text:
How can I download images and movies from the camera to a computer?
Complete instructions may be downloaded by clicking here.
Adobe Reader® software is required to view the file. It is available as a free download from Adobe's web site. Click here to download the latest version.
How many images can my camera hold?
The chart below shows the approximate number of images at each available Image Quality mode that the FE-320 can store in its internal memory and on a variety of optional xD-Picture Card™ media. The camera can store images and movies in any combination of quality modes. All figures are approximate.
1Capacity will be slightly less than shown if sound is recorded with still images. All figures are approximate.
How much movie recording time does my camera have?
The amount of movie recording time depends on the quality mode used to shoot the movies and the length of each shot.
The two settings that comprise a quality mode are image size (that is, the resolution of each frame in the movie) and frame rate (the number of frames that are stored per second of recording time). The VGA/30 fps quality mode uses the largest image size and fastest frame rate, so it produces the highest-quality movie files; however, the files will be larger than recordings of equal duration that are shot using other quality modes. Therefore, VGA/30 fps will exhaust storage capacity more quickly.
In movie mode, the FE-320 can, in most cases, record continuously for 29 minutes or until the capacity of the storage medium is exhausted, whichever occurs first. When using Standard or Type M xD-Picture Card™ media or the camera's internal memory, the maximum recording time per movie in the VGA/30 fps quality mode is 10 seconds.
The chart below shows the maximum continuous movie recording time available in each quality mode when using either the camera's internal memory or Type M+ or Type H xD-Picture Card media. The chart assumes that the memory medium has been freshly formatted.
1 Recording times are approximate and are calculated based on storage capacity; they are not a guarantee of battery life.2 The maximum length per movie when shooting at VGA/30fps using Standard or Type M xD-Picture Card media or the camera's internal memory is 10 seconds.3 Using any size/type xD-Picture Card media, the maximum length per movie is 29 minutes.


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Displaying items by tag: Lenin
The Red Earl
The story of a man who defied the conventions in order to be true to art. Along the way he…
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The Empire and Ukraine
This book sets the Ukraine crisis in its global and local context, and draws the lessons needed for the anti-war…
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The paper's first editor, William Rust, tells the rollercoaster story of its early years - from the Great Depression to…
Beyond the Battlefield
Testimony, Memory and Remembrance of a Cave Hospital in the Spanish Civil War.
The march that shook Blair an oral history of 15 February 2003
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Francis Klingender 1907-1955 a Marxist art Historian out of Time
Radiant Illusion?
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Britain's Communists The Untold Story
A new history of the Communist movement in Britain, this volume is a counter-narrative to the traditional mainstream one of…
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Mayakovsky's epic poem 'Vladimir Ilyich Lenin' printed in English and Russian, with an introduction by Rosy Carrick.
Revolution. Writings from Russia
Pete Ayrton has put together a magnificent collection of writings on the Russian Revolution by its ardent supporters, sceptical and…
The Councils of Action 1920 and the British Labour Movement's Defence of Soviet Russia
John Foster examines the Councils of Action against the background of a rising militancy and in the political context of…
I'll Have the Last Laugh Yet: Karl Marx in Cartoons
To commemorate the 200th anniversary of Marx's birth the Ken Sprague Fund launched an international competition for the best cartoons…
A Gentle Visual Fire
A Gentle Visual Fire is a book by artist Amy Feneck, based on the Spanish Civil War photographic collection held…
The Woman Worker
The Woman Worker by NK Krupskaya. This is the first publication in English of a pamphlet originally written in 1899…
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The Revolutionary Movement in the Colonies
Modern Books, London, 1929. Paperback. Book Condition: Good - small tear to top-right corner of front cover. 63 pp. Price:…
Marxism and History: A Bibliography of English Language Works
By Lionel M. Munby & Ernst Wangermann. Lawrence & Wishart, London, 1967. Pamphlet. Book Condition: Good. 62 pp. Price: £5.
The Don Flows Home to the Sea
By Mikhail Sholokhov, translated from Russian by Stephen Garry. Putnam, London, c. 1940. Hardcover. Book Condition: Fair - ex-library, binding…
The Co-operative Movement in Labour Britain
Edited for the Fabian Society by N. Barou. Victor Gollancz, London, 1948. Hardcover. Book Condition: Good. 143 pp. Price: £5.
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text:
|Board Email:
|Board Phone:
|(803) 896-4655
|Mack Williams
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|Advice Counsel:
|Stacey Hewson   **
|110 Centerview Dr, Columbia SC
**The Office of Advice Counsel is responsible for
providing legal advice to all Boards, Commissions
and Panels. These attorneys do not provide legal
advice to parties outside LLR.
To be licensed by the board as a speech-language pathology assistant an individual must:
A license is valid for two years. A license application received after December 31 is valid for the next licensure period.
Please read and follow all instructions carefully. As applicant, you assume full responsibility for filing a fully completed application. The Board will not request references or verifications.
Required fees must be submitted as appropriate and must be in the form of a check or money order. The Board assumes no responsibility for currency sent through the mail. All fees are non-refundable. Any check, which is presented to the board as payment for any fee and is returned unpaid, may be cause for denial of a license or for imposing a sanction authorized by the practice act. See fee schedule.
Requirements for License Renewal
A speech-language pathology assistant license must be renewed biennially. Licenses expire on March 31 of the second year.
To renew a license the individual shall:
A license for which a valid application for renewal is not received by March 31 is invalid and only may be reinstated upon receipt of a renewal application postmarked before May 1 and accompanied by the biennial license fee and the reinstatement fee. A renewal request not postmarked before May 1 only may be reinstated upon receipt of an application for licensure submitted under the license requirements in effect at the time the renewal request is submitted and accompanied by the biennial license fee and reinstatement fee.
Continuing Education Requirements
As a condition of license renewal, a speech-language pathology assistant must satisfactorily complete eight hours of approved continuing education per license period. Continuing education must be reported on forms and in the time and manner specified by the board in regulation. Each licensee must maintain records of continuing education hours earned for a period of four years, and these records must be made available to the director or the director's designee upon request for audits that the board may conduct annually.
All required documents and payments must be submitted to:
South Carolina Board of Examiners in Speech-Language Pathology and Audiology
South Carolina Department of Labor, Licensing and Regulation
Post Office Box 11329
Columbia, South Carolina 29211-1329
For additional information or clarification of any item, call the board office at (803) 896-4650.
It is illegal to practice as a speech-language pathology assistant in South Carolina without a valid license.


text:
|2013-10-09, 00:21
|Link #1601
Idar Lead
Join Date: Sep 2012
Location: World Marshall bureau
I will confess that I never read any book by Tom Clancy.
I did however, watch the hunt for the Red October, if only so I could see Sean Connery being Soviet.
Anyway, the Jeager idea. "BETA arriving later" shtick is basically asking for huge timeline mess-ups, and large leaps of logic without doing some very extensive background building.
|2013-10-09, 00:39
|Link #1602
Lumine Passio
Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Hanoi, Vietnam
Age: 12
Question: What if I make a giant G-Bombs explosion on the atmosphere? - A shuttle was bringing an amount of G-Elements from the moon when it malfunctioned, thus render high flight and air fighting almost impossible.
|2013-10-09, 01:01
|Link #1603
Truth Martyr
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Doing Anzu's paperwork.
Age: 32
Do Jaegers. Sasahara had a few Jaeger ideas he bounced off of me.
One of them was Cryska and Inia as Jaeger pilots, the adopted daughters of Ranger Jerzy Sandek, with Inia being the Straight Loli and Cryska being a cheerful boisterous bruiser who ran on vodka.
Another had Ranger Yuuya drifting with IRG!Yui after certain issues and things. I suggested to him that Yui also had a bit of chasing the RABIT problem, in that they'd hook up and Yui would get distracted remembering how she was being lewd with Yuuya, and Yuuya would have to remind her not to fall too deep into lewd memories when they could be lewd IRL later.
/me is crushed by Jaeger.
|2013-10-09, 14:04
|Link #1604
Join Date: Jun 2013
Spoiler for potential shitstorm inducing:
Expect Latrova in Alpha.
|2013-10-11, 09:32
|Link #1605
Senior Member
Join Date: Oct 2010
The relative of the forest seemed far away despite being a mere hundred meters from the ruined buildings. It was absolute bad luck that they been caught straight in the open. Yuuhi glanced at her only remaining bodyguard, Kyoko, whose hand clenched her gun tightly. If the Shogun had any doubt that the situation was as bad as it could possibly be, the immobility of the female female was a dead giveaway. A single movement, a single attempt to take out the approaching figure and the two TSFs lighting their position with their projectors would tear them apart. Slowly the military wearing rebels approached, settling in a line like firing squad.
"Forgive us, your Majesty." The Japanese rebel leading the squad voiced in a soft and grave tone. "But this is for the greater good." He stood before his squad, all of them with their rifles ready to fire.
"You goddamn traitors." Kyoto swore as she placed herself before Yuuhi.
"A often used justification for all mass-murderers thorough History." The shogun ignored her bodyguard, instead starring at the leader with an outward expression that belittled her trembling legs. "If you chose to betray your comrades, your people and all those who trusted you. Then at least your conviction should be strong enough to do what need to be done. Do not expect my forgiveness, do not seek it if your reasons and wills are that weak." Her voice was steady and she was immensely thankful that her legs didn't just give under her. Her words stuck and the eyes of the man looked away and more than one man in his squad flinched. For one moment she felt a brief flicker and hope, crushed as the leader shook his head.
"Be as it may, your Majesty. We've already gone this far, we cannot stop and turn back anymore." The man raised his hand and the soldiers behind him raised their rifles, various yet unreadable expression on their faces. Kyoko moved, the guard projecting herself toward Yuuhi in a futile hope to preserve her liege from death. Yuuhi saw her yet remained immobile, her brain numb as the leader's hand came down, and all but him stilled as his head exploded. His brains and blood echoed the red lightning bolt which had just struck him. A second bolt hit a soldier with the same deadly precision, a third came, then a fourth, a fifth. Bodies were still falling as both sides moved.
"Spread out!" The voice of one rebel reached the ears of the Shogun. Then a still moving Kyoko impacted with Yuuhi, grabbed her and rolled with them both. Yuuhi felt air leaving her lungs, the world twisted around. Unbalanced the Shogun saw her guard steady herself on a knee and spring into a run. A seventh and sixth soldier fell to the invisible attacker. Yet the rest of the rebel squad was already taking cover in the ruins and one leveled his weapon at Yuuhi and her bodyguard, pressed the trigger.
The volley was suddenly cut short as a more conventional bullet slammed into the soldier's chest, courtesy of Yoroi. Still three bullets came, one missing and the last two embedding themselves into Kyoko arms. Blood dripped from Kyoko along with most unladylike words as the impacts compromised her fragile balance. "Hold tight Yuuhi-sama!" The woman's strained voice reached Yuuhi just before Kyoko threw both of them over the remain of a wall. The damaged upper part ripping into Yuuhi's white clothes and scratching her skin. A minor discomfort, quickly followed by both of them landing on the ground.
Yuuhi laid disoriented, her gaze fell upon one of the TSF and her brain briefly wondered why they hadn't fired yet. In hindsight the TSFs had apparently turned toward the unknown attacker, then hesitated in their turn as the Shogun's group. It was their first mistake, their second was to continue at the unknown attacker. "Wh-?" A scream booming over the speaker followed by multiple heavy noises were incomprehensible. Bright lights shone over the place along with plaster flying. Then the TSF in Yuuhi's sight came on the receiving end of enormous red bolts, blasting the detectors with ridiculous accuracy. In a frighteningly brief interval the joints of the giant machine received three bolts each and the chest went down to the ground. A single last bolt wrecked the lock and sealed the pilot inside the cockpit. The earlier sound were probably the other TSF suffering the same fate.
"Stay covered your majesty!" Was the only signal Kyoko gave before shoving Yuuhi against the wall, the woman finally managing to stand up after two seconds of forcing back the pain of her wounded arm hitting the ground first.
"This is quite a show." The incongruously calm but welcome voice of Yoroi commented. The intelligence officer in a trench coat arriving God knew when by her side gave Yuuhi a smile before pecking over the wall and started firing with his handgun. Kyoko soon joined him in firing at their opponents spread over the ruins. Then Yoroi raised an eyebrow. "Now, I wonder who that is?"
At his words Yuuhi peeked over the wall, something which Kyoko would chew her for extensively should they both survive. That thought however became secondary as she caught sight of the no-longer invisible attacker. A single man walked toward them at a steady pace, firing as he went at the remnant of the squad. The stranger was a walking impossibility and for a moment Yuuhi wondered if she had suddenly steeped into another world. The man whose profile left no doubt about his gender was hooded and his clothes weren't anything Yuuhi recognized. Yet all that seemed unimportant as she caught sight of the enormous weapon in his right hand. It was a gun, a enormous gun more fitting as a mounted tripod than handheld weapon. Sleek in design, the weapon was firing enormous red bolts like condensed lasers which put the small but deadly bolts of the handgun laser-whatever in his left to shame. Because yes, the stranger was wielding the humongous heavy weapon one-handed. The dual wielding of weapons of disproportionate caliber made the stranger's accurate firing all the more astonishing. On top of that, the man was still advancing and neither his balance nor his aim seemed to suffer from swinging both weapons around at their targets. It was an inhuman display of skills, a breaking of physical laws made flesh.
A volley of bullets hitting a nearby wall made Yuuhi drew back hurriedly and focused back into the rebels. A cautious glance over the wall revealed that most were already dead. Most of the still surviving ones were more focused with the newcomer than the Shogun's party, a justified decision considering the difference of displayed skills and firepower. Which didn't prevent the rebels from being shredded to fuming pieces as their covers proved utterly ineffective against the huge laser weapon. One soldier engaged with Kyoko from twenty meters away discovered that as the wall between him and the stranger vanished under a big bolt. Though the man had no time to realize that, Yuuhi was thankful for the darkness concealing the worst of the fuming severed members and head falling as the chest supporting them was gone.
"Beware lady!" Yoroi's voice drew his attention, but she discovered she wasn't speaking to him, but rather her chamberlain. The Grand Shogun felt a flicker of fear as she saw the old lady firing a handgun from behind a pole at a rebel kneeling behind a wall. The soldier thankfully didn't seem too interested in engaging in a firefight as he was trying to get away from the stranger before said stranger got line of sight on him. Yuuhi felt her fear grow as the man raised his rifle at the old woman. The pole was little protection and Yuuhi knew that her Chamberlain had no training with firearms. A fact which was confirmed by her repeated failure at hitting anything of particular importance, it would take a miracle for the old woman to hit the soldier but as he raised himself to fire it seemed he didn't want to take the chance that a stray bullet found him.
An impact. The stray bullet and miracle happened just at this moment in a defiance to all odds before Yuuhi's eyes. Her eyes started to widen just like the rebel whose forehead received the bullet, a second bullet slammed home which was Yoroi and fired before the first had reached. A quarter of second later the rebel's head disintegrated as a small laser bolt blasted it. And then the impacts of one of the fallen TSF seemed to finally shatter the balance of the nearby building, which promptly collapsed upon the triply dead man. Two tons of rubble and a entire wall crushing the rebel body. "Now, that was overkill." Yoroi commented with dry astonishment. Under his hood and hidden to Yuuhi the strange unknowingly rose an agreeing eyebrow.
Silence fell over the place. Yuuhi turned her head and saw the hooded stranger continue to walk toward them, the man slung the enormous weapon over his shoulder. Yuuhi's astonishment reached its limit when she saw the tripod-sized gun changing shape, turning into a small backpack.
"Where is the shogun?" The indisputably male voice asked, not stopping as he continued his unshakable advance over the rebels corpses toward them. A cold shiver went through Yuuhi's body as she heard the steadiness of the approaching man, noted that whoever it was still had his small but deadly handgun. It was pointed at them too.
"Stop! Cease your advance!" Kyoko's warning echoed in the night. It would have been much more reassuring if Yuuhi hadn't noticed how hard tightly she clenched her own gun. The stranger turned something on his weapon, then fired from the hip. His disdainous-looking shot struck true once more. Yuuhi felt a brief moment of dread as Kyoko screamed, then blinked as she saw the honor guard hurriedly let go of her gun as if it was burning her. It was, as she realized later, an exact description of the power-lowered laser hitting the gun metal.
"Is she safe then?" The man aimed at Kyoko but didn't bother with another shot, the honor guard freezing under the plain threat. Or perhaps, Kyoko had realized that barking that order when the balance of power was so titled against her had given away the VIP presence. Then Yuuhi blinked her blue eyes as she saw a single shadow approach almost from behind the stranger. She barely noticed the chamberlain approaching her discretely, just couple dozen meters more. The stranger suddenly turned, he had barely started his turn when a light voice spoke.
"Yes, she is." Yoroi Sakon calmly told the stranger as if hadn't been ready to jump on the stranger if the man had turned a dozen meters later. "In order to ensure that this fortunate state of things remain however, I like you to sheath that gun." The intelligence officer added as the stranger observed him warily, clearly wondering if he should just shot, though his gun was aimed at Yoroi's leg. Then the unknown man let out a light chuckle.
"That would be harming her." The comment prompted a raised eyebrow from Yoroi. "More will be coming soon, hence I humbly suggest to get moving before they get here." Yuuhi hesitated half a second, then she reached her decision ignoring the startled whimper of the chamberlain as she moved.
"That sound like an advice worthy of consideration." Yuuhi steeped from behind the wall, she heard Kyoko swear on her right but kept her gaze on the stranger's back. The man didn't even hesitate to turn away from Yoroi, although she noted that any further attempt of Yoroi at the stranger was stopped as the stranger casually aimed his gun behind him at Yoroi. She forced herself to ignore the disappointed expression of the intelligence officer and focused on the stranger.
The Grand shogun thanked her self-control training which allowed her to keep a calm, untroubled expression even as she advanced toward possible death. Yuuhi felt a faint blush as she thought of her back where the clothes were partly torn, thankfully it wasn't on the side where the man could see it. The stranger watched her walk toward him wordlessly, his eyes detailing her from head to toe. Many emotions flew over his face for a brief moment, then he nodded. "Let's get moving then."
|2013-10-12, 05:32
|Link #1608
Some say I'm the Reverse
Join Date: Jul 2006
Just FYI---I will apologize in advance if my next fic part posted here (which will not be for quite some time) makes your brain hurt. I'm writign it right now and it makes MY brain hurt trying to explain everythign in a normal manner yet be as detailed as possible.. -_-
"any sufficiently advanced benevolence may be indistinguishable from malevolence."
Last edited by wavehawk; 2013-10-12 at 06:09.
|2013-10-12, 09:24
|Link #1609
Idar Lead
Join Date: Sep 2012
Location: World Marshall bureau
"I'm not going to kill you. But...I don't have to save you either."
I'm looking forward to your madness.
Anyway, purely to screw with Goose~kun's head:
A Girls und Panzer and Muv-Luv verse crossover.
Instead of tanks (a.k.a Sensha-do) we have the TSF sports (a.k.a Senjutsuki-do I suppose), although without being a mostly woman-only sport.
Thus, the various squadrons seen in Muv-Luv verse become GuP-style school teams, fighting in international championships for glory and honor, in mecha-gladiatorial combat. Bonus points for pilots being ranked on how hax they are, much like in Armored Core.
Of course, the ultimate enemy for our hero team to overcome would be the East Germany's elite national team, the Werewolf, lead by Alastor "Grey Beast" Axmann, and everyone's favorite Beatrix Bremer.
Much, much hax ensues.
|2013-10-12, 15:38
|Link #1610
Lumine Passio
Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Hanoi, Vietnam
Age: 12
|2013-10-13, 05:05
|Link #1612
Lumine Passio
Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Hanoi, Vietnam
Age: 12
But who will write it? Don't you still have Comet - which hasn't been updated since April.
|2013-10-13, 05:17
|Link #1613
Some say I'm the Reverse
Join Date: Jul 2006
Last edited by wavehawk; 2013-10-13 at 05:53.
|2013-10-13, 07:06
|Link #1617
Lumine Passio
Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Hanoi, Vietnam
Age: 12
That said, I'm thinking about rewriting it. Beside, now I've got a brother to share - he is writing an Infinite Stratos fic.
|2013-10-13, 20:21
|Link #1618
Truth Martyr
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Doing Anzu's paperwork.
Age: 32
The idea of an Extra fic with the TE cast playing online games isn't new - at least three different people have posted concept ideas for that in this thread. Grevierr, AMT and I, to be precise.
Extra!TE is one of those things which is so logical, everyone is going to be having ideas for it.
As for Comet, thanks for complaining, Fireminer. Comet will now be further delayed as punishment. It had already come to BETA and I am going over it with a maniacal gleam in my eye and a fine-toothed comb to ensure it's as good as we can make it.
|2013-10-13, 23:18
|Link #1620
Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: In Texas... again.
Don't know if anyone already put this up, but I reckon I do it regardless because this fic is just too good to ignore.
Muv Luv: Do You Remember Love
A Macross Frontier and Muv Luv Alternative TE Crossover by sasahara17
Be sure to read the authors other ML/Macross Crossovers (all related to each other).
|fanfiction, harem
|Thread Tools


text:
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text:
Elastic Intelligence and Tableau Partner to Fast Track SaaS Data into Tableau's Best-in-Class Visualization Platform
Tableau Users Now Have Elastic Intelligence's Connection Cloud for Real-Time SaaS Data Access, Powering Quick, Up-to-the-Minute, Business Intelligence Reporting
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San Diego Youth Symphony
When: 1 p.m. June 1 (Spring Showcase Concert with Debut Winds, Concert Winds, Wind Symphony and Concert Orchestra); 7 p.m. June 1 (Spring Showcase Concert with Debut Strings, Concert Strings, Sinfonia, Wind Ensemble and Chamber Orchestra); 4 p.m. June 9 (Ovation Concert with Symphony Orchestra and Philharmonia)
Where: California Center for the Arts, Escondido, 340 N. Escondido Blvd.
Admission: $30 (students, $10)
Phone: (619) 233-3232
If you have any question about the power of music, just ask San Diego Youth Symphony violinist Jasmine Wang what music means to her.
"Music has truly enriched my life in countless ways," said Wang, a junior at Westview High School, in an email. "It has given me a way to express myself as well as brought me joy in everyday life."
Or you could check in with Youth Symphony oboist and flutist Sara Kornfeld Simpson.
"It allows me to express myself and my emotions in an inexplicably beautiful way," said Simpson, a junior at Patrick Henry High School. "It also has opened doors for me, allowing me to make new friends and tackle school with greater discipline learned from practicing my instruments."
Or, you could query clarinetist Claudia See.
"Music has taught me to communicate with others on an unprecedented level." said See, who is graduating from Canyon Crest High School. "I find it magical that notes on a page are more than just ink; they are colors, images, and feelings that enable me to interpret emotion and meaning in new dimensions."
As the school year ends, the San Diego Youth Symphony is showcasing its student musicians in a series of three concerts featuring the program's wind, string and symphonic ensembles.
Wang will be performing the first movement of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto (the same concerto Joshua Bell played with the San Diego Symphony last weekend) with the organization's Symphony Orchestra, on the June 9 concert.
Simpson, who also is principal oboe with the Philharmonia, the Symphony Orchestra and the Chamber Orchestra, will be soloist in Cecil Chaminade's Flute Concerto on the June 1 (7 p.m.) concert. (The June 1, 7 p.m. concert, will also include seventh-grader Ryan Park playing Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 3).
These students typify the Youth Symphony's highest aspirations, according to Director Jeff Edmons, who considers them among the best of the best.
"Jasmine has a maturity and musicianship well beyond her age and years," said Edmons. "And she has a consummate dedication to our program. She sets an outstanding example for the other musicians."
He had similar superlatives for Simpson and See, also citing their maturity and "dedication to excellence."
Simpson, who last year played with the National Honor Concert Band at the Kennedy Center, will spend her summer at Tanglewood, the summer home of the Boston Symphony, as part of its Youth Artists Wind Ensemble.
Wang, along with See, the Youth Symphony's principal clarinet, is among 70 musicians nationwide who will spend July in Washington, D.C., as part of the National Symphony's four-week Summer Music Institute.
Both Wang and Simpson are considering careers in music, but even if their paths lead elsewhere, they plan to keep playing.
"Honestly," said Wang, "it's hard to even imagine my life without music."Copyright © 2019, The San Diego Union-Tribune


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qmckenna needed a new logo design and created a contest on 99designs.
A winner was selected from 95 designs submitted by 36 freelance designers.
The Tavern at Lark Creek will be a vibrant gathering place offering top quality farm to table American food. The setting is an 1888 Victorian house, nestled in a redwood grove. Food is consistent with other Bay Area top restaurants, but prices are affordable (entrees top out at $15). A wood-burning oven is a feature--lending a bit of smoke and ambiance to food and dining room alike. The bar is a destination in its own right--offering artisan cocktails, craft brews and great value wines.
The Lark Creek Inn is closing and being reconcepted as The Tavern at Lark Creek (emphasis on "The Tavern"). After a 20 year run under our ownership and an additional 18 years with another opperator (but the same name) it is time to signal that things have changed. We want to appeal to a younger, hipper audience. We want to feel au courant without completely loosing connection to the timeless design of the house or the beauty of the redwood grove location. This is not an urban setting, so "street art" concepts aren't right, but we're trying to move away from the old fashioned look of the previous identity.
- Item 1...We would like a logo with type treatment that can be used in a variety of ways. We have a 36" X 72" vertical format street sign (painted on wood) that the new logo needs to go on--and of course we need to accommodate the other normal uses: web logo, logo printed on menus, business cards, envelopes and stationary.
- Colors are at your discretion, but should not be garish.
- We have explored a variety of conceptual directions: pop art, WPA-era posters, National Park Service Posters, American Gothic. We're open to all good ideas.
- The name needs to be easy to read!
- We want to appeal to a younger demographic--our current demo skews older--lots of 45-60 year olds. We want to be sure to appeal to the 30-44 year olds.
- Words to keep in mind: American, organic, farm to table, redwoods, bar, wood oven, seasonal
- Might incorporate the outline of Mount Tamalpais (it has a distinctive profile, look it up on Wikipedia)
- look at our website to get a sense of what are restaurants are like--www.larkcreek.com
- Adobe Illustrator preferred
- cute, whimsy too overtly representational.
- garish colors (but color is OK)
- something that won't reproduce well in a variety of sizes
Find out how a design contest works or learn more about our logo design services.


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Operation Iraqi Vacation
Egypt. Tunisia. Yemen. Bahrain. While the rest of the region roils in upheaval, Iraq is open for tourists. Er, kind of. At least the sort looking for some war-torn thrills. From the Tower of Babel to the birthplace of Abraham, from Saddam's ruined palaces to fortified blast-proof checkpoints, our intrepid correspondent embarks on a nine-day, eight-night tour of Mespotamia. Wish you were here!
The streets of Baghdad were strangled with traffic, everyone rushing home for the Muslim festival of Eid. Our bus hadn't moved in five minutes. If you were brave enough, or stupid enough, to have claimed a window seat, you could see amateur fireworks streaking above the rooftops.
I sat in my usual spot toward the back, next to Chuck. Chuck was a 39-year-old Canadian who'd quit his factory job and was now burning through the last of his savings, bumming around the Middle East. He wore dirty black jeans and dirty white high-tops, and his thinning brown hair fell halfway down his back. He deeply resented the fact that we had been forbidden, for "security reasons," from wandering away from the group and striking up conversations with random strangers and from picking up discarded rocket shells and other potentially explosive souvenirs—in other words, from having fun.
The traffic eased. Chuck opened the window and let the wind rush in. "Music!" he cried to the other cars. "Turn up the music!" A BMW with prayer beads dangling from the mirror pulled alongside us. The driver was a smiling young man with gel-spiked hair that said, "I know where the party is." He raised a fist in the air and yelled out the name of the violent anti-American cleric Muqtada al-Sadr. "We need to hang out with that guy," said Chuck. Another car sidled up, a rust-eaten vehicle of uncertain make, packed with young men. The driver stared at us, taking in our massive cameras and floppy hats and the strange, pale forms of our faces.
"Where are you from?" he shouted.
"Canada!" said Chuck. He pointed at me. "U.S.A.!"
"Travel! Tourist!"
"Tourist?" The driver turned and said something to his friend in the passenger seat, who threw his head back, laughing. "Tourist!" cried the driver, beaming. "Tourist!"
We heard a lot of laughter in Iraq. We'd be walking around some historical site, some temple or tomb, and a group of guys (they were invariably guys) would come up and ask for our picture. They'd be dressed in the prevailing Middle Eastern–Eastern European–New Jersey youth style—pointy shoes, pre-distressed jeans, tight black T-shirts with Italian designer names gleaming on the front—and they'd be giggling. Not in a nervous way but in a dude-can-you-believe-these-people way. "Picture, picture," they'd say, holding out their cell phones. We'd flash our sunniest American and European smiles for them, and then the roles would reverse and they'd pose for us. That was the deal. We get to go home and tell our friends we hung out with a bunch of Iraqi kids; they get to tell their friends they stumbled upon a band of sweaty, confused-looking Americans.
It was a nine-day tour: two nights in Kurdistan, five in Baghdad, one in the shrine city of Karbala. We slept in hotels not much different from hotels everywhere except for the erratic plumbing and the throngs of Iranian pilgrims in the lobbies. We traveled in a rattling Toyota Coaster that stopped every twenty minutes or so at a checkpoint—sort of like a tollbooth with guns.
We did touristy stuff. In Iraq, touristy stuff means climbing a ziggurat, which is basically the Mesopotamian version of the pyramids. It means shopping in a Baghdad market and paying too much for collectible Saddam-era dinars with the dictator's face printed on them. It means visiting mosques. Lots of them, so many that by the third day we grumbled whenever the bus pulled within fifty feet of one, like sixth graders on a school trip to the capital.
Most of us were knowledgeable about the Middle East, but not all. If there was one interest we had in common, it was traveling to places Westerners tend to avoid. We'd all been to countries of relative stability—China, Kenya, Egypt under Mubarak—but also plenty of places without much stability at all. Ingvild, for example, a 24-year-old Norwegian, had recently spent six months on a trek across Iran and Central Asia. (She claimed to speak Farsi and insisted on wearing a head scarf even in the Christian areas, because this was "the way of the desert.") And Peter, a relentlessly cheerful 58-year-old military-history buff, had toured Afghanistan with the same travel company that was leading us through Iraq, and had finally taken to admitting to friends that, yes, he was CIA—a Certified Insane American.
And then there was Simon, a brooding German neurosurgeon with a tangle of Beethoven hair, who said he collected news clippings in bos organized by country and visited the countries as soon as their corresponding bos filled up. And Kieran, a ruddy-faced Irish priest who'd worked as a missionary in Nigeria, where instead of converting Muslims to Christianity, he became obsessed with Islam.
And Willem and Cristina, the septuagenarian Dutch couple, who sold their house twenty-one years ago and had been traveling virtually nonstop ever since. They'd been to every country in the world, they said. Iraq was last on their list.
The tour company was called Hinterland Travel. You had to get yourself to Baghdad; for $3,700 they took care of everything else. I say "they," but it was really just one guy, Geoff Hann, a vigorous 70-year-old Englishman with a neatly clipped Vandyke beard and darting blue eyes. Despite professing a love for Mesopotamian history, Geoff did very little in the way of explaining the archaeological sites we were seeing and held strong, persistently negative opinions of Iraqi culture. When we talked on the phone before I signed up, he said we'd be staying in four-star hotels, then went out of his way to explain that I shouldn't expect the Bellagio. "Iraqis don't understand the concept of service," he said. This turned out to be a classic Geoff remark. He was always aiming little barbs at the Iraqis, often in their presence, which I tended to find worrisome, since we relied on them, entirely, for our safety.
Hinterland was one of a select group of tour companies bringing Westerners into Iraq, and as far as I could tell, pretty much the only one that dared to venture beyond the relatively peaceful confines of the Kurdish province in the north. Geoff had high hopes for the country. He envisioned it developing a solid tourism economy in a matter of years and suggested that when this happened he'd be poised to make a killing. The Iraqi government was similarly confident. At a tourism expo in London in 2009, amid the potted palms of the Abu Dhabi booth and the half-naked women representing Trinidad and Tobago, an Iraqi official declared, "We are optimistic about turning the tourism industry into a success." He didn't mention that on the way over he'd been detained in Jordan because of problems with his visa.
If it was possible to stumble into the Iraqi tourism business, Geoff had stumbled into the Iraqi tourism business. In 1969 his first wife left him and their two daughters and ran off to an ashram north of Mumbai. To hell with it, he said. He packed the girls into a Volkswagen and drove all the way to India to retrieve her. It turned out the marriage was beyond saving, but he had such a good time on the journey he decided to do it again, this time with paying passengers. Hinterland evolved out of those early expeditions. Along with Iraq, the company's destinations include Burma, Kashmir, and Afghanistan. In that first phone conversation, Geoff noted that all of these places offered "a frisson of danger." This was his British way of saying that people liked to visit them because they enjoyed the thrill of knowing they might get killed.
Of course, there were other reasons to go to Iraq, too—older ones. Seeing where Western civilization came into being, where the first cities were built, where writing was invented. Where (many believe) the serpent tricked Eve, where Terah begat Abram, who became Abraham, who became the father of three religions. Where Gilgamesh set out for the Waters of Death, where the Babylonians tried and failed to build a tower to the sky. But I think I can say that the Iraq most of us really wanted to see was the recent one—the one we'd seen on TV.
We wanted to see Saddam's decadent palaces. We wanted to see the hole where he hid, subsisting on Iraqi Spam. If it could be arranged somehow, we wanted to meet the people who'd provided him with the Spam. We wanted to go shopping in the markets in Baghdad precisely because it would be a terrible idea to go shopping in the markets in Baghdad, precisely because, as Geoff put it to me in his charmingly no-nonsense way, "Someone can just run up to you and shoot you in the head." We didn't want a bomb to go off—that would be too crazy and horrible even for us—but if a bomb did go off, we would want to be far enough away so that we didn't die or lose any body parts and yet close enough so that we'd get to see the explosion. We wanted stories. We wanted adventures. In essence, we wanted to visit the American West circa 1870, or a big-game safari circa 1870, or basically anyplace in the world circa 1870, since that was about the last time that travelers looking for adventure didn't have to go to an actual war zone.
We wanted intensity, and for a while we got it: intensity and a pleasant tingle of fear. Landing at Baghdad International Airport, where a friendly West Indian security contractor advised us to not get "captured"—that was intense. Driving into Baghdad, past the mud-colored apartment blocks, past the clothing shops and kebab shops and various other kinds of shops: intense. Turning down an empty, rubble-heaped side street and catching our first glimpse of the hotel: intense. Everything was intense, simply by virtue of the fact that it was in Iraq. As we sat in the lobby, waiting for the bus to return from a second airport run so we could go out, we chatted with two of the security guards* assigned by the Ministry of Tourism to follow us everywhere. Faisal wore Turkish rider boots and smoked Gitanes and communicated entirely by means of his eyebrows. Khalid was more of a jokester. Popping a date into his mouth, he smiled slyly and said, "Women, they like." Brendan, a nerdy IT guy from Colorado, elaborated. "Dates are like Viagra," he told us. I ate a handful.
Sitting there in that Baghdad hotel lobby, talking with those Iraqi guys, I couldn't stop thinking, "I'm sitting here in a Baghdad hotel lobby, talking with these Iraqi guys." At some point during this three-hour wait, though, some of the tourists began to grow restless. Kieran, the Islamophilic priest, threatened to desert. He wanted to go out and smoke a hookah. "No, no," said Khalid. "Outside, very dangerous." In the end, Khalid won out, but Kieran made his unhappiness known. Searching through his luggage, he muttered darkly, something about spending two days to get to the bloody place and then once you're bloody there you can't even see the bloody thing.
In the morning, we drove five hours north to Kurdish country. Kurdistan has its own security force, and compared with the rest of Iraq, it's pretty safe. We spent three days there, touring an ancient fortress and an ancient church and a quiet green park with an ancient minaret in the middle of it and, incongruously, this weird plastic-ball-in-a-pool kiddie game that you might see at Six Flags. There are vast oil reserves in Kurdistan, which, combined with the relative lack of terror, has made it a popular destination for international investors. Shooting up from the dried-grass wasteland were lots of shiny glass office buildings that looked like they'd been airlifted from Toledo.
One night Peter and I hung out in the lounge of a Sheraton down the road from the much less upscale hotel where we were staying. Apart from us, the only customers were a few Arab corporate types. A Bulgarian husband-and-wife duo played Abba covers. Take a chance-chance, take a chance, take a chance.
The rest of the group had turned in for the night, and it was nice to get away from the herd; only a few days into the trip, tour-group anxiety was setting in. (Tour-group anxiety is a specific subset of social anxiety. Symptoms include embarrassment at being seen in a large group, an aversion to dining with others, and an intense fear of the questions "Where are you from?" and "Where have you been?" coupled with a contradictory compulsion to incessantly pretend you're having fun.) Peter and I drank Heinekens and talked about failed relationships. We drank more Heinekens and fell in love with the Bulgarian singer. Peter tipped her excessively and told her we were headed to Baghdad in a few days, to which she responded with the appropriate feminine gasp of awe. I hovered near them awkwardly, stealing uncomfortable glances at the keyboard-player husband, who, I'd decided at some point in the past hour, was a tragically underappreciated genius, a Bulgarian Benny Andersson, and who was now glaring at Peter with a distinctly Eastern European mixture of boredom and menace. Geri—I think that was her name—told us that they'd been in Iraq for a month and had never left the hotel.
The Ministry of Tourism didn't allow Geoff to take us to the most dangerous parts of the country—Mosul, Fallujah, Ashur. And Geoff himself was concerned enough to keep us from lingering on the street or in the markets ("Someone can just run up to you..." etc.). We were shielded from any semblance of daily life, which meant that conversation with Iraqis was mostly limited to whatever we could coax out of the Iraqi army officers who were assigned to us as additional protection at the ancient sites. In Nimrud, a 3,000-year-old Assyrian imperial city, our designated protector was a talkative, sun-pinked soldier who said he'd spent two years in the mountains fighting in the Kurdish uprising against Saddam. It was hard to follow his English, but as he spoke it became clear that he had devised an elaborate plan to immigrate to Australia wherein he'd present himself to the authorities as a terrorism expert. When I asked what he meant by "expert," he pulled out his cell phone and showed us a video.
This sort of thing happened a lot in Iraq. The phones would come out and you'd be grinning at a picture of someone's kids or his favorite ayatollah. One guy showed me a naked picture of his girlfriend. The soldier's video was different. It opened with a shot of a car; then the car blew up. There were screams, gunshots. A tiny figure was charging down the street, firing his rifle at something. "This is I," the soldier said. A few more tourists ambled over and joined the viewing party. It was almost impossible to make out what was going on, but we were enthralled. Brendan, the IT guy, asked if we could find it on YouTube.
Most of our time in Iraq was spent on the bus. I read George Packer's not completely depressing book about the American occupation. I ate not completely terrible made-in-Iran cream-filled cookies by the package. I slept. Ingvild chattered tirelessly about the Great Game, the melancholy beauty of Persian poetry, whether she should pursue a career in diplomacy, her disappointment in the fact that we were not going to get to see the Green Zone. In the back of the bus, Chuck quietly plotted her assassination. Kieran asked Khalid whether he'd ever shot anybody. "Yes," Khalid said. "In water."
"I think he means he shot someone with a water gun," Chuck said.
One afternoon our driver made a wrong turn and drove us to a checkpoint outside Mosul, arguably the most dangerous city in Iraq. Realizing what was happening, Geoff jumped out of his seat, furious. "What's the matter with him?" he shouted at our interpreter, Mohammed. "Idiot! Idiot! Now we'll stay here for an hour probably!"
"We will stay here five minutes," Mohammed said calmly.
"I'm 70," Geoff retorted, "I want to live to see 80. How do you think I lived this long? By being very, very careful."
I looked to Khalid for reassurance. "No problem," he said. A few minutes later a soldier waved us to the other side of the road. We joined the traffic flowing out of Mosul and drove away.
On a bright morning toward the end of the trip, we drove an hour south of Baghdad to a site that I'd have been very excited to see, had I been more into antiquity, or God, or heavy metal. We were headed to Babylon, the world's first great city and, according to one interpretation of the Bible, the symbol of the evil empire that will usher forth the apocalypse. (The book of Revelation foretells that the end of days will come after the Whore of Babylon, a.k.a. the "Mother of Harlots and of the Abominations of the Earth," meets her ruin at the hands of a seven-headed beast.)
On a hill overlooking the site stood a huge palace constructed as part of Saddam's attempt to restore the city to the glory of its ancient, Jew-enslaving past. We explored the gutted, empty halls. American troops had succeeded in covering nearly every inch of wall with short declarative sentences: FUCK SADDAM and AMERICA RULES and, cryptically, YOU ARE HERE. Chuck took out a pen and scrawled a message of his own: CANADA LOVES IRAQ.
Our extra security detail for the day was led by a policeman who said he'd worked for the Americans as an interpreter. He asked us to refer to him by his American nickname, Timmy. Timmy had a deep tan and perfect white teeth that looked like they'd been carved from a bar of soap. As we toured the ruins, he entertained us with war stories, interrupting himself every few minutes to share some interesting Babylon-related factoid.
"Once, I am hit by IED," he said. "Three guys were killed. We lost Ray, he's a soldier, and Stillman, he was a medic, and Williams, he was a sergeant. It was very bad." He pointed to a statue of a lion: "The Lion of Babylon. He is very strong." We took a picture. "Another time, an IED killed Dix. It sprayed blood out."
Ray, Stillman, Williams, Dix. I was fixating on these names, thinking about how their families would feel if they knew we'd come here—paid to come here—for kicks, when I heard Timmy say something.
"But I like them days."
I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. "You liked those days?"
"I like fighting. I like the danger. I like to work with it."
It took a moment for me to formulate a response. "You think it's fun?" I asked. "Oh yeah," he said, "very fun."
He was grinning.
"You're crazy, man," I said.
He laughed. "Somebody told me, 'You're crazy, man.' But I'm telling you, believe me, every day we shoot by mortars, IEDs, rockets, every day blood. I pray God, 'Please don't let me see the blood every day,' but every day blood. But I like it." Gripping an imaginary trigger with one hand and holding the other hand in the air as though supporting the barrel of an assault rifle, he turned slowly from left to right, making shooting noises. Imaginary bad guys in beards and turbans were dropping all around us. Timmy might as well have been a kid playing G.I. Joe, except for one realistic detail. "The shells," he said, slapping frantically at his lap. "Hot!"
That afternoon we got back on the bus and followed Timmy and his unit in their truck to the fabled birthplace of Abraham. A small turquoise-domed mosque marked the spot. As we approached, I saw Timmy standing in the doorway gesturing at a tall man in clerical robes. "Muslim?" the man asked, turning to us. It was clear from his expression that he wasn't about to invite us in for tea and sharing. He and Timmy shouted at each other for a few moments in Arabic, and then Timmy did something alarming. He put a hand on the man's shoulder and pushed him, forcefully enough to make him do a humiliating little crab dance away from the door. "Please, come in," Timmy said to us. This was an order, not a suggestion.
I considered our options. We could stay outside, undermining Timmy's authority. Or we could enter, aggravating whatever offense we'd already caused the cleric. Colin, a retired doctor from England who traveled with a watercolor set, went in first. A few more followed, and then I joined them, sneaking a quick look at the cleric as I walked past. He was staring straight ahead, his face a tight knot of resentment. Even as it occurred to me that he was very possibly praying for our destruction, if not actively planning it, I guiltily muttered, "Thank you." When I got back outside, he was gone, and most of the group had wandered off. "What just happened?" I asked Timmy.
"I tell him this holy place is not just for Muslim," he said. "Abraham is prophet for Christian and Jewish, too." His voice was shaking. "That's what I tell this jack-off," he said, "and maybe now he kill me."
When you are relaxing in the safety and comfort of your home, thinking about going to Iraq and wondering how you'd react if something frightening were to happen there, it is easy to imagine that you would remain cool and calm. When that something actually occurs, however, especially if it occurs in the middle of a vast unsettled expanse of shrub and rock—literally a biblical wilderness—you may find yourself hurrying over to your travel companions and greeting them in an overly cheerful yet panicky voice that simultaneously says "Great mosque!" and "Let's leave immediately."
I found most of the group clustered on the edge of a plateau across a broad valley from a rocky, barren mound—the remains of a ziggurat. "We've got a problem," said Chuck. A bunch of soldiers had just arrived and were now ordering everyone to stay put and not approach the ziggurat. Squinting toward the valley, I could make out a small figure winding his way there. Someone had finally gotten fed up with soldiers and clerics and security guards telling us where we could and couldn't go. It was Geoff.
Chuck and I ran after him, shouting that the soldiers were taking a shortcut in an attempt to cut him off. "Let them bloody shoot me," said Geoff, "I don't mind." Sure enough, when we got to the top, a soldier was waiting there, waving frantically. "No picture, no picture!" he shouted.
We retreated in silence back to the bus. Most of the group were already inside. The soldiers were speaking heatedly with Khalid and Faisal. I felt certain we were about to be arrested. Colin sat on the ground fifteen feet away from them, placidly watercoloring.
I was trying to determine whether I'd be allowed to keep my tape recorder in jail when, just like that, the soldiers got back in their truck and rumbled off. Khalid and Faisal herded us back onto the bus. Nothing had happened. Still, as we drove away, a feeling of excitement surged through the group. We'd seen something. Not a bomb, not even a fight, but something. A glimpse of the Iraq we'd imagined.
On the last day of the tour, Kieran gave me his card. It depicted Jesus as a sort of Hindu deity, flames pouring out of his stigmata. Willem and Cristina's showed them lugging their backpacks toward the horizon. Peter, who hadn't stopped talking about the Bulgarian girl since the Sheraton, promised to stay in touch. And then they were gone. The tour had ended. My Iraq adventure, however, had not. Somehow I'd accidentally managed to book my ticket so that I left a day after everyone else. I now had twenty-four hours in Baghdad by myself. Freedom at last! I could wander the streets, shopping at markets we'd been forbidden from entering, striking up conversations with strangers about politics and war! I could go find one of those art galleries I'd read about in the Times! I could befriend some young intellectual types who would invite me back to their homes and offer me tea!
I stayed at the hotel.
The hotel manager, Sadr, an almost obsequiously nice guy who said he worked part-time as a Tae Kwon Do instructor and had the taut, muscular build of someone who could drop-kick you across a dusty alley, gave me a string of prayer beads, which I wore for two months after the trip and showed to anyone who asked how I spent my summer. He gave me a tour of the hotel: Here was the courtyard with its generators, which he needed because the power still went out all the time in Baghdad; here was the kitchen, where a guy in a chef's hat took a break from slapping chicken breasts onto a log of shawarma to wish me "bon appétit"; here was a clerk who showed me his cell-phone pictures of sexy Iraqi pop stars; and here was the gentleman who'd serve as my guide for the rest of my stay. He was 9 years old.
Hassan was Sadr's son. He was a sweet-faced kid with a hairstyle that looked like it had been fussed over by a professional. For the next few hours, he followed me around everywhere, gabbing at me in an endless stream of Arabic. We ate dinner together, played soccer in the courtyard. He taught me how to count to ten in Arabic. And before turning in for the night, we watched TV.
The TV was an enormous flat-screen propped up on a stand in the corner of the lobby. Hassan proudly marched me over to it and flipped through the channels, talking nonstop, indifferent to the fact that I couldn't understand a word. Finally he found what he wanted to show me—the American channel.
A Justin Timberlake video was playing. It was for that 2007 song "What Goes Around Comes Around." I know this probably reveals me to be some kind of crank or recluse, but this was the first time I'd seen it. Hassan sat staring at the screen with that narcotized, vacant expression that kids get watching TV even when what they're watching is absolutely insane, which this was. It was a ten-minute pop opera with dialogue interludes, Scarlett Johansson making out with Justin Timberlake, Scarlett Johansson making out with some other guy, and then, for no apparent reason, Scarlett Johansson dying in a horrible car crash. Scarlett Johansson's corpse sprawled out on the road, the camera panning up to the blue American sky. I felt like I'd stumbled upon some bizarre artifact of a strange and violent civilization. I felt like a tourist.


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SANTA BARBARA, Calif. – The UCSB men's tennis season got off to a good start Friday, as the Gauchos kicked off their season at home in the UCSB Classic tournament.
The Gauchos and players from seven other visiting schools began their first round of matches in the "compass draw" style tournament Friday afternoon, beginning with doubles play.
UCSB played in the top two flights, A and B, racking up wins in each of their respective match-ups. The veteran duo of Ziad Sultan and Mbonisi Ndimande defeated UC San Diego 8-5 in their flight A draw.
In flight B, Axel Bouillin and Sasha Gryaznov beat a pair from Northern Arizona 8-2 while newcomer Miles Seemann and senior Benjamin Recknagel closed out a tight match against UC Davis to win 9-8.
The Gauchos had similar success in the first round of singles play. In flight A, Mbonisi Ndimande picked up where he left off last season, defeating Kyle Miller of UC Davis in straight sets 6-1, 6-3 and Axel Bouillin won 6-3, 6-1 over Rob Martin of Northern Arizona.
In flight B, the Gauchos continued their strong start as senior Benjamin Recknagel, named to the First Team All-Big West in singles last season, came up with a decisive win 6-1, 6-1 over Cal player Jordan Smith. Sasha Gryaznov also came out of the gates strong with a 6-2, 6-1 win over Alan Barrios of Northern Arizona.
The newest additions to the Gauchos, Miles Seemann and Jake Johnson, had successful debuts as both players came back and won tight matches. SBCC transfer, Seemann, won against Max Jiganti of UC San Diego 3-6, 7-6, 6-2 and freshman Jake Johnson won 4-6,6-2,7-6 over Brett Bacharach of UC Davis.
UCSB's lone loss of the day came in a 6-2,6-2 loss by Ziad Sultan to Nevada's Andrew Poustie in flight A.
After the first day of matches, the Gauchos posted nine total wins, a tournament high for UCSB. Cal Poly, UC Davis, and Nevada followed with five wins each, while Cal had three wins, UCSD and Westmont had one, and Northern Arizona had came away with none.
The UCSB Classic will continue tomorrow at 9 AM, beginning with one round of doubles matches and two rounds of singles play. The tournament will conclude Sunday with one more round of doubles and singles matches.


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Murders and crime. Who will deal with this? Top investigators! Our melody is perfect for the splash screen to the program's detective series, or about criminal histories. Thank you all!
Like this track? We still have some fine hits!
Offer to audition:
High School - Sales Leader! Composition in the style of pop-punk.
Funny Man – Cheerful positive melody.
The Pursuit of Happiness – This is a corporate miracle!
Little Happiness – Lovely light melody ukulele.
Indie Dance – It's just a dance anthem!
Superhero Trailer – Do you like music from the blockbuster? This is one of them.


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Monica wrote:Port forwarding sucks. What are you trying to use port forwarding for? I work for an internet service provider, and I've learned that some of the most common reasons why port forwarding may not work could be due to the following:
- Do you have a firewall? If so, make sure it's not blocking any traffic.
- If you've done port forwarding before on the same router, make sure there aren't any existing port forwarding rules, especially for the same port. If there are, change the ports or remove them.
- Real Idiot Test - are you sure you have the correct IP's?
- Not sure why, but some routers may need a reset or reboot after port forwarding rules are set. Did you do this?
If you can provide more information, the more answers you might receive here.
weekend hacker wrote:I find that a lot of ISPs these days (all the mayor ones in my country do it) block a lot of wel known ports. mainly anything that can be abused (email, ftp, ssh, http(s), netbios?!? and all the popular proxy ports)
You could check your isp's website or call customer services to find out what they block.
In my case I can have stuff unblocked for my connection but they charge 20 euro each time I request a change.
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests


text:
Redneck Romeo
JUB 10k Club
Burnouts Are For Kids
On the Prowl
Young at Heart
The Fondling Observer
One of my favorite people on YouTube is leaving; at least for a little while.
I've spent countless hours listening to allendale1962 play the piano.
I'd thought I'd share his latest video with you guys. I hope you enjoy it like I do.
Born to lose
Born to lose the game
Born to cry
When I hear you're near
Born to smile
Through a mist of tears
Born to live
Lost in lonely years
Born to lose
Every game I play
You must go
There's no other way
Touch my life
With your love once more
It must last
Till forever more
Take my love
Take my life, my soul
Take my dreams
The first time I laid my eyes on you I knew.
We'd spend this life side by side.
I still feel the same though you're so far away.
I swear that you'll always be mine...
Forever Love. I promise you.
Someday we'll be together.
Forever love. I won't give up. No matter what.
I'll be waiting for you. Forever love.
Minutes and hours and years may go by.
But my heart knows nothing of time.
I leave before dawn in the morning on the way to my new home. Moving in with my sister in Georgia.
I'll be without internet for up to a couple of weeks... but I'LL BE BACK. You just can't keep me away from this place ;)


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|306: Cathedral of St John the Divine, Manhattan, New York City
|Other reports | Comment on this report
Mystery Worshipper: Og, King of Bashan.
The church: Cathedral of St John the Divine, Manhattan, New York.
Denomination: Episcopal.
The building: "The largest Gothic Cathedral in the world". This is a seriously impressive building.
The church: The diversity of New York's population was represented in the congregation people of all ages and colours were present.
The neighbourhood: The cathedral is located on the Upper West side at 112th and Amsterdam Avenue, near Columbia University.
The cast: There were far too many to list them all, but The Rt. Rev. Richard Frank Grein, Bishop of New York, led the service, and the preacher was Rev. Robert Jenson, Honorary Canon of the Cathedral Church.
What was the name of the service?
Good Friday Liturgy.
How full was the building?
The choir section was about half full, and some more people were seated in the nave. This may not sound like many people, but remember that this church was built with the capacity to seat approximately the entire population of Manhattan.
Did anyone welcome you personally?
A greeter met all visitors to the cathedral at the door; nearer the front of the building stewards gave out service sheets to those attending the service.
Was your pew comfortable?
Mine was a wooden chair, of average comfort. The cathedral offers a variety of different seating options in different areas (pews, wooden chairs, plastic chairs) for the discerning congregant.
How would you describe the pre-service atmosphere?
Quiet and prayerful. Amazingly, this atmosphere was maintained depite the constant stream of arrivals and the presence of several young children.
What were the exact opening words of the service?
Silence. The bishops and clergy, a procession numbering 14, processed in, then prostrated themselves for some time before the high altar while the people knelt on the stone floor. This silence remained until the bishop announced "Blessed be our God".
What books did the congregation use during the service?
A printed service sheet, complete with the full text of the liturgy and hymns (including tunes and chants), and an appropriate picture of the crucifixion on the front.
What musical instruments were played?
The organ was played by Dorothy Papadakos, the cathedral organist. It was good to be able to see the organist during the service.
Did anything distract you?
The bishop's fuchsia pink skullcap clashed quite badly with his red robes... but this was just a minor point.
Was the worship stiff-upper-lip, happy clappy, or what?
Robes, processions, bowing, candles... this service was as high as the World Trade Center.
Exactly how long was the sermon?
16 minutes.
On a scale of 1-10, how good was the preacher?
In a nutshell, what was the sermon about?
Living through the death of Jesus, and rehearsing our own deaths through the Passion narrative.
Which part of the service was like being in heaven?
This was the most dignified, solemn and reverential service I have ever attended, all without any suggestion of an artifically stiff upper lip. I was struck by the number of people of all ages and backgrounds who were present, showing eloquently how the Church can be relevant to so many people without compromising on the beauty and integrity of its liturgy and message.
And which part was like being in... er... the other place?
Really, nothing.
What happened when you hung around after the service looking lost?
After the service, everyone left, either walking straight out of the cathedral, or wandering more slowly to look at the fine stained glass.
How would you describe the after-service coffee?
No coffee, nor fruit juice, nor sherry.
How would you feel about making this church your regular (where 10 = ecstatic, 0 = terminal)?
9 The only factor which would go against me making this my regular church is that it might be difficult to feel a sense of "belonging" in such an enormous cathedral.
Did the service make you feel glad to be a Christian?
More than that it made me feel proud to be an Anglican.
What one thing will you remember about all this in seven days' time?
The deep, deep reverence and humility of the opening of the service.


text: hi! not sure if u r still working on this, but just so you know, i tried cm-11-20141025-UNOFFICIAL-m7wlj.zip and it is a lot more stable than the cm-11-20140727-UNOFFICIAL-m7wlj.zip. also the camera was not working, but it works fine now. the only thing is the gps. it has no gps signal. anyway, thanks for your work!


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OpenXava 4.2.2 released
OpenXava 5.3.2 released
July 28, 2015
The OpenXava team is pleased to inform you that OpenXava 5.3.2 is already available.
We recommend you to download it and upgrade your OpenXava applications. Look at the migration instructions.
It is a maintenance version with many bug fixes and some little new features:
- New RemoveSelectedInElementCollectionAction to refine @RemoveSelectedAction for @ElementCollection.
- Fix: View inheritance fails with groups inside sections.
- Fix: The menu shows modules from MappedSuperclass classes.
- Fix: Strings.removeAccents() does not remove grave accents.
- Fix: Class not found OrganizationServlet deploying on JBoss.
- Fix: Errors in tabs-default-values.dtd and valores-defecto-tabs.dtd.
- Fix: Clickable region in list does not include the entire row area, but just the text.
- Fix: An IJDBCCalculator with properties assigned using 'from' fails because the JDBC provider is null.
- Fix: Combos for references in list filter ignore order defined in @DescriptionsList.
- Fix: Reloading page produces "Editor not available" error in charts.
- Fix: Second level references with @DescriptionsList do not show the combo for filtering in list.
- Fix: A qualified properties in a list fails when the simple name of the property is used in other part of the full qualified name.
- Fix: Apostrophes incorrectly shown in search dialog title in Spanish.
- Fix: Saved chart configurations are not restored.
- Fix: Transaction marked as rollbackOnly in element collection with default calculator that use JPA.
- Fix: @ReadOnly in list with @OrderColumn can be reordered by the user.


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Following the most recent election cycle, talk of opposing controlling governmental bodies meeting to address fiscal issues has been prominent. There has been much talk from all parties about the need to compromise to come up with solutions to looming problems deemed by many to be catastrophic in nature. Leaders from both sides say they want a compromise position for the betterment of the nation, but quickly follow that with a major component against which they will not move. Given the seriousness of the financial situation hanging in the balance, the issues of compromise and what constitutes betterment for the country bear close scrutiny.
Compromise is seen today as a legislative necessity, a good in and of itself. Compromise, however, has two definitions. One definition is, �a settlement of differences by mutual concessions.� A second definition is, �to make a dishonorable or shameful concession.� Taking these two definitions together we see that all compromise is based on the common ground of virtue. Two parties who disagree on a point striving to come to an understanding will many times need to make concessions to come to agreement, but must be careful when considering those concessions to see the clear line of demarcation between the honorable and the shameful. This means virtue cannot be relative, otherwise what is honorable would vary from person to person and would be decided first by a majority of citizens, then by a group of people and eventually by just one person who would then tell everyone else what is best for all. Hence, virtue must be an absolute principle, such that if one makes a concession of an absolute principle then that becomes a poor compromise, one worthy of dishonor and shame. Why do we never hear about bad compromises except that we already tacitly see virtue as relative? However, if we are serious about doing what is best for the nation, it is critical that we carefully examine the source of virtue in order to distinguish between good and bad compromises.
Those who founded this nation had a very clear answer to the source of absolute principles. In fact, contrary to contemporary feelings that our founders were totally unbiased and completely secular in their thinking, there were voices that spoke loudly in the writings of those who signed our Declaration and crafted our Constitution. When the writings of the framers of the Constitution are empirically examined, three of the four most cited sources were men named Montesquieu, Blackstone and Locke.
Montesquieu wrote, �Man, as a physical being, is like other bodies governed by invariable laws. As an intelligent being, he incessantly transgresses the laws established by God, and changes those of his own instituting � God has therefore reminded him of his duty by the laws of religion.�
Blackstone wrote, �This law of nature, being coeval with mankind and dictated by God Himself, is of course superior to any other � The doctrines thus delivered we call the revealed or divine law, and they are to be found only in the Holy Scriptures � Upon these two foundations, the law of nature and the law of revelation, depend all human laws; that is to say, no human law should be suffered to contradict these.�
From Locke we read, �Human Laws are measures in respect of Men whose Actions thy must direct, albeit such measures they are as have also their higher Rules to be measured by, which Rules are two, the Law of God, and the Law of Nature; so that Laws Human must be made according to the general Laws of Nature, and without contradiction to any positive Law of Scripture, otherwise they are ill made.�
Three of the four most readily quoted references of the framers of our Constitution clearly state that the God of the Christian Bible is the source of absolute principles and virtue. Contradiction of this source results in shame and therefore stands as the common ground on which all compromise must be made if the nation is to be better off. Our nation is not secular and man is not the measure of all things; furthermore, the framers did not start with a blank slate, they began with the natural law and the law of Scripture, and if in the course of human action these laws are violated, dishonor and shame is the result. If we really consider this source of virtue we may find that the best way forward for this country is to go back and correct the mistakes of dishonorable and shameful compromises from the past before pressing on with a mistaken course.
Of the top four sources referenced by the framers of our civil government, the Bible is far and away the most cited. As we consider the betterment of our nation, and the compromises necessary to bring about such betterment, I most vehemently and strenuously implore our elected officials and all citizens of this nation to stand on common ground and to heed the Word of truth from that most cited source that we may understand the source of the hope we have to be reconciled one to another after first being reconciled to God.
Jeremy D. Troxler lives in Elon, is the author of In, Not Of � Christian Relevance in 21st Century America and can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.com or http://jeremydtroxler.blogspot.com


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GPU: HPC Friend or Foe?
General purpose computing with GPUs looks like a great concept on paper. Indeed, SC'08 was dominated by GPUs — it was impossible not to be (technically) impressed with some of the results that were being cited and shown on the exhibit floor. But despite that, GPGPUs have failed to become a "must have" HPC technology over the past year. Last week's announcements from NVIDIA look really great for the HPC crowd (aside from some embarrissing PR blunders) — they seem to address many of the shortcomings of prior generation GPU usage in an HPC environment: more memory, more cores, ECC memory, better / cheaper memory management, etc. Will GPUs become the new hotness in HPC?
The obvious question here is "Why is Jeff discussing GPUs on an MPI blog?"
At first blush, MPI and GPUs are orthogonal. MPI is about message passing, after all — nothing to do with computation, right? Specifically: most people use MPI to pass messages around their computation — they compute compute compute and then send some messages (for example) to peer processes to exchange updated edge data. Easy peasey.
However, there are a small number of places in MPI that can benefit from faster computation. The most obvious of which is a small class of MPI's collective communications: reductions. That is, taking data that is distributed among a group of processes and computationally combining them into a single answer. A simple example is taking a single value from each MPI process and multiplying them together into a single result value. This is a combination of both message passing and computation.
MPI has several built-in reduction operations, such as addition, multiplication, minimum, maximum, etc. MPI also allows users to define their own operators for application-specific computations. For small amounts of data and/or small numbers of processes — like my simple example, above — having MPI perform a reduction is probably no more efficient than the application manually doing the communication and computation itself. But where MPI reductions really shine is where there is a large amount of data involved. MPI implementations spend a lot of time, effort, and research into figuring out how to make distributed reductions as efficient (and fast!) as possible.
And this is where GPUs come in. GPUs could be a natural target for MPI implementations to use when performing large reductions. One simplistic way of looking at a global addition reduction would be to gather all the data in one process and then perform a simplistic loop over the data to add it all together, perhaps like this:
But instead of this loop, the MPI implementation could use a GPU to do the addition. With a large enough input data set, using a GPU could see some nice speedup compared to the simplistic loop.
This is actually a game-changer in terms of distributed MPI reduction algorithms. Contrary to what I said above, today's MPI reduction algorithms typically perform distributed-style computations. For example, use a tree-based algorithm where each interior process sums the data from its children and then sends the result to its parent. When done, the tree root will contain the global summation result. Easy peasey.
GPUs, however, are most efficient when operating on large sets of data. Hence, it might be better to gather all the operand data to one MPI process (or perhaps a small number of MPI processes) that have GPUs and have them perform the bulk of the computation. The challenge will be to balance network bandwidth and congestion issues against the computational power of a single GPU. It'll be even more challenging if only some nodes in the compute cluster have GPUs, or if there are less GPUs than CPU cores on a single compute node — such issues raise all kinds of heterogeneous distribution and allocation issues which can be quite sticky to solve in an optimal fashion at run-time.
Consider this an open call to researchers to start tackling these topics!
In an effort to keep conversations fresh, Cisco Blogs closes comments after 60 days. Please visit the Cisco Blogs hub page for the latest content.


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TMC wrote:loyaltyisacurse wrote:Actually, they could have if they were willing to pay the luxury tax, and obviously they did not.
No, they couldn't go over the cap to sign him, because St. Jean only signed him to a two year contract. That was St. Jean's mistake. Back in that day, you could only go over the cap to sign a player as long as you had the "Bird rights" to that player, which means that you could only go over the cap to sign him if he had been playing for the team for three consecutive years.
So St. signed the the first rounders to the usual 3+1 (team option) year contract and only a two year contract to Arenas. We just could not match any offer over the cap for him.
You are correct.


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Out With The Old, And In With The New!!
Happy New Year
2008 is here, and its that time of the year to make those New Years resolutions. My resolution for this year is to finally stick to one of my resolutions for once. I would probably have to say that I will scream less at the T.V. when watching any Cowboys bashing analyst. I started getting real bad in December. I'll tell ya, if there was a such thing as being able to reach out and touch someone through the T.V. there would of been alot of people getting pimp slapped by me! Its a new year and time to enable a new attitude towards the non-Cowboy fan. I give my new resolution maybe a week. I gotta set my goals small, cause this is gonna be a hard one!
Wow what a year 2007 was. It was a very memorable year for me. Maybe even one of the best. I want to share a part of my 2007 with you all that is going to stay with me for the rest of my life. Because thats what we are supposed to do on New Years day. (Reflect on the past and prepare for the Future year).
I moved to Dallas 16 years ago from a very small town in northern Kentucky. As everyone knows there is no pro NFL team in Kentucky. The closest team to go for was the Cincinnati Bengals. That wasn't happening for my family. My father was a die hard Cowboys fan and raised me the same.
It wasn't until I moved to Dallas that I truly found my Cowboy heart. Living here and experiencing the love first hand was amazing. But after the years I took it for granted because I knew I would always be a Cowboy fan 'til the day I die. On August 7th, 2007 all that changed. I had to move to Denver, CO because of work for a couple of months, right at the beginning of the preseason.
I got to watch the first two games against Indy and Denver. And oh my God did we have a blast in Denver when they played the Cowboys! My Family and I were at a art festival in Golden CO, walking around town sporting our Cowboys jerseys. I thought for sure we were going to die! That day I met so many Cowboys Fans. I couldn't believe it! I was amazed by all the people I met that were from Dallas or loved the Cowboys. I felt like I was back home! I did meet the occasional Bronco fan that had to represent their team, but all in all they all had mad respect for the Cowboys, especially after that butt-whoopin' the Boys put on them in pre-season.
I missed the last two pre-season games due to the fact that it wasn't televised there and it was looking like I was gonna miss Week 1 if I didn't get NFL Sunday Ticket soon. Even after that, I didn't have the post game press conferences, and the locker room interviews with the players that I have been accustomed to watching for so long. I couldn't stand it! And I had that feeling in my gut that 2007 was going to be a fantastic year for the Cowboys.
I just couldn't fathom having to miss out on all the fun, and having to sit and listen to the local stations there talking nothing but Broncos crap. Thank the good Lord my job there was finished and we high tailed it back to Dallas for Week 4.
My point to the story is I am in awe for all the die hard Cowboys fans that live in other parts of the United States that have to go through the same things year after year. I tip my hat to you all I will make it a point to bring all you from other parts some Dallas love. Like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz said "There's No Place Like Home"!
Time To Reflect
At the start of 2007, I was unsure of how the Cowboys were going to go into their next season. That heartbreaker loss in Seattle left a nasty taste in my mouth. Then Parcells holds the team hostage for weeks undecided on what he wanted to do, stay or go. He leaves, then GM Jones talks of making Jason Garrett (a former backup quarterback for Troy Aikman) a potential head coach. At that point I was thinking, 'Jerry's done lost his mind'.
Then comes in Coach Wade Phillips aka 'Mr. Fix-It', who had just came from a San Diego team that was leading the league in defense and went 14-2 the previous season to come in as head coach. Jones then appoints Jason Garrett as offensive coordinator and the pieces to the puzzle start to find their place. That is of course for the coaching staff.
Terry Glenn undergoes surgery on his knee that will place him on the injury report for what was only expected to be until mid season, but lasted until the season finale. Then there was the puzzle piece of Tony Romo. Was he was the QB for the future and could he bounce back from the muffed snap against Seattle? On top of that there was the contract talk for Romo that lasted until the middle of the 2007. Sign him now or wait? All the speculation ended on thier bye week when Romo signed his 6-year deal and became one of the highest paid QB's in the league.
And who can forget all the T.O. talk? There were many that didn't think Owens would make it through his first season with the Cowboys. The 1962 record by Frank Clark that T.O. broke with 15 TD's this season will tell you that this man was breed to be a Cowboy!
Franchise records were broken left and right by this team. 11 players nominated to the Pro Bowl, one of them a so called back up that tremendously astonished me with his hard running and fight for every yard, running back Marion Barber, Jason Witten with his phenomenal season, the offensive line that gave Romo all the time in the world to throw, and that Defense! I could write on forever about D-Ware and Greg Ellis! And last but not least the rookie kicker Nick Folk! He played like he has been in the league for years!
I'm sure I missed out on a bunch of players and personnel that made 2007 such a great year. I really don't think I have that much time to write about every mind blowing accomplishment the Cowboys had in 2007, and I don't think I would have it any other way! Keep me busy Cowboys!! Now its playoff time, a new year and a brand new season is upon us. We have had our ups and downs. It is time now to be 'Out With The Old, And In With The New!'
We have two weeks to get ready. Fine tune the things that got us to 13-3 this season, and get ready for the next goal. THE SUPER BOWL!! Happy New Year Everyone and may GOD bless us all with a 6th Super Bowl Win! Go Cowboys!!!
Heres a Video I found on YouTube of some Highlights of 2007 season. Some of you may have seen it already, but I found it appropriate for this blog. Happy New Year Everyone!


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But, farmers have been expecting ag programs to be nailed down for about a year, so issues may still be up in the air.
Whatever the status, farmers and ranchers will have an opportunity to get the latest take on how those programs will affect the way they do business. Speakers from key commodity associations, government agencies, Extension and research will tackle the challenges that farmers confront from legislation, regulation, production and marketing.
"We've seen a lot of changes in agriculture programs over the past few months," says Ron Smith, editor of Southwest Farm Press, a co-sponsor of the show, which has been a late winter tradition in Lubbock for the past four years.
"We've had another year of unusual weather. What other kind is there? We've had some promising movement in process, but we're still not where we ought to be to offer farm families a decent profit. We hope to provide some information that gives farmers some ideas to increase efficiency and boost profit potential."
An early look at the agenda, which is still being hammered out, includes discussions on irrigation efficiency and how new farm programs may help producers upgrade outmoded systems.
Carl Anderson, renowned Texas A&M marketing specialist, will offer marketing tips for cotton.
And a trio of Extension specialists, Randy Boman, James Leser and Calvin Trostle will offer timely tips to improve production efficiency for cotton and other crops."
"We're also trying to get folks from the NRCS and FSA to discuss how programs have changed with the new farm laws and how some of those changes will affect on-farm management," Smith said.
Once again, sponsors encourage early registration to get an accurate head count for the catered lunch, available at a nominal fee. Early registrants will be eligible for door prizes.
Along with Southwest Farm Press, sponsors for the conference include; The Texas Cooperative Extension Service, The Texas A&M Agricultural Research Station, the USDA-ARS station at Lubbock, Texas Tech, and The Plains Cotton Growers, Inc.
For more information call: (662) 624-8503 or e-mail Ron Smith at firstname.lastname@example.com.