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Graham the Barbarian was fucked. The poor bastard had a bandage infused with an evil-smelling, green concoction wrapped from shin to thigh, and it was as much as he could do to down several cans of Sackville Red while he told me the story.
"Loz," he wheezed through blue lips shot with pain, "I should never have jumped off the shed roof."
"It's a clear indication of Alzheimer's, mate," I responded. "You had a momentary reversion to childhood, and briefly forgot that you're actually sixty-four years old, you hopeless prick. I hope you don't revert to that thing Maria was telling me about the other day. Chasing her around the kitchen table at your age. Anyway - why the fuck were you jumping off the shed roof? Bloody hell - it's 16 feet high!"
Graham medi-lubricated himself once again. We were sitting in the shed, surrounded by coils of copper wire that he reckoned he was going to add to his home-made cyclotron. After losing his bet with the fishos at the Macquarie Arms, and with live results of the Higgs exploration streaming on his ridiculously elaborate computer, he'd decided that CERN still needed his input. He just needed more energy, he kept repeating. And more copper.
"It was an experiment, Loz - I made a pair of wings that I thought would get me soaring right down the back of the paddock and land me next to the damn. Jeezus - I'd done all the sums."
Now, for readers not in the know, a little background: Graham the Barbarian is one of my best friends - saving my home in the 2000 bushfires, helping each other build our homes, and so-on. He's a Vietnam veteran who got severely shot to the shithouse on his second tour, and witnessed some atrocities that would make most of the rest of us curl up into little balls screaming for Thorazine for the rest of our lives. He came home, married the delightful Maria, raised two strapping sons, operated his own business, and at night drank his nightmares away from him. Who's complaining? And he never gave up his curiosity - he's always been a science freak with a hands-on approach. You want to understand the micro-secrets of the Universe? Graham's your man. Talented with every tool from a chainsaw to a soldering iron, Graham pulls some impressive scientific rabbits from hats. But obviously, he's yet to get man-powered flight sorted.
Anyway, a couple of days later Maria ran him down to Westmead hospital for a full knee reconstruction. He'd detached almost all of the ligaments from the bones in his knee, and his patella was floating freely around his body like an iceberg in the Southern Ocean. I decided I'd let him rot for a couple of days before I went down to take the piss, as you do.
"Well you're a prick of a friend, aren't you?" he blurted through a haze of morphine as I entered the ward. He was strapped into his bed, which I thought was probably a good idea, given his penchant for chasing women, especially nurses, around tables, etc. But he wasn't going to be doing any chasing for a while, that was for sure - his leg was suspended from some kind of framework, and various fluids were flowing into and out of his body via a succession of tubes.
"So, when are they letting you out, mate? You know I want to put the roof on the new barn by the weekend, and you're the handiest bloke with a power driver I know."
"They want to keep me here for a week," he responded gloomily, "but I think I'll pop these tubes tomorrow and escape. They don't seem to understand the natural laws of nutrition in this joint." For Graham, the 'natural laws of nutrition' included a hobbit-like, continual provision of food from early morning to well after sundown. In his mind, he was being deliberately starved. Poor Maria was smuggling in provisions. Eventually, I said my goodbyes, promising to bring a six-pack on my next visit.
Twenty-four hours later, the phone rang. "G'day, mate - I'm home."
I jumped in the ute and drove the kilometre or so between our places. Graham was in the shed, his leg propped up on an up-ended five gallon paint tin, calmly soldering lugs onto the ends of copper wires. "Fuck, that was quick," I offered.
"Yeah - well I was carrying on like a pork chop all morning, and eventually they agreed to let me go. Look at these crutches, Loz - that's what I call technology!" Considering that the last time Graham had to use a crutch it was fabricated from a sturdy stick that he used to drag himself through a tropical swamp while bits of his calf muscle were trailing in the water, his new aluminium jobs were indeed an improvement.
He reached for the crutches, and levered himself into a standing position. I could see by a slight tightening of his facial muscles that this effort was causing considerable pain, but Graham's the sort of bloke for whom pain is generally just an inconvenience. He noticed my concern. "Yeah - it's a bit tingly still, but they gave me a couple of boxes of Endone, and I've been putting them on my sandwiches all day, mate."
"You want to go easy with those things, Graham - they'll clog you up faster than a week's worth of dodgy pies."
"Yeah - I'm startin' to realise that, mate - I haven't lowered the toilet seat for a few days. Maria's got me on this stuff she reckons will do the trick, but no luck so far." I left him to his copper and constipation, and didn't see him again for a few days.
A week after Graham's operation, Maria rang. "Laurie, you've got to get up here fast," she bellowed in a voice that was a mixture of tearful concern and hysterical laughter. The rest of her message was incoherent, and I was quickly doing four-wheel drifts up the track. I got to Graham's, and Maria came running out. "He's around behind the shed - you've gotta go have a look at this!" she screamed deliriously. Thinking I was going to find him mashed up underneath the tractor, I sprinted for the shed.
Graham and I once rigged up a thousand-litre plastic cube on some acrows behind his shed, just as a general-purpose water supply. It was about eight feet off the ground, giving a decent amount of water pressure from a three-quarter inch garden hose. I got to the back of the shed, and here was Graham, naked from the waste down, squatting (as well as he could with one leg as stiff as a board) on the ground, a tub of margarine beside him, and a length of the garden hose from the tank disappearing up his arse. It was a most prepossessing sight, and one which will haunt me unto my dying day.
"What the fuck are you doing?", I exploded. He eyed me with a stoic grimace.
"Well, Loz," he coughed, "I was gettin' nowhere with Maria's medicine, so I decided an enema was in order. Don't worry, mate - I guarantee this'll work. It's got to; I'm completely full to the gizzard, and nothing's coming out the other end. Now, if you don't mind going over to the house - have a cuppa with Maria and calm her down, for fuck's sake - I'm inclined to share this rather personal moment with the hose in private. I'm even thinking of sending it a bunch of flowers later."
I staggered over to the kitchen, and for the next few minutes Maria and I just looked at each other, boggle-eyed. There was nothing to say.
A few minutes later we were aroused from our consternation by a series of loud groans, hoops and hollerings. I raced back to the shed, expecting to see Graham separated from bits of his alimentary canal by several yards. The noises were emanating from the corrugated-iron outhouse, and from the smell, and other explosive sounds, I could tell something was going down.
"It's workin', Loz," he screamed from inside. Several minutes of panting, puffing and exploding ensued, and the shithouse began rocking from side to side. Eventually, it returned to an even keel, and a long series of sighs became the only sounds audible.
The door opened, and Graham emerged, a sarong thankfully tied about his lower half. He was all smiles. "Jesus Fucking Christ, you should have seen that, Loz! Mate, that was truly one of the greatest experiences of my life. There were snakes up there, Loz. A diamond python and a couple of death-adders, at least. There was a goanna that scratched its way out. There was a wombat, a couple of hundred mud bricks. There was stuff I ate two Christmases ago. I'm gonna patent that therapy - you can now refer to me as 'Doctor' Graham the Barbarian! I'm a miracle of fucking modern medical science, I tell you. Fuck, I'm hungry!"
A few evenings later, Graham and I were relaxing over a case of Sackville Red when Smiley Taggart dropped in. Smiley is a nice bloke, and exceedingly neighbourly. He'd heard of Graham's problem, of course, and had decided to see if he could help. He produced a bag containing a chemist-bought enema kit - a small tube with a little squeeze-bulb on it, and a dainty insertion needle about a quarter-inch diameter on one end.
"Here you are, Graham," he said softly. "I thought this enema might help you out in your present, er, condition.
Graham took the thing out of its plastic case, unwound the miniscule tubes, looked it up and down, and said "Ffffftt... that's not an enema!"
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
The Year of Living Dormantly
Somehow, a year has gone by since I last wrote anything. A couple of days ago I asked myself how this could have happened. No answers came to mind - just a niggling feeling that I'd better do something before total atrophy set in. So, here you go, folks - I'm back, with a raft, or box, or kitty-litter tray, of new stories, observations, and stupidities, for your pleasure and edification.
Not that 'dormantly' is the most precise word, either - in the past twelve months I've been to Indonesia and Europe, had a few excursions into the Australian hinterland, worked a fair bit on my musical projects, assiduously driven the Titanium Princess to utter distraction, corrected not a few psycho-jeezoids on the interwebs, read Tia twenty thousand books, cleaned the pool, and vacuumed the carpet. So, before I receive nasty complaints involving the use of words such as 'sluggard', let me tell you that I've been busier than a one-armed taxi driver with crabs.
Now, where was I?
We (the T.P. and I) hit the tarmac of Dublin airport courtesy of Ryan Air, a company that believes it is sound policy to pay a penny to piss in its aircraft. Ha, I thought - what are vomit-bags really there for, anyway?
A few bus-stops later, we were ensconced in a shabby little hostel just down the road from St Stephen's Green. Central Dublin was just turning on its lights for the night, so we strolled up to Sheehan's Hotel, through the doors, up the stairs, and into the arms of twenty-odd people with whom I'd become great friends, but whom I had never seen in the flesh until this day.
It's a strange feeling. I'd 'known' all of these people for a couple of years - we were veterans of daily conversations about all sorts of matters: science, religion, atheism, culture, music, chickens - and I'd become accustomed to their 'voices' - the ones that formed in my head each time I read an erudite post from Sharon, or Steve, or Alexandra, or Dr Z, or Tyler, or Decius, or Philip, or Ashley, or Titania, or Jonathan, or Clod, or any of them. They'd become, for me, a digital family. But here they all were - sitting around at tables, big draughts of Guinness tumbling into the mouths of those who weren't currently declaiming strenuously (and into some who were doing both).
At our entrance, they all fell silent and turned to us. "G'day, you godless bastards", I cried, and twenty pairs of arms were hugging me. It was, I must say, one of the most astounding moments of my life. And we were all together in Dublin - let us not forget that. We were here for a conference; we were here to discuss important matters of the intellect; we were here to sort out, to rationalise, the New Atheist Agenda. We had conveniently forgotten that we were in the presence of a far greater intelligence: the mind of Guinness.
I awoke (to use the term loosely) the next morning with the blurry realisation that I was due to deliver a presentation on 'Language and Religious Metaphor' at the conference centre in about ten minutes. This was not good - I was in the upstairs portion of a double bunk, into which I had apparently climbed a couple of hours before, and from which I could see no immediate method of climbing down. I considered just jumping for it, but was unsure of the protocols of the Irish public health service. Then I noticed the T.P's gentle snoring coming from directly below.
'Chris...' I mumbled, trying to wake her so that she could take over the bunk-extraction procedure. It was to no avail - she'd consumed about thirty pints herself, and was somewhere between sweet dreams and a full-blown coma, by the look on her face.
Eventually, we made it to the conference centre, terribly late. Dr Z kindly offered to speak first, so that I could assemble what was left of my wits, and his erudite lecture on the 'landscape' of Evolution spurred me to pull my finger out, get it together, and say something vaguely intelligent. Somehow I waded through my presentation, and received rather enthusiastic applause and comments at its conclusion. These people, I thought, are either remarkably kind and generous, or they're hanging out to get to the pub for lunch. It was lunch.
After some tasty victuals and a couple more pints of ambrosia, we returned the the conference centre, where our resident cosmologist, Oystein, gave a fascinating account of the evolution of fourteen billion years of Universe in just under an hour. Jeebus, it made us all thirsty, though. We repaired to Sheehan's, again.
And that, dear reader, is the extent of our conferencing, unless you call wandering the streets of Dublin at all hours of the night, singing songs, laughing our heads off, telling each other our life stories, and becoming the real friends we always knew we'd become, a 'conference'. I think it became a far better conference than we'd ever planned. We took a trip to Newgrange, marvelling at the ancient mounds, intricate rock carvings, and the extraordinary solar observatory; we wined and dined at restaurants selected for us by our Dublin host Tyler (and they were all Italian, and all fantastic); we walked the grounds of Trinity College, where so many of the great Irish poets and dramatists and novelists had laboured; and we became friends for life.
It's not a bad way to spend a week, don't you agree?
We departed for Wales. We had an appointment with another man I'd never met. His name was Bendi. Sweet non-Jesus, how will I ever do literary justice to that encounter? But I'll try. Next time.
Posted by Laurie at 12:00 AM 3 comments:
Saturday, September 4, 2010
"Shenanigans" is Irish for "What the fuck hit me?"
Dublin had always been to me a place of myth. I'd spent so many hours, no, years, poring over the great Irish novelists, poets and dramatists that the very idea of being there filled me with some foreboding - as if the reality would never match the imagining. Happily, I was wrong, but not for the reasons you may guess.
The Titanium Princess had been all agog in Brussels, which we'd not visited since we were kids in 1974, and I'd had hazy memories of the place (ok, I'd forgotten about it altogether). But Brussels was pretty cool; we stayed in a penzione just down an alley called the Rue Chair et Pain, a stone's throw from the famous square that housed the superbly elegant Grand Palace, the Museum van de Stad Bruxelle, and the Stadhuis van Bruxelle - all superb works of architectural and artistic genius.
But no - what took the T.P.'s fancy was the Musee du Cacao et du Chocolat, and I'm sure I don't have to translate that one even for American readers. Her Metal Majesty was high on hog heaven - she waltzed through the doors as if she were the number one shareholder in Belgian sweet-goods, and proceeded to expand by the minute as she tasted every single available offering. I must admit - Belgian chocolate is a pretty fine substance, and one which, I think, had it been dispensed freely to the Nazis and the Poms, might have prevented quite a few unfortunate fracas a few years back.
After taking photographs of Japanese tourists taking photographs of each other taking photographs of the Mannekin Pis and giggling and laughing, we jumped on a bus and headed out to the airport, where Ryan Air unceremoniously dumped us into the sky, went horizontally at a great rate of knots, and just as unceremoniously dumped us on the tarmac of Dublin Airport. (And that's just what Ryan Air does - talk about "no frills"; you even have to pay to vomit into their sick-bags!)
Well, I thought, as we trundled across the tarmac into Customs, after several weeks of hastily learning a number of languages including Turkish, Greek, Italian, German, Belgian and Alcoholic (ok, I was already fluent in the latter), here we are back in a land where everyone speaks English.
But what an English it is. I fancy that the Irish are the world's best users of our great and noble tongue - they have a way of making the most common conversational constructions appear as Shakespearian dramaturgy; if you ask for directions they will be offered with so many conditional subjunctives that you will forget where you were going in the first place. I was intrigued and bowled over by the friendly lunacy of Irish English. (As an example, when I breasted the bar in the Bleeding Horse Hotel one afternoon, the publican asked of my origins. I told him "Kurrajong, near Sydney". He whistled into his beard for a moment, scratching his nose, and replied "Well, now - that'd be a place, then, wouldn't it?")
There was a higher purpose to our arrival in Dublin. We were to meet up with about twenty friends of mine, none of whom I'd ever actually met face-to-face, but who had become good friends nevertheless via the magic interweb. We were all regular contributors to a well-known forum of atheists, rationalists, scientists, philosophers and other goodismists, and had been badgering away at each other for the past two or three years. A couple of the bright sparks, Titania and Decius (I'll use screen-names for these characters, considering the revelations that are about to unfold, haha), ended up planning a meet-up in Dublin about a year previously, and it turned out to coincide with the Laurie/T.P. Grand Tour. The stage was set.
The T.P. had organised our digs in another one of those youth hostels, which turned out to be not so bad, because it was within easy walking, stumbling or crawling distance from about thirty different pubs. (Have you ever crawled on cobblestones? It's a life-changing experience, let me assure you.) We tossed our bags on our bunks. (I got the top one, and dimly surveyed the kind of drunken calisthenics I'd be using to get up on it in about twelve hours' time. The prospect wasn't pretty.) A quick shower and change later, and we were walking towards Sheehan's Hotel, and a date with doom, or Oromasdes, as he's better-known...
...to be continued
Posted by Laurie at 2:13 AM No comments:
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Don't mention the war.
We pulled into Prague on the day Michael Jackson went to live with Elvis. I haven't got much to say about this fascinating city, except that a) its drivers are horrendous, incompetent fools who obey road rules to the letter; b) don't go there in June or July, because you'll be drowned in tourists and high prices; c) the museum is great, and even has a mammoth, and d) it has the best thunderstorms.
So, after a couple of days, we boarded another train for Berlin. The Titanium one had gone troppo in Prague, and was kitted out with a most magnificent range of fabrics and those fiddly things women like to acquire to adorn their ears, necks, wrists and the like - all silver and crystalline chunks of ultra-compressed carbon. I bought another hat.
The train journey, which wound its way along the Vlatava River (which, when it reaches Germany, mysteriously becomes the Elbe), was a delight. It took all day, but it was one of those trips that never becomes a burden. The scenery changed around almost every bend in the river, taking us past farms, through forests, and, at one point, between Teplice and Decin, along a grand gorge with towering, incandescent sandstone cliffs that were eerily similar to the Hawkesbury sandstone of the Colo valley where I live. It was magnificent, and reminded me that the best part of travelling is the travel itself. Just as when I was a twelve year-old train enthusiast, hopping on and off trains all over New South Wales, this trip was enchanting; every turn of the track revealed something new and wonderful, and often enigmatic.
Like this: we were coming into Germany, and, in a field by the railway line, was a post and wire fence that was about two feet tall. It went for kilometres. I was intrigued - what the fuck was its purpose? Was it keeping hordes of feuding dwarves at bay? To this day, I have no idea. It seemed completely useless, but for some German farmer, it was an integral part of the infrastructure, as it was obviously well-maintained (like everything else in Germany, of course). I don't know - I suppose one of the German readers of this blog will enlighten me eventually (although there are probably several dozen fewer of them now than there were a few weeks ago. Don't worry guys - wait 'til I start telling you about England - you'll realise I'm an equal-opportunity curmudgeon, for sure!)
We stopped briefly in Dresden, scene of the British and American Air Forces' own Holocaust in WWII. Of course, Dresden has been rebuilt, but there were several monuments to the carnage left as they were, as a reminder to all and sundry that war is just about the stupidest project on earth. Interestingly, Churchill's rationale for the fire-bombing of the city was that they were trying to wipe out the railway marshalling yard. And they certainly succeeded in that. There was just the small matter of the 100,000 to 200,000 civilians whose barbecued remains ended up as collateral damage. Nice one, Winston.
With this grim reminder of humanity's utter collective insanity under our belts, we moved on, through spindly forests of ash, or elm, or some other types of trees at which, as an Antipodean, I was at a loss to identify, until we arrived at the most exquisitely-designed railway station I've ever seen - the Hauptbahnhof of central Berlin.
Opened in 2006, the Hauptbahnhof is a magisterial comportment of steel and glass. Its architectural beauty lies in its transparency - from almost anywhere inside the structure, one can look at all of the platforms, and all of the tracks, on multi-levels connected by vast escalators; it is almost as if the station floats in its own sea of glass. It said, more plainly than anything else, welcome to Berlin, welcome to modernity.
A bus whisked us efficiently and promptly to the Berlin Youth Hostel, only a mile or so from the city centre. Distinct from the YHA residences of Turkey and Greece, the Berlin outfit was all simplicity and (here comes that word again) efficiency. We were in our room in three minutes flat, had a shower (no enormous cockroaches evident), and were back out onto the street to hunt for victuals in no time at all. A blazing curry later, we sauntered back to the hostel and sat on the lawn, me demolishing a six-pack, and the T.P. fending off invitations from Adonisian young men to cast a critical eye over the robust collection of etchings they were hoarding in their rooms. (Just kidding - only one such Adonis made that sort of approach, and when I cast a quizzical eye at him he pretty quickly realised, from the gaunt visage of your correspondent's face, that an assignation with the T.P. might be biting off a fair bit more than he could chew, so to speak. Mind you, as an aficionado of all things comical, I would have paid good money to witness such an encounter.)
The next morning we took a walking tour of the city. There is still a neat divide between East and West Berlin, and it reflects the post-war priorities (and ideologies, if you want to get all politically historical) of the British-American and Soviet blocs. On the East, the Soviets preserved and maintained as many of the pre-existing structures as they could. And so, you walk along the great boulevard and see row upon row, block upon block, of 18th and 19th century apartments, shops, and, down further, palaces, museums and state buildings. It is simply wonderful. On the western side, however, vast spaces devoid of anything, with interspersed 'modern' buildings, testify to the Allies' penchant for knocking down anything that was vaguely damaged in the bombing. Vast edifices, legacies of the 1960s, ugly as only that period of architecture can be, confronted and appalled us at every turn. We headed back east, to the museum district.
The Pergamon Museum, built to house the collection of ancient relics pilfered from the famous Greek city in Turkey (to which we'd paid a visit just a couple of weeks before) stood, like a Parthenon, amidst the crumbling walls and buildings of East Berlin. The street on which the Pergamon stands was the scene of some of the heaviest fighting as the Soviets forced their way into Berlin at the end of WWII, and the legacy of that fire-fight is stark, brutal and disturbing. Shell and bullet-holes cover the walls of buildings; even the Pergamon itself didn't go unscathed, with great, gouging holes blown in the fluted marble columns. I earnestly hoped, as I wandered along the street, that these would never be lost, never be cosmeticised, because they too, like Dachau, like Dresden, were a reminder of the ferocity of war. If stone, brick and concrete could be so scarred, and so massively, what was happening to the bodies of boys and young men?
Back at the hostel, young men and women gambolled on the spacious lawns. A bunch of boys, fifteen or sixteen years old, dressed in bomber jackets and jauntily-angled baseball caps, effected a swaggering sort of pimp-roll past us, speaking in German. These kids were attempting to fast-track cultural evolution. I half expected them to turn black and begin saying "Yo" before my eyes. Of course, I've seen the same thing in Sydney - it was just a trifle more amusing to see Coca-Colonisation proceeding in German. Ce'st la vie, as they say in !Xhosa.
The next day, on the Potsdamer Platz, I approached a German military officer who had a little table set up next to a big, heavily-graffitied chunk of the Berlin Wall. He was offering, for one Euro, to stamp passports with a variety of Cold War-era permission stamps. I happily found Checkpoint Charlie and a couple of other such paraphernalia embossed inside my passport. He told me that there was a movement going on to reclaim as much of the Wall as could be done, and his little effort was helping to raise money for the project. "So, where is most of the Wall now?" I asked.
"In people's lounge-rooms," he replied straight-faced.
We continued perambulating down Unter den Linden, to the Berlin Cathedral - another fine example of the temporal largesse that can come from convincing people of the efficacy of howling at an empty sky - and, on that sunny June day, lay on the grass beside the fountain on Museum Island, admiring, once again, the class of Europeans generally when it comes to the realisation of space in their cities.
But now it was time to go to Hamburg, where we had a date with destiny in the form of two outrageous Americans and a week of debauchery. Liver, don't fail me now...
Posted by Laurie at 3:51 AM No comments:
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sadly, we took our leave of Narelle, and Munich, boarding a train bound for Prague. The plan was to take a detour into the Czech Republic, then emerge back into the old East Germany and head for Berlin. During the week in Munich we'd travelled to Salzburg, Wurzburg, and many a burg in between, relishing the efficiency of a couple of countries built on standards that would have been frankly impossible in a shambolic and oh-so laid-back country like Australia.
Every country has its good and bad points, of course - and often, these are evidenced on both sides of the same coin. Germany and Austria are paragons of public organisation and efficiency, for example - Mussolini didn't have much luck in Italy, by all accounts, but here, the trains really did run on time. These countries parade this neat-as-a-pin efficiency as a matter of course, most noticeably in their public transport systems, for sure, but in many more, and subtler, ways as well. I was forever taken with the no-nonsense attitude of the locals, especially when dealing with shopkeepers, policepersons, or any other official. Almost always, one's question was answered with a prefacing raise of the eyebrows and a slight moue, as if the answer simply didn't require the articulated "Of course, you oaf - vot do you think we are, here, barbarians?" There was a genuine pride in Germanic entrepreneurial efficiency, as if 'efficiency' was paradigmatic to any concept of both the ethical and aesthetic heights of culture. It was entrancing. Getting around the place was never a problem; the people were always happy to point one in the right direction, or offer good advice on food (...er, on second thoughts...), places to see, ways to do things.
Of course, there is another side. On a sunny Sunday morning, with no-one about (the Bavarians don't go out on Sunday unless it's to a relative's place for lunch), I went for a bit of a stroll. The roads were eerily vacant, and, j-walking across an intersection, I came across an old woman walking one of those sorts of dogs - tiny, yappy, fluffy and pompadoured - that really deserve to be picked up by the hind legs and dashed against the nearest brick wall. She stopped as I came to her side of the kerb, lifted a finger, and shook it vigorously at me. "Nicht in ordnung, nicht in ordnung!" she vituperated, busily clutching her tiny demon-hound to her ample bosom with the other hand. Nonplussed, I asked her what was the matter. She gesticulated wildly, tracing my path across the intersection with a finger, whilst jabbering away at me in German (naturally). I suddenly realised that I'd committed a grave offence, the worst one a bloke can commit in all of Deutschland - be different.
It dawned on me that the reason that Germany was a place resplendent in its efficiency was that everyone does the same things the same way. All those manicured wood-piles swept back into view, all of those pretty villages, docile farm-wives, cooking their pastries, all those people lining up so civilly to board the U-Bahn - to be well-ordered in Germany is the pinnacle of ideology. Forget the old Ubermensch bullshit - the only reason Hitler got to where he did was that the Germans are enthralled by the social purity of the concept of following orders. Heterodoxy is a sin; to be laid-back is as bad a crime as not washing for a month. I began to wonder what all of those post-war German immigrants to Australia must have thought when they got off the ship and saw thousands of Aussies deliberately not giving a fuck.
We trundled through several impeccably tidy towns - Dingolfing, Plattling, Deggendorf - and suddenly we were in the Czech Republic. Not that any sign announced it as such, but the first place we pulled into, Zelesna Ruda, was definitely un - German! The train heaved to a stop, and became, instantaneously, a Czech train. Instantly, the floor was littered with empty soda cans and beer bottles, scraps of paper and cigarette butts. And that was only my contribution! Outside, the rusting hulks of old boilers and other machinery littered the countryside; weeds grew with gay abandon, and everything looked tired and run-down. Ah, I thought - back to reality!
The train jalopied through a mixture of tumbledown villages, open country and pretty forests, then suddenly and noisily, came to a creaking halt in a city called Pilzn. Could it be, I thought? I jumped out of the carriage, onto the platform, and, Pope-like, got on my hands and knees, extended my posterior heavenwards, and kissed the earth. I felt like one of those diaspora Jews returning to Jerusalem for the first time, except that in my case the object of the pilgrimage was decidedly more gustatorial: beer! Fate, as she had done to me a few times recently, had delivered me to the shrine, the Mecca, of drinkers - the origin of the greatest of all styles of amber refreshment. Oh happy day! This was really beginning to be a journey of which one could be proud.
I resumed my seat on the train next to the Titanium Princess, who simply shrugged and gave me one of those acute, withering looks that said (and may I remind you that I can read the leader of the opposition like the doyen of Pitman's Shorthand): You simpering, gormless, feeble-minded halfwit. A divorce court is too good a place for you.
I was, however, in such a state of euphoria that I simply cracked open a can of Pilsener Urquelle and said "There you go, my darling - I knew this trip would take a turn for the better!"
We rolled on, towards Prague.
Posted by Laurie at 12:44 AM 1 comment:
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The train came thundering through the Brenner pass as a weak sun rose under low cloud, and there was Austria all around us. Italy and its discontents were already a fading memory as we descended the mountain, through little towns, two of which were named, strangely, 'Mutters' and 'Natters'. Already the concept of civilisation had taken a curious turn, with each village obviously vying for 'Tidy Town of the World' status. It became rapidly obvious that in these rural villages, anal retention was not so much a psychiatric obsession as it was a religion.
Each little neat-as-a-pin farmhouse had a woodpile. And oh, what a majestic piece of architecture it was. Each stick of wood had been lopped to within a tolerance of half a millimetre for length, and split at a perfect one hundred and twenty degrees, then stacked with a precision that defied imagination, and common-sense, for that matter. For fuck's sake, they were just going to burn the stuff, after all. Everything was clean, there was literally not a skerrick of rubbish - not a bottle-top, not a plastic bag, not even a cigarette butt to be seen. Coming from Italy, this was some contrast, and it induced in me a worrying mixture of deep aesthetic gratitude and a rising panic that I'd suddenly been transported to some Midwich-like otherworld. I fully expected to see Nicole Kidman look-alikes with Mary Tyler Moore hairstyles and cotton pinafores carrying trays of pastries to each others' houses. It was all magnificently surreal.
Even the natural landscape looked like it had been manicuring itself for centuries. Perfect stands of conifers gave way to fields of mown meadow; snow around the conical summits of mountains glimmered with a praeternatural light; bubbling and hissing streams of pure water cut lyrical swathes through a countryside that was familiar with every shade of meaning of the word 'green'. Verily, this was an elysian dream.
Gradually, I regained the use of plain English as we descended into Innsbruck, then headed on through pretty valleys until we passed, unnoticeably, into Germany, where we finally arrived at the busy terminus in Munich.
We were having a week off, just hanging out at Narelle's apartment and taking in the sights and sounds of Munich and its environs. I was dead keen to do some serious, Australian investigation into the entire range of Bavarian liquid refreshments, and I must say that I did a pretty good job of exhausting the possibilities - so much so that by the end of the week I had become, I think, the premier ameliorator of the global financial crisis, Munich chapter. The Titanium Princess, of course, continued to be unamused by our rapidly deteriorating bag of shekels, and informed me so as I lurched blearily back into the apartment each night after another days' sociological endeavours.
'I hope your liver explodes, you idiot,' she would lovingly coo, as I ripped the top off a nightcap of a particularly dark and handsome variety of the local wheat beer. One doesn't have to actually eat anything whilst sojourning in Bavaria, I found out, as the entire gamut of food groups seems to be contained within each bottle or stein of Weizen, Bock, Doppelbock (and boy, can a bloke get misty-eyed on that little product!) or even Helles.
And it's a good thing, too, because what the Bavarians actually eat can inspire nightmares just by looking at it, so what kind of nocturnal torment a bloke would endure if he accidently swallowed some of it, Christ only knows. Dear reader, have you ever even looked at a plate of udder tripe? I rest my case.
On the fourth day in Munich, I decided to ease up on the old body, which had started to disintegrate under the onslaught, and spend the day being cultured. The girls had bravely decided to visit Dachau and its horrors, whereas I was intent on walking my way through the Alte Pinakothek, Munich's illustrious museum of art.
The Alte is one of three museums of art (the other two being the Neue, and the Moderne), and contains one of the best collections of Mediaeval and Renaissance art in the world. I walked towards it via the Konigsplatz, the seat of Nazi power during the '30s, wondering how the girls were faring, and thinking about the dissonance between the grand opulence of the Reich's houses of power and the charnel houses they were walking through only a few miles to the north.
The Alte is a magnificent building, constructed in 1836, and an exemplar for modern galleries all over the world. It was rebuilt in the 1950s, along with eighty percent of the rest of Munich, all bombed to rubble. For the princely sum of one Euro I gained entry through vast timber doors, and began a day of saying "Ooh" and "Ahh", and "Fuck me dead!" about every ten seconds.
The museum is home to the old masters - German, Flemish, Italian, French and Spanish masterpieces assail the viewer at every turn. I was captivated, more than anything, by the iconography of the early Germans and Flemish. The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian by Hans Holbein caught my eye. Here is poor old Sebastian, strung up to a tree, with various archers taking cross-bow pot shots at him from point-blank range. He's beginning to resemble a porcupine, and is decidedly green around the gills, as you would expect. One of the archers is on one knee, casually slipping another bolt in his bow. The whole affair is being conducted in a no-nonsense style as if whacking arrows into a martyr's body is just another day's work for the executioners. It's a tantalising painting - and gruesome in its mundanity.
Lucas Cranarch, with whom I was unfamiliar before this visit, was a wonderful painter of the sixteenth century. His Adam und Eva is a colossal piss-take on the whole Garden of Eden thing, if you ask me - complete with a serpent with a smile like a used-car salesman. Lions and deer gambol peacefully around the tree, and Adam and his missus, rather than eat a fairly delicious-looking apple, look like they're about to drop acid for the first time.
I was still chuckling when I walked through a doorway into the hall of Reubens, and had to gently lower myself to the ground before I passed out in delirium. Here was a cornucopia of delight, bliss, fear, and horror; a compendium of every extremity of human emotion. Lined against each other on the walls were paintings of sheer intensity, colour, vibrancy, and masterly technique. I was winded, I was fucked.
To give just one example, let me quote verbatim from the notes I wrote on that day as I stood before Der Bethlehemitische Kindermord, a painting describing the Herodic infanticide:
The Roman soldiers murdering babies. On the right, a woman is biting the arm of a soldier whose bloody dagger is poised over her back. Their faces ooze brutality. Another woman scratches at the face of a soldier, who is holding a baby being stabbed through the heart. The angels watch from above and throw flowers!! A woman, right, clutches a dagger above her infant, as if she is resigned to ending its life as humanely as possible. Blood is dripping from her hand. Throughout, human flesh is being sliced to the bone. I wonder what Reubens was thinking? Is it a moral lesson, or is it journalism?
As I walked back to the apartment, I wondered whether the T.P.'s excursion had not, perhaps, been so dissimilar to mine. All that horror, centuries piled upon centuries of it.
I opened the door. Chris and Narelle were sitting on the lounge, and both of them were crying.
Posted by Laurie at 5:59 PM 6 comments:
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
"Remember Montaperti!" (Part 2)
A couple of days later the three of us got on a bus and trundled through the Tuscan countryside to San Gimignano, a smaller version of Siena - another mediaevel fortress city perched on a hill. San Gim is famous for half a dozen or so square towers that poke out of various of its buildings without any rational explanation. It's like the builders just said 'Hey, Tony, we've got nothing on today, let's build a fuckin' tower on top of, er, that joint over there.' Whatever the case, they're pretty impressive, as is the entire city.
We walked through its ancient gates, and a wide, straight boulevarde climbed up and up the hill, lined with shops and markets, all adorned with flags and inexplicable figurines and knick-knacks. It was glorious and vibrant, and hundreds of people were walking along, everyone (including me) with the most delicious gelato in the world stuffed in their mouths.
I jumped into an internet cafe and hooked up with a few friends around the world, just in the interests of gloating, of course, while the girls haunted frock shops and the like. We re-assembled in the main square an hour or so later, where it seemed the annual festival of the pig was going on. Whole hoggies were roasting on several spits, and for the princely sum of two Euros I was handed an enormous, crusty bread-roll filled with the most succulent meat I've ever tasted. It was heaven on a stick, and without any guilt at all I went back for seconds.
San Gim is a really pretty spot, and as we walked along the twisting, steep slopes of the Via Santo Stefano, I had the uncanny feeling of walking in the footsteps of romance personified. It was romantic; it was a place in which to love, and fall in love. It spoke of the history, and the ghosts, of lovers, this place, and I was calmly content. I like it when a new place brings old, close, and comfortable feelings to the surface. It's happened a few times before, but this felt special, and I was content. Ok, you can stop laughing now, but I was in love with the whole thing.
Fortunately, the T.P. brought me back to earth, complaining that I had once again got us horribly lost, and we had to get back on the bus by 3.45, so could I please get my head out of the clouds and concentrate on finding civilization again? We made it back to the bus depot in time, and I dozed away the return to Siena thinking happy thoughts.
Finally, it was time to leave Siena. We had a day in Florence booked, and I was keen to get there, because all of my life I have wanted to see Michelangelo's David in the flesh, and Florence is where he lives.
Florence is a city without parallel - it is unfathomably eclectic, with a prepossessing mixture of all of the elements that make a city alluring. Picture this: Florence's vast, opulent and somewhat spooky Duomo sits comfortably amid a bustling, modern raft of tack. Shitty tourist restaurants and gift shops crowd it on all sides, forcing the traveller to think of this, the second-greatest Catholic cathedral in the world, as nothing but an attractor of filthy lucre. Which, when you think about the ultimate raison d'etre of Catholicism, strikes not one note of discord.
The Duomo itself simply reeks of exploitation and repression. I don't know why, but all of the great cathedrals of Europe I visited had exactly the same effect on me. Of course, I am awed by their majesty, their opulence, their mystery and their intricacy. There is no doubt that they display craftsmanship that is the pinnacle of architectural art. But, within their walls, is an ugliness which is inescapable. In Siena, for instance, exquisite sculptures by the world's greatest, Bernini, are overlooked by a parade of busts of one hundred and thirty popes, sternly overseeing the gullibility of worshipping peasants. The entire atmosphere in these houses of blood is the atmosphere of a psychological repression that left me in no doubt as to the origins of Fascism. We got out quickly - David was waiting.
We sauntered down from the Duomo to the Galleria dell'Academia, where David had been enthralling people for centuries. And, for fuck's sake- it was closed! 'Pissed off' is not the term to describe my mood at that moment. I'd travelled half-way around the world, only to find that the Florentine Pogens had decided, for some inexplicable (but probably Catholic) reason, to close the gallery on Mondays. As I howled in rage and disbelief, banging my fists on the doors, the T.P. tried to comfort me, saying 'Stop whingeing, you idiot. You're attracting odd looks from the passers-by.' She's so understanding, my wife.
We made our way, me shrieking at the stupidity of all things Italian, to the Piazza della Signoria, where David's replica stood, amongst other gems of Renaissance sculpture. Somewhat calmed, my spirits began to rise. Here were sculptures by Ammannati, Donatello, Bandinelli, and the exquisite Rape of the Sabine Women by Giambologna. The whole place, overlooked by the fabulous Palazzo Vecchio, Florence's famous city hall, was wondrous. This was Italy, this was culture, for real.
It was time to go to Germany.
Posted by Laurie at 11:37 PM 2 comments:
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German Bonds Advance as Drop in Exports Spurs Demand for Safety
Germany's bonds rose, with 10-year yields dropping the most in a week, after a report showed the nation's exports fell more than analysts forecast on concern the debt crisis is weakening economies across the region.
The 10-year bund yield fell from the yesterday's five-week high after the government sold 3.4 billion euros ($4.2 billion) of the securities and Fitch Ratings affirmed Germany's AAA rating. Greek 10-year bonds advanced even after Standard & Poor's revised the outlook on the nation's below-investment-grade credit rating to negative. Spanish and Italian two-year notes fell for the second day. Companies including ING Groep NV and Securitas AB reported earnings that missed estimates.
Bunds are rising from "a combination of softening economic data, coupled with some weaker-than-expected earnings figures," said Brian Barry, an analyst at Investec Bank Plc in London. "There remain many unanswered questions over the potential structure and scale of the actions which may be taken" to address the debt crisis, with "the safe havens benefiting as a result," he said.
Germany's 10-year yield fell six basis points, or 0.06 percentage point, to 1.42 percent at 4 p.m. London time. It earlier fell as much as nine basis points to 1.40 percent. The yield jumped nine basis points yesterday. The 1.75 percent bond due July 2022 advanced 0.56, or 5.60 euros per 1,000-euro face amount, to 102.98.
The two-year note yield slid two basis points to minus 0.05 percent. It fell to minus 0.097 percent Aug. 2, matching the lowest since Bloomberg began tracking the data in 1990.
Exports Drop
Exports in Europe's largest economy dropped 1.5 percent from May, when they rose 4.2 percent, the Federal Statistics Office in Wiesbaden said today. Economists surveyed by Bloomberg News forecast a 1.3 percent decline.
Another report, from the Economy Ministry in Berlin, showed industrial production fell 0.9 percent in June from May, when it gained a revised 1.7 percent.
Germany sold 1.75 percent bunds due July 2022 at an average yield of 1.42 percent, the Bundesbank said. The nation last auctioned 10-year bonds on July 11 at a yield of 1.31 percent, the lowest rate for a bund sale.
Investors bid for 6.26 billion euros of the securities, versus the maximum target of 4 billion euros, with a so-called bid-to-cover ratio of 1.84 compared to 1.5 times last month.
"The stronger bid-to-cover shows that there is still a strong demand for safe-haven assets," Lyn Graham-Taylor, a London-based fixed income strategist at Rabobank, wrote in an e-mailed note. "This fits with our own view that the crisis must once again worsen in order to force Spain to seek a bailout at the sovereign level."
ECB Pledge
Italian and Spanish yields plunged last week after European Central Bank President Mario Draghi said at press conference on Aug. 2 that the bank could purchase government bonds in unison with the European Financial Stability Facility. Nations will need to make a request before the central bank or European bailout funds will buy their bonds, he said.
Italian two-year note yields climbed one basis point to 3.20 percent after touching 3.37 percent. The rate on similar-maturity Spanish debt also advanced one basis point, to 3.86 percent, after dropping more than 1.4 percentage points in the days following Draghi's announcement.
The Stoxx Europe 600 Index tumbled 0.1 percent amid concern the euro crisis is eating into corporate earnings. ING reported second-quarter net income of 1.17 billion euros, missing analyst estimates of 1.26 billion euros. Securitas had net income of 337 million kronor ($50.3 million), trailing the average forecast of 422 million kronor.
Greek Outlook
The yield on the Greek bond due February 2023 slid 32 basis points to 24.28 percent, with the price climbing to 19.84 percent of face value.
The change of outlook on Greece's CCC rating, eight levels below investment grade, reflects the risk of a downgrade if the nation is unable to obtain its next disbursement of bailout loans from the European Union and International Monetary Fund rescue package, S&P said yesterday in a statement.
German debt returned 2.9 percent this year through yesterday, according to indexes compiled by Bloomberg and the European Federation of Financial Analysts Societies. Spanish securities fell 4.1 percent, while Italy's debt rose 9.2 percent, the gauge showed.
Volatility on Dutch bonds was the highest in euro-area markets today, followed by the Finland and Germany according to measures of 10-year debt, the spread between two-year and 10-year securities and credit-default swaps. The Dutch 10-year yield slipped five basis points to 1.73 percent.

subset: commoncrawl


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Welcome to the 49ers Paradise Draft Field. Your one stop location for NFL Draft 2014 News! This page will be constantly updated and will include real-time updates on draft day. Be sure to follow the draft directly from 49ers Paradise.
A- Rd 2 56 overall. From Kansas City Chiefs for Alex Smith - traded to Broncos with Rd 7, #242 for Rd 2 #63, RD 5, #171 and a 2015 4th round pick
B- (2) 40 and (7) 216 in 2013 From Titans as well as a 2014 third-round pick for 49ers (2) 34. 2013
C- Compensatory Pick, for Dashon Goldson
D- For Parys Haralson
E- For Colin Jones
F- The Miami Dolphins trade Rd 2 #57 pick to the 49ers in exchange for Rd 2, #63 and Rd 5, #171.
G- Traded to Rd 2, #61 Ja Trade Information (Draft Pick Value Chart):
2014 49ers Draft Picks Profiles


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A man spun his tires in a stranger's yard, threatened the property owner in a drunken rage, and left to crash his vehicle into a tree, according to Bulloch County Sheriff's reports.
Need a hair cut? Want to try a new hairstyle? Want to help a charitable group in Bulloch County? On Saturday, you can do all three in one place.
A trail ride, horse races, silent auction and more will be held Friday, May 15 and Saturday, May 16 at Kennedy Farms in Cobbtown to raise money for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.
Linda M. Bleicken, provost and vice president for academic affairs at Georgia Southern University, was named president of Armstrong Atlantic State. The Board of Regents of the University System of Georgia made the announcement Tuesday.
Studio Statesboro Vodcast - Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Walter "Bo" Miller is a 10-year-old boy from Metter. In most ways, Bo is your typical 10-year-old. He lives with mother Joelle and 11-year-old sister Kayla. He loves to run around and play. But Bo has a rare kidney disorder. He was diagnosed with Focal Segmental Glomerulosclerosis when he was 1.
For a look at more photos from this event and to purchase any photos, please go here.
Studio Statesboro Vodcast - Tuesday, May 12, 2008
Portal Police Chief Jason Sapp and Portal's Volunteer Fire Chief Christopher Ivey didn't have to go very far Saturday night when responding to a house fire: the blaze was at Sapp's house, and he and Ivey were cooking supper.
Bulloch County has many traditional schools, and one that is anything but. It is called the Performance Learning Center and academic coordinator Daniel Edenfield said he is proud of what the PLC has accomplished this year.
Rounds of applause, whoops, hollers, and nervous giggles filled the Fellowship Hall of First Baptist Church Monday when 197 honor graduates were recognized at the 28th annual honor graduate luncheon sponsored by Sea Island Bank.
Studio Statesboro Vodcast - Monday, May 11, 2008
In Brooklet, everyone knows that the Southeast Bulloch High School Marching Band rules. Well, another musical group from SEB may deserve similar high praise: "The Advanced Chorus."
Find many more photos from GSU's graduation ceremony here and buy any prints you like.
Statesboro High senior Erin Irby loves to take pictures and cares deeply about the environment. Irby found out recently that her talent and passion helped earn her a scholarship to Ithaca College in upstate New York. And it's not just any scholarship.
Second and third graders at Mattie Lively Elementary School performed "How the Penguins Saved Christmas."
Images from the 2014 downtown Statesboro Holiday Celebration
Peaceful protesters walk from Georgia Southern to Bulloch courthouse, call for unity, equal rights.
On Tuesday, Nov. 25 2014, clergy and members of local churches joined together in prayer and song to celebrate the true meaning of Thanksgiving.
The Statesboro Herald and members of the community would like to recognize the men and women who have served in the Armed Forces on Veterans ...
Over 100 participated in the 2014 Zombie Run 5K and Fun Run on Saturday, October 25 to help raise funds for local health organizations, including ...
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Fun is Peter Vesterbacka's favourite word. Vesterbacka is the Mighty Eagle at Rovio Mobile, and if you look closely you may see an arguable resemblance.
The Epoo, Finland-based company, makes the outrageously popular video game, Angry Birds. Out since December 2009, the game has now been downloaded half-a-billion times and is played for over 300 million minutes every single day. And the Mighty Eagle credits the company's addiction to fun, as being responsible for its success.


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New cable provider vows better service
Published: Thursday, March 19, 2009 at 4:30 a.m.
Last Modified: Thursday, March 19, 2009 at 1:14 p.m.
The new owner of Henderson Countys cable television franchise vowed to hire around 40 people for a local call center and improve customer service as the county Board of Commissioners authorized $20,000 in economic incentives Wednesday.
Mediacom last month sold its Western North Carolina cable TV operations to Morris Communications, an Augusta, Ga.-based newspaper, magazine and billboard company.
Representatives of Morris told commissioners today that they plan to invest $1.8 million in a new plant for operations and customer service and would hire 41 to 46 people at an average salary of $29,180 a year.
Commissioners authorized an economic development grant of $6,652 a year for three years providing Morris keeps ownership of the cable operations and keeps the call center in Hendersonville.
Chairman Bill Moyer added to the motion a condition that Morris Broadband give satisfactory service, something that has been a problem under Mediacom.
The Morris call center will be at the same location on Old Spartanburg Highway occupied by Mediacom. In addition to the 17,000 cable customers in Henderson County, the center will serve 8,000 Morris subscribers in Jackson, Macon, McDowell and Ashe counties.
The billing operation and insignias on trucks have not yet changed to Morris Broadband. That will be done as soon as the new provider completes transition, said Maggie Blythe, who will manage customer service for Morris.
An architect who works for Morris has already begun design for the new operations center, she said. The company expects to have the center operating by August.
We look forward to hopefully bringing some good solid, convenient service to our customers and getting them through those issues that have been issues in the past, she said.
She said managers are now going through call volumes and evaluating staffing needs to make sure we can meet them.
Im looking forward to the day were sort of like the Maytag repairman and were sitting back wondering who we can call today to talk to, she said.
Major commitment
John Crook, a former Laurel Park town councilman who chaired the countys Cable Franchise Renewal Advisory Committee three years ago, said he had spoken with a top Morris executive when he visited Hendersonville. Crook came away thinking that Morris will invest more in the Henderson County market than Mediacom has.
Morris Communications, which owns 13 small to medium-sized daily newspapers and 28 nondailies plus Fairway Outdoor Advertising, missed a $9.7 million interest payment on a $278 million debt last month and has retained a financial adviser that guided another large media company to a Chapter 11 bankruptcy filing.
Financial experts have speculated that Morris will segregate its new digital operation from the print division. The company has not operated a cable system before now.
My assessment is that Morris is making a major commitment in the entire area of cable and Internet service as a successor to their print empire and theyre going to learn here, Crook said. From what I can tell theyre putting their money where their mouth is. They recognize the problems theyve inherited.
Crook, who studied Mediacoms physical assets and service as part of the franchise review three years ago, says Mediacom had problems in both hardware and service. Its 25,000 subscribers in Western North Carolina were a small fraction of its total base of 1.5 million in 23 states.
Crook said his contact with Morris officials led him to believe service will improve.
They recognize that this was a stepchild of the Mediacom organization, he said.
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Better living through nature
by Samantha Collins
Samantha Collins, Green Tea, Blueberries, Cancer-Fighting, Alzheimer's Disease, Alzheimer's, Health Benefits, Medicine Cabinet, Recipes, Tips
Every morning I wake up, head to my kitchen and put on a cup of green tea for my morning pick-me-up. I find that green tea is the perfect blend of sweet and earthy flavors with just the right amount of caffeine. And the best part—it's great for you. Not only may the wonder-drink promote weight loss, help strengthen bones and even reduce acne, it can also greatly benefit your health in the long-run. Recent studies from Newcastle University in the United Kingdom show that the healthful tea may help protect against Alzheimer's disease. The researchers wanted to see if the protective chemicals in the tea continued to stay active even after digestion. They received some exciting news after the tests. The results showed that when the stomach's enzymes digested the tea, the chemicals that were produced were more effective, compared to undigested tea, in fighting key elements of Alzheimer's disease. The study also found that the digested chemical had cancer-fighting properties that may slow down the growth of cancerous cells. Green teas contain certain compounds called polyphenols that have neuroprotective agents. This means that this chemical binds to toxic compounds, called hydroxol radicals, which are thought to cause degenerative diseases, and protects brain cells. A different study published in the Archives of Toxicology shows that blueberries, and most other brightly-colored fruits, also have a toxin fighting property polyphenols.
Blueberries are a tasty, cancer-fighting fruit!Photo by The Shifted Librarian/Courtesy Flickr
So, after learning about these delicious cancer-fighting foods, I think I will change up my morning routine. After looking through previous articles from The Herb Companion, I found this great (and easy!) blueberry syrup recipe to go along with a stack of whole-grain pancakes and my daily cup of green tea. Blueberry Pancake Syrup
For the original recipe, click here. Makes 1 1/2 cup.
• 1 1/4 cup fresh blueberries• 3/4 cups water• 2 tablespoons sugar1. Rinse the berries, and simmer with water and sugar in a small saucepan until soft. (About 5 minutes).2. Puree in blender.
Who knew that fighting degenerative diseases would be so tasty!
Also try these great blueberry recipes to add a little cancer-beating foods from The Herb Companion to your diet:• Blueberry Clobbler• Triple Berry Sorbet• Lemon-Blueberry Krumcakes
What kind of green tea do you drink? Do you have any tasty blueberry recipes to share? Let us know!Resources:Green Tea May Help Prevent Alzheimer'sGreen tea, blueberries, bind iron to fight alzheimer's, illness of agingThe Cancer Fighting Benefits of Green Tea
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There's a solar trade war going on inside the U.S., sparked by an invasion of inexpensive imports from China.
The U.S. solar industry is divided over these imports: Panel-makers say their business is suffering and want a tariff slapped on the imports. But other parts of the industry say these cheap panels are driving a solar boom in the U.S.
On the manufacturers' side, there's Gordon Brinser. He's an Oregon native who says the company he runs there, SolarWorld, is not only green, it's red, white and blue. "The mission that we have is to build products here in America, for America's community, for America's energy independence, and really leave the world a better place," he says.


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Electric for well is paid by operator.
Legal fees for title in your name included in price.
All permits & fees are already paid for by existing company.
All repairs for the life of the well are paid by the operator.
The company pay all insurance.
The company carries multimillion dollar insurance policy.
You pay never a cent more then the initial cost which is $150,000 per well turn key.
Oil Wells In Texas For Sale For $150,000 or less. This is a Joint Venture in shallow oil wells at various depths which are less than about 1500 feet deep. Located north of Fort Worth, Texas in the heart of a very productive area.
There are 16 wells already in production which currently produce about 900 barrels per month. At $70 per barrel that is $63,000 per month. The package includes at least another 30 wells. These rework wells are expected to produce in excess of 3-9 barrels of oil per day per well once they stabilize but initial flow will tends to be very high because of natural pressure. This initial production has lasted from one week to 6 months.
Potential monthly income could be as much as $12,000 to $15,000 per month. All individual owners will receive a filed working interest assignment, in the county that the well is located, to provide verification of ownership.
We're sorry, this listing has been canceled.
Here are some similar listings that are still active:
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Pebblebrook prices stock offering at $17 a share
BETHESDA, Md. Lodging owner Pebblebrook Hotel Trust said Friday it has priced its public offering of 17 million shares at $17 apiece.
The offering is expected to close on July 28. The underwriters have a 30-day option to buy up to an additional 2.55 million shares to cover overallotments.
The real estate investment trust plans to contribute the proceeds, totaling about $276.6 million, to its operating partnership to invest in hotel properties and for general corporate purposes.
Shares of the company slipped 2 cents to $17.07 in afternoon trading.
The Associated Press


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Share Photo
In this Thursday, Nov. 8, 2012 photo, photographer Don McCullin views some of the works in the Houston Museum of Fine Arts' war photography exhibit in Houston. The exhibit includes the work of 280 photographers from 28 nations covering the Mexican-American war in 1846 to present-day. McCullin has four photos in the exhibit. (AP Photo/Pat Sullivan)


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The Internal Revenue Service is looking for Mississippi and Louisiana taxpayers who are due to receive a combined $2.39 million in refunds.
The reason is 2,445 refund checks were returned to the IRS by the U.S. Postal Service due to mailing address errors.
IRS spokeswoman Dee Harris in New Orleans says all a taxpayer must do to receive a the refund is update his or her address.
In Mississippi, 951 individuals did not receive their refund checks totaling over $781,000. The average undelivered refund for Mississippi is $822.
Harris says almost 1,500 Louisiana residents did not receive their refund checks totaling over $1.6 million. The average undelivered refund for Louisiana is $1,080.


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Igor Khripunov
Department of International Affairs
Center for International Trade and Security
Distinguished Fellow, CITS
Adjunct Professor, IA
Curriculum Vitae
Igor Khripunov is a leading expert on nuclear security, security culture, and CBRN proliferation. He edits the 1540 Compass, and works closely with international organizations like the UN Office for Disarmament Affairs and the International Atomic Energy Agency on security assessment, training, and best practices.
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Ph.D., Moscow Diplomatic University 1983, International Affairs and Defense
M.A. equivalent, Moscow State Institute of Foreign Languages (now Linguistic University) 1970,
1540 Compass - Editor in Chief
International Atomic Energy Agency - Consultant
Organization for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons - Member, Group of Experts on Chemical Safety and Security
Research Interests
- Nuclear security and security culture
- CBRN proliferation and terrorism
- Nuclear power infrastructure
- Arms control and disarmament
- Russia's defense, foreign policies, and nuclear industry
Selected Publications
- "The Human Dimension of Security for Radioactive Sources." CITS/UGA and Indonesia's National Nuclear Energy Agency, Editor. 2014.
- "Legal Framework for Strengthening Nuclear Security and Combating Nuclear Terrorism." (Amsterdam: AOL Press, 2012), Co-editor. 2012.
- "Nuclear and Radiological Security Culture: Post-Seoul Summit Agenda," CITS/UGA, Athens GA, 2012.
- "Russia-DPRK Reset Button: Will it Produce Denuclearization Benefits?" Korea Review. Vol.1, No. 2. December 2011.
- "2012 Nuclear Security Summit in Seoul: Achieving Sustainable Nuclear Security Culture." Public Interest Report. Federation of American Scientists. Fall 2011.


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Pledge® Multi Surface Everyday Cleaner does the work of a variety of household cleaning products. This all-purpose cleaner contains a worry-free formula that cleans up smudges and messes while safely leaving the finish alone. Pledge® Multi Surface Everyday Cleaner also removes dust and up to 90% of the allergens found in dust*. Use it on a number of surfaces† including:
Select a Scent you'd like to review.
Before using on an unknown surface, test on an inconspicuous area. Not suitable for unsealed wood, unsealed marble or unsealed granite. Do not use with other household cleaners. For even more shine on wood, please use Pledge® Furniture Polish.
NOTE: Unplug electrical appliances before cleaning with this product.
CAUTION: Do not puncture or incinerate container. Do not expose to heat or store at temperatures above 120°F. Store in a cool, dry place. Keep out of reach of children and pets.
Pledge® ingredients can be found at WhatsInsideSCJohnson.com


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Access Program
Authors: Rangan, V. Kasturi; Lee, Katharine
Source: Harvard Business School
Year: 2010
Company Name: Gilead Sciences Inc.
Number of pages: 27
Gilead Sciences, the U.S. leader in HIV/AIDS medicines, with global sales of $5.4 billion in 2009, had undertaken several innovative actions to make its anti-viral products available to over 100 low- and middle-income countries. Having reached nearly 680,000 patients by the middle of 2009, the company's senior managers contemplated how to reach 2 million patients by 2012.
Case Available to Faculty Only. Faculty Member? Sign in / Register Here
This case is available for purchase from Harvard Business Publishing. Case #: 510029-PDF-ENG


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Anne Hathaway
by Carol Ann Duffy
Lines 8-14 Summary
Get out the microscope, because we're going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 8-9
Some nights, I dreamed he'd written me, the bed
a page beneath his writer's hands […]
- Get ready for even more writing metaphors. Anne tells us that she has dreamed that her husband had "written" her.
- Maybe she means that he's written about her in one of his sonnets or plays. Or maybe the metaphor is more extreme. Maybe she dreams that he's created her entirely, that she was called into existence by Shakespeare.
- In this metaphor, the bed becomes a page upon which Shakespeare writes Anne. The writing/sex metaphor is extended (the bed is a page, and Anne is the writing on it).
- Once again, we have some more stereotypical femininity. Anne imagines that she's the product of someone else's imagination, and not a self-created or self-determined being.
- Is Anne a bad feminist? By attempting to set the record straight on her relationship with Shakespeare, she seems to give Shakespeare a whole lot of control. Then again, setting the record straight is a pretty strong and important act in and of itself.
- Basically, this poem has a pretty tangled view of the relationship between men and women.
Lines 9-10
[…] Romance
and drama played by touch, by scent, by taste.
- Surprise, surprise: more references to writing! Anne mentions two genres of playwriting – romance and drama – both of which Shakespeare knew well.
- Here's the thing: unlike Shakespeare's plays, which are artificial works of art, Anne's relationship with Shakespeare is real. It's sensuous: their relationship consists of touch, smell, and taste. Other people get to read Shakespeare's words and see his plays, but Anne gets to touch, smell, and taste the man himself. Lucky lady.
- While writing and sex seemed pretty much equivalent earlier, here Anne declares that sex is better. Period. Romance and drama (i.e., plays) are fun to see, but in their bed, Anne and Shakespeare get to experience these things for themselves.
- Life is better than art, she seems to say.
Lines 11-12
In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on,
dribbling their prose. […]
- Now that Anne has said her piece on the issue of sex and writing, the second best bed returns to center stage. Anne tells us that their best bed was reserved for guests.
- (We already know that she and Shakespeare slept in the second best bed. This seems like a pretty good explanation of what Shakespeare said in his will: the second best bed was their bed, after all.)
- To be honest, The best bed seems pretty mundane compared to the second best one. In the best bed, the guests "dozed on / dribbling their prose." Compare this to the drama and romance in Anne and Shakespeare's bed, or to the clifftops and deep sea diving. Which bed would you rather be in?
- Anne also continues with her writing metaphors. In the second best bed, there's poetry, drama, and romance. In the best bed, the guests are "dribbling their prose."
- Prose is your everyday typical written language. It's what you read and write all the time, in newspapers and novels, in textbooks and in emails (and on Shmoop!). It has no form, the line breaks don't matter, and there's no rhythm. It's the opposite of poetry, which has form, meaningful line breaks and (sometimes) regular rhythms.
- Who wants prose when you could have poetry? Amen, Anne.
- Since writing is so often a metaphor for sex in this poem, Anne seems to be saying that she and Shakespeare have better sex in their second best bed than the guests do in the best bed. Take that, haters!
Lines 12-14
[…] My living laughing love –
I hold him in the casket of my widow's head
as he held me upon that next best bed.
- We know from the epigraph of the poem that Shakespeare is dead when this poem is written – the fuss is over his will, after all. In these lines, though, Anne imagines him as if he's still alive. He's her "living laughing love."
- These lovely lines quickly become terribly sad because of the deathly words that follow: casket and widow. Still, even though her husband may be dead, her imagination keeps him alive.
- And guess what? More metaphors. Here, she compares her mind to that second best bed. She holds on to the memory of her "living laughing love" just as strongly as her husband held her (physically) while lying in bed.
- While there have been a lot slant rhymes (close-but-no-cigar rhymes) and repeated sounds earlier in the poem, there is no formal rhyme scheme. Nothing rhymes perfectly – until these final two lines, that is.
- In the last two lines of the poem, we have a wonderfully strong and dramatic rhyme of "head" with "bed." This final couplet provides a beautiful sense of closure to the poem.
- Bonus fact: all of Shakespeare's sonnets end with a strong full rhyme like this one. Is Anne referencing her husband's sonnets here? Or has she become empowered over the course of the poem and wants to show off? That's up for debate. Either way, this poem goes out with a bang.


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Definición de Gaelic en inglés:
Relating to the Goidelic group of Celtic languages, particularly Scottish Gaelic, and the speakers of these languages and their culture.
Oraciones de ejemplo
- People with Scottish connections have a huge interest in Gaelic culture and language.
- There's also a need to protect Gaelic language and culture.
- She is involved with primary and tertiary education and the preservation of Gaelic culture and language.
1 (also Scottish Gaelic) [mass noun] A Celtic language spoken mainly in the highlands and islands of western Scotland. It was brought from Ireland in the 5th and 6th centuries ad and is now spoken by about 58,000 people.
Oraciones de ejemplo
- By the 11th century Scots Gaelic was used throughout Scotland, except for the Hebrides and the Northern Isles which remained under Norse control.
- There was little use speaking Gaelic in England, Scotland or America.
- Only three people out of almost 50 in the room speak Gaelic as their first language.
1.1 (also Irish Gaelic) another term for Irish (the language).
Oraciones de ejemplo
- For many performers it was a statement of identity, allied to a desire for constitutional change and the need to maintain languages such as Welsh, Gaelic, Breton and Erse, threatened with extinction.
- However, unlike English and Gaelic, Scots words are frequently spelt in a variety of ways, leading to problems in drawing up a recognised system.
- The move is controversial, because wholesale borrowings of English words into Gaelic have been seen as a sign of weakness in the Celtic language.
For editors and proofreaders
Saltos de línea: Gael¦ic
Definición de Gaelic en:
¿Qué te llama la atención de esta palabra o frase?
Los comentarios que no respeten nuestras Normas comunitarias podrían ser moderados o eliminados.
Muy popular en Reino Unido
Muy popular en Australia
= de moda


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Yuan Trading Surges; It's Poised to Get Much, Much Bigger
Data showing that the Chinese yuan has surged into ninth place among the world's most heavily traded currencies reflects its rapidly expanding role in the world economy. Yet at just 2.2% of total foreign exchange activity, the numbers also hint at far greater future advances as China progresses down the path of financial liberalization.
A triennial report on global foreign exchange activity from the Bank of International Settlements showed Thursday that trading in the yuan had tripled since the BIS's 2010 survey, when it placed 17th in the world. In contrast, the BIS estimates showed that total global foreign exchange trading grew by 33% to $5.3 trillion over the three-year period.
Yet China still has a long way to go before it fully "internationalizes" its currency and opens up its capital account to the standards of other currencies in the top 10. While the government has quietly opened up a number of avenues for foreigners to participate in its capital markets, the capital flows into and out of the yuan are miniscule compared with other currencies. That should change: the government's stated intent is to achieve "full convertibility" within the current five-year plan ending in 2015, though Beijing's definition of that might fall short of the liberal trading regimes prevailing for the dollar, euro and British pound.
Until now, the yuan's trading gains have been mostly powered through its current account – exporters and importers who buy or sell yuan for dollars and other currencies in the course of doing business. By contrast, in the broader world of foreign exchange, capital flows are the Big Daddy driver of activity. It's worth noting that the currency that the yuan dislodged from ninth place – the New Zealand dollar – enjoys its outsized status in world markets because its relatively small economy is also one of the most open to international financial flows.
That the yuan could gain so fast while strict restrictions still exist on cross-border investment flows is a mark of China's dominant role in world goods trade, which in 2012 led it to surpass the U.S. as the world's biggest trading economy.
What translated this trade dominance into foreign exchange growth over the past three years, however, was the creation of centers for trading offshore versions of the yuan, first in Hong Kong, then in cities such as Singapore, London and New York. That allowed myriad businesses that trade with Chinese exporters and importers to hedge their exposures through spot and forward currency transactions.
Meanwhile, steps are being taken to open flows through the capital account, with one Chinese central bank official arguing Thursday that the time is right for more liberalization.
For example, there has been steady growth in securities denominated in the offshore currency — dubbed CNH (the "H" is for Hong Kong), as opposed to CNY for the onshore yuan. The government has also greatly liberalized currency conversion into onshore CNY for foreign direct investment purposes and has given Chinese companies invested overseas greater leeway to keep their profits offshore.
Yet the big bang will come when portfolio flows are liberalized in the domestic market and when it becomes easier for holders of offshore yuan to transfer them into mainland bank accounts.
Various projects are underway in this regard, though their scale is small. Certain "qualified" foreign institutional investors can now invest in Chinese stocks and Treasury bond listed on domestic exchanges. And in July, state news agency Xinhua reported that the quota for this program would be raised to $150 billion from $80 billion while participation would be expanded beyond institutions in Hong Kong to include Singapore and London.
Separately, the region of Qianhai in Shenzhen is being earmarked for a trial expansion in cross-border lending between Hong Kong and the mainland.
These flows are still tiny compared with the cross-border portfolio activity in most advanced countries' currencies. But that underscores the vast potential for expansion in yuan trading once things really open up in the world's second biggest economy.
No wonder foreign exchange traders salivate over this prospect.
– Follow Michael J. Casey on Twitter: @mikejcasey


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This deal has ended.
If you can tolerate a rebate, PC Connection now has the new 2gb Silver iPod Nano for $129 after a $20 mail-in rebate, the 4gb in any color for $174 after a $25 rebate and the 8gb black Nano for $219 after a $30 rebate. These match the best net prices for the new color Nanos to-date. Shipping adds about $9 or is free if the before-rebate price is $249 or higher. There is no sales tax (except CA).No longer available


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|Home | Contact us | Links | Archives
President Stresses Iran, Djibouti Common Political Views
TEHRAN, Iran, September 05, 2006 – Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stressed that Iran and Djibouti share many common view points in the different political, cultural, international and regional areas.
Speaking to reporters in a joint press conference with his Djiboutian counterpart, the Iranian President described the two countries' ties as cordial and brotherly, but meantime reminded that the two states' relations are just at the early stages as the two do not enjoy a common historical background.
Viewing Iran-Djibouti relations as developing, he noted the two countries' common political, cultural, international and regional view points, and added that the two sides have made desirable agreements about joint investment projects and mutual energy cooperation.
The chief executive official termed the visit to Iran by his Djiboutian counterpart as a milestone in the two states' ties, and further informed reporters of the two countries' increased cooperation within the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) and the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), mentioning that the said cooperation would serve to develop the existing ties, implement previous agreements and help to the expansion of justice in the world.
He also hoped for the promotion of the two nation's friendly relations through the said cooperation efforts.
For his part, Djiboutian President Ismail Omar Guelleh briefed reporters about the goals and achievements of his visit to Tehran and said that he is profoundly pleased with the agreements made about the level of the two sides' future cooperation.
Stating satisfaction with his trip to Iran, he said was deeply honored by the visit, but meantime regretted over the short time of his trip.
Guelleh said that the two countries share mutual understanding, and said that the two sides' have discussed consolidation and development of relations and the need for their active presence at the international circles and bodies.
He further pointed out that during his talks with Ahmadinejad, they have agreed to present common view points in the international bodies and scenes and discussed how to make the two sides' bilateral ties increasingly active.
Following the press conference, the Djiboutian President was officially seen off by his Iranian counterpart and then left Tehran for his country.
Source: Fars News Agency
Home | Contact us | Links | Archives


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Artsy Scarf
Here's the perfect way to finish your look! All you need to know is how to chain and single crochet to make this artisan-style accessory. Make it tonight and wear it tomorrow!
pattern details
Required Supplies:
- RED HEART® Boutique® Magical™: 1 Ball each 1101 Crystal Ball A and 1406 Hocus Pocus B (E787 Magical is discontinued)
- Crochet Hook: 6.5mm [US K-10½]
- Yarn needle
|Pattern Number:
|Designed By:
|Double Stitch Twins
|Project Type:
|Scarf / Cowl ,Accessory
|GAUGE: Gauge is not critical for this project.
Step 1.
Choose your size
Scarf measures 58" long.


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Mostly Cloudy To Overcast, Warm And Humid Day With Scattered Afternoon Rain And Some Thunderstorms
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Early Keyboard Class 4 (EMUS2664)
In this Unit of Study students will further develop musical ideas and basic technical skills to play classical repertoire on the fortepiano in an advanced chosen program of study. Historical and stylistic awareness through research, discussion, and application will be a strong and on-going focus and students will also develop strategies in practice to be self-correcting.
Our courses that offer this unit of study
- Bachelor of Engineering Honours and Bachelor of Music Studies
- Bachelor of Music (Composition)
- Bachelor of Music (Music Education)
- Bachelor of Music (Performance)
- Bachelor of Music Studies
- Bachelor of Music Studies and Bachelor of Arts
- Bachelor of Music Studies and Doctor of Medicine
- Diploma of Music
Further unit of study information
13 one-hour group classes
One 10-minute exam at end of semester - performance of three short works, composition and performance of a classical cadenza and a 1000-word written assignment on a topic related to the repertoire (100%).
Faculty/department permission required?
Unit of study rules
Study this unit outside a degree
Non-award/non-degree study
If you wish to undertake one or more units of study (subjects) for your own interest but not towards a degree, you may enrol in single units as a non-award student.
Cross-institutional study
If you are from another Australian tertiary institution you may be permitted to underake cross-institutional study in one or more units of study at the University of Sydney.


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Bryson missed the FA Cup defeat to Chelsea last weekend with a groin injury but the 11-goal midfielder is expected to be fit for the clash against the Rams' East Midlands rivals on Friday night.
Patrick Bamford joined Steve McClaren's men on Monday and the on-loan Chelsea striker will hope to make his debut at the King Power Stadium. Fellow forward Johnny Russell underwent surgery to repair a fractured cheekbone last week and is on course to return to action by the end of January.
Skipper Richard Keogh has missed the last four matches with a knee ligament injury and will remain unavailable so Michael Keane, who had a successful loan spell last season with Leicester, will keep his place in central defence and face his former club.
- Soccer
- Sports & Recreation
- Steve McClaren
- groin injury


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A Dayton-area store owner and his son used some unusual weapons to deal with an armed robber.
The owner of the Mini-Mart and Drive-Thru in Trotwood told WDTN-TV that two men, one with a gun, came into the store Tuesday night and demanded money.
Instead, the owner and his son fought back.
Surveillance video shows the gunman being hit with CDs and a container of beef jerky before both men fled without firing a shot.
Trotwood police said that no arrests have been made so far.


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Interview by Joe Mueller (@JMtheIndustry)
Photography by Tasha Bleu
The Pacsun pop-up shop in SoHo, New York has seen a lot of action recently. Earlier this summer, the venue was the spot where the Diamond Supply x Been Trill collab was unveiled. This past weekend, RiFF RAFF blessed the venue with an appearance as Biz Markie spun for the crowds that showed up to cop Neff gear. The line of fans there to meet Jody Highroller seemed to never end, and the popular enigma that is RiFF RAFF spent an extra two hours signing shirts, his own portrait on his Neff collab, and at least one ass. We were lucky enough to get some time with him to chop it up and, as usual, the eccentric emcee kept us entertained as soon as he opened his diamond-encrusted mouth. Read the full interview to see his wild thoughts on the upcoming Neon Icon album, how he gets mistaken for Jay Z, and what he plans on doing with his first billion dollars.
Can you talk about the Justin Bieber Versace chain? What's the story behind the Justin Bieber Versace chain, we need to know this.
[Pulls out chain] It smelled like Bieber at first. It lost the whole Bieber scent—it didn't lose the power though. It has Bieber in it.
How'd you get it?
We were just hangin' out after his show.
Are we gonna get a Bieber collabo soon?
Hey, you gotta ask him man. Don't you think, if it was up to me, we'd have a whole album. It's like fools sayin "oh when you and Drake gonna drop a song?" If it were up to me it'd be like "Come on, Drake. We gotta do this." Shit like that, that person gotta take the initiative to do that. I got a song with Big Sean coming soon. Big Sean is getting on.
[Leaves room, returns after a minute] Okay, so Versace chain. Yeah, that's Versace. Everybody wants to look at this. [Hands over ring] You wanna double check? 'Cause I mean, you should let 'em know, because this ain't costume jewelry. Nobody's wearin' gold plated.
I'm potentially a Richard Branson. I'm not there yet, but I will be. Buy a spaceship and go build a whole 'nother Earth.
What are you rocking? What are you buying these days?
Umm, it depends. I just see somethin and then I'll get it. I mean, a lot of Neff. But I don't buy it. I make it. But shit, like these glasses. I didn't even know they Tom Ford. I seen 'em and I was like damn them shits clean. And then once I put em on everybody started callin' me Jay Z. So then I was like, okay. Me and Jay Z walkin' down the street and it's like "Yo, Jay Z" and then we both turn around. And now we don't know who's who.
What's the number-one thing in your closet right now that you cannot live without—the one thing that you're obsessed with?
One thing? Man. Shoes, I guess. But I just, I always buy new shit. That's one of my main things is I don't like to wear the same thing twice. You know what I mean? I'm not like one of these rapper guys. I'm more of like a fashion icon. That's why I got that album Neon Icon comin' out 'cause like people laughin' and all this shit like "ha ha," but people are so slow man. And they're so stupid. So when I say that, it's like they haven't caught up to the shit I do, like I buy new shit.
I constantly buy—people are like "Damn, why you always talkin' about your jewelry and chain and all this shit?" Because, you ain't! People ain't about that type of stuff and I am. I'm 'bout luxury and cars and houses and all this shit. But people don't understand that until they see it. If you just talk about it and you don't be about it then people could be like, "oh well he might not be serious." But there's a lot of people who maybe wanna have new jewelry and chains and stuff like that, but they can't afford it at the time. You know what I'm sayin'?
So the only thing I can do is just try to just—as I make more money, spend more money. That's the only way to prove that you—I mean it's not like I proved it, it's just like what I want. Shit, if I had a billion dollars, I'd have a candy private plane. I'd buy an island. I'd do all that shit. I'm potentially a Richard Branson. I'm not there yet, but I will be. Buy a spaceship and go build a whole 'nother Earth.
The dream collabo would be me, Drake, and Justin Bieber to go on tour and make a whole album. And then go on tour. Back-to-back tour buses. Candy tour buses. Yeah, a world-wide tour—300 day tour. We only got 65 days off.
Have you been reached out to by any designers?
You mean like besides Neff? Like fashion designers?
Yeah, like maybe Versace?
Man, I wish. Definitely.
Would you do it?
Of course, why wouldn't I? Don't I do everything? I can rarely say no.
What about modeling? I could see Riff Raff on the runway.
I could do it. I just gotta stop eatin carbs and I gotta get real skinny. I gotta be like 99 pounds.
What's your workout plan like on the road?
Damn. I do like 100 pushups.
In a row?
I mean, no. Like 20 pushups, and then eat a ham sandwich. And then smoke somethin' and then do like 100 curls.
Could you beat Master P in one-on-one right now?
Damn, I dunno if he's been hoopin'. Okay, let's say if I had a month, I could. But if like I had a month to train, he had a month to train, or whatever the case is, then I could.
What's your post game like?
I don't have to post up. I got a cross-over. And threes. All I do is shoot threes and shoot free-throws, 'cause whenever I drive, somebody's gonna have to foul me. So I'm like threes and free-throws.


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Category: "Email Marketing"
- Email Timing Is Critical for Marketing Success
- Survey Says a Large Portion of Online Shopping is Done After Dark
- Forrester Study: Email and Search, Not Social, Drives Sales Online
- 127 Rockin' Content Marketing Tips – A #CMWorld 2012 Cheat Sheet
- Mobile Email Opens Up, iOS Dominates
- Email Clickthrough Rates Slip as Mobile Opens Rise
- SPONSOR: Email Webinars from AWeber
Inbound Marketing
- US federal court convicts Russian hacker Seleznev in theft and sale of credit cards resulting in $169M in losses; he could face up to 40 years in prison (Wall Street Journal)
- TripAdvisor acquires social mapping service Citymaps, says it will continue on as a standalone business (Sarah Perez/TechCrunch)
- As major tech firms focus on voice assistants, microphone makers face pressure to improve product that hasn't seen much change since 2012 (Matthew Braga/Bloomberg)
- An error has occurred, which probably means the feed is down. Try again later.
Email Marketing
- Infinitus – 7 Day Plug and Play Funnel – Value $497
- TECH TALK: Five easy steps to take to improve your email 'nurture campaign'
- CrowdReviews.com Announces the Rankings of the Best Email Marketing Software Vendors
- Email Marketing What You Need To Do
- Online Marketing News: Email Workflow, Google Cracks Down, Influencer Marketing Fails


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Rainfall rankings for selected climate locations across the Rio Grande Valley.
* Location missing approximately one third of data in sample.
** Location had several gaps in data years, which may have beganin 1892.
| Hot, Dry Theme Extends into Start of 2012/2013 School Year
Rainfall Estimates for the State of Texas, September 2012.
Rainfall Estimates, from bias corrected radar and ground observations, for the Rio Grande Valley, September 2012.
Rainfall Departure from Average (Estimates), from bias corrected radar and ground observations, for the Rio Grande Valley, September 2012. Departures are based on the 1981 to 2010 30 year sample.
Endless summer, again?
For the Rio Grande Valley, rain fell again in fits and starts. Fits and starts typically does not add up to the wettest month of the year, when rainfall averages from just under 4 inches across the Rio Grande Plains to just over 6 inches along the southeast Cameron County coast. Indeed, with the exception of ranchland from northern Jim Hogg through northern Zapata County, where the bulk of the month's rain fell overnight on the 28th and 29th, and a sliver along the coast from South Padre Island to Boca Chica Beach, most of the Rio Grande Valley fell 2 to more than 3 inches short of these averages (left). Even Brownsville, which came close to catching up during the final three days of the month, still fell short.
*Missing more than 25 percent of data or years broken up (Armstrong).
Please note that some sites do not have a complete record back to the listed starting year.
The drought, meanwhile, soldiers on. The latest outlook through the rest of 2012 suggest some improvement but not complete erasure, as the combined impact of the puzzle pieces of a weak El Niño and other factors such as the North Atlantic/Arctic Oscillation and regional patterns were very uncertain as the Valley moved deeper into autumn.
Rainfall Estimates for the State of Texas, September 2012.
National "Droughtlook" for the end of September through December 31, 2012.