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Ann Taylor (née Martin)(1757-1830), Writer; wife of Isaac Taylor
Regency Portraits Catalogue Entry
Sitter in 1 portrait
The Taylor Family (Martin Taylor; Ann Taylor; Jefferys Taylor; Isaac Taylor; Isaac Taylor; Jane Taylor; Ann Taylor)
by Isaac Taylor
oil on canvas, 1792
On display at Bath Preservation Trust, Bath
Related People
- Ann Taylor (Mrs Gilbert) (daughter)
- Isaac Taylor (husband)
- Isaac Taylor (son)
- Jane Taylor (daughter)
- Jefferys Taylor (son)
- Martin Taylor (son)
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The legendary saint Cab Calloway, brought into existence on Christmas, was never off the cob, he was the heppest cat, the gasser on the scene, and scribe to the Dictionary of Hepology, not just any book of lingo like some hincty gate-mouth might cop to, emphatically no! This man's a poet! Hey, Calloway was solid, a ready cat with serious chops, never capped, I mean never capped. Cabell Calloway III licks hit all the armstrongs every time with those "hi-de-hi's," and "ho-de ho's, singing in that blip beat key, swinging overcoats growling some hip and hot gammin' grooves. Be it a gutbucket blues, the ready racket on the main kick or just some clambake where he's got this cat riffing on the doghouse - hitting all the basso notes, cool Gabriel wigging on a boogie-woogie and some Jack on skins mugging heavy, Cab always crept out like the shadow, stylish threads togged to the bricks, walking hand made, custom to the thread mezz ground grippers … on each arm, a fine righteous queen he dug the last black, each dicty dutchess fresh off the dreamers and lily whites.
At one point Cab was collaring 200 g's a year, that's one foxy stack of fins. Platter gravy coming on like a test pilot, cuts like "Minnie the Moocher", "Reefer Man" and "St. James Infirmary Blues" were everywhere man, chicks breakin' it up, dropping a nickel or a dime note just to latch onto the hippest cat who could send the coolest riff riding high. Cab the man was the man; kids come again to the Cotton Club in the Apple, rug cutters Trucking, Pecking, or bugging to the Susie-Q, never no fraughty issue here. That's the Bible baby! Cab and the cats digging a mess, one riff after another, and every hot killer jam taking off, that combo was always bustin' conk, breaking up the joint like gangbusters. Zazu-zazu-zazu-zay! No room here for icky squares who can't collar the jive. The jitterbuggers at the Cotton Club always had a hummer of a ball. Yeah! Whipped up! Jumpin' and mitt pounding till the chimes say its way past early bright. Ow!
Mr. Cab Calloway knocked me a few essential riffs too, like never blow your top, mellow and all will be copacetic. Don't be afraid of some trickeration, chicks dig that. Don't get played by some cut rate mo beating his gums. Keep your cogs shiny clean, your glims might miss focus on the hippest pigeon this side of nineteen thirty-sex and you don't want to miss out. Dig the hard spiel, its jelly, you don't have to dig that buddy ghee's spoutin' beef, that's a bring down. Sound off man, slide your jib, just get in there lay your racket and beat out that bullshit, beat it out 'cause that line is sadder than a map, and cat you can't be that.
And remember, have a ball but grease your soul. One more thing: rub those crumb crushers every bright and black… your dentist will dig that gate. Hi-de-hi-de-hi-de-ho!

subset: commoncrawl


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Create an Account - Increase your productivity, customize your experience, and engage in information you care about.
The Big Picture is a weekly report aimed at giving citizens a look at the various projects the City of Buda is working on. The report includes quick updates on bond related projects, drainage improvements, day to day activities of our employees, and more.


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Bike-Sharing Rolls Into Suburban Workplaces
A Suburban N.J. Office Park Offers Its Denizens Shared Bicycles for $2 an Hour
Working in suburbia comes with sedentary drawbacks.
There is the long drive to work, followed by sitting at a desk for hours, then plopping down in a car again for the ride home.
Now a suburban office park in Whippany, N.J., about an hour's drive from Manhattan, is offering its denizens a perk more associated with city life: shared bicycles...


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Sources say Apple is working on a lower-end iPhone, which could launch as soon as later this year. The cheaper phone could resemble the standard iPhone, with a different, less-expensive body, one of the sources says.
According to Wall Street Journal, the Apple possibly recycle specs from older iPhone models and using a different shell made of polycarbonate plastic; in contrast, iPhone 5 currently has an aluminum housing.
Any such device would certainly represent a major shift in Apple's product strategy; Cupertino currently offers the iPhone 4 for free with a two-year contract, but doesn't have any inexpensive unlocked phones — a major hole in its lineup for several global markets.
The cost for this low-cost iPhone expected to be between $99 and $149.
Related posts:


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Commercial Construction Sacramento
Commercial construction near Sacramento: Despite downturns in the economy, it seems many entrepreneurs are still looking to open new businesses and create more jobs and many existing companies are looking to renovate or upgrade their properties.
You may never find that perfect property already suited to your specific needs, but Monster Contractor commercial construction is helping Sacramento business owners by providing quality commercial construction solutions. Now your business can have a new or revitalized commercial building or office tailored to your needs.
Let's look at the type of work our clients have come to expect from Monster Contractor when it comes to commercial construction: We know that the right commercial building can earn your company really great profits. If it is located at a central hub, retailers will be ready to pay you anything for shop space, providing they can customize it to suit their business needs.
Hiring architects and construction crews and keeping track of everything is a very tedious task that you as the commercial building owner, have neither the time nor the experience to manage. Our experience at construction project management and our connections to seasoned and vetted subcontractors make us the perfect choice to oversee any of your commercial building or tenant improvements.
Our commercial construction and management experts will guide you through the permit and compliance requirements for your commercial construction project and will rely on the best architects in Sacramento, CA. We will assist you in creating the perfect design that is within your budget while still meeting your or your tenant's needs.
If your commercial project does not need our architectural partners, our construction manager will step in to manage the next phases of your project.
Monster Contractor is known for providing the best services for commercial construction management in Sacramento. We have a long history in the field in both construction and management. The main aim of our team is to satisfy each customer's commercial building or tenant improvement needs. We will do everything we can to fulfill your demands at a reasonable cost.


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A Gastonia woman was arrested twice Friday for offering to commit sex acts to undercover police officers, according to arrest warrants.
A Gastonia woman was arrested twice Friday for offering to commit sex acts to undercover police officers, according to arrest warrants.
Kelly Rowland Carter was among five people arrested for soliciting undercover Gastonia police officers over the course of about five hours.
Carter, 35, of West Mauney Street, was booked into Gaston County Jail at 5:47 p.m. and 8:55 p.m.
According to arrest warrants, Carter propositioned an undercover police officer on Essex Street. She offered to commit a sex act for $20.
Carter was charged with soliciting a crime against nature and given an unsecured bond.
Hours later Carter reportedly approached another officer with the same offer. She was charged again for the crime and assigned a $5,000 secured bond.
Carter has previous arrests for prostitution-related offenses. She was charged twice in 2012 and twice in 2010 in Gaston County.
Three other women and a man were also charged with soliciting crimes against nature Friday.
Andrea Dawn Long, 31, of West Airline Avenue, was arrested at 3:43 p.m. on West Mauney Avenue.
Barbara Bell Aiken, 49, of Essex Avenue, was picked up at 4:19 p.m. on Poplar Street.
Melissa Rose Dossett, 39, of West Airline Boulevard, was charged at 7:30 p.m. on West Poplar Street. This makes Dossett�s fourth time being arrested for prostitution-related offenses. She was charged once in 2012 and twice in 2011.
Each of the women approached officers about performing the same act for the same fee, according to arrest warrants.
Each was charged with the same offense. Dossett had an additional count of possession of drug paraphernalia for having a glass crack pipe, the warrant affidavit states.
Joseph Kyle Morgan Jr., 28, of Myrtle Avenue, also faces a charge of soliciting a crime against nature.
According to the arrest warrant, Morgan approached an undercover deputy and asked how much a certain sex act would cost.
Morgan had no previous charges involving prostitution, but he has a lengthy arrest record with Gaston County. Most of his previous arrests were for assault.
Each of those arrested was assigned a $5,000 secured bond.
You can reach reporter Diane Turbyfill at 704-869-1817 and twitter.com/GazetteDiane.


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Saturday, November 29, 2008
3 comments:
- liberal supporter said...
Back at school, there was a time when we we had to vote to make the student paper fees refundable. Then next semester we all asked for our refund. All to oust the "anti imperialist alliance" who had taken over the student paper, and then made new rules that anyone nominated to the editorial board had to be approved by the same board, which was controlled by the "AIA". So they owned it while we funded it.
Despite all the shrieking and howling from the cabal running said paper, I mainly recall the absolute silence from all of us voting and later when getting refunds. Just a job that needed to be done and long overdue. We'd simply had enough and it wasn't even fun to bicker with them anymore.
I see Harper screeching and playing every trick in the Rove book, while the Coalition of the Real Adults, calmly and with little response to Steve's harpy chorus, finally sends the CPC packing.
- the rev. paperboy said...
Easy big fella, lets ease back the throttle and watch the "kill'em" rhetoric, that is Small Dead Roadkill territory. I know it sounds like concern trollery, but I can just picture certain no-brained NAMBLA-linking bloggers calling the mounties to claim you've threatened the PM's life and demanding an investigation. Not that they wouldn't probably laugh at him, but why give them something to babble hysterically about?
And besides I wouldn't piss on Ol' Dead Eyes if he was on fire.
- the rev. paperboy said...
Liberal supporter, that wouldn't have been The Chevron by any chance would it?
I remember writing for the Imprint, way way back when.


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Caine Gayle Skater Profile
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David Clive Isom, Jr, age 46, lost his life on January 5, 2012, after being struck by a truck while he and his wife Anna were riding their bicycles. David was an avid cyclist and a true advocate for following safe bicycle practices. As a result of this tragedy, his family is hopeful that all motorists will strive to be more aware and
respectful of cyclists.
David was born and raised in Amarillo, Texas. He graduated from Amarillo High School in 1983 and attended Amarillo College where he studied commercial electronics.
David's technical expertise contributed to his long-time employment with Texas Panhandle Centers where he worked for 21 years. He began his career as a maintenance mechanic in charge of electrical, heating and air conditioning, fabrication and remodeling. His strong work ethic and leadership qualities led to his rapid promotion to a supervisory position. In 2010, he accepted the position of Director of Maintenance and Safety.
David loved working with his hands and could create or repair most anything. He spent many hours in his shop (also known as the Monster Garage) where he housed his vast collection of tools, die cast model cars and hot rod posters. His most prized possessions were restoration projects which included a 1969 Pontiac Firebird and a 1940s Hiawatha bicycle. David customized many items with flames (even his lawn sprinkler) and most of his t-shirts, hats, and cycling jerseys were adorned with "hot fire."
David's strong religious upbringing and personal relationship with God were reflected in his unconditional love for others. During his elementary years, he joined the choir and singing became a lifelong love shared with his twin brothers. They enjoyed worshipping through song and especially loved singing trios. For much of his life, David attended Valleyview Church of the Nazarene and was most recently a member of Westcliff Bible Church.
David set high expectations for himself. He believed in individual accountability and never asked of others what he was not willing to do himself. He was described as "salt of the earth" and was quiet, gentle, kind, and forgiving. He lived life to the fullest and daily reminded his wife of his
happiness. Children and animals were immediately drawn to David. To children and his family he was always "Uncle Dave."
David was preceded in death by his paternal grandparents Emery and Noma Neff and his maternal grandparents W.P. and Bessie Isom.
Survivors include his wife and soul mate of 20 years, Anna Isom, and their beloved dog, Eddie; his beloved parents, Karon and David Isom; his brother, Danny Isom, his wife Leanne and their children Josiah, Jayden and Adyson; his brother, Tommy Isom, his wife Kim and their children Haley and Haven; his parents in-law, Judy and Bruce Nusbaum and Chris and Patty Isensee; and his sister in-law, Beth Welsh, her husband Jack and their daughter Jacquelyn. David had special relationships with his aunts, uncles, and cousins. He was blessed to have wonderful friendships with his church family, work family, cycling buddies, and hotrod pals.
In lieu of flowers, David requested that memorial donations be made to: Texas Panhandle Centers, Share the Road, or Westcliff Bible Church. A celebration of his life will be held on Saturday, May 26, 2012, at 11 a.m. at Westcliff Bible Church. David was a blessing to those who knew him. His death is this world's loss but Heaven's gain.
Amarillo Globe-News, May 25, 2012


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The New Encyclopaedia Britannica, Volume 8
Encyclopaedia Britannica, 2003 - Encyclopedias and dictionaries
What people are saying - Write a review
LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - keylawk - www.librarything.com
This is the 198215th Edition, in two halves, with the Macropaedia and the Micropaedia. First published in 1768, the publisher is the oldest English-language encyclopedia still in print. Two Scottish ... Read full review
The New Encyclopaedia Britannica (Encyclopaedia)User Review - Not Available - Book Verdict
For virtually all its 238 years,Britannica has ruled the shelves as a peerless general encyclopedia. Reviewers have consistently given it high marks for most of the 12 criteria identified inKister's ... Read full review
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Common terms and phrases
20th century Africa agricultural American army atoms became began brief treatment British called capital central centre chemical China Christian church Chuuk colour court culture death developed early east eastern economic emperor Empire English established Europe feet forces France French full treatment German Greek ical important Indian industrial islands Italy Japan king known Lake land language later London macropaedia maize major Mencius Menno Simons Mennonite ment Mesopotamia Messenia metal meteorite meteoroid Mexico Michael military mineral minister Miocene Missouri Mithra modern molecules Mongkut Mongol Mongolia Mountains Museum Myanmar National northern organized original painting Paris period Pohnpei political port president production province region reign River rocks Roman Russia Russian served South America southern species square km square miles structure tion town traditional United University valley western World


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A life-size sculpture of a naked Britney Spears kneeling on a bearskin rug as she gives birth will be on display next month at Brooklyn's Capla Kesting Fine Art Gallery.
The sculpture is to appear next to a display case filled with anti-abortion materials. It was created by Daniel Edwards, who said he never spoke to the 24-year-old pop star or met her, and fashioned her face and figure from photographs.
"I admire her. This is an idealized figure," Edwards said Tuesday in a phone interview from his home, which is near his studio in Moosup, Conn.
"Everyone is coming at me with anger and venom, but I depicted her as she has depicted herself — seductively. Suddenly, she's a mom."
Spears, who is married to her former backup dancer Kevin Federline, gave birth to their son, Sean Preston, last year. He is the couple's first child.
The singer's publicist, Leslie Sloane Zelnik, didn't immediately respond to a request for comment from The Associated Press.
When some bloggers heard about the exhibit — "Monument to Pro-Life: The Birth of Sean Preston" — the gallery said it received about 3,000 e-mails from around the world in just a week, split between anti-abortion and abortion rights opinions.
"We also got calls from Tokyo, England, France. Some people are upset that Britney is being used for this subject matter," said gallery co-owner David Kesting. "Others who are pro-life thought this was degrading to their movement. And some pro-choice people were upset that this is a pro-life monument."
The gallery, located in Brooklyn's artsy Williamsburg neighborhood, said it would hire extra security guards for the free exhibit, which will open April 7 and run for two weeks.
Edwards, whose sculpture of Ted Williams' decapitated head — which was frozen in the hope that medical science could one day revive the baseball great — stirred up an artistic storm, said the sculpture of Spears was a "new take on pro-life."
"Pro-lifers normally promote bloody images of abortion. This is the image of birth," he said.
When Edwards was asked why he creates art that generates publicity by selecting subjects hyped in the media, he said: "You're bombarded with these stories. And there's a thread that winds back to the art. That's not a bad thing. People are interested in these topics, and it works for art as well."
Asked whether he's anti-abortion, Edwards said, "You nailed me. I'm not saying that I am. I wouldn't march with either pro-life or pro-choice advocates. This is not meant to be political."
By Verena Dobnik


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Product Description
This 775 page CD-ROM 1966 Mustang, Fairlane, Falcon, Comet Shop Manual is the original manual used by the Ford dealership mechanics to guide them through repairs and maintenance. Each section provides information on the operation of major systems, diagnostics, troubleshooting, overhaul, as well as the removal and installation of major components. Written in an easy to understand format, this manual contains step-by-step instructions designed for the novice and the expert. Loaded with illustrations, photographs, and diagrams that help in the identification of parts and proper assembly. Not Mac compatible


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Sterling Silver Vintage Treasure Necklace
Murkani Jewellery, Victoria, Australia
Inspired by eras gone by, this handcrafted 925 sterling silver women's necklace is a modern classic.
Completely timeless, this vintage-inspired necklace would suit any neck line and would add a touch of subtle boho-chic glamor to your everyday look.
About the Designer:
Murkani Jewelry is the brainchild of Australian designer Kiralee McNamara. Kiralee started her journey to where she is today at just sixteen years of age when she started making fashion accessories out of craft clay and selling it to shops in her local area.
After several years where she pursued other interests she realized that nothing could match her passion for jewelry.
Determined, she created her first true collection in 2011 based on her love of Moroccan textile and tile design. Kiralee designs every piece herself and then has them lovingly handcrafted by expert silversmiths based in Bali and Thailand. All pieces are handcrafted using traditional and modern methods.
To find out more about Kiralee and her designs, visit the Murkani Jewelry boutique.
Availability: Sold Out
Estimated delivery date: Friday, 25 October 2019
50cm chain with 30mm extension and 40 x 15mm Pendant
Sterling Silver
Your order will be fully insured and shipped via secure courier direct from the designer to your door. Shipping options and prices vary between designers and will be displayed at checkout.
14 day returns
If you're not 100% happy with your purchase, you can contact the designer via firstname.lastname@example.com to organise a return. We recommend that you log the return within 7 days of receiving your order to ensure that it arrives back to the boutique in time.
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By any measure, Thursday, May 27th, was an important day for the stability of Europe. Two decisions, at different ends of the continent, did much to calm the nerves of anyone perturbed by its recent crisis of confidence. In Madrid, the Spanish parliament voted to approve an austerity package, proposed by the ruling Socialist Party, which is designed to cut the country's budget deficit by fifteen billion euros ($18.4 billion). In Oslo, meanwhile, an eighteen-year-old girl named Sieneke, from the Netherlands, singing "Ik Ben Verliefd (Sha-la-lie)," was voted out at the semifinal stage of the 2010 Eurovision Song Contest. Reaction to both events was swift. The euro rose 1.6 per cent against the dollar, the Spaniards having stanched, for the moment, any spread of Greece's economic woe to the fifteen other countries—commonly banded together as the eurozone—that have adopted the euro as their currency. No less dramatically, those of us who cling to Europe as the cradle of the Enlightenment, and who therefore applaud each triumph for probity and justice, went to bed with lighter hearts, knowing that never again, in public, would we have to listen to this:
Shalalie shalala
Shalalie shalala 't gaat niet uit m'n kop
Shalalie shalala
Shalalie shalala ik sta d'r 's morgens mee op.Translated into what one hesitates to call English, this means:
Shalalie shalala
Shalalie shalala, I can't get it out of my head
Shalalie shalala
Shalalie shalala, it's there when I get up in the morning.
In a way, the lines are brutally honest. Trying to get them out of your head is like trying to dislodge an ant that has crawled into your ear canal. That itch has long been a notorious side effect of Eurovision, and anyone who grew up in Europe, as I did, with a television in the house, can never quite shake off the affliction, just as old Africa hands used to suffer malarial twinges for the rest of their lives.
The Eurovision Song Contest is pretty much what it says on the label. It is a singing competition, in Europe, on television. In fact, it is an intra-European affair, held annually among a jostling mass of rival nations. This year, there were thirty-nine countries taking part, including some, such as Turkey or Azerbaijan, that you would not, with atlas in hand, immediately define as European; admission is granted to any willing member of the European Broadcasting Union (EBU). There were seventeen countries in each semifinal, plus five that swept straight through to the final, bypassing the quicksand of the semis. One of these is always the host country, in this case Norway; the four others—France, Germany, Spain, and the United Kingdom—go through unchallenged, on the highly artistic ground that their respective broadcasters pour the largest contributions into the coffers of the EBU. Think of the permanent members of the United Nations Security Council, add a blast of dry ice, and you get the idea.
When the first Eurovision Song Contest was held, in Lugano, Switzerland, in 1956, only seven countries took part. The choice of Switzerland was not a random one; it was the base of the EBU, whose president, Marcel Bezençon, dreamed up the idea of a contest that would not be a fight—a melodic antidote to the blood-soaked, strictly non-singing calamity that had ended a decade before. The EBU still runs the show, and what a show it is, broadcast live to every competing country and beyond; Australia can't get enough of it, though America has yet to catch the fever. The TV audience for the 2002 final, held in Tallinn, Estonia, was around two hundred million. That's twice what you get with the average Super Bowl.
Singers and groups don't win the Eurovision Song Contest. Countries do. You are entered by your proud nation, just as a swimmer or a relay squad is entered for the Olympic Games. That said, swimmers tend to be chosen for their stamina and fitness, and relay runners for the dexterity of their handoffs, whereas the criteria that govern the selection of Eurovision contestants seem altogether less exact. To gaze upon this year's Bulgarian contender, for instance, was to learn what would have happened to Tintin if he had decided to retrain, in bleached middle age, as an Elvis impersonator. And which choreographer, back in Sofia, had ordained that the presence of two male dancers, writhing around the singer with oiled torsos and what appeared to be shimmering incontinence pants, would truly be in the national interest? More startling yet was a woman named Hera Björk, bellowing for Iceland, who looked like Meat Loaf with a henna rinse. Once she opened her mouth, at the start of "Je Ne Sais Quoi," what emerged made Meat Loaf sound like Judy Holliday. Afterward, backstage, as if to lend concrete form to the thought that was hovering in all our minds, she held up a model volcano.
A unique festivity prevails at Eurovision, laced with both perspiring ambition and dewy innocence. The contenders arrive not just as ambassadors for their homelands but as proven conquerors. In most countries, there will have been a preliminary subcompetition, the object being to pick the right song, and the right performer, to carry the hopes of the people. This is organized and shown by the TV company that will eventually broadcast the big international night, on a Saturday in the spring. Courtesy of Sveriges Television and Sveriges Radio, for instance, droves of Swedes tune in every year to Melodifestivalen, which goes on for six weeks, through countless rounds, before settling on a winner. In 2009, more than three thousand songs were submitted, before the whittling began; this year, nearly four million viewers saw Anna Bergendahl clinch the nomination, with "This Is My Life." "Why are you here / With the autumn leaves?" the song inquired. It entered the Swedish charts on March 5th and stayed there for fifteen weeks, including almost a month at No. 1. Bearing her guitar, borne on the good will of her countrymen, and tipped for triumph, Bergendahl arrived in Oslo to seek the grail at the end of this lengthy quest. She went out in the semifinal. A nation mourned.
The contest was held in Oslo because Norway was last year's victor. That is how the system works. If you're the life and soul of the evening, the deal is that next time the party is at your place. (Unless you just can't face it, or can't afford to stage it, in which case you can palm it off on a friend.) The darling of Moscow, in 2009, had been a lad named Alexander Rybak, representing Norway, who played a fiddle, badly but furiously, and sang a jaunty, content-free composition entitled "Fairytale." He resembled the smooth-cheeked Brad Pitt, gliding backward through pubescence, in "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," and that probably helped. Rybak was born in Belarus, and Russian viewers of "How to Train Your Dragon" will have recognized his voice on the dubbed soundtrack. (Weirdly, you don't always need formal ties to the nation that picks you for the contest; when the Cypriots were looking for a singer this year, they searched the Internet and found a Welshman.) Rybak was European youth incarnate, which may be why he helped Norway to earn the highest score in Eurovision history; and that, in turn, is why, a year later, we found ourselves in a humongous, mesh-covered gray pod called the Telenor Arena, in the western outskirts of Oslo, already musing on the future. There was much talk, as Saturday's final approached, of Azerbaijan coming out on top: not just because its entry, "Drip Drop," delivered by the energetic Safura, sported the most mystifying line, in English, of the whole competition ("You smell like lipstick") but because of what victory would mean. Imagine the valedictory shout: Roll on, 2011! See you in Baku!
Real Eurovisionistas disdain the idea of simply watching the contest on television. Most countries have a Eurovision Fan Club, whose members criss-cross the continent, every year, in a bid to smell the lipstick in person. You can spot them, from afar, by their plumage; I was nearly struck blind by a party of six Dutch devotees, who had come to lend moral support to Sieneke. One man wore an orange Stetson, orange being the royal hue of the Netherlands. (You see it on every soccer fan.) Two of his fellow-burghers sported furry orange leggings, like cutoff moon boots, and round spectacles with orange frames. Along the top of each frame were plastic teardrops in red, white, and blue—the colors of the Dutch flag, also glimpsed at the tips of their feather boas. Next year, they should really make the effort to dress up.
Eurovision loyalty does not come cheap. On top of the travel and hotel costs, a ticket for this year's final cost as much as sixteen hundred kroner, or two hundred and fifty dollars, and that's if you can lay your hands on one. Being a member of the press was no help, and I resorted to putting up a begging notice. Half a day later, my cell phone rang. "Hello, this is Tony, from Norway," a voice said. Tony explained that he had a spare ticket, and I asked where he had got it. "Well," he said, sounding bright and excited, "I had two, but then my wife died, and now I have one free!"
The mission of Eurovision is to bring the nations of Europe together in harmony. And the effect of the singing, little of which could be described as harmonious, is to pull them apart. This year's Greek performers, for instance, drew a delirious reaction from the thousands in the Telenor Arena, who, far from chastising Greece for its financial malpractice, roared in superheated solidarity. (Most of them, I guess, would say that, somehow, it was all America's fault.) If anything held the Greeks back from this year's prize, it was their defiant, old-school decision to sing in Greek. From 1966 to 1972, the rule was that you had to compete in the language, or languages, of the country you had been chosen to represent. That rule was reinstated in 1977 and held sway for twenty years, and many acts still voluntarily cleave to it. I spoke to Olen Cesari, a hedge-haired Albanian violinist who has worked frequently in America ("You know Pharrell Williams?") and now lives in Rome. This year, he accompanied his compatriot Juliana Pasha in her English-language performance of "It's All About You." "Europe has a problem: it's not the United States," Cesari said, in words that would make the Eurovision creators quiver with dismay. He added, "So, if you don't speak English, you're immediately at a disadvantage. The Greek guys? Good song, but it's in Greek. Will they play that on the radio in France?"
Cesari is right: of the songs that have reached the finals over the years, two hundred and sixty-three have been in English, the lingua franca of pop. French, with a hundred and fifty, is the only other language in triple figures; the rest lag far behind. On the one hand, the contest is an obvious chance for European nations, especially the less prominent ones, to flaunt their wares by singing in their native tongue, although that's no help if you happen to be Switzerland, say, whose tongues could hold a contest of their own; one Swiss entry was in Romansh. On the other hand, when you sing in English, you may be blasting through the language barrier to reach a wider audience, but are you not abasing yourself before the Anglo-American cultural hegemony that the competition is clearly designed to rebuff? There is, of course, a middle way, as taken by the Israeli-born Carmela Corren, who sang for Austria in 1966, and changed gear from German to English halfway through "Vielleicht Geschieht ein Wunder" ("Maybe a Miracle Will Happen"). Historians of Eurovision argue that the miracle had been waiting to happen ever since the same country dispatched Bob Martin—again, not the most wistfully Viennese of names—to the competition in 1957, with his bottom-ranking ballad "Wohin, Kleines Pony."
The language of lyrics is, in short, a booby trap, and there are three well-established methods for avoiding it. One is to be France, whose performers, as you would hope, grind away in French, year after year, repelling all intruders, giving only the barest hint that other languages, let alone other civilizations, even exist; their man in Oslo, Jessy Matador (possibly not his real name), delivered a song called "Allez Olla Olé," which is as close as France will ever come to hedging its bets. The second method is to be Ireland, the nation that has won the contest more often than any other. Seven times it has struck gold, and no wonder; if you can sing in English without actually being English—all the technical advantages without the shameful imperialist baggage—you're halfway to the podium already. (Its 1990 hopeful, Liam Reilly, tried to boost his luck with a blatant currying of favor: "Meet me in Paris on a Champs-Elysées night / We could be in Rome, 'neath a Trevi fountain light," he warbled. Unfortunately, he missed the first rehearsal when his flight from Dublin was delayed. The song was called "Somewhere in Europe.")
The third method, which is by far the most popular, and which has brought mirthful pleasure to millions on an annual basis, is to sing in Eurovision English: an exquisite tongue, spoken nowhere else, which raises the poetry of heartfelt but absolute nonsense to a level of which Lewis Carroll could only have dreamed. The Swedes are predictably fluent in this ("Your breasts are like swallows a-nesting," they sang in 1973), and the Finns, too, should be hailed as early masters, with their faintly troubling back-to-back efforts from the mid-seventies, "Old Man Fiddle" and "Pump-pump," but the habit continued to flourish even during those periods when the home-language ruling was in place, as cunning lyricists broke the embargo by smuggling random expostulations into their titles and choruses. Hence such gems as Austria's "Boom Boom Boomerang," from 1977 (not to be confused with Denmark's "Boom Boom," of the following year), Portugal's "Bem-bom," from 1982, and Sweden's "Diggi-loo Diggi-ley," which won in 1984. The next year's contenders, spurred by such bravado, responded with "Magic, Oh Magic" (Italy) and "Piano Piano" (Switzerland). Not that the host nation relinquished the crown without a fight, as anyone who watched Kikki Danielsson can attest. Her song was called "Bra Vibrationer." It was, regrettably, in Swedish.By and large, philologists date the golden age of gibberish from the collapse of the Communist bloc. This brought a surge of fresh, unjaded contestants into the fray, hitherto unexposed to the watching world and avid to make their mark. (Of the thirty-nine contenders this year, eighteen did not exist as independent entities when the contest was first held.) I tried to interview Alyosha, who was in Oslo to sing "Sweet People," for Ukraine, and hit a wall. She could learn English phonetically, and howl it convincingly into a wind machine, but speaking it one-on-one was another matter. Run your eye down the first semifinal of 2008, and you find what Donald Rumsfeld used to call Old Europe being gate-crashed, in style, by Ukraine ("Shady Lady"), Latvia ("Wolves of the Sea"), Lithuania ("Nomads in the Night"), Bulgaria ("DJ, Take Me Away"), and Belarus (the ambitious "Hasta La Vista"). How could veterans like Turkey ("Deli") or Switzerland ("Era Stupendo") compare with that? My overriding concern, of course, was that 2010 would mark a hiatus of calm and common sense in this ritual massacre of the English language. I needn't have worried. From the moment that Aisha took to the stage, for Latvia, in the first semifinal, with a hostage-to-fortune special called "What For?," I settled down to enjoy a vintage year:
I've asked my Uncle Joe
But he can't speak
Why does the wind still blow?
And blood still leaks?
So many questions now
With no reply
What for do people live until they die?That is a good question. And even better was Aisha's answer:
Only Mr. God knows why
(But) His phone today is out of range.
It was set to be one of those perfect nights, in fact, well before Aisha arrived. As the Telenor Arena filled up, screens above our heads flashed greetings in a Pentecostal rush of different tongues: Pac Fat! Edu! Xewqat sbieh! (The latter is how you say "Good luck" in Malta, and, for all I know, in Middle-earth.) To the inexpressible joy of the audience, a tribute band—not in the first flush of youth, and schooled, one suspects, in the rigorous schedules of the cruise liner—warmed us up with a medley of old Eurovision winners. And, to my consuming horror, I realized that I knew them all, even in cover versions. I have long since forgotten the lengths of European rivers, and I can no longer recite my periodic table, but the chorus of "Ding Dinge Dong," as sung by Teach-In, representing the Netherlands, in 1975—"Ding-a-dong every hour, / When you're picking flowers, / Even when your lover is gone, gone, gone"—remains, as Teach-In would say, daisy-fresh in my mind. Sometimes, the human brain can be a dungeon.
The warming up did not end there. A bustling presenter from Norwegian TV, Anne Lindmo, marched on and told us how to behave when the broadcast began. "Are you ready to share the moment?" she asked, deftly wielding the chosen catchphrase of Eurovision 2010. "There are some people in the first row who are about to burst," she said. "They are actually cracking." Lindmo was in even spunkier form during the second semifinal, when she warned us of the camera boom that would swing low, inches above our heads. "This big motherfucker is very dangerous!" she said, showing a command of English more decisive than anything the contestants could muster. If I didn't know better, I would have said that she'd had a slug of akevitt backstage.
Not a bad idea. Whether you're presenting, performing, attending, or watching at home, alcohol is essential for getting through the Eurovision Song Contest, and the Norwegian pils served at the concession stands, as weak as fizzy rain, was simply not up to the job. How else could one face an opening band, from Moldova, who rhymed "We have no progressive future!" with "I know your lying nature!," and who had taken pains to insure that their violinist's illuminated bow matched the bright-blue straps of the lead singer's garter belt? A deranged Estonian pianist smacked his keyboard with one raised fist, like a butcher flattening an escalope of veal. A pair of ice-white blondes, one with a squeezebox, decided to revive the moribund tradition of oompah-pah—or presumably, since they were Finnish, oom-päa-päa. A Belgian boy came on to croon "Me and My Guitar," otherwise known as "Him and His Crippling Delusion." Three female singers from Belarus sprouted wings for the final chorus of "Butterflies." A smirking Serb of indeterminate gender, wearing a tailcoat, sang flat, hiccupping now and then for dramatic effect. Order was at first restored by Marcin Mrozinski, from Poland, who was backed by five demure women in national dress, and then destroyed as two of the women tore the white blouse off a third, to reveal a sort of peasant boob tube. An old Eurovision trick, this: the mid-song strip, timed to coincide with musical fatigue. It was pioneered by Bucks Fizz, from the United Kingdom, in 1981, when two boys tugged the long skirts off two girls (who wore shorter skirts beneath), and was brought to a neoclassical climax by the Macedonian singer Karolina, in 2002, who removed the top of her ball gown. Below was a molded gold breastplate.
That, at any rate, remained the most thoughtful act of disrobing until the start of the second semifinal this year, in which five Lithuanian lads, known collectively as InCulto, began a song in plaid trousers and ended it in jewel-encrusted micro-shorts. Not content with going from Lee Trevino to Liberace inside three minutes (the strict time limit for all Eurovision songs), they also instructed us to "Get up and dance to our Eastern European kinda funk!" How sad that "kinda" sounds to wiser ears. Lithuania, like Greece (another semi-naked, all-male affair), was an important player this year, because, along with a couple of brazen divas from Ireland and Iceland, it will have secured the loyalty of the gay vote. Without Eurovision's gay following, the contest—with its reliable deployment of camp, whether sly or unwitting—would be nothing. I spent the final in the company of four gay Frenchmen, one of whom wore jeans, a pressed white shirt, and a fake multicolored mohawk solemnly clamped to his scalp. They cheered patriotically for Jessy Matador, needless to say, but the highlight, as one of them confessed to me afterward, had been the arrival, in the arena, of a real princess—Märtha Louise, the daughter of King Harald of Norway—to wild applause. She was all in pink. "It is Barbie!" my French neighbor said.
Two nights earlier, I had dropped into a club, on Rosenkrantzgate, in downtown Oslo, for the party that followed the second semifinal. Rumors were swirling that some of the singers might be there, but there was no sight of them. Whether or not the club was usually a gay establishment, it had certainly become one for the occasion. There must have been three hundred male Eurovisioners present, plus four women, one of whom leaned against the bar, swigging from a bottle of pear cider. I asked where she was from. "Finland," she said. I launched into a stream of commiseration, expressing my regret that the Finnish entrants had been expelled so prematurely from the contest, taking their squeezebox with them. The lonely drinker looked blank. "Eurovision," I explained. She hadn't known it was happening in the city that weekend. "So why are you here? What do you do?" I asked. She drew herself up like a duchess and declared, "I am prostitute." To which the only conceivable response was "Honey, you are in the wrong place." But maybe, on reflection, she wasn't. Even if business would be slow that night, she was enveloped in the good will of an institution that has lasted more than half a century, that has ridden the bumps of fashion, that has harmed nobody and given delight to hundreds of millions. The Eurovision Song Contest is kindly, diverting, flamboyant, efficiently run, and surprisingly tough. In fact, there is only one thing wrong with it. The music.
Why did pop music never get as far as Europe? Where did it stop? Jazz reached Paris between the world wars and found a home there, so the French had no excuse for not realizing that serious music could draw a crowd and still break ground. A brief trawl, however, through "The Eurovision Song Contest: The Official History," a meticulous survey by John Kennedy O'Connor, suggests a willful infantilism in the French-speaking nations during the early years, with Monaco ("Un Banc, un Arbre, une Rue"), Switzerland ("L'Enfant Que J'Étais"), and Luxembourg ("Pomme, Pomme, Pomme") joining France ("Oui, Oui, Oui, Oui") in its refusal to acknowledge that jazz, not to mention rock and roll, was even in the air. O'Connor gamely insists that France Gall, who won for Luxembourg, in 1965, did enough with her "pert performance" to demonstrate that "there was a place for the hip and trendy in the contest after all." A YouTube clip shows Gall rooted to the spot, missing note after note, as she sings about wax dolls. Très hip.
You could say that these nightmares belong to the past, but what is most frightening about Eurovision is its reluctance, even now, to wake up. That was the most distressing aspect of Sieneke and "Sha-la-lie." Like a mechanical puppet, she waved her hand—tick, tock—in time with the bounce of the chorus. Behind her, just to ram home the toy-town theme, was a tinkling fairground organ with flashing L.E.D.s and two people dressed and made up as dolls, a man with a drum and a woman tapping a tiny cymbal with a stick. They jerked around like automatons: an act that I remember enjoying when Dick Van Dyke tried it, forty-two years ago, in "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang," but which has since lost some of its lustre. Embarrassment forced me into the crash position, head between my knees, while around me the Oslo audience swayed along with unfeigned zest. **{: .small}
The music that Eurovision honors and enshrines is the music you still hear from one corner of Europe to the other. "J'Aime la Vie," which won in 1986, and which was sung by a girl later revealed to have been thirteen, was a hit way beyond its native Belgium, and last year's "Fairytale" repeated the process, conquering the charts in eight European countries. But here's the rub: European pop sounds like Eurovision pop even when it's not from the Eurovision Song Contest. The stuff you hear in the back of Belgian taxis, on German radio, in Sicilian bars, and in the lobbies of Danish hotels: it was all created by the great god of dreck, and Eurovision is his temple. P. J. O'Rourke, surveying the dancing at a club in Warsaw in 1986, deplored what he called "the tragic lack of black people behind the Iron Curtain," and there is no doubt that, had Motown opened up a branch in, say, Bratislava, Europe would have been a happier landmass. But the want of taste runs deeper than that—deeper, even, than the puzzling way in which pop loses every trace of kick and soul when sung in anything but English. There is, and should be, something cheesy in all good pop, but what Eurovision delivers is flavorless processed cheese, as if it were produced not by musicians but by a cultural subcommittee of the European Union, convened in a back room in Brussels. It wasn't that I sat there, in Oslo, longing for the Supremes or the Stranglers or R.E.M. That would have been too much to ask. I was longing for the Bee Gees.
At the second semifinal, as one keening power ballad bumped into the next, each obeying the same structure (soft opening moan, thunderous midsection, whispered tailing off), and as the dance numbers resounded to the clatter of drum machines, I more or less drowned in the ceaseless gush of ineptitude—seventeen songs in an hour and fifteen minutes, and not one that you would download except under physical duress. The final act, from Turkey, tried to rough things up with a dab of hard rock, but they sounded like a school band, and the angry stripping robot at the back, who sawed off her own armor in a shower of sparks, missed her cue. As a pièce de résistance, she was meant to yank off her silver helmet to show her golden tresses, but it fell off early, and she was reduced to holding it up shyly to the cameras, like a little girl showing her parents the cup she just won for Best Handwriting. At this point, a friend who knows his music texted me from London: "Brilliant. It's like pop never happened."
London, of course, was the one place in Europe where pop did happen. And the United Kingdom is the one place that, although it dutifully dishes up dreck of its own when Eurovision comes around, realizes that there are greater gods to serve. Other countries despise the U.K. for this heresy, and believe that it is yet another instance of British xenophobia at its most insolent and thuggish, but what arouses British mirth is not funny foreigners but funny foreign songs, as well as the grave respect in which they are held by the foreigners, who become funny as a result. I asked a man named Seppo, from the seven-hundred-strong Eurovision Fan Club of Norway, what he loved about Eurovision. "Brotherhood of man," he said—a slightly ambiguous answer, because that was the name of a British group that entered, and won, the contest in 1976. I tried again. "What does it symbolize?" He thought for a moment. "It goes with my political beliefs. Everybody comes here to be happy." I mentioned the problems besetting Europe, from the financial slump to fractious border disputes, and he immediately swiped the flat of his hand, fast, up across his brow and into the air. "You mean it all goes over your head?" "Yes." "Because of Eurovision?" "Yes."
A young Greek man offered an equally sober perspective. "Eurovision is probably more important than any political event going on in Greece," he said, even as Athens braced itself for further strikes and teargassed riots. He went on, "It's as big as the World Cup for us." The British, by contrast, would cheerfully trade five decades of unblemished Eurovision triumph for a place in the quarter-finals of a single soccer World Cup. In truth, they have not been capable of taking Eurovision seriously since October 5, 1962, when the Beatles released "Love Me Do." Seven months before, the U.K. contender at Eurovision had been Ronnie Carroll, with "Ring-a-Ding." He had worn a tuxedo. So had the conductor of the orchestra.
The U.K. has won the Eurovision Song Contest five times, and, with every victory, the gulf has widened between the garlanded performance and what the British were hearing at home. 1967, the year in which a barefoot Sandie Shaw had all of Europe bouncing with "Puppet on a String," was also the year of "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." Brotherhood of Man carried off the prize in 1976 with "Save Your Kisses for Me," on the same day that the Sex Pistols played at a London pub, supported by a band called the 101ers, whose lead singer, Joe Strummer, was so inspired by what he saw and felt that night that he became a founding member of the Clash. In 1981, as half of Bucks Fizz was naughtily ripping the skirts off the other half, you could hear Paul Weller, of the Jam, singing about "A smash of glass and a rumble of boots / An electric train and a ripped-up phone booth." I had the single; on the B-side was a frantic live version of "Down in the Tube Station at Midnight." That was no place for Bucks Fizz.
Even when the United Kingdom doesn't win the Eurovision Song Contest, it likes to signal its superiority, or, at any rate, its knowingness, in two distinct ways. The first is its comically plaintive choice of song titles, including "Are You Sure?," "Rock Bottom," "Why Do I Always Get It Wrong?," and, from 2000, the forthright "Don't Play That Song Again." The second trick is the choice of television commentator—preferably an Irishman, just to muddy the waters even further. For years, the voice that viewers in Britain heard was that of the radio and TV presenter Terry Wogan. In Copenhagen in 2001, for example, as Natasja Crone Back and Soren Pilmark, our hosts for the evening, arrived onscreen, Wogan could be heard—in Britain only, thank heavens—bidding us welcome "the Tooth Fairy and Doctor Death." And so it went on. Wogan was knighted in 2005, presumably for services to light mockery. Last year, he passed the Eurovision baton to his countryman Graham Norton, whose note of skepticism is, if anything, brassier still. He was buttonholed by one of the Norwegian presenters as he sat in his broadcasting box at the Telenor Arena. She graciously asked him how he was doing, and he explained that, thanks to nerves, he hadn't eaten or drunk all day: "Like an Icelandic wallet, I'm empty." Immediately, all around, there were boos and hisses—the only ones of the entire Eurovision week. This awful person had referred to something that was not happy! And it was in Europe! Kill the beast! At the end of the evening, the United Kingdom came last.
To aficionados, the voting at the Eurovision Song Contest offers even more to savor than the songs. You can't vote for your own country, but you can vote for any other; the format does not bunch countries into official regional groups, although you wouldn't guess as much from the farce that invariably unfolds. The hosts are patched through to the capital of each country in turn, where a grinning local announcer is ready with his or her nation's choice, which is split between a professional jury and phone-in viewers. A typical exchange, this year, proceeded as follows. Oslo called Tbilisi: "The next country to give their vote is Georgia. Good evening!" Tbilisi: "Hello, Norway! Good evening, Europe! This is Georgia calling! First of all, thank you for a fantastic show, it was really amazing!" It is never not amazing. Georgia then awarded points, in ascending order, to its favorite songs of the night: Azerbaijan, eight points; Armenia, ten points; and, top of the list (after a breathless pause), Belarus, with twelve points. What neutral viewers require, at this juncture, is not an ear for music. They need a map.
Georgia abuts Armenia and Azerbaijan. It also nestles against Russia, but, after that unfortunate misunderstanding in South Ossetia, Georgia obviously couldn't vote for Russia in the Eurovision Song Contest. Whereas Belarus has a long, porous border with Russia, just like Georgia's, so a vote for Belarus's exquisite song ("We are so fragile, / Just like melting snow") would send a strong, twofold signal to Moscow that Tbilisi would not, unlike snow, be melting anytime soon. Russia itself looked due south and bared its teeth: eight points to Azerbaijan, ten to Georgia, and twelve to Armenia. It would be pleasing to think that the Armenian singer, Eva Rivas, had wowed the Russians with her rendition of "Apricot Stone," at the start of which the Norwegian cameraman was, for all intents and purposes, camping out in her cleavage. This is a woman, after all, who, according to the official program, has already been voted "Golden Voice of Rostov," "Miss Pearl of Don," and, with a carefully placed hyphen, "Vice-Miss of the Caucasus." But all we could hear, in the Russian vote, was the synchronized rattle of sabres.
And there was I, thinking it was all about the songs. The voting system at Eurovision is so infused and corrupted by ethnic and political suckup that nobody, except the organizers and a hundred million viewers, lends any credence to the result. This year, for the first time, the organizers threw in the towel by permitting telephone voting to start before the singing began, thus giving national prejudice the maximum space in which to go on the rampage. The results are not hard to predict. It is a matter of tradition, almost of pride, that Cyprus awards its twelve points to Greece; they would give twelve points to Greece even if the Greek entry consisted of an elderly Cretan slapping an octopus against the side of a wharf. Recent obligations also play a part; Greece itself received twelve points from Germany this year, which was Germany's way of saying sorry for bailing out the Greek economy to the tune of only twenty-eight billion dollars. So much nicer to say it with a song. Outside the arena, I spoke to Marion, the mother of Thea Garrett, who was singing "My Dream," for Malta. Could she, perhaps, become the first Maltese to win at Eurovision? "I do not think so," Marion said. She added, ruefully, "We have no neighbors."Whenever the wheel is rigged, there will always be someone to put some extra spin on it, and that someone is Alf Björnberg, a professor of musicology at the University of Gothenburg, and one of the contributors to a scholarly volume called "A Song for Europe: Popular Music and Politics in the Eurovision Song Contest." Björnberg, analyzing the widespread practice of what he calls "buddy voting," writes:
Commentators seem to regard the phenomenon as a manifestation of the inability of unsophisticated citizens of the new European nations to comply with the alleged nominal purpose of the contest: to select the best popular song on the basis of inadequately specified musical-aesthetic criteria. Such patronizing invocation of the autonomy of "the music itself" appears particularly inappropriate in the context of the ESC, with its manifestly dense and multilayered texture of cultural meanings.
So that's why there is no good pop in Europe.
What an American viewer, tuning into the Eurovision Song Contest by accident, on a trip to Berlin or Bern, would find most baffling is not the singing, or the voting, or even the question of whether Bruce Springsteen, back home, has adequately specified musical-aesthetic criteria. No, what an American would ask is: Since when did Israel become part of Europe? In fact, Israel, like Turkey, is a mainstay of the contest, by dint of belonging to the European Broadcasting Union. There were knots of travelling Israeli fans in Oslo, with their flag painted on their faces, fully embraced by the group hug of Eurovision, and only a handful of Palestinian protesters across the street from the arena, bearing banners that read "Stop the Ethnic Cleansing of East Jerusalem" and "Occupation: 0 Points." Israel has won the contest three times, although not all viewers have been fully aware of this glory. In the mid-nineteen-seventies, audiences for Eurovision were more than four hundred million strong, with Africa and the Middle East finding the lure irresistible. This posed a dilemma for Arab nations that did not recognize the official existence of the state of Israel; in 1978, Jordanian broadcasters cut suavely to a commercial break during the Israeli song, with its flawlessly Eurovisionist title of "A-Ba-Ni-Bi," only for Israel to trump them by going on to win. It was the sort of problem that Bertrand Russell used to relish: Can I win a race if I am not?
In the event, the Jordanians did the manly, sensible thing, and closed their transmission with a charming image of daffodils, instead of Jews. Even now, there are Jordanians who think that Belgium, the runner-up that year, was the actual victor, just as there is a furious woman still standing 'neath the Trevi fountain waiting for the singer of "Somewhere in Europe" to show up. The Israelis then went one better in 1998, in Birmingham, England, by nominating a transsexual named Dana. Though scarcely touched with the gift of song, and sadly lacking the blessing of the Orthodox community in Jerusalem, she sailed through on chutzpah alone, and Eurovision wonks are still disappointed that the super-tolerant glee that she engendered, across the Continent, could not have been extended farther east. Why not let Syria in? Why not Hamas? Given the choice between lobbing missiles at your next-door neighbors and matching their disco beat, hook for hook, while also outstripping them with yards of removable crushed velvet, which way would you swing? Imagine the whole world, listening in: "What for are we singing? / Only Mr. God knows why. / (And) our rockets today are out of range."
This year's winner of the Eurovision Song Contest was, in her own way, the most perplexing of all. Her name was Lena, she was nineteen, and she came from Germany. She was not a transsexual. She was dressed neither as a clown nor as a gladiator. No musclemen capered in her wake. Not a ghost of dry ice steamed around her feet. She wore a little black dress, black tights, and heels. She sang a friendly, hook-heavy number called "Satellite," swaying along as you do in your own kitchen when something catchy comes on the radio. The lyrics were in English, but they were written by John Gordon, who is Danish, and Julie Frost, who is American, so, apart from a line about blue underwear, there was alarmingly little to be ashamed of. In short, this was the first time in the history of the Eurovision Song Contest that any song has reached out and planted so much as a toe in the country known as cool.
Obviously, this cannot be allowed. If Eurovision were to conjure, on any regular basis, the kind of music that you can hear without wanting to staple your ears shut, the contest would lose its raison d'être. From the start, it has been goaded by the principle of the cuckoo clock, as explained by Orson Welles in "The Third Man." Having pointed out that the great achievements of the Italian Renaissance were born from strife and bloodshed, Welles continues, "In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace—and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock." That is the clock that ticks through Eurovision. It reassures us with a ringing message: the worse the songs, the more lasting and secure the peace will be. It chimes in the performances of a figure like Michael von der Heide, this year's voice of Switzerland: a whippet-thin elf who strutted in satin, and in vain, around the Norwegian stage. According to the program, Michael "performs in French, German, Swiss German, English, or Italian and mixes pop, jazz, folk and rock with traditional French chanson. Michael seems to move with ease through all these types of music."
The operative word here is "seems." The song he gave us, "Il Pleut de l'Or," or "It's Raining Gold," was unspeakable. But if we must gaze, aghast, upon such antics—if Eurovision has given us fifty-five years of solid kitsch—then that, surely, is a small price to pay for the immeasurable privilege of seeing the peoples of Europe emerge from their long history of antipathy and aggression. The Thirty Years War, starting in 1618, involved combatants such as Sweden, France, Denmark, Hungary, Croatia, Austria, England, Brandenburg-Prussia, and the Ottoman Empire; populations in some central states were almost halved by cruelty, famine, and disease. The Eurovision Song Contest has endured almost twice as long, and no one should pretend that, during its reign, there have not been portions of the Continent mired in conflict; yet even they tend to be ushered back, all sins forgiven, into the bosom of the Eurovision family. Serbia and Montenegro, for instance, entering jointly for the first time, in 2004, came second in the final. They themselves, as you would expect, gave twelve points to Macedonia, but, voting habits aside, the contest goes to ludicrous lengths to protect itself from any storms that rage in the greater world beyond. Inside the bunker, what's the worst that can happen? Probably the Estonian girl band that performed "Cool Vibes" for Switzerland under the name Vanilla Ninja, in 2005. Three minutes of misery, yes, but nobody died.
The best thing that has happened to the Eurovision Song Contest, as its devotees will remind anyone who dares to question its merits, is Abba. The band won with "Waterloo," in 1974, and went on to rule the world. Somehow, they took all the ingredients of classic Eurovision—meaningless English words, infuriating chugs in the rhythm, outfits that made your eyeballs hurt—and cooked up something both risible and delectable.
It should have been like that every year, and some fans, with a straight face, will claim that it is, pointing to the bliss that was 1988, when Switzerland—in a beautiful gesture toward global, rather than merely European, harmony—took a song co-written by a Turk and gave it to a French-Canadian wearing an unusual combination of double-breasted white jacket and matching puffball skirt. She looked like a naval officer trying to mate with a lampshade. She won by a single vote, and took her place among the immortals. Her name was Céline Dion. ♦


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Review: Cronkite book excels at telling it the way it was
"Cronkite" (Harper), by Douglas Brinkley
Memo to bloggers: Earning the title "most trusted man in America" doesn't happen overnight.
For longtime "CBS Evening News" anchor Walter Cronkite, decades spent reporting -- not rendering opinions -- preceded his unofficial coronation as the person to turn to for the straight story.
It didn't have to be that way. As historian Douglas Brinkley relates in his detailed and insightful biography, Cronkite could have become a crusader like his CBS News colleague Edward R. Murrow. Or he could have turned temporary gigs hosting a morning show or a game show into his life's work. For that matter, he could have returned to his native Missouri.
But reporting the news favored Cronkite's nature -- he enjoyed finding facts and talking to people -- and it matched his training as a newspaperman and his early experiences in radio and as a wire service reporter. For him, reporting with accuracy and fairness was a worthy calling -- and at times an exciting one.
Cronkite (1916-2009) was a good writer and tireless when it came to getting information. He moved from United Press postings in Kansas City and New York to London as the U.S. entered World War II. His experience as a war correspondent and as a postwar reporter in Moscow further seasoned his perspective and added to his credibility.
Cronkite joined CBS News in 1950, a late arrival to big-time broadcasting -- the loyal "Unipresser" had turned down Murrow's offer of a radio job during the war -- but then excelled in the new medium with a wide variety of assignments. Brinkley writes of Cronkite's stature in 1960, two years before he began a 19-year run as the network's evening news anchor: "He had come to personify the CBS eye even more than Murrow, and was anointed by the TV viewers as America's most likable and professional eyewitness to the 20th century."
Professional but not flawless. Brinkley points out that Cronkite had a sizable ego and found it difficult to fault himself whenever he suffered a career stumble. He stayed neutral on the air during the McCarthyism period, apparently not wanting to risk derailing his own career, and later saw nothing wrong with being a cheerleader for the space program or the environmental movement.
Cronkite allowed his low opinion of Sen. Barry Goldwater to affect his coverage of the conservative Republican, then for years accepted with little skepticism the Johnson administration line on Vietnam. Brinkley notes that Cronkite's influential break with President Lyndon Johnson on the Vietnam War in 1968 came later than it did for some reporters. The anchorman is reported to have urged Robert Kennedy to run for president, and he was known as a soft interviewer, especially with presidents, regardless of party.
Still, in those three decades when hardly a day went by without Cronkite appearing on CBS, his overall reputation for honesty and evenhandedness was enviable and contributed greatly to establishing the medium's standards. That made the cold shoulder Cronkite received in the 1980s from the new regime at CBS difficult to take. The million-dollar contract he enjoyed for many years, Brinkley writes, was more about preventing the CBS icon from publicly criticizing the company and his evening news replacement, Dan Rather, than having him contribute to its airwaves.
Brinkley's impressive chronicle of one of the century's great journalists burnishes Cronkite's reputation anew. It's a celebration of the triumph of hard work, dedication and the belief that getting the story and getting it right mattered most.
Douglass K. Daniel is the author of "Harry Reasoner: A Life in the News" (University of Texas Press).


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Will J. Cole Top the Charts with 'Cole World'?
Not so long ago, J. Cole was just another budding rapper hoping for a shot at the big time. In fact, his first meeting with his future mentor and label boss Jay-Z occurred when he brushed past the hip-hop icon on the street, failing to get his attention.
Now, of course, all that persistence has paid off: He's one of the hottest young performers in hip-hop, and if industry predictions are correct, he could top the Billboard charts next week with his debut album 'Cole World: The Sideline Story.'
Insiders predict that 'Cole World' will sell as many as 250,000 units in its first week. This would make Cole the first solo performer to notch a Number One debut since B.o.B. did with 'The Adventures of Bobby Ray' last spring, and the biggest sales week for an artist's first album since Nicki Minaj's 'Pink Friday,' which moved nearly 400,000 units last December.
'Cole World' bows in a crowded week of debuts, including the likely Number Two release, Blink-182's reunion album 'Neighborhoods.' Other albums making their first appearances are Wilco's 'The Whole Love,' Chickenfoot's 'III,' and Mastodon's 'Hunter,' which is expected to give the veteran rock band its first Top 10 record.


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The Dubai Airshow started yesterday with plane orders worth more than US$100 billion for Boeing and Airbus from Gulf carriers, mostly clinched by the US aircraft manufacturer.
The biennial show got off to a bright start for Boeing's 777X — a long-range, wide-bodied airliner that features lower fuel consumption engines and composite wings. It is scheduled to be ready in 2020.
Etihad Airways began the coveted show with a US$25.2 billion order for Boeing. The deal also included an order for 30 units of 787 Dreamliners, making the fast-growing carrier the largest single customer of the medium-body plane.
The Abu Dhabi carrier also announced it was taking an option to purchase a further 26 planes from Boeing.
"Today is an important day in the history of Etihad," chief executive James Hogan said.
Emirates Airline followed shortly afterwards by placing orders with both the rival US and European manufacturers, in twin deals valued at US$99 billion, 80 percent of which was destined for Boeing's coffers.
No details were given on the figure, which includes the engines.
The Dubai-based airline ordered 150 Boeing 777X planes, including 35 777-8Xs and 115 units of the 777-9X.
The Middle East's largest carrier also boosted Airbus' sales book with an order for 50 A380 superjumbos, in the first sale of the double-decker this year.
The order cements Emirates' status as the single largest operator of the long-haul airliner, airline boss Sheikh Ahmed bin Saeed al-Maktoum said.
"Emirates has understood from the start the A380's advantages in terms of efficiency, economics and passenger comfort," Airbus chief executive officer and president Fabrice Bregier told the signing ceremony.
Airbus has been struggling to sell its A380 superjumbo.
Sales of the world's largest commercial aircraft suffered last year after hairline cracks were discovered on A380 wings. Just nine were sold last year, down from an initial order of 30.
Emirates also announced a commitment by flydubai, its budget sister company, to buy up to 100 Boeing single-aisle 737 MAX.
Qatar Airways also chipped in by signing a letter of intent to buy 50 of Boeing's 777Xs valued at US$19 billion. The Doha-based airline said it had also ordered five A330 freighters from Airbus, which are valued at about US$1 billion, according to list prices.
The order was accompanied by an option to add eight airliners, which would put the overall price of the deal at US$2.8 billion, chief executive Akbar al-Baker said.
The Qatar Airways boss praised Boeing's 777 long-haul workhorse as he made a surprise appearance at the joint Emirates-Boeing briefing.
The 777 has been a best-seller since it was launched in the 1990s, with 1,473 units sold as of Tuesday last week.
Boeing is fielding the 777X to counter Airbus' long-haul A350-1000, which is anticipated to enter service in 2017 with a capacity of 350 passengers as a threat to Boeing's predominance in the long-haul market.
In the 2007 Dubai Airshow, sales reached US$155 billion.
Analysts have projected that orders this year could be close to that record.
Earlier this year, the Paris airshow at Le Bourget racked up about US$115 billion in announced sales at catalogue prices.
The 13th Dubai Airshow, which runs until Thursday, is held for the first time at the newly opened al-Maktoum International Airport, the emirate's second airport and touted to become the world's biggest once complete.


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New year, new contract -- and new ink for Colin Kaepernick.
And, unsurprisingly, the 49ers' quarterback's new tattoo is all about money, TMZ noted.
Kaepernick, fresh off the inking of a $126 million contract that makes him the second-highest-paid quarterback in the NFL, had himself inked -- with a warning of sorts
The saying goes that "Money is the root of all evil." And Kap is taking that to heart -- and to flesh, with his newest tattoo.
Kaepernick posted the image of a snake -- Adam and Eve, anyone? -- emerging from a pile of money with the caption reminding all where evil arises.
Cash, and lots of it.


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Global Resource Information Database - Geneva, Division of Early Warning and Assessment, United Nations Environment Programme
Service Provider DescriptionDEWA Europe/GRID-Geneva is part of UNEP's global network of
environmental information centres, known as the Global Resource
Information Database (GRID). GRID Geneva and Nairobi were the first
centres to be launched in mid-1985. GRID aims to provide and
facilitate access to environmental data and information for
decision-making and policy setting, and to underpin UNEP's review of
the state of the world's environment and provide early warning on
emerging environmental threats.
Since its foundation, the Geneva office received considerable support
from Swiss and local authorities. This supporting was significantly
reinforced, and GRID-Geneva's institutional base broadened, with the
signing of a "Partnership Agreement" between UNEP, the Swiss Federal
Agency for the Environment, Forests and Landscape (SAEFL) and the
University of Geneva in June 1998. Over the years, the European Union
and many governments such as Denmark, France, Finland, the
Netherlands, Switzerland and the USA have provided personnel and
technical support. Commercial products and services have also been
provided to GRID-Geneva by the ESRI Corporation, DEC, ERDAS, IBM and
PCI, among others.
Website: http://www.grid.unep.ch/
[Summary provided by UNEP.]


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"If there is a student sitting in this gym who has had sex, let me tell you something: I am pretty sure I know about you."
That's one thing students at George Washington High School in Charleston, W. Va. heard in April. Nearly 1,000 students, on their first day back from spring break, sat in an assembly, many in disbelief.
Watch the full story on "20/20: Teen Confidential" TONIGHT at 10 ET.
The speaker was Pam Stenzel, an internationally recognized, highly paid lecturer. She speaks to more than half a million young people each year, all over the world, about sexuality and the importance of self-restraint.
An 18-year-old honor student named Katelyn Campbell was outraged by Stenzel's speech, calling it "slut shaming." She explained the phrase in an interview with "20/20" co-anchor Elizabeth Vargas.
"Slut shaming was just the word in the vernacular of GW [high school] that came to mind," she said. "I mean, it's your prerogative who you want to have sex with; it's none of my business."
Slut shaming is the modern-day scarlet letter. Usually a teenage phenomenon, and done mostly online, it's calling out and shaming a peer -- usually a girl -- for allegedly being sexually active.
Has your child ever been 'slut shamed'?
Campbell couldn't believe the arrows were being shot by an adult hired to speak to her school about sex.
"The tone in her videos was really combative," Campbell said. "It just seemed like she was going out to get anyone who'd already had sex."
Campbell is the student body vice president. Her 4.8 grade point average earned her a chance to speak at graduation and a scholarship to Wellesley College.
Speaking out against Stenzel turned the popular student into a pariah, and a target of criticism herself -- in local op-ed pieces, her Facebook page and elsewhere.
"It started out with people saying, you know, 'She's a slut, she's a liar, she's doing this for attention,'" Campbell said. Others took the opposite tack, posting things like "I bet she's being abstinent, but not by choice," she said.
Charleston, W.Va., and the surrounding area are known for two extremes: the antics of hard-partying college kids on the reality show "Buckwild" and devout Christian conservatism.
"There's certainly a very religious, very pro-abstinence-only group in my community who really does believe that method is effective," Campbell said.
Couldn't Stenzel's approach help lower West Virginia's rate of teen pregnancy, which is ninth in the country?
"It very well might," Campbell said. "If you're afraid of having sex, then you probably won't. But I think there's a better, more scientific way to address sex than saying, Just don't do it."
Campbell found out Stenzel would be appearing when a teacher showed her a flyer.
"One of the key lines was that Pam Stenzel will be coming to GW to discuss God's plan for sexual purity. And GW is a public school, which is really what threw me for a loop," Campbell said.
Stenzel's visit was funded by a conservative Christian organization called Believe In West Virginia.
Campbell researched Stenzel, finding some of her speeches on YouTube. One contained a message for mothers who allow or encourage their daughters to go on the birth control pill.
"This girl is going to end up sterile or dead," Stenzel says on the video.
Campbell decided to boycott the talk, but junior Carly Thaw was there and recorded it on her iPhone.
"I think everyone started off with interest, or at least giving her the benefit of the doubt," Thaw said. "And she just accelerated as she started speaking and got really loud and kind of abrasive."
"Condoms aren't safe," Stenzel says on the recording. "Never been ... Never will …"
"Girls, you're scarred for life," she says at another point.
"There are a number of pregnant girls at my school," Thaw said. "[There's a] greater number of girls who have had sex before. And for her to come up and tell people that if you've had sex before you're married, you're impure, there's nothing you can do about it, you're screwed for life... It was just, like, What are you saying?"
Campbell conceded that abstinence is the best way to avoid getting pregnant or an STD, and that those on birth control were less likely to use a condom. What she mainly objects to is the tone of shame she heard in Stenzel's presentation.
"Some of the people were crying as they left, because she [was] telling us that we're trash and we're useless if we've ever had sex before," Thaw recalled.
"School is supposed to be a place where you're safe," Campbell said, "not where you should be shamed for what you have or haven't done."
Campbell gave an interview to a local newspaper. The media exposure landed her in Principal George Aulenbacher's office.
"He said, 'How would you feel if I called your college and I told them what bad character you have, and what a backstabber you are?'" Campbell said.
Asked if she felt this was a real threat, Campbell said, "I did."
Aulenbacher has denied that he threatened her.
Campbell didn't stop, and her story appeared on CNN and Seventeen magazine. She filed an injunction against Aulenbacher and the school board seeking to prevent them from possibly retaliating against her, including, she says, by calling Wellesley.
That's when the community turned against her, she said. A Hate on Katelyn Facebook page appeared.
"As I walked down the hallway, everybody went silent," Campbell said. "One of the football players actually spat on me.... I can't think of anything more insulting to do to someone than spit on them."
Was Campbell shocked at the reaction? "I mean, I understood from the beginning that it was a really hot and difficult issue, but I never expected people to outright dislike me for that," she said.
By May, the backlash had become heartbreaking, Campbell said. She and six other seniors were told the graduation program had been streamlined and they wouldn't get to speak.
"It was really a slap in the face," Campbell said.
Neither Aulenbacher nor the superintendent of schools would agree to talk to "20/20."
Kanawha County School Board president Pete Thaw (who is the grandfather of Carly Thaw) said he had no idea who approved Stenzel's appearance. She was paid privately, he said.
The school board passed a new policy on school speakers.
"If you're going to have a public meeting, and if it's going to be about sex, religion or politics, you have to have the O.K. from the superintendent of schools," Thaw said.
Pam Stenzel declined a request for an interview. She continues to deliver her message to teens across the country.
Katelyn Campbell's injunction against the principal was denied, but her scholarship to Wellesley is secure.
Last week she received a national student leadership award. She hopes to become a lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union.
"I feel like I've been given a unique position to be a vehicle for social change," Campbell said. "I have the mic, so I might as well use it."
Watch the full story on "20/20: Teen Confidential" TONIGHT at 10 ET.


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Items where SHU Author is "Okasheh, Rasha"
|Up a level
Group by: Item Type | Full Text | No Grouping
Jump to: Public
Number of items: 1.
PAYNE, K, DE NORMANVILLE, Clare, STANSFIELD, Karen, BARNETT, Nicholas, MACHACZEK, Katarzyna, QUTISHAT, Dania, OKASHEH, Rasha, ION, V, WICKS, H and SMEWING, Ch (2010). Prevention and lifestyle behaviour change : a competence framework. Project Report. NHS Yorkshire and The Humber.


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by Val Koinen
April 20, 2010
Maybe you, like most of the rest of us White Americans, have been reading and hearing things in the "mainstream media" lately about the resurgence of the "radical right," hard-core conservatives, "Tea Party" activities, and the like.
And that's "just for starters," as they say. Those recent developments in American society don't even really touch on some of our most serious problems involving Jewish control of our media, education system, and government; and our racial demise.
So, if you have been noticing these kinds of things, you likely have wondered -- at least privately, to yourself -- just what the real truth is when it comes to some of the more "extreme" positions of those people the MSM labels as being extremists, racists, White supremacists, White nationalists, bigots, haters, anti-Semites, Nazis, and on and on ad nauseam.
That's good. Given what has been happening to our once-wonderful America, we all should be wondering about those things. And we all should probably be looking into those issues -- researching and studying them -- a lot more than we have been.
Of course, you should reserve your final judgments about these matters until after you have made those investigations. But there are a few concepts you might want to ponder while (and even before) you do your investigating and evaluating.
You might want to ask yourself -- just how does it make you a bad person to seek out and develop a solid understanding of the truth? You might want to ask others -- just how is it evil, or bigoted, or hateful, to search for the facts and to thoroughly evaluate them once they have been uncovered? You might ask -- just how are you being unfair to anybody, or being "prejudiced" against them; when you apply your powers of observation, intelligence, and rationality to forming opinions and developing positions based upon the objective realities of the world around you and on the definitive, documentable historical records of the past?
Just how does it make one a bad person for caring about the future of your society and your country?
What is so evil about caring for the future of your people; your progeny; your race?
Why are you labeled a hater for caring about such things as your people's culture, safe living areas for your family, and good and safe schools for your children?
Why are you a horrible person just because you don't want to be shackled to the social and economic slavery of non-White racial preferences and predominately non-White welfarism?
How does it make one an evil racist just for knowing that the races of man are genetically distinct subspecies of humankind, and that those subspecies differ from one another in important ways (and perhaps most importantly, in intelligence and behavioral traits)?
What exactly is evil and bigoted about knowing the demonstrable truth about integration, diversity, and multiculturalism? Knowing that, rather than being our "strength" as is continually pumped into our brains by government, schools, and the media; those things are deadly to our White society?
Why is it so wrong for a White person to be knowledgeable about the horrendously disproportionate incidence of black-on-White crime (and to a slightly lesser extent other non-White-on-White crime), and then to be upset with that knowledge (that situation)?
Why is it racist and hateful for a White person to know how the mestizo invasion of our southwestern states (all the states, for that matter, but particularly the southern and southwestern tier) is rapidly destroying the European-derived character of our society; the underpinning strength of our Nation?
For that matter, does it somehow make someone a bad person simply to know and understand that Negroes and mestizos will eventually literally destroy the America envisioned by our founders (that they already have, to large extent)? To realize that they are destroying the "American dream" we once held for ourselves and our children?
Is a White man "evil" for simply knowing (recognizing), understanding, and being concerned about the fact that his people -- the founders and primary builders of America -- are being (actually, have already been) socially and politically dispossessed in their own country?
How does it make one a bad person to merely recognize that the ascendancy and proliferation of Negroes and mestizos in America, and of non-Whites in other White countries around the world for that matter; will eventually result in the utter destruction of our culture and our societies, and even the literal genocide of our people?
Does it really make one a bigot, or hater, to want to see their children grow up within a White, European-derived popular culture instead of a Negrified, mestizo/Hispanic, or Jew-porn or Jew-filth "culture"?
Is it really evil to simply prefer to be around people like yourself -- to have the right to preferentially associate with people like yourself (or conversely, to not associate with "others") if that is what you prefer and what you want to do?
Seriously now, does it make one a hater and bigot to know what the Jews say about their being the "chosen" people and about the "goyim" (us White people) being inferior animals, or cattle? And for being a little upset about the blatant obnoxiousness of such beliefs?
Are you a bad person merely because you know the true history of Jewish involvement in -- nay, Jewish responsibility for -- the drowning of White America in a sea of colored immigrants since 1965?
Does it make one a racist/hater to simply understand the Jewish role in the dispossession of Whites in America via the so-called "civil rights movement" of the 1960s and the resulting forced integration and race-mixing?
And how about other Jewish historical influence these past 100 years? Does it make a person a horrible, racist anti-Semite simply to know that, without the efforts and influence of complicit Jews, there most likely would never have been a World War I or World War II, a Russian revolution, and eastern European communism that resulted in tens of millions of Caucasians being killed in that horrible (and failed) social experiment?
Does it make a person "evil" to know the truth about the so-called WW II "Holocaust" (more accurately the huge Jewish "Holohoax" invention)? To know that the Jews' holocaust is a huge exaggeration if not an out-and-out lie concocted to extort billions of dollars, unwarranted sympathy, and special favors for Jews and Israel?
For that matter, is a person a horrible, unreasonable anti-Semitic "Nazi" just because they learn that most if not all of the never-ending stream of books written by Jews about their concocted "holocaust" experiences have turned out to be filled with lies if not outright cover-to-cover frauds? Because they see good reason to question the "Diary of Anne Frank" story as being a fraud perpetrated by her father Otto Frank and his collaborators after the war; and to question the veracity of many of supposed holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel's scribblings (given all the evidence that he too is most likely a liar and a fraud)?
No, no, no! A thousand times NO! These things I have mentioned -- just a few of many, many more that could be mentioned in connection with our ongoing racial devastation and the Jewish perfidy directed against us -- are not bad, evil, unjustifiedly hateful, bigoted, and senseless opinions and positions. They are real, true, and reasonable conclusions and insights; and therefore there is nothing at all wrong with knowing them and talking about them. It is perfectly appropriate to base your opinions, social positions, and worldview on them, and to act upon them.
White people must shed the self-guilt and self-doubt drilled into them over the past century, and once again stand tall and start to work toward their redemption on the world stage and their rightful place in the world of the future.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
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Remember that Ferrari FF on the ferry you saw earlier heading to the prestigious Amelia Island Concours d'Elegance? Here's how not to unload it.
At least the other cars on its $150 million ferry ride got better treatment, otherwise there might be a horse's head in somebody's bed tonight.
(Hat tip to: Chris!)
Photo Credit: Automotive Addicts


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WASHINGTON — A study commissioned by the State of California says that the new federal health care law will drive up individual insurance premiums, but that subsidies will offset most of the increase for low-income people.
The study, issued Thursday in the midst of a growing national debate over the impact of the law, is significant because California is far ahead of most states in setting up a competitive marketplace, or exchange, where people can buy insurance this fall.
Premiums could increase by an average of 30 percent for higher-income people in California who are now insured and do not qualify for federal insurance subsidies, the study said.
However, it said, people in this group will benefit from new limits on their out-of-pocket medical expenses, so their total cost of care will increase by 20 percent, on average.
The report for the state insurance exchange, known as Covered California, cited several factors contributing to higher premiums: an influx of less healthy people into the individual insurance market, and a requirement for health insurance plans to offer richer benefits and to cover more of the cost of care than is now typical for individual insurance policies.
Another factor, it said, is that federal and state government agencies are imposing new taxes and fees on insurers, which are likely to pass on some of the costs to consumers.
"Health insurance will become relatively less expensive for people with chronic conditions and relatively more expensive for healthier people," said Robert G. Cosway, an actuary at Milliman, a large consulting firm that prepared the report.
Some people, especially those in good health, may drop their insurance because of the premium increases, Mr. Cosway said.
However, the study said that low-income people would see significant reductions in their premiums and out-of-pocket costs, in part because of income tax credits and other subsidies. The total cost of care, it said, will fall by an average of 76 percent for people who are currently insured and have incomes less than 250 percent of the poverty level (meaning less than $28,725 a year for an individual).
The report was prepared to help state officials evaluate proposals from insurers and develop marketing messages to reach consumers.
"There are 5.3 million Californians who will qualify to purchase insurance through the exchange," said Peter V. Lee, the executive director of the California exchange. "Insights gained from this research confirm that most people will experience a positive impact."
The California report follows a study by the Society of Actuaries, a professional organization, suggesting that the new law would contribute to higher insurance costs in the next three years.
Asked about such estimates, Kathleen Sebelius, the secretary of health and human services, acknowledged that costs could rise in the individual insurance market, particularly for men and for younger people. She noted that the law prohibits insurers from charging women more than men and limits their ability to charge higher premiums based on age. "Women are going to see some lower costs, some men are going to see some higher costs," she said Tuesday at a White House briefing. "So it's sort of a one-to-one shift."
Republicans said the Society of Actuaries report validated their concerns. Senator Lamar Alexander, Republican of Tennessee, said, "This nonpartisan report offers more evidence that what I told the president in 2010 is true: individual insurance premiums will rise under his plan."
Under the law, insurers cannot deny coverage or charge higher premiums to people because of pre-existing medical conditions.
As a result, Milliman said in the California study, "we expect the average currently insured to experience premium increases because they will be part of a new risk pool" including sicker people who have been excluded from the market in the past.
The White House says the fears of "rate shock" are overblown. Consumers can move from expensive health plans to more efficient, lower-cost plans, the administration says. Officials also predict that people gaining insurance will, on average, be younger and healthier than those who already have it.


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If the package is stored on an NFS server, use one of the following syntaxes for the package keyword.
package package_name add nfs server_name:/path [retry n] package package_name add nfs://server_name:/path [retry n]
Specifies the package name in the form SUNWname. To view detailed information about packages and their names, on an installed system, use the pkginfo -l command.
Specifies the name of the server where you stored the package.
Specifies the location of the package directory on the specified server. If the path contains $HOST, $HOST is replaced with the name of the host system that you are installing.
Is an optional keyword. n is the maximum number of times the installation process attempts to mount the directory.
In this example, the package profile keyword adds the SUNWnew package from the NFS location nfs://golden/packages/Solaris_10/. If a mount fails, the NFS mount is tried five times.
package SUNWnew add nfs golden:/packages/Solaris_10 retry 5