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Weekend Shopping: Sale Reminders
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We have a lot of really good sales going on at Design Public right now and some of them are ending soon. While you're sitting with your feet up, playing around with your tablet and watching the big game this weekend (I know you parents are like "yeah right, as if that ever happens!") make sure to check out all of the items you can save on. It's a great way to get your Christmas shopping rolling ahead of schedule and save money while doing it.
Ending November 10: Blu Dot 20% Off Sale
November 15: Select Items from Cerno up to 10% Off Sale
Check out all the current sales and promotions at Design Public
Also, there is always an ever-changing inventory of stock in the Design Public Outlet. These are returns that are discounted for reasons like "opened box" or the plastic wrap has been opened. In fact, almost every item I've purchased here came from the Outlet, because I watch it like a hawk! The outlet does not give you time to dilly-dally around, there is usually only one of each item shown, but if you're sure you want something, get it while you can, like this Thomas Paul Flax Pine 22″ Pillow in Cocoa. I love that this is business in the front, party in the back (or vice-versa? you decide):


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Jets fan who slugged female Patriots fan did time for '92 killing
The New York Jets fan who drew national notoriety for punching a female New England Patriots supporter in the face following the Jets' 30-27 overtime victory Sunday has been in trouble for violent acts before.
The New York Post reported Monday that 38-year-old Kurt Paschke, a bartender from Long Island, was sentenced to nearly four years in prison after being convicted of criminally negligent homicide for stabbing a teen during a fight outside a pizzeria in 1992.
Paschke's mother, Colleen, defended her son to the Post on Monday, saying that her son was merely protecting her from a group of rowdy New England fans who started the dustup.
"There was a group of Patriots fans antagonizing our friends the whole game," she said. "Our friends were in the same row and, for instance, they were even making fun of a girl because she just gotten braces.
"As my son and I were leaving [after the game], the group came charging from behind and said 'Let's get them,'" she said.
"They push through us to get to his friends and start throwing punches. My son wanted to break it up. Then the girl [on the video] was throwing three punches at my son … and with that, my son is just trying to protect himself and me."
"Yes a guy should not hit a girl or a woman," Colleen Paschke told MyFoxNY, "but if you are going to get a maniac girl how much abuse are you supposed to take before you defend yourself?"
The Post identified the woman who was punched as Jaclyn Nugent, a 26-year-old woman from the Boston area. A man who identified as himself as her brother told the paper he had only just heard of the incident, then told a Post reporter to "Go screw!"
Paschke and a friend were questioned by New Jersey State Police after the incident, but had not been arrested as of Monday night.
Paschke's father, a retired Suffolk County, New York police officer told the Post that his son was "very upset" about the incident, adding, "They're making him out to be an animal."
The father of Henri Ferrer, the teen in the 1992 stabbing, told the Post he was not surprised.
"I wrote the judge a letter that this guy is going to kill again," said Robert Ferrer. "He killed for no reason. He went out of his way to get a knife to stab my son. My son was involved in a fist fight, and he went out to get a knife and stabbed my son. They were the same age. They were the same size. He had no business killing my son."
Click for the story from the New York Post

subset: commoncrawl


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YORK, Pa. – The York College field hockey squad opened the 2013 campaign in the loss column as they fell to visiting Randolph-Macon 5-4 Friday afternoon in York. In both teams' first games of the season, Catherine Pricone netted all five tallies for the guests as they produced a furious come-from-behind effort to nip the Green and White.
The Spartans' first contest of the season looked promising as the hosts held a 4-2 lead with less than 15 minutes left on the clock. Nancy Saylor (Manheim, Pa. / Manheim Central) had put York up 1-0 within the first seven minutes of the game and Kirsten Bridgers (Gaithersburg, Md. / Gaithersburg) got involved in the Spartans' next two. She tallied one of her own off the dribble late in the first half before assisting on Alexa Taylor's (York, PA / Red Lion) finish in the middle of the second half, giving York a 3-1 lead. Pricone and Spartan freshman Laken Bull (Glenville, PA / South Western) then traded tallies to provide the what-would-prove-to-be ominous score line.
With just 10:47 remaining, Pricone netted her third of the day to cut the Spartan lead to one at 4-3. She found the back of the cage yet again just over four-and-a-half minutes later to knot the board at 4-4. Pricone then sealed the contest when, with just 3:03 left, she drove home a finish from Lauren Seal's assist to give the Yellow Jackets what would be the 5-4 triumph.
For the game, the visitors led in shots 30-18 and held a 17-6 advantage in penalty corners.
Steph Talley recorded the victory for Randolph-Macon in the cage as she made five saves while her counterpart, York's Abby Baker (Baltimore, Md. / Mercy), notched ten saves in her season debut.
Saylor and Alyssa Martin (Lancaster, Pa. / Conestoga Valley) each made defensive saves for the Green and White while Madeline Santschi recorded one for guests.
The Spartans return to action on Sunday, September 1, as they host McDaniel in a 1:00 pm non-conference tilt.
Nancy Saylor photo courtesy of Chelsea Bock


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Crane Observatory
Washburn University's Crane Observatory is a hidden gem of Topeka. Check it out during an open house and view the night sky through a Warner & Swasey refracting telescope built in the late 1800s.
Crane Observatory open houses are hosted by the Washburn Department of Physics and Astronomy on the first and third Thursday of the month from mid-August through early May, when classes are in session. The exploratory events always are free and open to children and adults. Observatory open houses, which begin after dusk, are canceled if the weather is not conducive to viewing.
Crane Observatory is on the fourth floor of Stoffer Science Hall, at 17th Street and Washburn Avenue. There is ample free parking in front of the building in Lot 1. Use the southwest entrance to Stoffer Hall and take the stairs to the fourth floor. At present, the observatory is not wheelchair accessible.
The observatory is named for Zenus Crane, who in October 1901 anonymously donated $50,000 for its establishment. His identity was revealed after his death in 1917.
Spitz planetarium
Stoffer Science Hall also is home to Washburn's Spitz Planetarium. At a planetarium open house, on the second Thursday of the month beginning at 7 p.m., 50 visitors can see a projection of the night sky.
Friday, Jul 26, 2019 at 8:30am
Douglas County Senior Services
Lawrence, KS


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DOVER — As she approached mile marker 25, Dover resident Mary Ulinski didn't know what to make of the odd scene developing along the Boston Marathon route.
Ulinski was nearing the finish line for the seventh time in her life when police officers and people in military uniforms started shouting to clear the street. Vehicles with blaring sirens followed them.
Ulinski dedicated this year's run to the memory of her late husband, another marathon runner who suffered from multiple myeloma, a form of cancer. She was looking forward to reaching mile marker 25, where spectators affiliated with a multiple myeloma charity group were planning to cheer her on. Ulinski's son was also planning to greet her at the finish line, after cheering on Ulinski's daughter, Brit, who had finished the race about 20 minutes earlier.
Instead, Ulinski and the other racers received a warning to stay away from the finish line. The marathon was over.
"They said, 'It stops here,' and gave everyone approaching that area a Mylar blanket to wrap themselves in," she remembered.
Minutes earlier, two bombs had detonated without warning on a Boston sidewalk, killing at least three people and wounding dozens more.
Ulinski, 68, found herself enveloped in a disaster, miles from home, with no money, few belongings and no way to reach her loved ones.
"I was very lucky to meet up with a couple of people who helped me out," she remembered. "There was a student, a grad student from Northeastern, from the Dominican Republican — his name was Nestor — and a gal who was Claire, who was a lawyer in Boston. The two of them used their phones to get me in touch with my son who was going to meet me," she said.
After walking for about half an hour, she reached an MBTA train station and headed away from the scene.
"I don't know what other people would be doing that were behind me," she said. "There were so many. And I passed quite a few that had really hit the wall and they were having a tough time. You know, I can't imagine how all these people fared after me. I was just so lucky to meet these two people."
On the other side of the race course, Ulinski's daughter, Brit, had just finished posing for family pictures when the bombs went off.
"We heard the first one and the second one and then everybody just went totally silent, and didn't know what to think," she recalled.
Along with her husband and her baby, Brit headed to a nearby parking garage, where the family learned of the circumstances at the finish line. Recalling the event on Monday night, her thoughts remained on the spectators who lined the streets as she approached the finish line.
"To think that those poor people had been cheering me on less than an hour ago — it was awful," she said.
Dover race announcer Andy Schachat was among those caught in the horror that unfolded in downtown Boston during the annual marathon. Reached by phone early Monday evening, Schachat said he was about 200 yards away from the finish line when two explosions wounded dozens of people, including spectators.
"I saw the first explosion, which was a very loud noise, and a big puff of white smoke," Schachat recalled. "My initial reaction was it must be some sort of electric transformer blowing because of all the electrical equipment that's used at the finish line. Seconds later, a second bomb, a second explosion occurred further up in front of the finish line, and it was the same type of white smoke and loud noise, and we all realized that it was not a transformer. People started running everywhere away from the finish line. The police and race personnel rushed to get to the injured and also to keep other people away as much as possible."
Schachat, who has reported on as many as 1,000 road races in his career, said he was left in a state of shock and disbelief when the atmosphere at Boston's premier race event was shattered. In the moments that followed, Schachat said he watched as people were taken in wheelchairs toward the race's medical tent, some covered in blood. Schachat left his location at Boylston Street and Dartmouth Street, about two blocks from the blast, and moved toward the Copley Plaza Hotel, where journalists gathered in the afternoon.
"The Boston Marathon is supposed to be the most fun day of the year for the New England running community. It turned into one of the worst days of our lives."
Another runner who finished before the explosions was Nottingham resident Brandon Newbould, who was the top finisher from New Hampshire. Schachat said Newbould had been lying down and resting when the bombs went off.
"He was obviously visibly shaken and quite upset at what had happened," Schachat said.
Rochester massage therapist Michelle Zaydon was once again volunteering to help assist runners at this year's marathon when she heard the explosions. Zaydon, who was participated in the event for 14 years, was inside a tent near the public library at the time. Many of the elite runners had already completed the course, and those who remained included a bulk of the people raising funds for charity, she said.
"I was working on a runner and heard the explosion and took two steps to my left and peeked out the opening of the event tent and could see just huge amounts of smoke coming up," she said, "and as I'm standing there, another explosion went off, and they were big explosions. It was not light sounding. Nothing like a firecracker. It was the ground-shaking type of explosion."
At the time, some of the runners in the tent were still waiting to find family members who were seated in the grandstand. A few became hysterical as they waited for news of what had happened. The entire group was evacuated about five minutes later.
"They said, 'Everybody, you gotta get out," she remembered. "The place is not secure.'"
Nearby, her husband, John Zaydon, was watching in the crowd with her father and her uncle. They had just returned from a trip to their parked car, and were about four blocks away from the finish line. They watched as dozens of ambulances began streaming toward Copley Plaza.
Soon after, runners began approaching from the opposite direction, some with tears in their eyes.
"The way I saw the people running reminded me of 911," he said. " It brought back a lot of memories."
Bill Buckley, 50, and his wife Robin Buckley, 44, attended this year's marathon with members of the Rochester Runner's Club. He was about half a mile from the finish line when the race came to a halt. At the start of the race, Buckley was disappointed to find that an injury earlier in the week seemed to be hampering his performance. The Boston Marathon is "every runner's dream," he said, and Buckley was running the course for his first time.
By Monday evening, Buckley no longer regretted the injury.
"If I hadn't hurt my leg, I would have been probably 30 minutes faster than I was today, and I could have been right there," he said.
The fear that encircled the marathon route Monday rippled throughout the city. Ben Polichronopoulos, of South Berwick, Maine, had just left a baseball game at Fenway Park when the explosions occurred. He was en route to Boston Beer Works on Brookline Avenue and saw patrons jump up to watch CNN on the big screen televisions at the bar.
"Very weird atmosphere here," Polichronopoulos said when he was reached inside the bar. He said the restaurant was very quiet and that many people had left, or were on their phones making sure friends were OK. The bar began asking patrons to return home around 4:30 p.m.
"I personally don't know how to feel," he said during a phone call. "Lots of people are sad and very upset at the same time."
Grace Bourey, a 22-year-old nanny from Portland, Maine, was taking care of a 5-year-old child at the time of the explosions. She took the child to Boloco, a burrito restaurant on Boylston Street, around 2:45 p.m.
"I heard two huge explosions right outside and we all ran to the windows and the manager told us to get back from the windows, and people started running inside the building and tons of people were running down Boylston Street, pass(ing) the windows and screaming," she wrote. "And we closed all the doors and windows and stayed inside and turned on the news and they were playing raw live footage from the scene before they had time to edit it and the street was covered in blood."
She said that after about 10 minutes, she went outside and saw people throwing tables and water coolers out of the street so the ambulances could get through. The police were yelling at the crowds to get away.
Bourey waited until about 5:30 p.m. to walk home. She said she had to take back alleys home because Commonwealth Avenue was shut down, full of fire trucks.
"I ran into this woman who was shaking and crying by herself and said her friend was at the finish line and she doesn't know what happened," Bourey wrote. "That was what really got me, people were walking around crying. It was horrifying." Foster's staff writers John Doyle, Michelle Kingston and Jim Haddadin contributed to this report.


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The Medicare-Isn't-Government Meme
Help Slate track the spread of this big-lie talking point against health reform.
"Keep your government hands off my Medicare." It was funny the first two or three times this angry citizen's cry against health reform got repeated—Medicare, you may have heard, is a government program, and the only way to take the government's hands off it would be to abolish it—but the joke is starting to wear thin.
The New Republic's health care blog, The Treatment, points out that during the Hillarycare battle back in 1994, then-Sen. John Breaux, a Louisiana Democrat, was accosted at the airport by an elderly constituent. "Now don't you let the government get a hold of my Medicare," she said. Writing in The System, Haynes Johnson and David Broder related Breaux's criminally disingenuous response: "Oh, no, we won't let the government touch your Medicare." In a similar vein, supply-side economist Arthur Laffer recently complained on CNN, "If you like the Post Office and the Department of Motor Vehicles and you think they're run well, just wait till you see Medicare, Medicaid, and health care done by the government." (Medicaid is also a government program, financed jointly by federal and state government.) If there is a hell for libertarian poseurs, Laffer has secured himself a berth in it.
The big lie that Medicare isn't, nor ever should be, financed and regulated by the government, is a nice illustration of Slate founder Michael Kinsley's hypothesis, articulated in his 1995 book Big Babies, that infantile denial lies at the heart of much contemporary political disaffection. The American people, Kinsley wrote, "make flagrantly incompatible demands—cut my taxes, preserve my benefits, balance the budget—then explode in self-righteous outrage when the politicians fail to deliver." Although Kinsley conceded that big babyism had been enabled by both conservative and liberal politics, he wrote: "It is conservatives, more than liberals, who stoke the fires of resentment and encourage vast swaths of the electorate to indulge in fantasies of victimization by others." This is perhaps 1,000 times more true today than it was 14 years ago.
To combat the pernicious and big-babyish meme that Medicare lies beyond government control and must remain so, Slate will keep a running inventory of instances in which people who should know better, like Laffer and Breaux, encourage the public to believe such arrant nonsense. * Perhaps the mere establishment of this inventory will prevent conservative demagogues from adding to it. Perhaps it won't. If it doesn't, please notify Slate by e-mailing firstname.lastname@example.com. E-mails should bear the subject line, "Medicare isn't government" and should provide a link to the source. Past instances (like Breaux's) are eligible. Deceitful right-wing panderers, beware. We're listening.
Correction, Aug. 7, 2009: An earlier version of this column referred to "errant nonsense." This was incorrect (one might even say errant) usage. The author meant "arrant." (Return to the corrected sentence.)


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The 2-3/4" wide blade is made from 0.055" thick high-carbon steel, hardened to Rc48-51, with two finely ground 45° cutting edges that can be burnished to form a durable hook. Because it has two working edges, you can prepare both at once, reducing the frequency of sharpening sessions. A simple retrofit, and an affordable way to breathe new life into a classic tool.
Made in Canada.


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It all started with a bottle of gin someone gave a friend of Amy Stewart at a convention of garden writers. The gin recipient was less than thrilled with the gift – "I don't know what to do with this," he said – until Stewart suggested a scrumptious-sounding cocktail of fresh jalapenos, cilantro and cherry tomatoes.
On their way to get the ingredients, she rhapsodized on the horticultural pedigree of gin – juniper, coriander, citrus peel, lavender buds, "an alcohol extraction of all these crazy plants from around the world – tree bark and leaves and seeds and flowers and fruit." Inside a liquor store, she gestured wildly and pronounced, "This is horticulture! In all of these bottles!"
Thus, before even a sip was taken, "The Drunken Botanist" was born.
It's another endlessly entertaining and enlightening book from the author of "Wicked Plants: The Weed that Killed Lincoln's Mother & Other Botanical Atrocities" and "Wicked Bugs: The Louse that Conquered Napoleon's Army & Other Diabolical Insects." With her foray into the world of "The Plants that Create the World's Great Drinks," Stewart combines a jigger of history, a splash of science, a dram of chemistry and a garnish of biology into a most palatable volume.
Anyone whose understanding of the role of plants in the creation of spirits is limited to a dim awareness that grapes go into wine and barley and hops become beer is in for an eye-opening, palate-tingling ride when Stewart comes to town Monday. Starting at 6 p.m. she will talk about her book in the lounge of Mike A's at the Lafayette, 391 Washington St. She plans to delve into the history, chemistry and even a bit of mythology of the fruits, vegetables, herbs, flowers, roots and bark that go into making both familiar and exotic alcoholic drinks.
Both Stewart's books and cocktails made with some of her recipes will be sold at the event, and she will sign books purchased at the event from Talking Leaves Books.
Like her previous books, "The Drunken Botanist" aims to be entertaining and interesting, with the plentiful transmission of facts as a painless side effect.
"It had to be entertaining to me as I was working on it," Stewart said in a phone interview from Manhattan on a gorgeous spring day, which she was enjoying in Washington Square Park. "I didn't want it to be just a dull compendium of information; it should be interesting to read even if you're not really into the subject."
And that process continues to this day. "With the exception of maybe a few really cheap synthetic products, every single bottle is just liquefied plant matter, that's all it is," Stewart said.
Well, mostly. Some alcoholic preparations famously or sneakily include bugs. The worm found in mezcal is actually the larva of the agave snout weevil; the carmine dye that contributes a ruby red color to some drinks is made from a scale insect called cochineal.
Stewart's book starts with the classics, then detours into some of the lesser-known sources of alcohol from around the world, which she calls "Strange Brews."
"I tried to include enough of the really obscure and interesting things from around the world to give people a sense that if you look at Africa, at China or South America, there are these amazing drinking traditions around the world with plants that you might never have heard of," she said.
Those would be such drinks as beer made from bananas or cassava roots and wine fermented from parsnips or the ponderous jackfruit, which grows up to three feet long and can weigh 100 pounds.
Beyond the basic brew, Stewart provides dozens of plant accents, from fruits and flowers to spices and herbs, to create sensational cocktails, from the familiar to the somewhat freakish – from tobacco liqueur to maidenhair fern syrup.
One of the many plants that gardeners might be able to harvest and use right now is lemon verbena, a kin to the flowering ornamental verbenas with strongly citrus-scented leaves. "Lemon verbena is great with gin, great with rum, great with vodka," said Stewart.
Tony Rials, beverage director at Mike A's, not only read Stewart's book, he "took a ridiculous amount of notes from it" to help him plan a menu of cocktails to be served at the book talk.
"Obviously, it's right up my alley, because I already manipulate elements in my cocktails," he said, referring to the drinks list that already contains such tasty ingredients as flower honey, fig-maple syrup, walnut bitters and beet. "It was fun to see the flavor profiles these things actually start from," said Rials. "This helps me find what complements each other and what I can do with it from that point. I also liked her stories, the old anecdotes about where some of this stuff came from."
During Stewart's talk, Rials plans to offer a drink called the Ghost of Negroni, which he describes as "a tequila-based cocktail in which the tequila itself is infused with rosemary, pepper and thyme, and we finish it off with a rhubarb amaro, so it's got a really big, hearty flavor, and a very strong herbaceous quality to it as well."
He may add two or three cocktails from Stewart's book, he said, so patrons may sip and savor while they listen. All will be offered for the standard price of $10.
Although Stewart wrote about 160 plants in "The Drunken Botanist," she "could have easily explored a few hundred more." And every day could bring a new discovery, she wrote. "I am certain that at this very moment, a craft distiller in Brooklyn is plucking a weed from a crack in the sidewalk and wondering if it would make a good flavoring for a new line of bitters."
She said, "There could definitely be a second volume, because it's hard to imagine any plant anywhere that somebody is not trying to figure out a way to make into alcohol."
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Tennessee Propane Gas Association All rights reserved. PO Box 330756, Murfreesboro, TN 37133 Phone 888 240-8742
Whether you're building new homes or remodeling existing ones, propane is the efficient, high-performance, and environmentally friendly energy option that today's homeowners are looking for. To help you meet that demand, the propane gas industry works continuously to train construction pros to raise the efficiency of building systems; to bring new and innovative products to market; and to improve the safety and security of propane gas storage and delivery. Through the Propane Education & Research Council, the propane industry provides a wide range of research and training content, including videos, fact sheets, interactive tools, and continuing-education courses at http://www.buildwithpropane.com. And be sure to speak with your local propane retailer about how to select and install propane systems and products in your next project.
This model of new home construction merges five applications of propane — space heating, water heating, cooking, fireplaces, and clothes drying — into an integrated whole-home energy package. Homes constructed with the Propane Energy Pod enjoy maximized efficiency, performance, and comfort.
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Looking for a propane water heater? Want to know the rate of payback on a propane retrofit? One of our online interactive tools can help.
Propane tanks come in many sizes. Some are installed above ground, while others are safely buried, virtually invisible to a homeowner.


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An arc flash event releases thermal heat, toxic fumes, pressure waves, blinding light, and sound waves. Arc flash events can cause critical burns, collapsed lungs, loss of vision, ruptured eardrums, puncture wounds, and even death, resulting in lost man-hours, lawsuits, fines, equipment damage, facility downtime, and lost production. Five to 10 arc flash explosions occur in electrical equipment every day in the United States, according to a report by Chicago-based research and consulting firm CapSchell.
Are your employees and equipment at risk? Following is an abbreviated checklist for arc flash safety released by Cleveland, Ohio-based industrial manufacturer Eaton. The checklist is based on information found in the IEEE "Guide for Maintenance, Operation, and Safety of Industrial and Commercial Power Systems (Yellow Book)," Document Number: IEEE 902-1998. If you answer "no" or "not sure" to any of these questions, you should review your arc flash safety program immediately — you may be non-compliant with industry safety standards and at risk for an arc flash incident.
To view the checklist, click here.


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Trina Kinstler of Florence and Josh Edwards of Williamstown were united in marriage on April 25, 2009 at Faith Community United Methodist Church in Independence.
The bride is the daughter of Mike and Tammy Kinstler of Florence. She is a 2000 graduate of Conner High School and a 2004 graduate of Asbury College. She is employed by WXIX-TV in Cincinnati.
The groom is the son of Lester and Barbara Edwards of Williamstown. He is a 1999 graduate of Williamstown High School and a 2004 graduate of the University of Kentucky. He is employed by Fidelity Investments in Covington.
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Aztec Ruins National Monument, 84 County Road 2900 in Aztec, will host its annual Evening of Lights from 5 to 8 p.m. Dec. 19.
People may arrive by 4:45 p.m. to see the winter solstice alignment, and stop by between 5 and 8 p.m. to view the luminarias, lanterns, cultural demonstrators and refreshments. Park rangers will lead visitors from the visitor center to a winter solstice marker at 4:45 p.m. Luminarias will line the historic visitor center and electric lanterns will illuminate the archaeological site.
For more information, call (505) 334-6174 or visit www.nps.gov/azru.


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According to Jim at Loopinsight.com, Apple has begun officially sending out invites to the iPad 2 event which will indeed be held on March 2nd.
According to the invitation received by The Loop, the event will be held at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts at 10:00 am. This is the same venue Apple has used to introduce a number of products in recent years.
The invite, above, clearly shows an iPad which is conveniently covering the area where a camera would be.


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Search Constraints
You searched for: Creator Adler, B. Remove constraint Creator: Adler, B. Keyword METCRAX Remove constraint Keyword: METCRAX
Search Results
Observing and Modeling Downslope-Windstorm-Type Flow in a Small-Scale Crater Induced by Larger-Scale Katabatic Winds
Description: Supplementary material for a research paper submitted to the Journal of Applied Meteorology and Climatology. An animated gif and a readme file. Keyword: basin, Meteor Crater, potential temperature profile, METCRAX , hydralic jump, IOP7, katabatic flow, weather, flow, animination, and cold intrusions Creator: Kalthoff, N, Lehner, M., Haiden, T., Adler, B. , Whiteman, C. David, and Hoch, S. W. Owner: C Whiteman Publisher: The Hive: University of Utah Data Repository Location: Meteor Crater, Arizona Date Uploaded: 10/10/2017 Date Modified: 10/25/2018 Date Created: October 10, 2017 Rights: Public Domain – This data is free of copyright restrictions (e.g. government sponsored data). Resource Type: Image Identifier: https://doi.org/10.7278/S54J0C86 Contact Email: email@example.com Funders: National Science Foundation


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Since Asus can do it - on their EEE701, why is Lenovo lagging behind?
I would sure like to see Lenovo come up with a "Scrolling" fix for the 1024x600 screen.
I've found several programs where it is difficult to access the "buttons" on a program which are hidden 99% by the Task Bar.
Yes I know that the taskbar can be moved out of the way - but I dislike that route - I'd like to see an Asus-type fix where one can select between 1024x600 & 1024x768 and an EASY way there & back again.
I'm surprised that Lenovo didn't do something about it - after all the Asus 701 has been out for a looooong time!
So - Lenovo - how about a fix???
I've got one S10 & TWO S10-2's in my house - as well as two T60p's and a R50e - so I'm mostly an IBM/Lenovo man looking for that "fix".
Asus didn't do it, someone (more than one someone actually) in the eeepc community 'hacked' the Intel graphics drivers to allow for resolutions greater than the eeepc 701 was designed to show.
12-08-2009 03:14 AM - edited 12-08-2009 04:30 AM
Hi and welcome... first i agreed with Steep ... the little astray (for asus eeepc) is a user developed tool...
and a followup User tool named Netbook Resolution Customizer N.R.C. is no further developed ,
status Version 1.0 Beta2 Jan/10/2009 and its still buggy ...
you can Download here ...
But no one can help you if you get trouble with this .. i wouldnt prefer this ... again its still buggy..
a "hacked" driver will help in some cases... but its still a "hacked" driver..
And overall this "NRC" will work only in XP ....
I simply dont use programs that need a higher resolution...i never understand, if we can choose a variable window size... why should a "bad program" need a fixed 800 x 600 or 1024 x 768 ...
Good programed software will work in all resolution, or have matched version for instance AntiVir or Acronis TrueImage 2010 Netbook Edition ... thats the way software followed the hardware ...
sincerely KalvinKlein
PS: if you have a proggy that let you not reach a choose button (its not necassary to change the resolution)..you can try this tine tool move me ...
MoveME (tested on XP, may work on other versions). MoveME allows
you to RESIZE, MOVE and CENTER any dialog/window/form on
screen with easy key shortcuts. It even allows you to hide/show
the taskbar with a simple key combination.
Want more ? For further information to get the most of your S-Class machine
Windows 7 Install
Resolution > 1024 x 576 / 600 Works with XP Only
Adobe Photoshop, Lightroom and my Canon camera software required resolutions of 1024x768 or better, so I used the built-in generic "Digital Flat Panel 1280x1024" XP monitor driver. Doing that enabled screen expansion, everything installed smoothly and all my programs run fine at the native 1024x600 afterward.


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Blue Blossom Flower Hair Clips
5 in stock
Blue vintage-style blossom flowers mounted on silver coloured bobby pin hair clips.
These flowers are all handpainted and as such there may be some variation in the patterns of the detailing.
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Your pair of hair clips will be sent out in a presentation box to protect the flowers and their central stamen.
Additional information
The hair clip measures 4cm (1.5 inches) in length and the flower is approximately 2.5cm (1 inch) across
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Category: Velvet Flowers
Tags: Blossom, Casual, Everyday, Flower, Gift, Velvet, Womens


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The Bills 2007 season is just a mere 3 games old and unlike a majority of Bills fans this morning, I am pumped up!
How can I be excited about a team decimated by injuries, leading the league in yards allowed and fewest points scored and being the laughingstock of the NFL? How can I be jazzed to live through all of this when I live in the Boston area, home to every bandwagoning, bead wearing, r-dropping, Brady-loving chowderhead on the face of the earth? How can I be excited about a team that may not have a winnable game on the near or even distant horizon?
I'll tell you how I can be excited - $285,000.
Thanks to the NFL Players Union and the collective bargaining agreement, a guy with 0 years of NFL playing experience has to make at least $285,000 for making an NFL roster – you can't make any less than that. In NFL terms, that's not a lot of coin, but let's face it – to most of us, collecting a paycheck of $285,000 means some pretty nice digs.
I can tell I may have lost some of you already – you're not following how I am connecting my state of excitement with a juicy $285,000. Allow me to connect the dots.
With the current Bills personnel crisis, I think I have a real genuine shot of making the team and playing next week against the NY Jets. How sweet would that be? Being able to leave my desk job taking guff from other office lemmings like me, leaving my office behind and moving back home to Western New York to play for the team I have loved since I was a toddler? I can barely type I'm so excited at the thought!!!
In addition to the awesome $285,000 salary, I'd get some cool stuff – an official jersey with my name on it, an official helmet, and official pants! You can buy the other stuff at the pro shop if you have the money, but pants? You gotta be somebody to get official pants – nobody's got those! Think of the game day parking! I wouldn't have to park in lot 2 where it would take me 90 minutes to get out to the thruway – I would park behind the stadium where the players park (and I'd probably be able to upgrade my ride from a 1999 Subaru).
So, you ask – just what are my qualifications to play for the Bills? Size – I'm 6'2" tall and I go about 260. Mind you, most of that comes from donuts rather than the gym, but size is size in a big man's game. I'm 37, so I'm a bit long in the tooth, but I'm not looking to play for 10 years – one, two years tops and I'm ready to retire (wow – retiring before I'm 40 – Mom would be so proud!). I haven't been timed in the 40, but I'd guess I could do that in 10 or 11 seconds, but on game day when the juices are flowing and I'm out on the field playing for my favorite team I could probably shave a second or two off of that. I have bad knees – had them operated on when I was in high school, but I suppose that wouldn't make me any more prone to injury than anyone else on the field these days, would it?
So I'm thinking I could play LB – the Bills only used 2 of them for most of the game in New England and Poz is on IR, so I'm figuring there's need and roster space. I may be wrong on the roster space thing, but if I am I'll wait patiently for my spot to free up. Seriously, is there any doubt that we could lose another linebacker to injury before we face the Jets? Would you be stunned if Angelo Crowell slipped in the shower or if John DiGiorgio suffered a season ending injury playing pinochle with the seniors at Sunny Acres as part of the United Way visit turned tragic?
Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe NFL linebacker isn't in my future. Maybe it's defensive back! Given my stats listed above I think I'd have to drop a few pounds (no more donuts) and my time in the 40 would have to improve (but if I cut out the donuts and lost a few pounds that would be almost guaranteed to happen), I could be a part of the unit most in need of help. 4 defensive backs were out of the New England game – I'm definitely needed, especially when the Bills had to go to a nickel defense for most of the game (see linebacker woes, above). The starting corners are now Jabari Greer and Kiwaukee Thomas, so to fit in with this group I'd probably have to reverse my name so I'd have a tough first name and an easy last name – Bogyo Tony – that sounds pretty cool.
Yes indeed, I'm PUMPED! I'm gonna live the dream, baby! I'm gonna play pro football and have hot chicks (if my wife lets me)! I'm leaving Boston as a financial consultant and coming home an admired warrior who will be worshipped on Sundays! The way things are going with the Bills my future is bright, bright, bright!
So I'm signing off now, telling my bosses to stick it, and getting in my car to drive to Buffalo and start the next chapter of my life. I'll do it for the fans (and the 285Gs).
Or maybe I'll just go to the Tobin Bridge and jump off. Reality bites. Hard.


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Flute World sets standards in the industry and serves thousands of customers world-wide. The professionals at flute world can help you better understand concepts such as stress, melody, and pitch.
Stress gives music its rhythmic feel. There are plenty of slang terms used to describe the feel of music, but the experience is generally very hard to describe and very easy to understand. A 3/4 waltz from the Baroque era, for instance, will have a hard first beat and two less-emphasized beats in every measure. A piece of modern dance music, particularly electronic dance music, will usually have 4 beats in every measure and, most often, those beats will have the same stress, which lends to the music a stomping, driving feel.
In traditional usages, the first beat of a measure is stressed. In 2/4 time, for instance, the traditional method of playing the beat would be strong, weak/strong, weak.
In three quarters time, the beat would traditionally be strong, weak, weak/strong, weak, weak. Syncopation refers to obscuring the beat by emphasizing notes that are normally stressed less. Some music, such as gospel, creates a very energetic feel by emphasizing the second and fourth notes in a 4/4 measure rather than by emphasizing the first and third notes.
Melody and harmony are staple elements of Western music. A series of pitches that are arranged in a deliberate way to get a specific effect is called a melody. There are rules to melody and mathematical notation is used to varying degrees to describe it in more coherent terms when the language of aesthetics is insufficient to quantify a melody. Melodies, like sentences, have coherent structures, use modifiers to clarify statements, reiterate important themes and, on the whole, constitute a form of language that can express what words sometimes cannot.
Understanding Pitch
Pitch is the quality of sound that is described as being high or low. The pitch of any given note can be understood in both scientific terms and in subjective terms. The various notes of the scale are called degrees and are separated by whole or half-step intervals, which refers to the amount of change in pitch between one and the next. The pitch of a tone can also be described as its resonating frequency. The standard, concert A4 pitch, for example, is officially defined in most places as being exactly 440Hz.
Pitches are also relative, however. In practice, following a very low tone with a very high tone has the effect of making both sound more extreme. Most melodies stay within an octave or two and most of them try to avoid jarring shifts in pitch. When there are significant changes in pitch, the jarring nature of it is usually offset by the creative use of rhythmic devices. In some cases, pitch and rhythm can be used quite creatively. Cartoons, for instance, oftentimes use ascending pitches and the appropriate rhythms to create a soundscape for a character ascending stairs.
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Israel's strike on Hamas targets inside the Gaza strip are no doubt part of a well-timed show of force in the region.
Three weeks ago, in the days leading up to the U.S. presidential election, it appears that Israel conducted a nighttime strike on an arms factory in Khartoum, Sudan reportedly owned by Iran and used to supply arms to Hamas in Gaza.
Since then the entire American internal intelligence and security apparatus has gone into damage control as CIA director David Petraeus resigned over admissions of adultery.
Tel Aviv knows that American input during this time is likely to remain as clipped statements about general support for Israel's right to defend itself.
Which is what newly re-elected Barrack Obama did when he told Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu that Washington supports Israel while also cautioning against civilian casualties.
The strike also came just days after a well publicized joint exercise between Israeli and American military forces — dubbed "Austere Challenge." The day after U.S. forces left Israel, bombs dropped in Gaza — sending a message to the American military (what that message is exactly, is open for interpretation).
For months Israel has been determined to take steps to show that it would defend its interests.
The U.S. very publicly demanded restraint from Israel in terms of the Iranian nuclear program and would not commit to providing the backing several analysts say that Israel would need to make the operation successful. So Israel backed off from its loud threats to Iran, for now.
Chaos in Syria spilling over into Lebanon in the form of a devastating car bombing has forced Iranian proxy Hezbollah to focus on keeping Assad in power and taking out targets within Lebanon, rather than striking Israel.
So Gaza is the only obvious target remaining, and direct conflict in the form of Palestinian rocket attacks and Israeli strikes have grown increasingly intense and frequent as the year has progressed.
And then there are the January 22 elections in Israel. Netanyahu recently formed a right-wing coalition with the ultra nationalist Israel Beiteinu party.
"Israeli escalation of air strikes on the densely populated and already ailing Gaza Strip is a move by the sitting ultra right wing government to unite the right at the ballot box," Mostafa Minawi, assistant professor of history at Cornell University, told Newswise.
Minawi added that the strike echoes 2008, when Israel's Operation Cast Lead began with a week of air attacks and shelling, followed by a land invasion of the blockaded coastal strip—some 1,400 Palestinians were killed and 13 Israelis died.
With the U.S. election over and his re-election bid upcoming, Netanyahu wants to continue holding on to power and international sway. It appears he has taken recently favorable circumstances to destroy some threats with the military.
SEE ALSO: Israel's Air Strike Against Hamas Was Just The Beginning >


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Local Matters: Five Books on Place
Waking in Winter, by Anna Wigley. Gomer Press, 80 pp., $11.99.
Heaven Overland, by Jim Murphy. Kennesaw State University Press, 116 pp., $14.95.
Cultural Studies, by Kevin A. González. Carnegie Mellon University Press, 96 pp., $15.95.
A Sunday in God-Years: Poems, by Michelle Boisseau. University of Arkansas Press, 104 pp., $16.
Waterlight: Selected Poems, by Kathleen Jamie. Graywolf Press, 140 pp., $14.
Where in the world are we? Sometimes when I open a new book by a contemporary poet, I ask myself that by the time I reach the third or fourth poem. Like novels, poems often attract me when they ground me, rather than grinding me down with unnecessary literal detail or attempts to seem intellectually important. Unlocalized poems of the mind are necessary and engaging, but these days too few poems seem to rise out of a complex and sophisticated sense of location, perhaps because poets are busy running from place to place, gleaning whatever is to be had from a cursory connection to any given landing spot.
The poets under discussion here are fastened to particular locales in more than pedestrian ways, and they are all interested in exploring the details of the places from which they write. Together they show what can still be done with quiet attentiveness to the people, languages, flora, and fauna of immediate surroundings—even if what they are working from is largely mental or emotional landscape. And that attention gives each of these poets a point of view as well as a position from which to make those larger leaps into speculation that the best poetry provides.
Anna Wigley's slender third volume, Waking in Winter, shows that this young Welsh writer knows her native land. The poems, most of which are on the short side at twenty-five to thirty-five lines, focus largely on plants and animals that many of us in the United States will recognize even though they are placed securely in the Welsh countryside. The book has no section breaks, and so the details build in quick succession. Wigley's work is accessible without being too easy; her metaphors and tropes are what raise the work from simple descriptions to meditations on the relationship between humans and the environment. Even individual titles, "Daisies," "Poplar," "Ram," "Buzzard," "Miserable Weather," "The Missing Cats of Roath," reveal that her concerns are local (the only exception being the poem about foot-binding in China called "Lotuses," which frankly does not seem to belong in this collection at all). Some might argue that her concerns are, therefore, small, but the language Wigley uses takes the poems into unexpectedly large fields of inquiry.
The poems about animals often begin with description, but even in these beginnings Wigley draws out metaphor with tone and image. The animal in "Ram" is a rotting corpse, and the poem lingers on the tiny markers of decay. It is not an ugly poem, however. The dead ram is made up of "One black leather hoof / . . . / near the rag of wool." The ribcage is a "nest" in which flies "sup and pool," and the body has become "the spoil / of beetle and crow" as the "pale summer sun / [cooks] / his banquet of coils, / the steaks of muscle." At this point, we might expect the speaker to turn away in disgust, but she doesn't. Instead, she concludes, "there's something peaceful / in his lack of will, / his gift of himself / to the hungriest worm / —like a fallen apple." The dead ram has become an emblem of reversal in nature as well as a memento mori for the human viewer, who will herself one day become such a meal.
This intense viewing of natural processes also figures in "Kittening," in which the speaker and an unknown companion watch their cat give birth. The subject lends itself all too easily to mawkishness, but here, the cat, "surrendered / to her own thick bliss" as the kittens appear, is anything but cute. She is practical about the business of cleaning the newborns, turning "to lick them as if / tidying some morsel she'd dropped," a level-headedness in the face of new life that astonishes the viewers. They feel "like visitors / to some Biblical scene / domesticated in a corner: / Lazarus rising from his bed of twenty years / while his wife cooked breakfast next door."
Even the buzzard, that most repellent of birds, is given dignity as he takes his place in the cycle of birth and death that these animal poems so gracefully illustrate:
He seems not to watch but to sail
complete in the ocean of his silence,
drawing the exquisite circles
like a painter using himself
as the brush, stroking the sky's canvas
with dark-barred bristles.
. . .
Even when he falls, he drops
like water swirling round a hole,
never breaking for a moment the slow
rhythm of his curving glide;
seeming less to dive than to faint
earthwards, a soundless kite
no longer lifted by the wind.
The kite at the end of "Buzzard" takes the poem in two directions. The kite can be, of course, a paper kite governed by a person, but for this Welsh poet the shadow of the red kite of Wales, a bird of prey endangered by human encroachment on its feeding territories, is also present.
Wigley is as careful in her consideration of flowers and trees as she is in that of animals, but again she avoids the easy metaphor or sentimental appreciation. Summer, in "Learning to Swim," is remembered mostly through the "green musk" of the scent of ferns; daisies are "wind-harried" and "astringent." "Poplar" provides an occasion not only to link the tree with the water that nourishes it, but also, in the repeated word "frail," to embed the subtlest of warnings that the natural environment is delicately balanced:
Even in the faintest bird-breath breeze
the bright stream trembles,
and sighs with the soft exhalation
of thin water
wooing a million shell-frail stones.
Interspersed among these poems are also reflections on friends and family, linking human beings to the non-human world. Illness and death are never far away, and Wigley's insistence upon the beauty of the natural cycles to which animals and plants succumb is a counterweight to inevitable grief. The last eight poems of the book redeploy earlier images to make sense of sudden death. These are all short poems, but I will quote here just one, "Transformation":
Now you are kin to flowers and grass:
the crumpled head of a daisy snicked from its root,
the hank of cut lawn drying to straw.
We all saw it so plainly there
on the hospital bed: your bruised shell,
your poor nose pinched and yellow.
How immeasurably you were beyond us,
translated to a husk, a dropped leaf.
No time, no notice given.
Not even you were informed.
This poem seems simple, but its clear surface is somewhat deceptive. One controlling metaphor—that of the person as plant life—is not especially difficult, though it is rendered beautifully. "Transformation," however, is also linked to language; a person, in death, is not just changed but "translated" into the text of the non-human world—which is larger than ours, "beyond us." That metaphor is further complicated by the paradox of the last punning word of the poem, "informed," which suggests that when we are in the form we recognize—human form—we are actually "[n]ot . . . informed." In our mortal bodies, we are less than we think, and even on the threshold of death, we can't quite see the size of the realm we are about to enter. This is a graceful elegy, and it does what the best elegies do: provide a brief meditation on mortality and human being.
And this is the real beauty of Anna Wigley's Waking in Winter: her ability to use linguistic connections, slant rhyme, and allusion to make of the most quotidian subjects—life in small-town Wales—a book that takes on the great cycles of birth, growth, decay, and death. The book is shot through with moments of natural theology, as when the daisies sing "chaste, plainsong hosannas," and if the book has a weakness, it lies in the occasional appearance of excessive and untempered joy. This is a minor complaint, because creating a sacramental tone is less Wigley's concern than finding empathy with the smallest, least valued beings among us. And this she does with an unsentimental beauty that few young poets can match.
Heaven Overland, Jim Murphy's new collection, is a crisp, often funny series of poems about the open highway and the cars we Americans love to drive. The cover features a photo of an aggressive 1950s Cadillac that seems to be headed for the skies, and the poems are by turns swaggering, teasing, belligerent, and nostalgic. The radio is always blaring in the background as the poems, in this roadtrip of a book, travel through the places that mark our often blighted history.
Broken into four "Routes," the book opens with one of the best poems in the collection, "The Family Cadillac for Sale." The informal but precise diction of the couplets creates a chatty, salesman's tone that tells the history of middle-class twentieth-century American greed and materialism as it traces the car's glory days and present state of decay. It's almost convincing enough to make someone want to buy this car—almost. Here are the first four stanzas:
And here it is—after fifteen years of grinding
desire and denial, five hundred dollars
down and sixty months of drafts on that
unaccountable dark reservoir—an all-American
thrill in excess—our blazing El Dorado, one long
dream of comfort in the urban wilderness—
driven only thirty-nine short years from Detroit
to a corner lot off Rampart Street in New Orleans.
Not every poem in the book uses a metonymic object to chronicle an age as successfully as this poem, but this one certainly sets the tone and subject for the rest of the collection. Many of the poems, in fact, are difficult to quote effectively, because they are catalogs of the places and songs that have become emblematic of mid-twentieth-century America. The car is America in many of the poems, and the driver becomes, then, a native of everywhere.
South Carolina is one stopping place, and in "Charleston Language Lessons" the issue of race, frequently touched upon in this book, comes to the surface during a conversation in a churchyard. Despite the heavy-handed final image, the poem is a finely drawn narrative of the sudden intrusion of the horrors of American history into the quotidian pleasures of a holiday afternoon:
our own impatient talk of drinks and dinner—
all of it wrung out and almost forgotten
before our sweat beads fall,
caught up in what's dimly legible—
Josiah Everett, born in Liverpool and sixteen
years a trader
at Havana and Barbadoes—
Who did arrive at Charles Town for his good
health this April past
succumbed to a foreigner's fever on—
Enough to halt the forward
motion of our play, enough to stop
our chatter in the cunning history of terms—
among bent tendrils and cracking pathways,
one juju bundle, freshly placed
beneath the whitewashed pediment.
Other places take the speaker into private rather than cultural history. Petty theft and teenage angst figure largely in these poems. One example of these is "Opposite of Berryland," in which musicians are the signposts for the various stages of this very American speaker's childhood and adolescence: ". . . I'm looting through my cousin's music, / at best pissed off, about to steal. There's no defense / once the buzz-saw cuts come over the headphones— / so mean and lethal, all the burned-out huffer basement / bands—The Stooges, Stones, Ramones, The MC5— / minstrel singers bent to history, players on private planes." The speaker understands his anger only in retrospect, however: "What would / take me years to learn about corruption is right / there inside the sleeves. . . . / . . . At sixteen, for me / it's all the same vague notion—something casual / and grave I have to parrot for my life."
Elvis, of course, makes his appearance in "A Superior Hairdressing." This time the road is in the singer's memory as he creates his perfect pompadour with the ironically named "Black and White Pomade": "Before an open mirror's makeup lights and a pale / feathery sway of dancers, nearly visible history / exists behind him—Tupelo branch to Memphis brick, // jalopy rumbleseat to the smooth blue Lincoln . . . the forms combine and jell." The Rolling Stones show up in Fordyce, Mississippi ("Fordyce One July") to the discomfort of the local sheriff; Sarah Vaughan sings in a hotel in an unnamed city ("Sarah Vaughan's Voice at Thirty Stories"); Gram Parsons' grave is "rumored to be" in the Garden of Memories in "rude Metairie, on 61, the Airline Highway." Music is all over these poems, and the poems move all over America, traversing its roads and interrogating its history.
It would be remiss not to mention a glaring flaw in the production of this book, a flaw that I don't think can be charged to the author. The layout of Heaven Overland is perfectly atrocious. If poems are one page long, they lie on the left, and the right page is blank. This makes about a third of the book's 95 pages completely unnecessary. On top of that, after the prologue poem and before the epilogue poem, several pages with pale imprints of the section-break logo are just stuck in with no apparent rhyme or reason. At least two epigraphs seem misplaced (one of them, a quotation from Chuck Berry, is in the middle of a section). Pity the poor trees that were sacrificed to make this book physically almost twice as long as it needed to be. And shame on the publisher that let a manuscript go to print in this condition. All books (including mine) have errors in them, but this book's layout problems are far beyond simple error. My sympathies to Mr. Murphy, who must have felt his heart skid sideways when he saw the book for the first time.
That is not the note, however, on which I would like to end. The writing in Heaven Overland is smart and wise without pretension. The allusions work together with the conceit of a road trip to create a book that has as its larger task an account of American glory and failure in the late twentieth century. Many books of personal poems try this, but fall beneath the weight of self-importance or self-pity. Jim Murphy's Heaven Overland does not; please overlook the layout problems and read this book for its poems.
Kevin A. González's place is Madison, Wisconsin, though his debut collection, Cultural Studies, locates the self at a crossroads. He usually uses a second-person speaker, a risky tactic for any writer, but in these poems it creates a doubled narrator who is often trying to figure out who he is. Caught between the middle America of Wisconsin and his Puerto Rican heritage, the speaker in these poems reveals an interior space that is as clearly mapped out as any town.
Most of the poems have the word "cultural" in their titles; while this gets a bit tedious, it also provides a link among the poems, and the poems refer so directly to each other that Cultural Studies reads almost like a book-length poem. These are personal lyrics, for the most part, and when González is at his best, he uses a leisurely conversational tone to recall the incidents of his childhood and young adulthood. The most powerful poems involve his father, who is sneering and taunting when he isn't absent. In "How to Learn English as a Second Language," González puts that second-person narrative to good work as the speaker tries to prepare himself for a paternal visit:
Your mother will be right: he will not show up
at noon. At 12:20, you will recognize the horn,
its wail like an amplified conch,
but you will not recognize your father—
the gray stubble, the violent tan.
When he asks where you'd like to go,
say the movies, say la feria, say the moon:
it won't matter . . .
The experience does not improve much from here, and this long poem moves from specific to general disappointment over the years. Certain words in English become tied to the speaker's memories of his father's lovers and favorite bars and casinos, but learning a second language does not take either one of them away from the failure of the relationship. The poem ends with a list of words and what they signify: "Abandon will be your first beer, / . . . / Independence, the moment you realize / the only hands reaching out to you belong to clocks. / . . . / Fortune will be every time your father hits / All-Fruits on the slot. Innocence / will come right after Fortune— every time / you say, Let's quit while we're ahead, / not knowing how far behind you really are."
Other poems about childhood capture through simile and controlling metaphor—the two tropes that González uses most—the difficulties of growing up in the United States that most boys face. "Ground Rules at Isla Verde Beach" is a wonderful poem with baseball as its central source of imagery. It's a game of controlled and managed aggression, and learning its rules becomes emblematic of learning the rules of socialization. The poem begins in medias res, but the middle, for this group of kids, is where everyone has agreed beforehand to pause the game:
First off: it doesn't matter what inning it is or how many outs
there are, at 4:30 there's a break for half an hour so everyone can run
upstairs & watch Los Simpson, & at five, whoever was on base
goes back to standing on their bag, unless there's a decent movie
on Tele-Once, which almost never happens, & whoever was hitting
goes back to the plate, & if it's ten past five & you're still gone,
the game starts without you.
The boys in this poem do not always get along this well; there are fights and comparisons of sexual experience. But the poem ends on a note of earned optimism. Despite their conflicts, the boys can all count on gathering to play the game, and the poem concludes with their spirit of camaraderie: "Tonight's a late game, no movie / on Tele-Once. Are you ready? You can hit first. Batter up, let's go."
When González is at his best, he is writing some of the best new poems about American boyhood around, but too often the poems get bogged down in reflections on the poetry business, particularly the MFA workshop. I can think of no easier way to kill a poem before it's even begun; one of them is actually titled "How to Win a Poetry Contest," which marks it immediately, for me, as a student poem. It wouldn't be so bad if there were a couple of references in the book to the banal competitiveness of MFA workshops, or to satirically deflate the occasional self-importance of the poetry industry, but to use poems so obviously to dig at people with whom the poet has crossed swords is just tiresome. The poem begins badly enough, "Don't use ampersands / & don't drop your professor's name. / Do exactly as Terrance Hayes taught you: / be a courteous poet." Now, I don't know if Terrance Hayes actually taught Kevin González, and I don't care. I'm ready to turn the page already. But the poem goes on, complaining about a woman who left him, complaining about his father. To top it off, he uses "lay" for "lie." This is a common error in freshman composition papers, but how sorry can I feel for a poet complaining about how badly he and his writing have been treated when he doesn't know his verb forms? The worst offender in this category, however, is surely "Cultural Soliloquy," which is a catalogue of all the horrible people, which the poet has neatly boxed into types, whom he encountered during his MFA work. He goes after vegetarians, Midwesterners, the standard categories of poet (Experimentalist, Beat, Confessional—though does anyone really presume to write Beat poetry anymore?). His ranting is dull and self-indulgent, and the book would be much better if a tough-minded editor had told him to cut them.
Happily, however, this is not the end of Cultural Studies. The book's final section (oddly titled "Notes") is made up of poems about the construction of the self, death, boxers, and a fire recalled from childhood. All are strong poems, but I would like to single out one, "The Night Tito Trinidad KO'ed Fernando Vargas," for its finely wrought imagery and deft handling of tone. The speaker and his friends drink beer in the bed of a pick-up truck:
We didn't care the bottles rolled
into each other, their acute chime
beneath the blasting horns & gunshots
echoing off the curb's molded lip.
We didn't care, in the numbing pool
of ice & glass, that we live in a colony
& the stripes of our waving flag
yield a black shadow beneath
the pirated fireworks. We wanted only
the smiles of lemons wrung
into our bottles . . .
Anyone who can write a poem like this has found his real subject. The slant rhymes, the personification in "the smiles of lemons," and the metaphoric richness of that "black shadow" under the fireworks make me want to read the poem over and over. This is what Cultural Studies does best, and Kevin González surely has more like this one to come.
Michelle Boisseau has always been a poet of detail. In her fourth collection, A Sunday in God-Years, she has taken that eye for the specific and used it as a stepping-off place for a series of poems about history in the American South. The hub of the book is the ancestral Boisseau farm in Virgina, but the spokes reach to Ohio, Kentucky, and even Italy, as the poet tries to escape the heritage to which she is relentlessly drawn back.
This collection centers on the fifteen-part poem "Reckonings," even though it is only the third poem in the book. "Reckonings" is a splendid poem that through several voices tells of the speaker's return to the site of the old Boisseau place. The poem also recalls the names of slave ships and recounts the escape of a slave named Gibson. The poet uses list poems, dramatic monologues, contemporary first-person lyrics, and reprints of want ads for escaped slaves to make up this dense and important poem. The guilt of the speaker, who has inherited the privilege and skin color of the owner, along with his name, is clearly present without becoming self-pitying, because the attention of the poems remains as much outside the self as within. Here is part of the tenth section of "Reckonings," titled "Spear-Side and Distaff":
No one but me has come this way lately,
touched the runnels of bark, smelled the sweetness
of decay and slapped impediments
glinting like spider silk along the trail.
From him the slope of my nose, from her
freckles. And who's responsible for these
lead moods? Boisseau, Parham, Hill,
Bradley, Fitzpatrick, Holt, Holmes,
and I'm square in seventeenth-century
Virginia where the hush grows huge and sulky
as a scolded jury. And the evidence?
Impurely circumstantial. The circumstances?
Dangling husks that blur the branches, the way
the fallen cushion and obliterate.
"Fitz Patrick Boisseau," the prose poem that follows "Reckonings," traces more literally the family line, and links the personal past to the historical. The second stanza begins, "How quickly we cross the border into slavery, stepping over it as over the low wall around a grave plot or show garden. Soil gone acid from two centuries of ruinous tobacco farming, old Virginia's cash crop became its slave nursery." I'm not often a fan of the prose poem, but this one, more unembellished than most, is impossible to stop reading.
The second section of A Sunday in God-Years is made up of much shorter poems that extend the speaker's geographical range. She is still in Virginia, for the most part, and still caught in the difficulties of the family history, but some of the poems mark an escape into other cultures and beliefs. "Monstrance" is one such poem, featuring a "cranky and cratered" speaker who nevertheless finds herself moved by a religious service:
In famous churches when the chanting
carries me into the showy moment—
hoc est enim corpus meum—the golden
rays lifted, bells shaken, incense tempest,
and I'm moved by what I don't believe,
I don't envy believers any more
than I envy beauty its ease, the ocean
its industry. The sun its long and lonely life.
The poems in this section are no more happy than those of the first section, but one poem, "Night Valley," does introduce a counter-emotion that, while not exactly joy, is not despair, either. The speaker and her friends are in Italy (hard not to feel even a smidgeon of pleasure there), and having walked, "Rosemary and wild fennel krst, krst / underfoot," they pause. She is in another historical spot, but in Italy the speaker is freed, for the moment, from her personal debt to the past, and the beauty of the land cannot be marred even by her knowledge of the violence that has taken place here:
A glance
seizes a distance it would take
a day to travel—inscrutable
Etruscans, grave centurions,
Huns and Lombards, St. Francis
on a donkey, Medici popes
trailing brocaded buglers, pockets
of partisans, U.S. army tanks, tour
buses with red curtains drawn. Ripe
fruit bursts. We were born for longing.
That last word suggests the human propensity not only for desire but for taking the long view—for examining history in an attempt to understand the present. And fittingly the final section of the book returns to both the American past and the long poem. "Across the Borderlands, the Wind" is not as long as "Reckonings," but it speaks back to the earlier poem in its historical voices. This poem moves to Kansas and traces the story of Quantrill's raiders, then shifts to the Ohio childhood of the speaker, when she could "look down from Eden Park / on Kentucky." But the poet has shown that her family home was no paradise. The childish pride of looking down on "the poor / former slave state" implicates her and her family in the guilty history of slavery, especially when her father mentions "his grandfather's rumored / riches, slaves lost in old Virginia." Her brother Pat's death is part of the tangle of the family's history, too, because he "spent twenty years on the warm side / of brilliant, kind, funny, admirable, then thirty-three years / wandering the woods of the madlands" ("Fitz Patrick Boisseau"). But his last days in the ICU also provide "the terrible comfort" the speaker "will take / from time slipping at the door" ("Across the Borderlands, the Wind").
Time gets its way eventually, despite the speaker's efforts to stop it, to turn it, to understand it. By the last poem, she decides to "let the chalk pillars of [her] grief collapse." She says, "let go, we're taught, just lean back, / spread your arms. Give yourself to the water / and the water will hold you" ("When I Consider"). The image is one of secular baptism, and in light of the title's allusion to Milton's "When I Consider How My Light is Spent," it ends the book on a note of reluctant acceptance of the past—knowing that understanding it better may allow us to create a different future. It is a mature, wise image, one that perfectly concludes this remarkable book.
Kathleen Jamie is known for both her poetry and her essays on the natural world. This Scottish writer has always focused on the local, often as a political act. Her poems are concerned with the birds, animals, trees, and flowers of Scotland, but she is also dedicated to writing about her country's identity apart from England and about the roles of women in creating the national character. Her latest book, Waterlight: Selected Poems, gives new readers an overview of Jamie's three collections, The Tree House, Jizzen, and Mr. and Mrs. Scotland Are Dead, and reminds those who have read Jamie's work before of her importance to contemporary Scots poetry.
All three books are centered in Scotland, though a brief foray into Ontario occasions three poems in the second book. Like Anna Wigley, Jamie uses descriptive imagery of her country to mark its distinctiveness. Like many other Welsh and Scottish poets, Jamie wants to free nature poetry from the dominance of the English pastoral. Sometimes she does this through celebrations of small and undervalued topics; like Wigley, Jamie includes a poem titled "Daisies," and, curiously, two poems titled "Rhododendron." There are poems about frogs and alder trees, falcons and pipistrelles, all easy to find because their topics are their titles. At other times, she uses words in dialect, as in "The Wishing Tree," where "smirr" subtly shifts the poem's locale northward:
To look at me
through a smirr of rain
is to taste the iron
in your own blood
because I hoard
the common currency
of longing: each wish
each secret assignation.
My limbs lift, scabbed
with greenish coins
I draw into my slow wood
fleur-de-lys, the enthroned Brittannia.
Behind me, the land
reaches towards the Atlantic.
And though I'm poisoned
choking on the small change
of human hope,
daily beaten into me
look: I am still alive—
in fact, in bud.
Jamie maintains the quietly hopeful tone of this poem, the first in the book, throughout her work, even when she finds herself at odds with the Christian tradition of Scotland: Presbyterianism. Unsurprisingly, at such a moment she turns to her garden in "The Buddleia."
Come evening, it's almost too late
to walk in the garden, and try
once again, to retire the masculine
God of my youth
by evoking instead the divine
in the lupines, or foxgloves, or self-
seeded buddleia,
whose heavy horns flush as they
open to flower, and draw
these bumbling, well-meaning bees
which remind me again,
of my father . . . whom, Christ,
I've forgotten to call.
The self-satirizing end, calling on the very figure she means to flee, is typical of Jamie, and it prevents her poems from becoming didactic or severe.
Jamie is also serious about language as it manifests its identity, and several poems in the collection are written entirely in dialect. Some can be tough going for an American reader, but they are worth the effort they require, because these poems are some of the most lyrically beautiful of Jamie's work. Waterlight ends with "Skeins o Geese." The poem is classic Kathleen Jamie, linking the natural world with the written word, and recognizing wistfully the transitory character of any individual life.
Skeins o geese write a word
across the sky. A word
struck lik a gong
afore I wis born.
The sky moves like cattle, lowin.
I'm as empty as stane, the fields
ploo'd but now sown, naked
an blin as a stane. Blin
tae the word, blin
tae a' soon but geese ca'ing.
Wire twists lik archaic script
roon a gate. The barbs
sing tae the wind as though
it was deef. The word whustles
ower high for ma senses. Awa.
No lik the past which lies
strewn aroun. Nor sudden death.
No like a lover we'll ken
an connect wi forever.
The hem of its goin drags across the sky.
Whit dae birds write on the dusk?
A word niver spoken or read.
The skeins turn hame,
on the wind's dumb moan, a soun
maybe human, bereft.
With its attention to the cold wind and stones, and its meditation on old languages and writing, the poem could be located nowhere but Scotland. Not only Waterlight but all of these books left me knowing exactly where I am and content to stay there for a while. All of these poets place themselves in a locale, either physically or emotionally. They stop and look around. Then they think. And that is what gives this group of books its collective strength, as different as they are in diction, tone, and detail: a shared unwillingness to give up either mind or body, either idea or ground. They all demand both. I feel right at home.


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