text:
Since I don't do well living with other people, this arrangement was great, when no one else was in town. The condo was a penthouse – clean, nicely decorated, with a spectacular view of the sunset. When everyone was in town, however, I was miserable. I'd end up holing myself in my room all night, usually with a numbing bottle of wine, and wouldn't come out until morning, when everyone else would either be gone already or still behind their own closed doors.
I just do not like sharing space.
Also, I don't like my phone … all phones in general, pretty much, and whenever I hear it ringing, it makes me mad. WHO IS CALLING ME? WHY ARE PEOPLE CALLING ME? STOP CALLING ME! And it's never in a place that's easy to answer, so I'm usually futilely digging around for it at the bottom of my backpack, and usually end up missing the call. Sometimes, I leave it in the office all night. Sometimes, I leave it in my car. Sometimes, I don't charge it up. Sometimes, I silence it so I don't know whether it's ringing or not. Sometimes I don't know where it is for days. Email, however, I always respond to email.
Thus, when I pull up to work one morning when everyone's in town, only a few minutes before the start of our weekly 9AM conference call, and see Ian getting into the corporate 4Runner, about to leave, I give him a puzzled look. "Where are YOU going? Don't we have a meeting in a few minutes?"
"I'm going to pick up Kian," he says. "I texted you this morning. You were supposed to drive him to work. Don't you check your phone? I called you last night too."
"My phone? Why would you call me on my phone? I don't even know where my phone is right now. You should have emailed me. I always reply to email." Plus, we're all staying at the condo. We're all in one location. How hard could it be to put a sticky on the door: "Don't forget Kian!" There's power in the written word.
I was relieved, however, that I hadn't had to drive Kian into work, even if it is just a three-minute ride. As much as I like Kian as a person, I NEED MY SPACE, especially in the morning, and having him along in the passenger seat would have really put me into a bad mood.
As Ian drives off to collect Kian, I go into my office, fire up my laptop, get my two monitors going, and wait to be connected to the morning conference call via Skype. To kill time, I browse through my Match.com picks of the day, which are a disappointing but standard mix of fat, bald, and old.
I sit and sit and sit, waiting for the call to come through. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting, for the call that never comes.
Instead, I get Troy, who sticks his head into my office and says, "Stacey, come on … we're all meeting in Ian's office. We're waiting for you."
All meeting in Ian's office? Crap. What's wrong with sitting in my own office and being connected to the group electronically? I love electronic connections; I hate enforced togetherness.
"WHY? Why can't I be on Skype?" I demand.
Troy, already gone but within hearing distance, ignores me. I'm so mad about having to personally join the group that I forcefully undock my laptop, stomp into Ian's office, snarl at all the people who are assembled and waiting for me, and announce, "I preFER to be alone in the mornings."
This makes Ian, especially, laugh. "ONLY in the mornings?" he asks.
And then to the group, who are assembled at their own solitary computers in various parts of the world … Spain, South Africa, New York … he announces, "So! Stacey just walked in and brightened up the room! After announcing that she prefers to be alone in the morning, having driven that point home by ditching Kian at the condo."
Despite my snarly mood, I have to laugh. Me, brightening up the room. That is funny.]]>
Despite my fear of fire, fires have always seemed like rather bright and cheerful things. Candles, for instance, are pretty, and smell good, and add a nice ambiance to any setting. And, I always thought it would be a bit of a no-brainer to be a fireman. You go into a building which is bright with illuminating flames, run over to the fire, and hit it with your hose. It might take a while, but if you stand there pouring water on it long enough, it will eventually go out. Also, I have always loved firemen. Without the ability to throw people in jail, the authority never really gets to their heads.
But where I come from, you can't just show up at the fire hall, say, "Hi, I want to be a fireman," and they let you in. No. There is an official fire school, it lasts about a year, you have to pay to go to it, and then you have to graduate. It's really hard, from what I hear, and you have to run around with weighted vests doing pull-ups. However, here on the Outer Banks, there is no paid fire department. It's all on a volunteer basis, and since most people don't want to risk their lives to fight fire without monetary compensation, the Volunteer Fire Department is very happy to see you when you show up. They'll take anyone, regardless of age or size, even people who are afraid of fire (although to be fair, I didn't actually tell them that part). But really, they are the most non-discriminating bunch I have ever met in my life, and all you have to do to be a Volunteer Firefighter is to show up at the fire hall at 7 o'clock on a Monday night and they'll let you in. Or, at 6:30, if you want to partake of the free meal they cook for you. So that is what I do, the Monday after my house almost burns down. I show up at the Volunteer Fire Department, and just like that, I'm a Volunteer Firefighter. They even vote me in at a board meeting.
I continue to do this for about a month: I show up for at 6:30, get my plate of food, and then wait. And wait. I want to go back for seconds, but I don't. So I wait some more. Seven o'clock comes and goes, and we're all just sitting there until about 7:30, when a few more stragglers come in and complain when they see that there's no food left. Now that I've been doing this for a while, I'm starting to get annoyed by everyone always being so late, and I want to shout, "There'd be food left if you'd BEEN ON TIME!" There are other things I could be doing right now, other things I want to be doing right now, like sweating miserably through a work out, but no. I'm sitting in the second floor of a fluorescently-lit living room of a house which has been converted to a classroom of sorts, with the smell of garlic bread and overcooked green beans in the air, and I'm completely out of patience.
I've already read everything written on the blackboard a few times, and even though I get a kick out of the list of running jokes that someone has written up there about Ken Mason, whose scariness appears to be legendary among the other volunteers (ie, Ken Mason doesn't get wet – water gets Ken Mason'ed; Ghosts sit around the campfire telling Ken Mason stories), they haven't added any new jokes since the last time and there's only so much boredom and time-wasting I can take.
Finally, the lecture begins, but it's interspersed with a lot of long drawn-out anecdotes about stories from the past, and lots of meaningless commenting from the other volunteers, and there's a lot of time spent talking about the next great tragedy that will surely strike. "We know it's gonna happen, it's just a matter of WHEN," they muse. "We all know how bad the shoulder is up by Pea Island … a tour bus filled with fifty old blue-hairs is just waiting to drive off the shoulder and roll, and we need to be prepared!"
In my mind's eye, an image of a bus with an evil smile, revving up on the side of the road getting ready to make its big move, is quickly replaced with an image of a bunch of blue-haired ladies, hanging upside down from their seatbelts, trapped and screaming inside of a bus along Highway 12 with their heads on fire, and I want to shout, "ENOUGH! Can we stop sitting around talking about it and get out there and DO something?" I'm highly annoyed, and what ends up being 15 minutes of information takes an hour and a half for the Chief to impart, and we still have to do the Drill. It's now past my bedtime, and I have a 30 minute commute home.
The night's drill is this: in teams of two, follow a live water hose to its bitter end, through an obstacle course that has been set up in the fire station, find the downed firefighter, and drag him to safety. We're 1) blindfolded, because – I'm shocked to learn – you can't see anything inside a burning building. You can't? Why not? Fire seems so bright; and 2) the trainers throw things down on top of you and bang things with a hammer, to simulate what happens to you in a fire. What? That's what happens to you in a fire? People throw things at you? The only part of Backdraft I really remember is Billy Baldwin having sex in a fire truck. I don't remember the part where people throw things at people.
We suit up in our firefighter costumes, which is only supposed to take a few seconds, but which takes me 5 minutes or more. God help the people who are waiting for me to come put out their fire. I picture a husband and wife, standing at the window of a flame-engulfed room, shaking their heads and tapping at their wristwatches, as I come screaming around the corner on two wheels in the ladder truck, 20 minutes late, steering the wheel with one hand and dressing myself with the other. But, this is the part I love, the costumes, only they don't like it when I call them costumes. I'm supposed to call them "Turnout Gear." The big baggy pants with suspenders is a really good look for me. It makes my arms look more defined and I wish I could wear them all the time. Since I've just started, I have to borrow someone's boots and they're way too big on me, and I don't really like the hood, or the helmet which is so heavy that my neck is sore for days afterwards just trying to hold my head up. Then we put on the airtank and mask which is also not fun because it's heavy and awkward and feels a bit claustrophobic. Then they blindfold us, which I'm thinking is still just a mean trick.
I'm paired off with Barry, who runs the island karaoke on Wednesday nights, only then, it's not called Karaoke, it's called Barry-oke. Barry has been a volunteer firefighter for a while, and knows what he is doing, so he goes in first. I'm his backup, which means I'm supposed to stay with him at all times by holding onto his boot with my right hand but this is hard because 1) I can't feel much through the thick protective glove that I'm wearing, and because 2) I'm also supposed to be using my right hand to feel my way along the water-filled hose at the same time, and my right hand is having a hard time doing these two things at once. My right hand is also supposed to be doing a third thing during this time, which is to read the coupling of the hoses to tell me if I'm going towards the fire or away from it, but I'll be damned if I can do these three very hard things at once, so I give up on the hose and the coupling and just concentrate on Barry's boot, which seems to be my only chance of survival. I can't use my left hand for any of those tasks, because my left hand is busily employed with holding an axe and sweeping it along the floor in front of me (while trying not to whack Barry in the crotch) and to the side of me, to clear the path of obstacles and look for victims, although if I sweep too hard and hit a victim's head, I'm surely going to kill him. I briefly wonder if anyone has ever died like that before: "Yeah, sorry … he survived the fire, but I accidentally killed him with my axe."
Here is what I realize, about three seconds into it: firefighters don't have enough hands; thus, they're doing an impossible job. It is simply not possible to be a firefighter. Suddenly, I no longer care about finding the downed firefighter inside the building: my only goal is to make it through the drill. I try to center myself, pull myself back into myself, squinting all my energy to a point right in front of my nose. I feel remote and contained, buried deep inside the hollow coffin of my turnout gear. I could easily have a panic attack, but I really need to get through this. Breathe, I tell myself, just breathe, and that's all I can do, focus on my breathing, while simultaneously and blindly following Barry's boot up into a fire truck and out the other side, sure if this was a real situation I would not make it out alive. My boots fall off twice and the helpers who are throwing stuff at us and banging on pipes have to stop throwing stuff at us and help me put my boots back on, which can't be a good thing because I'm pretty sure I won't have the luxury of having 2 men following me around making sure I'm properly attired in the event of an actual fire, and then it turns out that I haven't tightened my helmet correctly on the inside, so it too falls off twice, and they have to help me with that too, and everything is so heavy and hard and I have no idea what I am doing other than scraping along the floor behind Barry's boot. It's just too much.
About 8 minutes later, with no help from me, Barry gets to the end of the hose, finds the victim, and we drag the victim out. Actually, Barry drags the victim out. I just stand there and pretend to pull at the victim's arm, and then finally, it's over, and we can turn off our tanks and take off our masks, which is trickier than it sounds because of the gloves, and actually a little scary because if you do it wrong you run the risk of cutting off your air supply for a few seconds. Even though we were only in there for about 10 minutes, I'm as sweaty as if I'd been through an hour and a half of Hot Yoga. And, I'm panting. It may have been the most intense 10 minutes of my life.
This is when I stop thinking that the other volunteers who actually know what they're doing are just a bunch of guys who wanted to be firemen when they were kids, and that this is their way of acting out their fantasies. I stop likening them to the inept firemen in the movie Roxanne, who get blown back fifty yards whenever anyone turns on the fire hose. ("So, how was class last night?" "
Well, did you ever see Roxanne, where the firemen run around like idiots? It was kind of like that. It was awesome! Those guys are amazing!") This is when I gain a whole new respect for the Volunteer Firemen of Chicamacomico Banks. How anyone has ever successfully put out a fire without dying during the process is astounding to me, and that the whole world isn't currently burning out of control becomes a source of constant wonder.
However, I still get mad the next week when they all come in late, complaining that there's no food left, and wasting my time with stupid stories that have nothing to do with anything, so I am happy to hear that the following week, we will finally get to go down to the Burn Building in Buxton, and put out a fire. The head guy from Rescue One in New York will be in town and he'll lead us through the paces and keep us all safe. A Burn Building, I'm told, is a completely controlled environment – a building explicitly designed for fire training – and the guys in charge know exactly what's going on at all times, so there is no chance that any of us will die. See? This is why I still don't believe them about not being able to see inside a burning building. Did they really need to just blindfold us? If it is completely controlled, and everyone knows what's going on, you must be able to see. They probably just blindfolded us so that when we actually get into a burn situation, it will be that much easier, a pleasant surprise.
That week, I go to the fire station and I get all my gear that fits, and I practice putting it on, and I familiarize myself with the air tank and mask, because the last thing I want to do is look like a tool in front of the Rescue One guy from New York.
We get to the Burn Building at around 6:15, and start gearing up. The Rescue One guy is older and very compact, and it is obvious he knows his stuff. He lived through 911, for crying out loud. He has also brought a younger friend with him, to help, who at first I don't think is anything all that special when he's just standing there, but when he goes running into the building in his gear like a confident hero who knows what he's doing, and then comes running back out, whipping his hat off to reveal a sooty black smudge across his cheek, I suddenly think he's the sexiest man alive. And I think this even more so, once I've been into the building for the actual drill myself. I am filled with awe.
How is it possible to know what to do? How do you find the fire? You can't see. Seriously, you cannot see anything, I soon learn, inside of a burning building. "Well," he tells me, in a Brooklyn accent that I do my best to ignore, because when heroes speak to me in my mind, they aren't speaking with Brooklyn accents. "As soon as I open the door, I drop to the floor and there's usually an inch of clarity and I can sometimes see the fire that way." He can see the fire through a measly old inch wearing that stupid mask? He is a GOD, and I fall 5 degrees hotter in love. It all seems so impossible to me, how a person can know so much about what to do, because every situation is different. There are so many things that can go wrong, things that you don't know about the building. You don't know the layout, you don't know if the floor immediately in front of you has caved in, you don't know where the piano is until you crash into it, you don't know if something is suddenly going to explode. How does anyone survive? How can you know all that stuff? "Oh, it's easy," he says and I swoon again. There is nothing more hot than a competent man who can save me from a burning building.
So then it's my turn, and I suit up way too early because I don't want to be the last slowpoke that holds up everyone else. I stand around for 15 minutes feeling like Randy from the Christmas Story, in all my heavy gear. If I fall down, I'm not going to be able to get back up. Did I mention that it's August? My nose gets itchy under my mask but I can't scratch it and it's all I can think about for the 15 minutes that I'm standing there all proper and stiff like a fire-geek while everyone else is lounging around nonchalantly, confident enough in their gear-putting-on abilities that they can leave it until the last minute. Not me! I'm so worried about leaving an exposed piece of skin that I have at least three people give me a gear check.
Since it will be my first time going into an actual building with fire in it, my role is simply to observe. I get the easy job. All I have to do is hang onto the Captain's boot and watch what everyone else is doing. Plus, the Captain is a big strapping fellow whose sheer bulk makes me feel safe. He'll definitely be able to carry me out if I collapse, and I fear that I might. So many things can go wrong. What if my mask stops working? It could. I will not be able to fix it because of my heavy gloves. How do firemen survive, I wonder for the twenty-millionth time.
I feel like now would be a good time to come clean and tell them all that I'm so afraid of fire I can barely light a match, but it seems a little unfair to be springing this on them so late in the game, so I follow the Captain into the building, despite what I feel is the beginning of a panic attack. "Stay on the ground," he shouts. "What?" I say. It's hard to hear anything with all that gear on. Plus, fire isn't just hot; it's also very noisy.
I am here to tell you firsthand (if it wasn't already abundantly clear by now) that you really can't see anything inside a building on fire. It really is that dark, you might as well be blind, and it is very very very very hot. We'd even done a walk-through before the building was completely ready for us, so that should've helped me with the lay of the land, but it didn't, so it was a good thing I was hanging onto the captain's boot, otherwise, I wouldn't have known where to go. You're supposed to feel your way with your hands, but how do you do that while sweeping with an axe with one hand, and holding onto someone's boot with another? Again, the "not enough hands for the job" issue rears its ugly head. Five seconds in and I'm glad that I don't have a role other than observer, because there's no way I could be doing anything productive in here, like putting out a fire or rescuing someone's screaming baby. And if truth be told, I wasn't even doing a good job as an observer. Again, just like in the drill, I immediately stop trying to do anything except self-survive. I can't be caring about anyone else right now, so nobody else better need my help; they really better have this thing under control like they promised. It hits me that all I've done tonight is dress up in a costume and follow a large man around in a burning building on my hands and knees. At least my boots didn't fall off this time, but otherwise, that's about it. But also, "observe"? Even if I WAS doing my job, who are they kidding? I couldn't see a thing! I couldn't observe properly if I wanted to. I completely failed in my role as an observer.
Finally, we make it out, and while most people have to go in twice, I only have to do that one tour, since it's getting late, and the REAL people need the experience, and at this point I'm just a waste of time. In the event of a real fire, no one is taking me along with them as backup.
The next week, I skip my first meeting. The next day, the Chief stops by my office. Busted! When you live on an island with only one road going through it and you drive a yellow jeep with 4 big fat headlights on top, it's kind of hard to hide. "I just wanted to make sure we didn't scare you away," he says. The Chief is a kindly man, slightly built with sad eyes – the kind of man you're happy to learn is married because otherwise you'd feel responsible for his happiness – and I hate to let him down.
"It's not your fault," I want to reassure him. "I was afraid of fire before you ever came on the scene," but I don't say this. I tell him I was busy at work, which is true, but not the real reason. I also tell him that I'm better off being one of the people who don't actually go into the fire itself but who stand around and tell everyone where all the gear is on the truck, but truthfully, I really don't want to spend time learning about where everything is on a truck because tools and hardware bore me, so I'm just buying time.
I don't go the week after that, and the next week we're evacuated off the island for Hurricane Irene. I plan on stopping by the station on my way out, to make sure they'll be covered during the storm, not that I would have stayed if they hadn't been (I'm also afraid of hurricanes), but in my rush to get off the island, I forget to stop by, and by the time I return to the island, four weeks later, I feel like too much time has passed, and plus, my heart's just not really into it anymore. Maybe when the Rescue One guys come back I'll join up again, so I can watch them running confidently into a burning building like the heroes that they are.
And that's it. As suddenly as it started, I have retired from the Volunteer Fire Department. I wonder if they'll let me keep the baggy pants and suspenders as a parting prize.]]>
|Bachelor #1:
|As if the scary scowl and facial hair weren't enough to scare me away, he smokes daily and does Civil War Reinactments Who smokes? Who does Civil War Reinactments? Plus, he never drinks. How can you smoke and do Civil War Reinactments without drinking? At any rate, I need a drinker. I can't go through life without drinking.And, his favorite thing is to "have my family with me no matter what we are doing." Really? Like, even during sex? Does this mean you all sleep in the same bedroom too? Yuck.
|Bachelor #2:
|Aye, aye, Skipper. Something about this picture reminds me of Gilligan's Island. He "expecially" likes Nascar, and is looking for his best friend. Well, I expecially don't like Nascar, so it's not going to be me.
|Bachelor #3:
|Ok, Romeo, are you trying to be cute with the fetching fist-to-the-chin gesture, or are you lining up to punch me? But, he's a widower, and I always feel bad for those guys, so I cut him some slack, until I see that he's 5'7. I'll tower over him in heels; this will never work. Plus, I'll never mean as much to him as his dead wife.
|Bachelor #4:
|"GETTING READY FOR CHURCH, WANNA JOIN ME?" screams the caption of this teeny tiny picture. The rest of his profile is also typed in screaming caps.My answer? NO!
|Bachelor #5 has selected the box "heavyset":
|Why do I think heavyset people shouldn't be allowed on dating sites. Why do I think heavyset people can't find love. I think it's because I can't picture them having sex. How do they manage to get the parts together, with their bellies in the way?
|Bachelor #6′s byline threatens: "I will find you."
|With those extra-wide glasses and long gopher teeth, munch munch munch, I'm suddenly afraid that he's going to start stalking me. "I will find you"? Please don't!
|Bachelor #7′s byline states: "If you don't read this profile, you'll be kicking yourself later " (See the smiley face? It's important.)
|He kind of looks like a smiley face, and I don't do well with perenially smiling people. He also looks like a lot of other guys I know (and don't particularly like), so I'm pretty sure I know what kind of a personality he'll have, but I don't like kicking myself at any time – now or later – so I give his profile a quick read.Surprise! Every single sentence paragraph is punctuated with a smiley (or winky, or frowny) face, guiding the reader to the appropriate emotional reaction that the sentence is supposed to ellicit. For example, he likes going out to eat . Smiley face. That's a happy thing. I should be happy about it, so I smile. <<SMILE.>>On the other hand, if his date likes "me time" he's fine with that because she'll have enough of it because he travels a lot for work . Ah, a frowny face. <<FROWN.>> Apparently, that's not a good thing. He's such a delight to be around that even a day without his company should make us all sad. It would only make me happy.
He seems like a bit of a control freak. My first instincts were correct. NEXT.
|Bachelor #8 is looking for true love:
|It looks like he found it in the mirror, with his phone.He's very handsome, so he's told, but we can judge that for ourselves. I will judge that for myself, and I judge that he's not.
|Bachelor #9 claims to be athletic and toned:
|I guess he's wearing an innertube under his shirt, then.
|Bachelor #10 has a picture dated 2004.
|It is now 2011; get with the program. More importantly, I just can't get over the lady in the Bozo the Clown Wig. What the heck?
And there ends the parade, not a moment too soon. I hope you enjoyed it. I didn't, expecially.
And so I remain, single, for another day.]]>
Show and Tell, according to me, was a God-given opportunity to show my most prized possession – my Liddle Kiddle Collection – to the rest of my kindergarten class. I cared nothing about the public speaking aspect of it, a systemic failure which would manifest itself nine years later when I attempted to give a speech at the National Honor Society Induction Ceremony but just ended up staring blankly out at the audience, paralyzed by the flashing camera lights, like Cindy Brady on the Quiz Show Episode. It was time for Show and Tell, and all I cared about was showing off my toys.
It must have gone well for me in my mind, because, while everyone else was hanging out in the back of the room eating white paste out of a jar and erecting walls out of big red cardboard bricks, I was hanging out at the front of the room, giving Mrs. Gibson every possible opportunity to congratulate me on my impressive Liddle Kiddle Collection. This is how I happened to be in earshot of Mr. Wertz, the school janitor, when he walked in smelling like Pine Sol and puke and quietly informed Mrs. Gibson that, in thirty minutes, we were going to have the very first fire drill of our lives.
I wasn't supposed to hear this part, but I did, and it sent me into immediate panic. A fire drill! Oh no! I've always been deathly afraid of fire – unable to light even the simplest match from a very young age – and I was sure that every time the alarm went off over at the fire department, it was because my childhood home was burning to the ground. I was always relieved and surprised when I'd get off the school bus after school and see that our house was still standing.
Yes, I knew what a fire drill was … I knew there wasn't going to be a real fire, that they weren't going to actually set the school on fire and then sit there laughing on the sidelines as we tried to escape with our lives. They'd explained it to us as a class, and at the time it all sounded perfectly reasonable: line up and exit the building in an orderly fashion. No big deal. However, now that the time was upon us, so very formal and official, it made the possibility of a fire seem all too real. People practice things for a REASON; this could really happen to us. I pictured us all standing outside, across the street in the playground, watching the school, empty and alone, get eaten up by flames, and it made me feel like I'd just been orphaned. To make matters worse, I still had my Liddle Kiddles to worry about. I tore off to the Show and Tell area, grabbed the Liddle Kiddles in their white plastic carrying case, tore back to the front of the room, and came crashing to a halt directly in front of Mrs. Gibson's desk, where I promptly and loudly burst into tears.
Somehow over the next 40 years, by no stroke of my own genius, I successfully manage to make it through life without catching on fire or burning anything down, and life is good, until one humid night in June 2011, when my winning streak comes grinding to an end.
It's 2 o'clock in the morning, and this is the sound that wakes me up:
I have just moved into my new apartment, having relocated from Florida to North Carolina a mere two weeks ago. It was a company move, and we all packed up our offices and homes, and made the day-long drive from Delray Beach to the Outer Banks. We just got here. This was supposed to be our welcoming period.
I hear it again.
It takes awhile for the sound to register, to sink in. I don't hear it right away, I don't recognize its source, and I don't know that it's directed at me.
"What the … ? " I decide to go check it out. Maybe I'm being robbed.
I open the door to my bedroom, and realize the sound is coming from my front door. Someone is banging on my front door, screaming about fire. "Stacey! Wake up! There's a fire!"
This doesn't make sense to my half-asleep brain. I just got here. There can't be a fire yet. It's too soon.
As I'm running down the stairs, an incident that happened the day I left Florida flashes portentously into my mind: I'm making my last trip down the elevator with the last remnants of my stuff, this close to getting into the 4Runner and driving north forever. As the elevator door slides open to the ground floor, the keys to the 4Runner, which I'm holding in my hands, slip out of my hands and go tumbling right down into the elevator shaft, clinking when they hit the bottom. It was like a slow-motion scene out of a Hollywood movie where props are used to foreshadow doom, and I was sure the keys were trying to tell me something. "Don't leave! Stay in Florida! " they shouted at me from down in the elevator shaft. "No good can possibly come if you move to North Carolina!"
I run down the stairs, cursing myself for not listening to the keys, and open the door. It's April, my next-door neighbor, and three houses down, to the south, there's a building that is completely on fire. To make matters worse, there's a strong southwest wind blowing, which means we're directly in the line of the fire. To my scared and untrained eye, it looks like we'll be burning in minutes.
"We're being evacuated," April pants. She's not in the greatest shape, and she's out of breath from running up the stairs and banging on the door. There's a sense of urgency in the air, a feeling of pending doom, and it's like I'm back in front of Mrs. Gibson's desk clutching my Liddle Kiddles to my chest.
"Grab your most important stuff!" she says.
"My most important stuff?" I look at her blankly, hoping she'll have all the answers. "What's my most important stuff?" I look around hopelessly. If I'm about to become homeless, it's all my most important stuff.
I start grabbing it all. Not the furniture because it's too big, but everything else: my most meaningful pictures off the walls, everything I've written in the past 20+ years, my computer, my clothes, pillows, blankets, three stuffed animals, jewelry, underwear, and I even manage to carry my big tv along with the cable modem in one fell swoop, which I take down and deposit on the sidewalk of the restaurant next door. This faintly surprise me; I've never been able to carry my television on my own before; it's usually too big and unwieldy.
Even though it's 2 o'clock in the morning and I've never been much of a phone person, I suddenly decide that now is the time to let everyone I can think of know exactly what is going on in my life at this particular moment. I call my boss (and leave a message on his answering machine), I call one of my co-workers (who I've woken from a drunken sleep and who doesn't seem to understand the importance of what's going on), and of course, my parents, who are not new to the business of talking me off the ledge during natural disasters, and who always seem to get the worst of it. I'm so scared at this point that I unwittingly make it sound like the flames are lapping at my trousers, and not three doors down, well-contained by the Avon VFD (which I don't know until later), and am informed by my father that most fire-related deaths are caused by smoke inhalation, so I should stay low and get the heck out of the building. "Not yet! I still need to grab more stuff," I say, so I hang up and get the show on the road. Rome's burning here, people. I've got to move!
I cram my '09 Kahoonas and my Pro 124 board into my jeep, along with everything else I can think of, stuffing it so full that it looks like a prop from the Grapes of Wrath set. All that's missing is toothless old grandma strapped to the top in her rocking chair. I drive it a quarter of a mile down the street, out of harm's way, and then run back, to continue the looting of my own house. It took me 2 months to pack up for the move, and in 10 minutes, it's all scattered, in parts, onto the lawn, around the building, into the parking lot of the Dolphin Den, and down the street.
It's at this point that I think to remember the news cameras. There are always news cameras at a fire, and right now I look like a sweaty-toothed madman, definitely not ready to be interviewed on national television. I throw on a bra, swig some Scope, put on some lipstick and deodorant, and then – properly presentable – continue unloading my house into the streets of Avon.
Then, at some point, the danger is over. It doesn't end with any great fanfare; no one cheers to punctuate the moment. It just gradually becomes clear that the fire is not going to spread to our houses. The show is over, it's time to go home. There's a quiet relief in the air, and I'm so grateful when I realize this that I run down to where the firemen are milling around, intending to thank them for saving my house, but when I get there, I'm feeling too emotional and I know that if I open my mouth to thank them, I'll just start crying, so when I get to them, I just turn around like an idiot and start running back in the opposite direction, as if this is something I do every night at 4 AM: run down to where the fireman are standing, then turn around and run back.
The next day, I do two things. I sign up for renter's insurance, and out of gratitude, and because it seems like an important skill to have if houses are just going to start burning down around me at random all the time, I join the Volunteer Fire Department, conveniently leaving out the part that I'm deathly afraid of fire.
I'm sure they'll figure out that part on their own.
I already know that online dating is not an appropriate venue for me. I dabble in it every couple of years, have a bad experience, and run away screaming. Plus, I'm far too judgemental and initially shallow to be a good candidate for meeting someone online. However, at the moment, I live on a remote island that is pretty much closed for the winter. The only men in the dating pool are 75 year old fisherman playing bingo down at the Angler's Club, so I signed up for Match.com to make me feel like I still have options.
Am I ever really going to electronically "wink" at any of these guys? Absolutely not. I don't make first moves. Am I ever going to respond to their emails? Highly unlikely. That would increase the chances of actually having to meet them, even though, thankfully, most of them live many states away, making it almost impossible to coordinate a meeting. Yet somehow, finding seven new matches in my inbox every morning makes me feel like I'm being proactive, like I'm taking an active interest in my future, like I haven't given up all hope that I'll ever actually fall in love with anyone again. And even if all I ever do is review my matches and deposit them into the NO pile, or leave them languishing forever in the MAYBE pile, without ever communicating with any of them, at least I feel like I'm still in the game.
Here's the innate problem with online dating: real-life personality can either make a hot guy unattractive, or an unattractive guy hot, but since the "man in action" dimension is missing from the online experience, I have no choice but to play the hand I'm dealt, which, first and foremost, are the pictures. And that's too bad, because pictures are where I'm at my unapologetic, judgemental best. And without the redeeming dimension of real, live Personality, almost nobody has a chance.
It has been said about me that I only date guys who look like movie stars (although I can point out examples where this blatantly wasn't true … Frank Nicholas, for one) so I can understand why a guy might not want to include a picture of himself in his profile, if there's the chance that I'm going to be looking at it. But without a picture, I automatically X him into the "NO" pile: no passing go, no collecting two hundred dollars. And the "request my picture" ploy? Forget it. I'm not going to read your poignant, heartfelt profile only to find out that you look like Cousin It, because then I'll have to keep talking to you so that you won't think I'm shallow, and I am, so forget it. Man up and post a picture, for crying out loud. Stop wasting my time.
And, it can't just be one picture – it has to be many pictures. Up close pictures of you, yourself. Not pictures of your car, your dog, your mother, the view from your living room window, your boat, your airplane, you with another girl, or you in a picture with 10 other people, because odds are, there's someone cuter in the picture than you are, and that's the one I'm going to want, so no fair getting my hopes up. And the pictures can't be tiny little thumbnail pictures, or far-away pictures of a dot skiing down a mountainside that could be Jean-Claude Killy, for all I know. Clear, up-close, recent pictures of YOU. It's not rocket science, but it must be, because so many people get it wrong.
And if you're bald, that's too bad, but take off your fricking baseball cap. You do not need to wear a baseball cap in every single picture, because not only does it show your lack of confidence but all I can think of when I look at your picture is what the heck are you hiding? No one likes surprises, especially not me.
It takes me all but a second or two to decide MAYBE or NO, and if I haven't X'd them out based on their looks, I can usually find something in their profiles to earn them a spot in the NO pile. Like, WHY ARE THEY WRITING IN CAPITAL LETTERS? DON'T THEY KNOW ABOUT THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON? STOP SCREAMING AT ME, YOU LAZY DOUCHEBAGS. EVER HEAR OF UPPER AND LOWER CASE LETTERS? USE THEM! In my profile, I am very clear about these things. I blatantly state that I hate the use of acronyms like "lol" or "rotflmao" in written conversation, and shun people who use smilies and over-use exclamation points. Yet, mostly everyone finds the need to punctuate what they think are their funny comments with an all-caps LOL, followed by a dumbed-down little smiley face.
Then there's the "Body Type" part, and even though I applaud the guys who are honest enough to list themselves as stocky, or as having a few extra pounds, I automatically put them in the NO pile too. And the guys that think they're "athletic and toned"? To quote Inigo Montoya, I do not think it means what they think it means. What part of muffin top means "athletic and toned"? And outlandishly-sized biceps do not cancel out a beer belly … they just don't.
And the guys who wink at me, or email me? I've already told them in my profile they have to be smoking hot (I like to scare away the faint of heart), and taller than me, and that I don't like planned facial hair. So why do I keep getting winks and emails from guys who are 5'5″ with facial hair that make their mouths look suspiciously like vaginas? Can't these guys read? Literacy is also an important quality in a potential date. If he can't read, he's never going to be able to appreciate how smart and funny I am.
Further, I get electronic introductory explanations from Match.com itself, trying to sell me on the reasons that Stocky Vagina Beard Guy is the man of my dreams: "you two share the same birth month." Really? I also share the same birth month with Mahatma Ghandi and no one would ever claim that would be the grounds for a brilliant love match.
So. Here I cynically sit, like a Russian judge in the Olympics, meting out stingy scores as the Parade of Men goes marching by - 3.2! 2.1! - on a remote and practically empty island, between a rock and a hard place, waiting out the two months left on my Match.com subscription like it's a jail sentence.
Life can turn on a dime, though. At this point, it's my only hope.
I am the room's rightful owner. I was here first. There is no question about this. However, the little boys still labor under the misconception that it is theirs, so their first order of business, whenever I am home and they come over, is to evict me out of my room. They mill around me, like hungry patrons in a restaurant waiting for my table, making me as uncomfortable as they possibly can, so that I'll hurry up and pay the check so they can sit down and eat.
They barge in while I'm still getting dressed. I instinctively cover my chest.
"This is MY ROOM," says Colton, the eldest of the two.
"No, it's MY room," I say. This part comes out a little muffled; I'm pulling my top over my head.
"It's OURS," says Trent, who is younger but bigger. "I'm serious."
I'd like to tell them both to go take a hike, but I might need these two boys when I'm old and decrepit and I don't want them throwing me into an old people's home. I should probably be nice, so early on into the visit.
"Oh for cryin' out loud," I say. "Just let me put some clothes on first."
They just stand there, staring at me impatiently, as I put on my shoes. When I'm finished, they both usher me out.
"It's about time you skedaddled," says Trent.
Skedaddled? I chase him down the stairs, and I don't feel bad when he slips a little on the carpet.
That was Christmas. A couple of days later, my mom and I take the boys to see The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. They decide they want to stay over that night, and they can, I tell them, with the following stipulation: they can't have my room.
My mom relays this information to them over the phone, and suddenly, they're now not sure if they want to stay over. See? All they care about is marking their territory on my room, evicting me from it, and putting me in my place.
I'm up in arms about this for a while, adamantly clinging to my room rights, but then I experience a rare surge of maturity. "Who cares," I think. "Do I REALLY care where I sleep?"
I don't even sleep most of the time. It doesn't matter if I sleep in a bed or on a couch, it's all the same long insomniatic night. Why must I make an issue out of everything? Why must I be such a child? When am I ever going to grow up? Why can't I just be nice? They're little children.
I tell this to my dad, that I honestly don't care where I sleep.
"Well, what we can't have," says my dad, "Is for them to decide NOT to come, and to then tell them they can have your room. It would look like you were giving into their demands, and that would be a bad lesson."
I agree.
"If you're going to do it," he says, "Call them up and tell them now, before they decide not to come."
I pick up the phone, and then suddenly stop feeling so generous. Who do they think they are? If all they want is to sleep in that room to make a point, and if that is their prime motivation, and they don't care at all about spending quality time with their loving, doting aunt, forget it. They can just stay at home
What we decide is this: that we'll let them decide on their own whether they want to come or not, and if they decide to come, on their own volition, I will be the bigger man, and will graciously give up my room.
After the movie, we take them to Primanti's for a snack. They aren't hungry and don't want anything to eat, but they do want something to drink.
"I'll have a Coors Light," says the younger one.
Funny, I think. I like this kid. But, since he's only six, and not a very resourceful six apparently, he has not yet managed to procure himself a fake ID, so the waitress brings him rootbeer in a little brown bottle that could easily pass for a beer bottle, even when it's being held by a six-year old. I enjoy this sight immensely.
I think it's pretty clear by now that I am not the biggest fan of children. I'm not very good with them, and I never know what to say to them. I expect them to be responsible for starting up the conversation, asking me how my life is going, etc. Thus, when handed this golden opportunity … this one instance of common ground … beer, which – although I don't drink beer and don't like beer – is a part of the Adult World and something I can talk about with comfort … I greedily latch onto it. Finally, a topic of conversation for me and the kiddies!
Then comes the moment of reckoning: are they going home with their mom, or are they coming with us? Turns out the boys are a lot more mature than I'd given them credit for, certainly a lot more mature than I am. Even though they still think they aren't going to be able to sleep in my room, they decide to spend the night with us anyway. We load them and their stuffed animals into the back, strap them into their car seats, and begin to drive the 40 minutes across town, towards home.
Now, you might think that being strapped into a BABY seat at the lofty ages of six and seven might have a humbling effect on a person, that it might put them in their places a little, make them realize how little say they have in the matters of the world at this point in their lives. I mean, they're sitting in seats made for babies, which they'll have to sit in, by law, until they're 8 years old and 80 pounds. You'd think that would be enough humiliation for anyone. But no. Their little selves of esteem seem to be doing just fine, by the sounds of it, as you will soon see.
My mom (who we call "Munin") suddenly realizes she doesn't have any child-friendly breakfast cereal at home for the morning. She says to them, "So, what kind of cereal do you two want to eat for breakfast tomorrow? We'll stop at Giant Eagle and get it."
"Lucky Charms!" shout the two mature children enthusiastically from the confines of their baby seats in the back, waving their stuffed animals around with glee. "Lucky Charms!"
"But," continues the eldest one. "Can you drop us off at the house, and then go back out to get it?"
This really pisses me off, poised as I am to detect an ulterior motive. Drop them off at the house, so they can lay claim to my room before I even have a chance to be the bigger man and give it to them? This is bullpoop. Not on my watch!
"NO," I say, unable to keep the terseness out of my tone. "We will NOT drop you off at the house and go get the cereal. If you wish to enjoy the magical deliciousness of Frosted Lucky Charms for your morning repast, you will come with us the whole way."
This announcement is greeted with an equally terse silence. The boys are used to being treated like little kings by my mother, or at least being spoken to nicely by her. Which makes me feel like a bad person, so I try to soften it a little. I've obviously angered them as much as they've angered me. It must be hard being strapped into that little baby seat at the ripe old age of seven. So as a reconciliatory measure, I say, "We can sing a hundred bottles of beer in the wall, while she's in there," thinking that 1) they'd like shouting a repetitive song over and over at the top of their lungs (what child doesn't?) and 2) the word "beer" would be something that would resonate with them, since the younger one seemed so interested in it earlier.
But NO. All of a sudden, the seat in which I am sitting gets pummeled from behind by two angry kicking feet. It's the older one, who wasn't even involved in the beer conversation earlier. He screams, in a not-very-nice kind of way, "YOU'RE CRAZY!" and then proceeds to kick the back of my seat as hard as he can: kick kick kick. "YOU'RE CRAZY!" KICK KICK KICK, he repeats. Wait, I'm crazy? Who is the one having a temper tantrum while strapped into a baby seat in the back? NOT ME.
"Look, kid," I say. "Look at me and look at you. I'm bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter than you, and I have a well-paying job. You think you calling me crazy really means anything to me?"
"What's your job?" he yells, kick kick kick. "Saying BEER?"
For some reason, this really hurts me. I must be about to get my period or something. I'm being judged by a highly critical seven-year old. What the heck! I don't even like beer, let alone drink it or go around saying it all the time. I was just trying to be nice, and here I am being accused of being preoccupied with beer by a seven-year old.
"Be nice," says my mother under her breath, but since I can't be nice, I turn around once more and say, "STOP. KICKING. THE. SEAT." which he does, mainly because my mother also tells him to stop, and then I don't say a word to anyone for the rest of the way home. I cry a little bit in the dark, and pull out my cell phone and check my non-existent messages, and pretend I have something important to do. I log onto Facebook via my phone and announce to the world that in case it wasn't perfectly understood, I HATE CHILDREN which causes a furor of judgemental anger from one "friend" whose comment I promptly delete, and then block so that she'll never be able to comment again.
I don't say another word, as my mother goes into the Giant Eagle. The boys have graciously allowed her exactly one minute to exit the car, enter the store, select the cereal, check out, and make it back to the car. The older one begins counting, and at 30 seconds, he says to his brother, "She's doing really well," as if he could even know that. (I'm oddly touched by this kind statement, and could almost get over my grudge, but he hasn't said it to me – I'm being pointedly ignored – so I retain my grudge for a little longer.)
At sixty seconds, he begins to slow down his count. Sixty-Onnnnnnnnne. Sixty-twoooooooooooo, and at around three minutes, I decide to offer an olive branch of peace. "I know," I say. "Let's play 'My Munin, Your Munin,'" which is a variation on a game we play in the family called "My Car, Your Car," a game you play when you're waiting for a person to arrive in a car. You get the first car that goes by, and you say, "My Car," and then the other person gets the car after that, and you say "Your Car," then it goes back and forth, until finally the person you're waiting for arrives, and whoever gets THAT car wins the game.
"NO!" shouts the older one.
No one has ever not wanted to play a game of My Car, Your Car in the history of forever, until now. We retreat back into our icy caves of silence.
Finally my mom comes out, having failed at her one minute time cap. It has taken her 5 minutes and 35 seconds, and some of those seconds were longer than normal.
"Were you PURPOSELY going slow?" asks the older one, in an accusatory tone. There's gratitude for you, I think, but I'm off stewing away in Silent Grudgeville somewhere, and this time, I keep my comments to myself. My mother, a much nicer and better person than I am, and much more loved by the children for obvious reasons, laughs and says the most perfect thing.
"Yes, Colton, I walked on my hands the whole way down the aisle, and then when I got to the ice cream section, I slid on my bum."
"Ahhhh," I think, when I hear that. "That is how it's supposed to be done. Why can't I just do it like that?"
The boys laugh and end up loving her even more. Me? I mentally begin packing my bags for the Old People's Home.]]>


text:
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Treatments for individual areas must be spaced at least four to eight weeks apart, depending on the part, and clients can receive as many treatments as they need on an area within two years. Sessions last 5–30 minutes each. See a list of valid treatment areas.
Body and Soul Day Spa
Luxurious relaxation, beauty, and holistic health intersect at Body and Soul Day Spa, where skilled staff administer everything from haircuts to mani-pedis and enzyme peels with organic herbs. In addition to traditional spa and salon products, the centre deploys medical-grade aesthetic technology, including skin-smoothing hydradermabrasion equipment and the Soprano and Lumenis LightSheer laser systems.
Massage therapists can also integrate wellness-based approaches such as aromatherapy, hot stones, or bamboo, leaving muscles as stress-free as a Formula 1 driver at a go-kart track. Their reflexology and reiki sessions can also work to promote the healthy circulation of blood flow and energy through gentle application of hands-on pressure.


text:
MANILA, Utah (AP) The jail where two convicted killers escaped last weekend had just one deputy and one other employee watching 120 inmates, authorities said.
The head of the Utah Department of Corrections, Tom Patterson, called the staffing level "a problem," but Daggett County Sheriff Rick Ellsworth said he did not expect a change in manpower.
After visiting the jail Tuesday, Patterson said several problems contributed to the escape, including security cameras not recording properly and a technical glitch that allowed a door to remain open. The jail will remain locked down until the county addresses security concerns, he said.
Juan Carlos Diaz-Arevalo, 27, and Danny Martin Gallegos, 49, were still on the run Wednesday. They scaled a fence Sunday and escaped from the jail, 120 miles east of Salt Lake City along the Wyoming border. They had been sent to the jail over the summer because of a lack of room in the state prison.
While on a recreation break in a courtyard, the men escaped by going through an unlocked back door, scaling a fence protected with razor wire to reach the roof, then jumping about 16 feet off the roof to freedom, Patterson said.
The men were gone for more than three hours before anyone noticed, not six hours as first reported, Ellsworth said.
Authorities narrowed their search Wednesday after the escapees were spotted walking near a highway about 40 miles from the jail. They tried to solicit a ride, but the driver took off, said sheriff's Detective Dick Blust Jr. of Sweetwater County, Wyo., who was in Utah to help with the manhunt.
Officials stepped up the search in a rugged area of mountains dusted by snow, he said. The driver's sighting and others had the men moving south toward the oil town of Vernal.
Some state corrections officials were told of the escape Sunday night, but Patterson said he learned of it only when he read online news reports Monday.
"It was one of those things -- 'If I know, they must know,'" he said.
Relatives of the murder victims also said they learned about the escape from news reports.
"I feel extremely upset that we didn't notify families sooner," Patterson said. "I'm grateful the media covered this, but my preference would have been to notify them ourselves."
The father of Gallegos' victim, Tammy Syndergaard, 18, is upset about the escape.
"He could either be running to be free or he could be running to get even with people. But I think he wants to choose freedom first," said Jerry Syndergaard, 67.
Meanwhile, in Texas, one of two inmates involved in a brief escape this week that left a state corrections officer dead attempted suicide Wednesday morning, said corrections spokeswoman Michelle Lyons.
Jerry Martin, 37, used boxer shorts attached to a light fixture in his cell to hang himself, was taken to a hospital and then sent to an undisclosed prison unit, Lyons said.
Martin, who has been serving a 50-year attempted murder sentence since 1997, and another inmate broke from a work detail Monday, stole a truck and hijacked a car before being caught within hours. Corrections officer Susan Canfield, 59, was run over and killed as they fled in the truck.
Copyright 2007 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.


text:
|Archaeology of Greece
|Submitting Dean
|Submitting College
|Arts & Sciences -- Charles Monroe x8033
|Departments Generating the Proposal
|Objection Deadline
|March 01, 2005
|Proposal Status
|Final Approval Granted
|Proposal Last Updated
|April 08, 2005 by PR Yvonne Brooks
|Effective Date
|Fall 2005
|Brief Summary of Proposal
|This proposal seeks to correct the bulletin description for the existing course 3240:313 Archaeology of Greece. The current bulletin description notes that the course is "required of majors". This notation refers to an old Classics major which no longer exists and is, therefore, misleading to students.
|Type of Proposal
|Course changes only
|Graduate School Endorsement Status
|Not required
|Graduate School Endorsement Updated
|February 14, 2005 by GS Heather Blake
|Institutional Research Status
|IR Status Updated
|February 15, 2005 by IR Dolores Bezilla
|Library Status
|Not required
|Library Status Updated
|February 14, 2005 by UL Diana Chlebek
|Distance Learning Review Committee Status
|Not required
|DLRC Status Updated
|Resource Requirements
|No additional resources
|Resource Requirements Updated
|December 30, 2004 by AS dean's ofc Christy Adams
CPS Menu


text:
WASHINGTON (AP) — Defense Secretary Leon Panetta says the Pentagon will need to make difficult budget cuts to find more than $450 billion in savings, and the cuts may include lawmakers' pet projects or weapons programs in their regions.
He says the budget-cutting on military equipment and personnel costs will prove politically sensitive. The Pentagon chief says Congress must be a responsible partner in this process.
Panetta says he hopes to find $60 billion in savings through efficiencies across the department.
He says the military of the 21st century will be smaller and more agile, but must be ready for the possibility of fighting more than one war at a time. Military leaders say that will tough given the shrinking armed forces.
Panetta spoke Tuesday at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars.


text:
February 20, 2013
Manitoba's Jennifer Jones improves to 6-0 at Scotties, plays 6-0 Alberta next
By TIM BAINES, QMI Agency
KINGSTON, ONT. - Something has to give Wednesday afternoon.
Two undefeated teams, Manitoba and Team Canada, will go head-to-head.
It's Jennifer Jones vs. Heather Nedohin, both 6-0 after Tuesday's games.
Jones and her Manitoba foursome aren't getting their undies in a knot, though. It's just another step. They always knew the path to Sunday's Scotties Tournament of Hearts championship game wouldn't be easy.
It's a situation the St. Vital Curling Club team has been in before, one they're comfortable with. It's a challenge they've been eager to get into again for a long time.
The Jones foursome beat a winless Alberta team 9-6 Tuesday night at the K Rock Centre. Now 0-6, Alberta rested skip Kristie Moore and let alternate Renee Sonnenberg throw last stones.
Manitoba had a 7-2 lead by the fifth-end break.


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Summer Social Skills
For individuals ages 8-26 with autism and other learning differences
Led by autism specialists and special interest educators, AuSM Social Skills summer classes build skills in low-stress environments that encourage learning and growth. AuSM provides programming that is conducive to youth and adults who fall within the wide range of the autism spectrum and offers a 1:4 staff-to-participant ratio.
Click here to view the 2017 AuSM Summer Activities catalog.
Registration for 2017 spring social skills classes also is open. Click here for more information.
Twin Cities AuSM Summer Social Skills
Como Zoo Skills: Super Species (ages 13-18)
Outdoor Adventure Skills with Eastman and Lowry Nature Centers (ages 13-18)
In Harmony with Autism at the St. Paul Conservatory of Music (ages 8-12)
AuSM Filmmakers (ages 14-18)
Minnesota Zoo Summer Camps (ages 8-19) Two sessions are full; openings remain in one session
AuSM On the Town Summer (ages 14-26) Session is FULL
ComedySportz Improv Skills Summer (ages 14-26)
AuSM Artists at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (ages 11-18)
Toneworks Camp Art (ages 8-21)
CAST Summer Showtime with Stages Theatre Company (ages 10-17)
Duluth AuSM Summer Social Skills
AuSM Artists at the Duluth Art Institute (ages 12-21)
Zookeeper Camp at the Lake Superior Zoo (ages 8-11)
Animal Care Camp at the Great Lakes Aquarium (ages 12-18)
Scholarships are available, and some classes may be covered by waiver. Click here for more information.
AuSM Cancellation Policy
Notification of cancellation: If a class is cancelled or postponed, AuSM will attempt to notify you via phone, using the phone number provided with your registration. We also will post notice of cancellations and postponements on www.ausm.org.
Cancellation by program organizer: AuSM reserves the right to cancel a class due to low registrations or other circumstances that make the class non-viable. If AuSM cancels a class, registrants will be offered a full refund. If the class is postponed, registrants will have the option to either receive a full refund or transfer registration to the same class at the new, future date.


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Talking to IANS, Alphonse Putharen said, "I plan to direct the Hindi version as well, but at the moment we are in talks with few producers who have expressed interest in the remake. I have few actors that I would like to cast, but can't divulge information with regards to it." The director added, "We are likely to hear from the producers soon and only after that will I know when the remake will go on the floors."
Made on a shoestring budget of Rs 1.5 crore, the film Neram features debutants Nivin Pauly and Nazriya Nizam in the lead roles. Released on May 17, the movie is still running to packed houses. The premise of the story is that there are good and bad times in our lives and that both have important parts to play. It also stars a host of other actors, such as John Vijay, Simhaa, Nassar, Thambi Ramaiah, among many more.


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One More Layer in DIVORCE Hollywood Style – Child Monitors Grandma Phyllis Block Kidz First?Posted by rose in RoseSpeaks
Well, like most days my life is full of very high-priced lawyers and great offices and all the crazies that come with that. Associates who want to be partners or are looking for the pat on the head for doing a good job of billing hours. The parking attendants at the office buildings…NOT! And all of the others who show up trying to sabotage DIVORCE or CHILD CUSTODY issues. Today would not be any different!
…Keep in mind, folks, you are dealing with me here, I am not impressed with many who are involved in this DIVORCE stuff, evaluators, shrinks, and now we got MONITORS. The training for a "monitor" is more bullshit, I got more training on how to spit shine my shoes in the Navy.
My client, who happens to be a medical doctor, is telling me that this "Shadow" is just terrible, and that she is speaking to her as if she is an idiot and is "dictating" and is a nightmare to deal with. When I talk to the lawyer she tells me pretty much, "she is like a Jewish Grandmother" and that she thinks she is doing a good job, the "shadow"…Hmmm. On Grandma Phil's site, "KIDZ FIRST", there is this quote, "with me, your children are in the next best hands…GRANDMA"!! OMG! This lawyer thinks that "Phil" is the cat's meow, I am going to find out!
Since we were not able to get Ms Block to comment on this we included the link to give her side of this "tough job" of getting couples to "reconcile"? I met a few of these in the Texas court system, some are great and some are horrid and almost telling you they have the power to see who gets the children and it is not always what is in the best interest of the children but what they tell a judge.
Read the rest of the Straight Talk with John J. Nazarian on his blog, Desperate Exes.com at this URL:
Follow John J Nazarian On Face Book and on Twitter and see who John J Nazarian is following.
©Straight Talk by John J. Nazarian, Private Investigator
September 1, 2011
Used with the permission of John Nazarian P. I. – writer
All Rights Reserved, do not reproduce in whole or in part without the express written consent of the author.
The expressions in this blog article are based on the opinions of our featured author, John Nazarian, please remember we are not lawyers and those opinions expressed here are each of our individual opinions and should not be taken as legal advice and/or legal opinions. The comments following this blog article are the opinions and sole property of the blog site members and do not necessarily reflect those of the site owners.
Please also read our Terms of Use and our Privacy Policy.Tags: "dictating" and is a nightmare to deal with, "Shadow" is just terrible, "KIDZ FIRST", and now we got MONITORS, Associates who want to be partners, Beverly Hills, Child Custody, CHILD CUSTODY issues, Desperate Exes.com, DIVORCE, DIVORCE or CHILD CUSTODY, DIVORCE stuff, evaluators, family law courts, good job of billing hours, Grandma Phil's site, high-priced lawyers, Hollywood, Jewish Grandmother, John J. Nazarian, John J. Nazarian P. I., Kidz First, Monitors, my client the medical doctor, My dog Charlie, Phyllis Block, she is like a Jewish Grandmother, shrinks, speaking to her as if she is an idiot, spit shine my shoes in the Navy, very high-priced lawyers, Visitation, your children are in the next best hands...GRANDMA


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Blossom Tree Pictures
A few months ago, we did some Autumn Tree pictures. Today, in the ultimate act of wishful thinking, and an attempt to will something into existence, we decided to do the Spring version, with pink blossom, instead of Autumn leaves. The Boy wanted to know why we didn't do Winter, but that would basically just… Read More »


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Traditionally, trick-or-treating is on
October 31st regardless of the day of the week. Many communities
choose to celebrate Halloween in other ways and on other days. You
may wish to contact your local newspaper or television station.
EverythingHalloween.com View Halloween traditions
on this popular Halloween site. Your guide to relevant historical
studies including where Halloween came from!
Halloween HistoryDedicated to the history
of Halloween.
The Haunted History of Halloween
- Video Hosted by Harry Smith (CBS THIS MORNING) this is an enchanting
look at the 3,000 year history of one of our most popular holidays.
History and Customs of Halloween History and Customs
of Halloween
Halloween: Myths, Monsters, and Devils Detailed information
on the History of Halloween.
History Channel An excellent overview of the History
of Halloween.
Main Street Mom The magazine for modern mothers with
traditional values. We offer Halloween history, crumptuous Halloween
recipes, adorable costume ideas, and terrific party ideas.
has included multiple resources for the history of Halloween for
your convenience. We are not responsible of any inaccuracies.
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Rent Clinical Health Psychology in Medical Settings 2nd edition today, or search our site for other textbooks by Cynthia D. Belar. Every textbook comes with a 21-day "Any Reason" guarantee. Published by American Psychological Association.
Need help ASAP? We have you covered with 24/7 instant online tutoring. Connect with one of our tutors now.


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(September 1996)
[ Noah White writes: ] > > I'm trying to set up a list from which only certain people can post > to. I set it up such that in the config file it looks for a file to get > a list of authorized addresses. In doing so I noticed that X-Sender > gets tacked on to the headers and that anyone with Netscape can forge > this address nullifying any protection this gives. Resend doesn't pay any attention to X-Sender. > So I decided to use the approval header as a further protection. > This works but I've come across a broader flaw in that in the Recieved > header shows what the outgoing alias is. Anyone who wishes to post to > the list could bypass the resend alias and go directly to the outgoing > aliases (which as I said it posted in the Recieved header). Thus > bypassing all checks. Note that if you put the Approval header in the body and don't provide a subsequent To header (in the body, separated from the real body by a blank line) you'll get Apparently-To headers. Stick with restrict_post. > Is there any whay to protect from this? [ This is a canned message ] Here's how you hide your actual mail list alias from list spammers: 1. Pick a non-obvious outgoing list alias name, e.g. "testlist-uzpl" instead of "testlist-outgoing". 2. Turn off EXPN and VRFY in sendmail.cf (Opnoexpn,novrfy). 3. Use a parameter file for resend parameters: testlist: "|/.../wrapper resend @/.../testlist.parms" 4. In the parameter file, specify more recipients than just the outgoing list alias, e.g.: -l testlist -h foo.bar.com testlist-uzpl,nobody (Don't forget to alias "nobody" to /dev/null.) 5. Don't allow any more file permissions than absolutely necessary on any of the Mj files and/or don't allow user logons on the Mj server machine and don't export the file system where the Mj files live. I.e., is it *really* necessary to have world read permissions on anything but the subscriber list file itself? I get along fine with 0660 on all the list.* files and 0664 on the list files. -- Dave Wolfe *Not a spokesman for Motorola* Motorola MMTG 6501 Wm. Cannon Dr. W. OE112 Austin TX 78735-8598


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Postdoctoral Fellow in Human Genetics, Computational Genomics and Bioinformatics
Applications are invited for appointment as a Postdoctoral Fellow in Human Genetics or Computational Genomics and Bioinformatics in the Department of Paediatrics and Adolescent Medicine, LKS Faculty of Medicine, from as soon as possible until the position is filled.
Applicants should possess a PhD degree or equivalent in computation or related fields with experience in analyzing data in genomics and genetics; or a degree in human genetics or related fields with a strong background in data analysis, computation and statistics. The candidate should be able to work in an interdisciplinary environment to collaborate closely with clinical geneticists, statistical geneticists, molecular biologists and bioinformaticians. The fellow should be self-motivated and highly committed to doing excellent work in genetics and genomics. Information about the Department and the program can be found at http://www0.hku.hk/paed/ or http://paed.hku.hk/uploadarea/yangwl/html/index.html, respectively. Please address to firstname.lastname@example.com for further enquires.
A highly competitive salary commensurate with qualifications and experience will be offered. Leave, medical and dental benefits will be offered to the successful candidate. The Department of Paediatrics and Adolescent Medicine and collaborators in the Faculty of Medicine provide a rich environment with access to clinical samples, population genetics data and expertise in various related fields for the candidate to develop and gain valuable experience for his/her Career development.
Further particulars and application forms (152/708) can be obtained at http://www.hku.hk/apptunit/; by fax (2540 6735 or 2559 2058); e-mail (firstname.lastname@example.com); in person or by writing to the Appointments Unit (Senior), Human Resource Section, Registry, Room 1001, Knowles Building, The University of Hong Kong, Pokfulam Road, Hong Kong. Candidates who are not contacted within 6 months of the closing date may consider their applications unsuccessful. see in PDF


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A light, easily absorbed formula providing an intensive brightening & revitalizing treatment to skin. These Vitamin C Ampoules help brighten the skin's complexion. Ideal for luxury salon treatments. Comes in 3 x 10ml.
Manufacturers instructions should always be followed. Apply ampoule following cleansing routine. Use with negative polarity for 6 minutes, followed by positive polarity for 2 minutes.
Aqua (Water), Glycerin, Propylene Glycol, Citrus Aurantium Dulcis (Orange) Fruit Extract, Hydroxyethylcellulose, Peg–40 Hydrogenated Castor Oil, Limonene, Citrus Aurantium Dulcis (Orange) Oil, Disodium EDTA, Magnesium Nitrate, Methylchloroisothiazolinone, Magnesium Chloride, Methylisothiazolinone.


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Sia Is A Married Woman!
Sia is a married woman!
Perez Hilton reports that the singer and her fiancé, documentary filmmaker Erik Anders Lang, tied the knot in Palm Springs over the weekend.
Saturday morning, Sia posted the following tweet, which made so much more sense once I found out it was her wedding day!
Omg omg I'm so excited
— sia (@Sia) August 2, 2014
I bet the wedding was epic - you know SOMEBODY must have swung from a Chandelier that night! Congrats to Sia and Erik!
Photo: Getty Images


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International Human Rights Clinic
- Module Code:
- Credits:
- 30
- Taught in:
- Full Year
The Clinic aims to encourage an engaged 'critical consciousness' that reflects on and works within the trans-national intersection of law, rights and social justice on briefs submitted by partners in the UK and internationally. The Clinic is offered within the LLM (specialist subject grouping: Human Rights, Conflict and Justice) and the MA programmes 'Human Rights' and 'International and Comparative Legal Studies'. Students participating are normally expected to have a familiarity with international law / human rights law, or to be acquiring such familiarity through other School of Law modules during their degree (notably, Foundations of International Law, International Protection of Human Rights). The Clinic is structured around weekly seminars and ongoing project work.
For further details visit: International Human Rights Clinic Page
Objectives and learning outcomes of the module
- To have an understanding of the rigours and challenges involved in international human rights practice and be equipped to research and write on this area
- To understand the dynamics of team work
- To be able to conduct research, individually and in teams, on case-specific themes and country situations, through a variety of media and sources, including web-based resources
- To understand, and be able to analyse, the application of international human rights instruments in and to specific situations
- To be able to reflect constructively on the dynamics involved in building and sustaining relationships with partners in a variety of countries and situations
Particular focuses are likely to develop from the nature of the project work engaged in by individual students. Students who work with the International Human Rights Clinic are critical to the development of the Clinic at SOAS, its approaches to project work and the strengthening of the Clinic's contribution to the human rights efforts of its partners.
Method of assessment
Coursework: 50% (4000 words), 10 % (1000 word minimum) and 40% (3000 words)
Suggested reading
American Society of International Law Proceedings 2010 (ASIL Proceedings 2010) "Teaching International Law: Lessons from Clinical Education" pp.87-101.
Carillo, Arturo J., 'Bringing International law home: The Innovative Role of Human Rights Clinics in the Transnational Legal Process,' 35 Colum H. Rts. L. Rev. 527 2003-2004
Dudai, Ron, 'Introduction – Rights Choices: Dilemmas of human rights practice', 6(3) Journal of Human Rights Practice 2014 pp.389-98.
Hurwitz, Deena, 'Lawyering for Justice and Inevitability of International Human Rights Clinics' 28 Yale Journal of International Law 2003 pp.505-550
Rosenblum, Peter, 'Teaching Human Rights: Ambivalent Activism, Multiple Discourses and Lingering Dilemmas' 15 Harvard Human Rights Journal 301 2002 pp.301-315.


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Optimization Course Software
There are many software tools available to solve optimization problems ranging from free and open-source to proprietary commercial packages. In general, students want to chose a software platform that will be both state-of-the-art and accessible long-term. Solving optimization problems requires some familiarity with a computer programming language. Some of the popular programming languages (see TIOBE index) also include capabilities for scientific computing.
Optimization Software
Information on APMonitor, MATLAB, OptdesX, and Python is listed below. Assignments and projects can be completed with any of these software platforms.
The APMonitor Modeling Language is optimization software for differential and algebraic equations. It is coupled with large-scale nonlinear programming solvers for data reconciliation, real-time optimization, dynamic simulation, and nonlinear predictive control. It is available as a web service through an internet browser or as an add-in package to MATLAB or Python programming languages.
- APMonitor Documentation
- APM Model File Editor
- APMonitor MATLAB Toolbox
- APMonitor Python Toolbox
- Wikipedia: APMonitor
MATLAB allows mathematical operations, plotting, creation of user interfaces, and interfacing with programs written in other languages, including C, C++, Fortran, and Java. A number of optimization tools are available in the Optimization Toolbox. An additional package, Simulink, adds graphical simulation and design for dynamic systems. MATLAB users come from engineering, science, and economics in both academic research and industrial applications. MATLAB is available through the following methods:
- Download MATLAB from software.byu.edu for installation on a personal computer
- BYU Citrix logon with a BYU CAEDM account
- BYU RGS servers with a BYU CAEDM account
Please note that Citrix and RGS perform computing on shared servers with performance that can be less desirable at times of high loading. The most reliable route is to download MATLAB on a personal computer.
The OptdesX software was developed at BYU. It contains some of the best algorithms still in use for constrained nonlinear optimization, including the algorithms in Excel and Matlab. We use OptdesX as a learning tool and we can get inside the code and see what the algorithms are doing, which we cannot do with other software. We can also look at gradients, which are very useful in understanding scaling and in developing robust designs. OptdesX is available through CAEDM Linux workstations or through remote logon to shared servers.
Python is an open-source, versatile, interpreted high-level programming language that is supported on Windows, Linux, MacOS, etc. Python is extended by a number of add-on packages for optimization, numeric analysis, and graphical analysis. The following packages are recommended for Windows users and include Python 2.7, Numpy 1.6.2, Matplotlib 1.2.0, Scipy 0.11.0, and Pyserial 2.5.
- Python 2.7 for Windows
- Numpy 1.6.2 for Windows
- Matplotlib 1.2.0 for Windows
- Scipy 0.11.0 for Windows
- Pyserial 2.5 for Windows
- Pywin32 218 for Windows
Any additional packages must be compatible with Python 2.7 (32-bit version). The 32-bit version is recommended because official releases of Numpy and Scipy packages are only available in that format. There are many optimization packages that have been developed for Python with a few of them listed below:
This course uses the APM Python package for tutorials and class instruction. The APMonitor Modeling Language is integrated with Python through a set of functions that allow optimization problems to be solved as a web-service.
Additional links:
- Comparison of Python Integrated Development Environments (IDEs)
- Python IDE with Eclipse
- Python IDE with Wingware
- MIT Open Course Ware Tutorial on Python and IDLE
- Wikipedia: Python
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Namco Bandai has announced that Soulcalibur II HD Online is now live for 360 and PS3. The Project Soul-developed port includes updated visuals, online multiplayer, and two of the three console-exclusive characters from the 2003 original: Heihachi and Spawn. The re-release features seven modes in total, which include Arcade, Survival, VS Battle, Time Attack, Team Battle, Practice, and Weapon Master.
Soulcalibur II HD Online is available for $19.99 on Live Marketplace for 360 and on PSN for PS3.
Official Site: NamcoBandaiGames.com


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Masco stock is up 18.4% in 2016. Its upcoming earnings report could change investors' views.
Shares of Trex are up over 50% so far in 2016 as investors are finally finding out about the growing popularity of decks made from recycled plastic.
Here are Wednesday's top research calls, including downgrades for Bruker, Endologix, Mosaic and Trex.
Trade-Ideas LLC identified Trex (TREX) as a strong on high relative volume candidate


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THE FLASH Poster Is Full of Easter Eggs
You've gotta give The Flash some style points for his zig-zag running pattern, because there is no practical reason for why he's not running in a straight line. The twitter account for the show recently tweeted this poster with the copy, "Discover what makes a hero." I really enjoyed the pilot episode and excited to see how the full season shapes up.
Andrew Dyce has circled a bunch of easter eggs in the poster below. For a full breakdown of what each of these things are, check out the full post on Screenrant.
The Flash premiers on Tuesday, October 7 at 8pm on The CW.
Free Reyes —
Co-Founder + Editor + COO of GeekTyrant // Coined the word "GeekTyrant" // @FreeReyes // firstname.lastname@example.com
Featured Posts on GeekTyrant


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if it feels like there is always some type of fashion show season going on- well it's true. a few weeks ago we wrapped resort 2014, now men's spring 2014 has come and gone, and this very week fall 2013 couture is taking the stage. it's a lot to stay on top of- good thing i love it!
ok- so let's recap men's spring 2014. it was all about indigo, imagine that, or at least it was for me.
first we have marni– loved the shorts, the navy and white color blocking (i'm a complete sucker for navy on the top, white on the bottom- chic!), and the last look, the white ponch0/anorck is a must, or at least it will be for me.
next we have the hermès collection- perfect! i love all the pin-dot blues and all the shades of blue. beautiful silhouettes and textures- and the shoes! i have to have the slipper shoes!
lastly, we have the valentino show. this collection was as much about the models (the hair and grooming is perfect- i immediately got a new haircut this past weekend) as the clothes. earlier in the week i talked about my indigo sea, well here it is! i loved all the denim blazers and suits, and i just mentioned when i get a new tux, it must be navy blue, now, it must be valentino!
the fun thing about a blog is you can pull out your own editorial stories, it's easy to find things you like and it's fun to talk about them- for me, i'm always true to anything blue. for spring 2014, it's all about indigo- indigo me please!
all photographs from style.com.