text:
We were on the Toba Inlet, a fjord north of the Powell River, just opposite the middle of Vancouver Island. About fifty miles inland.
It was early September, chill. Dusk. Heavy forest. The smell of pines, a slight breeze stirring the trees. A completely isolated world, an uninhabited cosmos that had never been touched by man. Used to cities, born in New York, having lived most of my life in Los Angeles, the "emptiness" bothered me. Even if I didn't expect 'sasquatches" to be out there in the forest, I think I still would have been bothered by the complete absence of cars, lights, motors or any kind of "mechanical" noise. The "presences" of civilizaton are protective, the cutting up and piecing out of land, the laying out of streets, lights, buildings. It means a human order was put up against the UNKNOWN. But here our minds, bodies, our sleeping bags and equipment gathered together under the trees for the night were the only KNOWN quantities surrounded by a totality of UNKNOWN "out there" around us, surrounding us.
The shadows, of course. We started a fire. I flipped on my radio, tuned in to Vancouver, kind of faint, but I could get it, then
turned it off.
"What's wrong, don't you want a little music?" asked Joe.
"I don't know," I answered feeling fear creep into me like cold.
I wanted to be able to hear: to hear anything -- everything -- around me. No sound between me and the gathering shadows.
"Cheer up, willya," said Joe, starting to cook some hot dogs over the fire.
"I'm OK," I said looking out at the trees, the thick underbrush.
I was mainly thinking about the "poorness" of our equipment.
A couple of .22 rifles, some canisters of tear gas, gas masks, nylon ropes, an anesthetic dart-gun that would knock out anything as big as an elephant -- if you got it before it got you. We each carried .45 revolvers.
I hadn't been able to get any "financing" although I'd written to more than two hundred foundations. Joe was a chemist and I was a professor of American lit, although what we did at Cal State at Eureka had little to do with our basic interests. I had my undergraduate degree in Biology and had finished two years of medicine before I switched into English. And when I'd switched I realized I'd made a mistake, but it was too late, I hadn't taken my
finals at the end of my second year, couldn't get back in....so I got a Ph.D. in Aerican Lit and read endlessly on anthropology, natural history, archaeology, anything to do with man's nature, man's past, whatever really (looking at it egotistically) would help to tell me more about who I was. Joe had his Ph.D. in Chemistry from the University of Chicago, didn't like research, had also been an anthropologitst-biologist as an undergrad, and since he'd moved to Eureka had gotten an obessive interest in American Indian legends. And it was his (our) encounter with numerous tales (so-called "myths") about the Sasquatches that had prompted us to take a chance -- even if we couldn't get any funding. We were both rebels, in a way, kind of sick of institutional conservatism, both in our late thirties, kind of academic nobodys.A little sensationalistic publicity wouldn't hurt either of our careers, and since reading Velikovsky's Worlds in Collision, we were more convinced than ever that myth wasn't equatable with "fairy-tales" or "sub-conscious fantasy," but was merely quasi- or symbolic HISTORY. If there were myths about sea-serpents it was because there were sea-serpents. If there were myths about cyclopes, with eyes in the middle of their foreheads, it was because there actually were foetal monsters with eyes in the
middle of their foreheads. If there were Northwest Coast Indian legends about tall, hairy wildmen living in the forests, it was because there were tall, hairy wildmen living in the forests. We had even see the drawing of the Gin-Sung Asian Sasquatch in an eighteenth century Mongolian manuscript. And we knew what to expect,a "hominoid" ape-like "man" about seven to eight feet tall, weighing about eight hundred pounds, stronger than a gorilla and only slightly less intelligent than ourselves.
"Come on, eat, man, eat," said Joe, handing me a hot dog.
"I should have gone back with Reuben," I said, "he's the smart one."
Ever since Reuben, our American guide, had "dropped out" the day before because-- as he put it -- "Sasquatch country from here on, and Sasquatches kill, break necks (karate-chopping his right hand into his left palm), cut off heads," I'd been waiting for some "sign" of the presence of the Sasquatches. Presumably they were nocturnal, and if they actually were out there in the forest around us, they had already sighted us, knew we were there, were merely waiting for dark to move in on us and destroy us.
"We can go back if you want," said Sam, smiling, opening a can of beans, holding it over the fire with a pair of long tongs.
"I'll tell you something, pal," I said, watching the forest around us go darker, darker, darker, as if a black velvet curtain were being pulled around us...and on the other side of the curtain? "If we started back right now, tonight...and if they're out there."
I put my hand on my revolver. You couldn't tell about the wind and the brush, there was always sound. I tried to project myself into their minds, if they were out there, hearung us hack our way through the brush, hearing us talking, smelling us maybe, seeing our fire. What were we to them? What was "man" in relation to other animals or other men? Killers. We were killers, we'd practiced for months learning how to handle our guns. We talked about "science," "evolution," "myth," but we came with guns and were ready to use them. Only they KNEW, they understood, they weren't gorillas, they weren't like gorillas, they were men, they killed first. And they didn't really need to be threatened in order to kill...
"You want me to tell you something? I'd rather get killed than go back," said Sam, spooning out half the can of beans on a tin
plate, "When I was twenty I believed in the future, when I got to be thirty and I'd gotten to the future, all I could think of was how dull it was. Now, as I move up to forty, dullness has become a way of life. I'm not going to discover any new compounds or dream up any new basic theories. If I make it to retirement I can tell you exactly how much I'm going to get. I can predict where my kids'll be and what they'll be doing. I can more or less tell you what my wife'll be saying at breakfast twenty years from now. If there's anything out there, though (getting up, handing me my beans, then facing the now solid darkness)...COME ON, YOU SONOFABITCH, COME ON GIN-SUNG, YETI, ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN, SASQUATCH, UFTI, WHATEVER YOU'RE CALLED, WHATEVER YOU CALL YOUR SELF...COME ON...."
And he took his gun out of is holster, took off the safety catch and aimed it at the night sky as if he were going to shoot it. I got up, grabbed his arm, and a shot went off. Into the forest itself at a forty-five degree angle. Like a shout, a splash,parting whater that then rushed back heavily in on our silence....
"No shit, man, you're really crazy," I said and could feel the darkness around us tense up with defensive, killer fear. I really expected an attack right then, took out my gun, stared at the trunks
and needles illuminated by our small flickering fire, tried to see beyond, into the blackness, expecting, waiting for....
There was a rustling in the underbrush. Only not toward, away from us. We both stood waiting and then it was gone.
"What was that, huh?" Iasked.
"Something small," he answered, then sat down by the fire, started eating again, added apologetically, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I really do feel that..... It's crazy, I know it's crazy, but, I don't know, it's everything around me, all the students turned on, expanding, wanting, doing what they want, and me, both of us, all of us...dead or dead on our feet."
"Yeah, sure," I answered. I agreed with him,but Holy Maholy, it wasn't that I ever expected to get into Sasquatch territory unobserved, but I liked to kid myself that it might just be possible to co-exist with the goddamned things, like Krueger (Living with the Great Apes) in Africa between 1965 and 1966,who actually had become a member of a gorilla tribe, learned how to talk Gorilla, went where they went, ate what they ate and acknowledged the dominance of the silver-backed male "Chef." If only they didn't feel
they were being invaded or threatened. But that was over, the shouting,the shot, goddam....,"Listen, why don't you get a little sleep. I'm the nighthawk, remember, I'll be good until abut three, you can have the three to dawn watch,how's that?"
"Up yours!" said Sam with a smile and got up, urinated, then slid into his sleeping bag,adding, "I'm sorry, but, man, thnk, if they're there they know we're here..."
"And he closed his eyes.
I put some more sticks on the fire, then sat,back against the fire and faced the dark. Even that way, though, I kept glancing over my shoulder. If any of them were going to attack they could reach right over the fire. So I kept shifting around, tense, jumping every time the fire cracked or spit. Goddam Sam starting to snore.
Ten. I put some more wood on the fire. It was getting windy,cold, and the noise of the trees and brush in the wind got louder, more "ragged,"indistinct.I felt numb. I was tired, but beyond the possibility of sleep,I tnought, even when I got up Sam I'd still wait out the night.I wasn't going to/couldn't sleep with the
possibility of being killed in my sleep by a Sasquatch.Of course in the legends and myths they were super-natural,but I knew they weren't, that they were something like Neanderthal Man,Pithecanthopus or even Zinjanthropus.Maybe they were the Race of Giants in the Old Testament/Torah, the Titans in Greek myth. But they were merely large "variant" men.
That's what I believed, but as the night lengthened on the whole black world around us, things began to change subjectively in my mind. I couldn't be sure that I'd heard anytyhing (could "they" have moved synchronized with the wind so that the sounds of their footsteps coordinated with the sounds of the wind-stirred branches), but I began to feel that there was something (some ONE) out there, like me,but not like me,a killer, pure and simple, nothing disguised or civilizaed about him, not like me pretending I wasn't a killer but coming to kill, exposing myself to him just to give me the chance to kill should I be attacked. And that he was waiting,not because he was afraid, or not because he wasn't going to kill,but simply because it wasn't the moment.I was alert, waiting....he was going to wait until my alertness dulled and then
descend on me like thunder.
I even scanned the forest-edge for eyes, a face. I felt "looked at," observed, and the longer I looked the more certain I was that out beyond the rim of the firelight someone was there. I even got up, flashlight in one hand, revolver in the other, and walked to the edge of the firelight, and probed into the outer darkness. Nothing. Not that that changed anything, because I still felt looked at. The underbrush was so thick it would have been almost impossible to see a dark-skinned "man" whose body was covered with (as legend had it) long black hair.
I began to think they moved in tribes, they were bands, communities, like all primates. It was as if I wasn't being stared at from one point any more, but that I was surrounded by observers, the whole forest perimeter closing in one me. I felt presences, was convinced I wasn't alone. Perhaps some subliminal sounds that I hadn't consciously heard activating instinctive areas inside me that had nothing to do with conscious, logical knowledge. I "knew" without deducting or calculating anything -- my arms, legs, bowels,
I remembered sometmes on long car-trips when my eyes would be heavy, overtired and the highway was straight, I'd close them for a number of seconds, five, ten...count, one, two, three, four, five..then open, road ahead clear, close them, one, two, three, four, five...and now I started playing the same game here, eyes closed, one, two, three, four, five...open...nothing changed.
I felt number, split, dissociated. Tension and exhaustion. It was as if my arms, my head and my body had all been pulled apart. I felt dizzy, confused. I couldn't be sure of anything. It seemed like I was hearing movement in the underbrush, the bending and twisting of branches, something walking across the heavily pine-needle-covered forest floor. Only my consciousness in a sense interferred with my instincts. It wasn't enough to sense, feel, know on a gut-primate level, I had to be sure, I had to reason and think about reality, and the tug between my ego-knowing and my gut-knowing tore me apart in confusion.
I kept closing my eyes and counting....one, two, three, four,
five...one, two, three, four, five...and slowly I began to realize that I knew, had known,was tuned in on presences not merely by sound, but....
"Sam! Sam!"
I got up,shook Sam awake, waited for him to get calmly and completely aware of where he was and what was happening, and then told him.
"Smell, Sam, just smell!"
He sniffed at the wind.
"What have you been burning?" he asked, looking at the fire.
"It's not from the fire," I said.
"It smells like burning rubber, something like that. Christ, it's awful...maybe it's a skunk."
I'd smelled skunks before.Lots of times.Out in the country.
"It's not a skunk, man."
"Whatever it is," said Sam, all of a sudden lowering his voice, taking his rifle out of its case, sitting with his back against me, "whatever it is, it's close, man...it's animal, it's big, and it's close...get your rifle, put the stupid pistol away, get your rifle..."
I got up, got my rifle and we kept sitting back to back, Sam throwing some more wood on the fire, the light flaring up,flickering across the underbrush.
"We're really stupid, you know, I mean, really, sitting in the light just waiting to be crunched while 'it,' whatever it is, hides protected in the dark just waiting to crunch us. What we oughta do is put out the fire, sit with our flashlights in our hands, and when we hear something, switch um on and start shooting...that'd be smart," said Sam.
I interrupted him.
"That's your show,not mine, pal. You sit in the dark and I'll build my own fire someplace else."
"I don't say I'm going to sit in the dark," answered Sam,'It's just that if we were smart we would...."
"Only we don't hear well, you've gotta burn rubber under our noses before we smell anything."
So we waited. Twelve, twelve-thirty.
"I'm gonna close my eyes a while, OK?" I said at one. The smell was stilll there enclosing us like a tent.
"Maybe it is a skunk," said Sam.
"Yeah, sure, sure," I answered and tried, not exactly to sleep, but just rest. It didn't work, though, and the next thing I remember was Sam waking me up in the morning with a cup of coffee under my nose.
"Hey, baby, try this smell on for size."
I took the cup, smelled the wind.Nothing there, just pines, the smell of the fire, and the coffee...
After breakfast I walked out (gingerly, cautiously) beyond the clearing and checked the underbrush for any sign of the night before's visitor. Something had been there. I was convinced ot that. My"humanity" had gone against my whole sense of "reality."
"See anything?" asked Sam, getting together our gear.
"I don't know," I said, "it looks like...."
And then I saw a huge pile of feces in front of me filled with flies. It was fresh, still moist and looked human, although bear and human feces are often very similar looking.
"Sam, come here!"
Sam came, took a look.
"Jesus Christ," he said looking at the enormous pile in front of him "Whatever it is, it's gotta be eight hundred pounds at least. And even if it's a bear, man...," then he stoppped, looked at the ground around the feces-pile, walked off a few paces, "Hey...."
It was a sandy bare spot uncovered by needles, and very clearly imprinted in the sand there were the toe-marks of an enormous foot. "Human" in a way, but with a strange depression under the ball of the foot that must have been made by some kind of "pad" or bone protrubance. The big toe was chunky, chubby.
Same went and got his camera and ruler, took some shots of the print, started measuring, sketching....
"About sixteen inches long, seven inches wide. That's about a size twenty shoe, man. I wear size nine. How about you?" asked Sam.
"Ten," I answered.
And neither of us was small. Almost six feet, over two hundred pounds. Double the shoe-size and the "thing" would be...twelve feet tall? Four hundred pounds? Or didn't it go that way?
Sam made a plaster cast of the prints, and then insisted that instead of continuing on directly inland the way we had been going,
that we move in the direction of the tracks -- North, North-East... I agreed reluctantly. I really wanted to go back. I really had had enough. There was no question of the existence of the things in my mind now, and as far as I was concerned the case was proven. We had our plaster cast, pictures of the dung-heap and the footprint. But to follow the thing/or things, in a sense, track them down, what the hell, we'd been lucky, why press our luck.
"We could go back," I finally suggest at about noon as the country got rougher and rougher, full of hills and gullies, thick undergrowth, heavily shadowed by huge trees.
"Come on, come on," he answered, not paying much serious attention to my reluctance, what I considered my very reasonable fear.
I followed him.
No more tracks nor dung, but then at dusk, when we set up camp in the bottom of a kind of natural rock "ampitheater," the smell was there again. It was still light, that terrifying hour just before the final light disappears when everything seems to melt and disappear right before your eyes.
It was my turn to make dinner, if you could call opening a couple of cans making anything. More beans, a small can of dried beef, some raisins. As the light drained out of the sky like blood, we had a good fire going, but we sat around it eating I felt much more vulnerable than the night before.
They were obviously tracking us down. Roles were reversed...and they'd wear us down before we'd ever wear them down. They were "home," after all, they'd probably been in these forests since the last ice age, had emigrated across the Bering Straits from Asia, and they'd probably still be living here afer their more acaptable cousin, MAN, had destroyed himself with nuclear and chemical warfare, with his cities, his contamination, pollution, waste and residue suicide. How long would we be able to survive without our guns, can openers, lights, wool jackets and quilted linings, glasses and shoes and pots and pans. "You know our whole tactic is backwards," I finally said to Sam, layer after layer inside me panicking just with the presence of the heavy burnt rubber smell hanging on the air around us, floating out of the surrounding forest, "We're not hunting them, man they're
hunting us."
"So? Any alternatives?" asked Sam, irritated, bitchy. I'd been bitching myself all day, had communicated it to him. In fact at one point he'd shouted at me "Go ahead back if you want, just don't expect me to go back with you!"
Of course I wasn't as dissatisfied with life as Sam was. I was five years into a second marriage that was much better than my first. Had a three year old son and the three children from the first marriage were in high school in Los Angeles, came up to stay with me on vacations, had even wanted to come along with us on our Sasquatch adventure, but I didn't want them to. I suppose I was more afraid of their mother than I was about their safety, but anyhow I left them back in Eureka with my second wife.
Sam, though, was married to a real bitch, a high school counsellor who carried on her counselling as long as she was awake, with anyone who happened to be within shouting range. His kids (two girls, one boy) were in college at Berkeley, and they hardly ever called him or saw him. They just weren't interested, nothing more negative than that, but for Sam that was enough. He was
bitter, dissatisfied,soured on life. Sometimes I felt he was less interested in anthropology and ethnology than in suicide.
"Instead of waiting for them to get us, why can't we get them, man. Like lob a couple of teargas cannisters out there and they start coughing and we start shooting. We've got flashlights, guns, tear-gas, and here we are sitting waiting to get slaughtered," I said just waiting at any moment, any moment, for themk to crash in on us and go for our throat.
"What makes you think they're gonna slaughter us?" asked Sam, very suprior, pedantic, smug, "The great apes never attack unless attacked."
"Only these are men," I interrupted, "they're like us. They kill just for the sake of killing."
At least that's the way the stories went. No one had attacked the Sasquatches. Only anyone who had penetrated and camped in the taboo forests was almost inevitably attacked, sometimes beheaded. More often they simply disappeared. The Forest Monsters hunted and killed to hunt and kill; they were vegetarians, didn't eat what they killed but killed to kill. Emerged out of their
safe dark world into the campsites of any intruders and utterly destroyed them.
Sam looked hurt, defeated.
"Sometimes I think that if we stayed in here long enough, did our thing without tracking down or challenging anyone, tried to live off the land the way they do, gradually moved back to their state of truce with their world...and they saw we weren't killers, weren't different, weren't invading, but co-existing, they'd come to us, like another pack, another unit of themselves. But just think how we look to them, with our fires and guns our whole attitude of mixed fear and aggressiveness..."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"You wanna take the first watch tonight? Four hours sleep and I'll be good for the rest of the night..."
I wondered if he really believed in his romantic fallacy that the Out There was benign if we'd only give it a chance. Certainly nothing in his own life justified such an attitude. It was almost as if his suicidal despair had sprung from his inability to cope with the Out There the way it really was. Or maybe he wanted the ultimate
proof that the universe was benign, that if he approached it completely defenselessly it wouldn't betray or destroy him but instead caress and cradle him. And all I felt, all I FELT, was the imminence of death.
"Go ahead, sleep a while, I'm still wide awake," he said and I got into my sleeping bag and closed my eyes.
With my eyes closed the smell was even more terrifyingly penetrating. It was, in a way, like acrid, stale human sweat. Or like the ammonia formed out of urine. With my eyes open it seemed to be some distance away, but the minute I closed my eyes the stink enveloped and surrounded me. I felt it rush in on me. And I'd startle awake again...expecting....
Only nothing had changed. Sam was next to the fire facing the dark forest, and the forest itself was still blank, black, impenetrable. The firelight bothered me so I turned my back on it, faced the forest, could feel the fire-warmth on my back through the sleeping bag. Decided to sleep with my gun in my hand, but decided I had to sleep, that if I didn't sleep, in a couple more hours I'd begin to slip away from any coordinated possibility of confronting reality. Already my mind had begun to stretch and yawn, and almost subliminal
shapes had begun to be secreted by my brain to fill the threatening blankness of my surroundings. My fears had already begun to howl and scream inside me. Another couple of hours and I'd be shooting at the ghosts created by my own mind. I had to sleep, blanked out my mind, twisted my head around, relaxing the muscles at the back of my neck, touching my legs and feet against the inside of my sleeping bag, bringing me down into my flesh, my skin, out of the abstract mind-floating world of my species that had made us kill-die-suffer-torture for a "principle" that had nothing to do with roots, water, trees, the piths and stalks of pants or any of our physiological needs. I remembered Marais in The Soul of the Ape talking about the burden of consciousness and how the baboon, the only other primate as far as he knew, who in some way approached this consciousness, would drug itself on semi-poisonous fruit just to escape thought. Thinking, brooding, raking over old ideas. How many nights had I lain awake until dawn?
Finally I fell asleep with vague threatening shapes moving through my dreams. The presence of the smell was creating monsters inside thing, "things," huge, heavy, bulky "things" hovered over me, smelled at me, moved between me and the fire, shuffled
and babbled. Could they talk? Suddenly I realized I wasn't dreaming and no hours had passed. It had only been a matter of minutes. I could hear them moving around, and they were talking. Words of long "O's," short, fast, more grunted than spoken.
What about Sam?
No sound from him. No shot, scream...nothing...
I was afraid to open my eyes. What were they doing? Going through our packs, was that it?
I carefully flipped the safety catch off my gun and waited. Maybe they'd just leave...maybe they'd just leave...
The noise stopped, the gibbering stopped, the whole concentrated sense of presence great. They were between me and the fire. Surrounding me, weren't they? They were all around me, their smell so strong I felt like gagging, held it down, forced myself to breathe slowly, regularly. I could hear their breaths, their movments, they were closing around me like a tightening noose. I felt a shadow descend down over my head. It wasn't going to work, passivity, waiting. Sam was wrong, the "out there" would destroy me
if it had a chance. They were killers, they were men, they talked, they weren't apes...
As the shadow kept descending suddenly I rolled over toward the fire and opened my eyes, pulled out my gun and fired up at the shadow that was descending on me.
It was about seven feet tall, huge arms, shell-shaped head, prominent supra-orbital ridge, had a large sharp-edged stone in its hand, kind of a primitive "cutter" with a neanderthalish chipped edge, the edge full of blood.
I saw Sam lying over by the fire, on his back, dead, his head almost severed from his body, the blood from his ragged neck-wound covering his clothes....
And there wasn't one of them, but four.
I had hit the one who was abviously about to get at my neck the way he'd gotten at Sam. He dropped his stone, his handless axe -- that's what it was, wasn't it ? -- and grabbed at his stomach. The others, all of them covered with long copper-colored fur, longer on the head, but covering their entire bodies, seemed confused, unsure
of what to do. I scrambled out of my sleeping bag, got Sam's rifle and started shooting at them, my mind blanked out now, everything I did automatic, unthinking, blind, the months I'd spent firing at targets at Sam's place outside of Eureka, all the careful and precise aiming, techniques, submerged under a white-blind-light-flash of KILL!!
I wanted to get the big male who had threatened me first. Got at him. Over and over again. Into his stomach. At his head. Into his chest. Get him. Get him. He went down, roaring, screaming, trying to get at, get to me...down on the ground now, though, crawling, howling at me. I aimed for his face, his eyes, his mouth, shot, shot, shot, shot....
Blood gushing out of his left eye, out of his mouth, his howling now beginning to gurgle with his own blood, until finally he stopped altogether, no more sound, movement. The others waited. The one of them (second in command?) screamed something at them and they turned and fled back into the forest. Only I kept firing as long as I had shots left. Got my rifle now and tried to hit them, destroy them, should have had mortars, grenades. I wanted to destroy the whole world, destroy everything, destroy, destroy,
And even after they'd made it out of the firelight I followed their bloody tracks into the dark and kept firing, screaming at them.
"You sons of bitches, I'll kill you all, I'll kill you all, I'll kill you all, I'll kill you all."
Only then stopped. They might turn and wait, I didn't want to chance that. They might turn and wait for me in the dark if I followed them in.
So I stopped and went back to the fire, put on some more branches, let it blaze up, felt like screaming, felt out of myself, felt exalted, exultnt, triumpant, felt like screaming....and screamed...
Slowly came back to my self, returned to my body, my fatigue, exhaustion, fear,sat down brething heavily, rapidly, my heart beating irregularly, jumping twisted nd grotesquely in my chest, thought, you stupid sonofbitch, Sam....you stupid sonofabitch...you wanted to die, so you're dead.
Then I kicked out the fire. They'd had enough for one night, man. And they'd seen in me, a pudgy little whiteman, more fury, hatred and destructiveness than they could collectively muster
together. It was my first kill and I loved it. Oh, I'd killed dogs and rats and dissected a human corpse in med school, but this was my first "man"-kill...and looking at Sam's almost decapitated corpse in the light of the still-glowing coals, I even enjoyed imagining that I'd killed him too. I felt wildly, hysterically "liberated" -- even as exhausted as I was, my whole body-surface becoming "aware," my face "aware" of the cold breeze, the rest of me "aware" of my clothes, my shoes. I smelled the heavy rich pine-smell in the air more acutely than I'd ever smelled it before. And inside I was relaxed, unstrung, my fear, ambiguity, uncertainty, my whole tentative, squeaking, retreating world-view replaced by a delicious, tensionless, loose-jointed, loose-limbed calm and self-assurance.
I reloaded all the guns, took my pistol in my hand, placed the other guns around me on the ground, got into my sleeping bag and slept the sleep of the killer....
The next morning I buried Sam, then with the same knife I'd used to dig Sam's grave, I cut up my Sasquatch, head off, arms, hands, heart, liver, lungs, rib cage, then the legs in two parts, upper and lower, feet, pelvis...put all the parts in little bags filled with formaldehyde, made a kind of sled out of five small pine trucks, and
started back west, toward the coast, dragging the sled behind me.
It was eight o'clock. I'd moved iup out of the "amphitheater" we'd been in the night before. The Sasquatch must have weighed between seven hundred and eight hundred pounds, but the forest floor was covered with slippery pine-needles so it was difficult but not impossible. Anyhow, I could have buried the body in its formaldehyded bags, then climbed up on one of the trees and tied a "marker" on top. Or just marked the spot where the body was and then come back. The "amphitheater" wouldn't be that hard to find. Or I could have dissected the whole body out right there, photographed it, step by step. As far as anthropological needs were concerned, there wasn't much else that anyone would (could) do anyhow. If I'd been able to get one of them back alive, now that would have been something else again. Even linguistically...would their language be some kind of proto-Asiatic? What were their myths if they had any? What collective tribal memories would they have of their own origins? Did they know about the existence of other Sasquatches? One Amerindian myth talked about a constant war between two separate groups of "wildmen."
Of course the whole science of anthropology would have to be
readjusted to fit in our Sasquatch. Paleontology, archaeology, comparative mythology, sociology. One live Sasquatch would radically modify the whole contemporary man-science scene. And even a dead one would have the anthropologists chattering for decades. And my name, if I played it right, could become a permanent part of "the literature."
And then I stoped. I could see Mount Baker off to my right, threw the nylon pull-ropes on the ground, took my pistol in hand, just let the "thing" there and kept walking west.
HUGH FOX ----- A Little Bio-Data
Born in Chicago, 1932,polio at age 5,cured with new pre-Saulk experimental medicine,childhood immersed in opera, violin, piano, musical composition, art by his ex-violinist-turned-M.D. father, and frustrated actress mother, then 3 years of pre-med and a year of Medicine, dropped out of medical school and got a B.S. (Hum.) and M.A.(English) from Loyola U.in Chicago, first trip to Paris,London,Florence, Rome, Amsterdam, etc., then a Ph.D.in American Literature from the U. of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign).Married Peruvian poet Lucia Ungaro de Zevallos. Prof. of American Literature, Loyola University in Los Angeles (now Loyola Marymount University) , 1958-1968,Professor in the Department of American Thought and Language, Michigan State University (1968-1999).Now retired, Professor Emeritus . Fulbright Professor of American Studies/Literature, U. of Hermosillo, Mexico, 1961, U. Católica and Institúto Pedagógico, Caracas, 1964-1966, U. of Florianópolis, Brazil, 1978-1980. Married Maria Bernadete Costa M.D. 1 yr. studying Lt. Am. culture at Mendoza Foundation (Caracas) with Mariano Picon-Salas. Organization of American States Grant to study Latin American Studies/Argentinian Literature, U. of Buenos Aires, 1971. John Carter Brown Library Fellowship, Brown U. , 1968 (Studies in sixteenth and seventeenth century Spanish economics and avant-garde literature). OAS grant as archaeologist, Atacama Desert, Chile, 1986.Lectures in Spain and Portugal 1975-'76. Founder and Board of Directors member of COSMEP, the International Organization of Independent Publishers, from 1968 until its death in 1996. Editor of Ghost Dance: The International Quarterly of Experimental Poetry, 1968-1995. Latin American editor of Western World Review & North American Review, during 60's. Former contributing reviewer on Smith/ Pulpsmith, Choice etc. currently contributing reviewer to SPR and SMR.105 books published, the most recent Defiance (Higganum Hill Press, 2007) (poetry), Finalmente/Finally (Solo Press, 2007) (poetry), Opening the Door to French Film (World Audience, 2007) , Rediscovering America (World Audience, 2009) (archaeology), Alex (poetry chapbook, Rubicon Press), Peace/LaPaix (Higganum Hill,2008, another poetry chapbook), The Collected Poetry (World Audience, 2008...540 pages), Icehouse & The Thirteen Keys to Talmud (Crossing Chaos Press in London, Ontario. A novella and sci fi novel, 2009), Revoir (s.stories, All Things that Matter Press, 2009), Gesangvoll/Songful (Pudding House Chapbook Series,2010), Icehouse &
Thirteen Keys to Talmud (Crossing Chaos Press, 2010).
"Hugh Fox has long been a legend in the annals of contemporary American poetry, a poet who is unafraid to explore the deeper fodder of the human psyche....there are no barriers here for Fox is a shaman who walks through walls, ignoring all social rules and regulations...here is life as art. Fox is a poet who paints without inhibition or games....these are poems of human history, which cry out to be heard and read...." (A review of Time by B.L. Kennedy, Rattlesnake Review, #9, Spring, 2006).
Bill Ryan in The Unborn Book, Vol.I, #1,1977: "Hugh Fox is the Paul Bunyan of American Letters, part myth, part monster, and, myself-as-subject, a magnificent, non-stop story teller."
"'Buddha revolving between Inner Calm and an opening Spiritual Retina on the impossible Now is the wisdom from Hugh Fox, poet-visionary extrordinaire...." Rambunctious Review, Vol. XVIII, 2001-2002.
"Fox...is a poet, scholar and critic who has ambitions as a playwright as well. The plays in this collection aren't your standard Arthur Miller or Thornton Wilder fare. They are more like Samuel Beckett on acid. Fox writes the way he talks: a rapid fire stream-of-consciousness, full of anecdotes....and arcane esoteric references from his seventy-five eclectic years," Review by Doug Holder of Ommmmmm: A Collection of Plays and Monologues, on Ibbeson Update. 1/28/07.
"...Barriers don't last long around Hugh Fox. He is the ultimate explorer of the self....Whitman, in Song of Myself, only grazes the surfaces that Fox penetrates. Henry Miller is demure compared to Hugh Fox..." from the introduction by Eric Greinke to Time published by Presa:S:Press in 2005.
" [Fox's] poetry resounds with a wisdom both primal and spiritual. His mind and spirit wander the world, hopeful and despairing, looking back on ghosts of the past and forward in search of proof that our existence will not end." Review of Defiance (Higganum Hill Books, 2007), on Galatea Resurrects #10, on-line, Summer, 2008.
"Hugh Fox is a Professor Emeritus, archeologist, editor, writer, and iconic poet of international fame.His poetic styles range from super academic to Dadaistic to surrealistic to avant garde to post-Bukowski realism. For decades, whatever his creative style at the time, fans have celebrated the earthy and erudite poetry experience that is Hugh Fox." Review of The Collected Poetry of Hugh Fox (WorldAudience, 2008) by Laurel Johnson.


text:
Hello people!
I just got back from vacation and boy it was sweet! It was a much needed time to spend with my family. I got about three shades darker thanks to the Florida sun and swimming in the water. I also think I gained about 5 lbs. I was just sleeping, relaxing, eating and overall having a good time.
As a visual artist, and solely focusing on building my business as an artist, there are going to be times you are going to need a break. This past week, I was on break but now it's back to business, let me tell you how it can be done in simple 3 ways without breaking the bank.
Alone time with no distractions
Sleep , is not just for toddlers and seniors, but just about everybody needs a nap. I know you've heard the stats of how much this country is sleep deprived. You not only need it, you want it. A good night sleep will make you escape to sweet dreams in paradise and not necessarily the heavenly kind. A good thing to do before you take a nap is read something fun, that way your brain picks up what you read and you escape to your imagination. The best part is no one will bug you, unless you have good friends in your dream and then you'll wake up feeling good and refreshed.
Food, unless you are a foodie like I am, you appreciate the flavor of food pouncing on your tastebuds like a jackhammer on cement. I enjoy my food, but if you want to taste something and escape, it doesn't have to be gourmet. Just go to your local ice cream shoppe and get a sample. Samples are free. Ask the attendant of a flavor that you would like to try or haven't had in a while. Get the sample and sit down somewhere. Taste it. I love the crumble bits of cookie dough, it's chewy texture mixed with cold cream. Aah, that's good. Yum. Or if you hate sweets, you can buy a 50 cent Doritos and taste each individual chip. It's not free, but the point is to savor the flavor.
Last, but not least, is being alone with no distractions
You need to enjoy your own company. Walk in the park and sit somewhere. Look at the birds and gangsta squirrels around you(Just make sure you don't bring a lot of good with you, those squirrels will eye you down. For true, in NYC). Read a book, write a poem, take note of what's around you. Breathe. Talk to God, talk to the nature He created for your visual enjoyment. Also don't take your smartphone with you or iPad, iPod or other distracting device. The point is to live in the moment.
Well that's it. All three of these ways can be used at home or away from home. The point is to be well rested and enjoy your surroundings.
Stay blessed my loves. Check out my current artwork progress at The Peephole here.
For the love of God and Art
Thru His vessel JB

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Last one! I didn't mean to spend so long on these. Anyway, Suzumiya…
So previously I said Swings was how I wanted the band to sound, lyrically. Suzumiya (the CDR version more than the Atomsk version) is basically how I wanted it to sound sonically. It's light and positive and happy, and it doesn't really sound like anything else, to my ears anyway.
Most of our tracks tend to have very strictly defined structures; here's a verse, a short transition, chorus, repeat etc. Craig doesn't seem to mind this, but I do. There's one track we've not released which I can't stand because it's just a bunch of unrelated sections rammed together without any coherence. Some of those sections are kind of promising, but in the context of the song they're just an ugly mess.
Suzumiya (CDR version) was an attempt to create something more fluid and organic; more interesting. All the parts were designed to work together, to overlap and repeat in unexpected patterns. It's a lesson I learnt from a music teacher in high school: repetition is nothing to be feared; repetition is good, unexpected repetition is better. Admittedly there is an obvious break point 2/3 through the track where the overlapping strategy goes out the window, but to my ears at least that final 1/3 is a natural development out of the earlier part.
I think it's still my favourite track of ours.
The name comes from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, an anime coming-of-age tale that touches on bipolar disorder, with episodes shown chronologically out of order. It also has aliens, ESP and time travelling, and imagines god as a 15-year-old girl. It's got music, dancing, computer games, and a miss marple-esque mystery in a remote mansion. It's great. It seems they've made a bunch more episodes and a movie since I originally found it, but I'm not sure I want to see them; those original 14 episodes are pretty much perfect as far as I'm concerned.
I guess all that's left is a bit about the Atomsk version's lyrics. They're about sex. Also love. e.g. the pixel art here.


text:
This reservation will start at Oct 30, end at Nov 6 (or ends earlier). Reserved price is US$92 for the dress (SKU: DR00155), and US$56 for the skirt (SKU: SP00148).
Later in Dec, we should formally issue these 2 items, the normal price would back into US$115 and US$70.
Jumper skirt dress:
Reservation linkage:
Reservation linkage:


text:
Need to take a stab at something new for your next ski get-away? All things considered, there is another kind of skiing that you can attempt and will definitely flavor up your run of the mill ski excursion trips – monoskiing.
This sort of skiing was created in the 1950s. The arrangement of hardware utilized is essentially the same with what is utilized as a part of regular skiing. A monoskier skis utilizing a solitary twofold wide ski where he or she plants both their feet on the board looking ahead and skis utilizing styled ski shafts.
For general skiers who need to have a go at monoskiing, getting its entire elements is simple anyway, it takes some time before they get accustomed to it particularly with regards to adjust. Performing tricks and traps, achieving high speeds, discovering air and participating in customary crosscountry skiing are as yet conceivable with monoskiing.
This skiing is really simpler on the knees than regular skiing, that is the reason it offers for the most part to skies with frail knees. In monoskiing, the weight is focused between the knees while they move with the hub of development. Indeed, even the individuals who have history of knee damage could at present have a go at monoskiing. This kind of skiing basically requires a great deal of abdominal area exertion, adjusting the work amongst upper and lower body more similarly than in traditional skiing.
The uplifting news is, this kind of skiing additionally takes into account the interests of impaired skiers which empowers them to feel the excite of the inclines.
Enabling impaired individuals
For this debilitated individuals, monoskiing opened the entryways for them to hit the slants and be dynamic in sports. For paraplegic skiers, they utilizes diverse sorts of ski intended to various types of capacities.
A monoski has a seat with a ski mounted onto it which can be controlled with the abdominal area alone. This kind of ski has been produced for skiers with various leg removals, spinal damage coming about to loss of motion of the lower body.
Another kind of ski is known as a bi-ski, which is comparative with the monoski however the seat is mounted on two skis. This is intended for those skiers whose legs are in place however have confined control because of different sclerosis, cerebral paralysis, solid dystrophy, or spinal harmony or cerebrum wounds.
A four-track is another sort of ski intended for the individuals who need great sidelong control, and utilize two skis with outriggers. Another sort is known as the ski bicycle, initially intended for healthy yet is effectively utilized by leg amputees who can wear simulated appendages while skiing.
Monoskiing does not just serve the yearnings of skiers who might want to have a go at something other than what's expected amid their ski get-away. Be that as it may, it likewise engages the individuals who are impaired and enable them to make progress in this game in spite of their circumstance.


text:
Sausage Dressing
Total TimePrep: 20 min. Cook: 3 hours
Makes10 servings
- 1 pound bulk pork sausage
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 2 celery ribs, chopped
- 1 can (14-1/2 ounces) chicken broth
- 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
- 1/4 cup butter, melted
- 1-1/2 teaspoons rubbed sage
- 1/2 teaspoon pepper
- 1 package (14 ounces) seasoned stuffing cubes (about 9 cups)
- 1 large tart apple, chopped
- 1 cup chopped walnuts or pecans
- In a large skillet, cook and crumble sausage with onion and celery over medium heat until no longer pink, 5-7 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer sausage mixture to a greased 5-qt. slow cooker.
- Stir in broth, eggs, melted butter, sage and pepper. Add remaining ingredients; mix lightly to combine.
- Cook, covered, on low until a thermometer inserted in center reads 165°, 3-4 hours, stirring once.
Nutrition Facts2/3 cup: 412 calories, 25g fat (7g saturated fat), 75mg cholesterol, 1080mg sodium, 37g carbohydrate (5g sugars, 4g fiber), 13g protein.
Recommended Video
Dec 10, 2013
Very good stuffing; would make again. Making in the slow cooker was a definite plus.
Nov 29, 2013
I made this for Thanksgiving yesterday. It smelled so good while it was cooking, but when we went to eat it, it was so nasty that it made me want to vomit.
Dec 20, 2010
I left out the apple, egg and sage and it still tasted good. I also cooked it in the oven. My son-in-law said he could eat the whole dish (but he didn't..lol)
Sep 8, 2010
I make my own cornbread and when it comes out of the oven and cools, I cut it up in cubes. Then I add the cooked pork sausage, cooked onion, celery, sage, melted butter and chicken broth and gently mix and put in a buttered casserole and bake at 325 degrees for one hour. It's wonderful. I also use sage flavored pork sausage when I can find it.


text:
Nikon Forestry 550
The Ultimate Multi-Tasker
The Forestry 550 offers optimized angle compensation technology for forestry and birding use. Birders and researchers use the Forestry 550 for distance sampling, nest searching, and habitat assesment when researching the density of local breeding birds.
Features :
• 6.0x Magnification
• 10-500 m Measurement Range
• Displays Linear/Horizontal Distance
• Laser Activator/Low Battery Indicators
• Two-Point/Three-Point Calculations
• Waterproof to 1 Meter for 10 Minutes
• Multicoated Monocular Optics
• High Eyepoint Design
• Crosshair Reticle


text:
Technical Info
+ Technical Bulletins
+ Telecom
+ EMI/ESD Shielding
+ O-Ring Size Chart
Industries Served
Technical Bulletins
Over the years, PressCut has produced a wide variety of products for many different industries. Following are technical bulletins showcasing these products. The industries represented include:
- Aerospace
- Appliances
- Automotive
- Consumer Products
- Electronics
- Medical
- Military
- Telecom
- Valves & Regulators
- Die Cut Dielectric Spacer, Honeycomb [PCTB 97-0813] - A special lightweight/high strength die cut part from a honeycomb material.
- Housing Gasket, Environmental/Shielded Combination [PCTB 97-0601] - A unique state of the art multifunction Environmental/Shielded gasket.
- Air Filter Separator [PCTB 99-0430] - A large HVAC part produced with a 200 metric ton press.
- Central Vacuum Intake Gasket [PCTB 00-0530] - An appliance gasket.
- High Temperature Appliance Gasket [PCTB 98-1201] - A high temperature rated gasket used on a commercial appliance.
- Screen Printed Microwave Oven Door Window [PCTB 99-0630] - A decorative appliance part.
- Speed Control Gasket Set [PCTB 99-1030] - A nested set of gaskets.
- Transmission Gasket [PCTB 95-0714A] - A typical washing machine transmission gasket.
- Automobile Cellular Antenna Mounts [PCTB 97-0411] - Die cut parts designed to mount a cellular antenna to glass.
- Compressor Gasket [PCTB 95-0909A] - A typical automotive A/C compressor gasket.
- Compressor Gasket Nested Set [PCTB 98-0801] - A custom die cut set of gaskets that provides a seal in a compressor.
- Die Cut Light Shield [PCTB 96-0209A] - A unique die cut part used in automotive dash applications.
Consumer Products
- Anti-vibration Pad, (with markings) [PCTB 99-0101] - An anti-vibration pad for a computer application.
- Die Cut Laminated ESD (Electrostatic Discharge) Shield [PCTB 97-1031] -A precision die cut laminate that replaces an expensive fabricated sheet metal part.
- Flexible Heat Spreader [PCTB 95-1111B] - A unique die cut heat transfer device used for electronic applications.
- High Temperature Muffler Gasket [PCTB 97-0931] -A high temperature gasket die cut from flexible graphite.
- Speaker Gasket [PCTB 95-1003A] - A unique foam gasket used in a telephone application.
- Wire Safety Barrier/Anti-Intrusion Barrier [PCTB 98-1101] - A safety barrier used on a consumer appliance.
- Adaptable Perforated Foam Gasket [PCTB 99-1130] - A gasket adaptable for several applications.
- Alarm Circuit Indicator Panel [PCTB 98-1001] - A barrier/cover printed with warnings and component identification.
- Composite EMI/RFI and EMP Gasket [PCTB 97-0113A] - An assembled EMI/RFI and EMP gasket that provides minimal.
- Die Cut Anti-Skid Feet for Telephone [PCTB 99-0531] - A small precision die cut part from a rubber like material.
- Die Cut Bug Strips [PCTB 96-1015] - An easy to install non metallic insect screen.
- Die Cut Sound Vibration Dampening Panels [PCTB 98-0109] - A die cut laminated part that dampen sound and vibration in an electronic enclosure.
- Die Cut Thermally Conductive Pad [PCTB 95-0619B] - A die cut thermally conductive device.
- EMI/RFI Composite Wrapped Gasket [PCTB 96-0930] - Lower volume high quality shielding device.
- EMI/RFI Fan Tray Gasket [PCTB 98-0201A] - A dual purpose composite gasket that provides EMI/RFI shielding and an environmental seal.
- EMI/RFI Hollow O-ring Seal [PCTB 97-1130] - A flexible EMI/RFI O-ring seal that shields gaps in electronic enclosures and requires low closure force.
- Flame Retardant Insulator [PCTB 99-1230] - A flat die cut insulator that conforms to a three dimension shape.
- Flame Retardant Moisture Guard [PCTB 00-0630] - A die cut flame retardant plastic part.
- Foam Light Guide [PCTB 00-0430] - A die cut device that channels light in a display.
- Low Closure Force EMI Gasket [PCTB 96-0412A] - An EMI gasket that can reduce fasteners.
- Modified Foam Core EMI/RFI Gaskets [PCTB 00-0229] - An inexpensive custom EMI/RFI gasket assembled without heavy tooling costs.
- Optically Clear EMI/RFI Window [PCTB 98-0501] - A low cost die cut clear window with EMI/RFI shielding properties.
- Rectifier Bus Bar Long Length Insulator [PCTB 98-0301] - A die cut insulator exceeding 1.5 meters in length.
- Shielded P-Shape Door Gasket [PCTB 95-1205A] - A combination hinge and EMI/RFI shielding component.
- Splitter RF Gasket [PCTB 95-0501A] - An effective RF and moisture seal die cut part.
- Spring Metal Finger Stock, Shielding for Electronic Enclosures [PCTB 97-0709] - Thin metal EMI/RFI parts die cut to size with mounting cut outs for ease of assembly.
- Telephone Handset Weight [PCTB 00-0130] - An inexpensive die cut rubber weight.
- Thermally Conductive Insulator Pads [PCTB 98-0901] - A thermal interface for electronic components that replaces thermal grease and reduces overall cost.
- Wire Barrier and Insulator Set [PCTB 98-0701] - A set of die cut insulators that protects leads on a circuit pack or PWB.
- Disposable Paper Filters [PCTB 99-0930] - A disposable paper filter for a medical application.
- Molded Umbrella Valve [PCTB 96-0313B] - A molded flexible valve component.
- Resuscitator Mask Parts [PCTB 96-1217A] - Die cut parts used in a medical device.
- Thin Flapper Valve [PCTB 95-0419A] - A unique fluidics die cut part.
- EMI/RFI Shielded Flange Gasket Assembly [PCTB 95-0816A] - An EMI/RFI shielded assembly.
- Die Cut Electrostatic Shield [PCTB 96-0115A] - A unique die cut and printed part.
- Die Cut Printed Insulator [PCTB 96-0617A] - A die cut and printed insulator for electrical and thermal applications.
Valves & Regulators
- Die Cut LP Gas Diaphragm [PCTB 96-0709A] - A die cut composite material diaphragm for fluid applications.
- Gas Range Diaphragm [PCTB 00-0331] - A fabric core die cut natural gas diaphragm.
- Prepackaged Seal Kits [PCTB 96-0828] - A value added service.
- Test Equipment Valve Gasket [PCTB 98-0601] - A valve/manifold gasket designed for semiconductor test equipment.
- U-Trough End Flange Gasket [PCTB 96-0517A] - A flange gasket that also reduces noise and vibration.


text:
I thought that, rather than starting with a description of maturity as end-gain, I would describe some aspects of immaturity. By immature, I mean to suggest that a person is not availing himself to life in the fullest sense: He is not bringing all of what he is, his self, in full contact with the world. He is not able to be fulfilled and grow in the most absolute sense. There are two themes running concurrently; self and full contact.
As self, in the fullest sense, a person is free to draw from polar opposites, and everything in between, of different aspects of his character. Tragedy, the mundane, or comedy could be reflected, for example, in grieving, indifference, and laughing, by a person who is able to access a full range of emotions. This applies also to cognitive functions as well, whereby a person can rationally assess all "means-whereby" alternatives in determining the most effective path to problem resolution.
Man's needs bubble up from inside himself, and also come into being from environmental stimulus. In either case, man's needs become figure against his background of experience and wisdom, and demand satiation. He senses a feeling of excitement, or alternatively – anxiety. One avenue for minimizing anxiety is to accept what is presented as given: to swallow whole without full and authentic assimilation. As an example, a school student might accept a math proof from an educator as true even though he doesn't understand it, or perhaps disagrees with it. Rather than suffer the embarrassment and anxiety associated with asking for further clarification, he pretends to understand. Because he avoids the encounter with his class, and the potential embarrassment by risking not knowing or being incorrect, growth ceases to take place. The individual stagnates, or worse.
The Gestaltist term this type of neurotic avoidance as "confluence". With bodies of water, it means flowing together. By going with the social flow, through confluence, we stay safe, but give up our individuality and independence. We give up the self.
With botany, seeds grow because they sit in soil, and are distinct from soil. With man, if child is "seed" and home and school "soil", what can parents and educators do to keep soil "fertile"? When we assume the authoritarian role, do we promote full assimilation and growth, or capitulation through confluence? What is the short-term result? Long-term result?
I welcome your commentary. I am thinking, considering, and re-writing with time.


text:
Me: What is the shoebox doing in your floor, Anna?
Anna: It's for the vote.
Me: What vote?
Anna: For the Secretary and President of Dogs vote.
Me: What? I don't even know what that means.
Anna: For the Secretary and President of Dogs vote!
Me: You can keep stating it, but I still don't have any idea what you're talking about.
JT: I don't think she got a chance to vote. She doesn't know what you are talking about.
Anna: It's for the Secretary and President of Lexi. You know, I'm the Secretary and JT's the President.
Interesting that she just decided to jettison the Vice President position. Must have figured it's a figurehead or something. I don't know what goes on in that head of hers. They were apparently running unopposed and weren't even interested in soliciting the votes of all house occupants. The whole thing was clearly fixed.


text:
Oriental Rugs Glossary "D"
Dagestan: NE Caucasus fine bluish oriental rugs.
Daoulatabad: NW Afghan collecting centre of carpets esp. the wazirate large type.
Damarly: a name given by Azerbaijanians to Zili-woven carpets with relief ornament.
Density: The measure by which the quality of the rug's construction is judged. Determined by two factors: number of knots and the height of the pile in a given area.
Dezlyk: Shaped weavings somewhat similar to kapunuks (see above) but smaller and often with an extra rectangular flap at the base of the cross-bar'. Used as decoration for the camel's breast. Khalyk is the word favoured by Western writers, modern Soviet researchers preferring dezlyk (or dezlik).
Dhurrie rugs: A flatwoven rug from India, usually made of cotton or wool.
Diyarbakir: Kurdish rug collecting centre in East Anatolia.
Directional Rug: Any rug having a design which is intended to be viewed from one particular view point. A prayer rug or a pictorial rug are good examples of such.
Divari: Vertical carpet loom in Persian.
Doruksh: Jufti knotted Qainat carpets in the floral city style.
Doshemealti: Red and blue postwar good Anatolian commercial rugs popular with tourists.
Dozar: A Persian name used to describe approximately a 4.6 x 6.6 size carpet.
Dobag: The Turkish "Natural Dye Research and Development Project" which began in 1981. It's main objective was to teach Turkish weavers the art of using natural dyes after years of using only chemical colors in carpet production.
Donegal: An Irish factory for rug production which was established in 1858.
Doroksh: A town in northeast Iran noted for producing rugs with floral motifs and medallions. Older rugs have wool foundations while newer ones have cotton. The jufti knot is mostly used.
Double Prayer Rug: A prayer rug which has two opposing niches or mihrabs opposing one another.
Dragon and Phoenix : Together these two motifs represent happiness and good fortune in Chinese rugs. The dragon represents the emperor and symbolizes the powers of the universe and nature. The phoenix represents the empress and the five cardinal virtues.
Dragon rugs : A group of 16th-18th century Caucasian rugs decorated with large S shaped dragons throughout the field. They are rare and are very sought after by collectors.
Drugget: This non-pile type of rug comes from India and the Balkans and is usually of goat hair, cotton and jute.
Dry rot: After many years the rug becomes dry and brittle, or liquids or moisture on a rug for an extended time can cause the rug to become dry rot.


text:
While visiting Sue's blog today, I noticed that she is up for a People's Health Blogger Award. I decided to vote for her, and I am putting a "Vote for Sue" widget on my sidebar. Sue's blog is one of the first I found when I discovered I had CFS and started blogging about it. I was so new and lacking in knowledge when it comes to this disease! Sue was always there to open my eyes and show me different paths to understanding just what was going on with me. It was from her that I learned about post-exertional malaise, orthostatic intolerance, and LDN. And she seemed a "success" story. Even though she still has CFS, she seems to manage it so well, and she still has a life! That is what I aspire to. So, in a way, I would say Sue has been my CFS mentor, and she has become a very understanding friend. I wish her the best of luck!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
People's Health Blogger Awards
Posted by Shelli at 10:04 AM 6 comments Links to this post
Labels: blessings, CFS, chronic fatigue, chronic illness, coping, healing, health, hope, inspiration, life with CFS, living with CFS, post-exertional malaise
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The Fear
I've thought about this ever since I watched Laurel's video on Treya's blog. One thing the stories about those severely affected by CFS seem to have in common is that they were moderate to begin with, but they pushed too hard and ended up in a severe crash they never came out of. I can't help but wonder -- is this the slippery slope I'm destined to head down as well?
For awhile, it seemed like my CFS had stabilized. I was functioning at about 50%. I knew what my limits were, and I largely stayed within them. Sure, I cheated once in awhile, but I rested up after and rebounded rather quickly. It made me feel like I was "getting better."
August pushed me way beyond my limits, and I fell to about 30%. I followed my recuperative routine. I added extra rests. I put further restrictions on my activities. I cut back on my nearly non-existent exercise. I learned and regularly practiced deep breathing and meditative exercises. And I haven't budged. Like Sue said in her blog today, I wonder if this is my new "normal."
It's funny how we grasp around, trying to convince ourselves that we have some control over this disease. I take a gazillion supplements without any evidence that a single one does any good. I pace, I rest, I modify my diet, I destress. I've become a ghost of who I used to be. And I tip-toe around thinking that if I don't disturb it, CFS will somehow leave me alone.
Well, I'm still a wife and still a mother of six and still co-owner of a struggling business. I am at the mercy of LIFE. Will the next blow be the one that does me in?
Posted by Shelli at 11:01 AM 5 comments Links to this post
Labels: CFS, chronic fatigue, chronic illness, crash, life with CFS, living with CFS
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Hanging on to Dear Life
Do you remember that children's game, Crack the Whip? You all hold hands, and the leader runs around, pulling everyone along. It's quite fun, unless you're the one at the end of the line. I feel like life is playing Crack the Whip with me, and I'm just trying to hold on!
I did something crazy this year. I signed my two younger boys up for soccer. In my defense, I signed them up in May, when I was feeling relatively well and expected to be feeling better by September. I didn't realize I'd be having a downturn in August that wouldn't relent for quite some time.
So, now here we are -- my boys have soccer practice Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons. We have games on Saturday. Can I just tell you how much they love it? My youngest son had never played before. He was so nervous his first day of practice! By the end of the hour, his eyes were shining and he told me, "I love it!" He is ready for practice half an hour before we have to leave. He asks me, "Is it time to go yet?" every five minutes. My older son isn't as fond of practice (because you have to run). But he loves playing in the games! He scored his first goal yesterday, and he was so proud! He is quite a natural at it -- he isn't intimidated at all, he has a good sense of the field, and he has some pretty good moves.
How could I not give them this little piece of normal childhood? Yes, it's killing me, and I don't have time for anything else (shopping? cooking? cleaning? bah, who need's them!), but I had to do it. I just had to.
I'm still working Tuesdays. My husband and I both wish I didn't have to, but there are no alternatives in sight. My husband, wonderful man, has taken on so much to ease my burdens, he is at near breaking point. If he worked my day, too, that would mean six days at work a week, plus the extra duties at home. We can't afford to hire someone else, especially when the people we've tried in the past have been so ineffective.
My oldest son was in a bike accident a couple of weeks ago. The front wheel of his bike came off, and he hit the street at relatively high speed with his face. He suffered lacerations, abrasions, a broken tooth, and a broken nose. Luckily, he was wearing sunglasses, because they were destroyed but saved him from damaging his eyes. My husband was at jury duty and I was at work the day it happened. Of course, I closed down the store and spent the day with my son in the emergency room. He looked so terrible -- we jokingly called him a zombie. I thought I was holding up pretty well for him. But, when my husband finally got back and relieved me at the hospital, I broke down completely sitting in my car in the parking lot. Boys! If they don't kill themselves, they'll kill their mothers.
I tried to go to church today, even though I knew I wasn't up to it. I love the feeling I have when I'm at church. I stopped to talk with a friend, and half way through our conversation, I was crying (I'm an emotional wreck on my bad days!). I stayed for about 15 minutes, just enough time to take the sacrament. While I was there, I saw familiar faces and the familiar routine of people going about, serving, teaching their classes, taking children to the bathroom, etc. Oh, how I miss it! I ache.
So, I'm just hanging on right now. Barely hanging on.
Posted by Shelli at 11:56 AM 5 comments Links to this post
Labels: CFS, chronic fatigue, chronic illness, church, coping, crash, faith, family, grieving, healing, joy, life with CFS, living with CFS, love and romance, motherhood


text:
Guided Tours are not available under Level 2 restrictions
Every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday from 11am. No booking required.
Outside of these times, pre-booked tours are available for groups of any size and can be arranged with 48 hours notice. Minimum of two people.
Adults $20
Child 6-14 years $13
Children 5 and under are free of charge
To book a place, please call 07 958 5940 or email firstname.lastname@example.com
Take a tour with one of our experienced volunteer guides and discover the secrets of Hamilton Gardens. This all-season tour takes 75 minutes and includes our most popular enclosed gardens. Discover the subtleties of each garden's design that have been created over the last 30 years by Gardens' Director Dr Peter Sergel.


text:
I ask you: What are the odds?
An estimated 200 volunteers descended on an elementary school in southeast Washington's predominantly poor, African-American community on Saturday as part of the annual Make a Difference Day of volunteering launched by Gannett's USA Weekend in 1992.
And of all those volunteers, the company's WUSA-TV chose one in particular to interview and quote -- extensively.
"On a crisp autumn day," correspondent Andrea McCarren says in her report, "at an inner-city school scarred by budget cuts and the passage of time, a transformation is underway. On this Make a Difference Day, Gannett CEO Gracia Martore is leading the charge."
Indeed, there was Martore, in a blue Make a Difference Day t-shirt that barely concealed her wireless mic pack, industriously stacking books and telling McCarren:
"Gannett's mission is to inspire the greater good in the 100-plus communities that we serve. In addition to providing news and information that is important to our readers and viewers in those communities, we feel compelled to make a difference in those communities."
Has Chief Marketing Officer Maryam Banikarim been re-reading Charles Dickens in her new, post-Robin Pence world?
My favorite part of the WUSA transcript are the quotes attributed to the beneficiaries of Martore's noblesse oblige. They're identified as follows: "a young boy," "a girl nearby," "another classmate," and "a little girl."
(I'll add: Please, sir, I want some more identification -- like that important white lady over there!)
That's Martore (center) in the frozen frame of the video:
Earlier: GCI's board of directors visits an Iowa workhouse. Plus: Martore directs another $15,000 in Gannett Foundation money to her alma mater.


text:
Accessibility Standard Coming Into Force For Public Sector
McGuinty Government Improving Customer Services For People With Disabilities
Ontario is reminding public sector organizations that the province's first accessibility standard -- for customer service -- is coming into force January 1, 2010.
The province's ministries, hospitals, schools, municipalities and other public sector organizations must make sure their services are accessible by meeting requirements such as:
- training staff about meeting the needs of customers with a variety of disabilities
- communicating with a person in a manner that takes into account their disability
- permitting customers to bring their service animals, such as guide dogs, onto their premises.
The customer service standard is part of Ontario's plan to make the province accessible for people with disabilities by 2025.
The province's private sector will need to meet these requirements by 2012.
Quick Facts
- More than 1.85 million Ontarians have a disability and this number is quickly rising as the population ages.
- By 2017, for the first time, Ontarians aged 65 and over will account for a larger share of the population than children aged 0-14.
- Canadians with disabilities spend $25 billion every year and influence the spending decisions of 12 to 15 million other consumers.
Additional Resources
"Accessible customer service is about learning how to communicate with someone who has a disability and, most importantly, it is about being willing to help."
Madeleine Meilleur


text:
EventsThere are no upcoming events
Older Stories
Wednesday 06-May
Tuesday 05-May
Monday 04-May
Sunday 26-Apr
Saturday 25-Apr
Friday 24-Apr
Monday 13-Apr
IC11 Men\\\\\\\'s Div 1 Grand Final - Ireland\\\\\\\'s Double Glory | 33 comments | Create New Account
The following comments are owned by whomever posted them. This site is not responsible for what they say.
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s Div 1 Grand Final - Ireland\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s Double Glory
Authored by: Rog on Tuesday, August 30 2011 @ 05:31 pm ACST
Forgot Spain at 24th after East Timor
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s Div 1 Grand Final - Ireland\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s Double Glory
Authored by: Harley Vague on Wednesday, August 31 2011 @ 10:07 am ACST
IMO it's still too early to include an Australian men's team but I suggest the way to go about it would be to hold a lottery from amateur clubs that are willing to host international sides or have an affiliation with an overseas league .
IMO it's time to include overseas women's teams in the nationals .This wpould be a big boost to women's football here and overseas .
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s Div 1 Grand Final - Ireland\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Authored by: Harley Vague on Wednesday, August 31 2011 @ 10:32 am ACST
The frequency of the IC should ultimately be decided by the players themselves.It's opportunity versus cost .I can see a growing importance of European and Oceania Cups ,more important for the promotion of the member countries .than the IC .So there is logic from those wanting to increase the spacing of the IC and logic from those wanting some "qualification" for the IC .But in some ways the IC is more important to the 2nd division and newcomers .It validates ,rewards and encourages those countries that they are truly part of Australian football world .The French team has been used as an example .Well IMO they (and we)have benefited greatly from them being here more than an appearance in a Euro event .Hopefully that will change and they will become more competitive in European competition .it's interesting that the Germans have not as yet seen the value in the IC .
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s Div 1 Grand Final - Ireland\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Authored by: Cam Homes on Wednesday, August 31 2011 @ 11:05 am ACST
I agree with you that the AFL should have done more to create "brother/sister" "host" clubs for each of the Nations that participated in the IC. The awareness just in Australia that would have generated around the country would have been of immense value to the code (especially in NSW) before the IC had even started.
I had an conversation with an avid footy follower only recently and when I told him about the IC he laughed at me and said "you're kidding me". He did not know about it and was amazed when I told him it was actually the 4th IC. He was even further amazed when I listed the countries that were involved and he could not believe that all the players were nationals with no expat Aussies playing.
When Denmark and France were mentioned he just shook his head and said I was just feeding him a cock and bull story.
I believe there are hundreds of thousands of footy followers and football club members and officials out there whose reactions would have been the same.
Promotion of the IC at this grass roots level certainly would have been so valuable because very little made the national media/press. There was virtually nothing in the Sydney press as I asked my daughter to check the papers there for me.
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Authored by: Harley Vague on Wednesday, August 31 2011 @ 11:53 am ACST
What's worse is that I met a couple of Swans supporters going early to watch the IC game at ANZ .They wanted to see more but couldn't find the information .In Royal Park I was talking to guy who happenned by . He was blown away by the whole event .Knew nothing .In Sydney the media mentioned the peace team a bit and Izzy with Tonga but nno practical details .Didn't catch much of the media in Melbourne but it did seem all after the event . I got tired of the same conversations ."I'm going to watch the International Cup ......Australian Football...No... Aussie Rules ...No.....Australians are banned from playing...18....Well there could've been a lot more coming ....No...Blacktown with the finals in Melbourne ."
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Authored by: Cam Homes on Wednesday, August 31 2011 @ 09:32 pm ACST
18 suburban or near Sydney country footy clubs hosting one of the national teams with a bit of a warm up match before the cup started and barby etc. between the players. Just wonder how many spectators(from the host club's players, officials, members and friends and families) just might have made it their business go to Blacktown(at least on one day) and watch and support the team that they had hosted. it would have numbered into hundreds I reckon. A few more hundred than those that did go because of their connection with teams(whether national or familial) would not have gone astray by the sound of it.
Hundreds more Aussie footy followers would have been made aware of the competition thru this grass roots promotion and at not a lot of cost to the organisers either.
A hell of a lot more than were made aware by the major media/press. Every local newspaper would have had a write up about the visitors coming to town/footyclub, again at no cost to the organisers.
By the way, were any crowd numbers recorded and published??
IC11 Men\'s...
Authored by: Brett Northey on Wednesday, August 31 2011 @ 10:20 pm ACST
The only crowd figures I'm aware of were that the AFL said about 2000 people passed through the gates at BISS on Game Day 1. I assume that doesn't include players and officials. I supposed 2000 spread between 2 grounds with people coming and going over the entire day means you'll only ever have maybe 100 people tops at any one ground at any one time, which is about what I saw.
Most of the grounds are not gated so no official figures would be collectable anyway.
In terms of relationships with local clubs, I know in 2008 the AFL put the call out for volunteer clubs, not sure on the mechanism this time. I think there are quite a few that did occur this time you just don't read about them. We mentioned a few along the way as we came across them.
But most local clubs aren't going to supply a big spectator base. If you have such a relationship then how many people will care enough to go, and how many of them will be playing on the weekend simultaneously or busy and how many at work on a weekday etc.
So I think there was a bit of it about but doesn't translate into 1000s of fans, maybe 10s of fans per team.
Certainly helps with awareness amongst the footy fraternity though. An official did mention to me that Sydney folk were in many ways more receptive than Melbourne folk to the whole idea of international footy.
Brett Northey - Co-founder and Chief Editor of WFN
IC11 Men\\\'s...
Authored by: Harley Vague on Thursday, September 01 2011 @ 09:38 am ACST
As you say local clubs aren't going to produce spectators mid week or if their W/E games clash ,so games underlights ,curtraisers and curtainfallers would help .Even though there were sizeable crowds spectating at times just about all spectators had some connection .The Tongan community was visible in both Sydney and Melbourne supporting their country as were a lot of other spectators which is good of course but we need more of the general public .IMO Sydney is more receptive to the international flavour whilst Melbournians obsess with "the standard" .
IC11 Men\\\'s...
Authored by: Cam Homes on Thursday, September 01 2011 @ 10:27 pm ACST
10 fans per team is 180 fans that did not turn up. + 40 for the women. I seem to recall that two of the womens matches were underlights or twilight games 15-20 fans per team to those matches?? roughly 230-240 possible fans we know weren't there because it wasn't tried.
Same deal in Melbourne = around 500 spectators who didn't go.
All a bit as tinka said the attitude seems to be about what might not happen instead of what just might happen if it is tried.
IC11 Men\\\\\\\'s...
Authored by: Brett Northey on Thursday, September 01 2011 @ 11:07 pm ACST
But I'm saying that there were at least a few affiliations. For a full discussion as to whether it would or wouldn't work, and whether it was or wasn't tried, we'd need to know how many, but not something I'm contemplating chasing.
So I agree it would be good, it's just not clear if it did happen or not, I just know it was attempted in 2008 without any real crowd impact. Sounds like a good idea, not sure it makes a big difference in reality to crowds. But where it is useful is building contacts, potential exchange programs, support etc.
Brett Northey - Co-founder and Chief Editor of WFN
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Authored by: Ronk on Wednesday, September 14 2011 @ 08:33 pm ACST
I agree. I am quite shocked that the AFL did not do more to publicise the International Cup, especially in Sydney where the matches were played at Blacktown and it would be an ideal tie in with the launch of GWS.
The AFL is supposed to have great clout with the media but they didn't use it. I have an Indian friend living in Blacktown (where there is a huge Indian population) and he said he and many of his countrymen would have loved to see India in action if they had only known it was on. There was zero publicity in the ethnic media as far as I can tell.
IC11 Men\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Authored by: Michael Christiansen on Thursday, September 15 2011 @ 06:51 am ACST
From the publicity perspective, the AFL has been great this time around, the AFL website carried much more content with frontpage links all the time. Brett Kirk spent the best part of the year roving the world and reporting back via his diary blog on footy outposts, and upon his return he did the media rounds - however, the local media in the main still doesn't know how to handle the International Cup, and 4 IC's in, people still have to stress 'No expats'.
The irony of course is were the AFL to run a 'world cup' like RU, RL and even soccer - then, expats playing, people playing on the basis of parentage or even grand-parentage - that's the norm.
Sadly too many people go on about what the IC isn't. Instead of focussing on what it is.
re ethnic based media coverage, from the Indian perspective, there were snippets in BeyondIndia (at least on line, I don't buy the paper!!). However, like many things, you often need to know about it before hand to look for it. This article shows that the local (Melb) Indian community was engaged with the side during the event. Where I work thelocal paper ran a story about the French Coqs in town. That there were events put on for visiting teams clearly shows that there was a level of knowledge/promotion prior to the event to facilitate the organisation. What needs to happen though is that more people educate their mates about it over the next 3 years in preparation for IC14. And perhaps the Indian community in Australia can do more to fund the Indian rep team rather than enthusiastic amateurs.
re 'affiliation', back in 2008, the AFL initially was trying to engage VAFA (VIc amo's) teams to 'host' international sides, but, progressively through the build up, the AFL clubs got more and more interested (despite the late Aug/early Sep timeslot - i.e. clashing with last rounds and early finals). However, Tonga for example, in Sydney got there 2 weeks out and trained and some players played with Campbelltown Blues in the local comp.
Who's OnlineGuest Users: 33
Night GF?Other polls | 9 voters | 0 comments
What's New
Stories2 new Stories in the last 3 days
Comments last 3 daysNo new comments
Media Gallery last 7 DaysNo new media items
Links last 2 weeksNo recent new links
Copyright © 2020 World Footy News
All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective owners.
|Hosted courtesy of Ripefruit,
supporters of Only Melbourne
Powered by Geeklog
Created this page in 0.29 seconds


text:
GS1200, Multistrada, Tiger Explorer, FJR1300 – these bikes are all synonymous with touring and doing long miles, but they're all well in excess of 1000cc and are physically very large. Comparatively, I have the very small Versys 650, and at 6'3″ tall, it's possible for even me to tour on it. Here's how to tour on a small motorbike.
The picture above shows my little Versys 650 on a recent tour in Scotland. During the 7 day tour, I managed to cover close to 2000 miles on the little beast – including the 400+ miles of motorway on the way home from Inverness (that was fun…honest).
Smaller capacity bikes are often physically small as well, so you need to bear that in mind when choosing, and packing you luggage. For touring, I have a set of hard panniers that carry my bike-centric equipment – puncture kit, air compressor, tools, warm kit, wet kit, spare kit etc. This is all equipment that I won't need when I'm in a hotel room, or off the bike. So I can leave the panniers attached for the entire trip.
I also have a 40 litre tail bag that straps to the back seat of the bike. This holds all of my clothes and toiletries, so I know it's the only bag I need when I pull up at my hotel for the night. It also has an interior canoe bag that is 100% waterproof (it's been tested in Scotland. Trust me, it's waterproof), so I know my clothes will stay dry.
Finally, I have a small tank bag that holds things like electronics (phone, charger, camera batteries etc.), my wallet, house keys, sun glasses etc. This is the important and useful stuff that I need to have to hand. Having all this in the tank bag means I don't have to worry about keeping the useful stuff within reach.
Having a logical system for managing your kit when touring on a motorbike is massively important. Between all the bags, boxes and pockets, you end up with a tonne of places where things can get misplaced. So having a good system means you don't have to worry about where your stuff is, and you can concentrate on enjoying the ride.
Also, don't over-pack. You don't need 90 pairs of socks, 15 t-shirts and 6 pairs of shoes. You're on a motorbike trip, not a fashion parade. Trainers, a few t-shirts, underwear for every day, and a couple of pairs of walking trousers that zip off in to shorts is more than enough for the entire trip.
My little Versys puts out just 60BHP from its parallel twin engine. Not a great deal, right? Well, considering that whilst I was in Scotland, I was in the company of Goliaths such as the 160BHP Multistrada, there wasn't a single time when I thought the Versys was lacking in power.
This is because the Versys is a twin, which means it has lots of low down torque. Sure, the Multistrada would leave me for dust in a straight line, but plonk me on top of my little bike and give me a twisty road, there aren't many bikes I can't keep up with.
Many people like to go with the "POWERRRR!" mentality that Jeremy Clarkson so often spouts, but that's not always the most important thing, especially when it comes to motorbikes. Sometimes, having a lighter, more flickable bike (even when fully laden with luggage) is more fun than a monster powerhouse of two wheeled doom, where you can only use a fraction of its power.
Do you need a big bike?
The big question – do I need a big bike to tour on? Quite simply, the answer is no. Not in my opinion at least. Now, when it comes to touring with a pillion, I think that's where these larger machines really come in to their own; and it's why I'll probably upgrade to a larger machine when I'm ready to buy again.
However, for the time being, my little Versys 650 is the perfect balance of power, touring pedigree and damn right fun. I think I'll be sticking with it for the time being, even if the bike does look like a butt-ugly thing that's been beaten with an ugly stick.
Seriously, the old model Versys is one seriously ugly bike. The new version on the other hand, damn!
What do you guys think, is it possible to tour on a smaller bike? Do you need a bigger machine for a serious tour? Or, are you the other way? Have you gone full on mini-tourer and been touring on a 125? Let me know in the comments…
Want more of me?
I use my newsletter to provide you with regular updates. By subscribing, you will also be entered into my inner-circle where you have direct input into how I develope this site.


text:
- ILSO Training - June 6 & 7- 2019
June 6, 2019 - June 7, 2019
8:00 am - 5:00 pm
June 6 & 7 2019
Toronto Airport Corporate Centre
2425 Matheson Boulevard East
8th Floor
Mississauga, Ontario
Cost: $985.00 + HST
Course Description
* Mandatory in Ontario for all Class 3b & Class 4 lasers
This laser safety training course is specifically designed to meet the needs of all individuals involved with industrial lasers. Whether used in manufacturing through laser cutting or welding, or lasers used in military, educational, or research applications this course is tailored to fit the needs of all levels of experience. The course is created for those assigned the duties of Laser Safety Officer who are not required to perform hazard analysis calculations.
Once complete each participant will receive a certificate, Course manual, as well as membership certificate, Members pin, and a Canadian Lasers Safety member in good standing sticker for your practice. Continental breakfast, coffee/tea, water & afternoon snacks will be provided on both days.
You may cancel your registration 14 days prior to course start date and receive a refund less $150 administration fee. If you must cancel within the 14 days prior to course beginning Canadian Laser Safety will not issue a refund, however you can re-schedule for a future course within the next 12 months. Failure to give notification prior to course start date will result in forfeit of the entire course fee. We reserve the right to reschedule or cancel a course date with 14 days notice.
Canadian Laser Safety shall not be liable for any delay or failure to perform if any portion of the coaching or training is cancelled because of illness or any other cause beyond the reasonable control of Canadian Laser Safety.
Venue: 2425 Matheson Boulevard East, 8th Floor Mississauga, ON


text:
Piperlime | Mixed Stripe Knit Top
This top is perfect for summer and fits well with the nautical theme. Combining chic colours with this sailor-esque print, this top is great with the horizontal and vertical stripes teamed with some casual denim white hotpants and accessories.
With a scoop neckline and a slightly looser fit, this top is really flattering as it highlights the collarbones, slims the arms and hides and belly that you might not want to show. It also allows you to wear short hotpants as you're not going overboard on the tight top and revealing too much. It's suitable for your holidays and as a work top, as combined with black crop trousers, city shorts or a pencil skirt this top would work really well.
It's truly versatile and really will fit any occasion when teamed with the right accessories and bottoms. Wear with a chunky gold necklace with a splash of colour and thick, chunky gold bangles to really jazz it up. Alternatively, for a softer day look wear with a dainty necklace and colourful beads like the model. Glam the outfit up with your footwear, by wearing embellished sandals, wedges or high strappy sandals depending on the look and occasion you want to achieve.


text:
Most Read
Thursday 29 December 201605:27 pm
New Year's Eve is one of the most celebrated events. With the huge variety of cultures the world has to offer, it is inevitable for the celebrations to differ from one society to the other. Here are some of the craziest New Year's Eve traditions from around the world. 1.Spain It's all about the grapes when you're Spanish. When the clock strikes midnight, the residents of the country put one grape at a time in their mouths in sync with the chimes of the clock. If you can fit the right number of grapes in your mouth, you are looking at a year of prosperity and good luck. Some Spaniards even practice their grape-eating abilities before December 31st in order to increase their chances of welcoming the new year with a joyous start. 2.Scotland During the first minutes of the new year, Scottish folks await a young fellow to knock on their door. Holding a bottle of whiskey, a loaf of raisin bread, and a piece of black coal, if you let him in, you should expect good luck throughout your upcoming year. 3.Ecuador What makes Ecuador's New Year's Eve pop out is "los años viejos," a ceremony in the which the people light paper-filled scarecrow-like dolls on fire at midnight. They usually make them look like people they dislike. It is meant to be a method to forget the past's bad fortune and focus on the future. 4.Czech Republic The people of Czech rely on an apple to determine whether their new year will be satisfying or not. They cut the fruit in half and check the shape of its core. If it's a cross, bad luck is coming their way. If it's a star, they should expect good luck. 5.Japan Besides visiting a shrine where Hastumode, a ceremony which includes food stands and prayers, takes place, the Japanese also practice a ritual called Kagami Biraki. It consists of breaking and eating Mochi, a Japanese rice cake, to affirm a positive new year. However, it is known to have choked people to death! 6.Italy Aside from the tradition that dictates Italians to eat pig's feet and lentils for a satisfying financial state, Italians agree that they should wear red underwear on New Year's Eve. Matter of fact, stores stack up on red underwear right after Christmas to serve customers. 7.Brazil Similarly to Italians, Brazilians also kick-start their new year with an underwear. In Brazil, you are supposed to buy a new white underwear and wear it the night of the 31st. This is meant to give you a pure and innocent start. Do you have any weird New Year's Eve habits? Share them with us!


text:
Izravan kontakt za Lindab proizvode i proizvodne sustava u svojoj zemlji (lokalnim jezicima).
Slika 1/2
The smoke gun makes it easy to find leaks in your ventilation system. It is also very good for demonstrating air flows, for example when controlling that your kitchen fan works as it should. The smoke from the smoke gun is not hazardous and the smoke gun only dispenses smoke when the trigger is pulled. It is fueled with oil that is very easy to refill.
Standardset SPN, Smoke Gun + Fluid
Can be ordered with a protective storage box for Smoke gun and batteries; SPNK
Fluid, SPF, 90 ml.
Nema programa dostupnog za download za ovaj proizvod.


text:
Thanks for sharing in the reveal for the first book in my upcoming Covert Heiresses series, about four women who by day are the talk of the ton, and by night are England's top spies.
I Spy a Duke introduces James Spencer, Duke of Abermont, and Vivienne Loren, a governess with a secret agenda.
Cover designed by Designs by BMB
Blurb: She wants revenge…
When bluestocking Vivienne Loren becomes the governess for the wealthy Spencer family, she's searching for clues about the murder of her brother, not a husband. But Vivienne didn't count on James Spencer, the autocratic and infuriatingly handsome Duke of Abermont.
He needs a wife…
As head of Britain's elite intelligence agency, James has no time to woo a wife. When he discovers Vivienne's thirst for revenge has made her a pawn in the treacherous plot, James realizes they can help each other. She'll become his duchess, and he'll keep her safe from one of Napoleon's deadliest spies.
What begins as a marriage of convenience quickly becomes anything but, as they find out love is the most dangerous mission of all.
Release Info: I Spy a Duke releases October 5, 2015.
Special sale price of 99c for preorder – get it now before it returns to full price
Where to buy: Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble ~ iBooks ~ Kobo ~ AllromanceEbooks
Author Bio:
Erica Monroe is a USA Today Bestselling Author of emotional, suspenseful historical romance. Her debut novel, A Dangerous Invitation, has been nominated in the published historical category for the prestigious 2014 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Romantic Suspense. When not writing, she is a chronic TV watcher, sci-fi junkie, comic book reader, pit bull lover, and slow runner. She lives in the suburbs of North Carolina with her husband, two dogs, and a cat.
Reach Out to Erica: Daring Dames Reader Group ~ Newsletter ~ Web ~ Twitter ~ Friend her on Facebook ~ Like her Facebook page ~ Pinterest ~ Tumblr ~ Google+


text:
Fifth-graders from Denise Allan's Wantagh Elementary School class and Maria Brown's Mandalay Elementary School class learned about historical figures during their Writers Workshop unit.
Students researched historical figures and wrote biographical book reports, according to a district news release. The students then dressed up as the characters they chose and delivered speeches and presentations, during their "White House Tea."
The students' parents were invited to attend the tea and meet the students, who played the part of their historical individuals. Parents listened to facts about their leaders. A few researched individuals included Princess Diana, John F. Kennedy, Milton Hershey and Queen Victoria.


text:
Merchant Affiliate
You're not going to drop thousands on an idea, only to find out later that it doesn't work. It's minimal investment, with a high potential for income.
No Limits to Expansion
Affiliate marketing is flexible. Affiliate marketing is flexible. Within a day or two, you can add a product to your website or expand and promote/ advertise.
Smooth Learning Curve
You don't need to be the best at web design.
You don't need to be an award-winning writer.
You don't need specialized knowledge of any kind.
Why is this one of the best Affiliate program out there?
In comparison you have 'BIG' companies out there giving you from 1-8% ???
How Do Successful Affiliate Marketers Advertise?
Do you have Promotion Content for your products?
Yes, please go to Our Affiliate Resources Center (luovita.link) where you can download banners & promotion content.
How long does the 'Affiliate Cookie' last?
Yeah, But Where Do I Start?
This is the age of the INTERNET!
And you have our Support!
Bonus: Why is Working For FREE The Way To Quit Your Day Job?
Imagine you were interviewing for a job. A dream job. One where you could work your own hours, from anywhere with an internet connection, and you'd never have to sit in any meetings or put up with office gossip. The catch? You have to work for free for 6 months.
Because after 6 months, you will get paid for your work not just once, but over and over again for YEARS. From there, you just replicate the process as many times as you want and you can grow your income exponentially.


text:
Scene: Ikea Monkey's Owner Holds a Protest
WHERE: A Toronto Animal Services clinic at 1300 Sheppard Avenue West.
WHEN: Wednesday, December 19
WHAT: Darwin the monkey, now world-famous for his escapades at an Ikea in North York, is currently cooling his heels at a place called Story Book Farm Primate Sanctuary, in Sunderland, Ontario. But Yasmin Nakhuda, the Toronto real-estate lawyer who was Darwin's keeper before he hit the big time, wants her pet back. (That's her, in the top photo.) Yesterday, at a protest staged by Nakhuda, about 30 people—many of them friends and family—showed up. Nakhuda claims Darwin was illegally separated from her by Toronto bylaw-enforcement officials, and she's reportedly suing the primate sanctuary for monkey custody.
This post originally misspelled the name of the sanctuary where Darwin is currently located. The name has now been corrected. We regret the error.


text:
Create the following arrows on the password screen by holding the first button, then pressing the second button that is indicated: [B + Down] twenty times, B + Up, A + Right, [A + Left] two times, [B + Down] two times, B + Right, A + Right.
Note: You must have a 2.1 or higher version of the Game Shark to use these codes in a Game Boy Color system.
|Infinite Lives
|Infinite Health