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The win will remove the planning account from the WPP-owned agency, but buying will still be handled by WPP through its specialist government agency, M4C.
The process was conducted by Michelle Rajendran, the FCSC marketing manager and the appointment follows a three-way pitch which included UM London, Mindshare and Manning Gottlieb OMD.
The FSCS was launched in 2000 to help savers who have lost money that had been invested with banks.
UM London will now be tasked with launching the second phase of an awareness campaign, which was launched in the first quarter of 2011. Part of the brief stated that the FSCS was looking for an agency that could engage audiences with a "low-interest subject matter".
Mark Oakes, head of communications for FSCS, said: "We are delighted to appoint UM London to our communications planning business following a tough, high calibre pitch. We were particularly impressed by their strategic thinking which we believe will take us to the next level in our consumer awareness campaign."
The organisation last held a pitch for its communications planning in 2009. McCann Manchester, which holds the creative business, is not affected by the review.
Follow Mark Banham on Twitter @Banham72


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Forrest sets 10K school record
FAYETTEVILLE, Ark. – At Stanford's Payton Jordan Cardinal Invitational, late Saturday night, Arkansas Razorback senior Shawn Forrest set a school record in the 10,000 meters.
Running in the top heat of the 10K, Forrest clocked a time of 27:52.10 for a bronze finish. He finished first among collegians with his school record time. He replaced the previous school record of 28:07.27 set by former Razorback Josphat Boit in 2005.
Forrest's time is a personal best by 30 seconds, leads the SEC by nearly 30 seconds, ranks second in the NCAA and is the ninth-fastest in the world for 2009. With his time, he is now automatically qualified for the NCAA Championships in the event.
Senior James Strang competed in the second section of the 5,000 meters. With his time of 14:05.40, he finished 16th overall and 11th among collegians. His time is an NCAA regional qualifiers and ranks eighth in the SEC.
Arkansas Razorback men's track and field will have a week off to prepare for the SEC Championships, May 14-17, in Gainesville, Fla. For more information, visit ArkansasRazorbacks.com.

subset: commoncrawl


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It's a Friday night. I'm sitting at a dining room table in a charming brownstone in Brooklyn, drinking wine and snacking on French cheese, surrounded by a circle of my peers. My professor has invited us to her home for an end-of-semester celebration. We're adults now, we can sit around drinking and talking about literature. The world of academia is a world I've chosen to spend the next five years in, a world I will probably spend most of my life in, and it's important to me that I feel at home here.
For me, an essential part of feeling at home is being out. It's something I've had to work on ever since I graduated from Mount Holyoke, where by the time I was a senior you were pretty much queer until proven straight. That's not the world we live in, unfortunately, and when I moved to New York City, I had to decide whether, and how, I would come out.
It didn't happen all at once. It started first with friends, and then with fellow students, and then with a not-so-subtle comment about lesbians in my history class, and then with a heart-to-heart with my boss at work, and by the time the spring semester hit, there was no going back. I was out to my professors, colleagues, and co-workers, and I felt lucky to be in a place where that was possible.
I joke sometimes that I'm the "token queer" in my department, always talking about the social construction of gender and writing papers about lesbians. I'm proud to be "that feminist," the one who never lets you get away with a racist, sexist, or homophobic comment, the one who always brings it back to the patriarchy, the one who talks about periods when there are men in the room (the bloodier, the better).
By now, people have more or less gotten used to it. They laugh at my raunchy jokes, they ask me about my date with the cute girl I've been gushing about, they nod politely when I go on a feminist rant in the middle of class.
And then, they start asking questions.
"When did you know you were gay?" they'll begin, and then, "How did your parents react?" and before you know it, "How do you have sex?" (or even, in one instance, "Who plays the man?")
I used to think it was my duty to educate: These poor straight people, I reasoned, they just don't even know what they're talking about. They've never talked to a real live queer person. They just want to understand. They mean well.
It would be easier if I could just make a blanket statement about these scenarios, say which questions a straight person can ask and which they can't, what responses to offer and when to offer them. But the truth is, it's different every time. It's different being asked about my coming out story by a new friend when we're bonding over coffee than it is being asked by a professor who barely knows me in a classroom full of fellow students.
This is what happened last week, as we sat around drinking wine and talking about literature in my professor's adorable Brooklyn brownstone. Somehow, we got onto the topic of college. With tears in my eyes, I told the story of the first time I ever visited Mount Holyoke, the way I fell in love with the college as my parents and I drove past the clock tower on that crisp April evening, the way I felt at home the minute I stepped foot on the campus.
"Were they cool?" My professor asked, referring to my parents, who I had mentioned only in passing.
"Cool?" I replied, caught of guard.
"With you being gay?"
I felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me. We hadn't even been talking about my coming out, and the story I was in the process of telling really had nothing to do with my journey into queerness. But instead of letting on that my professor's question–asked completely out of context–had made me feel like the smallest version of myself, I mumbled some kind of a vague response, and changed the subject.
As the evening went on, this continued happening: questions thrown at me as if I were a walking encyclopedia of queerness, eyes turned to me every time anyone mentioned anything that was even remotely "gay," homophobic jokes veiled as clever jibes.
Don't get me wrong, I admire and respect my professor, and I appreciate my peers (all straight women, I should add) and the work we've done together over the course of the semester, but as the night went on, I began to realize that while everyone else was beginning to feel more and more and home, I was beginning to feel more and more like a stranger, or worse, like nothing more than the search box on google.gay.
It's hard for me to write about this night for several reasons. First of all, I am mortified to think that my professor or peers might someday read this post, and tell me that I was overreacting. "It was all in good fun," they might say. Or worse, "I never said that!"
The second reason why it's difficult to write this is because it's about more than just one evening of uncomfortable questioning. It's about the fact that coming out can be as terrifying as it is liberating, and that some nights, it's more of a burden than it is a relief.
But at the heart of all of this is a deeper question: when you live with an identity that has historically been invisibilized, misunderstood, and antagonized, how do you fight for visibility, understanding, and empathy without losing yourself in the process?
The reason why it bothered me so much to have my professor ask about my coming out was not because I am ashamed of the story, or because it is too painful to tell. It bothered me because that story matters to me. There is no simple answer to the question "how did you come out?" It is a story that needs time. It is a story that needs a dedicated listener. It is a story full of pregnant pauses, colorful details, and vulnerable confessions. It is a story that I cherish. It is a story that is profoundly and uniquely my own.
Part of the reason why Marnie and I started this blog in the first place was because we both longed for a space where we could share these stories with readers who cared, with people we trusted, in a space where we had the time and freedom to craft these stories in an intentional and meaningful way.
One of the main reasons why we longed for this kind of space is because we had already experienced it. For four wonderful years, we had lived at Mount Holyoke, a place where coming out felt more like coming in.
Thinking back on it now, it's not so surprising that I teared up while telling my classmates about the first time I ever visited Mount Holyoke. Because here's the thing, it wasn't just the way the clock tower looked that April evening, lit up by the vibrant colors of a New England sunset. It was the fact that, on the first night I ever spent on campus, I found myself sitting at a dining room table in the Rockies, surrounded by a group of friendly, intelligent, beautiful young women, welcomed into a space where storytelling was not just a momentary distraction, but a way of life. The stories we shared that night, and every night since, were the colorful threads that formed the fabric of community. What I knew that evening, more than anything else, was that I was already home.
It's been one year since I left Mount Holyoke, and one year since I started coming out to the wider world. If I've learned anything in that year, it's that home is a story only you can tell.


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Printed from The Fort-Green Patch News September. 12. 2011
Dennis Day (left) and Steve Cromity (right) performed a 9/11 tribute concert at last night at Two Steps Down. Credit Lani Conway
Cromity and Day after filming a scene on the Brooklyn Bridge for "Unfinished Business," a 9/11 film documentary produced by Day Credit Lani Conway
Add your photos & videos
Though they shared a bond forged during the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, Fort Greene resident Steve Cromity and Dennis Day didn't actually meet until six years later—and then only by chance at a New York vocal competition.
But last night at Two Steps Down in Fort Greene, the two musicians were once again reunited to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on Sunday.
"No more time for fear, I know where I'm going," Cromity sang to a packed house in the upstairs room of the Dekalb Avenue restaurant.
Ten years ago, Cromity would have told a different story.
On Sept. 11, no one at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey knew Cromity was also an aspiring jazz singer when he went to work that fateful morning. The night before, Cromity, who was the manager of construction in the bi-state agency's engineering department, had been out late. He had spent the night jamming at a Long Island bar like he did every Monday, but still managed to make it on time from his Queens home to his early morning meeting.
On the 73rd floor of his boss's office, Cromity stared out the window, noting the clear view of the Statue of Liberty and the blue waters of the Hudson River. Suddenly, a tremendous jolt sent the building into a violent swing that nearly knocked Cromity to his feet.
American Airlines Flight 11 had struck the north tower of the World Trade Center twenty floors above, clouding his perfect view with a shower of ash and smoke. The singer who found inspiration in jazz vocalists like Eddie Jefferson, filed down the stairs with the rest of the staff, encouraging firefighters as they ascended past him with their pounds of equipment and into a "no escape situation."
Below, a few blocks from the building, Dennis Day, gazed up at the north tower's smoking hole, clutching the hand of a woman whose son worked on the 104th floor. Moments ago, she was frantic, crying out to anyone who would help.
When the first plane struck, Day, who was also a part-time singer, was on his way from Upper Manhattan to his office at the New York Division of Housing and Community Renewal on Beaver Street. He was still holding the mother's hand when the second plane hit. Day and the woman started to run.
It was then that Day began to question his life's purpose.
"As I was escaping, something told me that if I get out of this, I should change my trajectory," he said. "I instantly made the decision to focus on singing, music, composing and developing as a musician and artist."
Six years later, after meeting each other at the vocal competition, the two discovered they had a shared experience via Facebook. "We didn't know it, but we had more in common than just music," Cromity said.
According to Cromity, 9/11 served as a motivation to continue developing his musical talents. He started singing on the side a year earlier, but made his talents known with the release of his debut album, "Stepping Out" in 2004. In 2005, Cromity retired.
For Day, 9/11 had more of a direct impact. He immediately began to write his own music and enrolled in a media arts master's program at Long Island University before retiring from his state job in 2006. A year later, he released "All Things in Time," a collection of interpreted songs by popular jazz greats. Just two months ago, the East Chicago native with a love for blues, doo-wop and rock, performed at his first piano recital.
More recently, Cromity and Day shot a scene from "Unfinished Business," a film project Day started shortly after Sept. 11 to recount the events and experiences of that day. The scene showed Cromity walking from the Brooklyn side and Day from the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge. They stopped in the middle of the bridge to reflect on their 9/11 experiences and their music.
Sunday night, amidst the lively crowd's energetic claps and cheers, Cromity and Day continued that conversation onstage, singing a line from "Don't Get Scared," a popular duet by noted vocalese artist, King Pleasure: "When you see danger facing you, little boy don't get scared."
"We talked about doing the song because all of us were frightened on that day," Day said. "It seemed to speak to the whole idea of trying to talk and support one another through a crisis."
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Cromity and Day: United by Music by Lani Conway
Posted by Dennis Day at 12:03 PM
Labels: 911 Steve Cromity, Brooklyn, Dennis Day music, Fort Green, Jazz tribute
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text: Lindsay, Hassan, and Day report on a leadership education course that is part of a specific contextual application. At the United States Air Force Academy, a core course in leadership development is a part of the overall educational program. The authors present the assessment strategies that are used to integrate the classroom leadership education with the students' experiential leadership roles.


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Gaston Bachelard Quote
"The mollusk's motto would be: one must live to build one's house, and not build one's house to live in."
―Gaston Bachelard
La poétique de l'espace (The Poetics of Space) (1958)
"Poetry is one of the destinies of speech... One would say that the poetic image, in its newness, opens a future to language."
―Gaston Bachelard
Introduction, sect. 2 - La poétique de la rêverie (The Poetics of Reverie) (1960)
"Literary imagination is an aesthetic object offered by a writer to a lover of books."
―Gaston Bachelard
A Retrospective Glance at the Lifework of a Master of Books - Fragments of a Poetics of Fire (1988)
"Ideas are refined and multiplied in the commerce of minds. In their splendor, images effect a very simple communion of souls."
―Gaston Bachelard
Introduction, sect. 4 - La poétique de la rêverie (The Poetics of Reverie) (1960)
Gaston Bachelard
Born: June 27, 1884
Died: October 16, 1962 (aged 78)
Nationality: French
Occupation: Philosopher
Bio: Gaston Bachelard was a French philosopher. He made contributions in the fields of poetics and the philosophy of science. To the latter he introduced the concepts of epistemological obstacle and epistemological break.


text:
Portishead Open Gardens Weekend
Past Event - 3 June 2017
This is the biggest fundraising event of the year for Portishead in Bloom. They usually have 15 local and varied gardens opening over the weekend. People come from miles around for this event, so providing them with a crucial amount of money to continue their work. There are lunches, teas, refreshments, charity stalls, and lucky program prizes. For more information click here.


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|HILLS OF HOME (director: Fred M. Wilcox; screenwriters: William Ludwig/suggested by the Ian MacLaren sketches "Doctor of the Old School"; cinematographer: Charles Schoenbaum; editor: Ralph Winters; music: Herbert Stothart; cast: Edmund Gwenn (Dr. William MacLure), Donald Crisp (Drumsheugh), Tom Drake (Tammas Milton), Janet Leigh (Margit Mitchell), Rhys Williams (Mr. Milton), Reginald Owen (Hopps), Alan Napier (Sir George), Edmond Breon (Jaimie Soutar), Pal (Lassie); Runtime: 97; MPAA Rating: NR; producer: Robert Sisk; MGM; 1948)
|"Great Lassie pic."
Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz
Great Lassie pic, one of the best in the series thanks to the moving performance by Edmund Gwenn as the saintly doctor in the Scottish highland town of Glen Urtach, a remote glen, who selflessly cares for his rural patients. The female Lassie was played by Pal, the talented male collie who was owned and trained by Rudd Weatherwax. Director Fred M. Wilcox ("Lassie Come Home"/"The Secret Garden"/ "Forbidden Planet"), even though noted as a sub-par director, does a fine job here as a storyteller. Writer William Ludwig bases the rosy screenplay on the Ian MacLaren sketches "Doctor of the Old School."
Dr. William MacLure (Edmund
Gwenn), the only doctor in the
glen, is tricked into buying
Lassie, a collie afraid of water, for unpaid bills by the farmer Mr. Milton (Rhys Williams). The spry elderly bachelor doctor tries to
teach her to swim, and decides to bring the collie with him on his
doctor calls for companionship, as a messenger and to carry his
medicine supplies.
Mr. Milton is upset when he
learns that his only son Tammas (Tom Drake) is apprenticed to MacLure, and drags him home to be a farmer.
When a fearful Lassie refuses
to cross a river, MacLure realizes that Lassie's
water phobia is too much for him to overcome and sells him on the cheap
to an animal act trainer at the local fair, only to buy him back when
he sees how cruel Lassie is treated.
traveling through a
snow storm to visit a dying patient named Saunders, MacLure
must cross a storm-damaged bridge and he somehow gets Lassie to cross
the bridge.
After treating Saunders, who
was giving up for dead, MacLure
shows that he's as good doctor as the city ones, except he doesn't have
their education.
MacLure discovers that Tammas has fallen ill
with appendicitis, he treats him with chloroform he gets from a doctor in London and saves the lad's life with an emergency operation
that wouldn't have worked if the old anesthetic of whiskey was used. He then tricks the lad's
reluctant dad to let his son go to Edinburgh to study medicine.
a doctor call at night, MacLure is in danger while lying unconscious in
the snow. Lassie suddenly overcomes her water phobia to cross a raging
river to get help.
In the
end, Tammas marries hometown sweetheart Margit Mitchell (Janet
Leigh) and returns in the spring after four years of medical school to
become the new doctor, as MacLure died over the winter. The old doctor was
lauded by all the folks in the glen, who fondly remember him for his
dedication and concern for everyone in the Scottish hills. Donald
Crisp has a nice part as one of MacLure's
trusted friends.
The heart-warming pic makes for excellent
family entertainment.
Dennis Schwartz: "Ozus' World Movie Reviews"


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VMware has developed a new API aimed at offering service providers a means of improving their connection to private clouds. The move is part of the vCloud initiative announced yesterday, aimed at bridging the gap between public and private clouds.
The VMware vCloud API, which has been released privately to several service providers, is due to be released publicly very shortly. The development of the API is a crucial element of the whole vCloud initiative and aims to bridge the gap between the private and public cloud said Dan Chu, vice president of VMware's emerging business division.
Chu said that one of the drivers for the API was the lack of standardisation for cloud computing interoperability. He said that the company was looking to build on its work with Distributed Management Task Force (DMTF) on the open virtualisation format (OVF). "The industry needs to take a big step towards interoperability. We hope to work with the appropriate bodies to move forward to establish a common standard."
VMware has already submitted a draft of its VMware vCloud API to enable consistent mobility, provisioning, management, and service assurance of applications running in internal and external clouds.
Simon Hansford, vice president products and marketing for UK service provider Attenda, said that the company was one of those that had taken the API from VMware although he stressed that Attenda was not yet offering services based on it. He said that the availability of the API would be a way of speeding up service delivery.
As an instance, he cited the example of one of its customers, the airline BMI. He described that one of the ways in worked with the airline was by offering greater capacity in exceptional circumstances, for example, when a new block of tickets has been released.
"We can provision more capacity to cope with this, with just a 24-hour turnaround - something that would have weeks when we worked physically but with the new API we will be able to move even quicker. In time, we will be able to deploy more resources automatically rather than manually, as we do now."