text: > I'll be willing to give on this, however, I assert that > a decision isn't a decision unless it's published. > > It doesn't help when the people who made the decision > can't seem to remember what it was. _Completely_ untrue. Can you point me to a post where someone said they don't kow what the decision was? I _can_ point you to posts where the consensus was summarized. See, for instance http://www.python.org/pipermail/xml-sig/1999-November/003281.html (and following posts) http://www.python.org/pipermail/xml-sig/1999-November/003313.html The whole affair started in the "4DOM future" thread and continued in the "foo.bar vs. foo.get_bar()", rounding out in the "CORBA compliance for the DOM in Python?" thread and other sundry conversations. > Supposedly, the > decision was that DOM attributes are accessed as ordinary > Python attributes, as in:: > > foo.nodeName Yes. > yet several people seemed to think that attributes are obtained > via accessor functions: > > foo._get_nodeName() Yes. The decision was "both". See the links. -- Uche Ogbuji Principal Consultant email@example.com +01 303 583 9900 x 101 Fourthought, Inc. http://Fourthought.com 4735 East Walnut St, Ste. C, Boulder, CO 80301-2537, USA Software-engineering, knowledge-management, XML, CORBA, Linux, Python


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GetOutside for Outdoor Classroom Day
It's Outdoor Classroom Day on 7th November! Teacher and #GetOutside Champion, Debs Butler, gives us her 5 top ideas for getting the kids learning outside this Autumn.
Ordnance Survey have teamed up with Forest Holidays to offer one lucky winner a fabulous £500 voucher to use towards a self-catering break in a luxury cabin set in breathtaking British woodland. Each cabin comes with soaring windows with dramatic forest views - the majority also feature a private hot tub from which to stargaze late into the night.
The £500 voucher can be used towards a three night weekend stay or four night midweek break at one of nine stunning locations exclusively on Forestry Commission land, subject to availability. These include Thorpe Forest on the Norfolk/ Suffolk borders, Blackwood Forest in Hampshire, Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire, Deerpark in Cornwall, Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire, Cropton or Keldy in North Yorkshire, and Ardgartan Argyll or Strathyre in Scotland.
Whether you're travelling as a group of friends, a couple or with family, your Forest Holidays cabin is your personal sanctuary in the forest, where you are in charge of your own agenda. You can even bring the dog to selected pet friendly accommodation!
The freedom, the fresh air and the forest are yours to enjoy at your own pace. Get ready for action, choosing archery, kayaking or cycling. Or master the art of relaxing, opting for gentle woodland walks, enjoying a sensory spa treatment or simply unwinding in the private comfort of your cabin or hot tub.
All Forest Holiday locations have cycle trails and woodland walks, plus a variety of outdoor activities including Forest Ranger activities. Every location has a resident Forest Ranger - an expert in the life of the forest who is ready and eager to share their woodland skills and knowledge with you.
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Book at www.forestholidays.co.uk or telephone 03330 110495 and quote the code.

subset: commoncrawl


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Before I get to my whole sha-bang, let me tell you guys something exciting:
I'm in my senior year of high school. Graduating in less than a month. And not only that, but I'll be graduating as a 17 year old. (Forget about the fact that my birthday is the day after graduation- I'll still be 17 when I walk the stage which just makes me feel so smart.)
Ahem. So, with that out of the way…being an almost-adult here and have been writing since the second grade, I thought I'll share a ramble on writing. Like…the picture above.
Within my twelve years of school, you know how many times I've been asked that type of question/ been told to me by an English teacher? A Gazillion of times. I bet you have too.
And frankly, as a writer, I'm pretty sure, most of the time, the reasoning behind the blue curtains, isn't what the teacher is saying. Because heck, in my writing, I tend to pick colors I like and that seem to fit the mood of the story. But I don't get that in depth. Maybe sometimes- because as a writer, when I make something symbolic like that work with the storyline, I feel pretty darn impressed. But really? Nah.
Yeah, I'm digressing here, but I figured before I totally lose you, here's my little fun writing question for you all:
Do you believe/tend to write like "the teacher" or "the author" more? Why? As a writer yourself, do you also get annoyed/amused/frustrated when teachers go in depth about something that seems like the picture above?


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Hello everynyan!
Me and @SirTingles are going to wipe the dust off of the Tinychat channel and hang out in it. I can't predict what it will end up like, but we're going to have a good time. Now, for those of you that do not know what tinychat is: it's a site (on which we have an account, or a channel) where everyone with the password can come in and chat, voice chat and primarily show themselves on webcam. Many of you have been on this channel before, but for those of you that haven't (or those that have just forgotten): to get the password all you've gotta do is PM me or SirTingles or post in this thread that you'd like it, and we will send it to you in a PM. Do not post the password in this thread.
We're aiming at wednesdays and saturdays. Time zones and real life situations are going to be problematic, but we all deal with that every day already. Basically it would be cool if you would check out the channel if you get the chance.


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. . . We were a party of eight in the room, and we were talking of contemporary affairs and men.
'I don't understand these men!' observed A.: 'they're such desperate fellows. . . . Really desperate. . . . There has never been anything like it before.'
'Yes, there has,' put in P., a man getting on in years, with grey hair, born some time in the twenties of this century: 'there were desperate characters in former days too, only they were not like the desperate fellows of today. Of the poet Yazikov some one has said that he had enthusiasm, but not applied to anything—an enthusiasm without an object. So it was with those people—their desperateness was without an object. But there, if you'll allow me, I'll tell you the story of my nephew, or rather cousin, Misha Poltyev. It may serve as an example of the desperate characters of those days.
He came into God's world, I remember, in 1828, at his father's native place and property, in one of the sleepiest corners of a sleepy province of the steppes. Misha's father, Andrei Nikolaevitch Poltyev, I remember well to this day. He was a genuine old-world landowner, a God-fearing, sedate man, fairly—for those days—well educated, just a little cracked, to tell the truth—and, moreover, he suffered from epilepsy. . . . That too is an old-world, gentlemanly complaint. . . . Andrei Nikolaevitch's fits were, however, slight, and generally ended in sleep and depression. He was good-hearted, and of an affable demeanour, not without a certain stateliness: I always pictured to myself the tsar Mihail Fedorovitch as like him. The whole life of Andrei Nikolaevitch was passed in the punctual fulfilment of every observance established from old days, in strict conformity with all the usages of the old orthodox holy Russian mode of life. He got up and went to bed, ate his meals, and went to his bath, rejoiced or was wroth (both very rarely, it is true), even smoked his pipe and played cards (two great innovations!), not after his own fancy, not in a way of his own, but according to the custom and ordinance of his fathers—with due decorum and formality. He was tall, well built, and stout; his voice was soft and rather husky, as is so often the case with virtuous people in Russia; he was scrupulously neat in his dress and linen, and wore white cravats and full-skirted snuff-coloured coats, but his noble blood was nevertheless evident; no one could have taken him for a priest's son or a merchant! At all times, on all possible occasions, and in all possible contingencies, Andrei Nikolaevitch knew without fail what ought to be done, what was to be said, and precisely what expressions were to be used; he knew when he ought to take medicine, and just what he ought to take; what omens were to be believed and what might be disregarded . . . in fact, he knew everything that ought to be done. . . . For as everything had been provided for and laid down by one's elders, one had only to be sure not to imagine anything of one's self. . . . And above all, without God's blessing not a step to be taken!—It must be confessed that a deadly dulness reigned supreme in his house, in those low-pitched, warm, dark rooms, that so often resounded with the singing of liturgies and all-night services, and had the smell of incense and Lenten dishes almost always hanging about them!
Andrei Nikolaevitch—no longer in his first youth—married a young lady of a neighbouring family, without fortune, a very nervous and sickly person, who had had a boarding-school education. She played the piano fairly, spoke boarding-school French, was easily moved to enthusiasm, and still more easily to melancholy and even tears. . . . She was of unbalanced character, in fact. She regarded her life as wasted, could not care for her husband, who, 'of course,' did not understand her; but she respected him, . . . she put up with him; and being perfectly honest and perfectly cold, she never even dreamed of another 'affection.' Besides, she was always completely engrossed in the care, first, of her own really delicate health, secondly, of the health of her husband, whose fits always inspired in her something like superstitious horror, and lastly, of her only son, Misha, whom she brought up herself with great zeal. Andrei Nikolaevitch did not oppose his wife's looking after Misha, on the one condition of his education never over-stepping the lines laid down, once and for all, within which everything must move in his house! Thus, for instance, at Christmas-time, and at New Year, and St. Vassily's eve, it was permissible for Misha to dress up and masquerade with the servant boys—and not only permissible, but even a binding duty. . . . But, at any other time, God forbid! and so on, and so on.
I remember Misha at thirteen. He was a very pretty boy, with rosy little cheeks and soft lips (indeed he was soft and plump-looking all over), with prominent liquid eyes, carefully brushed and combed, caressing and modest—a regular little girl! There was only one thing about him I did not like: he rarely laughed; but when he did laugh, his teeth—large white teeth, pointed like an animal's—showed disagreeably, and the laugh itself had an abrupt, even savage, almost animal sound, and there were unpleasant gleams in his eyes. His mother was always praising him for being so obedient and well behaved, and not caring to make friends with rude boys, but always preferring feminine society. 'A mother's darling, a milksop,' his father, Andrei Nikolaevitch, would call him; 'but he's always ready to go into the house of God. . . . And that I am glad to see.' Only one old neighbour, who had been a police captain, once said before me, speaking of Misha, 'Mark my words, he'll be a rebel.' And this saying, I remember, surprised me very much at the time. The old police captain, it is true, used to see rebels on all sides.
Just such an exemplary youth Misha continued to be till the eighteenth year of his age, up to the death of his parents, both of whom he lost almost on the same day. As I was all the while living constantly at Moscow, I heard nothing of my young kinsman. An acquaintance coming from his province did, it is true, inform me that Misha had sold the paternal estate for a trifling sum; but this piece of news struck me as too wildly improbable! And behold, all of a sudden, one autumn morning there flew into the courtyard of my house a carriage, with a pair of splendid trotting horses, and a coachman of monstrous size on the box; and in the carriage, wrapped in a cloak of military cut, with a beaver collar two yards deep, and with a foraging cap cocked on one side, à la diable m'emporte, sat . . . Misha! On catching sight of me (I was standing at the drawing-room window, gazing in astonishment at the flying equipage), he laughed his abrupt laugh, and jauntily flinging back his cloak, he jumped out of the carriage and ran into the house.
'Misha! Mihail Andreevitch!' I was beginning, . . . 'Is it you?'
'Call me Misha,'— he interrupted me. 'Yes, it's I, . . . I, in my own person. . . . I have come to Moscow . . . to see the world . . . and show myself. And here I am, come to see you. What do you say to my horses? . . . Eh?' he laughed again.
Though it was seven years since I had seen Misha last, I recognised him at once. His face had remained just as youthful and as pretty as ever—there was no moustache even visible; only his cheeks looked a little swollen under his eyes, and a smell of spirits came from his lips. 'Have you been long in Moscow?' I inquired.
'I supposed you were at home in the country, looking after the place.' . . .
'Eh! The country I threw up at once! As soon as my parents died—may their souls rest in peace —(Misha crossed himself scrupulously, without a shade of mockery) at once, without a moment's delay, . . . ein, zwei, drei! ha, ha! I let it go cheap, damn it! A rascally fellow turned up. But it's no matter! Anyway, I am living as I fancy, and amusing other people. But why are you staring at me like that? Was I, really, to go dragging on in the same old round, do you suppose? . . . My dear fellow, couldn't I have a glass of something?'
Misha spoke fearfully quick and hurriedly, and, at the same time, as though he were only just waked up from sleep.
'Misha, upon my word!' I wailed; 'have you no fear of God? What do you look like? What an attire! And you ask for a glass too! And to sell such a fine estate for next to nothing. . . . '
'God I fear always, and do not forget,' he broke in. . . . 'But He is good, you know—God is. . . . He will forgive! And I am good too. . . . I have never yet hurt any one in my life. And drink is good too; and as for hurting, . . . it never hurt any one either. And my get-up is quite the most correct thing. . . . Uncle, would you like me to show you I can walk straight? Or to do a little dance?'
'Oh, spare me, please! A dance, indeed! You'd better sit down.'
'As to that, I'll sit down with pleasure. . . . But why do you say nothing of my greys? Just look at them, they're perfect lions! I've got them on hire for the time, but I shall buy them for certain, . . . and the coachman too. . . . It's ever so much cheaper to have one's own horses. And I had the money, but I lost it yesterday at faro. It's no matter, I'll make it up tomorrow. Uncle, . . . how about that little glass?'
I was still unable to get over my amazement. 'Really, Misha, how old are you? You ought not to be thinking about horses or cards, . . . but going into the university or the service.'
Misha first laughed again, then gave vent to a prolonged whistle.
'Well, uncle, I see you're in a melancholy humour today. I'll come back another time. But I tell you what: you come in the evening to Sokolniki. I've a tent pitched there. The gypsies sing, . . . such goings-on. . . . And there's a streamer on the tent, and on the streamer, written in large letters: "The Troupe of Poltyev's Gypsies." The streamer coils like a snake, the letters are of gold, attractive for every one to read. A free entertainment—whoever likes to come! . . . No refusal! I'm making the dust fly in Moscow . . . to my glory! . . . Eh? will you come? Ah, I've one girl there . . . a serpent! Black as your boot, spiteful as a dog, and eyes . . . like living coals! One can never tell what she's going to do—kiss or bite! . . . Will you come, uncle? . . . Well, good-bye, till we meet!'
And with a sudden embrace, and a smacking kiss on my shoulder, Misha darted away into the courtyard, and into the carriage, waved his cap over his head, hallooed—the monstrous coachman leered at him over his beard, the greys dashed off, and all vanished!
The next day I— like a sinner—set off to Sokolniki, and did actually see the tent with the streamer and the inscription. The drapery of the tent was raised; from it came clamour, creaking, and shouting. Crowds of people were thronging round it. On a carpet spread on the ground sat gypsies, men and women, singing and beating drums, and in the midst of them, in a red silk shirt and velvet breeches, was Misha, holding a guitar, dancing a jig. 'Gentlemen! honoured friends! walk in, please! the performance is just beginning! Free to all!' he was shouting in a high, cracked voice. 'Hey! champagne! pop! a pop on the head! pop up to the ceiling! Ha! you rogue there, Paul de Kock!'
Luckily he did not see me, and I hastily made off.
I won't enlarge on my astonishment at the spectacle of this transformation. But, how was it actually possible for that quiet and modest boy to change all at once into a drunken buffoon? Could it all have been latent in him from childhood, and have come to the surface directly the yoke of his parents' control was removed? But that he had made the dust fly in Moscow, as he expressed it—of that, certainly, there could be no doubt. I have seen something of riotous living in my day; but in this there was a sort of violence, a sort of frenzy of self-destruction, a sort of desperation!
For two months these diversions continued. . . . And once more I was standing at my drawing-room window, looking into the courtyard. . . . All of a sudden—what could it mean? . . . there came slowly stepping in at the gate a pilgrim . . . a squash hat pulled down on his forehead, his hair combed out straight to right and left below it, a long gown, a leather belt . . . Could it be Misha? He it was!
I went to meet him on the steps. . . . 'What's this masquerade for?' I demanded.
'It's not a masquerade, uncle,' Misha answered with a deep sigh: since all I had I've squandered to the last farthing—and a great repentance too has come upon me—so I have resolved to go to the Sergiev monastery of the Holy Trinity to expiate my sins in prayer. For what refuge was left me? . . . And so I have come to you to say good-bye, uncle, like a prodigal son.'
I looked intently at Misha. His face was just the same, rosy and fresh (indeed it remained almost unchanged to the end), and the eyes, liquid, affectionate, and languishing—and the hands, as small and white. . . . But he smelt of spirits.
'Well,' I pronounced at last, 'it's a good thing to do—since there's nothing else to be done. But why is it you smell of spirits?'
'A relic of the past,' answered Misha, and he suddenly laughed, but immediately pulled himself up, and, making a straight, low bow—a monk's bow—he added: 'Won't you help me on my way? I'm going, see, on foot to the monastery. . . . '
'To-day . . . at once.'
'Why be in such a hurry?'
'Uncle, my motto always was, "Make haste, make haste!"'
'But what is your motto now?'
'It's the same now. . . . Only, make haste towards good!'
And so Misha went off, leaving me to ponder on the vicissitudes of human destiny.
But he soon reminded me of his existence. Two months after his visit, I got a letter from him, the first of those letters, of which later on he furnished me with so abundant a supply. And note a peculiar fact: I have seldom seen a neater, more legible handwriting than that unbalanced fellow's. And the wording of his letters was exceedingly correct, just a little flowery. Invariable entreaties for assistance, always attended with resolutions to reform, vows, and promises on his honour. . . . All of it seemed—and perhaps was—sincere. Misha's signature to his letters was always accompanied by peculiar strokes, flourishes, and stops, and he made great use of marks of exclamation. In this first letter Misha informed me of a new 'turn in his fortune.' (Later on he used to refer to these turns as plunges, . . . and frequent were the plunges he took.) He was starting for the Caucasus on active service for his tsar and his country in the capacity of a cadet! And, though a certain benevolent aunt had entered into his impecunious position, and had sent him an inconsiderable sum, still he begged me to assist him in getting his equipment. I did what he asked, and for two years I heard nothing more of him.
I must own I had the gravest doubts as to his having gone to the Caucasus. But it turned out that he really had gone there, had, by favour, got into the T—— regiment as a cadet, and had been serving in it for those two years. A perfect series of legends had sprung up there about him. An officer of his regiment related them to me.
I learned a great deal which I should never have expected of him.—I was, of course, hardly surprised that as a military man, as an officer, he was not a success, that he was in fact worse than useless; but what I had not anticipated was that he was by no means conspicuous for much bravery; that in battle he had a downcast, woebegone air, seemed half-depressed, half-bewildered. Discipline of every sort worried him, and made him miserable; he was daring to the point of insanity when only his own personal safety was in question; no bet was too mad for him to accept; but do harm to others, kill, fight, he could not, possibly because his heart was too good—or possibly because his 'cottonwool' education (so he expressed it), had made him too soft. Himself he was quite ready to murder in any way at any moment. . . . But others—no. 'There's no making him out,' his comrades said of him; 'he's a flabby creature, a poor stick—and yet such a desperate fellow—a perfect madman!' I chanced in later days to ask Misha what evil spirit drove him, forced him, to drink to excess, risk his life, and so on. He always had one answer —'wretchedness.'
'But why are you wretched?'
'Why! how can you ask? If one comes, anyway, to one's self, begins to feel, to think of the poverty, of the injustice, of Russia. . . . Well, it's all over with me! . . . one's so wretched at once—one wants to put a bullet through one's head! One's forced to start drinking.'
'Why ever do you drag Russia in?'
'How can I help it? Can't be helped! That's why I'm afraid to think.'
'It all comes, and your wretchedness too, from having nothing to do.'
'But I don't know how to do anything, uncle! dear fellow! Take one's life, and stake it on a card—that I can do! Come, you tell me what I ought to do, what to risk my life for? This instant . . . I'll . . . '
'But you must simply live. . . . Why risk your life?'
'I can't! You say I act thoughtlessly. . . . But what else can I do? . . . If one starts thinking—good God, all that comes into one's head! It's only Germans who can think! . . . '
What use was it talking to him? He was a desperate man, and that's all one can say.
Of the Caucasus legends I have spoken about, I will tell you two or three. One day, in a party of officers, Misha began boasting of a sabre he had got by exchange —'a genuine Persian blade!' The officers expressed doubts as to its genuineness. Misha began disputing. 'Here then,' he cried at last; 'they say the man that knows most about sabres is Abdulka the one-eyed. I'll go to him, and ask.' The officers wondered. 'What Abdulka? Do you mean that lives in the mountains? The rebel never subdued? Abdul-khan?' 'Yes, that's him.' 'Why, but he'll take you for a spy, will put you in a hole full of bugs, or else cut your head off with your own sabre. And, besides, how are you going to get to him? They'll catch you directly.' 'I'll go to him, though, all the same.' 'Bet you won't!' 'Taken!' And Misha promptly saddled his horse and rode off to Abdulka. He disappeared for three days. All felt certain that the crazy fellow had come by his end. But, behold! he came back—drunk, and with a sabre, not the one he had taken, but another. They began questioning him. 'It was all right,' said he; 'Abdulka's a nice fellow. At first, it's true, he ordered them to put irons on my legs, and was even on the point of having me impaled. Only, I explained why I had come, and showed him the sabre. "And you'd better not keep me," said I; "don't expect a ransom for me; I've not a farthing to bless myself with—and I've no relations." Abdulka was surprised; he looked at me with his solitary eye. "Well," said he, "you are a bold one, you Russian; am I to believe you?" "You may believe me," said I; "I never tell a lie." (And this was true; Misha never lied.) Abdulka looked at me again. "And do you know how to drink wine?" "I do," said I; "give me as much as you will, I'll drink it." Abdulka was surprised again; he called on Allah. And he told his—daughter, I suppose—such a pretty creature, only with an eye like a jackal's—to bring a wine-skin. And I began to get to work on it. "But your sabre," said he, "isn't genuine; here, take the real thing. And now we are pledged friends." But you've lost your bet, gentlemen; pay up.'
The second legend of Misha is of this nature. He was passionately fond of cards; but as he had no money, and could never pay his debts at cards (though he was never a card-sharper), no one at last would sit down to a game with him. So one day he began urgently begging one of his comrades among the officers to play with him! 'But if you lose, you don't pay.' 'The money certainly I can't pay, but I'll put a shot through my left hand, see, with this pistol here!' 'But whatever use will that be to me?' 'No use, but still it will be curious.' This conversation took place after a drinking bout in the presence of witnesses. Whether it was that Misha's proposition struck the officer as really curious—anyway he agreed. Cards were brought, the game began. Misha was in luck; he won a hundred roubles. And thereupon his opponent struck his forehead with vexation. 'What an ass I am!' he cried, 'to be taken in like this! As if you'd have shot your hand if you had lost!—a likely story! hold out your purse!' 'That's a lie,' retorted Misha: 'I've won—but I'll shoot my hand.' He snatched up his pistol—and bang, fired at his own hand. The bullet passed right through it . . . and in a week the wound had completely healed.
Another time, Misha was riding with his comrades along a road at night . . . and they saw close to the roadside a narrow ravine like a deep cleft, dark—so dark you couldn't see the bottom. 'Look,' said one of the officers, 'Misha may be a desperate fellow, but he wouldn't leap into that ravine.' 'Yes, I'd leap in!' 'No, you wouldn't, for I dare say it's seventy feet deep, and you might break your neck.' His friend knew his weak point—vanity. . . . There was a great deal of it in Misha. 'But I'll leap in anyway! Would you like to bet on it? Ten roubles.' 'Good!' And the officer had hardly uttered the word, when Misha and his horse were off—into the ravine—and crashing down over the stones. All were simply petrified. . . . A full minute passed, and they heard Misha's voice, dimly, as it were rising up out of the bowels of the earth: 'All right! fell on the sand . . . but it was a long flight! Ten roubles you've lost!'
'Climb out!' shouted his comrades. 'Climb out, I dare say!' echoed Misha. 'A likely story! I should like to see you climb out. You'll have to go for torches and ropes now. And, meanwhile, to keep up my spirits while I wait, fling down a flask. . . . '
And so Misha had to stay five hours at the bottom of the ravine; and when they dragged him out, it turned out that his shoulder was dislocated. But that in no way troubled him. The next day a bone-setter, one of the black-smiths, set his shoulder, and he used it as though nothing had been the matter.
His health in general was marvellous, incredible. I have already mentioned that up to the time of his death he kept his almost childishly fresh complexion. Illness was a thing unknown to him, in spite of his excesses; the strength of his constitution never once showed signs of giving way. When any other man would infallibly have been seriously ill, or even have died, he merely shook himself, like a duck in the water, and was more blooming than ever. Once, also in the Caucasus . . . this legend is really incredible, but one may judge from it what Misha was thought to be capable of. . . . Well, once, in the Caucasus, in a state of drunkenness, he fell down with the lower half of his body in a stream of water; his head and arms were on the bank, out of water. It was winter-time, there was a hard frost, and when he was found next morning, his legs and body were pulled out from under a thick layer of ice, which had formed over them in the night—and he didn't even catch cold! Another time—this was in Russia (near Orel, and also in a time of severe frost)— he was in a tavern outside the town in company with seven young seminarists (or theological students), and these seminarists were celebrating their final examination, but had invited Misha, as a delightful person, a man of 'inspiration,' as the phrase was then. A very great deal was drunk, and when at last the festive party got ready to depart, Misha, dead drunk, was in an unconscious condition. All the seven seminarists together had but one three-horse sledge with a high back; where were they to stow the unresisting body? Then one of the young men, inspired by classical reminiscences, proposed tying Misha by his feet to the back of the sledge, as Hector was tied to the chariot of Achilles! The proposal met with approval . . . and jolting up and down over the holes, sliding sideways down the slopes, with his legs torn and flayed, and his head rolling in the snow, poor Misha travelled on his back for the mile and a half from the tavern to the town, and hadn't as much as a cough afterwards, hadn't turned a hair! Such heroic health had nature bestowed upon him!
From the Caucasus he came again to Moscow, in a Circassian dress, a dagger in his sash, a high-peaked cap on his head. This costume he retained to the end, though he was no longer in the army, from which he had been discharged for outstaying his leave. He stayed with me, borrowed a little money . . . and forthwith began his 'plunges,' his wanderings, or, as he expressed it, 'his peregrinations from pillar to post,' then came the sudden disappearances and returns, and the showers of beautifully written letters addressed to people of every possible description, from an archbishop down to stable-boys and mid-wives! Then came calls upon persons known and unknown! And this is worth noticing: when he made these calls, he was never abject and cringing, he never worried people by begging, but on the contrary behaved with propriety, and had positively a cheerful and pleasant air, though the inveterate smell of spirits accompanied him everywhere, and his Oriental costume gradually changed into rags. 'Give, and God will reward you, though I don't deserve it,' he would say, with a bright smile and a candid blush; 'if you don't give, you'll be perfectly right, and I shan't blame you for it. I shall find food to eat, God will provide! And there are people poorer than I, and much more deserving of help—plenty, plenty!' Misha was particularly successful with women: he knew how to appeal to their sympathy. But don't suppose that he was or fancied himself a Lovelace. . . . Oh, no! in that way he was very modest. Whether it was that he had inherited a cool temperament from his parents, or whether indeed this too is to be set down to his dislike for doing any one harm—as, according to his notions, relations with a woman meant inevitably doing a woman harm—I won't undertake to decide; only in all his behaviour with the fair sex he was extremely delicate. Women felt this, and were the more ready to sympathise with him and help him, until at last he revolted them by his drunkenness and debauchery, by the desperateness of which I have spoken already. . . . I can think of no other word for it.
But in other relations he had by that time lost every sort of delicacy, and was gradually sinking to the lowest depths of degradation. He once, in the public assembly at T——got as far as setting on the table a jug with a notice: 'Any one, to whom it may seem agreeable to give the high-born nobleman Poltyev (authentic documents in proof of his pedigree are herewith exposed) a flip on the nose, may satisfy this inclination on putting a rouble into this jug.' And I am told there were persons found willing to pay for the privilege of flipping a nobleman's nose! It is true that one such person, who put in only one rouble and gave him two flips, he first almost strangled, and then forced to apologise; it is true, too, that part of the money gained in this fashion he promptly distributed among other poor devils . . . but still, think what a disgrace!
In the course of his 'peregrinations from pillar to post,' he made his way, too, to his ancestral home, which he had sold for next to nothing to a speculator and money-lender well known in those days. The money-lender was at home, and hearing of the presence in the neighbourhood of the former owner, now reduced to vagrancy, he gave orders not to admit him into the house, and even, in case of necessity, to drive him away. Misha announced that he would not for his part consent to enter the house, polluted by the presence of so repulsive a person; that he would permit no one to drive him away, but was going to the churchyard to pay his devotions at the grave of his parents. So in fact he did.
In the churchyard he was joined by an old house-serf, who had once been his nurse. The money-lender had deprived this old man of his monthly allowance, and driven him off the estate; since then his refuge had been a corner in a peasant's hut. Misha had been too short a time in possession of his estate to have left behind him a particularly favourable memory; still the old servant could not resist running to the churchyard as soon as he heard of his young master's being there. He found Misha sitting on the ground between the tombstones, asked for his hand to kiss, as in old times, and even shed tears on seeing the rags which clothed the limbs of his once pampered young charge.
Misha gazed long and silently at the old man. 'Timofay!' he said at last; Timofay started.
'What do you desire?'
'Have you a spade?'
'I can get one. . . . But what do you want with a spade, Mihailo Andreitch, sir?'
'I want to dig myself a grave, Timofay, and to lie here for time everlasting between my father and mother. There's only this spot left me in the world. Get a spade!'
'Yes, sir,' said Timofay; he went and got it. And Misha began at once digging in the ground, while Timofay stood by, his chin propped in his hand, repeating: 'It's all that's left for you and me, master!'
Misha dug and dug, from time to time observing: 'Life's not worth living, is it, Timofay?'
'It's not indeed, master.'
The hole was already of a good depth. People saw what Misha was about, and ran to tell the new owner about it. The money-lender was at first very angry, wanted to send for the police: 'This is sacrilege,' said he. But afterwards, probably reflecting that it was inconvenient anyway to have to do with such a madman, and that it might lead to a scandal—he went in his own person to the churchyard, and approaching Misha, still toiling, made him a polite bow. He went on with his digging as though he had not noticed his successor. 'Mihail Andreitch,' began the money-lender, 'allow me to ask what you are doing here?'
'You can see—I am digging myself a grave.'
'Why are you doing so?'
'Because I don't want to live any longer.'
The money-lender fairly threw up his hands in amazement. 'You don't want to live?'
Misha glanced menacingly at the money-lender. 'That surprises you? Aren't you the cause of it all? . . . You? . . . You? . . . Wasn't it you, Judas, who robbed me, taking advantage of my childishness? Aren't you flaying the peasants' skins off their backs? Haven't you taken from this poor old man his crust of dry bread? Wasn't it you? . . . O God! everywhere nothing but injustice, and oppression, and evil-doing. . . . Everything must go to ruin then, and me too! I don't care for life, I don't care for life in Russia!' And the spade moved faster than ever in Misha's hands.
'Here's a devil of a business!' thought the money-lender; 'he's positively burying himself alive.' 'Mihail Andreevitch,' he began again: 'listen. I've been behaving badly to you, indeed; they told me falsely of you.'
Misha went on digging.
'But why be desperate?'
Misha still went on digging, and kept throwing the earth at the money-lender's feet, as though to say, 'Here you are, land-grabber.'
'Really, you 're wrong in this. Won't you be pleased to come in to have some lunch, and rest a bit?'
Misha raised his head. 'So that's it now! And anything to drink?'
The money-lender was delighted. 'Why, of course . . . I should think so.'
'You invite Timofay too?'
'Well, . . . yes, him too.'
Misha pondered. 'Only, mind . . . you made me a beggar, you know. . . . Don't think you can get off with one bottle!'
'Set your mind at rest . . . there shall be all you can want.'
Misha got up and flung down the spade. . . . 'Well, Timosha,' said he to his old nurse; 'let's do honour to our host. . . . Come along.'
'Yes, sir,' answered the old man.
And all three started off to the house together. The money-lender knew the man he had to deal with. At the first start Misha, it is true, exacted a promise from him to 'grant all sorts of immunities' to the peasants; but an hour later, this same Misha, together with Timofay, both drunk, were dancing a galop in the big apartments, which still seemed pervaded by the God-fearing shade of Andrei Nikolaevitch; and an hour later still, Misha in a dead sleep (he had a very weak head for spirits), laid in a cart with his high cap and dagger, was being driven off to the town, more than twenty miles away, and there was flung under a hedge. . . . As for Timofay, who could still keep on his legs, and only hiccupped—him, of course, they kicked out of the house; since they couldn't get at the master, they had to be content with the old servant.
Some time passed again, and I heard nothing of Misha. . . . God knows what he was doing. But one day, as I sat over the samovar at a posting-station on the T—— highroad, waiting for horses, I suddenly heard under the open window of the station room a hoarse voice, uttering in French the words: 'Monsieur . . . monsieur . . . prenez pitié d'un pauvre gentil-homme ruiné.' . . . I lifted my head, glanced. . . . The mangy-looking fur cap, the broken ornaments on the ragged Circassian dress, the dagger in the cracked sheath, the swollen, but still rosy face, the dishevelled, but still thick crop of hair. . . . Mercy on us! Misha! He had come then to begging alms on the high-roads. I could not help crying out. He recognised me, started, turned away, and was about to move away from the window. I stopped him . . . but what could I say to him? Give him a lecture? . . . In silence I held out a five-rouble note; he, also in silence, took it in his still white and plump, though shaking and dirty hand, and vanished round the corner of the house.
It was a good while before they gave me horses, and I had time to give myself up to gloomy reflections on my unexpected meeting with Misha; I felt ashamed of having let him go so unsympathetically.
At last I set off on my way, and half a mile from the station I observed ahead of me, in the road, a crowd of people moving along with a curious, as it seemed rhythmic, step. I overtook this crowd—and what did I see?
Some dozen or so beggars, with sacks over their shoulders, were walking two by two, singing and leaping about, while in front of them danced Misha, stamping time with his feet, and shouting, 'Natchiki-tchikaldy, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk! . . . Natchiki-tchikaldy, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk!' Directly my carriage caught them up, and he saw me, he began at once shouting, 'Hurrah! Stand in position! right about face, guard of the roadside!'
The beggars took up his shout, and halted; while he, with his peculiar laugh, jumped on to the carriage step, and again yelled: Hurrah!
'What's the meaning of this?' I asked with involuntary astonishment.
'This? This is my company, my army—all beggars, God's people, friends of my heart. Every one of them, thanks to you, has had a glass; and now we are all rejoicing and making merry! . . . Uncle! Do you know it's only with beggars, God's people, that one can live in the world . . . by God, it is!'
I made him no answer . . . but at that moment he struck me as such a kind good creature, his face expressed such childlike simple-heartedness. . . . A light seemed suddenly as it were to dawn upon me, and I felt a pang in my heart. . . . 'Get into the carriage,' I said to him. He was taken aback. . . .
'What? Into the carriage?'
'Yes, get in, get in,' I repeated; 'I want to make you a suggestion. Sit down. . . . Come along with me.'
'Well, as you will.' He sat down. 'Well, and you, my honoured friends, my dear comrades,' he added, addressing the beggars, 'fare-well, till we meet again.' Misha took off his high cap, and bowed low. The beggars all seemed overawed. . . . I told the coachman to whip up the horses, and the carriage rolled off.
The suggestion I wanted to make Misha was this: the idea suddenly occurred to me to take him with me to my home in the country, about five-and-twenty miles from that station, to rescue him, or at least to make an effort to rescue him. 'Listen, Misha,' I said; 'will you come along and live with me? . . . You shall have everything provided you; you shall have clothes and linen made you; you shall be properly fitted out, and you shall have money to spend on tobacco, and so on, only on one condition, that you give up drink. . . . Do you agree?'
Misha was positively aghast with delight; he opened his eyes wide, flushed crimson, and suddenly falling on my shoulder, began kissing me, and repeating in a broken voice, 'Uncle . . . benefactor . . . God reward you.' . . . He burst into tears at last, and taking off his cap fell to wiping his eyes, his nose, his lips with it.
'Mind,' I observed; 'remember the condition, not to touch strong drink.'
'Damnation to it!' he cried, with a wave of both arms, and with this impetuous movement, I was more than ever conscious of the strong smell of spirits with which he seemed always saturated. . . . 'Uncle, if you knew what my life has been. . . . If it hadn't been for sorrow, a cruel fate. . . . But now I swear, I swear, I will mend my ways, I will show you. . . . Uncle, I've never told a lie—you can ask whom you like. . . . I'm honest, but I'm an unlucky fellow, uncle; I've known no kindness from any one. . . . '
Here he broke down finally into sobs. I tried to soothe him, and succeeded so far that when we reached home Misha had long been lost in a heavy sleep, with his head on my knees.
He was at once assigned a room for himself, and at once, first thing, taken to the bath, which was absolutely essential. All his clothes, and his dagger and cap and torn boots, were carefully put away in a loft; he was dressed in clean linen, slippers, and some clothes of mine, which, as is always the way with poor relations, at once seemed to adapt themselves to his size and figure. When he came to table, washed, clean, and fresh, he seemed so touched and happy, he beamed all over with such joyful gratitude, that I too felt moved and joyful. . . . His face was completely transformed. . . . Boys of twelve have faces like that on Easter Sundays, after the communion, when, thickly pomaded, in new jacket and starched collars, they come to exchange Easter greetings with their parents. Misha was continually—with a sort of cautious incredulity—feeling himself and repeating: 'What does it mean? . . . Am I in heaven?' The next day he announced that he had not slept all night, he had been in such ecstasy.
I had living in my house at that time an old aunt with her niece; both of them were extremely disturbed when they heard of Misha's presence; they could not comprehend how I could have asked him into my house! There were very ugly rumours about him. But in the first place, I knew he was always very courteous with ladies; and, secondly, I counted on his promises of amendment. And, in fact, for the first two days of his stay under my roof Misha not merely justified my expectations but surpassed them, while the ladies of the household were simply enchanted with him. He played piquet with the old lady, helped her to wind her worsted, showed her two new games of patience; for the niece, who had a small voice, he played accompaniments on the piano, and read Russian and French poetry. He told both the ladies lively but discreet anecdotes; in fact, he showed them every attention, so that they repeatedly expressed their surprise to me, and the old lady even observed how unjust people sometimes were. . . . The things—the things they had said of him . . . and he such a quiet fellow, and so polite . . . poor Misha! It is true that at table 'poor Misha' licked his lips in a rather peculiar, hurried way, if he simply glanced at the bottle. But I had only to shake my finger at him, and he would turn his eyes upwards, and lay his hand on his heart . . . as if to say, I have sworn. . . . 'I am regenerated now,' he assured me. . . . 'Well, God grant it be so,' was my thought. . . . But this regeneration did not last long.
The first two days he was very talkative and cheerful. But even on the third day he seemed somehow subdued, though he remained, as before, with the ladies and tried to entertain them. A half mournful, half dreamy expression flitted now and then over his face, and the face itself was paler and looked thinner. 'Are you unwell?' I asked him.
'Yes,' he answered; 'my head aches a little.' On the fourth day he was completely silent; for the most part he sat in a corner, hanging his head disconsolately, and his dejected appearance worked upon the compassionate sympathies of the two ladies, who now, in their turn, tried to amuse him. At table he ate nothing, stared at his plate, and rolled up pellets of bread. On the fifth day the feeling of compassion in the ladies began to be replaced by other emotions—uneasiness and even alarm. Misha was so strange, he held aloof from people, and kept moving along close to the walls, as though trying to steal by unnoticed, and suddenly looking round as though some one had called him. And what had become of his rosy colour? It seemed covered over by a layer of earth. 'Are you still unwell?' I asked him.
'No, I'm all right,' he answered abruptly.
'Are you dull?'
'Why should I be dull?' But he turned away and would not look me in the face.
'Or is it that wretchedness come over you again?' To this he made no reply. So passed another twenty-four hours.
Next day my aunt ran into my room in a state of great excitement, declaring that she would leave the house with her niece, if Misha was to remain in it.
'Why so?'
'Why, we are dreadfully scared with him. . . . He's not a man, he's a wolf—nothing better than a wolf. He keeps moving and moving about, and doesn't speak—and looks so wild. . . . He almost gnashes his teeth at me. My Katia, you know, is so nervous. . . . She was so struck with him the first day. . . . I'm in terror for her, and indeed for myself too.' . . . I didn't know what to say to my aunt. I couldn't, anyway, turn Misha out, after inviting him.
He relieved me himself from my difficult position. The same day—I was still sitting in my own room—suddenly I heard behind me a husky and angry voice: 'Nikolai Nikolaitch, Nikolai Nikolaitch!' I looked round; Misha was standing in the doorway with a face that was fearful, black-looking and distorted. 'Nikolai Nikolaitch!' he repeated . . . (not 'uncle' now).
'What do you want?'
'Let me go . . . at once!'
'Let me go, or I shall do mischief, I shall set the house on fire or cut some one's throat.' Misha suddenly began trembling. 'Tell them to give me back my clothes, and let a cart take me to the highroad, and let me have some money, however little!'
'Are you displeased, then, at anything?'
'I can't live like this!' he shrieked at the top of his voice. 'I can't live in your respectable, thrice-accursed house! It makes me sick, and ashamed to live so quietly! . . . How you manage to endure it!'
'That is,' I interrupted in my turn, 'you mean—you can't live without drink. . . . '
'Well, yes! yes!' he shrieked again: 'only let me go to my brethren, my friends, to the beggars! . . . Away from your respectable, loathsome species!'
I was about to remind him of his sworn promises, but Misha's frenzied look, his breaking voice, the convulsive tremor in his limbs—it was all so awful, that I made haste to get rid of him; I said that his clothes should be given him at once, and a cart got ready; and taking a note for twenty-five roubles out of a drawer, I laid it on the table. Misha had begun to advance in a menacing way towards me—but on this, suddenly he stopped, his face worked, flushed, he struck himself on the breast, the tears rushed from his eyes, and muttering, 'Uncle! angel! I know I'm a ruined man! thanks! thanks!' he snatched up the note and ran away.
An hour later he was sitting in the cart dressed once more in his Circassian costume, again rosy and cheerful; and when the horses started, he yelled, tore off the peaked cap, and, waving it over his head, made bow after bow. Just as he was going off, he had given me a long and warm embrace, and whispered, 'Benefactor, benefactor . . . there's no saving me!' He even ran to the ladies and kissed their hands, fell on his knees, called upon God, and begged their forgiveness! Katia I found afterwards in tears.
The coachman, with whom Misha had set off, on coming home informed me that he had driven him to the first tavern on the highroad—and that there 'his honour had stuck,' had begun treating every one indiscriminately—and had quickly sunk into unconsciousness. From that day I never came across Misha again, but his ultimate fate I learned in the following manner.
Three years later, I was again at home in the country; all of a sudden a servant came in and announced that Madame Poltyev was asking to see me. I knew no Madame Poltyev, and the servant, who made this announcement, for some unknown reason smiled sarcastically. To my glance of inquiry, he responded that the lady asking for me was young, poorly dressed, and had come in a peasant's cart with one horse, which she was driving herself! I told him to ask Madame Poltyev up to my room.
I saw a woman of five-and-twenty, in the dress of the small tradesman class, with a large kerchief on her head. Her face was simple, roundish, not without charm; she looked dejected and gloomy, and was shy and awkward in her movements.
'You are Madame Poltyev?' I inquired, and I asked her to sit down.
'Yes,' she answered in a subdued voice, and she did not sit down. 'I am the widow of your nephew, Mihail Andreevitch Poltyev.'
'Is Mihail Andreevitch dead? Has he been dead long? But sit down, I beg.'
She sank into a chair.
'It's two months.'
'And had you been married to him long?'
'I had been a year with him.'
'Where have you come from now?'
'From out Tula way. . . . There's a village there, Znamenskoe-Glushkovo—perhaps you may know it. I am the daughter of the deacon there. Mihail Andreitch and I lived there. . . . He lived in my father's house. We were a whole year together.'
The young woman's lips twitched a little, and she put her hand up to them. She seemed to be on the point of tears, but she controlled herself, and cleared her throat.
'Mihail Andreitch,' she went on: 'before his death enjoined upon me to go to you; "You must be sure to go," said he! And he told me to thank you for all your goodness, and to give you . . . this . . . see, this little thing (she took a small packet out of her pocket) which he always had about him. . . . And Mihail Andreitch said, if you would be pleased to accept it in memory of him, if you would not disdain it. . . . "There's nothing else," said he, "I can give him" . . . that is, you. . . . '
In the packet there was a little silver cup with the monogram of Misha's mother. This cup I had often seen in Misha's hands, and once he had even said to me, speaking of some poor fellow, that he really was destitute, since he had neither cup nor bowl, 'while I, see, have this anyway.'
I thanked her, took the cup, and asked:
'Of what complaint had Misha died? No doubt. . . . '
Then I bit my tongue . . . but the young woman understood my unuttered hint. . . . She took a swift glance at me, then looked down again, smiled mournfully, and said at once: 'Oh no! he had quite given that up, ever since he got to know me . . . But he had no health at all! . . . It was shattered quite. As soon as he gave up drink, he fell into ill health directly. He became so steady; he always wanted to help father in his land or in the garden, . . . or any other work there might be . . . in spite of his being of noble birth. But how could he get the strength? . . . At writing, too, he tried to work; as you know, he could do that work capitally, but his hands shook, and he couldn't hold the pen properly. . . . He was always finding fault with himself; "I'm a white-handed poor creature," he would say; "I've never done any good to anybody, never helped, never laboured!" He worried himself very much about that. . . . He used to say that our people labour—but what use are we? . . . Ah, Nikolai Nikolaitch, he was a good man—and he was fond of me . . . and I . . . Ah, pardon me. . . . '
Here the young woman wept outright. I would have consoled her, but I did not know how.
'Have you a child left you?' I asked at last.
She sighed. 'No, no child. . . . Is it likely?' And her tears flowed faster than ever.
'And so that was how Misha's troubled wanderings had ended,' the old man P. wound up his narrative. 'You will agree with me, I am sure, that I'm right in calling him a desperate character; but you will most likely agree too that he was not like the desperate characters of today; still, a philosopher, you must admit, would find a family likeness between him and them. In him and in them there's the thirst for self-destruction, the wretchedness, the dissatisfaction. . . . And what it all comes from, I leave the philosopher to decide.'
BOUGIVALLE, November 1881.
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 12:01


text:
It's Blitz!
Released: 3.10.09
Rating: 6.75 out of 10
In 2002, Yeah Yeah Yeahs singer Karen O was interviewed for a documentary entitled, Kill Your Idols, that focused on NYC's No Wave movement in the late 70s and how it influenced the millennium's crop of retro-wavers and two-car garage rockers. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs were still an up and coming act whose presence was regionally felt, Fever To Tell and "Maps" yet to wrap themselves around hipster America's cerebral cortex. Karen O, amidst an unsettling surplus of "like, like, y'know," basically appropriates the unoriginal Noel Gallagher-ism about acting like the biggest band in the world. I can't say it hasn't gotten her far.
As the motored fuzz of 2003's Fever To Tell rang in an era of noise for Karen O and her two faithful Yeahs (Yeah #2, guitarist Nick Zinner, and Yeah #3, drummer Brian Chase), the badass fishnet anti-fashionista hollering and gasping like Siouxsie Sioux mid-smoker's hack has found the excess and glamorous plasticity in being a rock star, and now wears it with dazzled extravagance like a fine fur. It's Blitz, the Yeahs' third album, takes the bleeding ink stamped hand of Karen O, washes it, manicures it, and gently escorts it through the velvet rope and past the doors of VIP exclusivity. Meet Karen Ohhhhhhh. Watch the bulbs flash.
It's easy to say that she went Blondie, NYC's celeb-sampler of rock females providing enough examples for ease of comparability. But, as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs have made for themselves at least a credible ink spot in the annals of contemporary music, I believe it's fair to say that O is working to fashion her own celebrity, twisting the source material enough to tie it firmly around her microphone. She's gotten fabulous about it that's all, "glitter on the wet streets/silver on everything" her new steez.
However, I wouldn't accuse It's Blitz! of being anything other than a progressive experiment, as O is still in the dressing room, her partners left holding the purse, sitting on the cushioned meat seat while she figures it all out and asks, "How about this one? What about this one?" As the album's first single, "Zero," sparkles like a disco ball exchanging reflections with a coke mirror, its clubbish, dance-friendly drive is a shock to anyone unaware of their shift.
Maintaining some post-punk cred with producer Nicky Launay (Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, PiL, Gang Of Four), aided by TV On The Radio's Dave Sitek, It's Blitz! caters to an historical perspective regarding the permutation of punk to post-punk to new wave, as the initial "fuck you" gesture of crudely sewn rags ultimately mutates into Madonna-wear. O demands, "Dance! Dance! Dance till you're dead," for glam'd shaker "Heads Will Roll" and then seemingly questions everything with the fuzz rut "Shame And Fortune," ("Shame is soft and safe/Lose when I play your game").
There's nothing particularly exciting about the music herein: "Shame And Fortune" fashions a decent enough riff, "Dull Life" tries to retain some of YYY rock sensibility. Even dance track, "Dragon Queen," carries a thick bass groove that gets in your head for days and days.
But, O carries this album, charisma enhancing its not-so-distinguished or interesting pseudo-vitality. "Softshock" is light and forgettable, "Skeletons" is overdone and melodramatic, "Runaway"'s repetitious hook overpowers all the symphonic layers meant to sweeten its resolve. And yet, it's not bad. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are ambitious in their determination to make themselves anew, and that's commendable. But they're unsure how to make it work. It's Blitz! is really a testament to Karen O and her progression as a rock icon, as opposed to her progression as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' lead singer.
Granted, it wouldn't help YYY to remain a huffing and puffing wolf of a noise band, revving to blow houses down as if that wouldn't get boring after awhile. But, as Karen O continues to work her way into NYC's post-CBGB rock consciousness, it would help if the band were all on the same page. Or, at least if they sounded like they were.
Letters From A Tapehead


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This little tool allows you to easily write a Aminet Readme file and also upload
it to the aminet server!
I often forgot which types were possible and what they were used for and the
length limitation of the
Short-field etc so I needed a tool to help me reminding;)
Its written with Hollywood v7.1 (http://www.hollywood-mal.com/) and compiled as
a so called "applet".
I decided to distribute only the applet so it can be executed on all platforms
which supports the RapaGUI
plugin: Windows, Linux (GTK), AmigaOS3, AmigaOS4, MorphOS and AROS!
You need the Hollywood Player
(http://www.hollywood-mal.com/download/HWPlayer_Amiga.lha) to run it!
If anyone wants an executeable to be started without the need for the Hollywood
Player feel free to ask me
and I will send you a compiled version for your favourite OS!
If you find bugs or if you have suggestions send me an eMail!
29-Aug-2018, V1.3
fix: If you load a readme with the same Type like the current, the SubType
wasn't correct
01-Mai-2018, V1.2
- added support to load a readme at startup with "-f", "-r" or "-readme"
28-Apr-2018, V1.1
- I forgot to replace my eMail with the Uploader-eMail as password for the
- ASCII was used as transfermode for both the archive and the readme, it
worked anyway;)
but now ASCII is used the readme and BINARY for the archive
- on Upload, you will be first asked for readme then the archive
- added a simple About-Requester
27-Apr-2018, V1.0: first release
---------- ----------- ------- ------- ------ ---------- ------------ ----------
[generic] 51741 51741 100.0% -lh0- 166e Aug 29 17:20 AminetReadmeMaker/AminetReadmeMaker.png
[generic] 973 1873 51.9% -lh5- 517a Aug 29 17:20 AminetReadmeMaker/AminetReadmeMaker.readme
[generic] 14321 14504 98.7% -lh5- ee14 Aug 29 17:20 AminetReadmeMaker/AminetReadmeMaker_Applet
[generic] 2375 2375 100.0% -lh0- 434c Apr 29 00:22 AminetReadmeMaker/AminetReadmeMaker_Applet.info
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Total 4 files 69410 70493 98.5% Aug 29 19:07


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Get set go GuadeloupeSurbhi Kapila September-October 2016 Offbeat
The 'Pearl of the French Caribbean', Guadeloupe is an archipelago in the Southern Caribbean Sea. This French overseas territory, home to a huge Tamil population, is good to visit any time of the year to cruise on its clear waters and merry with its traditional rum.
It looks like a butterfly on a map, the two main islands being the two wings, united at the middle by a thin line. It's not too different up close. Differently shaped patches of land, filled with colours from a lively neighbourhood, just like the patterns on the flaps of the flying one. The islands are Basse-Terre on the west and Grande-Terre on the east united by a mangrove swamp on the Rivière Salée. Pointe-à-Pitre, the capital and largest city lies near the river. These are the two main islands of Guadeloupe besides a number of small islands in the Caribbean, all of which enjoy a tropical climate. Guadeloupe which has an area of about 1600 sq. km, is a preferred destination for many Europeans seeking warmth during the cold months and unwinding in its laid-back environment.
The winged neighbours
Basse-Terre, the bigger of the two islands has a lot to offer to visitors. Its turquoise beaches, such as its swimmable beach- Plage de Clungy, waterfall series-the Carbet falls and the highest peak in the Lesser Antilles- La Soufrière, an active strato-volcano.
Its thick rainforests make for France's 7th largest national park, le Parc National de la Guadeloupe, which is an ideal destination for hiking on the volcanic island.Infact, hiking is an activity enjoyed here by many at different hiking spots. "The dense cover of trees all around, has a lot of hidden trek routes that only the locals would know of and it is easy to wander off without the guidance of someone who knows the right way," says Jordan Golabkan, a Guadeloupean by residence and a business manager by profession. The island with brown, black and pink sands is also home to La Réserve Cousteau, an internationally renowned and protected underwater park which is rich in biodiversity just like the rest of the Caribbean.
The other 'wing' or the Grand-Terre islet is the one more famous for the 'Caribbean nights' a tourist might be seeking. Numerous night-clubs, day-long parties by the beach, sand and water sports, are a part of the day-to-day life on the island. The main places to see here include a fort-Fleur d'épée, a museum –Schoelcher, a site of archaeological treasures-La Pointedes- Châteaux and an underwater trail for exploring the marine life in Gosier Island- Le Gosier Islet.
"Guadeloupe is an active destination. People here like to stay outdoors. They would often take a morning-dip in the sea, go trekking in the mountains or forests, play volleyball at the beaches, party over the weekends or do jet-skiing which is famous here besides the other water sports," says Golabkan. The destination hosts the annual Jet Ski world competition, Karujet, which will complete two decades next year. And the ones who do not take the sport competitively, ski to the parties.
Parties and pina coladas
Although geographically small, the island is big on outdoor activities and galas.The multiple small islands host musical jamborees and the guests can either choose to spend a day on a single islet or hop islands. The parties are everywhere, and for a tourist, it's like living a party scene from a Hollywood movie – grand yachts on blue lagoons, vibrant Caribbean music and endless helpings of pina coladas and rum.
Guadeloupean rum or rhum as it is called, is savoured by both locals and connoisseurs for its high quality and signature taste that is a result of a time-honoured distillation process which is used till day. Rhum agricole is coveted for a unique taste, and is distilled from fresh sugarcane juice as opposed to rhum traditionnel made from molasses. Its white variant is used in the making of pina coladas which, at the parties, is mostly popular amongst the ladies.
Many would drive their own boat to the parties, including youngsters who can access a license to drive the craft at the age of 16. Tourists can hire a boat and party the Guadeloupean way. Boat rentals vary on the extent of luxury on board and there is something to suit every pocket. Boats can be rented by contacting private owners through various online platforms.
Other than the fancy yachts, traditional sailboats make for an important part of Guadeloupe's culture and a nine-day annual sailing race during July, sets racers on their traditional boats to sail across the island and celebrate them all.
Like most of its Caribbean and Latin American neighbours, Guadeloupe is also known for its annual carnival which is celebrated from January to March. These three months of festivity fill the streets of the island with parades, music performances and dance shows. Artists in fancy costumes are a glittery sight and the Guadeloupeans, painting the town red, are in a merry abode. It's a good time to visit the place, enjoy the carnival and the pleasing weather.
A day on the island
Hire a cycle and join a guided cycling tour to explore the island that majorly witnesses two seasons- dry and wet. Guadeloupe's weather is pleasant through the year and the environment is usually relaxed and peaceful. As you bike around or stroll on the streets and beaches of the island, grab a coconut sorbet, a local drink easily available. Besides the sorbet, you might want to savour a tourment d'amour, literally 'agony of love', is a tart like cake available in numerous flavours like vanilla, coconut and rum. This tropical treat, with a creamy coconut jam centre, is a French classic.
Weekends are spent outdoors, mostly on the beach. You could see people setting a barbeque and grilling their time away. The cuisine is a mix of African, European and Indian with a lot of sea-food consumption. A famous dish is the Bokit, a deep fried naan like bread which comes stuffed with meat, vegetable or fish, is a Creole delicacy. It is also known as a 'Creole sandwich' by many and it is readily available at street stalls or food-trucks.
Street food in Guadeloupe can be a hearty treat and gears-up one for the shopping hours that await.
Shopping can be done at the malls, at the many local boutiques or at the local markets- the Saint-Antoine market in Pointe-à-Pitre, the Basse- Terre market, the market in Sainte Anne or the night market in Le Gosier. You may not find high-end luxury stores in the malls here, but the colours and aromas that the markets offer, should put an end to your touristy shopping check-list. And of course, don't forget to buy the rhum.
The Indian connection
The population of 451,000 has about 55,000 people of Indian origin who stepped onto the land from Tamil Nadu in the late 19th century. These Indo-Guadeloupeans make this island a home to the largest Tamil population in the Caribbean. Thus spotting a Hindu- Tamil temple here is not uncommon. Many families have their own temples which one can visit by taking permission. The Tamils here have been taking efforts to preserve their traditions in Guadeloupe by means of several associations which promote Indian culture. They have been on the island for over 150 years now.
The beaches on the island provide a sense of calmness to those wanting some quiet and the thrill of sports and sails to those willing to get active. One can choose to revel under the clear blue skies during the day and watch boats go by and let their hair down at a party during night. Guadeloupe can relax you and excite you; just be ready for what the archipelago has to offer.
How to reach
Direct and connecting flights from Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi fly to Pointeà- Pitre Le Raizet Airport (PTP) in Guadeloupe. The flight can be almost a day long and once in Guadeloupe you can hire a car from the airport to reach your destination.
Where to stay
From fancy hotels, villas, bungalows to eco-lodges and simple home-stays, there are many places a tourist could stay at. Bookings can be done online through various platforms or at www.guadeloupeislands. com/accommodations.
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What are our clients are saying about us?
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I saw an ad online and decided to check out the store. The store is really nice and I was able to buy a nice headboard, dresser, two nightstands, and mirror for only $300. They also match prices on furniture as well if you find it online for cheaper. The sales staff were not pushy and they were super helpful with keeping me on a budget.
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Just Click on Any Picture Below to Make it Large for Viewing!!
Ulrich Graf
Ulrich Graf, 6 July 1878 – 3 March 1950, was one of the earliest members of the Nazi Party and of Adolf Hitler's inner circle. He was a German National Socialist politician and member of the SA and SS.
Leopold Gutterer
Leopold Gutterer, 25 April 1902 in Baden-Baden – 27 December 1996 in Aachen, was a Nazi official and politician. During the Nazi period, he rose to the post of State Secretary of the Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda and was temporarily vice president of the Reich Chamber of Culture. Gutterer was a close confidant of Reich Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels.
Karl Hanke
Karl August Hanke, Reichsführer-SS und Chef der Deutschen Polizei, 24 August 1903 – 8 June 1945, was an official of the Nazi Party (NSDAP). He served as governor (Gauleiter) of Lower Silesia from 1941 to 1945 and as the final Reichsführer-SS for a few days in 1945.
Franz Hayler
Franz Hayler, 29 August 1900 in Schwarzenfeld – 11 September 1972 in Aschau im Chiemgau, was a German self-employed salesman who rose during the Third Reich to State Secretary and acting Reich Economics Minister as a member of the NSDAP and the SS.
Erhard Heiden
Erhard Heiden, 23 February 1901 – 1933, was an early member of the Nazi Party and the third commander of the Schutzstaffel (SS), the paramilitary wing of the Sturmabteilung – SA. He was appointed the head of the SS, an elite subsection of the SA in 1927. At that time, the SS numbered less than a thousand men and Heiden found it difficult to cope under the much larger SA. Heiden was not a success in the post, and SS membership dropped significantly under his leadership. He was dismissed from his post in 1929, officially for "family reasons". He was arrested after the Nazis came to power in 1933 and executed that same year.
Gerhard Hein
Gerhard Hein, 9 July 1916 – 6 June 2008, was a highly decorated Lieutenant Colonel of the Reserve in the Wehrmacht during World War II. Hein what a recipient of the Knights Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leave. The Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross and its higher grade Oak Leaves was awarded to recognize extreme battlefield bravery or successful military leadership.
Ernst Heinkel
Dr. Ernst Heinkel, 24 January 1888 – 30 January 1958, was a German aircraft designer, manufacturer, Wehrwirtschaftsführer in the Third Reich, and member of the Nazi party. His company Heinkel Flugzeugwerke produced the Heinkel He 178, the world's first turbojet aircraft and jet plane, and the Heinkel He 176, the first rocket aircraft.
Konrad Henlein
Konrad Ernst Eduard Henlein, 6 May 1898 – 10 May 1945, was a leading Sudeten German politician in Czechoslovakia. Upon the German occupation, he joined the Nazi Party as well as the SS and was appointed Reichsstatthalter of the Sudetenland in 1939.
Rudolf Hess
Rudolf Walter Richard Heß also spelled Hess, 26 April 1894 – 17 August 1987, was a prominent politician in Nazi Germany. Appointed Deputy Führer to Adolf Hitler in 1933, he served in this position until 1941, when he flew solo to Scotland in an attempt to negotiate peace with the United Kingdom during World War II. He was taken a prisoner and eventually was convicted of crimes against peace, serving a life sentence.
Hess enlisted in the 7th Bavarian Field Artillery Regiment as an infantryman at the outbreak of World War I. He was wounded several times over the course of the war and won the Iron Cross, second class, in 1915. Shortly before the war ended, Hess enrolled to train as an aviator, but he saw no action in this role. He left the armed forces in December 1918 with the rank of Leutnant der Reserve.
In autumn 1919, Hess enrolled in the University of Munich, where he studied geopolitics under Karl Haushofer, a proponent of the concept of Lebensraum ("living space"), which later became one of the pillars of Nazi Party (National Socialist German Workers Party; NSDAP) ideology. Hess joined the NSDAP on 1 July 1920 and was at Hitler's side on 8 November 1923 for the Beer Hall Putsch, a failed Nazi attempt to seize control of the government of Bavaria. Whilst serving time in jail for this attempted coup, Hess helped Hitler write his opus, Mein Kampf, which became a foundation of the political platform of the NSDAP.
After the Nazi Seizure of Power in 1933, Hess was appointed Deputy Führer of the NSDAP and received a post in Hitler's cabinet. He was the third-most-powerful man in Germany, behind only Hitler and Hermann Göring. In addition to appearing on Hitler's behalf at speaking engagements and rallies, Hess signed into law much of the legislation, including the Nuremberg Laws of 1935, that stripped the Jews of Germany of their rights in the lead-up to the Holocaust.
Hess continued to be interested in aviation, learning to fly the more advanced aircraft that were coming into development at the start of World War II. On 10 May 1941, he undertook a solo flight to Scotland, where he hoped to arrange peace talks with the Duke of Hamilton, whom he believed was prominent in opposition to the British government. Hess was immediately arrested on his arrival and was held in British custody until the end of the war when he was returned to Germany to stand trial in the Nuremberg Trials of major war criminals in 1946. Throughout much of the trial, he claimed to be suffering from amnesia but later admitted this was a ruse. Hess was convicted of crimes against peace and conspiracy with other German leaders to commit crimes and was transferred to Spandau Prison in 1947, where he served a life sentence. Repeated attempts by family members and prominent politicians to win him early release were blocked by the Soviet Union. Still, in custody in Spandau, he died of an apparent suicide in 1987 at the age of 93. After his death, the prison was demolished to prevent it from becoming a neo-nazi shrine.
Walther Hewel
Walther Hewel, 2 January 1904 – 2 May 1945, was a German diplomat before and during World War II, an early and active member of the Nazi Party, and one of German dictator Adolf Hitler's few personal friends.
Konstantin Hierl
Konstantin Hierl, 24 February 1875 – 23 September 1955, was a major figure in the administration of Nazi Germany. He was the head of the Reichsarbeitsdienst (RAD) (Reich Labor Service) and an associate of Adolf Hitler before he came to national power.
Margarete Himmler (Boden)
Margarete Himmler (née Boden) also known as Marga Himmler, 9 September 1893 – 25 August 1967, was the wife of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler.
Oskar Körner
Oskar Körner, 4 January 1875 in Oberpeilau – 9 November 1923 in Munich, was a German resistance fighter against the Weimar Republic and one of the sixteen martyrs of 9. November 1923 marching on the Feldherrnhalle during the Beer Hall Putsch. From 1920 to 1923, he was second chairman, advertising boss, and propaganda leader of the NSDAP.
Ernst Kundt
Ernst Kundt, 15 April 1897 in Bohemia-Leipa, Austria-Hungary, 15 February 1947 in Prague, was a Sudeten-German politician of national socialism.
Robert Ley
Robert Ley, 15 February 1890 – 25 October 1945, was a Nazi politician and head of the German Labour Front from 1933 to 1945. He committed suicide while awaiting trial at Nuremberg for war crimes.
Willy Liebel
Willy Liebel, born Friedrich Wilhelm Liebel, 31 August 1897 in Nuremberg; † 20th April 1945, was a German politician (NSDAP) and March 16, 1933, to April 20, 1945, Mayor of the City of Nuremberg.
Viktor Lutze
Viktor Lutze, 28 December 1890 – 2 May 1943, was the commander of the Sturmabteilung ("SA") succeeding Ernst Röhm as Stabschef. He died from injuries received in a car accident. Lutze was given an elaborate state funeral in Berlin on 7 May 1943.


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On Thursday we left the rainy gloomy land of Vancouver for hot & dry Arizona. Skipper's first flight, which he was a total champ for. Not that I would expect any less, he's pretty calm all the time (knock on wood). Since Poppy was born we've done quite a few flights with her so I feel like we've figured out a pretty good system with travelling as family. I had a couple requests for travelling with toddlers tips, here are a few listed below.
Travelling with Toddlers/Babies
- Snacks, of course. We bring pouches & crackers. I also like to pack a couple melt-down-avoiders like a lollipop or chocolate for when all else fails and you need a major distraction.
- A loaded iPad. Don't forget to download some shows ahead of time because airport wifi sucks. Before Poppy was 3 and down with headphones we let her just listen to audio quitely out loud (don't make everyone suffer through the sound of cartoons).
- Before Poppy was old enough to have a seatbelt, and now its Skipper I always bring a carrier of sorts (Ergo or Wildbird) for my own peace of mind. I like to have them strapped on during take off, landing, or turbulence.
- Encourage sucking during take off and landing to avoid plugged ears. Breastfeed/bottle feed the babe and thats when I pull out a pouch for Poppy to suck on.
- We gate check the stroller so we don't have to carry everything through the airport.
- They board small children first, but I prefer to wait until the line is gone, less time on the plane the better!
I know you're probably sick of me complaining about the weather ( unless you're from Vancouver then you get it) but it's been SO WET, recording breaking winter & spring for rain. Waking up these past few mornings to sun is glllorrrrrrioouussssss!
Poppy picking flowers and collecting rocks, it's so sweet how little girls just can't pass a flower without picking & smelling it. Simple pleasures.
Touching all the cacti "What are these??"
This little chunk has been super warm here, we ordered a stroller fan on Amazon that has been a lifesaver, we're constantly misting him with my make up mist bottle, and putting cold wash cloths on his head. I can understand now why people that live in the south crave colder weather, if I had to do it everyday I would probably get pretty sick of it too.
We're enjoying our last couple days of lazing around in the sun trying not to look at the forecast at home!
Shop Similar Styles


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Tallgrass Recovery & Sober Living Homes is a drug and alcohol recovery center in Sioux Falls, SD. Our mission is to provide the opportunity for individuals suffering from alcohol and drug addiction to discover a new way of life by embracing a 12-step, spiritually based solution. We offer 30-day treatment programs. We also provide long-term programs at our sober living homes.
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One of the most important aspects of Tallgrass is our mentor program. Living with addiction is a tough road to go alone-that's why we encourage all of our guests to take advantage of our mentor program. During the 12-step process, guests will work one-on-one with a mentor.
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There something about the feeling of great underwear that get me a little giddy. I will put up my hands and admit to being a snob on this subject. I love the feeling of silk(the real kind), new lace and all greatness before colours start to fade and elastic goes amiss. I got my first pretty undergarments from Marks and Spencer. What was your first shopping trip like? It seems that everyone remembers that awkward first fitting mothers takes you on(cringe). Having gone through my draws, I realised I have a lot more from good old Marks and Spencer's than I thought. Every now and then they create things that I have to have. Evidently this happens a lot.
Enter Rosie Huntington- Whitely, supermodel, face of Burberry and now designing for Marks and Spencer. Her range has debuted and the results are stunning!
Collection available from Marks and Spencer's online here and prices start from £17.50. Simples!


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A crying 4 year old girl was forced to undergo a pat down by the TSA at a Kansas airport after hugging her grandmother. Security agents called the girl an uncooperative suspect.
Isabella Brademeyer and her mother, Michelle Brademeyer, had initially passed through security without any problem. Isabella then ran over to her grandmother, Lori Croft, who was waiting to be pat down after tripping the alarm for a hug. That's when security agents demanded that Isabella go through a physical pat down.
According to Croft, Isabella had just been learning about "stranger danger" in school and was unsure about what was happening:
"She started to cry, saying `No I don't want to,' and when we tried talking to her she ran. They yelled, `We are going to shut down the airport if you don't grab her.'"
The family's main concern is the lack of understanding by the TSA agents that they weren't dealing with a terrorist, but with a 4 year old little girl.
"There was no common sense and there was no compassion," Croft said. "That was our biggest fault with the whole thing _ not that they are following security procedures, because I understand that they have to do that."
A TSA spokesperson stated:
"TSA has reviewed the incident and determined that our officers followed proper screening procedures in conducting a modified pat-down on the child."
According to Croft, Isabella's mother tried to get the agents to use a wand on her daughter or let her walk through the metal detector again but that the agents would not do it. Agents wanted to screen Isabella alone in a separate room.
Isabella was crying and screaming, frightened and hysterical of what was going on. After about ten minutes a manager allowed agents to pat her down while screaming and being held by her mother. An agent then followed them to their gate.
Isabella had nightmares and talked about kidnappers for the first few nights after coming home.
"To a 4-year-old's perspective that's what it was to her because they didn't explain anything and she did not know what was going on," Croft said. "She saw people grabbing at her and raising their voices. To her, someone was trying to kidnap her or harm her in some way."


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If you Google: "Where to spend your IT budget", the responses vary. Some punt security, especially given the recent rise in cyber attacks. Others still, highlight the importance of being discerning about the tech trends you opt to embrace and those you choose to pass up on.
What all the articles agree on is that budgets are tight and that businesses need to be strategic when it comes to finding the right tools and technologies to meet their unique needs. If money weren't a concern, this conversation would be irrelevant but for most businesses, budgets are tight and spending in one area is likely to mean skimping in another.
At Nebula, we work with our clients to help them streamline their entire telecoms ecosystem – eliminating redundancies, identifying wasteful expenditure and boosting overall productivity, with the ultimate goal being to promote cost efficiencies.
And this is important. We're written about the importance of spending your budget more efficiently, rather than just trying to reduce your budget. We believe that businesses should rather focus their attention on finding smart ways to use their existing budget – and, in some cases, even use more money – by spending their money on things that add real, tangible value.
Here are a few ways you can get the most out of your IT budget and realise measurable results:
Focus on security: All businesses, regardless of size and industry, need to be thinking about IT security. While some business execs may resist making sizeable investments in security, the reality is that failing to allocate money in security may cost you more in the long run. Especially when you consider the potential reputational damage a business can suffer due to hack or security breach.
Avoid digital silos: If you want to take full advantage of digital transformation, you must avoid "digital silos". If businesses want to offer their customers, stakeholders and employees a connected experience, all the different business apps they use each day need to be integrated and seamlessly communicate with each other.
Consider TEM: When businesses review their IT budgets, telecoms expenses are often one of the greatest expenses. When we conduct telecoms audits for our clients what we typically find is inaccurate billing, redundant lines and contracts that don't match their business' needs. TEM automates your entire telecoms ecosystem, making it easier to track spend, allocate bills and identify any abuse.
Want some help reigning in the telecoms portion of your IT budget? We're the guys your need to call. Simply complete the form below and we'll be in touch.


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Ships from Los Angeles, California
Finally a gorgeous Italian made leather bag that suits your daily organizational needs for beauty, creative tools and tech. This is a zero-black-hole-conundrum handbag, the shape, depth, full zipper open front and magnetic snap top was designed so you can easily see, quickly grab and place everything strategically in your bag. We created these features because we respect that you're a busy gal who prefers to cash in on a headache-free creative life. Carry it cross body, on the shoulder or in your hand as this bag is perfect for travel, going out or working on-the-go.
Imperial: 9.25''W x 6.5''H x 4.75''D (Metric: W 23.5cm x H 16.51 x D 12cm)
Weight: 1.4 lbs
What It Fits: iPad mini, up to iphone 7 plus, 5x8 notebook, pens, cords, makeup, credit cards, cash, coins, etc
Black: 100% Bovine Vegetable Tanned Leather, sourced from Italy.
Blue Jeans/Sienna : 100% Bovine Leather, sourced from from Italy.SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave
All products made to order and are shipped from the US. International customers are responsible for Customs/Duties. If you are a non-US customer and chose Standard Shipping, tracking may not be available from your local carrier.
We accept returns for a full refund 14 days from the date you received your purchase. Post 14 day window, will be eligible for an exchange or store credit. For full details on return process please see our Support page located in the footer.
We do not accept returns, exchanges, or any special requests on Sample Box orders. In addition, if Monogramed we can not accept returns or exchanges.
Need help making a decision? Click help icon on bottom right.


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Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts of America present an incredible opportunity for parents and children alike to become more involved in their community and to explore, learn, and grow alongside one another. With millions of children participating globally, both of these organizations teach valuable lessons and morals through all kinds of adventures, service trips, and challenges. Children of any age or gender who take part in these organizations'... Continue Reading
DadTalk Blog: Get Involved
Popular Tags: Get Involved
Benjamin Franklin famously stated that the only two certainties in life are "death and taxes."
Let us add "homework" to Franklin's list.
Nearly everybody – child or adult, man or woman – has dealt with the challenges and responsibilities of homework during their lives. Schoolwork does not stop at the final bell, and the work completed at home often reinforces skills and drives achievement. Research shows that time spent on... Continue Reading
In the latest Kung Fu Panda 3 movie from DreamWorks Animation, Po, reunites with his long-lost birth father. Po was separated from his family at a young age and grew up with his adoptive father. When his birth father comes back into his life everything changes. The new film highlights the special relationship between Po and his birth father and his adoptive father, and the unique challenges he is able to overcome with the love and support of... Continue Reading
This past July parents, mentors, and caring adults met in the city of Baltimore for a community town hall to discuss ways to parent in a violent world. This was a much-needed conversation at such a critical moment in time. Panelists and community partners discussed the need for parents to filter a lot of the negative imagery and lifestyles that have been easily able to influence the impressionable mind of youth. This led to a deeper... Continue Reading
Despicable Me 2 Characters Featured in New National Responsible Fatherhood Clearinghouse Public Service Announcements!
The National Responsible Fatherhood Clearinghouse (NRFC) and the Ad Council unveiled a new series of public service announcements (PSAs) that feature footage from Universal Pictures and Illumination Entertainment's Despicable Me 2. The PSAs will be distributed nationwide this month and reinforce the established NRFC theme, "Take Time to Be a Dad Today."
The PSAs feature Despicable Me 2 characters Gru, his three girls and the Minions,... Continue Reading
Growing up I have fond memories of accompanying my mother and father to work. With great anticipation I would jump into the car and head to work with Mom at least once a year. While the experience was often scary it was exciting to climb up on the big chair in the back of the room and watch Mom work. Mom was a High School Home Economics teacher at an urban school in Baltimore, MD.
Going to work with Dad was altogether a different... Continue Reading
I'm sure that you have all heard the statement, "they don't have a manual that comes with your child when they are born on how to be a parent". There still isn't a manual, but there are some cheat sheets. The NRFC's Fatherhood Buzz Tip cards can be found online, and may be at your local barbershop. Barbershops are safe havens where men gather to get a haircut and talk about life's events. What are the tips? They are simple and straightforward... Continue Reading
Our views on money management were modeled by our parents. Attitudes and fears are attributable to lessons that we learned or didn't learn growing-up. Before teaching your children about finances, it is important to explore and understand your relationship with money. Understanding your own emotional relationship with it will help you to avoid passing on bad habits. Fatherhood Buzz has listed four tips for teaching your children money... Continue Reading
Recent studies reveal that the approximately 24 million children in the United States living apart from their biological fathers are two to three times more likely to be poor, abuse drugs and alcohol, experience emotional, health, behavioral and education problems, and engage in criminal activity.
How are American communities and organizations responding?
In response, the National Responsible Fatherhood Clearinghouse (NFRC) has... Continue Reading
Free NRFC Technical Assistance Webinar August 23, 2012 - Fatherhood Buzz - Back to School Initiative
Fatherhood Buzz - Back to School Initiative: Effective Strategies for Increasing Father Involvement in Schools
Thursday August 23, 2012 - 12:30 PM – 2:00 PM (EASTERN)
National Responsible Fatherhood Clearinghouse (NRFC) is providing a technical assistance webinar for all responsible fatherhood practitioners, including current OFA grantees, and other interested stakeholders. The webinar will provide ideas and resources to... Continue Reading


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3 in 1 new flush trim bits with Delrin® triangular bearings are your best partner for laminate trimming. In fact they solve 3 of the most common problems that occur in flush trimming in cabinet shops.
3-in-1 bits are ideal on plastic as well as aluminium laminates!
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