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Religious freedom is the notion that people of religion can freely partake of the practices of their religion without opposition. This would not only include private devotions, but also acts of religious significance within the realm of government.
Right now many folks adopt a view religious tolerance, rather than religious freedom. Religious tolerance allows people the right to practice a particular religion outside of the realm of government, and prohibits them from bringing anything of even remote religious significance into the public sector. This is not, as we shall see, what the founders of our country had in mind. The founders of our country recognized the importance of religious freedom, as opposed to simple religious tolerance.
In a pluralistic society such as the United States is today, one will unquestionably ask, "Which religion? There are so many. Should even Satanists be allowed to bring their religion into government?" To answer briefly, no. "Religion" is here defined as some aspect of predominant religion in the history of the Western Europe. Since that is where the progenitors of our Constitutional framers originated, those are the traditions that were primarily carried over. We note many instances of historical religious devotion within the realm of government at the time of the founding of our great republic, but all of them stem from some aspect of a predominant Western religion. Whether we look at Sunday being recognized as a day of rest, or proclamations of thanksgiving, or the hiring of chaplains, they all pertain to some aspect of significant Western faith. Even as we don't allow religions which are inherently immoral or corrupt to practice unchecked in this country, so we should we not flagrantly allow any twisted philosophy, no matter how bizarre or perverted, to have a seat at the state's table.
This is not to say that people of non-Western faiths are not allowed to practice their faiths within the United States, but rather to simply make the case that we know of no historical precedent for United States government involvement with unusual Eastern or pagan religions. Religious devotions in the United States government are virtually always dedicated to the God of significant Western monotheism (e.g., "In God We Trust" on our currency, "One nation, under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance, "God save the United States and this honorable court" at the beginning of Supreme Court sessions)..
While religious tolerance is accepted, religious freedom appears to
be waning. Granted, during the conservative revolution of the past couple
of years the radicals for separation of church and state extremism seem
to have moderated themselves somewhat, but still there is much damage left
to be undone. Let's undo it.


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Symbiosis in the Everglades- Commensalism
An example of commensalism in the Everglades is the oyster and the red mangrove. The oyster takes shelter in the mangroves branches, and the mangrove is neither helped nor harmed.
The Everglades
By: Ethan Runyan
Primary Producer
Sawgrass is an example of a primary producer of the everglades
It grows in fresh and brackish-water marshes
Can grow to be 6-7 feet tall
Gray-green in color
Small spikes on leaves for protection
First-Order Consumer
An example of a first-order consumer in the Everglades is an iguana
Can grow to be 6.5 feet long and can weigh up to 11 pounds
They live in the trees
They eat leaves, flowers, and fruit
Top-Level Predator
A top-level predator in the Everglades is the American Alligator
The average size for a male is 11 feet long and 1,000 pounds
They live in the swamps and marshes of the Everglades
They eat fish, frogs, birds, and any mammals that come near the water
Symbiosis in the Everglades- Mutualism
An example of mutualism in the Everglades is the alligators digging holes in the dry season that bring up groundwater. Small animals live in the holes to get water, and the alligator eats them. So the small animals get shelter and water, and the alligator gets free food.
The Florida Everglades are the largest subtropical wilderness in the United States
They are home to many rare and endangered species such as the manatee, American Crocodile, and the Florida Panther
An interaction could be an alligator feeding on a deer that came to the shoreline of a marsh for a drink.
Another could be a frog that lives in a pond coming up onto the land and eating a dragonfly.
Food Chain
Food Web
Energy Pyramid
Symbiosis in the Everglades- Parasitism
An example of parasitism in the Everglades is the strangler fig and any type of tree. The fig grows onto and drains the nutrients out of the tree, eventually killing it.
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The Everglades
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Ethan Runyanon 5 March 2014
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subset: commoncrawl


text:
Norm Panto is a West Coast rarity. In fact, as you learn more about Panto and speak with people who know him well, words like "rare", "uncommon", "unique", "original", come up all the time. They are prefect descriptions for this smiling bundle of energy and enthusiasm.
A native of Syracuse, New York, Norman has been playing the accordion for 64 years. Oddly, this fun-loving, gregarious man began his love of the accordion in silence. He was born with a speech impairment and remembering as a very small child sitting quietly, fascinated while watching his father's fingers fly over the accordion buttons.
By age 5, Norman had over come his speech difficulties. At the age of 12 Norman was taught to play the accordion by his brother Tommy Panto who was a professional jazz accordionist. Norman admired and looked up to his brother Tommy. By age 16, Norm turned lessons from his brother into enough accordion virtuosity to join a band and become a professional musician. In 1954, he moved to Los Angeles to further his music career.
Panto's career is varied and wide-ranging. He traveled on a European tour with Vic Damone and played and sang for six months on the Princess Cruise line. Norman has taken on various acting and singing roles in television and film. A published songwriter, Panto's music has been heard in movies and television for decades.
Constantly in demand, Norman Panto is the picture of a man whose work singing, writing songs, making people smile and sing along - simply can't be called work. He loves it too much.
His sunny enthusiastic and energetic personality can't help but bring out the best in people by bringing sunshine into their lives. It's hard not to break out into a big smile when you are around Norm playing his accordion. Is it any wonder why he is in such demand.


text:
Specializing in security and privacy solutions for the everyday computer user and business, Spytech Software and Design, Inc. was founded in 1998 and takes pride in delivering award winning software solutions and services to its customers.
Spytech has been an active solutions provider since 1998. Since then Spytech's flagship product, SpyAgent, has grown to be one of the most widely used monitoring solutions in the world. SpyAgent's success has led to the development of a host of monitoring solutions tailored for specific user environments - from corporate networks to homes.
Visit our web home at www.spytech-web.com
Visit our Contact page to contact Spytech
Our Mission ...
Spytech has the sole mission of putting customer's minds to rest over the concern of their computer's security, safety, and usage environment. By providing solid, award winning solutions, Spytech has been able to create a family of software that allows users to know how their Mac is being used and when it is being used; as well as allowing users to store and their secure data from prying eyes. Whether from a pesky intruder or unknowing child, Spytech is protecting its clients' safety, privacy, and security.
Spytech has defined itself as a front-runner in the monitoring and surveillance field for PC and Mac users by producing popular, high-quality, and affordable monitoring and surveillance solutions for all users.
Disclaimer: Realtime-Spy is a professional monitoring solution designed for parents and employers to legitimately monitor their mobile device use. If you intend on monitoring a device you
do not own and do not have authorization/permission to monitor, you should not purchase Realtime-Spy. This is potentially illegal, and not condoned by Spytech. Spytech cannot be held liable for anyone abusing Realtime-Spy and using it to monitor a device they do not own, or have authority/permission to monitor.
Copyright © 2002-2018 Spytech Software and Design, Inc. All Rights Reserved.


text:
Lazytown (2004)
Starring: Julianna Rose Mauriello, Julie Westwood, Magnus Scheving, Stefan Karl Stefansson
Sportacus on the Move! - S2-E4
Continuity mistake: When Sportacus gets out of bed, his duvet cover is on the floor at the end of his bed, but when he goes to make his bed moments later, the duvet cover is now on the bed.GalahadFairlight
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text:
Bulova 1937 American Clipper "C"
5/10 votes
Manufacture Year:1937
Movement Symbol:Arrow
Movement Model:10AE
Movement Jewels:17
Case Serial No.:780060
Case shape:Stepped
Case Manufacturer:Bulova
Crystal Details:25.68 x 16.68
Additional Information:
1937 American Clipper C (rat rod watch)
10ae movement super clean and runs strong
b-10k rgp inc.snap back
New arcrylic crystal. *old broken
Dial has a rusted patina with *undamaged markings. I tefloned waxed and eventually will clear coat.
American (Rat) Clipper made in the USA.
( I made my own ad )
Not For Sale


text:
This week we hand over the Guest Blog to Australia's dating expert from NW Magazine – reality chick. This week's topic is one that's dear to my heart and threads about "Red Flags" have come up again and again over the years. (This one is a particular fave).
Is it a case of hindsight being 20/20 or do we simply make erroneous decisions and remain purposely oblivious when it comes to dating? NOTE: This particular article is for the girls, but don't worry guys – we'll be advising you soon! Watch this space…Over to miss rc…
Warning, Red Flag Ahead:
"I never saw it coming" is arguably the biggest break-up lie in the book. And whether you were married for twenty years or boinking like bunnies for two weeks, slipping on a pair of rose-coloured relationship glasses is all about survival when you're in a world of pain.
But, when the heartache is over, as Cher likes to say, it's easy to see there were signs all along.
In fact, in the interests of helping you readers head off inappropriate lovers at the pass, here's my personal flag system, colour-coded for ease of use.
Yellow flags translate as Cause For Concern
Orange means Warning, Warning!
Red says: Abandon Mission and Get The Hell Out, Now!
I like it when a red flag pops up early, because at least you know what you're dealing with and only have yourself to blame if you push on and hope for the best.
We're talking such Red Flags as:
- "I'm still in love with my ex girlfriend"
- "I have children with three different women"
- "I can only get off in a threesome situation."
Yellow Flags are trickier.
No compliments from a guy, even if he seems to like you, could be a potential flag.
A first date who insists on going dutch when the bill is under ten dollars (or pounds) – may also be a cause for concern. Particularly if he asked you out.
It's the Orange Flags that should really send your antenna nuts.
Like the fact that you're always doing the calling – or six months in, you realise you haven't met any of his friends or family.
Your sex life spluttering and dying a month in should also trigger alarm bells. "A month? A month?! Are you freaking kidding me? The only thing he should be tired of is thinking of different ways to ravage you," insists He's Just Not That Into You guru Greg Behrendt.
I know flags can suck. But they're all we have in sizing up future partners. What are some of the biggies you've ignored … at your own peril?
Best friend to the broken-hearted and saviour to the terminally single, relationships guru reality chick is here to help. Got a question? Head to www.realitychick.com.au for some free, no-holds barred advice


text:
Bottom Line
Product not yet reviewed by PC Mag Editors.
The V3 Move ($999 direct) mobile gaming desktop crams components like a 1GB AMD Radeon HD 5750 video card and 3.2 GHz AMD Phenom II Black Edition quad core processor into a tiny form factor. Also included is Launch Control, a free overclocking service provided by V3, and a LC120ZS liquid processor cooling system by Asestek.
Similar Products
Design and Features
Of course, the Move is designed with portability in mind, so it's all-black chassis by Silverstone isn't as flashy as the other V3 models. Yet its insides still let out a blue glow through its several perforated areas. The majority of its front side features a cooling fan, but up top rests its 8x dual-layer DVD-RW drive. Two USB 3.0 ports and audio input and output jacks line up next to the cooling fan. Its backend is where you'll find the Move's built-in WiFi antenna.
This is possible thanks to an Asus M4A88T-I motherboard with deluxe AMD 880G HDMI Mini, USB 3.0, 802.11n WiFi and Bluetooth support. Also found on the motherboard are two sticks of 2GB Kingston dual channel DDR3 RAM. In the storage department, the Move houses a 500GB, 7,200 RPM hard drive with 3 Gbps SATA connection. This ultraportable gaming rig also supports eight-channel Hi Def surround sound and 1000 Gigabit Ethernet in addition to its built-in WiFi. The Move compact gaming PC runs on 64-bit Windows 7 Home Premium.
More Desktop reviews:
Dell Precision 5820 Tower
Dell OptiPlex 7060 SFF
HP EliteOne 1000 G1 (34-Inch)
Intel NUC Kit NUC8i7HVK (Hades Canyon)
Maingear F131 (2018)


text:
Security TechWatch
Analysis of cyber security technology and research. A window on the innovation ecosystem.
Wednesday, 4 May 2016
'Secure Coding as a Service' Firm Sqreen Raises $2.3 Million
Good to see this
in Paris-based firm Sqreen. Many investors have piled in to the narrative that companies need security solutions to counter the high cost of insecurity but very few have invested in products that help reduce that insecurity by making sure software has fewer vulnerabilities from day one.
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Click here to view an interactive map of the Northern Ireland dataset as currently collated by CEDaR.
The map is generated through the NBN Gateway using their Interactive Mapping Tool.
This is a crustose species with a thick, ochre-grey, scurfy, C+ orange thallus and occasional brown-black discs with a wavy edge. It grows on siliceous rock by the sea. L. asema with more rounded discs is similar, but has a granular, more coherent, thallus. L. meiococca is entirely scurfy, fading in colour to grey in shaded conditions. In Ireland, it occurs mainly along the north and west coasts.
Original text submitted by Vince J. Giavarini
|Simms, M. J., (2016). Lecidella meiococca (Nyl.) Leuckert & Hertel. [In] LichenIreland.
http://www.habitas.org.uk/lichenireland/species.asp?item=18743 Accessed on 2018-08-21.


text:
This section contains 832 words
(approx. 3 pages at 400 words per page)
Chapter 11, Chapters 112 - 115 Summary
Chapter 112: Ulrich was working against Arnheim, and the Prussian knew this. The younger man was not even intentionally malicious, but this occurred through Ulrich's means of operating and his goals. A point had been reached at which Ulrich communicated so intensely to Arnheim that the latter felt he had been "cut to the quick" so to speak. Arnheim was sure that Ulrich spoke badly of him to others, even to Diotima herself. Robert Musil writes that a great man ceases to be great if no one takes any notice of him. Here is something that many women may well have believed or felt through the centuries - the feeling that they never amounted to much because no one took any interest in their talent and potential. Ulrich viewed Arnheim as vastly more influential than himself. He felt that there...
(read more from the Chapter 11, Chapters 112 - 115 Summary)
This section contains 832 words
(approx. 3 pages at 400 words per page)


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Fifteen-year-old Erick Daniels, an undersized Durham delinquent accused of robbing a Durham Police Department employee, sat quietly at the defendant's table, his body abuzz with nervous energy. Dressed in a plaid shirt, slacks and new Timberland boots, he wanted more than anything to walk out of the courtroom a free man, but somehow he knew in his heart that would not happen. When the clerk read the jury's verdict on the first charge—guilty of first-degree burglary—Daniels leapt from his seat and hopped the bar with his eyes set on the courtroom's back doors, hoping to throw them open and run down five flights of stairs, out into the warm winter morning. But there was little chance of escape. The bailiffs briskly slammed down the boy, handcuffed him, and brought the courtroom back to order. "I'm so scared, man," Daniels screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I can't do no time for nothing I didn't do."
The bailiffs plopped him back in his chair to hear the verdict on the second charge: guilty of robbery with a firearm. The judge, W. Osmond Smith III, sentenced Daniels to 10 to 14 years in prison. Daniels screamed "mommy" as three deputies escorted him out a side door and up to a temporary holding cell on the top floor of the courthouse. He would not be able to contact his mother or attorney until several days later, when he had reached a prison more than 180 miles from home.
In Daniels' two-day, December 2001 trial, Freda Black, the notoriously fierce assistant district attorney, built a case around victim Ruth Brown's photo lineup identification and eyewitness testimony. Brown had picked Daniels' mug from 105 photos in a seventh-grade yearbook based on, she said, the shape of his eyebrows.
Her certainty had helped convince a juvenile court judge to try Daniels as an adult in Superior Court. There Brown testified that Daniels was one of two masked gunmen who walked into her home and stole a purse containing thousands of dollars in cash as her 7-year-old daughter watched in terror.
In the five-and-a-half years since his conviction, Daniels has always maintained his innocence. With a checkered history that includes a marijuana possession charge, missed curfews, school absences and run-ins with the juvenile justice system, he has never pretended to be an angel. But he has argued that investigators and a prosecutor rushed to close the case at the cost of justice and wrongfully convicted a kid who spent too much time around the old Few Gardens projects, once the axis of Durham's underworld.
In a case without a shred of incriminating physical or forensic evidence to be tested or examined, it's nearly impossible to conclusively prove Daniels' innocence. But an Independent investigation shows that there is abundant evidence to support Daniels' claims, and more than enough questions, contradictions and problems to constitute reasonable doubt.
Ruth Brown described the first gunman to walk into her home—the gunman who she swore was Daniels—as a short, light-skinned black male who wore his hair in cornrow braids. Only 14 at the time of the robbery, Daniels was indeed short. But Daniels is dark-skinned and has never had even enough hair to braid.
Moreover, the lead detective in the case, Delois West, wrote two chronologies of her investigation—one original, handwritten log and a subsequent typed report—and there are key discrepancies between the two that cast doubt on the legitimacy of Brown's identification. On top of that, police reports that should have been written and filed are either missing or were never made.
In separate interviews, the other suspects identified in police reports—all former denizens of Few Gardens—say they know who robbed police property room technician Brown—and that it wasn't Daniels. "I didn't do it, but I know who did," says Khalid Abdallah, whom the state charged with being the second gunman but was acquitted in a jury trial. "I'm not a snitch, so I won't say who did it. But Erick Daniels didn't do it."
In 2003, a polygraph examiner reached the same conclusion, when at the request of Daniels' trial attorney, he examined Daniels in prison—but the test results are not admissible in court. Still, after Daniels denied robbing Brown, pointing a gun at her and being present when the robbery happened, polygraph examiner Steve Davenport concluded in his report, "It is my opinion there were no reactions indicative of deception to those relevant questions."
Court records indicate that it may have been Brown who was doing the deceiving. She maintained at trial that she was sitting on her couch and braiding her daughter's hair when the two gunmen intruded. But Shannon Tucker, the public defender who represented Khalid Abdallah in his trial two years after Daniels' conviction, wrote in a motion, "Investigation by the defense has revealed that the complaining witness in this matter was running an illegal gambling house on the date in question, and that the money was taken from the 'table' that night."
The other suspects in the case also say that Brown, whose family used to live in Few Gardens, ran a card house from her home—information that dramatically broadens the list of potential suspects and calls into question Brown's credibility. "Everyone knew she carried a lot of cash," says Doreal Henderson, once the suspected getaway driver. "A week before it even happened, everybody had been talking."
Still, the system has hardly accommodated Daniels' post-conviction claims. In January 2003, newly appointed police Chief Steve Chalmers reopened the case at the urging of Daniels' mother—and to the chagrin of prosecutor Black—with plans to follow up on new leads that "could possibly free a person who may have been wrongly convicted." But the investigation went nowhere. The state Court of Appeals denied Daniels' case in January of this year. In the coming weeks, Daniels' appellate defender, Carlos Mahoney, plans to file a motion introducing new evidence and arguing that the attorney who represented Daniels in Superior Court was incompetent for not picking apart the state's case. But Mahoney's chances of overturning the conviction or winning a new trial are slim.
Daniels' case has disturbing similarities to the infamous Duke lacrosse case, in which charges of sexual assault and kidnapping were dropped against three students after police and prosecutors were found to have run roughshod over proper practices and procedures in a rush to convict. As in the lacrosse case, Daniels was identified using a questionable lineup procedure, investigators' notes changed over time, the victim changed her story, and prosecutors did not act on evidence that would tend to exonerate Daniels. Unlike the lacrosse case, however, Daniels did not have a high-priced defense team to uncover the problems—Daniels' family hired Robert Harris, who Mahoney argues mishandled the case and even impeached his own client on the stand. The biggest difference is that the three Duke students are free, and Erick Daniels is serving time at the Foothills Correctional Institution in Morganton.
Daniels has lost hope that he will be released before his sentence is up. "One, I'm already incarcerated," he says. "Two, you got so many people that are lying. And three, I'm black. It's hard, man."
The robbery investigation that led to Daniels' conviction revolved around the victim's murky connections to both the suspects and police and the effect those connections had on the quest to find a man with a common nickname.
Ruth Brown called 911 at 8:25 p.m. on Thursday, Sept. 21, 2000, about half an hour after sunset. "Gloria, send the police to 628 N. Hoover Road," Brown said, according to the transcript. "Somebody just came in my house and robbed me."
"They just came in your house?" the dispatcher asked.
"Yes," Brown said. "This is Ruth Brown. I work down there. They came in my house, put a gun to my head. There was two of them."
Brown had been a police property room technician for two years when she made the call. In her time at the department, she had become acquainted with many of the officers who would work her case, including lead investigator Delois West. The dispatcher sent three cars to the scene.
Officer Daryl Macaluso, then a two-year veteran of the force, interviewed Brown. "She stated that two black males wearing dark clothing and blue bandanas over their faces entered her home through the front door (which was unlocked) displayed handguns and pushed her onto a couch," Macaluso's incident report reads. He noted that the suspects demanded and eventually took Brown's purse containing more than $6,000 in cash. They did not take any other valuables.
Macaluso also interviewed Brown's neighbor, Bruce Chase, who said he had seen three men approaching Brown's home while sitting on his front porch. Chase said one of the men stopped and waited near a telephone pole for several minutes and then suddenly fled. Seconds later, the other two followed.
With three suspects to pursue—two gunmen and a lookout—Brown told Macaluso that the suspects were likely "friends of the family" because they knew about the money in her purse. She blurted out the name of one family friend in particular: a Durham man named Kam Russell. Brown would later specify that Russell and her brother Christopher Lynch, a friend of Russell's, had walked in on her as she was counting the cash a few days before the robbery. Brown said Russell had not been one of the gunmen, but she suspected he was the "set up man."
Russell, 22 years old at the time, had a long history of legal trouble—he had previously been convicted of breaking and entering, larceny, assault by pointing a gun, first-degree burglary, common law robbery, car theft, shoplifting, possession of stolen goods and trespassing. And cops had gone after him for much more. He was acquitted of robbery with a dangerous weapon, first-degree kidnapping, possession with intent to distribute cocaine, resisting an officer, breaking into a coin machine and other crimes. "He's someone that we've dealt with frequently in the police department," investigator West would later say at Daniels' trial.
Macaluso and another cop tracked down Russell that night and found him outside the old Few Gardens housing project, where he was living with his then-girlfriend.
Russell, who retreated from the streets when a gun battle left him a paraplegic and another man wounded, remembers the encounter. He says Christopher Lynch, Brown's brother and a friend of his, approached him on the Few Gardens basketball court. "Her brother came on the basketball court," he says, referring to Lynch. "He acted like something was wrong and asked me did I have my gun."
Russell says he went into his apartment to find his weapon, but feeling suspicious, he returned outside empty-handed. "When I went back to the parking lot, sure as shit stinks, the police were out there," Russell says. "[Lynch] was trying to get me back to his sister's house with a gun in my possession."
Russell says Lynch then asked him to name the men he had been playing basketball with before police arrived, and he replied that he had been with a man named "E" and a few others. Like that, Russell's unknown associate "E" became a suspect, he says.
Russell says that over the next couple of days, police returned to his girlfriend's apartment and pressured him to identify "E." During one of those encounters, he says Few Gardens housing officer Darrell Brown (no relation to the victim) connected the alias "E" with Erick Daniels, a kid who was known to the officer from previous scrapes with trouble. "After Officer Brown heard Erick's name, he had so many negative things to say about him," Russell says. "Officer Brown used to try to arrest him for trespassing."
Darrell Brown says the connection was simple. "The name came up and it made me think of him," Brown says.
Russell says he told the officer he had been with a different "E" that night—not Erick Daniels—but police did not believe him. Brown says he does not remember whether that is true.
The morning after the robbery, Macaluso submitted his completed report to Delois West, an investigator in the violent crimes division. Judging from the court and police records, the crime scene technician submitted the only other report, despite department procedures that say "any officer, regardless of rank, entering the perimeter of a crime scene, is required to submit a supplementary investigation report recording their observations." Three other officers responded that night. There is no explanation for the three missing reports. Those problems reflect other weaknesses in the investigation.
West maintained in her trial testimony that she interviewed Ruth Brown the day after the robbery and began her investigation with one suspect—Kam Russell. Her typed "supplementary investigation report" outlines an easy but delayed jump from suspicions about Russell to the identification of Erick Daniels as one of the gunmen. West wrote that two weeks after the robbery, she got a tip from an "unidentified source" that a possible suspect was an "Eric" who hung out in Few Gardens. She wrote that later that day, housing officer Darryl Brown identified the suspect as Erick Daniels, a friend of Kam Russell's, and that she immediately assembled a photo lineup.
But West's original, handwritten log of the investigation established an entirely different chain of events. Just four days after the robbery, West noted that housing officer Darrell Brown informed her that "E," a juvenile who lived behind the Wellons Village shopping center, was a possible suspect. Erick Daniels lived behind Wellons Village, but West noted her suspect's name as "Eric Davis," a mistake West acknowledged at trial. The record is not clear about how or when she realized the error. The handwritten notes make no mention of the "unidentified source."
The contradictions between the two reports—especially the two different dates "E" was noted as a suspect—call into question the legitimacy of Brown's photo lineup identification. West and Brown testified at trial that Brown did not know Erick Daniels' name when she picked him out of a lineup. And West's typed notes would lead one to that conclusion. But the handwritten log indicates that there was a two-week window for Brown to learn about the suspect. And interviews suggest that may not have been hard to do.
Kam Russell, the first suspect in the case, says that Ruth Brown's brothers were present on more than one occasion when police searched his girlfriend's Few Gardens apartment, including when housing officer Darrell Brown connected the nickname "E" with Erick Daniels. "Before it was a real investigation, it was [Ruth Brown's] family doing it with the help of a couple police officers," Russell says. "At the time they didn't have a warrant. They would just come."
Housing Officer Brown says he does not recall Ruth Brown's brothers being present. Still, the victim could have accessed information about Daniels in other ways. Daniels' best friend and "cousin," Brandon Green, was a friend of Ruth Brown's younger sister, Rosetta Lynch, and a suspect for a short time. "Ruth told Rosetta they were looking for somebody named 'E' and Rosetta told Ruth that 'E' was my little cousin," Green says. Ruth Brown could have been the "unidentified source" in West's typed report.
"If she knew Erick Daniels' name, and she had seen him beforehand, that would be highly significant," says Carlos Mahoney, Daniels' appellate defender.
On Oct. 9, 2000, Ruth Brown met with West and viewed copies of three pages from the Chewning Middle School yearbook. West used the yearbook because she could find no other pictures of the young Daniels. The lineup introduced into trial evidence had the names of the students redacted.
While permissible then, the yearbook lineup violates the state's current practices. It is now accepted that the investigator who administers the lineup should show one photograph at a time so the witness cannot choose by comparison. And the lineup administrator should not know who is a suspect, eliminating the possibility of offering clues to the witness.
Daniels' school picture shows his hair shaved close, not long and braided. But Brown said she recognized the boy's eyebrows as the ones she saw above the first gunman's blue bandana, and she picked him out of the group of children. She then signed a photograph identification affidavit certifying her choice. Brown would testify at Daniels' juvenile hearing that she was only 80 to 90 percent confident when she signed the affidavit that day because she remembered her assailant having lighter skin. By the trial, she said she was 100 percent certain Erick Daniels had robbed her.
West, now a homicide detective, won't answer questions about the discrepancies in her reports or her administration of the lineup. Her supervisor referred calls to Kammie Michael, the Durham Police Department's public information officer. Michael responded to phone messages with an e-mail: "The case has been adjudicated and the Police Department has no further comment." But West's and Michael's silence stands in contrast to the willingness of Darrell Brown to share his view of the investigation.
Like West, Ruth Brown also refuses to talk about the case. This is not the first time: In 2004, Brown filed a warrant to have News & Observer reporter Demorris Lee arrested on harassment charges for asking questions about Daniels' possible innocence; the charge was eventually dropped.
On Oct. 11, 2000, two patrolmen went to Chewning Middle School to pick up Daniels. "I think I was in third period when my principal came and got me," says Daniels, now 20, from a visitor's room at Foothills Correctional Institution. "She was like, 'You been staying out of trouble?'"
The officers took Daniels to the Broad Street Youth Home, a detention center for children not old enough to enter county lockup. Detectives West and David Addison arrived to interrogate Daniels a few days later. Daniels' mother was not present. "They were telling me things I didn't even know," Daniels says. "That's how I became aware of the robbery."
The officers pressured Daniels to incriminate Kam Russell and Khalid Abdallah, then the other suspects in the case, he says. "They were trying to trick me and make me think Kam and Khalid wrote statements on me, but in all actuality they were just trying to see if I had any part to play in it," Daniels says. "I was just 14 years old. I started crying and stuff."
"They were using Erick to get him to tell them what he knew," says Kam Russell. "But he didn't know nothing."
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Curious why INDY failed to include any advice to college students about getting politically active in the upcoming election season. …
You should probably check with Wolfline to make sure these will be offered in the coming year, but they do …
Curious why INDY failed to include any advice to college students about getting politically active in the upcoming election season. …
You should probably check with Wolfline to make sure these will be offered in the coming year, but they do …
The best advice I can give to college students is to focus on the academics and not to get too …
Chubby's has a location in the Woodcraft shopping center in Durham. Bigger, brighter and chubbier than ever.
You left out Bahn's on Ninth Street in Durham -- cheap, healthy - -and fresh, if you order the specials …


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Policies & Forms
University of Minnesota Education Abroad Health & Safety Policies
The University of Minnesota requires all students who participate in an education abroad experience, sponsored or endorsed by the University, to read and comply with education abroad policies.
- Education Abroad Opportunities: Addressing Health and Safety Risk
- Preparing for Education Abroad Opportunities
- Suspending Education Abroad Opportunities Due to Health and Safety Risks
- Education Opportunities in Countries on the State Department Warning List
Carlson School Codes of Conduct
- Carlson School Code of Conduct (24.49 KB)
- Education Abroad Code of Conduct (71.32 KB)
Cancellation Policies
Cancellation from an Education Abroad Program is subject to the established time lines for that program type. Please review the appropriate document below for the information for your specific program.
- Graduate Global Enrichment Cancellation Policy (394.3 KB)
- Undergraduate Global Enrichment Cancellation Policy (394.21 KB)
- Graduate Global Immersion Cancellation Policy (400.71 KB)
- Undergraduate Global Immersion Cancellation Policy (129.4 KB)
- Undergraduate Internship Cancellation Policy (426.34 KB)
Global Enrichment Confirmation Forms
These forms are to be completed after being accepted into a short-term Global Enrichment program.
- Global Enrichment Confirmation Form (87.7 KB)
- Global Enrichment Health Information Form (81.51 KB)
Global Immersion Confirmation Forms
Complete the following form to confirm your place in a Global Immersion program:
- Global Immersion Confirmation Form (93.62 KB)
- Global Immersion Health Information Form (81.51 KB)


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LANHAM, Md. (CBSDC) — UPDATE: Montgomery County Police have found the 21-year-old missing swimmer that disappeared near Purple Horse Beach.
Police have identified the man as Army Specialist Vincent Crapps of the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, stationed out of Fort Myer.
Crapps was reported missing Saturday afternoon while reportedly cliff diving with friends.
The young man slipped under the water and never resurfaced, Montgomery County Fire and Rescue says.
The man's friends attempted to save him but had to be pulled from the swift water once authorities reached the scene.
Rescue workers called off the search for the man just before nightfall Saturday, calling this an apparent drowning.
Monday afternoon, a kayak instructor discovered the body.
This is the same area where 19-year-old Ngo Tekwe Forchick of Takoma Park was found just a few days before.
Montgomery County officials have warned that swimming in the area is illegal due to strong currents, but many disregard the warning.
WNEW's George Mesthos contributed to this report. Follow him and WNEW on Twitter.


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How much does a Homestay cost per night?
Why should I visit Fes?
How do I get to Fes?
What other services do you offer?
What is there to see and do in Fes?
Is it easy to get around Fes?
Is Morocco safe?
How much does a Homestay cost per night?
You can stay in a Moroccan home with full board for only 250dh per night per person.
We also have reduced rates available if you plan on staying over a week.
Why should I visit Fes?
Fes offers the best of both worlds. In the New Town are found all the comforts and modernity of the 21st century, while all the qualities of a truly unique ancient city are embodied in the Medina. In the space of one morning, one can awake in the sights and sounds of Old Fes, drive through the Ville Nouvelle (new city) for a round of golf, and then return your homestay for a late dinner.
With its more than 13,000 historic buildings, the entire medina has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage site. The grandest of those in the Mediterranean basin, the Old City of Fes is also one of the largest car-free urban areas in the world. Readily accessible by daily direct flights from Europe, Fes captures the imagination even as it seamlessly merges antiquity with modernity.
Renowned World Traveler Paul Tanner states: "In the years which have passed since
I visited Fez. I have been lucky enough to visit most of the other medieval cities of Africa and Asia. Fez has not been surpassed in my memory."
How do I get to Fes?
Getting to Fes is not the challenge it once was. The city is well-serviced by air carriers from many cities in Europe and fast trains from Casablanca and Rabat. Travelers may also enter the country by ferry from Spain to Tangier, then catch a train or bus (the buses are actually quite nice) to Fes.
Direct flights to Fes are with the following carriers:
- Royal Air Maroc www.royalairmaroc.com
- Ryan Air www.ryannair.com
- Jet4You www.jet4you.com
There are direct flights to Fes from the following cities:
Pairs (Orly), London (Stansted), Milan Madrid, Frankfurt (Hahn), Lyon Barcelona
(Girona), Brussels, Marseille, Dusseldorf, and Bologna
There are also direct flights from New York and Montreal to Casablanca, with several daily flights between Casablanca and Fes on Royal Air Maroc.
Train times can be found at the following web site: www.oncf.ma.
Train tickets can be purchased at the train station without advance reservation and at a fixed price.
What other services do you offer?
Moroccan Host Network can provide a licensed guide that can give you the history and culture of the old city with either a half day or a full day tour. We can also provide transportation for your group if needed. These additional services are made available to you without any additional markup over the cost of the provider.Back to top
What is there to see and do in Fes?
From the medieval tannery (still in use) to the palm-lined boardwalk of Hassan Tania (the main street of Fes) there is much to see in the city of Fes. Travelers often find haggling for themselves in the Medina exciting, but there are also shops with fixed prices for those wanting a more sedate experience.
The ancient Medina of Fes is the world's largest car free area and holds many sights of interest from ancient Quranic schools to beautiful modern cafes.
The new city has a cosmopolitan atmosphere with many upper class shops alongside more traditional markets.
Some additional resources on what to see in Morocco are available at the following links:Back to top
Is it easy to get around Fes?
Getting around Fes is usually very easy and also cheap. Larger groups may have more problems, as Moroccan taxis by law can only take three passengers. A taxi ride from the Medina to the new city can cost as little as 10 dirhams ($1.30) and includes all three passengers. There is also a bus system that connects all around Fes and also runs out to the airport. Getting to the airport will require either a special taxi (called a Grand Taxi) which costs a bit more or other arrangements. MHN can assist you with getting to and from the airport.Back to top
Is Morocco safe?
Morocco is extremely safe. However, we do encourage our guests to practice basic safety precautions. Should you decide to stay with us, we will send you a packet containing tips on staying safe in Morocco.Back to top


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3 Makeup Looks Inspired by My Favorite Albums of 2016
Since I'm a visual person I hardly ever remember the album title but I just remember what the album art looks like.
There is an Epsom Salt Council, which I'm so down with. POPSUGAR Beauty lists uses for the salts you definitely wouldn't have guessed.
Uniqlo always has fun and useful little marketing campaigns (they did an alarm clock app last year). Their latest is the HairDo microsite, which features very original, super-cute hair tutorials (and of course, suggests some clothes to wear with it)
Makeup.com lists surprisingly flattering makeup colors, including gray. I just discovered this gray shadow in my TooFaced Glamour To Go palette. It is such a unique color. Check it out in the photo below.
It is now that time of year when lip balm is a required item in every single one of my bags, and on my desk. And on my nightstand AND next to the remote in my living room. Here's a lovely little lip balm round-up on HuffPost Style.
Cutting out dairy could make a huge difference in your skin. I hate this, but I should try this. [Byrdie]
Blake lively's the new face of L'Oreal and I have a major crush on her, so that's cool! [NYLON]
101 wedding hairstyles for every hair type. [YourTango]
xoJane's resident Beauty Boy Tynan gives a false eyelashies a try and looks so very pretty.


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Babel Series Part One
By Tom Crask
Those who have never laid eyes on the Watchmen, standing tall and proud in the desert twenty five miles due North West of Babel, whether at sunset, silhouetted against the rapidly darkening sky, or on a summer's morning as dust devils kick up their distinctive brand of chaos, would find it hard to claim that they truly understood how much of a rare and exquisite thing we lost when the era of the Construct finally came to its spectacular close.
There are six of them in total, one hundred and fifty foot tall totemic spires of Growth Bone, Calcine, and Blossom Glass, bedecked on all sides with terraces, platforms and loggias, sun-bleached and standing to attention like nine pins spilt upon the desert or deep sea hydro-thermal vents rising from unfathomed depths. They are a culmination of sorts, a denouement of what the Life Programmes, of what the Construct era itself set out to accomplish, a proud proclamation of what the Bio-tects thought themselves capable of.
These days they are said to retain only a fraction of the cognisance that they once possessed. That they were alive at all now seems somehow unlikely. That they were once aware, in their own strange way, of the world that they inhabited seems almost implausible, but then I only work for Bill Hatton's governorship. I have never pretended to fully understand the Construct phenomenon, that period of life creation, in all of its bizarre and richly imagined guises. Even in these post-Taint days, the Meat Salons and Biology Houses still seem to me to possess a certain dreamlike quality, an air of unreality, as though such things never existed at all and were only ever a figment of our collective imagination, a story dreamt up by tellers of tall tales.
It is easy to forget that we are a culled society. With a global population barely one third of what it was in those pre-Taint days, it is easy to forget that such things were once accomplished easily. Today the Construct programmes seem more like a form of arcane magic than anything approaching an exact science.
If the Taint could be said to have bequeathed the world anything, it was a deeper shift away from the old ways than the food riots and anti-Constuct demonstrations at first suggested. Perhaps in those early days of strife the first signs were there. The way whole towns would seal themselves off from the outside world, or the way in which the old religions gradually gave way to more diverse varieties of fanaticism. The Taint instigated a universal shift of attitudes. The Union movement represented a schism, a split in society that occurred almost equally down the middle. There were those of us who, as the Unions would say, carried on living in the ruins of our past, who tried to rebuild by embracing older, tried and tested ideas. Then there were those of us who chose to jettison those ways and forge a new path, a path who's foundations were built upon even older, more tribal ways of living, a theocracy based around a religious belief that the deserts and wastelands that had sprung up across our globe were theirs for the taking.
Ours is an age that is all too often defined by what has gone before, an age fascinated by the concept of death as much as it is with the creation of life. So much has been lost since the Taint. When the U.V light poured down, turning the land to desert, forcing us to the coasts, the Construct was not the only species to suffer. In our time, nostalgia is almost an industry. Effectively, we have become a two state society, each jealously guarding its reins of power.
The Watchmen represent one of those reins, standing guard over four distinct headlands, four wide and heat-scoured piazzas that slope gently upward towards a central bluff. Visitors are rare. The Unions own the shores by claim, and access is jealously controlled. Their boundaries extend several miles in every direction.
There are those who chose to evade Union satellite surveillance and take the dreadful risk of going anyway. There are those who ignore the warnings, the patterns of stones laid out in vast shimmering mosaics, the singing wind-wires, the lines of suspended sun mirrors, designed to dazzle, and the flags that bedeck the ridges, hoisted on masts that bend and snap in the wind as if to berate and admonish those who venture too close. The consequences can be severe, but those who would violate Union law are almost never the sort to worry about upshots and outcomes. A Construct, even one that is closer to death than life, can be a powerful lure.
Leon Ferris lowered the binoculars and walked back over to where Beth Sammond and I rested beneath the high outer wall of the Union tech station. The shade afforded by the concrete bastion was a welcome relief from the day's heat, but I could tell by the way the old biologist sat that even this little luxury was something that he found difficult to relish. He was too used to the classrooms and laboratories of the university where he worked to ever truly take pleasure from the desert. The Sourlands were far outside of his comfort zone. It wasn't the heat that irritated him. It was the silence.
It was easy to forget that the deserts could be grave and soundless places. Not even the Old District was this unnaturally quiet. Even out amongst the empty villas there was always the accompanying hum of insect life, or the wind chimes of various water posts.
The wind came off the plain like a rebellion moving against anyone who dared spoil that impossible boundary between sand and sky, that point where the raw limits of the Earth finally failed. A summer breeze, dry as the breath from a mummy, blew the dust into great shimmering ghosts. The sound was that of an expectant crowd, the protracted breathing in and out of an immense sleeping giant. The promontory was an eclipse, sun conquered and naked, wide and steep, defined only by the shortcomings of the desert. In the centre, perhaps six hundreds metres from where we had set up our makeshift headquarters, stood the Watchmen, large and impressive, the almost, but not quite, fossilised remnants of another age, impossibly white against the deep blue, inverted dome of that sky.
"You'd think that they would have built a visitor's centre by now?" Leon muttered, indicating the concrete carbuncle behind us.
Next to the refined and elegant shapes of the Watchmen the flat roofed, slab sided tech station looked like an afterthought, which was probably what it was. Dumped upon the desert, half submerged by sand, it reminded me of an old world war two fortification.
"How long have we got here?"
In a way his question could only have been a rhetorical one. Despite receiving Union permission, entering the Watchmen reserve was always going to be a fraught affair. We were almost certainly being observed and there was always the possibility that some slight or offence would be taken and permission withdrawn at any moment.
I scanned the headland, looking for monitoring devices left in the sand, Sneaking Sentries, Tremor Scribes, saw nothing immediately obvious. Either they were playing this one covertly or they were relying on Satellite imaging and whatever information they could read from our comp systems.
For Ferris, this trip represented a chance to study his subjects in the flesh. He had spent two years writing a thesis on the reserve and its conservational systems but had never been granted access, either physically or remotely. He had been forced to make do instead with out-of-date computer models constructed from technical specifications stored in the university's archive. Despite his distaste for the Sourlands, this was a chance that he wasn't about to pass up.
His younger assistant, Beth Sammond, was here for similar reasons. This would be the first opportunity of her professional career to get close to one of the larger Constructs varieties. Her primary focus was the study of the smaller Construct varieties, the Ornamentals, the Renovate species, the various Vassal organisms. Now she was literally moving on to bigger things.
I didn't need to remind them that the real reason for our visit had little to do with research or articles for the university archive, or even the towers themselves. A man had died. It hardly mattered that he had been a Union life technician. What mattered was that the case had so puzzled the tribes that they had actually requested Government involvement. In a rare show of cooperation they had granted us three hours of unfettered access to the reserve.
I knew from Hatton's satellite survey that the Unions had been busy constructing their various tribal warnings. They had stopped short of actually erecting Totems around the periphery of the headland, but the effect was the same. To the East were the first of the flag lines, arranged half way up the approaching shore. The usual tribal snappers were there, but to these they had added orange warning streamers, twenty-foot long displays of colour that writhed like water snakes, languid, almost sensual in the wind.
The area to the West was also covered by a similar obstruction, a field of sun mirrors, designed to spin and catch the light in order to dazzle and disorientate anyone who approached. What I couldn't tell from the photos was whether or not they had added Accenture Lenses. We had enough to worry about with the threat of sand traps and pitfalls without the added danger of focussed sunlight burns.
While Leon began the daunting task of trawling through the comp systems at the station, I decided to spend the first hour wandering amongst the towers, if only to convince myself that the strange and marvellous forms were still alive. Beth accompanied me. It wasn't long before conversation turned to the reason that we were here.
"So what was his name?" she said. She was already taking measurements, comparing the technical specifications owned by the university with the readings that was taking now. The opportunity to do so was simply too valuable to pass up and the tribes would never find out unless she started transmitting the data.
"Miguel Tarssas. He was a life technician, here maintaining the station. That's the line the tribe is taking anyway."
"They found him outside the Old Man." I indicated the central tower, standing at a slight angle to the others, an effect of the desert winds eroding the sand from around it. "He wouldn't have even had a cause to approach the towers."
"Autopsy results?"
"Withheld as a matter of course. All we got were preliminaries. That's all the tribe would release. If they had anything definitive we wouldn't have been called in."
"So what did they say?"
"No external marks. No wounds, scratches, bleeding or bruising. In short, nothing external. Whatever killed him, killed him from the inside."
"Disease? Heart attack?"
"Without the full results there's no way to tell. Hatton managed to dig up his medical file, logged with an obscure medical centre in Jamenta. There was nothing physically wrong with him. He was reasonably young at fifty-seven and in full health. Physically fit, no long term conditions."
"It can happen out of the blue."
"I know, only there's something about this that doesn't add up."
"You think we're looking at a mystery death?"
"It would explain why the tribe invited us. What I don't understand is why he left the tech station at all. What made him come over here, to the towers?"
"Could it have been an intruder?"
"Nobody else up here. The tribes make sure of that. Their surveillance here is something to be believed. They're probably watching us now. Something made him leave the tech station and wander over to the Old Man."
We moved between two of the towers and I stopped whilst Beth inspected the Victual Chests, the series of internal reservoirs arranged around the base of each tower like petals. The strange, organic cisterns normally contained the various nutrients and other chemicals that the bio-form either extracted from deep below ground or generated for itself using a complex system of photosynthesis and solar distilling. Now, however, they were empty.
"That's strange." Beth remarked, "The last set of observations reported healthy Victual Chests."
"How old is that report?" I said.
"Just under a year."
I gazed up at the empty platforms and balconies that protruded from the towers at regular intervals like an arrangement leaves along a stem. Most were simple solar traps, sun snares, a means by which the tower collected energy to power its slow but steady perambulations throughout the year. One or two however, gave hints of internal access. There were apertures up there, openings, tantalisingly out of reach, through which one might have viewed the inner workings perhaps. Birds played around the strange angles and inclines, gliding on the thermals thrown up by the architecture of the place.
I took the Middleman from my bag.
As part of my job I always carried a Middleman. In a way, it was a form of Construct itself. Derived as an offshoot from the Biology Houses, it had been an early attempt at providing an interface through which humans could communicate with some of the larger life projects, the Ornamentals, the Objet d'Art, or the Watchmen. It contained more tech than anything bio-cultured, although at its heart it was basically a two-pound brain of cultured plastic. As a communications device, the Middleman had been something of a spectacular failure, as so many of the life projects were. However, it did have one rather useful side effect that the Bio-tects hadn't foreseen. Instead of communicating directly with Constructs, it was able to read life signs, determine levels of awareness. In that role, it was a vital piece of equipment, and since reliable units were hard to come by, a valuable one too.
I ran my fingers along the grooves that activated the machine. The object shuddered in my hands. Operational LEDs winked into life. The familiar high-pitched whine came from within, the sound of the organic mechanism spinning in its magnetic cradle, life of a sort.
I extended the set of antennae from the bottom of the device and attached the sucker-like tips to the nearest tower. Then I took a step back, waiting for it to do its work.
I realised then that I was holding my breath. Laying eyes on these marvellous creations again, these extraordinary, highly improbable bio-forms, some small yet vital spark had taken root inside me. Since arriving on the reserve at first light, I had been experiencing a strange optimism, an impossible lightness, a hope that the towers had retained whatever vestiges of sentience they had been clinging to when the previous survey had reported their findings. It was hard to regard the towers as the living entities they were. The cultivation protocols had given rise to something far more unique and ornate than the Bio-tects had originally envisaged. The Calcine super-structure looked as though it would endure for centuries, and yet it was the unquantifiable essence that flowed within, the fabric rather than the form, that made each tower the individual that it was.
The Middleman powered down. I took one look at the readout and my heart sank.
Beth was the first to give a voice to my thoughts.
"It's dead!"
She was as speechless as I was. At first I thought that perhaps the Middleman was wrong, that the little device had somehow developed a malfunction. After inspecting it carefully and running the evaluation cycle again, there was no doubt about it. The results were exactly the same. The reading was negative. The tower was quite dead, no longer host to whatever strange and intricate elixirs it had once contained.
"What about the others?" Beth said, again giving voice to my concerns.
I repeated the procedure on two of the nearest towers, each time with the same dispiriting result, a negative reading, an unresponsive tower. With the naive confidence of the morning now fast fading to despair, I began to counter the possibility that the entire group had died, that the entire Watchman reserve was now only a strange and empty mausoleum, a monument to what once was.
"Could Tarssas have known?" Beth said, "Is that why he came out here?"
"I've no idea. He wouldn't have been carrying a Middleman. The tribal report stated that he only had his coolant suit and water flask."
Beth walked over to the nearest tower, ran her hands over the smooth, white surface as if a touch was all it took to determine life status, to inject sentience back into those things that I could now only regard as fossilised relics.
"What could have killed them?" she whispered.
I was surprised by her choice of words. There was no evidence that an act of violence had occurred here, and yet for her this had already become just that, an outside influence coming to bear.
I didn't need to answer her question, didn't need to tell her that without the complete reading patterns given by the tribal studies of this place, such a question was always, and would remain, unanswerable.
It was with a heavy heart that I made my way back to the tech station. Sunlight dazzled and danced along the headlands, maddening us all the way. In such heat, beneath such a clear, faultless sky, I couldn't quite accept the enormity of our discovery. I too was starting to succumb to Beth's way of thinking, of wondering who could have caused such a thing, as if it had been a deliberate act. I began to suspect Miguel Tarssas himself, then I realised that only a man with a death wish would have despoiled a place the tribes regarded as sacred.
Perhaps that was what had happened. Perhaps Tarssas had damaged the towers in some way, and had been murdered for his troubles. It wouldn't have been impossible for a Mimic team to get into the reserve unnoticed. Perhaps Tarssas knew that what he was doing would bring retribution. Perhaps we were looking at an overly stylised form of suicide.
Such a hypothesis failed to answer why the Union had requested Government involvement. If murder had been on their minds, Tarssas would have simply vanished. Nothing would have been said, nobody would have been told, and Government would most definitely not have been drawn in.
I felt certain that murder was not the cause of the man's death. Despite the terrible discoveries of the morning, we were still no nearer to solving the mystery.
Leon was waiting for us on the wide, flat roof of the tech station as we approached. I saw the small, fold away receiver dish in his hand and realised that he was attempting to get a lock on any satellites that were currently stationed over the reserve. His desert clothes flapped in the wind giving him the appearance of an ancient captain, standing at the prow of his ship perhaps, or an amateur radio ham, eager for a signal.
I climbed the short flight of concrete stairs to join him in looking out over the dunes. The desert beyond rose in wide, shallow gradients to meet the sweltering headland of the reserve itself. To the East, the line of Union flags flailed, languorous and indolent in the wind.
He tapped away at his comm, occasionally cursing under his breath as the device gave him negative readouts, indications that even the identity of the orbiting assets had been encrypted. He didn't need to ask me of our discovery. He had been using the station's comp system to monitor my Middleman, in the same way that the Union had probably been doing all morning.
"I don't understand what's going on here." he said.
I said nothing, leaving my silence as some sort of agreement.
"They've deployed an orbital to watch us. So far it's refusing all attempts at communication. Something's really spooked them."
"My guess is that Tarssas' death rattled them. They can't work out why a supposedly healthy man would just keel over and die like that."
"Do you think they suspect the towers?"
I had heard of Constructs being able to exert suggestive influences on their surroundings before. In the old days, it was said that some species had been able to provoke emotional responses in humans, change moods, even alter low-level behavioural responses. I had no idea how it had worked, electromagnetism perhaps, certain low frequency sound waves, a way of communicating that had passed us by completely. Needless to say, I had never heard of a species that had been able to stop a man dead in his tracks. There would undoubtedly have been a market for it if there had been.
"The towers are dead." I said.
"But does the tribe know that?"
"I can't believe that they don't. On the other hand if they do know, they wouldn't have asked us up here. They would have expected us to find out. This place would have been sealed."
"Such a development makes any claim on the reserve worthless, doesn't it?"
I nodded. "From now on we keep one eye on the desert. If they want us out of here, they'll waste no time. They may even be here already."
We went inside, taking the central stairwell down through the roof, to where the thickness of the concrete preserved a kind of coolness, a cavern-like darkness that provided a respite from the relentless heat.
The inside of the station was based around one large room. The place smelled of oil and ancient machinery. It reminded me of the inside of a pumping house or a Martello tower, resembling more of a fortress than a centre for scientific study. The corners were littered with items discarded in redundancy, spare parts, pieces of equipment that had been brought up here and simply abandoned after the need for them had passed. A bank of computer stations wrapped itself around the far side of the room, flat panels, adorned with lights and animated graphics giving the impression that the station had somehow taken on a life of its own.
"Did you find anything in the systems?" I said.
"Possibly. Most of the files are protected as you might expect. I've been running into tribal code barriers all morning. All I managed to decode was a scrap of video, a section of surveillance footage." Leon walked over to the station he had been working from and clicked a file open. Immediately the screen was lit with static. The view was that of the reserve, skewed at an odd angle by the camera. The towers stood in the distance. I recognised the Old Man, standing proudly, yet at an obvious angle, amongst its progeny. Presently, the outline of a shape appeared to the left of the screen, a figure darkened beneath sand clothes and a dust mask, seeming to stumble across the sand, moving slowly towards the camera. I didn't need to ask who it was. The figure staggered, fell to his knees.
Then regaining himself once more, continued towards us.
"Tarssas!" I whispered, "What's he doing out there?"
"It appears that he was coming back from South Spire."
"But that's way over the other side of the reserve." I said, "What was he doing out there?"
The figure stumbled onward, drawing close to the Old Man. I didn't need to see this. Hatton's files had given me as complete a picture as I was ever going to get. I knew what happened next.
The image ceased abruptly, dissolving into static.
"That's all we have?" I said.
Leon nodded, "I'm afraid so."
"So the Old Man was simply the death site. Is it possible that Tarssas was injured elsewhere?"
"That's not all."
"I found a communiqué. Tarssas was out at South Spire for a reason. Don't ask me what that reason was, but somebody told him told to go out there."
"Who gave the order?"
"Station's orders. Standard Union encryption pattern."
"So it came from the top."
"Wasn't Tarssas only a technician?" Beth inquired.
"Beth's got a point," Leon said, "He was only supposed to be here for two days. I've seen his clearance. He wasn't qualified to examine the Towers. He didn't even hold the relevant pass to approach them."
"Nevertheless, somebody ordered him out there, on his own, in the middle of the day." I took a moment to think. This was developing too fast. There was too much new information to take in.
"If the Union had ordered someone with Tarssas' credentials out to South Spire, then there must have been something out there worth breaking Union protocol for. He was sent simply because he was already on site."
"Do you think it might have been a Claim attempt?" Beth said.
"There's only one way to find out," I said, "I'll have to go out there and take a look for myself."
"Something made them send him out there. Something made them order a low ranking technician across the reserve, a sacred reserve, a space that not even the tribal elders can visit without committee representation. I want to know what it was."
"We don't have much time." Beth said, "The tribal representatives will be here in an hour, probably less."
"Then we'll play for time. If a call comes in, don't answer. We'll claim interference, electromagnetic distortion, anything to get us a few more hours."
"They'll see through it." Beth warned.
"That's too bad." I said, "They can think what they like. It won't change anything."
At 14:00 I set out alone across the reserve for South Spire. The tower was over a mile from the tech station, slightly taller than the others and separated from the main group like an outcast, a rogue form, a dissenter.
The headland afforded fine views of the surrounding desert. The sun had become a burning circle amidst a sea of turquoise, and heat hazes pranced along the horizon, carnivals of air that taunted with hints and effigies of water. I gave thanks to Leon's coolant suit, listening to the chatter of the refrigerating thump unit in the small of my back as it synchronised itself with my heartbeat. This journey would have been unbearable without it. I wondered how Tarssas had managed with only his robes.
I passed the first line of Sun Mirrors, strung from wires that sung and hissed like cornered cats. I avoided looking at them directly. There didn't appear to be any Accenture Lenses strung amongst them, as I had feared, but it was still good practise to be cautious.
South Spire, at over one hundred and fifty years old, was the oldest tower on the reserve, the patriarch, the progenitor form. It alone had conceived at least half of the others, its productivity outdone only by the Old Man. Now the very tops of its parapets and ramparts were ragged, frayed into ever finer stalagmites where the Calcine and Growth Bone had put out new shoots, new extensions to grasp at the impossible sky. Despite its great age, time had done nothing to dull that brilliant exterior. The tower blazed in the sun, a pillar of light, shards of it streaming from that coral-like surface to play amongst the dunes. The sands for yards around swam with photonics, scintillations, reflection and refraction.
I inspected the Victual Chest, found it almost full of the strange and foul smelling liquor that the tower sustained itself on. I felt a rush of excitement, then calmed myself, told myself to carry out checks and procedures in a recognised manner. My time here was short as it was. Already, the Union was probably gearing up to have us escorted from the reserve.
I attached the Middleman in the usual way, stood back to let it do its work, and gasped.
It had to be impossible. I checked the Middleman again for fear of malfunction or misread, convinced that the strange set of circumstances that had brought us here had somehow affected the device too.
There could be no denying the results. The life reading was off the scale. South Spire was alive. Against the better part of chance, amidst so much death, it was not only alive, but apparently thriving.
I checked the reading a third time, just to be certain in myself, just to be sure that I hadn't succumbed to enthusiasm or heat stroke or one of the other hundred or so things that can cause a man to loose his mind in the Sourlands.
I was puzzled. Past surveys of the reserve had discovered South Spire to be dwindling, barely cognisant. Now, apparently, it was back to full strength, beyond full strength. I couldn't explain it. I checked the previous results on my comm, ran a sequence that added them together, compared the total with the reading from my Middleman. The result only mystified me further. The two readings were identical. South Spire now contained a life reading that, allowing for periodic degradation, was virtually equal to the life readings of all the others towers in the reserve put together.
My mind raced. The possibilities were intoxicating: something under the sand perhaps, a network connecting all of the towers with one another; or a transmission, a message, sent and received, a way for the towers to send out their individual consciousnesses into the void. There were so many possibilities and only one that made any sort of sense. The other towers had somehow migrated into South Spire. Even that answer failed dismally at scratching the surface. I had no way to determine the exact mechanism of what had taken place here, not without further surveys, extra time, all things that were highly unlikely given the political climate. The joy of discovery gave way to frustration as I realised that a definitive answer would be as unattainable as the galaxies in the night sky.
I turned my mind to purpose. There had to be reasoning, no matter how alien or inconceivable. If the old adage of safety in numbers was true, it was especially true for Constructs. The reserve was only a finite arrangement at best, a way for the Unions to deny Government access. This kind of behaviour was simply not viable. Perhaps the Union was after the same thing. Was this what they had sent Tarssas half way across the reserve to find out?
I had to remind myself that, despite the relative peace of the scene, despite the sunlight that cast the tower in its burning glaze, a man had died. It was quite possible that this tower, this bio-form had been responsible for his death. This was where the blow had been struck. Aside from this, nothing else had changed. I was still no closer to answering the question of what had actually happened.
Tarssas must have found something. He hadn't been equipped with a Middleman so he could not possibly have made the same discoveries as I had. It had to have been something else.
I began a slow, methodical circumference of the tower, paying particular attention to the folds and pleats that hung like solidified curtains, checking each new and unrecorded protuberance that had sprung up around the base like melted wax dripped down the side of a wine bottle.
Then I saw it.
The entrance was no larger than four feet high. It was little more than a cleft really, a gap between two organic buttresses, just large enough to admit a man. I checked my records. Nothing like this had been recorded during the previous surveys. The towers had been closed forms, sealed. Indeed, it had always been a mystery as to what they actually contained.
I approached carefully, mindful of the fact that Tarssas must have made the same discovery, must have walked my exact footsteps. I came to the threshold and leaned inside, waiting for my eyes to become accustomed to the sudden darkness before proceeding.
The floor was a little below the level of the entrance. The desert had encroached upon even this space, coating the floor in a flat pan of sand. The interior walls rose like those of a great chimney, gleaming dully like Cowry shell, or alabaster as thinner patches let through a diffuse form of sunlight and cast the place in amber. The effect was like standing inside a gigantic termite mound. There were no further features, no staircases that led to higher areas, to those mystifying sun platforms. I had to keep reassuring myself that the tiny entrance behind me would not suddenly slam shut and trap me within. Although capable of photoreceptive movement, it took months for a tower to achieve a new position. A gradual following of the sun throughout the year was about the best that they could achieve.
I stood in that space and looked up. The point of the tower was lost to shadow, many feet above. The melted wax buttresses were hidden in darkness. It was unnerving in a strange way. In the indefinable space where the twists and turns of the tower's internal geometry was swallowed by darkness, I was suddenly no longer sure that the tower stopped, that it did not simply continue off into darkness. I shrugged the notion off as the remnants of a heat prank, and looked again. This time it was clear. Like the startling recognition of an image inside a three-dimensional puzzle, a certain element of that darkness had grown deeper, more pronounced, revealing an explicit distance.
I heard it first, a sound like the sea trapped within a seashell, like a vague memory, a deep sigh washing over me, fashioned and channelled by the interior anatomy of the tower. Then I saw it, a point of light unravelling the darkness far above my head. I felt it pierce the space behind my eyes like a dog whistle, like the sound that people swear they sometimes hear when a meteor flashes overhead. It was a Dawn Chorus, something transmitted, a sensation of electricity in the bones, something that bypassed the optic nerves altogether and went straight for the brain. I stumbled, blinded by the intensity of the signal. Almost immediately, the image faded, allowing me to regain my sight. It was as if someone had turned down the brightness on a television set. I saw it clearly then, a star in the darkness, growing until it resembled a magnolia flower, a mandala. I saw a circle divide itself into three, a representation of Pi perhaps, an indication of infinity, or something else, something beyond my understanding.
For a fleeting moment I was aware of all of them, all the lonely and hunted forms of life, the AIs, the Meatkin, the Renovate species, lost to the deserts, hiding in the old towns, slipping between ocean currents, in far flung places and places closer to home. Then I heard the voices, the many voices of the towers, no more than whispers really, a spluttering hornet swarm of sound, a calling out to one another, a communication package composed in complex mathematical code, in patterns of overlapping ultrasound and biologically generated magnetism. It was a lament, an expression of grief for their former selves, for the husks of their empty bodies, and yet there was joy in there too, the thrill of making contact with other life. It was a communication, a need to share in the sheer joy of living, in the apprehension that they felt in their life ebbing away, a pronouncement of anxiety about the future. They were afraid to die, afraid of no longer existing, afraid that the knowledge that had been locked inside of them, knowledge that they had held for generations, would be lost forever.
I could feel something at work. I could feel the tower wheedling its way into my mind, feel it entering me like a thorn or a cat's claw, or a worm wrapping itself around all the wrong nerves. The tower was leaving something inside of me, making subtle changes. I knew then what it was doing. It was passing on a message, like a relative passes on some object of sentimental importance. My head swam with colour and shape. I tried to focus on something, draw meaning into the chaos, but the impressions were slippery and fled from my mind's grasp, leaving only vague impressions of what had passed.
The riot ceased abruptly. I stumbled, suddenly unable to control my legs. I staggered outside where the sun hit me like a bat. Heat passed over me in waves. I felt nauseous. My vision swam, clouded over, and the world went out like a light.
The first thing I saw when I came to was Beth's face. She leaned over me. Slowly, I realised that I was back in the Tech station.
"I saw you on the monitor," she said, "It was lucky Leon decided to follow you."
I sat up and felt a hammer blow inside my skull.
"Lay down," she said, "You're dehydrated. You're suffering from heat stroke. The coolant suit saved you."
"Are they here yet?" I whispered.
Beth nodded. They're outside, three of them, although the station comp has picked up residual heat traces of two more, probably wearing Chameleon suits."
Beth nodded. "They haven't tried to enter yet. They're probably giving us time to comply. They've been there for an hour but we've had no communication from the tribe."
"We won't. The situation is untenable. They know that. Better to leave now, before we cause a diplomatic incident."
"What will they do?"
"I've no idea. You were reading my Middleman?"
"As a matter of course. Why do you think the towers migrated?"
"I've no idea. What matters now is what the Union believes."
I wanted to add something there, wanted desperately to ask whether Beth had read anything else, something passing between South Spire and myself, any trace of that message. I bit my tongue, only too aware that everything we said was being listen to by the third party stationed outside, and quite possibly by those who had already infiltrated inside. The station suddenly seemed very alien. I saw it then for what it was, a crude attempt at forcing reason and purpose onto those things that possessed neither, that simply were, to understand those things for which understanding was an alien concept. No wonder we had been called up here. The Union understood no more about the Towers than we did.
Beth gathered the remains of my things and I forced myself to my feet, unsteady but eager now to leave the reserve.
The Tribal representatives were waiting for us, just as Beth had said, three big men, dressed in fighting suits and carrying the various weapons of their profession. I saw a sand rifle hidden beneath the cloak of the nearest man and knew then that it would be some time before anyone from Government would be coming back here. What the tribe would do, I had no idea. I imagine that Leon had his suspicions, but on the way out of the reserve he was keeping them to himself, mindful that any expressed opinion could very quickly become more than a suggestion. As we passed the mirror lines I thought of the star, my star, that residual image left like a footprint in my mind, of the message imparted to me. I called forth that mandala in the darkness and saw it split into three once more.
I did not see the first strike, only heard it as a crack of thunder, a snap as the air was rendered and parted by the tiniest of threads, then slammed shut once more against the vacuum that had been left. Leon would later swear blind that he had seen it, witnessed that terrible moment when the Concussion Lance sliced into the reserve like a divine spear, when the deadly observer that had been monitoring us all morning enacted its decisive wrath.
I felt the reverberation shake me from the inside, turned in time to see the results of that terrifying onslaught. A great cloud of ash and dust was rising from the headland. I could see South Spire, still standing despite the incredible trauma that it had just suffered. Two of the outer Watchmen had fallen.
The first strike could only have been followed by a second. This time I saw the bright pink thread, appearing like lightning from out of a clear sky, connecting with the ground for an infinitesimal fraction of a second. The effect lasted longer than the act of destruction itself. South Spire swayed drunkenly, groaning against gravity. Then, along with its remaining compatriots, it crumbled, toppling like the columns of Pompey and Herculaneum, collapsing in great swells of shattered Calcine and Blossom Glass.
I could not be sure then, but I heard something at that moment, an inaudible scream like a bat call, a high frequency shout from the top of that hill, a final proclamation of life, transmitted out to whoever was able to listen.
I watched the clouds of dust as they settled around the hill to reveal the low mounds of rubble that had once been something more, saw them rolling down the surface of those headlands to engulf the flags and sun mirrors, heard the sound of glass, cracking in the heat. Finally I could stand no more. I turned away, swallowing against nausea suddenly present, aware that the only thing left was the image I now carried with me.
A report was filed, as they usually are. Its conclusions were nothing surprising. The tribe stopped short of issuing Complaint about my unapproved trip over to South Spire, and Hatton, despite the better judgment of his fifty-seven years, decided not to press the issue of the destruction of the Towers. The primary reason lodged by the union was one of safety. The towers were old, they said, prone to failure, structurally weak, a danger to anyone studying them. I didn't have to remind Hatton that this was a useful distraction from the fact that the towers had changed, evolved, moved on in new and exciting ways, not least in their new found ability to communicate.
I didn't mention the message that the collective consciousness of South Spire had imparted upon me. Some things are best left out of official explanations and preserved only for quiet evenings, when the heat of the day has died, when the flutter of a candle's flame allows a certain amount of sincerity.
We both knew that it had been that first unsuccessful attempt at communication that had killed Tarssas, overloading his brain as surely as any electric shock. Whether the Union had sent him out there deliberately in order to trigger such a response, we will never know. It seems unlikely, although once the man had died, the fate of the towers had been virtually assured. It seems more likely that they had suspected. A death on the reserve would have made the perfect pretext for that final denial of the towers from Government.
And what of that final transmission, that last shout out from the crown of that hill? Perhaps the towers had known. Perhaps a final migration had been in the plans all along. Despite the sheer otherness of their consciousness, I find it hard to believe that they hadn't planned on a contingency, hadn't worked out an exit strategy. Perhaps the act of communication had been instinctive, an act that they felt forced to carry out, a nervous reflex, irrepressible and automatic. I like to think not.
Perhaps, somewhere out there, amongst the heat-baked labyrinths of dunes, where the air literally shimmers with expectation, there remains a strange and alien form of life, host to new minds now, new voices, the many voices of the desert.


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back again to share the last of the cards I made that were inspired by the Mojo Monday 341 sketch.
The card has all the elements of the sketch - they have just been re-arranged.
card details:
- finished size: 4.25 x 5.5 inches, kraft card stock base, cream mat
- patterned papers: Authentique "Hope"
- stamps: Verve "Big Wish"
- layout: Mojo Monday 341
challenges for this card:
As always, thanks for stopping by!


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First of all, before we get to cinch mole trapping, I always like to mention when discussing moles that they are meat eaters and not plant eaters
Moles are a little more of a challenge to trap than gophers
Or, the mounds created when a mole is digging a deeper permanent burrow look like this:
Cinch Mole Trapping-Surface Burrow Trapping
You can spot and follow tunnels, finding where they seem to join together or where they follow along a curb, driveway, side of a building or garden border.
If tunnels are not found along a border you can stomp down a few sections of the raised run and check the next day to see if they are raised again indicating that the mole has used the tunnel again. This means you have found a good trapping site. Open the burrow in each direction and place two Cinch traps, one in each direction like this;
You may have to wait a day or two until the mole comes back through this surface tunnel. If a trap is sprung without catching anything, reset and wait. If the mole tunnels around the trap try a different trap set location in deeper burrow tunnel.
Cinch Mole Trapping-Deep Burrow Trapping
You can always tell when you have deep mole burrows by the series of mounds that are formed by moles bringing soil to the surface while excavating deep tunnels. The soil has to go somewhere, so they push it out and make a mound.
These piles are almost always at the end of a lateral tunnel off the main tunnel. and look like this;
You can trap in these tunnels easily without a lot of work using the Hori Hori tool to open the tunnels. (one of the best all around gardening tools as well)
Check back the next day and see if you were successful. If the tunnels are too deep for this method to work easily do one of two things. Either try another spot or get out a shovel, excavate and set traps in the tunnel hole. In my opinion and in my trapping business doing as little damage to the landscape is the preferred if possible.
Cinch Mole Trapping-Trapping Along an Edge
It has been my experience that trapping along an edge like a driveway, wall, rock border or anything that moles follow along is the most successful trapping site. They are also the easiest to set up. This is because the Cinch trap has the extended jaws enabling them to have a long reach under objects.
Here are some examples of these kind of sites
Cinch Mole Trapping-Trapping In Mole Mounds
Trapping in mole mounds is probably the least successful of all the methods but is very easy to set up and requires no real effort in finding the burrow.
Remember that these mounds are just used for excavating soil while the burrow is being dug. So, you must follow the mounds and find the newest one. Try to find one that is smaller and fresh. The hope is that the mole will soon be bringing more soil up out of the tunnel.
In conclusion I have to say there are an incredible amount of different mole traps on the market. I have purchased and used most of them and am always trying new techniques and traps. The Cinch trap remains the most versatile of them all and is the easiest to carry around. If you are a home owner or a professional the combination of the Cinch and the Hori Hori is the best I have ever found.
Good luck and happy trapping, Thomas Wittman


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DOWNERS GROVE – A now-chillier team of Downers Grove fundraisers raised nearly $25,000 for the Special Olympics leading up to the annual Polar Plunge in Chicago.
The Downers Grove Plungaholics, made up of 56 members from around the area, joined thousands of others in diving into Lake Michigan off of Chicago's North Avenue Beach March 5 to raise money and awareness in the annual event, finishing in the top 10 of all fundraising groups.
The team was rallied by team captains David and Holly Francis, who have a young son with Down syndrome.
For more information on the annual event and Special Olympics Chicago, visit sochicago.org/chicago-polar-plunge.


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The Indies Enterprise
Distributed for Haus Publishing
320 pages | 5 x 8
The Columbus brothers worked relentlessly for eight years to prepare the voyage Christopher dreamed of: the search for the passage to the Indies, Cipango and the Empire of the Great Khan. Bartolomeo tells the story from the very outset; he is his brother's accomplice and the main witness to the events leading to the Indies Enterprise.
For more information, or to order this book, please visit https://www.press.uchicago.edu
Google preview here
Literature and Literary Criticism: Fiction
You may purchase this title at these fine bookstores. Outside the USA, see our international sales information.


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Cuban Cigar Manufacturer
In an era when everybody is a self proclaimed Cuban cigar manufacturer it has become difficult to distinguish a marketing company from a manufacturer employing the original Cuban method of making cigars. Unlike many, we are a Cuban family with over twenty years of experience who specializes in handmade award winning Cuban style cigar manufacturing.
Top Rated Cigar 2014
Since 1995 when our Gold Series was rated 90 by Cigar Aficionado our blends have been consistently gaining recognition for the quality in craftsmanship and consistency of the products. In 2014 our Spectral brand was honored in the top 25 cigars of the year by Cigar Snob Magazine this is a momentum that we are carrying over into 2015.
Boutique Cigar Brands
Perhaps you've never heard of FDG Cigars because we don't believe in over the top marketing budgets but rather in delivering the best quality boutique worthy cigar brand to our consumer at an affordable price. Many of the top brands in the market today are mass produced products that lack the authenticity of a true Cuban cigar.
Private Label Cigar Manufacturer
Are you a sizeable cigar retailer or distributor looking for a top rated house blend for your private label program? For over 20 years FDG cigars has been a leading manufacturer of private label Cuban style cigars. You can count on FDG Cigars for everything from packaging and band design to custom tailor blending and sizing.
Our Brands
FDG Cigars manufacturers a wide range of authentic Cuban style cigars. Some of our better known brands are 90 Miles, 90 Miles Reserva Selecta, 90 Miles 1980 Edition, 90 Miles Nicaragua R.A., Spectral, and our Gold series among others.
Our Ratings
Over the past twenty years FDG Cigars has been consistently manufacturing top rated products. Some of these ratings have earned us rankings in the top 25 cigars of the year of different cigar magazines and online cigar bloggers.
Become a Dealer
By becoming an FDG Cigars dealer you have the opportunity to maintain a steady repeat clientele who appreciates the quality and consistency we offer in our handcrafted Cuban style cigars. We will also support you with events and marketing materials.
Welcome to Flor de Gonzalez Cigars website
We are a Cuban family with a rich history of making traditional handmade Cuban Style Cigars. Our family history was the provenance for our highly sought after 90 Miles® line of fine cigars. The Slogan "So near and yet so far..." We couldn't help to feel the nostalgia that the name brings to us for we are so close, only 90 miles away, but yet so far.... separated by the regimen that forced us out of our country in search of freedom and the perseverance to maintain our family values. With this in mind, we have made the 90 Miles line of cigar as a tribute to the United States for allowing us the opportunity and privilege to live in a country of freedom and opportunities.
Our 90 Miles Series of cigars extends to a few different blends all of which are done using tobacco from different regions of Nicaragua; some of which have been specially selected, fermented and aged to perfection providing that smooth taste to the palate we can all appreciate and love. The end result, medium and medium to full bodied cigars full of complex flavors and enchanting aromas.
We hope you find your visit to our website an enjoyable one. Please feel free to browse around our site and learn about all our great products that are available to you. We feel confident that once you try our cigars, you will become a regular customer!


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Hamad International Airport
Hamad International Airport (HIA) is the hub for the rapidly expanding international Qatar Airways network. Open 24/7 and located just five km from Doha's city centre, the airport is used by more than 35 regional and international airlines. It is also home to the world's only terminal dedicated to Qatar Airways First and Business Class passengers.
The position will manage the Airport Authorities security operations, ensuring compliance with local and International regulations and all instructions and procedures issued by Head of Security HIA and QCAA. Protect the interest of the airport staff, passenger's, equipment and assets avoiding unlawful acts of interference, theft, damages, fines etc.
The 24 hour position will co-ordinate responses and provide support and communication to all areas within the airport. Taking the lead and liaising with all stakeholders' colleagues and departments and in particular, work with other departments and airlines assessing the security implications prior to advising and reporting to senior management. The Duty Manager Security will also advise airlines and tenants on security legislation and ensure compliance of the Airport Security Program.
To be successful in this role, you must have:
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Definition of gimmick
- … few readers would look for a gimmick in an advertisement featuring airline schedules, but few would fail to look for the fine print in an ad announcing New Low-Price Fares.
- —Robert L. Heilbroner
- Even in professional careers, mere competence and craftsmanship is no substitute for a gimmick.
- —James Poniewozik
- a marketing gimmick


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Monbukagakusho Scholarship 2017 For Bangladeshi Students. Monbukagakusho Scholarship is a scholarship offered by the Japanese Govt. This year this prestigious scholarship will be given to 150 Bangladeshi people. Under this scholarship, many students from approximately 160 countries and regions around the world have studied in Japan after its establishment in 1954. Application Deadline is May 15, 2016.
Monbukagakusho Scholarship is a Bachelor, Masters and PhD Level Scholarship.
Monbukagakusho Scholarship 2017 For Bangladeshi Students
Quick Navigation
Bachelor Level:
Candidates age must be from seventeen to twenty one years the year the student arrives Japan and must complete 12 years of regular education.
Master's Level:
At least Bachelor's Degree & all through 1st Class or equivalent.
Ph.D Level:
1. Minimum Master's Degree & all through 1st Class or equivalent.
2. The candidates of Medicine should have completed their internship before applying.
Master's & PhD level candidate's birth date has to be on or after 2 April, 1980.
Applicant must be willing to learn the Japanese Language.
Applicant must be physically and mentally healthy enough to pursue study at University
Field of Study:
Fine Arts, Education, Business Administration, Commerce, Sociology, international Relations, Law, Pure Science, Applied Science, Computer Science, Biological Science, Physical Science, Engineering, Agriculture, Medicine, and Dentistry etc.
Each candidate will get 117,000 Yen under the fiscal 2016 budget. An additional monthly stipend of 2,000 or 3,000 Yen may be provided to those undertaking study or research in specially chosen regions.
Deadline: May 15, 2016.
More Info: http://www.moedu.gov.bd/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=940&Itemid=345
Monbukagakusho Scholarship 2017 For Bangladeshi Students
Application Procedure:
Applicants may apply via online from the website: (http://banbeis.gov.bd/mext). Candidates need to click on the Online Scholarship Button and fulfil the form available in the website.
Selection Procedure
Candidates will have to face both written test & viva-voce organized by Japaneses embassy.


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TPAM Hotfix 8911 for Solution 219433 - PSM sessions hosted through the console are hanging on the initializing VNC stept.
Please refer to the Support Portal knowledgebase article 219433 for additional information and instructions on implementing the hotfix.
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