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Freelancer 2004
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True North
by Cherine Marie
sway in time
with the blues as music
curls around his world.
Her high heels click a tune
as she walks around him
then turns
strolls away.
He stares at the seam
of her black fishnet stockings,
a road map on the curve
going north, and he rises
to follow his compass.
She turns
The Cheek Pincher
by Karen Smith
She pinched my cheek that day she came to our house. Her leather gloves were soft. Mother had only wool gloves, and she never pinched anybody's cheek. I knew then she was not like Mother. She was soft and fuzzy. Mother was burlap-rough and ready.
The Cheek Pincher had not come to visit us in ten years. I think of her as the Cheek Pincher because no one ever called her by her Christian name. Mother would say "she called" to "the gift is from her" but would not say her name. It just doesn't seem right using her name now. Anyway, Mother was surprised and a little put out when she called out of the blue and said she was coming for a visit. Over the years, we talked about her only on holidays and birthdays when she would send us expensive presents. Mother would frown. Daddy wouldn't say much because he did not want to upset Mother. All I know was the Cheek Pincher had more money than we did. When her husband died, he left her plenty, and since she did not have children of her own to spend it on, she spent it on is. That didn't sit well with Mother. I think it annoyed her that the Cheek Pincher had anything to do with our family.
I took the Cheek Pincher's suitcase to my bedroom where Mother told me she would stay. I would sleep on the couch. I could hear them talking, Mother and the Cheek Pincher. She told Mother she had come to visit because she wanted to be with the people she loved. The Cheek Pincher started to cry. When I peeked around the corner, I saw Mother frown. Mother never cried except maybe once when our old dog died. I thought I saw a tear on her cheek, but I was not sure. Mother changed the subject so the Cheek Pincher would stop crying. She told her that she was too thin. The Cheek Pincher agreed she was too thin; still she didn't eat a thing when Mother put dinner on the table. Mother frowned again.
That evening after dinner, we sat around the den and talked. Mother and the Cheek Pincher did not share childhood stories though they had been children together at home, along with the Cheek Pincher's husband. Mostly they talked to fill the silence. The Cheek Pincher did ask me questions about school and football. I answered them politely so as not to upset Mother. I secretly liked the Cheek Pincher.
The next morning, I discovered why the Cheek Pincher was so thin. When I knocked on the door to get her up for breakfast, she did not answer. I carefully opened the door and looked in at her. Somehow she looked different than just asleep. She looked peaceful but pale and too quiet. I touched her and she was cold.
When the doctor came, he told us she was eaten up with cancer and speculated she probably came to our house to die with her family near. He was amazed she could even talk that night she spent with us. He told Mother she was lucky to get that last bit of time with her sister. Mother did not answer. She did not look as if she felt lucky.
When we opened the Cheek Pincher's suitcase, we discovered she had come to die at our house just as the doctor said. Among her things was a fine Sunday dress for her burial and instructions on what to do with her remains. An address for a lawyer and more than enough money for her burial was also in the suitcase.
Mother took care of the funeral arrangements. She seemed burdened by the whole situation. She greeted the few guests, mostly our church friends come to help. Mother would not let then help. I heard some of them whispering that they did not know Mother had a sister.
After everyone left, Mother stood in the kitchen washing the dishes. As she worked, I looked at her to see if her cheek was shiny, like with our old dog. It wasn't. She just stared out the window into the shadows. I thought if Mother had died first, the Cheek Pincher would have cried, but not Mother. Mother never cried.
Jessie Climbs
by William Netherton
Jessie climbs.
An Icarus in overalls,
She startles her grandmother guards
Who roost beneath her childhood walls.
Jessie dances on the edge:
We spring to catch before she falls.
(There's little need. She seldom falls—
and the pain, for her,
is worth the flight—
But still, we spring,
for she often leaps
to reach a greater height.)
Her mother and I are used to it:
Born with the cord wrapped round her neck,
Jessie's always felt tied down,
Twisting even at the breast.
Two years old and fearless now,
and smiling at the rest who fear
her flight (because they fear her bent),
She fills her little fists with fire
from the sun in her descent,
and those who catch her catch desire
and Heaven's holy hint.
At Home with the Pox and the Discovery Channel (April 10, 1991)
by Dwight Huber
My child, at two, is bored by the
Lions that stretch their legs
And yawn. Their soft large
Paws, spiked clubs, release
Her-limbs and mind-unharmed.
Once free, she pounces me and
Pulls and tears at me, forward
Off the bed and down the hall
Toward noontime dreams of apple juice,
Cookie lions, and thin-sliced cheese.
"But wait," I say. "Wait to watch
Those muscles harden, the golden
Ripples, the awful teeth made
White by shattering bone. The
Roars can take your breath away."
No use now to talk to her of lions.
It's lunch she wants, and where she
Leads me is stairs away from Serengeti.
And yet I'm glad we're here, glad
She's had her way, glad she's mean.
"Sit here!" she cries. And I obey.
Sometimes holding hands and sometimes
Picking up what's spilled, I smile
To think that she'll be lean and
Fierce and take a breath away.
by Shara Wetzel
I feel like snow.
Scattered, cold, and wet. That's me, standing on the sidewalk and wondering if miracles still happen to women who can't even watch Cinderella anymore with a shred of belief, as if my destiny would fly out of the sky and bowl me over if I rekindled the dream that true love happens to everyone and that someday my prince will come.
Just a tired song with a child's nostalgia attached.
And yet, I've stopped here in the growing sleet. I left Penny's apartment for something, but I'm not moving. Can't even remember what it was I needed.
Oh yes. Wine. Wine for Tabby's birthday dinner. Need to buy wine. My side of the street has stores that closed an hour ago, but the corner of the opposite side has a little liquor store. The night manager's really nice. He knows exactly which wine goes with what meal, dessert, mood, or flower arrangement. A picture of his kids is taped to the inside of the back office's window. The first time I met him, desperate for what to serve with Pistachio so I could impress my then-future in-laws, he introduced me to all four of his kids through the picture.
But no more in-laws because not even my engagement was a keeper. At least, that's what the girls at the office tell each other. Engagements have sunk to the level of casual dating. Sometimes you just look over wedding invitation booklets and decide you really don't like this person, though in my case it was during Penny's bridesmaid fitting and he was tired of stifling his "inner self."
He immediately starting dating a girl who worked nights as a call girl. I still keep the voodoo doll Aimee gave me on a bookshelf. Whenever I feel particularly bitchy, I just stick a pin in and imagine him clutching his face while his call girl rolls her eyes and orders another round of drinks.
Uhmwine. Right. Wine. I glance both directions and cross the street. I'll probably have to borrow some of Penny's clothes now. Even my socks feel squelchy.
Finally moving with something resembling haste, I slip into the liquor store and look for the night manager. But he's not here. The guy behind the counter looks at me with amusement. Then again, I am dripping on his floor and probably looking very disoriented. "Where's Rick?" I ask with no "Hi, how are you?" I'm starting to feel very cold.
"One of his kids is sick. He won't be in." I glance at the picture of his children, wondering which of them it is. "Do you need help?" the Man Who Is Not Rick asks gently.
"Wine for a friend's birthday," I reply through chattering teeth. I shift from foot to foot.
"Are you OK?" he asks, coming out from behind the counter. He looks at the wine and not at me, so I feel like I can answer without receiving the third degree. Making polite conversations with the customers is probably Rule #2 for working here. Rule #1 being don't drink the merchandise.
"I don't know," I say. "I've been standing outside a long time. I don't know why either.'" Raging nutcase. I need to shut up.
"Maybe something crawled across your grave." For a second, I can't even comprehend why he'd say that. But then I review it. He said it like a person who's recently listened to an aunt or grandmother say that, possibly in regard to something that he said.
"Maybe," I reply, gazing at the wine bottles in front of my face. The bell on the door jingles and goes silent. I glance at the new customer. He looks hopped up and jumpy. Probably doesn't need anything more to drink than he's already had. For a moment, he glances at the counter like he's lost. Then he looks around and sees me and the Man Who Is Not Rick.
"You!" the customer shouts, and I blink. Out from the coat comes a gun, pointing directly at me. Oh, I don't believe this. Now I'm cold, wet, scattered, and about to be a hostage. "Gimme all the money!"
"Uh, I don't work here," I reply, as Not Rick doesn't seem to want to speak up about that either.
"Oh. Gimme all the money!" the man shouts again, this time at the appropriate person. The Man Who Is Actually An Employee scuttles behind the counter while I wonder if there is any wrong liquor for a birthday party. Probably not.
I glance around me and notice a shelf of brandy bottles. Some of them are pretty big, probably heavy too, since they're glass. "Is there any way to bring the wrong liquor to a birthday party?" I ask aloud, crouching to examine the brandy.
Not Rick whimpers and continues to raid the safe. The robber looks at me and considers. "Maybe tequila. Some people can't take their tequila too good. Specially girls." He turns back and watches Scared Little Bunny drop a handful of quarters all over the floor.
I "Hm" to myself and heft the largest bottle of brandy. Yup. Definitely heavy, sturdy glass. I slide my feet so that they don't squelch and swing the bottle at the back of the robber's head. The bottle breaks, and brandy splatters all over my legs. Ick. Now I'm cold, wet, and smell like brandy.
Robber dude groans at my feet, clutching his head. I pluck up his gun and lightly place it in the metal trash can by the counter, setting the handle of the brandy bottle on top of it. I poke the robber with my foot and say, "Thanks for the advice. Here's some that might be useful for you. Go home." He groans more and gets to his feet, stumbling against the counter to the door.
Once again, Not Rick and I are left alone in the store. He looks at me like he might cry, he's so relieved. "Where's your cheapest vodka?" I ask. He points to the left and croaks, "Last shelf."
I retrieve the bottle that seems the cheapest and head for the door. Along the way, I slap a cold, wet, brandy-scented $10 bill on the counter and say, "That's for the brandy. Very top dollar stuff."
Back out in the sleet, which is turning to intermittent snow, I sling the bottle of vodka onto my shoulder and march across the street again to the darker side. Tabby hates uptown parties anyway. I think we'd all much rather get drunk and tell stories about how we've been in robberies and with whom our next engagement will be.
M'enage A Trois
by Johnny Sawatzki
She lies on her side in the center of the bed.
A beam of moonlight illuminates his hand
As it presses softly against her breast.
She runs a finger over dark, silky hair
While he sucks greedily at her nipple.
The mattress comes alive, as if from an earthquake
As two hundred pounds of male flesh turns about behind her
Then a massive arm is thrust possessively about her waist.
Her eyes close.
Father and son share her body,
And neither sees her smile.
Revised Draft
by Rhiannon Selby
From the long drive around the parking lot in the futile search for a parking place, she had developed a bitter distaste for a "higher" education. Already late and off to a bad start, even more time was wasted the better places had been taken, and the better futures were in the making, as she was walking up the sidewalk in the cold wind, in the shade of the big, intelligent-looking buildings.
She was already fifteen minutes late to the calculus class, and deciding whether or not to go in late. Of course, if she had gone to the cafeteria like she wanted, the guilt and worry would have overridden her. Oh, what an ulcer!
In any case, the cold forced her into the nearest building, which just happened to be the engineering building where the class was already in session.
She didn't call it "her" class it was more or less taking her, not vice versa. Oh, what agony! She knew that if she dropped it, it would be a tiny suicide, a small admittance to failure.
"When I am old," she thought, "all I will have left is my mind and hopefully what I've written. The math notes will have been long forgotten, and since improved upon anyway."
The door opened, and the clock was ticking. The clock was always ticking. The clock at home seemed to be behind the clock in the car followed the clock at school. It was darned frustrating to walk out the door, get in the car, and already be late.
So, the decision faced her: whether to just walk straight through the lower corridor to the cafeteria or to climb the steps up to the halls of lectures and math offices.
"To be or not to be," she thought. "To change my major from architecture to English," she wondered. But which should be priority and which should be pleasure? She had written for pleasure since years before - she knew that the writing talent was not common, and for some English professors, getting students to write was worse than pulling teeth.
"Hmm, the leaders and the followers," she thought. "The reading process is a cycle, where the math process of learning is linear, with little creative dimension." She valued creativity above all eons' development of math.
Math had been causing people like her trouble since its very beginning, especially since it became a requirement. Who cares how the universe works? It's an inspiration.
With this resolution, she sat down at a table in the top of the stair corridor on the little balcony and started writing. She used her calculus book as a lap table, as the various instructors' voices floated down the hall in a sort of unsynchronized, moaning chorus.
by Ginger Everitt
I am comfortable in my solitude,
My self-made tent of aloneness.
I can sit and ponder.
I can recline and think.
There is no one to hurt me.
There is no one to fail me.
I am completely alone with myself.
I sit in anger and contemplate the wrongs done me.
Old Man
by Jan Prater
He's 78
If he's a day
But he's still a young man
In his own way
His face is wrinkled
His hands are curled
From life's imperfections
At the work in his world
He still wears his Stetson
Though it's dirty and worn
There's a patch on his blue jeans
And his shirt pocket's torn
But his eyes are alive still
With the fire of his youth
He speaks and we listen
To his view of the truth
The stories he tells
Of his day on the land
When he worked as a cowboy
And he rode for the brand
He tamed the rough broncos
And roped the wild cow
When a top hand was needed
He showed them all how
Though age might have slowed him
And dimmed his bright light
He will not go down gently
Or give up the fight
He's 78
If he's a day
But he's still a young man
In his own way
Ice Cream and Other Lessons
by Carol Gonzales
My uncle Beanie got his name from the time he got hungry for pinto beans and decided to cook himself a big pot. Having never done this before and being very hungry at the time, he put ten small sacks of dry pinto beans on to boil. He didn't know they swell as they cook. By the time he got through, he had filled every pot his wife, Aunt Flo, owned plus all our pots and our neighbors' pans. When he was finished, he had enough beans to feed everybody we knew and some we didn't. He did just that, handing out beans to everyone in sight, thus insuring that everyone we knew would call him Beanie for the rest of his life.
He was always up to something, usually something kind but different than anything anyone else would ever think of doing. I loved to be around him. He never got upset over anything I did--not even the time he gave me a hundred dollar bill to look at and hold while we rode the ferry in San Francisco. I had never seen a hundred dollar bill before. Nor had I ever been out on a boat. The wind blew white waves in the choppy water that day. I thought paper airplanes sailing just above them would look great. Uncle Beanie kept right on talking to Daddy while I made a paper airplane out of the bill he'd given me to hold.
It made a good one. When I lifted my arm to sail it overboard in the brisk breeze, he just gave me a grin and grabbed my hand, extracting the carefully folded bill. He told me money was not usually used to make paper airplanes, but he thought I'd done a good job. Then he gave me a big hug, straightened out the bill, and put it back in his pocket.
I was happy when he and Aunt Flo decided to go shopping with my parents and me that Saturday afternoon. It was the hottest summer day California had yet produced for its transplanted Texans. We'd shopped for three hours and felt like we were melting when Uncle Beanie spotted the ice cream parlor.
It had seven flavors displayed where even a child could see them plus cones in several sizes, one of them enormous. All the pastel colors looked cold and delicious. I spotted lemon, lime, strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, cherry and my mother's favorite, butter pecan. It would be a hard choice, but how fun to make it! I started to ask for a cone and a dip of chocolate and one of cherry when my mother silenced me.
"Carol will have one dip--a small one--of vanilla, and she'll have it in a cup so she won't get it all over herself," she said in a voice that brooked no dissent. I gave Uncle Beanie a stricken look, and he and my father both frowned at Mother, but she ignored them. "It's too close to supper for her to have two dips," she said. "She won't eat her dinner if she has more than this." She glared at me as if daring me to open my mouth, so I didn't. When we finished eating, Aunt Flo said she was tired and ready to go home.
After we got there, Uncle Beanie and Aunt Flo went next door to their home. Mother told me to lie down and take a nap. At six I felt too old for naps, plus I wasn't tired. Instead I wanted to go play outside, and I started to tell her so. A loud knock rattled the front door before I could finish. When Mother opened it, my Uncle Beanie stepped inside, gave me an amused grin, and told Mother he could see that she was tired. He suggested she take a nap while he took me to run an errand.
Mother started to protest, but Daddy stuck his head in the room and told her to hush and let me go. She never argued when Daddy used that tone of voice. Uncle Beanie took my hand, and we were off.
The "errand" he had in mind was a return to the ice cream parlor we'd just left. He motioned for me to get up on the stool at the counter, and then he looked at his watch. "It's at least three hours until supper," he informed me, his expression serious. "If I get you more ice cream, you have to promise me you'll eat every bite of your dinner--well, maybe not dessert, but everything else. Is that a deal?"
"Oh, yes, Uncle Beanie," I promised, glowing with gratitude. "Every bite, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die." I crossed my heart to seal the bargain.
He grinned and turned to the waitress. "You see that big cone there, the one on the end?" The waitress looked at me and indicated the third largest.
"That one?" she asked.
"Oh no," said Uncle Beanie. "The one on the end. The biggest one you've got. And fill it with one dip each of every flavor for the young lady. And I want one just like it myself."
I had never seen such an ice cream cone. Top heavy but beautiful, it made me feel so loved. Uncle Beanie always made me feel like I'd just had my ear licked by a dog I really loved, one who knew me.
After I'd eaten four dips, he told me to slow down a little and said we'd take the rest home. We wrapped the remainder of our cones in paper napkins. I ate one dip in the car and finished the last two as we walked through our front door. Uncle Beanie still had a few dips to go and finished his at our kitchen table. Then he asked what we were having for supper. Daddy's eyes were dancing, and he invited Uncle Beanie and Aunt Flo to join us for dinner.
Mother was speechless. She looked grim and like someone had just pinched her hard. I went outside to play and gave her a wide berth when she called me in to wash up for supper. I wasn't a bit hungry, but I said nothing when she gave me an extra helping of everything. Daddy, Uncle Beanie, and Aunt Flo all smiled at me after we said grace.
I ate every bite on my plate just like I promised Uncle Beanie I would. Uncle Beanie had seconds on everything and told Mother he didn't notice that nine dips of ice cream in mid afternoon had affected his appetite, adding that he wanted a piece of pie with a dip of ice cream from the freezer for dessert. He smiled at Mother and said, "And see, Frances, Carol ate every bite of her supper. And I did, too."
"The Things They Carried"
by Gary Powell
No matter how much a person may carry, it is often outweighed by things of an intangible nature. A person can carry things weighing up to a hundred pounds, but they might seem insignificant when weighed against something as light as a "pebble" (275). Something having no mass or form, such as thought, emotion, or memory, weighs infinitely more than any object weighed in pounds. Tim O'Brien's story "The Things They Carried" is about the physical burdens the troops in Vietnam bore, and even more so, this story is about their emotional cargo.
The things they carry are physically cumbersome. Their material possessions, which entail everything from can openers to Kool Aid, "weighed between fifteen and twenty pounds" (272); "jungle boots-2.1 pounds" (272); "steel centered, nylon covered flak jacket, which weighed 6.7 pounds" (272); the M-16 carried by the majority of troops "weighed 7.5 pounds unloaded" (274). All totaled, these few basic items weigh over thirty pounds. Aside from their gear, which was often far heavier than the 30 pounds previously mentioned, they also bore the physical burden of the environment. They picked up many things to carry along the way, everything, from "leeches" (278) to "diseases" (278). Another burden was the earth "itself-Vietnam, the place, the soil" (278). Even the laws of physics are toted with them: "they carried gravity" (278). Infinitely many physical hardships are endured by the men in this place.
However, material weights often pale in comparison to the emotional rigors they endure. The term "hump" (273) means "to walk" (273) or "to march" (273), but it is often applied to "burdens far beyond the intransitive" (273). O'Brien describes the hump: "The hump was everything, a kind of inertia, a kind of emptiness, a dullness of desire and intellect and conscience and hope and human sensibility" (278). Their day-to-day existence is this hump, "the endless march, village to village, without purpose, nothing won or lost" (278). The hump is an endless exercise in boredom, fear, and uncertainty. The one constant fact was that no matter how many things a soldier carried, they would never outweigh his fear of death. In fact, this fear increases their burden to unknown bounds. O'Brien tells us this when Ted Lavender, "who was scared" (274), gets killed. Lavender "went down under exceptional burden, more than twenty pounds of ammunition, plus the flak jacket and helmet and rations and water and toilet paper and tranquilizers and all the rest, plus the unweighed fear" (274).
The main character, Lieutenant Jimmy Cross, bears the burden of his fascination with a girl named Martha. He also bears "the responsibility for the lives of his men" (273). Jimmy cannot stop thinking of Martha: "his mind wandered, he had difficulty keeping his attention on the war" (275). He is weighed down with his thoughts of her: "she was a virgin, he was almost sure" (275). She sends him a "simple pebble, an ounce at the most" (275). It is this pebble he carries in his mouth in early April before Ted Lavender gets shot. He remembers kissing her: "She received the kiss without returning it, her eyes wide open, not afraid, not a virgin's eyes, just flat and uninvolved" (277). His thoughts are of being "just a kid at war, in love" (277). It is at this moment that Jimmy picks up his greatest burden of all. Ted Lavender is killed, under his command, while he is lost in thoughts of Martha. He is grief stricken and blames himself because he "loved Martha more than his men, and as a consequence Lavender was now dead, and this was something he would have to carry like a stone in his stomach for the rest of the war" (279).
Many times they would "discard things along the route of the march" (278) "because by nightfall the resupply choppers would arrive with more of the same" (279). After Lavender's death, Lieutenant Cross discards his "daydreams" (283) of Martha and replaces them with the burdens of his command. O'Brien is using Cross to show how many of these men lost their innocence in Vietnam. Cross comes to the conclusion that "this is not Mount Sebastian, it was another world, where there were no pretty poems or midterm exams, a place where men died because of their carelessness and gross stupidity" (283). He has the realization "he would show strength, distancing himself" (283). The following sums up what O'Brien is trying to say: "They carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die. Grief, terror, love, longing-these were intangible, but they had their own mass and specific gravity, they had tangible weight" (281).
"The Story of An Hour" Realizing Freedom
by Marcus Thornton
Kate Chopin's 1894 short story, "The Story of An Hour," describes a wife learning of her husband's accidental death, realizing the potentially positive implications, and then dying from shock and dismay when she discovers her husband is still alive. Some critics assume that Chopin intended her readers to see the wife as a spoiled, unappreciative wife. However, by examining the story and the life of Chopin, it is easy to show that the assumption is incorrect. On the contrary, Chopin shows a sensitive, repressed woman coming to life -- perceiving a previously unknown freedom and embracing it -- while simultaneously making a statement that women in her time, through accepting current societal norms, are blinded to their potential in life.
Daniel Deneau notes that there is a continual debate about the wife, Louise Mallard: "Is Louise a normal, understandable, sympathetic woman, or is she an egocentric, selfish monster?" (2). He argues that she is sympathetic not selfish because the change in her feelings is gradual and not understood at first: "If immediately after learning of the death of her husband Louise had gone through a rapid logical process leading to a celebration of her total freedom, she might have seemed to be a hard, calculating and therefore unsympathetic woman" (Deneau 3). In fact, her slow awakening to the concept of freedom is precisely what proves Louise is not spoiled or selfish. In "The Story of An Hour," several clues about Louise Mallard's personality and feelings indicate she is not spoiled. They are her feelings toward her husband, her physical condition, her resistance to change, and her understanding of her freedom.
Louise is not unfeeling towards her husband (Howard 3). "She wept at once" (Chopin 1) when she learns of her husband's death. She admits that she loved him, not a perfect love, but the love is recognized (Chopin 2). When she thinks of him, she does not think of the cruel or unkind memories, but instead thinks of his "kind, tender hands" and his "face that had never looked save with love upon her" (Chopin 1). She also realizes that seeing him at the funeral will be a painful experience. That Louise seeks to be alone indicates her feelings are strong and that she is deeply affected by the loss of her husband. As one critic notes, she is so sensitive that the proper social etiquette facade could not hold up under such a loss, and subsequently she sought to be alone with her feelings and her private self (Papke 132). The feelings Louise exhibits throughout the story show she is a sensitive woman who cared for her husband.
Louise's physical condition is a good indication of the type of person she is. Wohlpart advises that society during Louise's time "perceive[d] women, and wives in particular, as weak creatures who need[ed] to be handled very carefully, almost like children" (1). Louise is young and pretty but has heart trouble, appears exhausted, and even her "two white slender hands" seem powerless (Chopin 1). Wohlpart further explains that "the true nature of Louise's trouble [is] the lack of emotion and affection in her marriage and life" (2), robbing her of strength and inspiration. Her face, showing the evidence of repression (Chopin 1), is hardly the face of a spoiled woman. This is a woman who dreads the future, who "only yesterdayhad thought with a shudder that life might be long" (Chopin 2). However, the underlying strength in her face and her eyes, which are brightened by realization and enthusiasm (Chopin 1), show she is a woman with potential.
When Louise slowly begins to perceive the implications of her husband's death on her life, she does not greedily snatch the idea and run with it. She is actually resistant at first. As "he was beginning to recognize this thing...he was striving to beat it back with her will" (Chopin 1). Society had taught Louise to ignore her yearning for freedom and she was alarmed by the prospect (Wohlpart 2). Her reluctance to acknowledge this newfound freedom at first shows she is not used to the idea and, therefore, had not secretly wished and hoped for it beforehand. She is not a spoiled wife unappreciative of her husband, but a woman going through a change and a rebirth.
Even Louise's perception of her new freedom is indicative of a sympathetic woman. She does not blame her condition or state on her husband or anyone else. Wohlpart asserts that Louise realizes "that even within the confines of a loving and supportive marriage, the woman as wife lacks identity and voice" (2). "[S]he understands that any institution, whether kind or cruel, that suggests suppression and repression of individual feminine desires denies the identity of women" (Wohlpart 2). Louise comes to see the "blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature" (Chopin 2) and sees that it is wrong. She does not even consider blaming someone; instead she avoids analyzing it, "not stop[ping] to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her" (Chopin 1). Rather than bitterly blaming her husband or society for her lost freedom, she just looks forward to the freedom she can now have.
Another clue to support the idea that Chopin intended Louise to be a sensitive, repressed woman rather than a spoiled one is Chopin's life and the statements she makes in her other stories. As early as her time as a young debutante, she was exploring the concept of independent women in her diary (Kimbel 1). Chopin lived her life how she wanted, both "mentally and physically rather than play the role society expected of her" (Deter 1). In Chopin's society, "marriagewas the goal of every woman's life, service to her husband and her children, her duties, passionless and submission her assumed virtues, selflessness her daily practice, [and] self sacrifice her pleasure" (Howard 3). Yet when she married, she continued to follow her ways rather than society. Rather than finding women like Louise spoiled, they intrigued her: "The woman who demands her own direction and chooses her own freedominterest[ed] Chopin most" (Howard 3).
In her works, Chopin portrays over and over again the importance of women finding their voice and freedom and how society prevents them from fully realizing this freedom. In her first story "Emancipation: A Life Fable," written at age 19, Chopin wrote of freedom and restriction (Kimbel 3). Mary Papke believes Chopin is making a statement about society with Louise, showing that she could not survive with her wonderful new freedom because she was the only one who changed, not society with her (134). As another critic says, "Chopin uses [her works] on two levels, to open an avenue for the discussion of feminine identity and, at the same time, to critique thesociety that denies the identity" (Wohlpart 1). Chopin's works express her personal beliefs and question the ideas of individuality and autonomy in her society (Deter 1). Her beliefs are consistent with the concept that Louise is not unappreciative, but just learning of freedom.
"The Story of An Hour" is about a repressed woman rather than a spoiled one. The story vividly describes Louise's tender feelings and the progress of her emotions and desires. Chopin's life and beliefs are reflected in all her works and also serve to confirm Louise as a deprived woman coming to life as well as to confirm Chopin's desire to tell society it is preventing women from truly living.
Works Cited
Chopin, Kate. "The Story of An Hour." Bibliomania. 2000. Bibliomania.com LTD. 17 February 2004 .
Deneau, Daniel P. "Chopin's The Story of An Hour." The Explicator 64.14 (Summer 2003): 210. Literature Resource Center. 21 February 2004 .
Deter, Flora. "Kate Chopin: In Search of Freedom." What You Need to Know About: Literature: Classic. 2004. About, Inc. 17 February 2004 .
Howard, Ann Bail. "A Woman Far Ahead of Her Time." Great Plains Chatauqua Society. July 1997. 21 February 2004 .
Kimbel, Bobby Ellen. "Kate Chopin." Dictionary of Literary Biography, Volume 78: American Short-Story Writers, 1880-1910. Pennsylvania State University, Ongontz Campus. The Gale Group, 1989. Literature Resource Center. 17 February 2004 .
Papke, Mary E. "Mary E. Papke on The Story of An Hour.'" Kate Chopin: A Study of the Sort Fiction. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1996. 132-134.
Wohlpart, Jim. "Patriarchal Society and the Erasure of the Feminine Self in Chopin's The Story of An Hour'." Florida Gulf Coast University. 1997. 26 February 2004 .
Spring 2004 |
Each year the Amarillo College English Department holds a Writer's Roundup contest to encourage beginning as well as advanced writers to demonstrate their creative flair. Students are given a prompt and have two hours in which to write. The type of writing is up to the student.
For more information on how to enter this friendly competition, please call (806) 371-5170 or email Angie Kleffman at email@example.com.
The Echoing Cry
by Lucius Ramos, Grand Prize Winner
For ten years, I have sat here on this swing. For ten years, I have watched the tree above me. I have seen the leaves grow and fall. The way the leaves dance as they fall to the ground. I have seen the darkness that engulfs the tree during the harsh winter. The branches of the tree looked like fleshless arms flailing in the wind during the winter, but life comes back to the tree during the spring.
For ten years, I have sat here on this swing. For ten years, I have watched the birds nest in the tree above me. I watched as the birds spent weeks making their nest. The birds spent all day gathering twigs and strings to make their nest. After the birds made the nest, they would lay their eggs and tentatively watch over the eggs. Rain, sleet, and violent winds did not keep the birds from protecting their nest. After the babies flew away, the mother and father never returned. The nest would lie there in the tree until the icy wrecking ball of winter came, and it knocked the lovely nest from the tree. The nest lying on the ground decimated like a pile of bones, but new birds would come and build another nest during the spring.
For ten years, I have sat here on this swing. For ten years, I have watched the swing decay. The swing's paint has chipped and fallen off the seat. The wood of the seat has an ashy look of bareness. The metal frame of the swing is rusting, but the chains of the swing are worse. The rusty chains remain, but they get worse after the icy touch of winter. The swing gets worse and one day it will break. The chains will snap, and the wooden seat below me will have bone-curdling crack. The swing will break, but someone will come repair it during the spring.
For ten years, I have sat here on this swing. Eleven years ago, my wife and kids died. I sit on this swing remembering how John and Jessica would run around the tree, and they would tweet at the birds. I sit on this swing remembering Angela's warm embrace as I held her in my arms on this swing. I sit on this swing remembering how Angela was always happy when spring came because she wanted to come out on this swing and hold me while we watched the kids play. I sit on this swing remembering the day I sat down on the swing for the last time ten years ago. Now, for ten years, the wind blows through my ribs, and wind rips at my bones slowly wearing them down just like the swing. Now, for ten years, the snow collects on my skull, and my bones are falling off just like the twigs of the nest. Now, for ten years, I sit here like the tree during the death of winter. For ten years, I have sat here on this swing, while nests are made new, swings wait to be fixed, and trees bloom again. Life is a never-ending cycle of rebirth but not for me For ten years, I have sat here on this swingFor ten years, I have sat here on this swingFor ten years, I have sat here on this swing. For ten yea
Promise of Butterflies
by Linda Pulliam, First Place Sophomore
Life promises nothing. The experiences in life teach us this lesson. We can see this as a great disappointment, or a lesson for living to look back at and enjoy. When I was six years old, I had a lesson in empty promises. I look back and chuckle as I recall my hopes and the promise of something more.
It was the summer of my sixth birthday. My aunt and uncle from Texas had sent me a beautiful sombrero from Mexico. I loved this creation of straw and pompoms of rainbow colors. It was so pretty to look at. I remember the sun shining down on me when I wore the hat; the pompoms would bounce in the shadows of the hat on the ground as I ran to play. Nobody had a hat like my sombrero in the middle of the cornfields of Illinois.
This particular summer, I was best friends with the little girl who lived down the country lane behind our house. She lived on a real farm with cows, pigs, chickens, and grain fields. When I visited with her, we walked on the tops of the animal pens, peering down into the mass of goats and pigs. Occasionally, we wandered through the barns, watching the cows being milked or gathering eggs from the chickens. Most of the time, we spent our time chasing butterflies in the fields of wheat between our houses and down the lane.
I could catch the butterflies by creeping very quietly up to them as they sat on a bush or stalk of wheat and grabbing them by their wings. I did this ever so gently, so I would not smear the powdery coating on their wings which smudged their beautiful colors. That summer, I had a jar of beautiful butterflies which I had caught during my constant forays down the lane.
Perhaps it was the revenge of these beautiful creatures of nature or the innocence of being six, but I learned a lesson of nature. As a six-year-old, I had gone to school for my first year. I loved learning. Not only did I have books, but all of nature was an instructor. I was intrigued by the idea that butterflies come out of cocoons. All summer long, as I wandered the lane wearing my sombrero with the colorful pompoms, I looked for cocoons. Towards the end of summer as I was harvesting a new crop of butterflies, I saw what I thought were cocoons on the bushes beside the road.
I was so excited and ran and told my father all about the cocoons. He looked at me with a grin in his eyes which I did not notice at the time, So, I made my plans. If I gathered the cocoons, I would have all the butterflies which would come out of them. Hurriedly, I ran down the lane to the bushes laden with cocoons. I was so excited about gathering the cocoons that I didn't bring a jar, but I used my sombrero to collect the cocoons off the bushes. Inside the sombrero, I put every cocoon I could reach from the bushes. I then spent the rest of the day waiting for the butterflies to come out. All day long I waited until it was time to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I would have butterflies.
As the sun began to shine on the window of my room the next morning, I scooted out from under the covers and ran to my sombrero. There inside my beautiful sombrero I did not find butterflies as I had hoped; instead, I found hundreds of bagworms crawling in and out of the beautiful pompoms and straw.
Alas, the promise was nothing but bagworms instead of butterflies. I never wore the pretty sombrero with the many colored pompoms again. I don't know if it was because of the memory of the disappointment or the thought of a bagworm popping out from one of the pompoms.
Violent Escape
by Lynn James, First Place Freshman
People choose many different forms of recreation. My father's passion is music. My wife is addicted to television. I have uncles that are amazing carpenters. I know people that love gardening and yard work. It is a small matter of taste, but I do not understand the draw of any of those activities. I suppose that recreation gives a view into the deeper aspects of personality, and I am an intense person. I ride motorcycles—any kind of motorcycle. If it has two wheels and an engine, I want on it. Today, the only thing between me and a day in the dirt is this paper.
Since I was eight years old, I have ridden, and I cannot imagine a life without bikes. I struggle when I try to put riding into words. It is a feeling that defies definition. There is power and beauty and fear all wrapped up in every instant. I truly understand the meaning of the word "alive" when I ride. It is so much more than Webster could ever explain.
Excitement builds from the moment I begin to load the truck. It is almost as if I can hear the bike in my thoughts. Almost like a lover, she whispers of the delights to come. The drive to any riding spot is torturously slow and yet oddly peaceful. It is the emotional equivalent of watching a Texas thunderhead roll in on a spring night—tranquil beauty that belies the display of violent power to come.
As I unload and gear up, the queasy feeling in my stomach shows up. I welcome the butterflies as an old friend, my constant riding companion. Once I've put on all my protective gear, I kick my bike to life. Her throaty growl urges me to hurry up. There are fears to conquer, and adventures to be experienced. The first few miles are simply foreplay, an opportunity for us to warm up together, and to meld ourselves into a single unit. As I get more comfortable, she asks me for more. Like a horse wanting its head to run, my bike is restless below me, knowing that she has so much more to give than I could ever use. The ground gets rougher, two foot deep sand whoops from one corner to the next. I have to click another gear, shift my weight back and hold on. With the front tire just off the ground, and the rear only hitting the tops of the mounds, my body is jarred from each of the impacts as though I'm opening a fifty horsepower jackhammer. I have nothing to do but trust my girl to take me safely to the next corner. On the brakes hard until just before the entrance, I throw the bike on her side until the bars are almost touching the ground and I dump the clutch. The berm explodes in flying sand and earsplitting noise, and I am rocketing down the next straight towards a jump. As I hit the face, the suspension compresses, much like a cat preparing to pounce on an unwary mouse. Then the earth falls away below me, and I am flying. I'm looking down at the trees as they streak by in a blur. It's like being a pilot for a few seconds—making minute corrections to bring myself down safely, exactly where I want.
I would equate riding to ballet if it were not for the sheer danger and violence involved. Every muscle must work in perfect synchronization with a machine. The clutch, throttle, shifter, and back and front brakes all independent, yet they must work in perfect harmony in order to achieve the beauty we chase. When the melding of man and machine is achieved, even for a moment, riding is absolute bliss. There is no conscious thought involved. It is almost as if my mind is connected to the controls and it is impossible to fail.
When it is over, the exhaustion of mind and body is complete, but I have forgotten all the pedestrian worries of the day-to-day. For a short time, living is condensed down in to its barest essence—managing to not get myself killed. For that small moment in time, I have truly lived. I can't wait to live again.
Last updated by tndejesus -- Jul/03/08


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With less than a week to go before the inaugural F1 ROCKS event gets underway in Singapore, the sense of anticipation is reaching fever pitch as the island city state prepares to welcome the likes of Beyonce, the Black Eyed Peas and No Doubt ahead of this years Singapore Grand Prix.
Beyonce, top of the bill on Saturday night at Fort Canning Park, was in the headlines this week as she picked up the Video of the Year prize at Sundays MTV Video Music Awards (VMAs), though her triumph was somewhat overshadowed by rapper Kanye West, who hijacked Taylor Swifts acceptance speech for Best Female Video to tell the world he thought Beyonce should have won that gong too.
US rockers ZZ Top, who play on Friday, will be treating this one-off outdoor show as a warm-up before going into the studio with Rick Rubin, the Midas touch record producer behind Red Hot Chili Peppers, Metallica, Johnny Cash and the Beastie Boys. Like two-thirds of the Texan trio, Rubin is a big fan of facial hair.
Yeah, were definitely on that same path, joked frontman Billy Gibbons - who sports a navel-length beard - to the Boston Globe. Ours get trimmed when they get caught tangled up in the guitar strings, so we dont have to worry about it much.
World champion Lewis wont be the only famous Hamilton in Singapore. Ensuring that the F1 ROCKS concert footage is as spectacular as Sundays night-time Grand Prix will be Hamish Hamilton. The man the Rolling Stones, Madonna and U2 call when they want the most high-octane, spectacular film money can buy, Hamilton is also famed for his work on MTVs VMAs, the annual Victorias Secret Fashion Show and the UKs dazzling BRIT Awards.
And dont be surprised if one of contemporary musics biggest stars serves you at the merchandise stand at F1 Rocks next weekend - Pharrell Williams of Friday night openers N*E*R*D* last week took part in a one-off benefit night in New York, that saw the acclaimed pop producer working the cash registers at his Soho-based Billionaire Boys Club/Ice Cream clothing store.
As part of New York Fashion Week, the Fashions Night Out campaign was staged to aid the citys struggling retail industry by getting a few big names out on the shop floor.
All these kids, theyve changed our lives, said Pharrell as he served fans from behind the register. Without them there is no support of the music, no support of the garments, no support of a lot the other endeavors I have outside of this. Im just trying to say thank you, thats all this is.
F1 ROCKS day tickets for Beyonce and The Black Eyed Peas on Saturday September 26 have already sold out and are now only available when purchased as part of multi-night packages, which are on sale until midnight Singapore time on Friday September 18.
For details see www.f1rocks.com, where there is also the chance to win a pair of VIP passes, complete with return flights to Singapore and three nights accommodation.
The full line-up for F1 ROCKS Singapore with LG:
Thursday September 24 - Jacky Cheung, A-Mei, Da Mouth and Sodagreen
Friday September 25 - ZZ Top, No Doubt, Simple Minds and N*E*R*D
Saturday September 26 - Beyonce, Black Eyed Peas and Havana Brown

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Autotask Billing Export
Created an app to transfer information out of Autotask Web API and into a legacy DBC system.
- Designed and implemented a wrapper for consuming Autotask Web Service.
- Created a DBC file generation framework.
- Implemented architecture in such a way that future persistence schemes can be swapped.
Auto REM
Designed and implemented a C# assembly for interfacing with multiple COM driven Auto REM devices.
- Created an architecture extensible enough to provide a single service interface with different internal implementers for each device.
- Integration with existing software components proved the design valid by allowing additional implementations without modifying existing code.
- Made use of null object, state, factory, facade and bridge patterns to provide a consistent abstraction to clients of the module.
- Used dependency inversion and mocking to allow for over 90% code coverage.
Autotask Query Browser
Created open source project that mimics function of "SQL query browser" for Autotask through its Web API
- Layered architecture to allow multiple presentation formats (web/command line/desktop)
- Implemented a parser and defined rules for a language as a subset of TSQL.
- Defined and processed a series of non-query, runnable commands.
Sound Effects Control
Implemented a module for setting the notification beeps on a hearing aid.
- Reworked a "Smart UI", code-behind-heavy application to use MVVM.
- Achieved 100% test coverage of business logic.
- Satisfied all requirement of original implementation in a fraction of the time.
Ear to Ear
Implemented hearing instrument streaming configuration software.
- Designed solution across all vertical application layers.
- Setup reading of information from devices and configuration files.
- Created user experience in accordance with current best practices.
Created an open source extension of the Moq utility for easy dependency mocking.
- Used C# extension methods and reflection to extend the native Moq API.
- Made project public on github and accepted any pull requests.
In the process of implementing open source web app to scrape RSS feeds and display them in newspaper-like format.
- Uses ASP MVC, Github and App Harbor.
- A fun pet project for when I have a bit of spare time.
Fluent SQL Generator
Wrote small open source utility as a fluent interface for generating SQL where clauses
- Implemented with fluent, readable semantics in mind.
- Voluntarily used by other developers to replace a more outdated system.
- Was genuinely fun to write and helped me practice use of composite design pattern.
WPF User Controls
Designed a series of reusable user controls for a feature-rich desktop application.
- Designed controls extensible enough for broad reuse by other developers.
- Made use of dependency properties and XAML binding to allow maximum flexibility for client code.
- Overrode control templates or wrapped existing controls in user controls as situation dictated.
- Delivered ahead of schedule, allowing me to provide assistance to clients in how to use.
MS Test Report Generator
Architected and implemented a utility to read MS Test XML results files and generate formatted HTML reports.
- Used XDocument model to create a consistent data access abstraction for HTML and XML, allowing fluid translation between persistence formats.
- Created a tiered architecture using data access, domain, and service layers to allow application extension to other storage and reporting formats.
- Made use of IRepository pattern to facilitate persistence ignorance.
- Took advantage of flexible design to provide nearly 100% code coverage with unit tests.
No Exception
Implemented an open source library in C# for providing the no-throw guarantee.
- Created wrappers for common C# classes and literals that guaranteed no throwing of exceptions.
- Designed classes to supply customizable, sensible defaults for behavior and return values in situations where exceptions would have occurred.
- Designed the implementation to be extensible in that others can build on the no-throw guarantee classes to implement no-throw in more specific situations.
Autotask Project Status
Created a custom app for managing project status in Autotask
- Designed scheme for resolving Autotask "UDF" fields to strongly typed, DTO-capable primitives.
- Created CRUD-mimicking infrastructure for interacting with Autotask web service.
Data Store Editor
Architected, designed, and led implementation of an application meta-data configuration tool.
- Setup architecture, dependency graph, IoC container, source control, and all other project overhead.
- Led and coordinated a team of 8 people in the implementation.
- Sustained 100% unit test coverage and excellent static analysis marks throughout development, keeping defect counts minimal and user story completion on track.
Autotask Ticket Merge
Implemented custom app to allow Autotask tickets to be merged
- Wrapped Autotask web service using repository pattern.
- Abstracted inconsistent API to allow transparent manipulation of different entity types.
- Delivered under budget and ahead of schedule.
Tinnitus Sound Generator
Designed and implemented a module for hearing aid fitting software to support tinnitus sound generation.
- Designed and implemented new functionality for an existing application with minimized mutual dependencies.
- Created a testable, dependency injected design with over 80% code coverage.
- Introduced a conceptual service layer to an application that was formerly binding GUI elements directly to domain objects.
- Implemented object communication and validation schemes that served as a template for minimizing coupling elsewhere in the code.


text:
Prom Makeup
1410 Items Found
Prom Makeup
Find prom makeup at Belk
The prom makeup experts from Belk know just what you need to look your best on prom night. Find makeup for prom from Bobbi Brown, philosophy, Benefit and more. We offer prom makeup for the cover-up and under-base and products for finishing for the look of flawless skin. Our selection of makeup for prom includes a large assortment of nail polish and lip colors that coordinate with your prom dress. Feel confident and beautiful when you use prom makeup from Belk.


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Hyderabad: In a boost to IIT-Hyderabad, the Japan government has agreed to offer around 17.7 billion yen loan (nearly Rs 1,500 crore) to develop a permanent campus at Kandi village, in Medak district.
The construction work of the permanent campus is moving at snail's pace due to paucity of funds. The timeline given for IIT-H for shifting to its permanent campus will end in June, but there has been no major progress on this front so far.
The institute continues to operate from its temporary campus in the Ordnance Factory, Yeddumailaram, in Medak district, five years after it started operations in June 2008.
"The amount will be used to construct nine buildings, which include a technology incubation centre, a research park and academic blocks and for procuring laboratory equipment from Japan," said Prof U.B. Des-ai, director, IIT-Hyderabad.
Despite IIT-Hyderabad securing highest funds up to Rs 440 crore so far, from the Centre, among all the eight new IITs that were launched in 2008, to construct the new campus, a significant portion of these funds were utilised towards operational costs like running temporary campus since 2008, even as the construction cost has escalated to over Rs 800 crore now.
The Centre has released Rs 1,938 crore to eight new IITs till April 1, this year, for construction of permanent campuses. Of this, IIT-Hyderabad got the highest amount of Rs 440 crore.
However, except for constructing a boundary wall on the land spread over 550 acres, the civil works like construction of the academic blocks and other infrastructure facilities are yet to take off, on a full scale.
Next: IITs on a par with MIT, city challenges Tharoor
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Tie me. Tease me. Take me.
Love me?
For fans of "50 Shades" and the "Crossfire" series comes "101 Nights," a SERIAL erotic novella series consisting of short, steamy reads …
I've just been named the heir to the throne – if I can prove to my conservative father that I've given up my playboy lifestyle and settle down with a respectable woman.
But why earn the love of a woman when I can buy it? Better yet – why not just blackmail the pretty girl who breaks into my penthouse? We both need something. I need a fiancée – preferably one I can control down to what socks she wears – for three months to satisfy my father's edict.
She needs to save her family from being evicted from the building I plan to knock down to make way for my new upscale mall. Three months as my loving, devoted fiancée in public – and my personal whore in private – is a small price for her to pay to save her family.
What I'm not counting on: how possessive I quickly become of the blue-eyed vixen – and how quickly the press and world not only find out about her but rally behind a real life Cinderella.
Find the Book
Emmanuelle's Review:
What would you do to save your family? Natalie breaks into Elijah's apartment to dish out some dirt on him and gets the tables turned on her when he's the one that threatens her. Elijah is trying to get his dad off his back for being "irresponsible" as he tries to rise to the top of the business empire. Together, they strike a deal that both feel is in their favor. Natalie quickly discovers that she may have drawn the short straw.
This tale quickly spirals into a hot steamy read, where both Natalie and Elijah are trying to control each other and satisfy themselves. It's hard to tell where lust and hate begins and ends. This story is a short read that will leave you anticipating grabbing the next book in the series.


text:
The FBI violated the law in collecting thousands of U.S. telephone records during the Bush administration, according to a report published on Tuesday. Once again, Government proves that it can never be trusted to actually follow its own rules and regulations.
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Financial terrorism suspected in 2008 economic crash
Really--remember the laughs, the oohs and aahs over it being " JUST " another whacky conspiracy? Well--
Evidence outlined in a Pentagon contractor report suggests that financial subversion carried out by unknown parties, such as terrorists or hostile nations, contributed to the 2008 economic crash by covertly using vulnerabilities in the U.S. financial system.
The unclassified 2009 report "Economic Warfare: Risks and Responses" by financial analyst Kevin D. Freeman, a copy of which was obtained by The Washington Times, states that "a three-phased attack was planned and is in the process against the United States economy."
While economic analysts and a final report from the federal government's Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission blame the crash on such economic factors as high-risk mortgage lending practices and poor federal regulation and supervision, the Pentagon contractor adds a new element: "outside forces," a factor the commission did not examine.
"There is sufficient justification to question whether outside forces triggered, capitalized upon or magnified the economic difficulties of 2008," the report says, explaining that those domestic economic factors would have caused a "normal downturn" but not the "near collapse" of the global economic system that took place.
No point going further with it---Why--well me thinks they lie again--If they are smart enough to THINK it happened and have evidence to that affect, then they are in a position to know.
And WTF does the Pentagon know about the Economic system, especially on a Global scale? Obviously what they are led to believe, or told to cover up.
Bullshit--they KNOW EXACTLY what happened and are just making a simple fly-by in an effort to CYA for somebody who'll never be mentioned--
http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/201 ... mic-crash/
How many forms of terrorism can you name? --- Financial, Environmental, Political, yada yada yada---
They never miss an opportunity to sell it. Amazing to me.


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Vapor Shark Opens Miami's First Electronic Cigarette Lounge
vaporshark.com |
In an attempt to reach out to more smokers and deliver a superior product in the struggle against quitting nicotine, Vapor Shark owner and CEO Brandon Leidel opened Miami's first e-cig lounge on Bird Road last week. We paid Leidel a visit and decided to try the stuff ourselves.
"I used electronic cigarettes myself when they first came out," said Leidel. "I realized, however, the stuff out there was just way too overpriced and of inferior quality, so I set out to change that."
Kareem Shaker |
"I need another electronic device to charge and carry around like I need a bad case of head lice," said shopper and smoker Chris Hanna, a New Jersey native with a minor pack-a-week habit.
Many do not like the hassle of having to smoke out of an electronic device, but the benefits may outweigh the inconvenience. The most obvious benefit is you eliminate all the tar and nearly all the carcinogens placed in cigarettes to help them burn right. Besides that, the smell most consider offensive is also completely eliminated. You no longer end up with burn holes in your clothes and you can ignore no smoking signs and puff away anywhere you like.
"At this point, I am absolutely disgusted with the smell and taste of cigarettes," said Vapor Shark store employee Oscar Rodriguez.
Kareem Shaker |
We started with a pack-a-day habit of Newports, so Leidel and Rodriguez suggested we use the 18 mg drops. A cigarette contains about 16 mg of nicotine, and the drops are also available in 12 mg, 24 mg and 0 mg. After a brief instruction on the correct operation of the VS-1, we started our attempt to shed our sweet, horrible vice.
Any time we had a craving, we took a few drags of the e-cig. We found ourselves suckling on the thing like a baby on a teat the first day, hardly putting it down. The taste was great, and we could smoke at home, work, in the car -- everywhere.
Six hours after our first drag of the e-cig, we tried a regular cigarette. We expected to be disgusted with the taste or even get light-headed, but neither occurred.
The next day came the real challenge -- going out drinking. Every time we tried to quit in the past, the cool taste of alcohol in our throat was just too much to bear without a cigarette. Surprisingly, by exercising a bit of willpower, we found the nicotine in the VS-1 enough to satisfy our craving. By the end of the night we were grinning with pride while looking at numerous slaves to cigarettes puffing away their lives.
Three days into our experiment, and things are looking hopeful. We have already saved around $20 we would have spent on packs for each day and can see ourselves using the e-cigs to basically learn how to not smoke. It gets challenging, but much more bearable than trying to quit cold turkey -- usually a frivolous endeavor to anyone who attempts.
Free samples of disposable e-cigs similar to the Minnow are available to anyone who visits the new store and mentions this ad. Their next event takes place Saturday, May 5th as customers are encouraged to swing by for a free beer and to learn about Vapor Shark. For more info, visit vaporshark.com.
Kareem Shaker |
Sponsor Content


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Partly Cloudy
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Credit: Getty Images
DES MOINES, IA - NOVEMBER 05: U.S. President Barack Obama speaks during his last rally the night before the general election November 5, 2012 in Des Moines, Iowa. The rally was held just outside Obama's first headquarters from the 2008 campaign, where his first march to the White House started. Obama and his opponent, Republican presidential nominee and former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney are stumping from one 'swing state' to the next in a last-minute rush to persuade undecided voters. (Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images)


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Big Star Vintage Sweet Skinny Stretch Jean
Item #17017VWSSKRG
- Super low rise zip fly stretch jean
- Slim through the hip and thigh
- 12" bottom opening
- Embroidered back pockets
- Hand sanding and whiskering details
- Leather Big Star label on back
- 98% Cotton, 2% Spandex.
- Machine wash cold with like colors, inside out to retain colors. Do not bleach. Tumble dry low. Warm iron if needed.
- Made in Mexico.
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Women's Big Star Vintage Jeans
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Big Star Vintage Sweet Skinny Stretch Jean 3 3
Love them! This is one of my favorite fits but I understand they are not going to continue this style. August 18, 2014
love these jeans I love the fit, color, pockets and comfort. I normally wear a 28 in other buckle jeans but bought these in a 27. They are very flattering in the hips and toosh. January 22, 2013
New Favorite Big Star! I looooveeee these! When we got these in, and I saw they were more of a brown wash, I knew I had to have them. I'm typically not a fan of the Sweet, I don't really like the super-low rise. However, these do not feel super low. The waistband is really comfortable, and the denim is stretchy. I went down one size and they fit perfect. They aren't a super-skinny fit, they're actually not very tight on my calves at all; I have rock straights that fit slimmer. I still really love them though, and they'll be fine with boots (especially the Roxy Dillon boot!) I'm such a fan of Big Stars, these are perfect as usual :) November 8, 2012
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Let's face it. Most people are never going to be able to do something big and dramatic to help an abused child, and most of us will never take a huge, dramatic role in changing a law, starting a not-for-profit, rescuing a child, or anything worthy of a Oxygen-network made-for-TV movie. And that's OK. There's lot and lots that we can do to help end child sexual abuse, and non-sexual abuse for that matter. Things like learning the facts, voting, and empowering survivors make a huge difference, it's just that boundless change is harder for us to percieve. It's also bigger and, at the end of the day, more important.
If you want to learn almost everything there is to know about child sexual abuse, go to www.darkness2light.org, the best organization out there in terms of CSA education.
To learn from survivors, and support them a little financially, two excellent sites are
http://store.survivingspirit.com/webstore/ and
Here's a link to purchase the Stop Child Molestation Now book. If every American citizen read this, this nation would be an unrecognizably better place in ten years.
Here's another book that discusses how to keep your kids safe from sexual abuse, how the abuse works, and is really entertaining if you're into the CSI/SVU genre of TV shows
The answers are out there. We need to recognize them when we see them, and follow them where they take us. These sites will get us going on our collective journey.


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DIY Market Bag. With Earth Day just around the corner, we're turning to artist and environmentalist Chris Jordan for inspiration.
In this large-zoom photograph he has captured 1.14 million brown paper supermarket bags, the number used in the US every hour. And did you know that 2.7 billion plastic bags are used every day worldwide? Floored by these staggering numbers we were motivated to do a quick and easy DIY, recycling an old t-shirt into a reusable fringed market bag. We hope that it will also inspire you to use less plastic and paper! ...love Maegan: Refashion a Tank Top into a Carry-all Bag DIY Fashion+Home+Lifestyle. Featured on . . .
An easy two minute DIY {it's so easy it must have been done before but I can't recall ever seeing it …correct me if I'm wrong} …I know it seems kinda cheeseball, but try it, it's cuter than you may think. Works perfectly as a little beach bag to carry your essentials in while on vacay …or for fruits & veggies at the Farmer's Market. Or, use a silk, satin, or vintage camisole as your little wedding bag adding a few matching satin ribbons & or silk flowers or ruffles or anything else you can think of that matches your wedding theme or colors …and don't forget to remove the tag for that one No it's not going to replace a bookbag or backpack but holds your essentials …If nothing else, it's fun for the kiddos. Have Fun! >Project ReStyle: Another T-Shirt Revival « A Pretty Penny. This ReStyle actually came about when I was rifling through the laundry looking for my 30 for 30 pieces yesterday.
This super-soft, super-long American Rag tank is one of my favorite things in my closet, and I've had it since C and I first moved in our house about five years ago. Imagine my dismay to find it in the laundry room, with a mysteriously chewed off strap. I have a sinking suspicion of who the culprit may be… Lucky for him, I knew just what to do to reincarnate my old striped friend… but instead of using the technique I used in the first go-round, I thought I'd try my real-life-BFF Anne's take on my first tutorial. Knotting Cards. Every purchase of a Hermés scarf comes with a Knotting Card, one of several cards showcasing different ways to knot a scarf into something fabulously wearable.
But if you're not up to shelling out some major cash, you can actually buy an entire volume of Knotting Cards without purchasing thousands of dollars worth of Hermés scarves. Unfortunately, they aren't available for purchase at Hermés anymore but you can get them on eBay for about $50 a set . . . the perfect gift for any silk scarf enthusiast! Upstate. Lomography Giveaway Erica and I both love taking pictures and between the two of us, we have quite the camera collection.
So you can imagine how excited we were when our friends at Lomography offered to giveaway […] Upstate. V and Co. how to: gathered heart pillow. Last week was butt freezing cold here. like in the negatives. so i needed something to keep me busy and happy in the house. and well valentines being around the corner...well when you are a crafter and trying to create things for the holiday... it's right around the corner.this little pillow is fast and easy and well, a happy maker in freezing temps.lets get started: materials needed:a strip of pink or red fabric approx size of 6" by 12"two squares of muslin (i used sandcastle fabric i had on hand in my stash) cut to around 10" by 10". okay now lets get started with the sewing: first you are going to put your machine on the running stitch. mine is a #5.sew a 1/4" seam along both of the long sides of your pink fabric.
**while you are sewing your running stitch, hold slightly your thread up above, by the spool of thread. this will create your gather as you go. do the same thing to the other side. V and Co how to: shag pillow. *no animals or plants were hurt in the making of this project.
*one really stupid person did get hurt in the making of this project, but she would like to mention that even though the needle penetrated...no swear words passed her lips. it's was a modern day miracle. i love how this pillow turned out. i made it in green for two reasons: 1. it's still kind of cold here, and still kind of brown...will be for a little bit longer so i wanted some GREEN and springy looking happiness in my home. 2. it's the only color of jersey i had on hand, and living in the middle of nowhere doesn't let me just jump in the car and go to a store that i can find jersey fabric at (which btw this fabric was found at jo-anns but i would suggest amazon if you can't find what you are looking for, that's where i get a lot of mine when i can't find stuff)
Knotting Cards.


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Good article but missing a potentially interesting angle: through online memorial sites (at least the good ones), users can de facto re-build the life of the deceased. Something which most deceased may not actually like as most lives are "compartmentalized" (i.e. the only person who is aware of everything is the deceased his/herself.)
Anyways, on a different note: www.memovalley.com is a also a good online memorial site. It has a social dimension to it and, visually, it is much more appealing than most of its peers.


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When I was asked to travel to Haryana for a ground report on the sudden spurt in the number of rape cases being reported from the state, I frankly didn't think the story was worth much. The number stood at eight rapes in about 25 days...eight was just a figure, a number, a statistic...I didn't see a story, I didn't see the trauma, I didn't see the pain. The night before I had to leave, another incident of rape was reported. A 16-year-old Dalit girl doused herself in kerosene and set herself on fire after being gang-raped. A quick google search and this is what I put out:
Info on recent cases
Almost 10 cases of rape have been reported in Haryana over the last 25 days
Sept 9 - Gang rape in Hissar: father of the victim committed suicide after he found out about an MMS that had been made of the assault.
Sept 21 - A 30-year-old married woman from a backward community was raped at gun point inside her house in Jind by three men.
Sept 28 - A Class 11 girl was raped by four men in Gohana.
Sept 29 - A teenaged girl was gang-raped in Bhiwani in a moving SUV.
Oct 1 - A 15-year-old mentally challenged Dalit girl was raped in Rohtak.
Oct 3 - A newly married 19-year-old was abducted and gang-raped in Sonepat.
Oct 3 - A 13-year-old girl was raped by her neighbour in Rohtak.
Oct 4 - A 16-year-old school girl in Yamunanagar claimed that she was picked up and raped in a car by two men.
According to reports, 733 cases of rape were registered in Haryana last year.
About 367 cases of rape were reported between January, 2012 and July, 2012.
I could barely sleep that night, not so much because of the few details that I had dug up, but because I was too worked up about how the story would work out. I had done my homework, I had spoken to our Chandigarh bureau chief who had passed on important contacts. I had spoken to our local reporter in Hissar, I had lined up a lady from Aidwa in Rohtak whom I wanted to interview on my way.
So the next morning, we were off by 5 AM. At 7 AM, we found ourselves standing outside the house of Jagmati Sanghwan, an office bearer of the All India Democratic Women's Association (AIDWA). She told us how in every town and city of Haryana, there were hundreds of men of marriageable age sitting idle at home, unemployed and unable to get married because there were no girls around to marry. That Haryana has a low sex ratio because of female foeticide is a well-established fact. According to Jagmati, there is a caste angle as well. Upper Caste men think they will be able to get away after raping Dalit girls. And for many years, they had successfully managed to pull it off.
On reaching Hissar I met our local reporter or stringer as they're called. News organisations can't afford to have correspondents in every city of the country which is why they tie up with local reporters from whom they source stories whenever something news worthy happens in their city. They are not employees but are paid per story. I've met many of them over the last seven years but this was the first time I was meeting a woman. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a bright pink shirt. I had expected a much older woman and, for some strange reason, I had expected her to be dressed in Indian clothes.
As promised, Shashi Kanta had fixed our meetings with Khap panchayat leaders at the PWD guesthouse. I walked into a room with seven to eight men in their mid-fifties, dressed in starched white kurta payjamas with scarves around their necks. They were here for their TV interview. They saw me and knew that I was the one who had come from Delhi with the big OB van. But, yet they refused to acknowledge my presence and continued with their conversation.
These were the men who ruled the kangaroo courts of Haryana, pronouncing death sentences for couples who dared to marry within their 'gotra' - all in the name of honour. For them, I was a woman first and then a journalist. It was Shashi who intervened and told them we didn't have all day to interview them. The man who was speaking the loudest and holding court turned to us, making eye contact for the first time but continued to speak to his fellow village heads while looking at us. He claimed that men alone couldn't be blamed for this spurt in incidents of rape. He said because women had stopped dressing up according to 'Bhartiya sanskriti and sabhyata', they were attracting attention and luring men to rape them. It was a direct reference to Shashi and me. I didn't react, I needed him to make that obscene comment on camera. I wanted to capture his thoughts in the purest form without adding the colour of my judgement. But Shashi would have none of it. She let out a mouthful, abusing him and accusing him of killing girls in their mothers' wombs. She told Sube Singh that it was because of people like him, who didn't know how to respect women, that such crimes were being committed.
I was a little apprehensive about how he would behave in front of the camera. A lot of people believe in and say all kinds of atrocious things but, on camera, they try and appear as civilised as they can. But Sube Singh, the spokesperson of the 'Sarvjatiya Mahapanchayat', was not one of those people. Once the camera came on, he was ready to splash all the dirt out of his sick mind and his fellow Khap leaders nodded in agreement.
According to Sube Singh, exposure to television and films is making youngsters mature faster. He said that boys and girls have started having affairs at a young age out of lust. Sube Singh's remedy was to reduce the age of marriage for girls. When I asked him how that would prevent rapes, he claimed rape was basically consensual sex gone wrong. His theory was that girls who were sexually mature went out with their boyfriends and when they were caught red handed, cried foul. He did attach some criminality to men, as far as gang rapes were concerned.
Sube Singh claimed that sometimes the boyfriends called their friends to enjoy the 'party' but insisted on consent of the girl. After all, she had willingly agreed to get into a relationship with a man outside marriage. As this Khap spokesperson rambled on, his five-year-old granddaughter stood behind him, staring innocently at me and my cameraperson. I shuddered at the thought of the kind of future that awaited this young girl.
Next up was the spokesperson of the Haryana Pradesh Congress Committee, Dharamveer Goyat. The fact that he was a member of the ruling party in the state didn't stop him from endorsing the views of the Khap. In fact Goyat went a step further to say that the Supreme Court and high courts were ruining the fabric of Haryana's society. According to him, the law and order situation was much better when Khap panchayats reigned supreme. Goyat claimed that Khaps believed in castrating the culprits and ostracising them from the village community. Having said that, he added that 90 per cent of rape cases involved some kind of consent.
Dharamveer Goyat had another theory - that rape was a tool being used by Dalit girls to malign the reputation of upper caste men.
I don't know why I'd expected the Haryana Congress spokesperson to speak any differently. He was an influential member of the same society that held the victim responsible for rape. He spoke in the same voice as the community that he represented. He wasn't a reformist or an activist but a local grass root politician who had come to occupy a position of power by virtue of his equation with the dominant, upper caste men who ruled these Kangaroo courts.
Our next stop was Dabra where the first incident in this series of rapes was reported from. The victim was a 16-year-old Dalit girl. I was told that she was raped by eight men belonging to the dominant Jaat community, as four others stood on guard. The men filmed the incident and circulated an MMS. She was threatened and told that her family would be destroyed if she uttered a word to anyone. Violated in the worst imaginable manner, the girl went home but said nothing to her parents.
Ten days later, someone showed the rape MMS to her father. Unable to bear the shame, he committed suicide. It was after this that the girl and her mother finally mustered the courage to report the rape to the police. What we heard was that for four days, the girl's father's body lay in the mortuary. The police was reluctant to file a case but the girl and her mother refused to take the body till a case had been registered. It was only after the story was reported by the national media that the police obliged but not before trying to get the 16-year-old to sign a statement that she had willingly gotten into the car and driven to the site with her boyfriend. Fortunately there were others with the mother-daughter duo who noticed what was being done and had the courage to get the report corrected.
The house was on a muddy road with open drains running on both sides, built with clay bricks and mud. It had two rooms that opened into the courtyard and one tiny enclosure with a tin door that seemed to be a bathroom. There was no kitchen, only a 'chulha' or stove made out of clay that worked with firewood. Inside one of those two rooms sat a bespectacled young girl and her mother. They looked tired. The girl told me she was a class XII student. Her father had wanted her to become a doctor and she was determined to fulfill his dream. The mother looked on with grief, as the 16-year-old told me how she did not speak to any of her friends after the incident. She had tried to hide it to protect her family and somewhere I could sense that she held herself responsible for her father's death.
With the head of the family gone, there is no one left to fend for them. She has an older brother, who is still in school. She told me she wanted the culprits to be hanged. She also wanted a job for her mother and her brother. It seemed like she wanted to rebuild their lives and compensate them for the shame that she had brought upon the family. Instead of being consoled, this little girl was trying to console her family, trying to assure them that life would go on and in time people would forget what had happened to them. The mother told me she'd been getting threats from the families of the accused but more than that, she was worried about her daughter's future. She didn't seem to believe that her daughter would be able to become a doctor one day. All she could say was that no one would ever marry her daughter and she'd have to live her life in the shadow of the crime that had been inflicted on her.
As a journalist, you often find yourself in a position where the person in front of you is in dire need of help. There's nothing that you can say or do in your personal capacity that can take away their trauma or pain. What we can do is highlight their story and put pressure on the authorities to sit up and take note. What we do is give a face to the pain and suffering without which the victim remains a mere statistic, a number that's dismissed by the police who claim that the crime graph in the state has in fact improved in comparison to last year. And that's exactly what the SP of Hissar told me when I met him: just 32 rapes in 6 months. It was a number - 32 women had been raped, violated, sometimes filmed when they're at their vulnerable most, dropped like a used tissue, blamed for inviting it upon themselves and more often than not, made to bear the burden of shame and humiliation for the rest of their lives.
The president of the 'Chamar Mahasabha', who drove into the PWD guesthouse in a shiny white Ford Endeavour wanted to know why most of the victims were from the Dalit community. He didn't question why women were being raped; he wanted to know why Jaat women were not being raped.
The Haryana story taught me a lesson. If you're a woman, you're a second class citizen. If you're a woman and a Dalit, you're a third class citizen and if you're a Dalit woman with no money, then you're at the bottom of the pit. And this unfortunately holds true not just for Haryana but for our entire country.


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All prices are in All prices are in USD
Protect your pooch with a FouFou Dog Reversible Raincoat! One side features a bone print pattern, while the other is a solid color featuring a decorative functional pocket. It also features a hood for added protection from the rain, and a Velcro closure. Go ahead, go dancing in the rain!


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You are here
Jamaican Natasha McLean earn call up to West Indies women's team, joins Taylor & Daley
Posted: April 12, 2012Uncapped Jamaican wicketkeeper/batter Natasha McLean has been named in a 14 member West Indies women's squad for the upcoming home series against Sri Lanka.
The 17 year old gets her first pick to join compatriots Stafanie Taylor and Shanel Daley in the squad that is being led by Merissa Aguilera.
The squad is completed by Shemaine Campbelle, Deandra Dottin, Pearl Etienne, Stacy-Ann King, Anisa Mohammed, Subrina Munroe, Juliana Nero, Amanda Samaroo, Shakera Selman and Tremayne Smartt.
Samaroo makes a return to the side for the first time in three years while Britney Cooper, Kycia Knight and Shaquana Quintyne are unavailable.
The tour will run from April 22 to May 10 and includes three one day internationals and five twenty20 internationals.


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Today is Memorial Day in the United States. It is intended to be a day to remember the sacrifices of the men and women of the military for their country. Of course, Congress decided to make it fall on a Monday, so for some it has become nothing more than a three day weekend, I'm afraid. However, it really should be a reminder that good things in this life do not come without struggle. No pain, no gain, one might say, although that trivializes it a bit too much, IMO. It is a reminder that there really are things worth giving up one's life for, and we should ponder those things and reflect upon the great blessings God has bestowed upon us, even though they may be through the actions of others.
It is also a time to reflect upon the horrors of war. It should be a reminder that this world is very far from perfect, and that there will be a time to come when such sacrifices will no longer be necessary.
If you feel that there is an ambivalence towards military service in the Church of God, then that is no surprise. Violence is condemned in the Bible, even as God destroyed the earth in the time of Noah because it was filled with violence (Ge 6:11). Yet, even that act points to the fact that sometimes the only way to deal with violence is through violence. There must be a discernment, then, among the members of the Church of God of what is appropriate, when and why.
Perhaps you've heard of the song "Onward, Christian Soldiers". It was a song that was inspired by passages like 2 Timothy 2:3, a verse we will see again later. So, if there is a perceived ambivalence, it is in large part because the Bible both condemns violence yet also speaks about attributes of soldiers in a positive light.
Paul wrote more than once about soldiers and armament. He spoke about these things at times in very positive terms. He did not do so in order to glorify war, however. He did so because some of the attributes that make a great soldier also make a great Christian. Paul also spoke of athletes, and sometimes he even referred to both in the same passages. It is important to not forget what these attributes are, and there really is no better day than one like today for reflection upon these things.
Willingness to Give All
Perhaps nothing makes Memorial Day more appropriate than the symbolism of one who is willing to give it all for what he or she believes in. "Sacrifice" is not a bloated theological word, but it is a word that means to give up everything. When something is offered upon the altar, there is nothing left alive.
Perhaps nothing more illustrates the concept of sacrifice than the joke about the hen and the pig. Mind you, this is an illustration and not a theological statement about clean and unclean meats!
Chicken and Pig had known each other for a while. One day, they were walking down along the road, when Chicken says, "Hey, Pig! I was thinking we could open a restaurant."
Pig answered, "That's an interesting idea. What would we call it?"
"How about 'Ham-n-eggs'?"
Pig thought it over for a while, and then he answered, "No, I don't think so."
"Oh, c'mon! Why not?"
"Well, Chicken, for you such a venture would be a mere involvement, but for me it would be a total sacrifice."
Paul wrote about sacrifice and being a Christian.
12 I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.
~ Ro 12:1
A soldier must learn discipline. Discipline is essentially doing the right thing even when you don't want to. It means doing things lawfully and in order even when tempted to take shortcuts.
Paul wrote that both soldiers and athletes must be disciplined and follow the rules.
2 And what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses, commit to faithful men who will be able to teach others also.
3 Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. 4 No one serving as a soldier gets entangled in the concerns of civilian life; he seeks to please the recruiter. 5 Also, if anyone competes as an athlete, he is not crowned unless he competes according to the rules.
Notice that a soldier is disciplined not only in following the rules, but the soldier also doesn't get entangled in civilian affairs.
27 Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.
~ Jas 1:27
Learning Authority
However, an athlete may be doing it for him or herself. They are not necessarily doing what they are doing for anyone else. They may need to yield to a coach or to a referee, but on a daily basis, they may or may not choose to yield to anyone in particular. A soldier, however, must be disciplined by following proper military authority.
8 The centurion answered and said, Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.
9 For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it.
10 When Jesus heard it, he marvelled, and said to them that followed, Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.
The centurion was both "under" authority and had authority over others. He understood the proper authority, and he applied his understanding to his request to Jesus.
When does a soldier know whether or not an order is lawful? When it violates the Uniform Code of Military Justice, the soldier is required to disobey! This is the same as when someone requires a Christian to go against the commandments, the Christian is required to disobey!
Now, what this means, though, is that most likely in such a situation, there will be a trial or at least a hearing of some sort. There are judges and people of authority to determine such matters, and that authority has been granted by the highest elements of the law of the land.
God has also granted authority for judgment within the Church. He has placed people there to ensure order.
Does this mean that military judges are perfect? Without bias? Without corruption, even? No, it does not. However, their judgments can only be annulled by an appeal.
Likewise, there will be those who claim authority in the Church, but they may be corrupt judges. There will be others who will occasionally give wrong judgments.
What else can I say, other than a soldier needs discernment? Who is given authority, when and why?
It boils down to two types of tares: 1. Those who claim that the Church has all authority and none should question it. Obviously, these tended to stay with WCG through all its changes. 2. The Pharisees who look for any fault and believe their own interpretation of Scripture is supreme, even above that of the Church. The Pharisees found fault with and killed the Messiah, and the postmodern version still find fault with others that do not measure up to their standard of self-righteousness and will probably not recognize Him at His second coming either.
This, of course, is a generalization. In particular, it should be remembered that Paul and Nicodemus were both Pharisees, but they went against the tide and were often criticized (and worse) by their own peers.
Some speak of bravery, but what of courage? What is the difference?
Bravery is usually a one-time act. However, bravery does not come overnight. It takes many smaller acts of courage to lead up to the event. Some people never get the opportunity to display their bravery, and some would rather shun the limelight. It does not mean they lack courage, however.
It takes daily courage to be a Christian. It takes courage to take up the mantel and wear it in a world that is naked. It takes small acts of courage every day in many cases just to swim against the tide. It takes courage to tell the truth when asked why you do something when it will be ridiculed and held against you.
33 But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven.
~ Mt 10:33
Paul was a man of courage who had multiple opportunities to display bravery.
16 For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.
~ Ro 1:16
I'm not suggesting anyone cast their pearls before swine (Mt 7:6), but I have heard people say sometimes things like, "Oh, you don't want to tell them that because …" Really? Is that what Paul preached?
When do you state things clearly and when do you not? Again, read the word and discern when! A disciplined soldier will know the commands of his superiors, read the field manuals and follow them. A disciplined soldier will realize when the field manual needs amending because the UCMJ contradicts them.
And who writes the "field manuals" for a Christian? …
Above all, a soldier is loyal. The soldier is loyal to a fault to their country. The soldier is loyal to their comrades. The soldier also understands the difference.
35 Then one of them, which was a lawyer, asked him a question, tempting him, and saying,
36 Master, which is the great commandment in the law?
37 Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
38 This is the first and great commandment.
39 And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
40 On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.
A soldier who sees a comrade working for the enemy will not associate with them but work to thwart their sabotage. The military has a chain of command in which has a directive to protect the unit and the country. If the chain of command seems to be involved (or uncaring), the military has means to alert those higher in command.
A Christian is told to not to associate with a "brother" who is actively involved in outrageous sin (1Co 5:11). Rather, one who will not repent should be brought before the church authorities for judgment (1Co 6:1-6). In the end, however, we each have a direct line to God the Father to Whom our appeals can be made (Heb 10:19-20; 4:15-16).
No Perfect Analogy
This world is not perfect, and therefore there is no perfect analogy for being a Christian. However, those in the Roman Empire would have been familiar with the presence of soldiers and the discipline involved not only in their training but in their day to day lives. Even then, I am speaking of the ideal soldier. Of course, am I not also talking of the ideal Christian?


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@Mammmood - There are other ways to get those good bacteria into your system besides using yogurt however. You can try herbal supplements.
I've heard that goldenseal and licorice, to name a few herbs, can be mixed together in a concoction to create a useful blend that will help cleanse your system.
Of course you can just take this stuff in tablets or as a liquid supplement, whatever you feel most comfortable with.