bridal wears and casual salwar suits. i design jeans and shirts also.


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The Exciting Wilson Pickett
By: Linnea Crowther
5 years ago
Wilson Pickett, born on this day in 1941, helped shape the sound of R&B with his energetic hits. Over the course of a decades-long career, he worked with greats like Isaac Hayes, Donald "Duck" Dunn, producer Jerry Wexler and others. And he made it to the top of the R&B charts five times, singing songs we still love today. Here's a look at those No. 1 hits.
Pickett's first single came in 1962, with "If You Need Me," but it would be three years before he made it to the top of the charts. The song that got him there was 1965's "In the Midnight Hour."
It wasn't long before Pickett was back on top. In 1966, he released his second (and arguably greatest) album, The Exciting Wilson Pickett, and its first single – "634-5789 (Soulsville, USA)" – went straight to No. 1.
Later that year, another song from The Exciting Wilson Pickett hit No. 1. It's one of the all-time best songs whose title is never mentioned in the lyrics: "Land of 1000 Dances."
Pickett was back at No. 1 in 1967 with "Funky Broadway." One of the earliest prototypical funk songs, it has the distinction of being the first song with the word "funky" in the title ever to chart.
Pickett's final stint at the top of the charts came a few years later with 1971's "Don't Knock My Love." Marvin Gaye and Diana Ross would record a popular cover version two years later.
But wait! There's one missing, you say? Well, even though it's one of Pickett's best-known and best-loved songs, "Mustang Sally" stalled at No. 6 on the R&B chart (and didn't even crack the top 20 on the pop charts). Still, we love "Mustang Sally" – and even though it wasn't a No. 1 hit for Wilson Pickett, it will always be tops in our hearts.


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On day 17 of the Missionary Ridge Fire, the unthinkable happened: Another fire broke out.
An electric fence sparked the Valley Fire that took out 10 homes, including Pat Kelleys log home.
Kelley was at his house on Red Ridge Road, near County Road 203, when he heard over the radio scanner that the Valley Fire had broken out.
I was looking out at where the call had come in, and there was an 8- to 10-foot column of smoke, he said.
Kelley retired as a captain from the Durango fire department in 1990, and an off-duty volunteer firefighter was with him when the fire started. They got into their protective gear and were planning on staying in the house garage until the firestorm passed, but the heat from the fire was too strong, Kelley said.
The duo went back to the house after the smoke cleared to find it still standing. A wildfire crew was at the end of his street, and he begged them to give him a fire truck and some firefighters to foam the house.
While a deputy was asking his superior, a piece of bark that was on fire flew through the air and landed on Kelleys deck.
He looked up and said, yours is starting to go now. I said There is still time to save the house if you give me an engine, Kelley said. It was very frustrating for me because Im a structural firefighter, and I knew we could save the property. But I also knew where he was coming from and his training.
Kelley left to drive to Durango with his wife and daughter when his daughter pulled off the road and pointed back toward their house.
There was fire coming out of every window, and the family knew they had just lost everything.
I saw a lot of house fires, but when its your own home, it was just very emotional and there was nothing you could do, Kelley said.
Kelley has since rebuilt on the same spot, but this time he built an all-stucco house with a concrete deck that has a metal railing.
The Missionary Ridge Fire was catastrophic and devastating, but Kelley still sees a bright side: If the air tankers hadnt in been the area, the Valley Fire could have spread all the way into town.


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Posted in Brain Dump, Business on February 13th, 2012 by Eric Lamb – 7 Comments
When I, ahem, "left" StreetWise a couple years ago and started freelancing full time one of the first things I did was change up how I bill from, the traditional, project based scale into an hourly rate. I did this for a variety of reasons, mostly having to do with a lot of issues I see with the project pricing model. It certainly wasn't an easy thing to do, but after a couple years of this I have to say it's been very good to me and something I think every freelance developer should at least look at.
If you don't know, the traditional way of pricing out a web development project (at least in my experience) is for a client to contact an agency (or freelancer), tell them what they want and the agency telling the client how much it'll cost at a flat rate. There's usually a back and forth over cost and features, time and expense, and shaving features accordingly to meet some predetermined budget, and there's certainly a lot of minutia in between the parts, but those are the broad strokes (again, in my experience).
Every agency I've worked for and with, and every freelance project I'd previously taken on, had been priced using this model. From a client perspective it's a winner; the client has an expectation of what a project will cost and the agency can manage expectations and allot resources accordingly. Considering most agencies have their employees on salary, where the employees make a set rate regardless of work, this can work out nicely for the agency, from a bottom line stand point, as well. When things go outside of scope, and they will go out of scope, your employees work more with no additional investment from a raw cost standpoint.
The obvious downside though is that the principals of a project, the people who actually create the damn property or concept, are treated as replaceable commodities. The effect this can have on morale within an agency can not be understated. But, and this is important, within an agency, that's the job. In my opinion, that's why good principals can easily make 6 figure salaries with sick benefits and bonuses; you get worked like a dog.
To be fair, I have heard stories of agencies where treating principals as disposable isn't the norm but those are usually the smaller, boutique firms, and I haven't had much experience with those.
In freelancing though this model doesn't hold up even a little. There is no salary safety net. When a project goes out of scope, and again, it will go out of scope, you're fucked as a freelancer. You're no longer being paid without then negotiating for overages (which carries it's own risk). Plainly, agreeing to a set price as a freelance web developer is a sure fire way to go hungry. Yet so many of us work that way it's simply amazing, in hindsight, when I think about it.
The biggest challenge to charging hourly is actually finding clients who are willing to pay an hourly rate. It was pretty surprising to realize just how ingrained the project pricing model is within client's expectations. Loads of potential clients love having a set price. That said, an unexpected benefit of the hourly model is that those clients who are willing to pay hourly are much more disciplined and knowledgeable about the medium and what's in store. Simply, just having an hourly pricing model weeds out the ignorant and unrealistic clients. I found that it's a nice way to keep the nonsense in check.
When I find a new client who's willing to pay hourly (with a couple exceptions) the first thing I do is get a retainer. The retainer basically gives me the confidence in the client to be able to pay my rate, as well as giving me motivation to start work with the confidence of continued payment. Plus, if a client can't, or won't, pay the initial retainer than I know right away they aren't worth working for. Harsh, maybe, but the initial retainer is important above and beyond the money involved. It shows respect and trust, and provides motivation for the work ahead. The retainer is only required up until trust is built; future projects don't require it.
Once the retainer is agreed to, though not paid, the next thing to do is figure out how long it's going to take to do what the client needs done. Basically, how much are things going to cost. This is where the process is very similar to the project pricing model; you still have to know ahead of time what's expected so you can say how long it'll cost. The big difference here though is that your estimate needs to be flexible. Instead of saying, and sticking to, a project will cost, for example. $15,000 you say it'll take around 100 to 150 hours likely costing $10,000 to $15,000.
The "to 150" hours part above is important. Always overestimate. What I do is imagine how long something will take and then, seriously, multiply that by 3. For example, if I think a project would take me 50 hours I say it'll take 150 hours. Why? Three reasons; shit changes, there's more involved than just development, and experience has taught me that I, personally, suck at estimating timelines (I'm an optimist). You have to take into project design, account emails, phone calls, client visits, project management, quality assurance, and client hand holding. The back and forth can kill a budget but my time isn't free; the client pays for all of that.
Plus, from a client relations stand point, being under budget is always a good thing. If you can get the client to expect, and agree to, a cost that's more than expected, they'll love you to death when their budget isn't tapped.
This leaves the question of accountability. To make sure the client has the confidence in me to do what they need I've found it's important to provide as detailed an accounting as possible for all hours worked. Everything gets documented and passed to the client with invoices. When I send an invoice for 60 hours you can bet there's a breakdown of every single hour worked, what was done, on what project/task, and when. Honestly is critical. If a client decides to audit your invoices, and you need to defend what you've done, you don't want to go head to head with someone who knows it shouldn't take 40 hours to install the core of ExpressionEngine (for example).
In terms of deployment process I'm not a fan of holding projects hostage from a client. By this I mean, keeping the client from having access until payment is received. My thought is that if I have a client that requires this sort of shenanigans than they shouldn't be my client. Even entertaining the idea is a red flag so when/if it does come up I try to recognize the end is near. Further, that's just dirty pool in my opinion.
With all that said, to me, it's a wonder why any freelance dev would ever opt for a project rate (outside of panic mode, "I need money NOW", freaking out). It's just a losing proposition and one that I'm glad is off my table.


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Four La Junta students are raising money to fund their tour of Europe over spring break.
STRETCH stands for Student Travelers Reaching Europe To Conquer Horizons. The four high school students who will be traveling to Europe over the spring break are Morgan Findley, Trevor Lopkoff, Chuck Aaron and Steven Malouff. Julie Meiklejohn, their Advanced English teacher, will accompany them, and they will be traveling through the auspices of Education First Tours.
The tour features a comprehensive guided tour of London and Paris. In London, the tour includes the Strand, Trafalgar Square, Leiscester Square, Covent Garden, Houses of Parliament, Piccadilly Circus, St. Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace (if scheduled), Tower of London, a fish and chips dinner for sure and maybe a London Eye and Thames River cruise.
In France, it includes, in Paris, Place de la Concorde, Champs-Elysees, Arc de Triomphe, Les Invalides, Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, a walking tour of the Latin Quarter, Notre Dame Cathedral; in Versailles, State Apartments, Hall of Mirrors, the gardens.
The innovative part of this tour is that the students will make an effort to raise their own money. So far, they have arranged Sonic Nights, the third Wednesday of every month from 5 to 8 p.m. and a Battle of the Bands. The Battle of the Bands is being organized by Mrs. Meiklejohn and her husband, Tom Seaba. It will be held Feb. 2, 2013 at Otero Junior College. "They are working on confirming awesome prizes," wrote Ann Lopkoff. "Any local band or group wanting to participate should contact Mrs. Meiklejohn at the high school. More information will be made available as soon as it is confirmed."


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So Christina Aguilera is naked on the cover of her new album, "Lotus," and everybody's all, Omg, Christina Aguilera is naked on the cover of her new album, "Lotus!" Except I'm not really sure why, because she's usually at least half-naked on the covers of her albums and/or in her videos. Why all the fuss this time? (Is it because of that whole thing with the faked "fat girl" quotes, maybe?)
I don't know. But at least we know one thing for sure -- musicians sure do like stripping down for album covers. Hey, sex sells: "Look at me! I'm naked! Buy my album!" Aguilera is hardly the first to employ this marketing tactic, and she won't be the last -- but is she the best? Let's take a look at some other nudie-pants pop stars and find out!
Which of these gets your vote for the hottest album cover?
Image via Christina Aguilera/Twitter


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Courtesy ShoeDazzle
She's got three clothing lines, a nailpolish collection and a third baby on the way, but that doesn't mean Gwen Stefani is looking to take it easy anytime soon. The star has got another shoe line coming your way — this one an affordably-priced collaboration with ShoeDazzle.
Called Gx by Gwen Stefani and topping out at $111, the collection (consisting of 24 shoes and seven handbags) is meant to reflect the singer's very eclectic tastes (and her penchant for killer shoes). "Whenever I design, I'm mixing different cultural influences and, always with the first collection of something new, I want to reflect on everything I've done in a way," Stefani told WWD. "This kind of sums up all of my influences. The key colors are black, white and red, so it is pretty simple, but it has a lot of details."
Her pal Rachel Zoe, ShoeDazzle's chief stylist, said in a statement, "I couldn't be more excited for the launch! Gwen is an incredible friend and designer. Her style has always been a huge source of inspiration to me."
RELATED: Everything you need to know about the best of spring style!
Courtesy ShoeDazzle
And Zoe isn't alone — the company's president MJ Eng said they chose to collaborate with Stefani because customers constantly list her style at the top of their lust lists. But Stefani is just trying to find shoes that feel and look good, just like you. "The really big challenge is to get a shoe to look sexy and be at a comfortable height, and I think that we did that with the sandals," she said. "I am trying to make the perfect shoe that you can wear all day long."
And ultimately, her real goal is as simple as this: "I just wanted to make something that looked really good and high quality, but that you could afford. That was a challenge," she said in the WWD interview. "I didn't go to design school or anything like that. It is all about what I like and my instinct and working with great people, and trial and error."
Read more from the star at
and check out the whole collection at ShoeDazzle. Then tell us: Will you check Stefani's designs out? Are you a fan of her style?
–Alex Apatoff


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2013 Hyundai Veloster Values
Select a 2013 Hyundai Veloster trim level
Hyundai Resources:
2013 model year changes
While the Veloster was all new for 2012, Hyundai has still been hard at work trying to make the Veloster appeal to an even broader audience. A high performance version is brand new for 2013 featuring a much more powerful turbocharged engine. Simply dubbed the Veloster Turbo, the new car is faster, handles better and includes more upscale features.
Competitive comparison
Sleek, sporty styling; available technology; interior space; fuel efficiency
Special features for 2013
Hyundai is blurring class lines with the Veloster. It's got two doors like a coupe yet it's shaped like a hatchback. No matter what you call it, the Veloster is designed to win over just about everyone. With attractive and unique asymmetrical styling and a sporty demeanor, the Veloster is loaded with standard features that set it apart. Add to that best-in-class interior volume and high-quality materials, with a base price just over $17,000, and the Hyundai Veloster is hard to beat.
2013 Hyundai Veloster: Now featuring an optional 1.6-liter turbo-charged 4-cylinder engine (201 hp/195 lb-ft of torque), the 2013 Hyundai Veloster is a 3-door hatchback powered by a 1.6-liter 4-cylinder engine that produces 138 hp and 123 lb-ft of torque. Transmission options consist of a 6-speed manual and 6-speed dual clutch automatic transmission. Fuel mileage is an EPA estimated 28 mpg city and 40 mpg highway. Features include paddle shifters, hill start assist, MacPherson strut suspension, headlights with LED accents, 18-inch wheels, rear spoiler with LED brake light, sunroof, rearview camera, push-button start, 8-speaker sound system, navigation system, rearview camera, hands-free phone capabilities, steering-wheel mounted audio controls, and sport seats. Safety is comprised of electronic stability control, traction control, anti-lock braking, electronic brake distribution (EBD), brake assist (BA), vehicle stability management, tire pressure monitoring (TPMS), advanced airbags, and backup warning sensors. The Veloster is backed by a 5-year/60,000-mile warranty.


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By Mary A. Sego
Title: William V. Owen papers, 1968-1975
Primary Creator: Owen, W. V.
Extent: 1.0 Folders. More info below.
Arrangement: Chronological
Subjects: Purdue University--Faculty
Forms of Material: Letters (Correspondence), Personal papers
Languages: English
Repository: Purdue University Libraries, Archives and Special Collections
Alternate Extent Statement: 1 folder
Access Restrictions: The collection is open for research.
Preferred Citation: MSF 293, William V. Owen papers, Archives and Special Collections, Purdue University Libraries