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iPad Pro 12.9-inch
iPad Pro 9.7-inch
iPad Pro is more than the next generation of iPad — it's an
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12.9″ iPad Pro
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We include our 3 year guarantee at no extra cost with new iPad and Mac purchases.
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1. Battery life varies by use and configuration. See www.apple.com/uk/batteries for more information.
2. Apple Pencil and Smart Keyboard are sold separately. Smart Keyboard for iPad Pro is only available in a US English Keyboard layout.
3. FaceTime calling requires a FaceTime-enabled device for the caller and recipient and a Wi-Fi connection. Availability over a mobile network depends on carrier policies; data charges may apply.
4. Mobile data service is available only on Wi-Fi + Cellular models. Data plan required. 4G LTE Advanced and 4G LTE are available in selected markets and through selected carriers. Speeds are based on theoretical throughput and vary based on site conditions and carrier. For details on 4G LTE support, contact your carrier and see www.apple.com/ipad/LTE.
Mad Max: Fury Road is available on iTunes. Mad Max: Fury Road © 2015 Warner Bros. Feature Productions Pty Limited. All rights reserved.
Content is available on iTunes and the App Store. Title availability is subject to change.
TM and © 2016 Apple Inc. All rights reserved.


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Sunday, March 8, 2015
Kirwa Wins Nagoya in 2:22:08 CR, Konovalova Gets 40+ WR, Maeda Hits All-Time Japanese #8 After Fall
photos by @rikujolove
Despite the late withdrawal of domestic favorite Ryoko Kizaki (Team Daihatsu), the Nagoya Women's Marathon delivered on the promise of its interesting young domestic field and accompanying seasoned internationals, answering Japan's hunger for a new women's star to pick up the legacy of days gone by with one of the best women's marathons in years.
The jolt shook up the field, the extra energy upping the pace slightly and dropping four Japanese women from the lead group. The 20-year-old Iwade, whose 2:27:21 debut at age 19 came just 3 1/2 months ago in Yokohama, was the next to fade, left alone as the leaders went through 20 km in 1:07:29. With a halfway split of 1:11:08 the pace was remarkably even, keeping just below the Federation's sub-2:22:30 standard for auto selection to the Beijing World Championships Japanese women's marathon team. While Ohara and Maeda looked to have recovered from their fall Ito, the lone experienced marathoner among the three remaining Japanese women, seemed in danger of losing touch with Kirwa and Konovalova.
Although Maeda missed the Federation's sub-2:22:30 standard, justifiably nobody seemed to care. Like Masato Imai (Team Toyota Kyushu) in Tokyo two weeks ago, Maeda's historic result was far and above any of the other contenders and made her a lock for the Beijing team. Ito's time was 2 minutes faster than the top Japanese women in the other main selection races, 2:26:57 by Tomomi Tanaka (Team Daiichi Seimei) in Yokohama and 2:26:39 by Risa Shigetomo (Team Tenmaya) in Osaka, giving her a good shot at being picked over one of them especially given her status as a member of the National Team project. The criteria by which team lineups are decided are becoming less and less clear, but however it plays out the announcement of the men's and women's teams is due out this Wednesday. With a place on the Rio de Janeiro Olympics team guaranteed to the highest-placing Japanese man and woman to make the top eight in Beijing that's no small announcement.
Nagoya Women's Marathon
Nagoya, Aichi, 3/8/15
click here for complete results and splits
1. Eunice Kirwa (Bahrain) - 2:22:08 - CR
2. Mariya Konovalova (Russia) - 2:22:27 - PB - 40+ WR
3. Sairi Maeda (Japan/Daihatsu) - 2:22:48 - PB - all-time JPN #8
4. Mai Ito (Japan/Otsuka Seiyaku) - 2:24:42 - PB
5. Risa Takenaka (Japan/Shiseido) - 2:28:09 - debut
6. Keiko Nogami (Japan/Juhachi Ginko) - 2:28:19 - debut
7. Anna Incerti (Italy) - 2:29:10
8. Reia Iwade (Japan/Noritz) - 2:29:16
9. Olena Burkovska (Ukraine) - 2:29:45
10. Eri Hayakawa (Japan/Toto) - 2:30:21
11. Aki Odagiri (Japan/Tenmaya) - 2:30:24 - PB
12. Miho Ihara (Japan/Team Sekisui Kagaku) - 2:30:52 - debut
13. Yoko Shibui (Japan/Mitsui Sumitomo Kaijo) - 2:31:15
14. Shiho Takechi (Japan/Yamada Denki) - 2:31:18 - debut
15. Haruna Takada (Japan/Yamada Denki) - 2:31:23 - debut
16. Kikuyo Tsuzaki (Japan/Noritz) - 2:32:37 - PB
17. Yuka Yano (Japan/Canon AC Kyushu) - 2:32:52
18. Saki Tabata (Japan/Otsuka Seiyaku) - 2:34:35 - PB
19. Yuka Hakoyama (Japan/Wacoal) - 2:35:23
20. Adriana da Silva (Brazil) - 2:35:28
21. Yukari Abe (Japan/Shimamura) - 2:35:47 - debut
22. Risa Takemura (Japan/Kyudenko) - 2:36:10 - PB
23. Yoshiko Sakamoto (Japan/YWC) - 2:36:32
24. Mayumi Fujita (Japan/Juhachi Ginko) - 2:37:09
25. Kana Orino (Japan/Mitsui Sumitomo Kaijo) - 2:38:55
124. Rei Ohara (Japan/Tenmaya) - 3:05:21 - debut
DNF - Misato Horie (Japan/Noritz)
DNF - Aheza Kiros (Ethiopia)
text (c) 2015 Brett Larner, all rights reserved
photos (c) 2015 M. Kawaguchi, all rights reserved
6 comments:
- Adriana Piza said...
What about Maeda's mother?
- March 9, 2015 at 12:43 AM
- Brett Larner said...
She was injured and didn't run, unfortunately.
- March 9, 2015 at 4:20 AM
Good run by Kirwa and Maeda. I was hoping Iwade would run a bit better, but maybe she needs more time to develop.
What can one say about Konovalova? She is like the female Chris Horner.
I do not know what you made of the commentary yesterday Brett, but I wish the main commentator (I do not know his name) would just not talk. Of course the female commentators were all really good.
- March 9, 2015 at 1:53 PM
Hi Brett, great and brave run by Maeda. She overcame the rush of adrenalin plus missing her drink? after the fall (I was watching on Keyhole TV aided by your wonderful JRN Live commentary). This is the Japanese spirit I used to know.
May I throw a curly to you, Brett? My question is whether elite competitors taking part in Japanese marathons, e.g. Nagoya, Osaka, need to go through a dope test.
Thanks heaps.
- March 9, 2015 at 11:26 PM
- Brett Larner said...
Yuza--He was making a few mistakes but I still find the quality of commentary better than what you get elsewhere. Masuda is hit-and-miss for me. She knows her stuff but tends to prefer to talk about what the athlete's brother's girlfriend's dog ate for breakfast.
With regard to drug testing, yes, of course, as IAAF label races they are required to conduct the same number of drug tests as IAAF label races anywhere. Please see the IAAF label race guidelines on the IAAF website.
- March 10, 2015 at 5:45 AM
I like Masuda, though I think she tries a little bit too hard these days with those obscure facts. She has a bit of a following because of it.
I agree, the Japanese coverage is always good.
- March 11, 2015 at 12:36 AM

subset: commoncrawl


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Paul Tanter's drama of criminal opportunism recounts the true(ish) story of a football yob who gets a shot at the big time.
Nick Nevern plays the titular London hooligan recruited by a gang of credit-card fraudsters and launched on a journey through birds, drugs, cash – and prison.
It's your basic chronicle of wrongdoing, unrelieved by wit or excitement, though Simon Phillips as the gang "supervisor" offers some charismatic unpleasantness.Reuse content


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|Message view
|« Date » · « Thread »
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|"Joe Bowser (JIRA)" <j...@apache.org>
|[jira] [Updated] (CB-799) Need to implement CordovaInterface methods in an abstracted class
|Fri, 25 May 2012 18:10:23 GMT
[ https://issues.apache.org/jira/browse/CB-799?page=com.atlassian.jira.plugin.system.issuetabpanels:all-tabpanel ] Joe Bowser updated CB-799: -------------------------- Fix Version/s: (was: 1.8.0) 1.9.0 > Need to implement CordovaInterface methods in an abstracted class > ----------------------------------------------------------------- > > Key: CB-799 > URL: https://issues.apache.org/jira/browse/CB-799 > Project: Apache Cordova > Issue Type: Sub-task > Components: Android > Affects Versions: 1.8.0 > Reporter: Joe Bowser > Assignee: Joe Bowser > Fix For: 1.9.0 > > > With the last big change to CordovaWebView, we are asking users to implement four methods when they are using CordovaWebView. It would be good if we could have a CordovaInterface class that isn't an activity that implements these four methods so that users who aren't familiar with, or don't want to re-invent the wheel don't have to fish around our source code and copy and paste the code from DroidGap.java. -- This message is automatically generated by JIRA. If you think it was sent incorrectly, please contact your JIRA administrators: https://issues.apache.org/jira/secure/ContactAdministrators!default.jspa For more information on JIRA, see: http://www.atlassian.com/software/jira
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Sukiyaki House 02
More layouts using Miracle Bundle
Recent Comments
Great layout Lorien! I like the scallop border that you chose and the journaling on the bracket tags!
Created By
About Me
I am a thirty-something years-old Brazilian, married for almost a decade, and with no human kids for now, but 5 cats istead. I was a teacher, but I gave up on teaching, profession that I chose to young to know what I was doing, and I´m looking for other possibilities. Right now I´m sharing time between my own business and helping at a no-kill cat shelter.
I have been digiscrapping and designing for a couple of years, but I still need to learn a lot. I´m also in geek/nerdy culture, and I love literature!
Type of ProjectDigital Scrapbook Layout
This photo was taken on the same day of this one. I´d probably make a slideshow about this day, as the pics we took look so fun.
I used Miracle kit by Brooke and the scaloped edge 19 template by Marisa. I blurred the journaling that said the name of people in the picture, for privacy issues.
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A day after Finance Minister Arun Jaitley sent a stern message to corporates and foreign investors saying levy of legitimate taxes is not terrorism, ET NOW learns that several leading foreign banks have come under the scanner of service tax authorities.
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Read more at:


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"What are you doing with that? That's highly personal. You can't touch it."
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Dedicated Line
Definition - What does Dedicated Line mean?
In IT, a dedicated line is a particular fiber-optic cable, twisted-pair cable line, coaxial cable or other physical cable line that is available at all times for a specific service. The opposite of a dedicated line is a shared line, where a single line can be temporarily used for more than one type of data transmission.
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Miranda : Season 3
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Nov 10, 2013This review contains spoilers. The first episode is the stand-out of the season for me by far. Miranda Hart is at her best as she portrays Miranda trying to prove (once more) that she can hold a normal job, while Penny forcing her daughter to attend Eaters Anonymous and the improvised carol singing also prove hilarious. This episode also develops new stories in the show, as we learn Miranda's shop has gone bankrupt and the character of Michael, Miranda's new love interest, is introduced. However, following this, the show's quality goes rather downhill in my opinion, particularly if you have been an avid viewer of both seasons one and two. This I put down to three things: the consistent and all-too-familiar rehashing of previous jokes, the lack of any funny new cast, and the character of Michael. The first point is of most importance.
Firstly, the rehashing of old jokes, phrases or even episodic stories is far too prominent in this season. For example, in the fourth episode of season one Miranda jokingly and rather funnily books a holiday at the Hamilton Lodge, a hotel across the street. Yet, this is rehashed once more in the final episode of the third season. While still funny, it does not have the same effect [especially if like me you've seen both seasons one and two over and over before]. Miranda's falling off of things or tripping over is relied upon a lot more than usual which becomes tiring and while moments like this and Penny's phrases remain such fun, we really needed some new fresh and funny material.
Secondly, the lack of any new FUNNY one-off/prominent or even regular cast members left me as a viewer unhappy. While in previous seasons, we've had the likes of Tamara, Chris and Allison, Wallet Guy, Sandy and Amanda Barnes to name but a few, this season we had NO ONE. This accompanied by the rehashing of old phrases/jokes/stories made the show feel even more laborious. Yes, the show's main cast can cope and do provide some laughs. But, we needed a new character(s) to lift the show and interact with the regular cast to provide more story opportunities. Chris and Allison were particularly missed being involved on a more regular basis.
Extending my point about the lack of any comedic new cast, what the producers did give us were two new characters, Miranda's new love interest Michael and Gary's new love interest Rose, and a few celebrity cameos in the form of Gary Barlow [yawn] and Raymond Blanc. Michael could have been more funny, but not as to steal the limelight from Miranda, while Rose was not intended to be funny, yet her scenes with Miranda were indeed [potato for hair anyone?]. The celebrity cameos were worthless, giving their respective episodes none or little value; Gary did not speak, while Raymond Blanc's cameo was slightly funnier (particularly his and Penny's scenes). Having a celebrity appearance also took away some of the show's realism and worth for me was there that little material that the show had to rely on celebrities to carry the episode along?
On a more positive note, I will say that this season was still wholly funny, despite the repetition of familiar jokes/phrases/stories. The dinner party Miranda holds, along with the first episode, Miranda in the shop being half-naked again and the episode where Miranda pretends to be ill are my highlights of this season.
To conclude, while the third season of Miranda continues to show us the funny, childish world of Miranda, the show is in desperate need of new material throughout. If you are a new viewer to Miranda [by that I mean you only saw the third season] you will enjoy this season far more than if you have watched both seasons one and two beforehand. On a final note, if the show gets a fourth season, the major problem of lacking new material needs to be rectified, perhaps with some new cast as I suggested or otherwise. Miranda does remain such fun, if not as much as in the first two seasons, for now.… Collapse
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Demographic Portrait of U.S. Mexican-Origin Hispanics
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Demographics of Asian Americans
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By Scott Keeter, Director of Survey Research On Feb. 5 the Pew Research Center released a report on its latest NewsIQ Quiz, "What the Public Knows – In Pictures, Maps, Graphs and Symbols," based on interviews with 1,041 randomly sampled adults nationwide. Since Feb. 5, more than 350,000 people have taken the quiz on the PewResearch.org website. A large majority of […]
Slideshow: U.S. Foreign-Born Population Trends
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Evelyn : Breaking EvenMature
I was sitting in biology next to a guy with over a billion spots on his face, the teacher was rambling on about mitosis and I was not paying attention, I was too busy thinking about lunch and the strange encounter I had had.
I had been sitting alone when Cymbeline had come over and sat with me,
"Hey, do you mind?" he asked, I shook my head,
"So you're a twin too?" I asked, he nodded sucking on his straw,
"I am. She's actually just over there," he inclined his head towards a tall girl with her hair high up in a ponytail, I nodded slowly and smiled, but she caught my eye and stood up walking over to me.
"Hey Cymbe, you going to introduce me to your new little friend?" she asked sweetly, I scowled,
"Oh Chan, this is Ciro's twin." Cymbeline said, he didn't look at her but he smiled warmly at me,
"Okay," she replied and looked me up and down. To most people I probably look quite odd, my blue eyes stood out from my tanned face and my individual hair was short and green, it was naturally blonde but I liked the way people looked at me when I walked passed. I wasn't exactly beautiful but my hair was different and my face was pretty enough to pull it off. She gave me a look which implied I shouldn't do anything with her brother, I barely knew him and what did she think? I was going to date him?
"What?" I snapped, she was a little taken aback, "Well, what you looking at?" I asked, this girl obviously had no brains, "Oh sorry were you talking to me?" she laughed,
"Yes I was and I want an answer!" Who did this girl think she was?
"Sorry, I don't speak tramp," she said snidely, my eyes tightened. Just because I was individual and had the guts to carry off my strange looks, she didn't have to call me a tramp,
"How dare you call me a tramp!" I shouted, "Have you seen yourself?" Her eyes were grey and she had frizzy hair which looked strange in a ponytail. She balled her hand into a fist and threw it at me, I hadn't had time to respond but Cymbeline blocked it inches from my face, I sighed in relief.
"What?" she snarled at him,
"You're not going to punch her Chan," he said in a quiet but forceful voice,
"Back off!" said another guy coming from behind Chandra, he was tall and hostile looking. Cymbeline stepped closer,
"Shain , leave it," Chandra said, I smiled, I guess I knew who wore the pants in that relationship.
"Name?" she asked to me,
"Evelyn. Or do I need to break it down for you?" I asked smiling, obviously she was scared of me, she shook her head and took another step towards me, Cymbeline pushed her back and she stumbled backwards.
"After school. Park. Be there." She snarled, I couldn't help smiling as she turned, her hair flicking around her head and charging off.
It was strange how I had never seen this girl before and that her twin had protected me, they obviously didn't have the same relationship as I did with Ciro. Just then he popped up,
"Ciro, where have you been all day?" I asked, he shrugged and sat down,
"No where, just around. Homework and things, what was just happening?" he asked,
"Just my sister making trouble," replied Cymbeline, I smiled at him and he smiled back,
"Don't worry about me, I can handle her." I said and then looked at Ciro as he laughed,
"I bumped into her before," he said,
"What happened?" I asked, Ciro was too quiet and calm for the likes of her,
"Well, I don't think Shain took to me," he said, I turned back to Cymbeline and began to talk to him until the five minute bell went.
"Meet me at the gates after school Ciro," I called as Cymbeline and Ciro went off to top set biology and I wandered to second set and that was where I was now.
I sat there watching the clock as it slowly ticked round the minutes passed and it soon became the end of the day. I groaned as the bell went, it was time.
I met Ciro by the gates, "Hey," I hugged him, "You know at lunch…" I began he nodded,
"I know all about it, Cymb told me," he explained, I grimaced,
"Right, so what do you think I should do?" I asked, he looked exasperated,
"Never fear" cried a voice from behind me, hands covered my eyes and I was spun round, I squealed in surprise, "we have an army!" he bellowed, I gasped as he took his hands away from my eyes and I saw a group of seniors and juniors gathered in front of me.
"Cymbeline!" I smiled, "how did you get them?"
"Everyone of these have been taunted by Chandra and her gang, and they are all willing to kick her ass," I smiled at them. They weren't a pretty bunch, granted, most of them carried books and had glasses but as long as they were prepared to help me get one step ahead of Chandra I wasn't going to be picky.
"Just to give you the heads up, I'm neutral in this fight," whispered Cymbeline, "She'd kill me if she knew I was behind this," he winked, I hugged him and turned to the group,
"Alright everybody, thank you for turning up today." I yelled, Ciro at my side, "I think we have the benefit because we have the element of surprise, and we're going to use it. I'm going to go and meet Chandra alone, try and sort this out by talking; if that doesn't work then you are all going to charge. Throw a few punches and beat the hell out of them!" a roar of joy rolled around the circle. I smiled and led the motley crew to the park.
When I arrived I led Ciro to the group of youths I guessed were Chandra and her gang, I was ready and rearing to go.
"Good, you actually came," she laughed and turned, a cigarette in her hand,
"You'd think I'd miss out on this opportunity?" I asked,
"And you brought you delightfully boring brother!" Ciro stopped a few steps short and I pulled him to my side, "you're both as peculiar as each other," she laughed,
"At least I have a brother who cares for me," I said, she ignored the comment,
"Well let's get down to business," she stood up towering over me and Ciro, "Midgets," she added, I ignored her snide comment and looked up, "Are you going to apologize?" she asked,
"For what?" I spat,
"My brother doesn't date," she said,
"Nor do I," I retorted, "especially with people who have siblings who resemble the antichrist,"
"That's it." She said plainly bringing her knuckle back and slamming it towards my face, I ducked and yelled,
"Charge!" everyone ran towards Chandra and her 'hard' gang, and the looks on their faces were priceless.
"Nice one," Ciro whispered as he pulled me away from the fight."


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Chase Insteadman, a handsome, inoffensive fixture on Manhattan's social scene, lives off residuals earned as a child star on a beloved sitcom called Martyr & Pesty. Chase owes his current social cachet to an ongoing tragedy much covered in the tabloids: His teenage sweetheart and fiancée, Janice Trumbull, is trapped by a layer of low-orbit mines on the International Space Station, from which she sends him rapturous and heartbreaking love letters. Like Janice, Chase is adrift, she in Earth's stratosphere, he in a vague routine punctuated by Upper East Side dinner parties.
Into Chase's cloistered city enters Perkus Tooth, a wall-eyed free-range pop critic whose soaring conspiratorial riffs are fueled by high-grade marijuana, mammoth cheeseburgers, and a desperate ache for meaning. Perkus's countercultural savvy and voracious paranoia draw Chase into another Manhattan, where questions of what is real, what is fake, and who is complicit take on a life-shattering urgency. Along with Oona Laszlo, a self-loathing ghostwriter, and Richard Abneg, a hero of the Tompkins Square Park riot now working as a fixer for the billionaire mayor, Chase and Perkus attempt to unearth the answers to several mysteries that seem to offer that rarest of artifacts on an island where everything can be bought: Truth.
Like Manhattan itself, Jonathan Lethem's masterpiece is beautiful and tawdry, tragic and forgiving, devastating and antic, a stand-in for the whole world and a place utterly unique.
From the Hardcover edition.
A New York Times Book Review Best Book of the Year. A searing and wildly entertaining love letter to New York City from the bestselling author ofMotherless Brooklynand Fortress of Solitude. Chase Insteadman, former child television star, has a new role in life permanent guest on the Upper East Side dinner party circuit, where he is consigned to talk about his astronaut fiancee, Janice Trumbull, who is trapped on a circling Space Station. A chance encounter collides Chase with Perkus Tooth, a wily pop culture guru with a vicious conspiratorial streak and the best marijuana in town. Despite their disparate backgrounds and trajectories Chase and Perkus discover they have a lot in common, including a cast of friends from all walks of life in Manhattan. Together and separately they attempt to define the indefinable, and enter into a quest for the most elusive of things: truth and authenticity in a city where everything has a price. "Full of dark humor and dazzling writing" --Entertainment Weekly
Chase Insteadman, former child television star, has a new role in life—permanent guest on the Upper East Side dinner party circuit, where he is consigned to talk about his astronaut fiancée, Janice Trumbull, who is trapped on a circling Space Station. A chance encounter collides Chase with Perkus Tooth, a wily pop culture guru with a vicious conspiratorial streak and the best marijuana in town. Despite their disparate backgrounds and trajectories Chase and Perkus discover they have a lot in common, including a cast of friends from all walks of life in Manhattan. Together and separately they attempt to define the indefinable, and enter into a quest for the most elusive of things: truth and authenticity in a city where everything has a price.
"Chronic City is a feverish portrait of the anxiety and isolation of modern Manhattan, full of dark humor and dazzling writing....proves both funny and frightening."--Entertainment Weekly
"Exuberant literary revving.....Lethem's vision of New York can approach the Swiftian. It is impressively observant in its detail and scourging in its mocking satire. There are any number of wicked portraits....His comments on New York life are often achingly exact....So pungent and imaginative"--The Boston Globe
"Ingenious and unsettling...Lethem pulls everything together in a stunning critique of our perceptions of reality and our preconceptions of the function of literature."--San Francisco Chronicle
"Exquisitely written...Funny and mystifying, eminently quotable, resolutely difficult, even heartbreaking, "Chronic City" demonstrates an imaginative breadth not quite of this world."--Cleveland Plain Dealer
"A fluid sense of reality pervades these pages, which explore high society, urban politics, avant-garde art, celebrity mania and the dangers of information overload in an age where context is devalued or ignored....the quality of Lethem's prose and the exuberance of his imagination are reasons enough to read it.....When it comes to style, Lethem has few equals."--Miami Herald
"The novel functions much like Manhattan used to – a mad scramble of connections made and, more often, missed…make(s) a reader ache for a city long gone." –Esquire
"Entertaining....a prosopographical investigation of New York City by way of a handful of strange, unclassifiable characters (and some remarkable writing)....splendidly observed"--Wall Street Journal
"Brilliant....exquisite wit and dazzling intricacy of every single paragraph......roves he's one of the most elegant stylists in the country, and he's capable of spinning surreal scenes that are equal parts noir and comedy.... evocative and engaging....As a reflection on modern alienation and the chronic loneliness that afflicts us in our faux world, this is beautifully, often powerfully done."--The Washington Post
"A sprawling book about pop culture and outer space…realistic and fantastic, serious and funny, warm and clear eyed. One of the new generation's most ambitious writers, Lethem again offers a novel that deals with nothing less important than the difference between truth and lies. And some stories about good cheeseburgers."--The Daily Beast
"A stellar, multi-layered novel." – GQ
"Lethem has often sought to interweave the realistic and the fantastic; in Chronic City the result is nearly seamless." - New York Magazine
"[Lethem is] a writer who resists pigeonholing....it's hard to remain unsusceptible to his euphoria"--Los Angeles Times
"Friction, charisma, unpleasantness, and threat are key to this tale of scintillating misfits.....dizzyingly brilliant urban enigma"--O Magazine
"One of America's finest novelists explores the disconnections among art, government, space travel and parallel realities, as his characters hunger for elusive meaning…… All truths and realities are open to interpretation, even negotiation, in this brilliantly rich novel….Lethem's most ambitious work to date."—Kirkus Reviews, starred
"Pow! Letham has done it again. When it comes to brainy adventures full of laughter and heart this master has few equals. What a joy from the first page to the last."—Gary Shteyngart, author of Absurdistan and The Russian Debutante's Handbook
"I'm reminded of the well-rubbed Kafka line re: A book must be the axe to break the frozen sea within us. Lethem's book, with incredible fury, aspires to do little less. It's almost certainly his best novel. It's genuinely great."–David Shields, author of The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead
In drawing me into the project they'd supplied me with a batch of research materials, which I'd browsed unsystematically, as well as a working version of their reconstruction of the film, in order for me to glean what the excitement was about. It was the first I'd heard of Zollner, so this was hardly a labor of passion. But the enthusiasm of buffs is infectious, and I liked the movie. I no longer considered myself a working actor. This was the only sort of stuff I did anymore, riding the exhaust of my former and vanishing celebrity, the smoky half- life of a child star. An eccentric favor, really. And I was curious to see the inside of Criterion's operation. This was the first week of September—the city's back- to- school mood always inspired me to find something to do with my idle hands. In those days, with Janice far away, I lived too much on the surface of things, parties, gossip, assignations in which I was the go- between or vicarious friend. Workplaces fascinated me, the zones where Manhattan's veneer gave way to the practical world.
I recorded Zollner's words in a sound chamber in the technical swing of Criterion's crowded, ramshackle offices. In the room outside the chamber, where the soundman sat giving me cues through a headset, a restorer also sat peering at a screen and guiding a cursor with a mouse, diligently erasing celluloid scratches and blots, frame by digital frame, from the bare bodies of hippies cavorting in a mud puddle. I was told he was restoring I Am Curious (Yellow). Afterward I was retrieved by the producer who'd enlisted me, Susan Eldred. It had been Susan and her colleague I'd met at the dinner party—unguarded, embracing people with a passion for a world of cinematic minutiae, for whom I'd felt an instantaneous affection. Susan led me to her office, a cavern with one paltry window and shelves stacked with VHS tapes, more lost films petitioning for Criterion's rescue.
Susan shared her office, it appeared. Not with the colleague from the party, but another person. He sat beneath the straining shelves, notebook in hand, gaze distant. It seemed too small an office to share. The glamour of Criterion's brand wasn't matched by these scenes of thrift and improvisation I'd gathered in my behind- the- scenes glimpse, but why should it have been? No sooner did Susan introduce me to Perkus Tooth and give me an invoice to sign than she was called away for some consultation elsewhere.
He was, that first time, lapsed into what I would soon learn to call one of his "ellipsistic" moods. Perkus Tooth himself later supplied that descriptive word: ellipsistic, derived from ellipsis. A species of blank interval, a nod or fugue in which he was neither depressed nor undepressed, not struggling to finish a thought nor to begin one. Merely between. Pause button pushed. I certainly stared. With Tooth's turtle posture and the utter slackness of his being, his receding hairline and antique manner of dress— trim- tapered suit, ferociously wrinkled silk with the shine worn off, moldering tennis shoes—I could have taken him for elderly. When he stirred, his hand brushing the open notebook page as if taking dictation with an invisible pen, and I read his pale, adolescent features, I guessed he was in his fifties—still a decade wrong, though Perkus Tooth had been out of the sunlight for a while. He was in his early forties, barely older than me. I'd mistaken him for old because I'd taken him for important. He now looked up and I saw one undisciplined hazel eye wander, under its calf lid, toward his nose. That eye wanted to cross, to discredit Perkus Tooth's whole sober aura with a comic jape. His other eye ignored the gambit, trained on me.
"You're the actor."
"Yes," I said.
"So, I'm doing the liner notes. For The City Is a Maze, I mean."
"Oh, good."
"I do a lot of them. Prelude to a Certain Midnight . . . Recalcitrant
Women . . . The Unholy City . . . Echolalia . . ."
"All film noir?"
"Oh, gosh, no. You've never seen Herzog's Echolalia?"
"Well, I wrote the liner notes, but it isn't exactly released yet.
I'm still trying to convince Eldred—"
Perkus Tooth, I'd learn, called everyone by their last name. As though famous, or arrested. His mind's landscape was epic, dotted with towering figures like Easter Island heads. At that moment Eldred—Susan—returned to the office.
"So," he said to her, "have you got that tape of Echolalia
around here somewhere?" He cast his eyes, the good left and the meandering
right, at her shelves, the cacophony of titles scribbled on labels
there. "I want him to see it."
Susan raised her eyebrows and he shrank. "I don't know where it is," she said.
"Never mind."
"Have you been harassing my guest, Perkus?"
"What do you mean?"
Susan Eldred turned to me and collected the signed release, then we made our farewell. Then, as I got to the elevator, Perkus Tooth hurried through the sliding door to join me, crushing his antique felt hat onto his crown as he did. The elevator, like so many others behind midtown edifices, was tiny and rattletrap, little more than a glorified dumbwaiter—there was no margin for pretending we hadn't just been in that office together. Bad eye migrating slightly, Perkus Tooth gave me a lunar look, neither unfriendly nor apologetic. Despite the vintage costume, he wasn't some dapper retro- fetishist. His shirt collar was grubby and crumpled. The greengray sneakers like mummified sponges glimpsed within a janitor's bucket.
"So," he said again. This "so" of Perkus's—his habit of introducing any subject as if in resumption of earlier talk—wasn't in any sense coercive. Rather, it was as if Perkus had startled himself from a daydream, heard an egging voice in his head and mistaken it for yours. "So, I'll lend you my own copy of Echolalia, even though I never lend anything. Because I think you ought to see it."
"It's a sort of essay film. Herzog shot it on the set of Morrison Groom's Nowhere Near. Groom's movie was never finished, you know. Echolalia documents Herzog's attempts to interview Marlon Brando on Groom's set. Brando doesn't want to give the interview, and whenever Herzog corners him Brando just parrots whatever Herzog's said . . . you know, echolalia . . ."
"Yes," I said, flummoxed, as I would so often later find myself, by Tooth's torrential specifics.
"But it's also the only way you can see any of Nowhere Near. Morrison Groom destroyed the footage, so the scenes reproduced in Echolalia are, ironically, all that remains of the film—" Why "ironically"? I doubted my hopes of inserting the question.
"It sounds incredible," I said.
"Of course you know Morrison Groom's suicide was probably faked."
My nod was a lie. The doors opened, and we stumbled together out to the pavement, tangling at every threshold: "You first—"
"Oops—" "After you—" "Sorry." We faced each other, mid-Wednesday Manhattan throngs islanding us in their stream. Perkus grew formally clipped, perhaps belatedly eager to show he wasn't harassing me.
"So, I'm off."
"Very good to see you." I'd quit using the word meet long ago, replacing it with this foggy equivocation, chastened after the thousandth time someone explained to me that we'd actually met before.
"So—" He ground to a halt, expectant.
"If you want to come by for the tape . . ."
I might have been failing some test, I wasn't sure. Perkus Tooth dealt in occult knowledge, and measured with secret calipers. I'd never know when I'd crossed an invisible frontier, visible to Perkus in the air between us.
"Do you want to give me a card?"
He scowled. "Eldred knows where to find me." His pride intervened, and he was gone. For a phone call so life- altering as mine to Susan Eldred, I ought to have had some fine reason. Yet here I was, dialing Criterion's receptionist later that afternoon, asking first for Perkus Tooth and then, when she claimed no familiarity with that name, for Susan Eldred, spurred by nothing better than a cocktail of two parts whim and one part guilt. Manhattan's volunteer, that's me, I may as well admit it. Was I curious about Echolalia, or Morrison Groom's faked suicide, or Perkus Tooth's intensities and lulls, or the slippage in his right eye's gaze? All of it and none of it, that's the only answer. Perhaps I already adored Perkus Tooth, and already sensed that it was his friendship I required to usher me into the strange next phase of my being. To unmoor me from the curious eddy into which I'd drifted. How very soon after our first encounter I'd come to adore and need Perkus makes it awfully hard to know to what extent such feelings were inexplicably under way in Susan Eldred's office or that elevator.
"Your office mate," I said. "They didn't recognize his name at the front desk. Maybe I heard it wrong—"
"Perkus?" Susan laughed. "He doesn't work here."
"He said he wrote your liner notes."
"He's written a couple, sure. But he doesn't work here. He just comes up and occupies space sometimes. I'm sort of Perkus's babysitter. I don't even always notice him anymore—you saw how he can be. I hope he wasn't bothering you."
"No . . . no. I was hoping to get in touch with him, actually."
Susan Eldred gave me Perkus Tooth's number, then paused. "I guess you must have recognized his name . . ."
"Well, in fact he's really quite an amazing critic. When I was at NYU all my friends and I used to idolize him. When I first got the chance to hire him to do a liner note I was quite in awe. It was shocking how young he was, it seemed like I'd grown up seeing his posters and stuff."
"He used to do this thing where he'd write these rants on posters and put them up all around Manhattan, these sort of brilliant critiques of things, current events, media rumors, public art. They were a kind of public art, I guess. Everyone thought it was very mysterious and important. Then he got hired by Rolling Stone. They gave him this big column, he was sort of, I don't know, Hunter Thompson meets Pauline Kael, for about five minutes. If that makes any sense."
"Anyway, the point is, he sort of used up a lot of people's patience with certain kinds of . . . paranoid stuff. I didn't really get it until I started working with him. I mean, I like Perkus a lot. I just don't want you to feel I wasted your time, or got you enmeshed in any . . . schemes."People could be absurdly protective, as if a retired actor's hours were so precious. This was, I assume, secondhand affect, a leakage from Janice's otherworldly agendas. I was famously in love with a woman who had no time to spare, not even a breath, for she dwelled in a place beyond time or the reach of anyone's Rolodex, her every breath measured out of tanks of recycled air. If an astronaut made room for me on her schedule, my own prerogatives must be crucial as an astronaut's. The opposite was true.
"Thank you," I said. "I'll be sure not to get enmeshed."
Perkus Tooth was my neighbor, it turned out. His apartment was on East Eighty- fourth Street, six blocks from mine, in one of those anonymous warrens tucked behind innocuous storefronts, buildings without lobbies, let alone doormen. The shop downstairs, Brandy's Piano Bar, was a corny- looking nightspot I could have passed a thousand times without once noticing. BRANDY'S CUSTOMERS, PLEASE RESPECT OUR NEIGHBORS! pleaded a small sign at the doorway, suggesting a whole tale of complaint calls to the police about noise and fumes. To live in Manhattan is to be persistently amazed at the worlds squirreled inside one another, the chaotic intricacy with which realms interleave, like those lines of television cable and fresh water and steam heat and outgoing sewage and telephone wire and whatever else which cohabit in the same intestinal holes that pavement- demolishing workmen periodically wrench open to the daylight and to our passing, disturbed glances. We only pretend to live on something as orderly as a grid. Waiting for Perkus Tooth's door buzzer to sound and finding my way inside, I felt my interior map expand to allow for the reality of this place, the corridor floor's lumpy checkerboard mosaic, the cloying citrus of the superintendent's disinfectant oil, the bank of dented brass mailboxes, and the keening of a dog from behind an upstairs door, alerted to the buzzer and my scuffling bootheels. I have trouble believing anything exists until I know it bodily.
Perkus Tooth lived in 1R, a half- level up, the building's rear. He widened his door just enough for me to slip inside, directly to what revealed itself to be his kitchen. Perkus, though barefoot, wore another antique- looking suit, green corduroy this time, the only formal thing my entry revealed. The place was a bohemian grotto, the kitchen a kitchen only in the sense of having a sink and stove built in, and a sticker- laden refrigerator wedged into an alcove beside the bathroom door. Books filled the open cabinet spaces above the sink.
The countertop was occupied with a CD player and hundreds of disks, in and out of jewel cases, many hand labeled with a permanent marker. A hot- water pipe whined. Beyond, the other rooms of the apartment were dim at midday, the windows draped. They likely only looked onto ventilation shafts or a paved alley, anyway. Then there were the broadsides Susan Eldred had described. Unframed, thumbtacked to every wall bare of bookshelves, in the kitchen and in the darkened rooms, were Perkus Tooth's famous posters, their paper yellowing, the lettering veering between a stylish cartoonist's or graffitist's handmade font and the obsessive scrawl of an outsider artist, or a schizophrenic patient's pages reproduced in his doctor's monograph. I recognized them. Remembered them. They'd been ubiquitous downtown a decade before, on constructionsite boards, over subway advertisements, element in the graphic cacophony of the city one gleans helplessly at the edges of vision. Perkus retreated to give me clearance to shut the door. Stranded in the room's center in his suit and bare feet, palms defensively wide as if expecting something unsavory to be tossed his way, Perkus reminded me of an Edvard Munch painting I'd once seen, a selfportrait showing the painter wide- eyed and whiskered, shrunken within his clothes. Which is to say, again, that Perkus Tooth seemed older than his age. (I'd never once see Perkus out of some part of a suit, even if it was only the pants, topped with a filthy white T-shirt. He never wore jeans.)
"I'll get you the videotape," he said, as if I'd challenged him.
"Let me find it. You can sit down—" He pulled out a chair at his small, linoleum- topped table like one you'd see in a diner. The chair matched the table—a dinette set, a collector's item. Perkus Tooth was nothing if not a collector. "Here." He took a perfect finished joint from where it waited in the lip of an ashtray, clamped it in his mouth
and ignited the tip, then handed it to me unquestioningly. It takes one, I suppose, to know one. I drew on it while he went into the other room. When he returned—with a VHS cassette and his sneakers and a balled- up pair of white socks—he accepted the joint from me and smoked an inch of it himself, intently.
"Do you want to get something to eat? I haven't been out all day." He laced his high- tops.
"Sure," I said.
Out, for Perkus Tooth, I'd now begun to learn, wasn't usually far. He liked to feed at a glossy hamburger palace around the corner on Second Avenue, called Jackson Hole, a den of gleaming chrome and newer, faker versions of the linoleum table in his kitchen, lodged in chubby red- vinyl booths. At four in the afternoon we were pretty well alone there, the jukebox blaring hits to cover our bemused, befogged talk. It had been a while since I'd smoked pot; everything was dawning strange, signals received through an atmosphere eddied with hesitations, the whole universe drifting untethered like Perkus Tooth's vagrant eyeball. The waitress seemed to know Perkus, but he didn't greet her, or touch his menu. He asked for a cheeseburger deluxe and a Coca- Cola. Helpless, I dittoed his order. Perkus seemed to dwell in this place as he had at Criterion's offices, indifferently, obliquely, as if he'd been born there yet still hadn't taken notice of the place.
In the middle of our meal Perkus halted some rant about Werner Herzog or Marlon Brando or Morrison Groom to announce what he'd made of me so far. "So, you've gotten by to this point by being cute, haven't you, Chase?" His spidery fingers, elbow- propped on the linoleum, kept the oozing, gory Jackson Hole burger aloft to mask his expression, and cantilevered far enough from his lap to protect those dapper threads. One eye fixed me while the other crawled, now seeming a scalpel in operation on my own face. "You haven't changed, you're like a dreamy child, that's the secret of your appeal. But they love you. They watch you like you're still on television."
"The rich people. The Manhattanites—you know who I mean."
"You're supposed to be the saddest man in Manhattan," he said.
"Because of the astronaut who can't come home."
So, no surprise, Perkus was another one who knew me as Janice Trumbull's fiancé. My heart's distress was daily newspaper fodder. Yes, I loved Janice Trumbull, the American trapped in orbit with the Russians, the astronaut who couldn't come home. This, beyond my childhood TV stardom, was what anyone knew about me, though some, like Susan Eldred, were too polite to mention it.
"That's what everyone adores about you."
"I guess so."
"But I know your secret."
I was startled. Did I have a secret? If I did, it was one of the things I'd misplaced in the last few years. I couldn't remember how I'd gotten from there to here, made the decisions that led from my child stardom to harmlessly dissipated Manhattan celebrity, nor how it was that I deserved the brave astronaut's love. I had trouble clearly recalling Janice, that was part of my sorrow. The day she launched for the space station I must have undertaken to quit thinking of Janice, even while promising to keep a vigil for her here on earth. I never dared tell anyone this fact. So if I had a secret, it was that I had conspired to forget my secret.
Perkus eyed me slyly. Perhaps it was his policy to make this announcement to any new acquaintance, to see what they'd blurt out.
"Keep your eyes and ears open," he told me now. "You're in a position to learn things."
2. At what point did you begin to suspect that Chase Insteadman was living a fiction? At what point in their story do you think Perkus Tooth understood that Chase had been deceived about his role?
3. Can you accept that Oona Laszlo is responsible for the letters attributed to Janice Trumbull? Is it possible, as a writer, to create another human being more generous, large-hearted, and responsive than yourself?
4. What is the meaning of the wild animals that intrude on the lives of these Manhattanites -- the eagles, the tiger? Do they have anything to do with the weather?
5. Have you ever felt that the place where you lived or grew up was being turned into a 'simulacrum' of itself?
6. Have you ever tried to care for someone impossible? Are you now? Does Perkus Tooth remind you of anyone in your own life, or did you find Chase's decision to befriend him misguided?
7. At different points in Chronic City Perkus Tooth seems to attempt to sustain himself completely on culture and language, then, alternately, to try to leave culture and language entirely behind and live a "pure" life. Do you think either approach is possible?
8. The author's working title for Chronic City was "Manhattan". The Woody Allen film by that name was often criticized for depicting a Manhattan consisting only of the white upper middle class. Is Chronic City self-aware about the limitations of its characters? Does Chase Insteadman's response to the black kids he meets near the Urban Fjord, or to the black man in the jail cell imply another version of Manhattan creeping into view?
9. What does the gray fog hide?
10. Was Chase unfair to Oona? Should he give her another chance?
(For a complete list of available reading group guides, and to sign up for the Reading Group Center enewsletter, visit www.readinggroupcenter.com)


text:
A-Level Chem
By Krygen Technologies Pte. Ltd.
Open iTunes to buy and download apps.
Get essential Chemistry materials for review on the go!
Contents are broken down into manageable chunks that explain ideas clearly,
help you understand easily and make your review more effective.
The authors are experienced Chemistry educators who also wrote two well-received
Chemistry textbooks for A-level students (see 1st screenshot).
- All topics under the H2 chemistry syllabus
- Concise content in manageable chunks
- Authoritative explanations of all concepts
- Simple, immediate presentation style, using illustrations where possible
- Bookmarking feature that allows the user to save tough concepts for extra review
- No internet connection needed to view contents once they are purchased.
Your comments, feedback or questions are always welcome. However, we cannot reply to you in the Customer Review section.
Hence, please feel free to contact us directly at firstname.lastname@example.com.
What's New in Version 1.2
- A sincere apology to the new iPad users who have been putting up with the instability issues.
- Fixes to the instability issues on the new iPad
- Fixes to the page number indicator
- Free
- Category: Education
- Updated: 24 May 2012
- Version: 1.2
- Size: 31.7 MB
- Language: English
- Developer: Krygen Technologies Pte Ltd
- © 2012 Krygen Technologies Pte. Ltd.
Compatibility: Requires iOS 5.0 or later. Compatible with iPhone, iPad and iPod touch.


text:
Oil Control Lotion 59ml
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Hydrate and reduce shine with Dermalogica Oil Control Lotion. This lightweight, oil-free lotion decongests and soothes irritated skin to fight and prevent the causes of adult acne, leaving skin with a smooth, matte finish. Use as part of your daily routine for maximum results.
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Please note, Dermalogica is only available for delivery within the UK
About Dermalogica
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Our Click & Collect Service is quick and simple. Choose collect my items from one UK location during checkout and we'll email you when your order has been processed, it will be ready for collection within 3 working days.
If you are not completely satisfied with your item you may return it within 28 days for a full refund. You can return the item online using our simple service or bring it back to our flagship store in Regent St.


text:
ON THE MOVE-RBC hires two advisers from Southwest Securities
May 20 (Reuters) - RBC Wealth Management, part of Royal Bank of Canada, hired financial advisers Bob and Billy Brandenberge from Southwest Securities for its office in Austin, Texas.
They managed $225 million in client assets at Southwest Securities.
The Brandenberger Group is one of the premier fixed income groups in Texas and is focused on providing tax-free fixed income for high-net-worth individuals and institutions. (Reporting by Neha Dimri in Bengaluru)
© Thomson Reuters 2017 All rights reserved.


text:
The BFG
You can't judge a giant by his size.
Read Our Full Review & Parent Discussion Questions Here
The BFG
Rating & Content Info
Why is The BFG rated PG? The BFG is rated PG by the MPAA for action/peril, some scary moments and brief rude humor.
Violence: A child is frightened when she is kidnapped by a giant. Even larger, scary-looking giants are depicted who eat human beings. Death threats and moments of peril occur. A child has to run and hide to save herself from being devoured. Other children who were not lucky enough to escape the giants are mentioned, one in detail. Characters are bullied and mocked. Nightmares are discussed and depicted. Weapon use, property destruction and battling forces are portrayed without any graphic detail.
Sexual Content: Crude and detailed depictions of flatulence are used to create humor.
Language: Some name-calling occurs.
Drug and Alcohol Use: Loud and drunken patrons are seen leaving a pub.
Page last updated November 28, 2016
|Rating Descriptor
|British Columbia
|May Frighten Young Children.
|Frightening Scenes.
|Some Scary Scenes, Cartoon/Animation Violence.
|Canadian Home Video
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News About "The BFG"
Cast and Crew
The BFG is directed by Steven Spielberg and stars Ruby Barnhill, Rebecca Hall, Bill Hader, Mark Rylance .
This movie is based on the Roald Dahl novel, The BFG.
Our friends at Paging Supermom! have come up with a fun way to create "whizz poppers" without the, shall we say, odiferous side affects. Check for here for this activity kids will enjoy!
Home Video
The most recent home video release of The BFG movie is November 29, 2016. Here are some details…
Home Video Notes: The BFG
Release Date: 6 December 2016
The BFG releases to home video (BD + DVD + Digital HD) with the following extras:
- Bringing "The BFG" to Life – Ruby Barnhill (Sophie) hosts a phizz-whizzing journey through the making of "The BFG." This behind-the-scenes documentary details the film's progression through interviews with Roald Dahl's daughter Lucy Dahl, screenwriter Melissa Mathison, executive producers Kathleen Kennedy, Frank Marshall and Kristie Macosko Krieger, and numerous members of the talented cast and crew.
- The Big Friendly Giant and Me – Sophie wasn't the first "bean" in Giant Country—many illustrations were created as if drawn by a little boy who was there long before Sophie. This charming, in-world short will bring the drawings to life with animation and narration, recounting the friendship and the dreams shared between the boy and the Big Friendly Giant.
- Gobblefunk: The Wonderful Words of The BFG – A whoopsey-splunkers tutorial on the meaning of the gloriumptious gobblefunk in "The BFG."
- Giants 101 – Jemaine Clement (Fleshlumpeater) and Bill Hader (Bloodbottler) introduce us to the loathsome giants in "The BFG," along with movement choreographer/motion capture performer Terry Notary, who collaborated with the actors and Director Steven Spielberg prior to filming to develop their movements and character traits.
- Melissa Mathison: A Tribute – An homage to Melissa Mathison, the extraordinary, Oscar-nominated screenwriter of "The BFG" and "E.T.," whose talent and heart were as immense as the giants in "The BFG."
Related home video titles:
Large creatures also appear in The Iron Giant, Mee-shee The Water Giant, My Giant and Gulliver's Travels.


text:
Big Box Pro Wedding Video
A film made for the Corpus Christi Seven Day Film Project. This is the 2nd year for us to be a part of the CC7D project. We had a lot of fun making this video. We shot with a Sony FX1000, in 24p.
All the shooting was done in a law office in Corpus Christi. We edited using Sony Vegas Pro V8, at Big Box Pro Video Productions.
Corpus Christi 7 Day Awards include:
Filmmaker's Award 2009
Jury Runner Up Award 2009


text:
It's nothing
I woke up to sun rays beating down on me. My forehead had sweat beads, and I was breathing heavily. I had a dream, but I can't remember any of my dreams. I made sure that I didn't remember my dreams, I hated dreams. They changed my emotion.
I got ready for the day quickly, I was almost late. Surprisingly, Kassei probably already beat me there. Which is rare. I put on my long coat, and slid blades up my sleeve. There really are fights in Iya. I put in the clip, and felt my ears dissolve into nothing but pink sparkles. I got my bag and ran out the door, almost running into a carriage. But no one really cared.
"Hey!" Yelled Kassei.
I waved at him, to see a huge gash down the side of his face,"Kassei!" I ran to him.
I touched the wound gently,"Hitori, you're going to be beat if you show that much emotion. You know," He grabbed my hand, and brought it toward me,"It may be thread worthy, but I don't always need your help."
"What happened?"
"Some people were picking a fight, and I stepped in," He paused a couple heart beats," People say the land of Iya has no emotion, yet look at what everyone is doing. Fights, anger is an emotion," He sighed," But anger is the thing that bottles our emotion."
"what, are you talking about?"
"nothing, lets go," He grabbed colorful flowers from his bag,"For you."
"There's four, you said I only get two..." I grabbed them with admire in my eyes. Roses were my favorite, especially the white ones. Because they matched the moon. A beautiful creation, yet no one spends time anymore to see it. The moon glowed, and the white roses reflected that light.
"It is my gift for saying sorry. So sorry."
"For what?"
"um..."He looked up and down at me, and cleared his throat," Nothing."
We turned the corner to a huge tree, almost two entire blocks of people could fit on the tree, maybe more. If anyone had emotion too. I saw Lyric in the tree drawing. Her tail wagging furiously. Which meant she was happy, or spotted something pretty.
Kassei and I looked at each other and ran up the tree as fast as possible. Well, climbed, but stopped on a branch to see an amazing sun rise over in the east, it had purple and red feel to it, and the last bit of moon still there, sitting by a cloud.
"Whoa,"Kassei said,"And yet we are the only ones who care," He looked down at people who could see it easily,"Check, I even have proof, and for more proof." He jumped down from the tree, and went to a man who could of seen the view just fine,"Hey excuse me."
I jumped,"No...."I softly said.
"Yes,"The man said," The stores are that way."
"No, no, I am wondering, do you see that amazing sun rise over that direction?"
"Mhm, what about it." The man eyed him.
"Doesn't it make you feel all warm, like," Kassei laughed and smiled,"Like when you give service or someone helped you."
"No boy," He said wacking Kassei in the head,"Who cares about some stupid sky coloration. I'm going to be late because of your stupid thoughts now you know. You owe me something. Hand it here."
"uhhh...."Kassei hesitated, and went for his bag, and took out two flowers,"I'm sorry for only two, but the last one is for a friend."
The man grabbed the flowers, tossed them on the ground, and stepped on them,"I pity flowers, because they are meaningless, money is what I want."
"I'm sorry sir, but I don't have anything else to give up, not even a small one cent."
"Your shoes will do, or else I am taking you to the big house."
Kassei turned his head toward a huge building, that over looked everything in Iya. Kassei had been there once, and never wanted to go back,"You know what..."He began taking off his shoes,"Take them, take them and go into your boring life. Where you apparently can't tell me why you need my shoes. I am totally fine with it. Please treat well as you go on with life wearing my shoes."
The man looked questioned,"Okay boy?"
Kassei came back to us, soon as Lyric finished her drawing. It looked great as usual. Though she missed all the action. His eyes looked at the ground as he came over, and climbed the tree,"So..." I said.
He pointed to his feet,"He took my shoes, you know, he must have a problem with money since he couldn't just buy his own shoes. Plus, he asked for money. He probably had no job either just finding away to get something. He could of told me, I could of gone to my house, and get some loose change, clothes, even food if he wants."
"You don't need to help every one."
He sighed and leaned on the trunk of the tree. I had forgotten that he wanted to be the next ruler of Iya. Because he hated all the other rulers ever since the emotion went on. So he thought he had to be nice to everyone for anyone to understand. I understood and so did Lyric,"I will make sure everyone gets the help they need, even if it means being killed. That is why we made this group."
"I know," I felt my tail swing,"Oh, look, a bird in a tree, so cool...chicken is a really good bird...really good."
"What's wrong," He looked behind me,"I thought I saw something flicker not too far away behind you."
"It's nothing."
"so you just admitted it is something, since you know what it is," Lyric said," You've been acting so strange lately Hitori. What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong."
"You sure? Because you are in denial. Which means something." Kassei so happened to point out.
"No I am not, anyways," I got out my bag," We all need to find two things to hind our identity. One that we all know of, and one that none of know of. Which means, if I want to do something that I don't need you to know about, you won't know it is me. Or if any of you."
"Why," Lyric said,"What is the point to that.'
"Put it simple, if I or you need to do something rash, and you don't want us to be involved, perhaps get hurt, then you change your identity. I know mine for example," I put on a mask with a butterfly shape,"This is one that you know."
"There are many masks that people wear, to rob or to do other things, how can we tell the difference?"
"You have to make your own, that what a ninja is all about."


text:
Newshour: Chicago Iraqis
Chicago Iraqis are interviewed about the presence of American forces in Iraq, consequences of violent bombings, and Iraq's future after Saddam Hussein. Continue reading
Chicago Iraqis are interviewed about the presence of American forces in Iraq, consequences of violent bombings, and Iraq's future after Saddam Hussein. Continue reading
A segment about Iraqi immigrants in Chicago and their opinions on Iraqi revolution as well as American intervention in Iraq. Continue reading
Brief news segment covering the banning of partial birth abortions in Nebraska. Explains the effects and shows interviews from both sides of the issue. Continue reading
Brief news clip covering Al Gore and Bill Bradley's campaigns in Iowa before the 2000 Iowa Caucus. Continue reading
Collection of revealing scenes of various Chicago politicians. The film focuses mainly on mayors and mayoral candidates of the 1980s including Jane Byrne, Harold Washington, Edward "Fast Eddie" Vrdolyak, and Thomas Hynes. In true Chicago style, the looming presence of long-time, now late, mayor of Chicago, Richard J. Daley makes an appearance. Includes some invaluable footage, especially of when Harold Washington's many speeches. Particularly revealing are scenes of racial upheaval during the time surrounding Harold Washington's election and mayorship. Continue reading
Camera original footage of the 1996 Iowa caucuses. This tape features footage of the Lamar Alexander and Phil Gramm campaigns in February 1996. Continue reading
Footage leading up to, and after, the 1995 Chicago mayoral election. Opens with a brief press conference with challenger Roland Burris, then follows Mayor Richard M. Daley through his election celebration and various press engagements. Continue reading
Footage of a pro-life event featuring Randall Terry. Terry talks about the impending "moral anarchy" of the nation and his opinions on the importance of God. Continue reading