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Flaming Gorge is a 42,000-acre recreation paradise spanning the Utah/Wyoming border. In the summer it's a hub of activity including not only world-class fishing and boating, but also swimming, kayaking, hiking, whitewater rafting and, of course, camping.
Come explore Flaming Gorge with us on this Kitchen Table Trips episode of Grand Adventure! We'll find relaxing boondocking along the eastern shore, along with Forest Service campgrounds and even full-hookup RV parks as well. We'll visit nearby Brown's Park, one of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid's favorite hideouts, to see the John Jarvie Historic Ranch maintained by the BLM, and we'll also kayak through Horseshoe Canyon. We'll gaze down upon Flaming Gorge from Red Canyon, and view the engineering marvel that is the Flaming Gorge Dam.
Gear used in the filming of this episode includes:
- DJI Osmo+ 4K video stabilized heldheld gimbal camera http://amzn.to/2xwMwRj
- Sunpak TravelLite Pro tripod http://amzn.to/2zAwtGL
- PowerDeWise Lavalier lapel microphone http://amzn.to/2y7DAVK
- Samsung Galaxy S8+ http://amzn.to/2yRhqEV
Video editing software:
- Cyberlink PowerDirector http://amzn.to/2Capy8J
We also use:
- Monoprice MHD Sport 2.0 Wi-Fi Action Camera http://amzn.to/2xsmnDa
- DJI Mavic Pro drone for 4K aerial videography http://amzn.to/2y9CN6T
- Vivitar DVR917HD 4K action camera https://goo.gl/URR7S3
- various other tripods and mounts
- Rode VideoMicro microphone http://amzn.to/2gsf6NY
- 2016 Evo by Forest River T2050 (23') https://goo.gl/53a88X
- 2014 Toyota Tundra 5.7L V8 https://goo.gl/NJQpbD
- Renogy 200W Eclipse folding monocrystalline solar suitcase with PWM solar controller: http://amzn.to/2DfCdnC
- Renogy MC-4 to SAE adapter: http://amzn.to/2DgPRqE
- Halo 1500W power inverter: http://amzn.to/2Ca5Sln
- Champion 3100-Watt RV Ready Portable Inverter Generator with Wireless Remote Start http://amzn.to/2zAwwCi
- KING VQ4550 Tailgater portable automatic satellite TV antenna and DISH Wally HD receiver: http://amzn.to/2BDL6XR
- HooToo TripMate portable 12V Internet router http://amzn.to/2BUQY3a
- Mopeka LP Tank Check http://amzn.to/2xFrakI
- Mr. Heater F232000 MH9BX Buddy 4,000-9,000-BTU Indoor-Safe Portable Radiant Heater: http://amzn.to/2DVNQSa
- Oxygenics Body Spa RV http://amzn.to/2AcGO9z
- Large folding moon camp chairs: http://amzn.to/2DWCTzJ
- Nexgrill portable stainless steel gas grill: http://amzn.to/2Cbr8VC
- 3M Command products: http://amzn.to/2BH6sUj
- CleverMade CleverCrates 46 Liter collapsible storage totes: http://amzn.to/2BIuVZr
- 45-gallon fresh water folding storage tank http://amzn.to/2zwrML0
- 12-volt water transfer pump http://amzn.to/2Ag3ExD
- Orbit water flow meter http://amzn.to/2zKbliu
- 25-foot Camco TastePURE Drinking Water Hose, Lead and BPA Free http://amzn.to/2zuQCuU
- All music in this episode is open source and obtained from the YouTube Audio Library http://YouTube.com/audiolibrary, or licensed from Soundstripe http://SoundStripe.com.
- Map of the Green River is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.
Author: Kmusser
- Photo of Sheep Creek Bay is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported, 2.5 Generic, 2.0 Generic and 1.0 Generic license.
Author: Paul Hermans
- Photo of Antelope Flat Campground is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.
Author: Amerzduke
- Photo of Manns Campground is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.
Author: gillfoto
- Photo of Flaming Gorge from the Red Canyon Visitor Center is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.
Author: Fredlyfish4
- RV park photo from Flaming Gorge Resort.
- Photo of Manila KOA from KOA.
- Photos of John Jarvie Ranch via the BLM.
- All other photography and cinematography is our own.
Welcome to Grand Adventure, a YouTube channel that focuses on RV-centric outdoor activities including not only of course camping, but also mountain biking, hiking, kayaking, skiing and more, nearly always filmed in stunning 4K.
We're based in Salt Lake City, Utah, and invite you to come along as we travel all around the western U.S. My wife Patricia and I, and our dogs Zoe and Maggie are avid boondockers, so you'll seldom find us in RV parks or even dry campgrounds. Instead, we're usually camped in some of the most remote and beautiful spots that you could ever pull a travel trailer into. And unlike most other RV channels on YouTube, we're not RV dealers or full-timers -- we're weekend warriors just like you!
We'll provide tips and insight on equipping and maintaining your RV, trip planning and travel videos to make your next adventure a grand one indeed! So, subscribe to make sure that you catch every episode, and remember...life is nothing but a Grand Adventure!
Become one of our Grand Adventurers and subscribe to our YouTube channel!
Our website: http://GrandAdventure.tv
Like us! https://facebook.com/GrandAdventureRV/
Follow us! https://www.instagram.com/grand_adventure_rv/
Follow us! https://twitter.com/GrandAdventRV
Find us! https://www.rvillage.com/group/2781/grand-adventure


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You can make multi-use, multi-power Supertech devices.
Prerequisite: Int 23, Supertech Invention (power), Invent Super Gear, Invent Doohicky, Invent Ray Gun
Benefit: You can build a Gizmo with any powers that you can load into a device via Supertech Invention.
Inventing a Gizmo requires a Laboratory and fresh materials, the cost of which is PDC 21 + the CP cost of the power. You make any and all choices about the power's effect at the time when you build it, including ranks, enhancement, limitations, energy or damage types, etc..
To actually build the device requires a Powercraft check. The DC is 10 + the total CP cost of the power you load into the Doohicky (DC = 10 + CP cost).
The build time of a Gizmo equals three times the CP cost of its power in hours. Under emergency circumstances (i.e., during a game session), you can spend up to 16 hours a day building a Gizmo, but under normal circumstances (i.e., "down time" between games), you can work a maximum of 8 hours a day.
Within any given seven-day period, the number of devices you can build is limited by the total CP cost of the powers you load into them. That number cannot exceed your Constitution modifier times ten. For example, if you have Constitution 18 (+4), then you cannot make more than 40CPs worth of devices in one seven-day period.

subset: commoncrawl


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- Advertise your item in both Trade-a-Boat magazine and online
Place your advertisement
- Manage unlimited online ads with TraderAds - Call us today to discuss how we can help you sell more stock
Find out more
As american centre consoles continue to grow in popularity, the Sportsman 232 Open refreshed our weary Kevin Smith with its focus and value.+MORE
Most boat builders take a proven great hull and stretch it for all they're worth. Not Whittley – meet the two-foot shorter Sea Legend, the SL 20+MORE
Trailerboat tests
Power and sail tests
Engine tests
Trade Safely. Use our anti-scam guide to protect yourself.
21 Classic Timber Motor Boat - Built in 2009 from Huon Pine, White Beech and New Guinea Rosewood it is in excellent condition. Meticulously built by a craftsman in SA and beautifully maintained by the current owner it is a real eye catcher. Powered by a Yanmar 33hp diesel and equipped with Furuno depth sounder and Furuno colour GPS plotter.
The item you are attemping to add to compare is a different subtype to the items(s) in your list.
Only items of the same subtype may be compared.


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Thu, 5 March 2015
Are you an alligator or a turtle? Do some Animal work (and find out what that even means) with the sparkling Molly Quinn (Castle) in episode 144 of The JV Club, which also includes discussion of some other A-words: Adulthood, Affection, and Amaretto sours.
Direct download: JVC144_Molly_Quinn.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:00am PDT
Thu, 26 February 2015
This week's guest — comedian Janine Brito — comes to you direct from Los Angeles via New York via San Francisco via Alabama with a bunch of other exotic locales in between. Along the way: Icelandic grandmothers, British schools, SNL obsessions and a couple of pretty remarkable early-life curveballs.
Direct download: JVC143_Janine_Brito.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:00am PDT
Thu, 19 February 2015
Episode 142 welcomes "Skepchick" Rebecca Watson, who reminds us that every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven. And speaking of heaven, turns out there may not be one. A look at atheism and secular humanism with a sprinkling of Christianity is supplemented with plenty of R.E.M. and the scientific discovery that humans have two different stomachs! You heard it here first!
Direct download: JVC142_Rebecca_Watson.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:00am PDT
Thu, 29 January 2015
It's comedian Cameron Esposito (Put Your Hands Together) and SHE! IS! GREAT! There's nothing like a story about a medical semi-crisis in a foreign country where you don't speak the language to get the old podcast blood flowing. But it doesn't stop there… because who doesn't love talking to their parents about sex? NOTE: the prior two references are NOT RELATED.
Direct download: JVC141_Cameron_Esposito.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:00am PDT
Thu, 22 January 2015
Things get groovy with the luminous Seychelle Gabriel (The Legend of Korra) with rhapsodic waxing on the brilliant Jimi Hendrix, song-and-dance numbers featuring high school teens and Toto classics, and Korra fans, don't worry… some chatting about Korrasami.
Direct download: JVC140_Seychelle_Gabriel.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:00am PDT
Thu, 15 January 2015
Janet falls into the lull of the hypnotic Amber Benson (The Witches of Echo Park) yet somehow also manages to talk faster than she maybe ever has. This may be an episode where even more conversations are begun and never finished than usual, and that's really saying a lot. AND, you have the chance to win a signed book from Amber! Now go win it!
Direct download: JVC139_Amber_Benson.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:00am PDT
Thu, 8 January 2015
This is an episode that can only be described as second to nun. [insert 100 groans here] But really! It's the amazing and wonderful Maureen Johnson (The Name of the Star) and talk of metaphorical time traveling via one strict Catholic high school (shhhh… don't tell anyone she was a Protestant!). Advisory: This episode may be habit-forming. "Habit" forming. Get it? Nuns? Habits? [slams door in own face]
Direct download: JVC138_Maureen_Johnson.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:00am PDT


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Design For Manufacturability:
Design for Manufacturing & Design for Assembly
Design for Manufacturing and Design for Assembly are the integration of product design and process planning into one: Design for Manufacturability (DFM).[1] Design for Assembly is concerned with reducing product assembly cost: minimizing number of assembly operations and individual parts tend to be more complex in design. Design for Manufacturing is concerned with reducing overall part production cost: minimizing the complexity of manufacturing operations. Together, the overall objective is to design a product that is as easily and economically manufactured as possible. The importance of DFM is emphasized by the fact that about 70% of manufacturing costs of a product (cost of materials, processing, and assembly) are determined by design decisions. Production decisions (such as process planning or machine tool selection) are responsible for only 20%, with the remaining 10% being other processes involved. In very simple terms applying a good DFM, integration should reduce the cost and difficulty of manufacturing.
[1] Unless expressly stated in an agreement, Eastek does not warrant that any product or goods will be free from design defects or errors. See Eastek General Terms and Conditions.
Reduce Total Number of Parts. The reduction of the number of parts in a product is feasibly the best opportunity for reducing manufacturing costs. Fewer parts imply fewer purchases, handling, processing time, development time, engineering time, assembly difficulty, inventory, equipment, service inspection, testing, less chance of default or assembly issues, etc. Some approaches to part-count reduction are based on the use of one-piece structures and selection of manufacturing processes such as injection molding, precision casting, etc. that optimize the process.
Utilize Standard Components. There are quite a few benefits to using standard components versus custom ones. For starters, they are highly available which reduces product lead times. The manufacturer that needs a standard part has less worry they will get it on time from the supplier because of the fact it is readily available and can choose which supplier offers the best deal for the quantity needed in the time frame that is necessary to remain on the production schedule. More importantly, they are less expensive than custom.
Minimize Handling and Assembly Directions. All parts should be assembled from one direction if possible. In a vertical direction would be considered the best choice to add parts from above parallel to the downward direction, also known as Top-Down Assembly. Having to compensate any other way from various angle degrees would complicate production, slowing production time, and could lead to a higher chance of product defect. In regards to handling, symmetrical parts should be used. For all instances where the parts are not symmetrical, the asymmetry must be amplified to avoid product defects. The subsequent operations should be designed so the orientation of the parts is maintained. Minimizing the flow of material waste, parts, etc. in the manufacturing operations along with considering consolidated packaging options that are still safe and appropriate for the final product.
Design Parts to Be "Multi". Multi-functional parts reduce the total number of parts in a design. Parts that can be classified as multi-use can be shared within multiple products that the manufacturer has, allowing one purchase order from the supplier to utilize in more than one product. All of which allows for versatility, less production time, and ultimately less cost. To proceed, one must identify the parts that are most suitable for multi-use. All parts used by the manufacturer (purchased or made) should be sorted for all parts that are used commonly all or most products and in part families, with subcategories of similar parts in each grouping. The goal is to minimize the number of categories. The outcome is a set of standard part families which multi-use parts are established. Once organized, the manufacturing process is standardized for each part family. Now allowing the ability to skip operations that are not required.
Our mission is simple: to enable our customers to be their most successful. We do this by utilizing our U.S. and China manufacturing expertise and global resources to efficiently provide our customers with the highest quality, most cost-effective product, on time and on-budget.
Engineering Services
We offer cutting-edge product engineering services that include:
- Product Engineering
- Failure Mode & Effects Analysis (FMEA)
- Design for Manufacturability & Assembly (DMA) (including 3D modeling)
- Product Validation Testing
Eastek's product engineering services can help you take your business to the next level. As your single-source partner, we can help you to get to market faster and reduce costs. We maintain a highly trained staff of manufacturing engineers, process engineers and manufacturing professionals
- Lean, reliable manufacturing operation ensures products that consistently meet design and performance characteristics
- Statistical process control minimizes variation and ensures part conformance
- Examined components are marked to ensure full traceability so raw materials can be linked to products
- We use state-of-the-art inspection and metrology equipment
We are a total solutions provider for product life cycle and cost reductions:
- Re-engineer product design
- Design for Cost
- Design for Reliability
- Design for Maintainability
- Design for Manufacturability
- Re-engineer the manufacturing process
- Identify and qualify lower cost supply opportunities based at our Dongguan, China facility
Our manufacturing engineering personnel work directly with our suppliers to engage in a process of "Continuous Improvement" to improve quality and reduce part cost by leveraging enhanced technologies and improved processes of the suppliers.
EASTEK INTERNATIONAL provides complete Design for Manufacturability (DFM) support, ensuring your products can be produced at the lowest cost, with the highest efficiency, and the shortest time-to-market. Eastek's engineering team places emphasis on defect prevention and non-value added process step elimination by analyzing the design data package for common errors relating to the BOM selection, PCB design, and manufacturing materials/processes used to assemble the customer's product.
- Assembly Materials Selection
- Availability/Alternate Selection
- BOM Analysis
- Component Placement for SMT
- Component Review
- Fabrication Note Review
- Fiducials for Automated Assembly
- Form/Fit Requirements
- Test Point Access
- Land Pattern Review
- Manufacturing Process Parameters
- PWA Manufacturing Analysis
- PWB Depanelization Requirements
- PWB Drawing Review
- Silkscreen Identifiers
- Soldermask Clearance


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I am delight to say that I have been nominated for the Liebster Award. Thank you, Christine. The Liebster Award nomination is special… it is a special way to 'shout-out' to your fellow bloggers =) Mandi at All My Happy Endings provided us with the origins of the word Liebster. "Liebster is a German word that means sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome."
As Christine explained…. its all about getting to know each other!
Here are the rules:
- Post 11 random facts about yourself.
- Answer 11 questions from your nominator.
- Nominate 11 other blogs with under 200 followers and ask them 11 questions.
The 11 random facts of Jennifer L. Johnson:
- Born and raised Florida gal.
- I am a Godiva member which is code for I am a chocolate connoisseur.
- I love wearing colorful outfits. In the words of Kate Spade, "Live Colorfully".
- Ever since attending my first merchandising convention, ENK, I've had a special passion for fashion.
- My office is decorated with a Giraffe inspired theme…. and lots of color!
- I have met several athletes while working at Brick House Tavern + Tap.
- The best way to get over a fear is to face it! I was once fearful of karaoke… that was until summer 2011.
- I have personal traditions such as: attending a concert once a year or going on vacation once a year. I believe that it is good for the soul!
- I can vibe with all kinds of music but my favorite would have to be hip-hop and country. …Drake & Strait.
- I do NOT like scary movies…. no thank you!
- I once won a game of poker with a royal flush.
Questions from the Nominator:
- Why did you start blogging? For the main purpose of creating a hub for employers to learn more about me.
- Describe yourself in two words. Conversation Savvy
- What's your all time favorite tv show? Friends… hands down.
- What's one quirky thing about yourself? Punctuality ! On time is early!
- What's your biggest inspiration?
- Name three places you'd like to travel to? Paris, London, Ireland
- Have you ever sky dived? Would you? I am sorry, but I do not favor sky diving. I am not one to take such risks.
- What's your favorite quality about yourself? Organized to the max!
- What's your favorite social media tool/network? Twitter!
- If you won a million dollar's, what would you do with it. Donate & invest!
- What's your all time favorite meal? Chocolate biscuits. Hmm… so delicious!
Who I nominate…
- Wine In Tampa
- Indispensable Marketing
- Jenn's Trends
- Adventurous
- It's Not My Emergency
- Exploring Jessica's Closet
- Xtine Danielle (again)
- Epic Mommy Adventurous
- All Happy Endings
The questions for nominations:
- Where are you from?
- What is your favorite dish?
- How would you describe your personal style?
- What is your favorite season?
- What is your hobby?
- Are you a risk taker?
- Where is your favorite place to escape too?
- What is your favorite book?
- What was your favorite age?
- What is one of your goals?
- What does your name mean?
Have fun !


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May 5, 2017
The Norwich University Student Veterans' Council raised $3,600 from its inaugural Military Appreciation Events, and will donate it to The Veterans' Place, Inc., a transitional housing program located in Northfield, Vt.
Norwich students will present the funds to the veterans on Tuesday, May 9, at an informal ceremony held at 11:30 a.m. at the Veterans' Place house, located at 220 Vine Street. Norwich University has a long history of supporting its local program for homeless veterans whether through its annual Legacy March or through the Norwich University Center for Civic Engagement.
Last month Norwich University hosted events designed specifically for those serving in the military and their families and to raise money to support local veterans.
"The Veterans' Place cannot express our appreciation enough for the Norwich University community's generosity," Karen Boyce administrative manager of The Veterans' Place said. "It is not only thoughtful, but also goes a long way in helping us to achieve our goals to provide both secure and sober housing and supportive services to our veterans."
About Norwich University
Norwich University is a diversified academic institution that educates traditional-age students and adults in a Corps of Cadets and as civilians. Norwich offers a broad selection of traditional and distance-learning programs culminating in Baccalaureate and Graduate Degrees. Norwich University was founded in 1819 by Captain Alden Partridge of the U.S. Army and is the oldest private military college in the United States of America. Norwich is one of our nation's six senior military colleges and the birthplace of the Reserve Officers' Training Corps (ROTC).www.norwich.edu
In fulfillment of Norwich's mission to train and educate today's students to be tomorrow's global leaders and captains of industry, the Forging the Future campaign is committed to creating the best possible learning environment through state-of-the-art academics and world-class facilities. Norwich University will celebrate its bicentennial in 2019. Learn more about the campaign and how to participate in the "Year of Transformation" here: bicentennial.norwich.edu.
Media Contact:
Daphne Larkin
Assistant Director of Communications
Office Tel: (802) 485-2886


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Molotov's cocktail of evil
HE SIGNED more death warrants than Stalin but, as a new book reveals, the discovery of Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov's personal library has given his name to the petrol bomb. Viv Groskop talks to author Rachel Polonsky.
IN THE early years of the Second World War he gave his name to the Molotov cocktail, or petrol bomb.
During the purges of the Soviet era he was Stalin's deadliest henchman.
Now the bespectacled Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov, the dictator's right-hand man and two-times Soviet Foreign Minister, has another place in history: as the subject of a fascinating new book.
Molotov's Magic Lantern: A Journey In Russian History is part travelogue, part cultural history, part biography, and it finally sheds light on an unassuming-looking man who signed more death warrants than Stalin himself. The author is Dr Rachel Polonsky, a Cambridge-based academic who lived in Moscow for 10 years in an apartment directly beneath the one where Molotov lived for the last four decades of his life.
Rachel moved to Moscow in 1998 with her family (she has four daughters aged five to 18) when her lawyer husband Marc was offered a job there. Intending to research Soviet Orientalism, she instead found her life hijacked by the siren call of Molotov's library in the flat upstairs.
"I was bombarded by all these wonderful tales about the building," she says. "It was almost as if I was spellbound."
The walls felt full of stories."
Rachel Polonsky's family arrived in Moscow just as Russia was hit by the 1998 "krizis". The financial collapse meant they could afford an apartment in Molotov's legendary building, House Number 3, Romanov Lane, a huge 1898 mansion block known during the communist period as the Fifth House of the Soviets, one of the first official residences of the Bolsheviks.
Nicknamed both "The Mausoleum" and "The Party Archive" by ordinary Russians, it is a stone's throw from the walls of the Kremlin, around the corner from the Lenin Library and is one of the most famous residential buildings in Moscow.
In the Twenties, generals and marshals arriving back from the civil war in glory were housed in the Fifth House.
Later, most of the Politburo moved in. In 1929 Trotsky was dragged down the staircase shared with Rachel Polonsky's flat by the secret police. "That marked Stalin's assumption of total power," she says. "Trotsky was an arch-enemy of Molotov and from that moment Molotov began to ascend."
Many more senior "comrades" were purged from the building in the Thirties as Stalin and Molotov signed their death warrants. "The building is huge, in a very florid late 19th-century style," says Rachel. "There are hundreds of apartments with multiple entryways and staircases. Many people could live in it and not encounter each other.
"That was very important in the years of the show trials; there would have been many night-time arrests from that building." Molotov's apartment (which Rachel believes he must have moved into in the late Fifties) was one of the largest. "Though he was kicked out of the Central Committee in 1957 [after Stalin's death] and stripped of his party membership, he continued to live a life of privilege," she says.
His apartment had nine rooms with parquet floors, cornices, chandeliers and big, Dutch-tiled fi replaces and very grand front rooms facing on to the street. When the American renting the apartment invited Rachel in to look at some old bookcases ("You're the scholar, you'll know what to make of it all," he said), she realised it was a treasure trove: everything the KGB had left behind after Molotov's death in 1986.
"They turned out to be remnants of Molotov's personal library," she says. "Because he was one of the top five men in the party he had access to tens of thousands of books. This was only part of his collection. Most was destroyed by a flood in the basement of the Foreign Ministry but it was extraordinarily revelatory."
Rachel's research for the book was conducted discreetly, as Molotov's grandchildren owned (and rented out) the apartment and she was concerned they would not appreciate her nosing around. There were books dating from the 1890s and political pamphlets from the Twenties with the names of people purged much later.
To even own these books unless you were as high up as Molotov was a crime that could have seen you sent to the Gulag or shot. Many of them contained personal inscriptions: "To comrade Molotov, in good faith." Others had personal scribbles in the margins. There were signed first editions by writers Molotov sent to the camps. There was even a translation of Churchill's history of the Second World War. Churchill described Molotov as "the closest approximation to a robot I've ever encountered".
Then there was the "magic lantern" that gave the book its name: a wooden kaleidoscope with glass sides and a light in it. "I think it was an old family possession," says Rachel. "For me it was a metaphor for what I was doing with the book: taking in pictures of people's life stories and making them move."
Unlike Stalin's library, which contained only political theory, Molotov's collection featured literature heavily, especially Chekhov, a "bourgeois", banned author. "It was fascinating," says Rachel. "By any measure he was a mass murderer who signed the death sentences of tens of thousands and yet he considered himself to be a cultured and civilised man.
"For me it was an exploration of the link between books and evil. You can read the short stories of Chekhov and fi nd justification for your life, even if you're Molotov." In her book Rachel retells one of the most chilling episodes in Molotov's life. In 1949 Stalin had Molotov's Jewish wife Polina arrested as part of an anti-Semitic campaign.
"At the time Molotov was still at the top of the Politburo with the people who had personally organised the arrest and torture of his wife," she says. "She was missing and he didn't know if she was alive or not." His wife was released after Stalin's death in 1953 and they continued to live happily together "with no reproach", as Rachel puts it.
Rachel says her "magical" time in Moscow marked her. She is nostalgic about the place and the building. "It had an atmosphere redolent of the great age of the bourgeoisie, not of the communists," she says. "When an ordinary one-time Soviet citizen looks at these apartments, the look on their face is stricken.
As one said to me: 'All the people who kept us living like dogs in kennels: this is how they lived.' " The book ends with Rachel's final visit to the apartment. It had changed hands and had a new tenant. The books were still there but the magic lantern had disappeared...


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Across High Himalayas into Ladakh
Route : Delhi - Nalagarh - Manali - Rohtang - Keylong - Tsokar - Tsomorri - Leh - Delhi
Total Duration : 10 Nights / 11 Days
Maximum Elevation: 5200 Meters Above sea Level
Best time: June to September
Highlights of the tour: High Himalayan Passes, driving over rugged mountain terrain, beautiful high dessert landscape, ancient Buddhist monasteries.
This is one of the most beautiful and adventurous road journey you can take from Himachal into Ladakh. You drive over some of the most highest mountain passes and come across the most amazing landscape of high altitude sarchu and moore plains. The nomadic villages of Tsokar and high altitude mountain lake of Tso moriri at the great attractions on the tour.
Please visit our Gallery Section for more Photos >>
Day 01: Delhi - Nalagarh 7 to 8 Hours drive
On arrival at airport in Delhi our driver will meet you and drive to Nalagarh, the gateway to Himachal. Situated on the foothills of Himalayas, Nalagarh was once capital of princely state of Hindur. The ancient fort and palace of Nalagarh have a series of structures that are built in Mughal style of architecture. The place have been much recently renovated and now is a quality heritage hotel. Overnight stay in Nalagarh Fort Resort.
Day 02: Nalagarh - Manali 8 Hours drive
Arrive the hill town of Manali in the afternoon and check in Hotel.
Day 03: Manali
Morning Free. Afternoon drive to Solang Valley to start an acclimatization walk from Solang Valley to old Manali. During the walk you come across the traditional villages of Manali. Overnight stay in Hotel in Manali.
Day 04: Manali - Rohtang Pass - Keylong 6 hours drive
3 hours beautiful ziggaz uphill road journey takes you to Rohtang Pass(3980m). Once you cross Rohtang pass you will notice a dramatic change in the landscape-the lush green kullu valley is suddenly replaced by dry dessert of Lahul valley. A steep descent for an hour takes us into the first village of Lahul valley. Driving through some of the villages of Lahul valley we reac Keylong, the capital village of Lahul valley. Overnight stay in Hotel in Keylong.
Day 05: Keylong
Acclimatization day in Keylong. Morning a short acclimatization walk from Keylong to Kardong monastery up in the mountain and back. Afternoon at Leisure.
Day 06: Keylong - Tsokar 8 hours drive
Leave after an early breakfast. Drive over Baralacha Pass (4800 m) to enter into the vast Sarchu plains. The Bhaga river originates from a small lake called Surajtal at Baralacha Pass. The landscape of Sarchu plains(4500m) is most amazing. After crossing another mountain pass you drive down into the moore plains from where you take a small side road to Tsokar, a nomadic village in the middle of high Himalayan dessert. Check in Tented accommodation at Tsokar. Later visit the nearby salt lake.
Day 07: Tsokar - Tsomoriri 6 hours drive
Tsomoriri or Lake Moriri is a high altitude lake(4590m) in the Changthang region of Ladakh. It is the largest of the high altitude lakes in Trans-Himalanyan region. The lake is situated between Ladakh in the North and Tibet to the east. Arrive Tsomori and check in Tented accommodation.
To the west of the lake is Korzok village overlooking the lake. Afternoon visit the village.
Day 08: Tsomoriri to Leh 8 hours drive
Arrive Leh in the afternoon and check in hotel. Enroute visit Hemis Monastery.
Day 09: Leh
Morning visit Indus Valley for Rafting down the Indus river. Afternoon visit Leh Palace and Shanti Stupa.
Day 10: Leh
Morning drive to Khardungla, the highest motorable pass in the world. Drive back to Leh. Afternoon free time to explore Leh Bazar.
Day 11: Leh - Delhi
Morning Transfer to airport in Leh to fly to Delhi to connect with your onward flight. End of the Tour.
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This is a adventure filled jeep tour across high Himalayan view, driving over rugged mountain terrain, remote areas of Spiti valley and Kangra..
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This is one of the most beautiful and adventurous road journey you can take from Himachal into Ladakh. The nomadic villages of Tsokar and high altitude mountain lake of Tsomoriri.
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Main Square, Bhagsu Nag
Upper Dharamsala,
Himachal Pradesh
Phone : (+91)(1892)-221679 / 220403
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Main Square, Bhagsu Nag
Upper Dharamsala,
Himachal Pradesh
Phone : (+91)(1892)-221679 / 220403
Fax : (+91) - (1892) - 221681
Email : [email protected]
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Hey lovelies,
This is my most favourite time of year for me to do my nails, I always enjoy doing them but I really favour the darker more vampy colours we can wear during Autumn/Winter.
So the colours I chose for this mani were Nails Inc Gel Effect Old Bond Street and China Glaze De-Light. In real life the Old Bond Street can look a bit more blue/purple, in the photo it looks like its leaning a bit more toward teal. China Glaze De-Light is just that, a fab glitter topper with predominantly gold flakes, but there are holographic bar pieces that really catch the light. I like glitter toppers as I think you get that bit of bling without being too in your face even if you use it over all nails. Sometimes I want to be able to see the base colour as well.
As this is a Nails Inc Gel effect, the formula is fab and with the amazing brush that I never get tired of using. It makes polishing so easy and quick! Big fan of Nails Inc anyway but when they released the new brush I was over the moon. Virtually no clean up, that is such a joy!
Be prepared to see much more blues and purples over the next few months, I don't ever bored of them so I hope you won't either!
Till next time,


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1937 – 2007 Putnam – Danute (Mikulskyte) Hatzitheodorou, 70, formerly of Brooklyn NY, died Monday, September 24, 2007 in Matulaitis Nursing Home. She was the loving wife of the late George Hatzitheodorou. Born in Lithuania, she was the daughter of Stefanija (Ivanauskas) Mikulskis of Putnam and the late Jonas Mikulskis. Mrs. Hatzitheodorou worked as a… Continue Reading
Archives for September 2007
Theresa (Markoski) Masztal
1947 – 2007 Putnam – Theresa (Markoski) Masztal, 60, of Woodstock Avenue, died Thursday, September 27, 2007 in Yale New Haven Hospital. She was the loving wife of Gerald Menard. Born in New Britain, she was the daughter of Mary (Platt) Markoski of New Britain and the late Sylvester Markoski. Mrs. Masztal worked as a… Continue Reading
Thomas Charles Deary Jr.
1925 – 2007 Putnam, CT, God and Tom Deary, in close collaboration at his home in Putnam, decided early in the afternoon on Saturday that Tom was being called home to heaven. Tom, a beloved husband, father, grand-father, and great grand-father, passed away at home with his family by his side, supporting his safe and… Continue Reading
Carmella (Trama) Landry
1922 – 2007 Thompson – Carmella (Trama) Landry, 84, formerly of Putnam and Thompson, died peacefully after a long illness Monday, September 24, 2007 surrounded by her children. She was the loving wife of the late Arsene J. Landry. Born in Grosvenordale, she was the daughter of the late Salvatore and Vincenza (Gredetino) Trama. Mrs…. Continue Reading
Normand A. Therrien
1931 – 2007 Putnam – Normand A. Therrien, 76, of Van Den Noort St., died Friday, September 14, 2007 in Day Kimball Hospital. Born in Putnam, he was the son of the late Arthur and Elsie (Auger) Therrien. Mr. Therrien worked as a school bus driver for the Town of Putnam until his retirement. He… Continue Reading
Nellie A. (Leo) Gagne
1918 – 2007 Mechanicsville, Ct – Nellie A. (Leo) Gagne, 89, formerly of Riverside Dr., died Monday, September 17, 2007 in Matulaitis Nursing Home in Putnam. She was the loving wife of the late Theodore Gagne. Born in Mechanicsville, she was the daughter of the late Camille and Rose (Albano) Leo. Mrs. Gagne was co-owner… Continue Reading
Anthony "Tony" Daniels
1950 – 2007 Putnam, Ct – Anthony "Tony" Daniels, 57, died Friday, September 7, 2007. He was the husband of Lucille (Basinet) Daniels. Born in Boston, MA, he was the son of Anna (Bellanceau) Daniels of Putnam and the late Albert J. Daniels. Mr. Daniels worked as a transportation manager at Foxwoods. He was active… Continue Reading
Dr. Ceslovas Masaitis
1912 – 2007 Putnam – Ceslovas Masaitis, 95, of Thurber Road, died Friday, September 7, 2007 in Matulaitis Nursing Home. He was the loving husband of the late Elena (Balciunas) Masaitis. Born in Kaunas, Lithuania on March 2, 1912, he was the son of the late Juozas and Jadvyga (Butkeviciute) Masaitis. Dr. Masaitis graduated from… Continue Reading
Sr. Lucille Duchesneau, DHS
1917-2007 Sr. Lucille Duchesneau, DHS, (age), a member of the Daughters of the Holy Spirit, died on Sunday, September 9, at the Holy Spirit Health Care Center where she has been in residence since 1988. Sr. Lucille was born Ella Eglantine Duchesneau on July 21, 1917 in Sherbrooke, P.Q. Canada, the daughter of the late… Continue Reading
Rene R. "Red" LaPalme
1921 – 2007 North Grosvenordale, Ct – Rene Romeo "Red" LaPalme, 85, of Marshall Street. died Friday, September 7, 2007. He was the husband of Lorraine (Rondeau) LaPalme for 64 years. Born in Farnham, Canada, he was the son of the late Henri and Anna (Malloy) LaPalme. Mr. LaPalme worked as a truck driver for… Continue Reading


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We didn't have to kill anybody the entire rest of the winter, physically anyway, nor did anyone show up intending to kill us. If fact, it was pretty much a five month honeymoon. While the nation continued to be ripped apart from border to border and coast to coast, battling not only Russians in the east and Chinese in the west plus a massive push into the southern border states by Caliphate forces delighted to slaughter anyone unwilling to live under Sharia law, my new slave girl and I basically partied hearty.
It was a good thing I understood survivor's guilt to be a loser's game and that I was able to get that across to Tori as well. Her only living aunt, a type II diabetic living in Derringer, had died a couple of months into the process, no longer able to procure insulin. Liza Connors had escaped the Quaglorin gas drift, had even managed to squirrel away food the newly formed DSC, the Derringer Survival Committee, had missed during their searches of every house in town. She had not been able to escape her own out of control glucose levels.
The Committee had burned her body in the new crematorium, a furnace built by the Hapsten Brothers before Haptsten Welding ran out of MIG wire. Cremation was now mandatory in Derringer, the little town having become a law unto itself.
For that matter, the only functional state government left appeared to be that of North Dakota, at least according to public broadcasts and Net coverage. Every community had become more or less a law unto itself. The United States of America still had armed forces in the field, so the federal government wasn't completely out of it yet, but the feds had their hands full with the various foreign invaders; they didn't have the manpower to mess with the civilian population.
Except where they raided the civilians for supplies. That hadn't happened in our immediate area yet, probably due to (a) our sparse population and (b) the devastation wrought by the Quaglorin gas release that had pretty much eliminated everyone in a fifty mile radius of Colorado Springs.
While we waited, we ate well, rested well, learned each other's bodies, learned each other as Soul, and began Tori's real education. I was astounded at her capacity; she took to a dozen different fields of study with equal enthusiasm, absorbing knowledge like new generation quicker picker upper paper towels–which put sponges to absolute shame. History, psychology, martial arts, Sun Tzu on the Art of War, cooking, archery, firearms–though we did not shoot at anything for fear of wasting ammunition and/or drawing attention to ourselves–tracking, you name it.
Her only downfall was math…I thought. She'd failed algebra before dropping out of school, young enough to be dragged back to class by the education police but ignored in the small town of Derringer, another kid fallen through the cracks. I began to despair of ever getting the common algebra concepts through to her. But she persevered, powered, I felt, by the knowledge that her Master believed in her utterly, and one day she suddenly got it. Just like that, she got it. From there, it was lock and load and Katie bar the door. She inhaled the texts on plane geometry, solid geometry, trigonometry. When she reached calculus, she lost me; I'd struggled mightily to pull a B grade in beginning calc, back in the day.
The girl had the potential to be a rocket scientist.
With all of that, we did stay in close touch with Marcus Grady, easing the Power Wagon down out of the mountains on an average of once a week but not on a specific schedule. An enemy who can figure out your schedule finds it easy to lay an ambush. We did watch the weather closely, hoping as often as possible to get back upgrade just as a storm was coming in, with fresh snow to blanket our tracks.
At the café, Grady's little family grew. Cecily Pike gave up the ghost in mid-December, orphaning her son Jimmy, but the boy was not without companions. Seven more Souls had come to shelter under Marcus's roof by New Year's Day, only one of them an adult male. Jasper Kane was around twenty, a short, stocky fellow with a wide, open face and a willingness to work if he had somebody looking over his shoulder. Willow Steneen, in her mid-forties, looked like she'd hooked up with her host, though we weren't about to pry into that to find out for sure. Three of the children were hers, two boys and a girl, ranging between six and twelve years of age. Holly Warburton, stick thin and scared of her own shadow, had once been Tori's classmate. Last but not least, twenty-something Sunami Yokeem sported stringy hair and at least eighty pounds she did not need.
It amazed us some, how anyone could stay that fat with food in seriously short supply everywhere, but she did it. Some folks are just easy keepers, I guess.
Speaking of food, I'd asked Marcus once if he was okay on that score. Few were, I knew; people were starving in Derringer, men often out hunting but finding too little.
"Not hurting yet," he'd claimed, but I was having trouble believing him. The man wouldn't ask me to dip into my stash if his belly had already gnawed his backbone plumb in two. And with this mob to feed….
After that trip, Tori and I'd gone hunting. She needed real time practice with a compound bow anyway. As often as not, she could already outshoot me on the targets, but taking down meat for supper was a big step up from that.
"Let's hunt uphill from the Quonset," I'd told her as we got ready to hike that day. "That way, any game we get, we can drag it downhill all the way. Or most of the way, anyway; sometimes you get an animal down in a draw where there's no way out but up."
"Okey dokey," she'd grinned, and we'd set out.
It was nearing noon, just about time to turn back if we were going to make it back home before dark, when she got her chance. Elk, a dozen of them, all bulls. The rutting season was over; the boys had no reason not to hang out together. I lined up the sights on my .270 Remington, willing to chance the sound of it if Tori missed, but I needn't have bothered. Her arrow flew true, taking a three point through the lights at 120 yards.
Three tines per side, that is. Some folks count both sides and call that a six point bull. Where I grew up, that's cheating.
The animal ran, but not far, and he was dead when he fell.
I gave my girl a squeeze on the shoulder, and we got to work. When I cut the head off, Tori asked, "Didn't you tell me we'd need the brain? For tanning the hide?"
"Someday," I agreed, "probably. But we're not to that point yet; we've got enough clothing stocked up to last for a while, especially with your sewing ability. I'm proud of you, being able to cut down Rains's old stuff to fit you."
"Oh." She blushed, embarrassed. Tori still hadn't mastered the art of taking a compliment. "Well. Except for shoes and boots. Haven't figured out how to turn her size tens into size sevens yet."
"Hey, you can't have everything. Look off to your right, Tor, easy like, no quick moves. Under the trees at the edge of the clearing. What do you see?"
"I don't…wolf!" Her voice was a mere whisper. "No…wolves, plural. Three of them."
"Four," I corrected her. "There's a black one about thirty yards to the right of the others."
"Oh." Her voice stepped up out of whisper mode and got small at the same time. "Will they attack us?"
"Not likely. But I do think they were stalking the elk when we struck first. Which is another reason we're leaving the head to go with the guts." I finished hauling the steaming mass out onto the snow with my bare hands and straightened, hooking up the towing strap running between one of the carcass's hind legs and my pulling harness.
"Yo, brothers!" I lifted my voice to carry across to the "Kibble's down! Come and get it!"
Though she hadn't shot the biggest animal in the herd, I still had to be dragging a good 500 pounds of meat, even with the innards–except for the heart and liver, which of course we retained in the bag Tori was carrying–and head removed. It wasn't the first elk I'd ever dragged out, though, and I was proud of making it look easy in front of the girl. I'd planned well; there wasn't a lick of uphill to worry about on the way home as long as I retraced our tracks exactly.
I didn't look back, that being a mite awkward when pulling a serious load, but Tori kept me posted on what the wolves were doing.
"They're coming for the guts. Oh, hey, the black one got there first. Oops, now he's backing off. Guess he's not the boss wolf, huh?"
"Probably not." I was seriously concentrating, not wanting to puff and blow while answering. "Probably not a he, either. Most likely a lesser female in the pack."
"Ah. Hey, she's sitting away from the others a bit now, just watching us. I'd swear she's saying thank you!"
We had a good three miles to cover. Even downhill, that was a workout. When the teenager spoke up, wanting to take a turn in the dragging harness, I didn't argue. When she first leaned into it, the carcass didn't budge an inch. That made me smile inside; I'd have felt a bit unmanned if she'd just walked off with the thing. But she didn't quit; the girl got that little crease in her brow she gets when she's concentrating, set herself a bit differently, lunged forward…and made it happen. She covered a good three hundred yards before it was obvious the 500 pound load was whipping the 125 pound woman's butt.
After that, she didn't ask to take any more turns; the job was mine all the rest of the way to the Quonset. Served me right for gloating, even secretly.
I've never been one for saving the ribs when it comes to wild meat. If we were desperate, that would be another matter, but we weren't. We hung the carcass up next to the backhoe loader for a few days, skinned it out, carved up the meat–me handling knife and saw, Tori doing the wrapping and marking–and the entire rib cage, spine and all, was dropped off one ridge to the west where something hungry was sure to find it.
Then we made another trip down country, delivering half of the meat to Marcus. Yes, half of the loin, too, what some folks call the backstrap. No better eating on any animal, unless it's the liver. I'm partial to fresh liver, unless of course it's got those white spots that mean liver flukes.
This one didn't.
We took our first hit in mid-February during a down country trip in the middle of a cold snap that reached 37 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Human scavengers had made it past Grady's Café by one route or another, foraging up the gulch as far as our precious down country house. The place had been ransacked, every window broken out just for the cussedness of it, the front door smashed in. Not the garage; that part of the structure had been hardened considerably in anticipation of just such an event. The 1957 Chevy was therefore untouched.
Strangely, the inside of the house wasn't that damaged, either. A couple of cabinet doors were ripped off the hinges, and it was clear the place had been searched, the pantry emptied of food, that sort of thing. The TV and computer were both gone. But overall, the building was still structurally sound.
And so was the real heart of this home. I'd built it to look like it was on a slab, but in reality it was sitting on a half-basement, the vents hidden and piped to locations that would seem unconnected to the house. The hidden trap doors in the hardwood floors had gone unrecognized.
Our flash drive recordings of the doings in the world were safe and working flawlessly, as usual.
"There are a few sheets of strand board in the garage," I told Tori, "enough to board up those busted windows. That should keep the weather and critters out, protect the interior. Besides which, the next batch of marauders that comes by will see nothing but an abandoned, boarded up structure. They'll be more likely to pass it by."
"Unless they need shelter," she pointed out, "a place to stay. Then we'll have squatters."
"Yeah, but that doesn't seem too likely. There's no short of houses in town; it's people that are dying off, not buildings. Not too many rounders are going to want to tackle living out here with no wheels and no obvious food source."
Marcus accepted the elk meat with a simple thank you. His boarders, however–all of them refugees from a town that had judged them wanting and pretty much run them out–lit up like so many candles at the sight of all that meat.
I didn't have the heart to tell them how soon it would be gone. They had maybe two hundred pounds there, divided by nine people? Even if Marcus stretched it out, concentrating on chili feeds and other extenders, these people needed at least a quarter pound of red meat a day per person if they were going to keep up their strength. With a steak thrown in here and there, or an occasional roast…I was betting they'd be meatless again in two months, give or take.
But that was better than starving today.
By the Ides of March, we had a better picture of how things were falling out in the Derringer area, throughout the United States, and around the world. Or at least we thought we did; many of the reports, especially on the Net, were conflicting and not at all easy to reconcile. But overall, the pieces of the puzzle seemed to be falling in place.
On the global scale, it had become clear why Russia and China had chosen this era to attack America. Simply stated, both great nations were flat dead broke, their economies in the toilet, their own people starving. At the same time, America's President Jacobus Martin Brood had been elected to his second term in office, arguably the most utterly insane and certainly the weakest Commander in Chief we'd ever seen occupy the Oval Office, not excluding the record breaking Barack Hussein Obama of the early twenty-first century. Seizing an opportunity that might never come again in his lifetime, Russia's Premier Snarotsky had struck first, aiming straight for our capitol, intending to decapitate the head of the snake first.
Whether that strike had taken out its intended target or not remained unclear, President Brood being declared dead by some and alive by others. The majority seemed to agree that he was alive but in hiding, not even daring to publish a video with a few encouraging words for the people. The man didn't have half the balls of the average suicide bomber after the bomber had blown himself up.
The Russians had used a nuke. Washington D.C. had pretty much disappeared in a mushroom cloud, upper levels of the Pentagon and all. It hadn't been that simple to knock out our military–nor had the Snarotsky likely thought it would be–but the generals were definitely distracted…
…and the Chinese decided, hey, if the Americans are all focused on the front door, the eastern seaboard, why don't we just slip right in the back door? Which they did, launching the offensive that eventually brought their paratroopers to the now defunct Colorado Springs, Colorado. It had been easy for them. Brood had brought our armed forces down to criminal levels; there was no way we could fight two of the most powerful countries in the world at the same time. Not effectively. Not even on our home turf.
Why hadn't we retaliated with nuclear weapons? Simple. Unilateral disarmament. We didn't have a nuke younger than fifty years of age. Nothing worked except for the lone warhead that blew up over our own territory before it could be launched, taking out most of Boston.
There had been those who saw it all coming, of course. Right wingnuts, every one, according to most of the media. "China and Russia teaming up to take us out? Preposterous! They both depend on our trade. They don't trust each other one bit. You right wingers are even farther off your rockers than usual!"
And so on and so forth.
Part of what they said was true. China and Russia definitely did not trust each other one bit. But they didn't need to. They were simply two jackals taking down the lion that had plagued their lives for centuries. The big cat was weakened, emaciated, and they each went for a hamstring.
Then came the jihadists, going for our gonads. A quarter million reverse crusdaders, some said, being passed through Mexico without the slightest bit of interference from the Mexican government–if you could call that a government–and on into the border states, pouring over and through the fence, laughing at the Border Patrol agents who laid down their lives or, sometimes, fled like rats from a sinking ship.
The Chinese held the west coast all the way from Bellingham to Los Angeles, but the camel jockeys ruled from San Diego east through Phoenix and most of southern Texas.
Or so the airwaves claimed. We weren't too sure the talking heads could be trusted. Not that they'd ever been all that trustworthy, but it was getting to the point of ridiculosity. It was all propaganda; the only question was, which liar were we listening to at any given moment, and how many–if any–tidbits of truth could we extract from the load of bull being slung at us.
And then, one day in early April, with the weather warming and the snowmelt running the mountain streams bank full, we watched our very last TV broadcast. We were at Grady's Café on a Wednesday, having brought the meat from a couple of deer carcasses we knew the people would be sorely needing. The cable companies had been destroyed for a long time, but Marcus had a bootleg satellite signal powering the picture on a big screen TV on the cafe's south wall. We were all celebrating our host's discovery of a gallon can of Green Mountain Coffee, never mind the lack of creamer. He did have a little sugar left, and we were more than happy to make do with that.
I was on my second cup when the screen went black.
Black coffee, black screen, I thought. I remember thinking that. There'd been other blackouts, lots of them, but this time I knew. I knew it was forever.
Marcus had a little computer in the back, in the apartment where he slept. It didn't look like much, but it was a sleeper, mil spec hardened like my under-floor stuff. In fact, we'd gotten our equipment form the same supplier, Underground America, years earlier.
We just looked at each other and slipped on back to his bedroom, the two of us, leaving everybody else in the dining room. My friend knew, too; I could see it in his eyes.
The Net was dead as a politician's promise. Our planet had become utterly dependent on the plethora of satellites orbiting our big blue ball. Someone, or some group, had figured out a way to take them out. All of them. At the same time.
I talked to a genius type, years later, who explained what he believed had happened. There were other theories out there, but his made as much sense to me as any of them. Paul Rentworth, PhD; you might have heard of him. Paul told me, "Harrison, putting together all the data I've been able to put together, here's what I believe happened. A turbo-virus was uploaded to the satellites, one that burrowed into every satellite's software, probably with a built-in delay factor so that all of the birds, every one regardless of its location at the time, blew its own programming at the same instant as all the others."
"How instantaneous was it?" I'd asked, "Do you know?"
"From the first to the last," he replied, "One point three milliseconds."
"I thought so."
Marcus and I didn't know all that on that fine, sunny April afternoon in Colorado. We couldn't possibly have known. And yet we did know.
On the way back up country, Tori and I pulled one of the shortwave radios out from under the down country house's flooring and loaded it into the Power Wagon. There would still be the possibility of enemy forces, either the Chinese or our own government, triangulating to pin down our location. It didn't seem all that likely, though, and with the satellites down, the ability to stay in contact with Marcus at all times seemed more important than the risk.
Tori drove all the way up the grade. She was getting downright good behind the wheel. The girl had talent like you wouldn't believe.
She also had nightmares, not as many as before, but she still had them.
"Same one?" I would ask softly, holding her in the night as she sobbed into my chest, shuddering and shaking like she was having a seizure.
"Y-yes. Always–always the same."
Oddly enough, it wasn't the killing of Riggins and Moran that haunted her, but the gunfight at the café, the termination of the five Chinese hybrid troops–half aviator, half Special Forces–that Marcus and I'd gunned down. It had taken me a while to figure out why that was so, why the death of five enemy invaders got to her in a way the death of two Americans she'd known did not.
Turned out the secret was involvement. She'd had nothing to do with Riggins and Moran; she'd just sat there in shock while I did my thing without warning. By contrast, she felt directly responsible for the deaths of the Chinese, acting the pretty-little-butt-in-your-face distraction we'd needed to get the jump on them.
Another factor? Yeah, there was one more. The Chinese were grade A hardcase assholes of the first order, pissed off at being dead and doing what they could to attack us in our dreams to get even for losing the contest on the physical plane. I knew this because they'd come at me a few nights here and there, but inner planes combat is definitely within my comfort zone. After I'd killed the bunch of them off a few more times, they pretty much left my dreams alone.
It was apparently harder for them to give up on the pretty little girl.
She'd been gaining lately, though, partly through applying a few fighting techniques I'd taught her but mostly by asking the Dream Master to guard her dreams each night and by chanting the Hu as she dropped off to sleep.
She'd not known the Hu, found in every language on Earth in one form or another, was an ancient name for God, but she certainly took to it like a duck to water.
On our next trip down country, April 22nd according to the calendar although with no satellite clock to consider, we could always be wrong about that, Tori was pretty somber. I had business to take care of and she wasn't happy about it.
"Marcus," I said once we were settled at our usual table for war council, "have you heard if the DN Quarter Circle is still in one piece?"
"The Nestossin place?"
The burly man rubbed his stubbled chin, thinking. "We're not getting a lot of updates, but as far as I know, yeah. You thinking of calling on Gwen?"
"Considering it." Gwen Nestossin had to be pushing eighty-five these days, but last time I'd seen her, she hadn't showed much sign of slowing down. Her husband, Big Dave Nestossin, had been dead, what? Fifteen, twenty years now? The old cowgirl ran the ranch with an iron fist, specializing in Charolais beef plus ornery sons and their offspring. "Guess I wouldn't be spilling any beans to tell you our hideout is high enough in the mountains to attract wolves and bears and mountain lions, but even so, we're going to have to bite the bullet and come up with a couple of saddle mounts sooner rather than later."
"Unh." Grady sipped his hot water, the café having run out of both coffee and tea long since. "You never did want to have to defend horses from predators."
"True. I did not. Frankly, I still don't. But I don't see any alternative, not for the long run. We're not out of fuel yet, but one of these days we will be. Worse than that, internal combustion engines make noise. With the weather warming up, everybody who's still alive and has a firearm or a bow or even a slingshot, they'll all be out tramping through the hills, looking for fresh meat or a stash of food left in some back country cabin, whatever they can find. They hear our engine coming their way sometime, all they'd need to do would be lay up behind a tree or a rock and wait. Gun us down, take the vehicle and run."
"Which would be stupid of them," he said dryly, "since it would then be them making all that noise, making themselves targets."
"Ain't no shortage of stupid around here these days, my friend."
"True that. So, how do you intend to get there? Nestossin's is way to Hell and gone the other side of Derringer."
"Yeah. Well. I was hoping maybe your old mountain bike still had air in the tires."
He stared at me, dumbfounded. "You're figuring on pedaling right smack dab through the middle of town? Might as well just do that with the Chevy, seeing as how you're determined to commit suicide and all."
"Suicide, no. Homicide, maybe. I do need to have a chat with a few of our local entrepeneurs about tearing up my house, eh?"
"Ah-h-h." He let out a long breath. "I see what this is all about now. And I see why Tori came in here looking like she'd sucked down an entire lemon, too."
In the end, he loaned me the bike. I never was much for two wheeled transportation of that sort, but I could make do when it had to be done. Tori hugged me goodbye, more than two thirds convinced I was riding to my death, and I wheeled off toward town, around the bend that brought the buildings of Derringer into view. I likely looked a sight, an old cowboy in work boots and heavy coat, a Henry lever action rifle in .30-30 caliber in a scabbard across the front of the handlebars.
One thing about that bike. Marcus had mounted a pair of high rise rear view mirrors on the handlebars, just ahead of the grips. Nobody would be sneaking up behind me when I was riding, which was more than you could say for most bicycles out there.
Despite my bravado, I was nervous. None of us really knew the current situation in town. Had I been able to make the mile long dash from one end to the other without being spotted, that would have been more than fine with me.
That vain hope vanished when Dag Potter stepped out of the Community Center building in the middle of the town, accompanied by two guys I did not know. He'd seen me coming, Dag had, or I'd have flown past before they could react. The pudgy man held up a hand, calling out, "Harrison Polson! Long time no see! Park your wheels and set a spell!"
This could well become a downright revolting situation in nothing flat, but I did as he said. Had I flashed on by, my back would have been to the three of them. Mirrors or no mirrors, Dag Potter was not a man you let at your back if you had a brain in your head, at least not if you wanted to keep it in your head.
He gave me a sour look when I padlocked the bike to the street sign pole at the corner and hauled the Henry out of its scabbard, but I'd expected no less.
"Figure somebody's going to steal your bike if you don't lock it up?"
"Captain Obvious," I replied. It didn't pay to push Potter too far, but it didn't pay to let him think he could push you, either.
Inside, I took a chair from one of the tables and moved it to a place with the wall at my back. Potter shook his head. "Harrison, Harrison, Harrison. For an old man, you sure haven't learned to trust your fellow man, have you?"
I took one long, slow look around the huge room. The stage at the far end had been converted to a throne of sorts, with a fine leather office chair behind a huge cherry wood desk. Flanking the desk were several lesser chairs on each side, usually occupied, I was guessing, by the King's sycophants and/or guards when Court was in session.
Not that anyone was sitting there now; they were all gathered around to interrogate Old Man Polson, to see what the hillbilly fool on the bicycle might have to add to their entertainment of the day. I leaned back, crossing my arms, waiting. Potter was obviously in charge here now, which would mean Mayor Stringer had gone to meet his maker. There were fifty, maybe sixty men in what had been a dance hall the last time I'd seen it at the Fourth of July Rodeo dance the previous summer. Three women, attending Potter as he took a seat across the table from me. Julie Mark, Sherry Three Feathers, and one I didn't know, bringing the current Boss of Derringer a cup of real by God coffee on the one hand, a container of sugar on the other. The third girl, the stranger to me, stood behind Potter's chair, kneading his shoulders.
All of this was, I must admit, a sight to see. Dag Potter was a Denver native, no more than two or three years out of prison, a known murderer who liked to strangle his victims slowly with cotton clothes line rope. During his trial, he'd had a far better attorney than he'd deserved, pulled twenty years, done it standing on his head–or bent over, or on his knees, according to scuttlebutt–and relocated to Derringer upon his release. Last summer, he'd been surviving by cutting firewood for other folks, mowing lawns, swamping out the Foothills Bar, whatever odd jobs he could find.
Now, it seemed, he'd come into his own. I had no doubt the pasty faced, overweight, sluglike thug staring complacently at me through his crossed eyes…yep, he was in full control of whatever was left of the town.
"How many," I asked quietly, "are left alive?"
He started, coming back from wherever his dark thoughts had taken him. "In town? Not quite two hundred. These are all of the men, forty-seven of us. The rest are women and kids. Not many old people."
No, I thought. There wouldn't be many old people left. Potter would have seen to that.
"So," he continued, one wormy lip crawling upward in a bit of a sneer, "how do you come to be looking so good, old man? And for that matter, where have you been lately. Ain't seen hide nor hair of you since the shit hit the fan. Got a real nice stash somewhere, do you?"
I relaxed then. Funny how that works for me. "Well," I replied evenly, a hint of a smile creeping across my face. I felt it, and I was sure he could see it. "I damn sure don't have anything left in my pantry. Enjoy the peaches, did you? I understand Del Monte's a bit better brand than they provide in the joint."
He never saw that one coming. I do so love it when they never see it coming. His doughy face mottled purple. If looks could have killed, I'd likely have expired on the spot, except that the way those eyes of his aimed, it was a little hard to tell. He might have missed.
"Are you accusing me of something?" His voice hissed like a scared snake. Of course, as any reptile lover knows, a scared snake is a dangerous snake.
I cocked an eyebrow. "Yep. I'm accusing you of being a lowdown, chicken shit, lily livered, butt banging pile of lard and, oh yeah, a vandal and a thief." I was betting nobody had spoken to him like that for a while, at least not since he'd gotten away from the Gray Rock Hotel a few years ago.
It felt good to be up front and honest like that. I've heard it said there's such a thing as too much honesty, but golly gee, it was nice to be able to let it out.
Dag Potter, unfortunately, didn't seem to appreciate the input. "Take him," he snapped to the two men who'd been sidling closer along the wall, inch by inch. On the plus side, my peripheral vision is pretty good; without taking my attention away from the man across the table, I was keenly aware of the fellow on my left lunging toward the rifle I'd left leaning against the wall while the fellow on my right pulled a knife that would have done credit to old Jim Bowie himself.
I didn't bother to get up, just uncrossed my arms. A bit quickly, I will admit, each hand filled with a single action Heritage replica single action revolver. Nobody had noticed the slits in my coat through which I'd accessed the sewn-in holsters; it must have looked like a magic trick to the assembled audience. Great sound effects, too; there's nothing like the sound of those retro shooters coming back to full cock.
Okay, so they're only .22 caliber weapons. It doesn't matter much; they're .22 Magnums. Besides, even little bitty muzzle holes can look like Howitzers when you're staring down the barrels across a mere six feet of table.
Maybe more than Howitzers if you're cross eyed. I wouldn't know about that, just like he wouldn't know I really didn't want to have to pop caps inside the building, especially Magnum caps. I do value my hearing.
"If either one of you moves another inch," I promised softly into the sudden silence, "your cross eyed boss here is going to sprout a couple of extras."
From there, it was simple enough. Potter apparently figured he had eyes enough already. He encouraged his bully boys to retreat without further ado. Which didn't surprise me; the man had spent a full twenty years behind bars being banged in the butt by men tougher than he was. When he had the upper hand, he would be ruthless. When he didn't, he'd submit completely.
I'd been counting on that.
It didn't take much urging to persuade him to accompany me back outside, instructing the others to wait inside until his return. I had him walk with me the quarter mile to where the street turns enough to take me out of the Community Center's line of sight, then told him he was free to head on back. He wouldn't run; it would be important for the Boss of Derringer to stroll on back into his den of iniquity as if nothing had happened, as if he'd merely been out for a walk with a friend. The others wouldn't see him as weak that way, or so he'd hope.
Most likely, though, it would be a really good idea for me to find another route on my return trip. I'd taken him by surprise with the pistols. That would rankle; he'd want revenge if he could get it. Especially since, before we parted, I'd relieved him of his belt gun–a Rambo Special semiauto, POS if there ever was one, but it was the idea of the thing–and a truly fine Kershaw folding knife. Plus his boots. He looked a lot more pissed off about the boots than about the weapons.
"We'll call that even for the damage done to my house and the pantry raid," I told him. "Pull something like that again, I'll cut your balls off and stuff 'em down your throat."
He just nodded, said, "Yes sir," and started walking back in his socks. There were holes in those socks, I noted, though not in the boots.
I'd just cleared the final building, a gutted out service station, when I heard the cry.
"Wait up! Wait up, please!"
Coming up the street behind me, a tall, thin scarecrow pumped furiously on a bicycle three sizes too small for him. I stopped and waited, my arms crossed. He didn't seem dangerous, but I wasn't in the mood to take chances.
"Please," he panted, gasping for breath, "take me with you."
"Why should I take you with me?" Adding a fugitive to our Quonset household had not been in my plans when I'd started this day. On the other hand, the best laid plans of mice and men….
"The truth and nothing but the truth, son." He looked to be at least six-two, maybe six-three, but couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds soaking wet. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn't quite place it.
"The truth." I could see the young man, somewhere in his mid-twenties at a guess, take hold of himself. His eyes were dark, his cheeks more sunken than Abraham Lincoln. Not quite an Auschwitz image, but too close for comfort; it wasn't often you saw a human being this close to starvation who was still on his feet. "The truth is, Mr. Polson, I'm a dead man if you don't. The people in town, they, well, they used to like me okay, I thought, but not since Dag Potter took over."
I remembered him now. He used to work the afternoon shift at the now defunct gas station. "Hiram Jacobson, is it?"
"Yes. Yes sir." He looked grateful to be remembered. "That's me."
"Your folks?" His father, Benjamin Jacobson, had owned the station.
"All of them? I'm sorry, kid." I kicked myself mentally for calling him kid; it just slipped out.
"Yeah…Mom got nailed with that gas. Dad, too, but he didn't die right off. Sicker'n a dog, and I don't think he'd really recovered from that and, you know, Mom dying, when the pneumonia got him. Corinne…."
"Your sister?"
He nodded. "She was okay. Food was getting short, but we thought the two of us were going to get through the winter. Until…."
I had a hunch. "Potter?" Dag Potter had done his time for the murder of a Castle Rock girl; Corinne Jacobson could have been her twin.
"Potter. I can't prove it, but…."
"Enough, Hiram. We'll settle up with Jailbird Potter when the time is right. For now, let's saddle up and get to pedaling. We've miles to go before we sleep."
I headed on out, young Jacobson pedaling furiously behind me. I was betting he'd had that bike he was riding since he was a young boy; it took some serious pushing to get it to keep up to Grady's pro level mountain bike.
A couple of miles out, working on up into the foothills on the Nestossin Ranch Road, it hit me. I was an idiot. We stopped long enough for me to fish in the saddle bags. Hiram stared at the two stale granola bars like they were manna from Heaven, but it didn't take him long to make them disappear.
"Sun's going down," I observed. Captain Obvious. "We'll be riding by moonlight by the time we get to the DN Quarter Circle." There was a spare sweater in the right hand saddle bag; I dug that out, too. "Get this on under that ratty jacket. Can't have you freezing to death the very evening you got your freedom."
Overhead, a pair of ravens sounded their "RA!" call as they winged toward their roost for the night.
"RA! RA!" I called back at them.
"RA!" Came the reply.
Hiram Jacobson didn't look at me like I was weird or anything, which was a good sign. On the other hand, after what he'd been through this past winter, I had a hunch it would take more than seeing me talk to ravens to throw him off.
He nodded, I stepped back across my bike, and off we went. It was a beautiful sunset. I just hoped Gwen's hands didn't shoot first and ask questions later when two renegades came rolling up to her ranch house after dark.


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The Foundry
'The Fleshing Memory'
Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, San Francisco
by Karen Hildebrand
January 4, 2003 -- Riser seating borders a large square of open floor where the dancers will perform, an area the ushers diligently police to prevent foot traffic by the entering audience. Projection screens stand at two corners, each with a pile of crinkled pink construction papers strewn beneath. Four dancers enter and take up positions in dim lighting: Alex Ketley lies near the center, Christian Burns sits on the pink paper pile as if it was a beanbag. They dont move a muscle as both video screens show the same footage of a man running in a barren urban scene with a slight breeze ruffling the hair on the back of his head.
In "The Fleshing Memory," Foundry artistic directors Ketley and Burns incorporate visual media into their choreography as well as music, sound, and spoken word. Sometimes, as with the mood-setting opening projection, this is successful. Other times, it can be redundant or distracting, competing with the dancers for attention.
Strong ballet training is in evidence in this work (Burns and Ketley as well as Marina Hotchkiss and Andrea Flores have performed with Alonzo King) and Ketley and Burns use the dancers' solid technique as a springboard for a fresh and startling movement vocabulary that is fascinating and sometimes disquieting to watch. We get our first glimpse of it when Hotchkiss moves animal-like along a shaft of diagonal light, her progress slow and undulating, sometimes gangly. With her arms crossed overhead and fingers spread like antlers, she resembles an antelope. Sometimes she walks on all fours, the backs of her long hands becoming hooves. The baggy cargo pants and running shoes she wears camouflage the elegance of her développé.
Each dancer introduces a personal movement signature, the way characters in a story all have defining personalities. Ketley flits in quick directional changes like a bird, Burns moves in off-center slips, near-falls, and rebounds. Nick Yagoda walks as if stricken with palsy: hyper-extended knees, stiff, flailing, arms and bent wrists. Along with nondescript street clothing more characteristic of hip hop than ballet, the dancers each sport a wisp of chiffon trailing asymmetrically from the waist like a torn tutu or a large hankie dangling from a back pocket.
Yet, as engaging as the movement is, the production isnt completely successful. A duet of Hotchkiss and Ketley is trivialized by the lyrics of the music, "Sometimes I feel like a motherless child...why did I leave the one that I love?" The pulling and dragging of the two with Ketley holding Hotchkiss in a gentle headlock and folding her like a broken bird were strong enough to stand alone. A woman speaks intriguingly into a microphone, but her words cant be heard consistently.
Its an amusing surprise when Burns tapes a sheet of the pink paper around his face and head with masking tape. Then a video screen sequence shows an older version of Burns (it turns out to be his father) wearing a full uniform of pink construction paper taped to his limbs, torso, and head. Hes slicing something on a cutting board in the kitchen, then deadheading a flowerbed. After the video, Burns begins to cover his entire body in pink paper and masking tape while the other four dancers sail pink paper airplanes over his head. He then makes his way slowly around the perimeter of the space and you can hear him crackle between the reverberation of thunder through the sound system.
At this point the pacing of the hour-long work becomes tedious and could benefit from a change in dynamic. Of standout quality is the poignant duet between Hotchkiss and Yagoda in which neither seems able to stand on his/her own. Supporting her from behind, he nudges her leg forward with his own, but her weight pulls him down. Its a vivid relationship metaphor in which they stumble but dont part. Ultimately, she climbs onto his shoulders and he carries her in his crippled man walk, his arms waving spasmodically.
Unfortunately, the work ends abruptly, attempting to resolve the issues of isolation with a schmaltzy splash of John Lennon "Mind Games" lyrics, "love is the answer." The great potential of Ketley and Burns is that their work can appeal to new audiences, but it will be even more powerful if they can avoid talking down to us and offer a narrative that solidly earns its ending.
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Victorian Swivel Painted Lady Antique Brooch-BEAUTIFUL
A very large handpainted lady victorian antique brooch with a super swivel mount.This brooch is 2 ins long and is set intoa handy swivel mount the mount is a simple interlocking design.The subject matter of a young lady is beautifully done in super colours all bright. The back of this pin has a lady and gentleman this has been set into the mount at a much later date. The lady painted part shows a small edge of missing area to the side and only shows under a strong eyeglass and the price reflects this plus gthe replacement back.Having a siThe centre section swivels backwards and forwards to show either side.Aslo has a simple c clasp and pin with an extra safety chain. A lovely antique painted brooch with an added backing. Looks super when worn and is a stunning BIG brooch.Any questions please ask.
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Fodder Burnet
Hare's Tail Cottongrass
Pegswood Moor is a good place to look for plants though many have established themselves on poor soils around the main lake from seed mixes during restoration work of this former opencast coal site. I have not come across Fodder Burnet (Poterium sanguisorba ssp balearicum), formerly Sanguisorba minor ssp muricata before but there are hundreds of thousands of these plants in flower now mainly on the South and western shore of the lake. Another species established here is Hare's Tail Cottongrass (Eriophorum vaginatum) which appears to like former opencast sites in the lowlands away from its regular haunt of upland bogs. It is not the best place for bird sightings generally but always worth checking but recent sightings include hunting Long eared owl, Lesser Whitethroat, Sedge warbler and Yellow wagtail.


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Hey guys! I recently had the opportunity to chat with 1500days about this blog and my financial independence and early retirement goals that I plan on achieving in the [very] near future. 1500days.com is one of my favorite blogs to read – always makes me think. I enjoy the occasional think.
Take a look: http://www.1500days.com/10-questions-with-steve-from-thinksaveretire-com.


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Shahrukh Khan and Deepika Padukone fans, who are expecting to see the pair revisit their Chennai Express on-screen romance in the upcoming film Happy New Year, might be in for some disappointment.
Reportedly, SRK's new comic caper will not have him romancing his leading lady.
"Deepika Padukone is more like one of the boys in the caper. She plays a bar dancer who is called by Shah Rukh Khan to teach his team of heisters how to dance in a global dance competition. The mutual attraction between SRK and Deepika is hinted at very gently. There is no attempt to cash in on the Chennai Express chemistry between the pair," revealed a source close to the project, to Bollywood Hungama.
Padukone, surprisingly, is the comic element in the film. "She feels she's an artiste and therefore superior to the male actors whom she has been called to teach how to dance," said the source.
The source also added that subduing the 'romantic element' in the film was SRK's idea. "He wanted Farah to focus on the caper. He made her tone down the romantic element with Deepika to focus on the caper aspect of the script," the source was quoted as saying.
Of course that doesn't mean that Padukone fans will return disappointed. After all, the actress is on home turf with this film having started her career with the same team, in her debut film Om Shanti Om.


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INDIE COMICS MAGAZINE reaches ten issue anniversary with stellar collection
INDIE COMICS MAGAZINE #10 Fall 2015 (Aazurn Publishing) Eight stories, 64 pages, black and white, $6.49. Available only through pre-order at your local comics shop. Featured in the October 2105 Previews catalog for December releases.
Comics readers interested in exploring independent offerings need time to search the internet and a decent amount of money to order works that appeal to them. For ten issues now, INDIE COMICS MAGAZINE has been providing a valuable service by featuring a cross-section of some of the best works by independent creators, writers, and artists.
Utilizing a unique business model where all parties involved share in the production costs, it provides an affordable outlet for creators to get their work exposed to a larger audience. That may lead some to believe that all it takes is to agree to help with the printing costs to get featured in the issue, so there may be some "filler" material that otherwise would not be deserving. Not true. Editor/publisher Gary Scott Beatty has established high standards as well as a succinct mission for INIDE COMICS MAGAZINE and only works with creators who meet those criteria.
There is no better example of that editorial style at work than in Issue #10, in my opinion the best cross-section of material that I have seen so far from this publication. If you want to see what I"m talking about, then take a chance and pre-order INDIE COMICS MAGAZINE #10. They only print enough issues to cover the pre-orders plus some additional copies for the featured creators, so the time to get onboard is right now, this month. It's doubtful and also a little disappointing that very few comic shops are going to order any copies for their shelves. It takes some careful decision-making every month for comic stores to anticipate book sales from the major publishers and they have to dedicate their "shelf money" to most of those books (or risk disappointing their regular customers).
Here is my short summary of the contents of Issue #10, based on my preferences. My preference is for tales where the script and art work in collaboration to tell the best story and get the message across. However, if I can't have both I prefer a good story. Story trumps art, in my opinion - - even though good art can salvage an average story .
There are two works in this issue where story and art work together perfectly. They are "One Dollar" and "Farm Noir". Both stories are worthy of repeated readings and study by anyone interested in learning about the creative process involved in telling a story through comics.
Well known for his adaptations of Franz Kafka's novels into comics, writer/artist/professor Peter Kuper leads off Issue #10. "One Dollar" follows the path of a single one-dollar bill from it's printing press origins to bank delivery to it's final resting place. In between the bill is handled by people from all walks of life, both savory and unsavory, kind and cruel, law-abiding and criminal. "One Dollar" is told is a crisp, multi-panels per page style without any dialogue or captions. It is simply brilliant.
My second favorite feature, with its story/art one-two punch is "Farm Noir" by author/television and film producer Rick Bonn with art by animator Scott Irwin. The story meshes the hard-boiled crime genre with barnyard sensibilities and a dash of the Wild West. A rooster detective (and narrator) investigates murder and thievery in the hen house.
While I don't mean to make light of the art style here, the following features impressed me most for the story. The art throughout Issue #10 is very good, with many different styles featured. There is something here to please everyone.
"Unpropitious Fate" by writer Paul Bradford and artist Matt Olson is a science-fiction sort featuring a planetary civilization with a grim (yet effective) method of city management. It's a bit disturbing in the blunt manner of the leaders.
"Welcome To The Con" by writer/attorney Jeffery Kaufman (best known for Whore from Zenoscope Entertainment) is a humorous look at cons and fading celebrities. Kaufman even inserts himself into the story. Government agencies save money by using older, second-rate actors as covert agents to carry out risky assignments in exchange for continuing work in television and/or commercials. Stinging commentary but lots of fun.
"Horse Power G" is an amusing all-ages tale about human-animal interaction by writer Terry Cronin and artist Savannah McKendree. The story is divided into two parts. First, humans bring a new horse to the stables and introduce it to the other animals. Then, the tale is told again from the animals point of view including their reactions and comments.
Finally, if you are an admirer of fine comic art, the following stories will impress you with their artistry and diversity of styles.
K. J. Murphey's dark pencils and ink are perfect to illustrate "A Wendigo Curse" , an interpretation of the origins of the legendary wintry creatures in a tale of survival by any means necessary.
Gabe Lamberty's angular style and perspective is perfect for "Speed Dem" , a story blending street car racing with battles against supernatural forces.
"The Duel" by Troy Vevasis is a grim tale of future combat and manipulation of alien gladiators.
There is a lot to enjoy and appreciate in INDIE COMIC MAGAZINE #!0. Please order a copy for yourself and support independent creators. Each issue also features short biographies of all creators and links to their web sites.


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This book is absolutly amazingly creepy! It was right about every single thing about peoples birthday!
Hmm.... interesting :)
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