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Tuesday Fiction: "Poison" by Henrietta Rose-Innes
Today's Tuesday Fiction is by Henrietta Rose-Innes. Henrietta is a South African fiction writer based in Cape Town. Her most recent novel, Nineveh, was published by Random House Struik in 2011, following two previous novels, Shark's Egg and The Rock Alphabet, and a collection of short stories, Homing. Her short stories have appeared in various international publications, including Granta, AGNI and The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2011. In 2012, her short story 'Sanctuary' took second place in the BBC International Short Story Competition. Henrietta's website is www.henriettarose-innes.com.
'Poison' won the 2008 Caine Prize for African Writing as well as the 2007 South African PEN Literary Award. It is included in Henrietta Rose-Innes's short-story collection Homing (Random House Struik, 2010).
Henrietta Rose-Innes
Lynn had almost made it to the petrol station when her old Toyota ran dry on the highway. Lucky me, she thought as she pulled onto the verge, seeing the red and yellow flags ahead, the logo on the tall facade.
But it was hopeless, she realised as soon as she saw the pile-up of cars on the forecourt. A man in blue overalls caught her eye and made a throat-slitting gesture with the side of his hand as she came walking up: no petrol here either. There were twenty-odd stranded people, sitting in their cars or leaning against them. They glanced at her without expression before turning their eyes again towards the distant city.
In a minibus taxi off to one side, a few travellers sat stiffly, bags on laps. Everyone was quiet, staring down the highway, back at what they'd all been driving away from. An oily cloud hung over Cape Town, concealing Devil's Peak. It might have been a summer fire, except it was so black, so large. Even as they watched, it boiled up taller and taller into the sky, a plume twice as high as the mountain, leaning towards them like an evil genie.
As afternoon approached, the traffic thinned. Each time a car drew up, the little ceremony was the same: the crowd's eyes switching to the new arrival, the overalled man slicing his throat, the moment of blankness and then comprehension, eyes turning away. Some of the drivers just stood there, looking accusingly at the petrol pumps; others got back into their cars and sat for a while with their hands on the steering wheels, waiting for something to come to them. One man started up his BMW again immediately and headed off, only to coast to a halt a few hundred metres down the drag. He didn't even bother to pull over. Another car came in pushed by three sweating men. Their forearms were pumped from exertion and they stood for a while with their hands hanging at their sides, exchanging words in Xhosa with the petrol attendants. There was no traffic at all going into the city.
Over the previous two days, TV news had shown pictures of the N1 and N2 jam-packed for fifty kilometres out of town. It had taken a day for most people to realise the seriousness of the explosion; then everybody who could get out had done so. Now, Lynn supposed, lack of petrol was trapping people in town. She herself had left it terribly late, despite all the warnings. It was typical; she struggled to get things together. The first night she'd got drunk with friends. They'd sat up late in front of the TV, watching the unfolding news. The second night, she'd done the same, alone. On the morning of this, the third, day, she'd woken up with a burning in the back of her throat so horrible that she understood it was no hangover, and that she had to move. By then, everybody she knew had already left.
People were growing fractious, splitting into tribes. The petrol attendants and the car pushers stood around the taxi. The attendants' body language was ostentatiously off-duty – ignoring the crowd, attending to their own emergency. One, a woman, bent her head into the taxi and addressed the driver in a low voice. He and the gaardjie were the only people who seemed relaxed; both were slouched low on the front seats, the driver's baseball cap tilted over his eyes. On the other side of the forecourt was a large Afrikaans-speaking family group that seemed to have been travelling in convoy: mother, father, a couple of substantial aunts and uncles, half a dozen blonde kids of different sizes. They had set up camp, cooler bags and folding chairs gathered around them. On their skins, Lynn could see speckles of black grime; everybody coming out of the city had picked up a coating of foul stuff, but on the white people it showed up worse.
A group of what looked like students – tattoos, dreadlocks – sat in a silent line along the concrete base of the petrol pumps. One, a dark, barefoot girl with messy black hair down her back, kept springing to her feet and walking out into the road, swivelling this way and that with hands clamped in her armpits, then striding back. She reminded Lynn of herself, ten years earlier. Skinny, impatient.
A fit-looking man in a tracksuit hopped out of a huge silver bakkie with Adil's IT Bonanza on its door and started pacing alertly back and forth. Eventually the man – Adil himself? – went over to the family group, squatted on his haunches and conferred.
Lynn stood alone, leaning against the glass wall of the petrol-station shop. The sun stewed in a dirty haze. She checked her cellphone, but the service had been down since the day before. Overloaded. There wasn't really anyone she wanted to call. The man in the blue overalls kept staring at her. He had skin the colour and texture of damp clay and a thin, villain's moustache. She looked away.
The dark girl jumped up yet again and dashed into the road. A small red car with only one occupant was speeding towards them out of the smoky distance. The others went running out to join their friend, stringing themselves out across the highway to block the car's path. By the time Lynn thought about joining them, it was already too late; the young people had piled in and the car was driving on, wallowing, every window crammed with hands and faces. The girl gave the crowd a thumbs-up as they passed.
A group was clustering around one of the cars. Peering over a woman's shoulder, Lynn could see one of the burly uncles hunkered down in his shorts, expertly wielding a length of hose coming out of the fuel tank. The end was in his mouth. His cheeks hollowed; then with a practised jerk, stopping the spurt of petrol with his thumb, he whipped the hose away from his mouth and plunged it into a jerrycan. He looked up with tense, pale eyes. "Any more?" he asked, too loud. After a while, the group moved on to the next car.
Lynn went to sit inside, in the fried-egg smell of the cafeteria. The seats were red plastic, the table tops marbled yellow, just as she remembered them from childhood road trips. Tomato sauce and mustard in squeezy plastic bottles, crusted around the nozzle. She was alone in the gloom of the place. There were racks of chips over the counter, shelves of sweets, display fridges. She pulled down two packets of chips, helped herself to a Coke and made her way to a window booth. She wished strongly for a beer. The sun came through the tinted glass in an end-of-the-world shade of pewter, but that was nothing new; that had always been the colour of the light in places like this.
Through the glass wall, she could see the petrol scavengers had filled up the tank of Adil's IT Bonanza. They'd taken the canopy off the bakkie to let more people climb on. The uncles and aunts sat around the edge, turning their broad backs on those left behind, with small children and bags piled in the middle and a couple of older children standing up, clinging to the cab. What she'd thought was a group had split: part of the white family was left behind on the tar, revealing itself as a young couple with a single toddler, and one of the sweaty car pushers was on board. The blue-overalled guy was up front, next to Adil. How wrong she'd been, then, in her reading of alliances. Perhaps she might have scored a berth, if she'd pushed.
She sipped her Coke thoughtfully as the bakkie pulled away. Warm Coke: it seemed the electricity had gone too, now. Lynn picked at the strip of aluminium binding the edge of the table. It could be used for something. In an emergency. She opened a packet of cheese-and-onion chips, surprised by her hunger. She realised she was feeling happy, in a secret, volatile way. It was like bunking school: sitting here where nobody knew her, where no one could find her, on a day cut out of the normal passage of days. Nothing was required of her except to wait. All she wanted to do was sit for another hour, and then another hour after that; at which point she might lie down on the sticky vinyl seat in the tainted sunlight and sleep.
She hadn't eaten a packet of chips for ages. They were excellent. Crunching them up, she felt the salt and fat repairing her headache. Lynn pushed off her heeled shoes, which were hurting, and untucked her fitted shirt. She hadn't dressed for mass evacuation.
The female petrol attendant opened the glass door with a clang, then pushed through the wooden counter-flap. She was a plump, pretty young woman with complexly braided hair. Her skin, Lynn noticed, was clear brown, free from the soot that flecked the motorists. She took a small key on a chain from her bosom and opened the till, whacking the side of her fist against the drawer to jump it out. With a glance across at Lynn, she pulled a handful of fifty-rand notes from the till, then hundreds.
"Taxi's going," she said.
"Really? With what petrol?"
"He's got petrol. He was just waiting to fill the seats. We made a price – for you too, if you want."
"You're kidding. He was just waiting for people to pay? He could've taken us any time?"
The woman shrugged, as if to say: taxi drivers. She stroked a thumb across the edge of the wad of notes. "So?"
Lynn hesitated. "I'm sure someone will be here soon. The police will come. Rescue services."
The woman gave a snort and exited the shop, bumping the door open with her hip. The door sucked slowly shut, and then it was quiet again. Lynn watched through the tinted window as the money was handed over. The transaction revived the inert gaardjie. He straightened up and started striding back and forth, clapping his hands, shouting and hustling like it was Main Road rush hour. The people inside the taxi edged up in the seats and everyone else started pushing in. The driver spotted Lynn through the window and raised his eyebrows, pointing with both forefingers first at her and then at the minibus and then back at her again: coming? When she just smiled, he snapped his fingers and turned his attention elsewhere.
Lynn realised she was gripping the edge of the table. Her stomach hurt. Getting up this morning, packing her few things, driving all this way … it seemed impossible for her to start it all again. Decision, action, motion. She wanted to curl up on the seat, put her head down. But the taxi was filling up. People were being made to leave their bags and bundles on the tar.
Her body delivered her: all at once, her digestion seemed to have speeded up dramatically. Guts whining, she trotted to the bathroom. Earlier, there'd been a queue for the toilets, but now the stalls were empty. In the basin mirror, Lynn's face was startlingly grimed. Her hair was greasy, her eyes pink, as if she'd been weeping. Contamination. Sitting on the black plastic toilet seat, she felt the poisons gush out of her. She wiped her face with paper and looked closely at the black specks smeared onto the tissue. Her skin was oozing it. She held the wadded paper to her nose. A faint coppery smell. What was this shit? The explosion had been at a chemical plant, but which chemical? She couldn't remember what they'd said on the news.
She noticed the silence. The slightly reverberating stillness of a place just vacated.
When she went outside, there was nobody left on the forecourt. The battered white taxi was pulling out, everyone crammed inside. The sliding door was open, three men hanging out the side with their fingers hooked into the roof rim. Lynn ran after it onto the highway, but the only person who saw her was the blond toddler crushed against the back windscreen, one hand spread against the glass. He held her gaze as the taxi picked up speed.
The cloud was creeping higher behind her back, casting a murk, not solid enough to be shadow. She could see veils of dirty rain bleeding from its near edge. Earlier, in the city, she had heard sirens, helicopters in the sky; but there was no noise out here. Standing alone on the highway was unnerving. This was for cars. The road surface was not meant to be touched with hands or feet, to be examined too closely or in stillness. The four lanes were so wide. Even the white lines and the gaps between them were much longer than they appeared from the car: the length of her whole body, were she to lie down in the road. She had to stop herself looking over her shoulder, flinching from invisible cars coming up from behind.
She thought of the people she'd seen so many times on the side of the highway, walking, walking along verges not designed for human passage, covering incomprehensible distances, toiling from one obscure spot to another. Their bent heads dusty, cowed by the iron ring of the horizon. In all her years of driving at speed along highways, Cape Town, Joburg, Durban, she'd never once stopped at a random spot, walked into the veld. Why would she? The highways were tracks through an indecipherable terrain of dun and grey, a blurred world in which one glimpsed only fleetingly the sleepy eyes of people standing on its edge. To leave the car would be to disintegrate, to merge with that shifting world. How far could she walk, anyway, before weakness made her stumble? Before the air thickened into some alien gel, impossible to wade through, to breathe?
It was mid-afternoon but it felt much later. Towards the city, the sky was thick with blood-coloured light. It was possible to stare at the sun – a bleached disk, like the moon of a different planet. The cloud was growing. As she watched, a deep occlusion spread towards her, pulling darkness across the sky. She ducked reflexively and put her hands up against the strange rain. But the raindrops were too big, distinct – and she realised that they were in fact birds, thousands of birds, sprinting away from the mountain. They flew above her and around her ears: swift starlings, labouring geese. Small, rapid birds tossed against the sky, smuts from a burning book. As they passed overhead, for the first time Lynn was filled with fear.
* * *
Approximately fifty packets of potato chips, assorted flavours. Eighty or so chocolate bars, different kinds. Liquorice, wine gums, Smarties. Maybe thirty bottles and cans of Coke and Fanta in the fridges. Water, fizzy and plain: fifteen big bottles, ten small. No alcohol of any kind. How much fluid did you need to drink per day? The women's magazines said two litres. To flush out the toxins. Would drinking Coke be enough? Surely.
So: two weeks, maybe three. The survival arithmetic was easy. Two weeks was more than enough time; rescue would come long before then. She felt confident, prepared. Boldly, she pushed through the wooden flap and went behind the counter. The till stood open. Beyond were two swing doors with head-high windows, and through them a sterile steel-fitted kitchen, gloomy without overhead lighting. Two hamburger patties, part-cooked, lay abandoned on the grill, and a basket of chips sat in a vat of opaque oil. To the right was a back door with a metal pushbar. She shoved it.
The door swung open on to a sudden patch of domesticity: three or four black bins, a clothesline, sunlight, some scruffy bluegums and an old two-wire fence with wooden posts holding back the veld. A shed with a tilted corrugated-iron roof leaned up against the back wall. The change in scale and atmosphere was startling. Lynn had not imagined that these big franchised petrol stations hid modest homesteads. She'd had the vague sense that they were modular, shipped out in sections, everything in company colours. Extraneous elements – employees – were presumably spirited away somewhere convenient and invisible at the end of their shifts. But this was clearly somebody's backyard. It smelt of smoke and sweat and dishwater, overlaying the burnt grease of the kitchen. Through the doorway of the shed she could see the end of an iron bed and mattress. On the ground was a red plastic tub of the kind used to wash dishes or babies. Two plastic garden chairs, one missing a leg. A rusted car on bricks.
Lynn laughed out loud. Her car! Her own car, twenty years on: the same model blue Toyota, but stripped to a shell. The remaining patches of crackled paint had faded to the colour of a long-ago summer sky. The roof had rusted clean through in places, and the bottom edges of the doors were rotten with corrosion. Old carpeting was piled on the back seat and all the doors were open. Seeing the smooth finish gone scabrous and raw gave Lynn a twinge at the back of her teeth.
She walked past the car. There was a stringy cow on the other side of the fence, its pelt like mud daubed over the muscles. A goat came avidly up to the wire, watching her with slotted eyes, and she put her arm through and scratched the coarse hair between its horns. The cow also mooched over in an interested way. Smelling its grassy breath, Lynn felt a tremor of adventure. She could be here for days.
She felt no fear at the prospect: nobody else was here, nobody for miles around. (Although briefly she saw again: the hand sliding across the throat …) Out here, the sky looked completely clear, as if the petrol station marked the limit of the zone of contamination. She shot her fingers at the goat and snapped them like the taxi-man, spun round in a circle, humming. And breathed in sharply, stepping back hard against the wire.
Someone was in the car. The pile of rugs had reconstituted itself into an old lady, sitting on the back seat as if waiting to be chauffeured away.
Lynn coughed out a laugh, slapping her chest. "Oh god, sorry," she said. "You surprised me."
The old lady worked her gums, staring straight ahead. She wore a faded green button-up dress, a hand-knitted cardigan, elasticised knee stockings and slippers. Grey hair caught in a meagre bun.
Lynn came closer. "Hello?" she began. Afrikaans? Hers was embarrassingly weak. "Hallo?" she said again, giving the word a different inflection. Ridiculous.
No response. Poor thing, she thought, someone just left her here. Would the old lady even know about the explosion? "Sorry … tannie?" she tried again.
She'd never seriously called anyone tannie before. But it seemed to have some effect: the old lady looked at her with mild curiosity. Small, filmed black eyes, almost no whites visible. A creased face shrunken onto fine bones. An ancient mouse.
"Hi. I'm Lynn. Sorry to disturb you. Ah, I don't know if anyone's told you – about the accident? In Cape Town."
The woman's mouth moved in a fumbling way. Lynn bent closer to hear. "My grandson," the old lady enunciated, softly but clearly, with a faint smile. Then she looked away, having concluded a piece of necessary small talk.
"He told you about it?" No answer.
So. Now there was another person to consider, an old frail person, someone in need of her help. Lynn felt her heaviness return. "Tannie," she said – having begun with it she might as well continue – "There's been an accident, an explosion. There's chemicals in the air. Poison, gif. It might be coming this way. I think we should go out front. There might be people coming past who can help us. Cars. Ambulances."
The old lady seemed not averse to the idea, and allowed Lynn to take her arm and raise her from her seat. Although very light, she leaned hard; Lynn felt she was lugging the woman's entire weight with one arm, like a suitcase. Rather than negotiate the series of doors back through the station, they took the longer route, clockwise around the building on a narrow track that squeezed between the back corner of the garage and the wire fence. Past the ladies, the gents, the café. As they walked, it started to rain, sudden and heavy. The rain shut down the horizon; its sound on the forecourt canopy was loud static. Lynn wondered how tainted the falling water was.
She sat the old lady down on a sheltered bench outside the shop, and fetched some bottles of water and packets of chips from inside. Then she urgently needed to use the bathroom again. The toilet was no longer flushing. Her guts felt liquid, but she strained to force anything out. The headache was back.
Outside, she saw the rain had stopped, as abruptly as it started, leaving a rusty tang in the air. The old lady had vanished. Then Lynn spotted movement out on the road: her car door was open. Coming closer, she saw that the woman was calmly eating tomato chips in the back seat. Having transferred herself from the wreck in the backyard to the superior vehicle out front, she was now waiting for the journey to recommence.
A neat old lady, Lynn noted: there were no crumbs down her front. She seemed restored by the chips. Her eyes gleamed as she whipped a plastic tortoiseshell comb out of a pocket and started snatching back wisps of hair, repinning the bun with black U-bend pins that Lynn hadn't seen since her own grandmother died. In contrast, Lynn felt increasingly dishevelled, and embarrassed about her tip of a car: the empty Heineken bottles on the floor, the tissues in the cubbyhole. She should have kept things cleaner, looked after things better.
"My grandson," the woman said to Lynn, with a nod of reassurance.
"Of course," said Lynn.
Evening was coming. The clouds had retreated somewhat and were boiling over the mountain. The brief rain had activated an awful odour – like burnt plastic but with a metallic bite, and a whiff of sourness like rotten meat in it too. Lynn sat in the front seat, put the keys into the ignition and gripped the steering wheel. She had no plan. The sky ahead was darkening to a luminous blue. The silent little woman was an expectant presence in her rear-view mirror. Oppressed, Lynn got out of the car again and stood with her hands on her hips, staring east, west, willing sirens, flashing lights. She ducked back into the car. "I'll be back in a sec, okay? You're all right there?"
The woman looked at her with polite incomprehension. Lynn just needed to walk around a bit. She headed off towards the sun, which was melting into smears of red and purple. The mountain was no longer visible. The road was discoloured, splattered with lumps of some tarry black precipitate. She counted five small bodies of birds, feathers damp and stuck together. Blades of grass at the side of the road were streaked with black, and the ground seemed to be smoking, a layer of foul steam around her ankles. It got worse the further she walked. She turned around.
There was someone stooped over her car. At once she recognised the moustache, the blue overalls. Her first impulse was to hide. She stood completely still, watching. He hadn't seen her. The clay-faced man was holding something … a box. No, a can. He had a white jerrycan in his hands and he was filling her car with petrol.
Lynn's stomach roiled and she crouched down at the side of the road, vomiting a small quantity of cheese-and-onion mulch into the stinking grass. When she raised her chin, the man was standing looking back at the petrol station. Deciding, she made herself stand, raising her hand to wave. But in that moment he opened the door and got in; the motor turned immediately and the car was rolling forward. She could see the back of the old woman's head, briefly silver as the car turned out into the lane, before the reflection of the sunset blanked the rear windscreen. The Toyota headed out into the clear evening.
* * *
Lynn sat in the back of the rusted car and watched the sky turn navy and the stars come out. She loved the way the spaces between the stars had no texture, softer than water; they were pure depth. She sat in the hollow the old lady had worn into the seat, ankles crossed in the space where the handbrake used to be. She sipped Coke; it helped with the nausea. She'd been here three days and her head felt clear. While there'd been a few bursts of warm rain, the chemical storm had not progressed further down the highway. It seemed the pollution had created its own weather system over the mountain, a knot of ugly cloud. She was washed up on the edge of it, resting her oil-clogged wings on a quiet shore.
Sooner or later, she was certain, rescue would come. The ambulances with flashing lights, the men in luminous vests with equipment and supplies. Or maybe just a stream of people driving back home. But if that took too long, then there was always the black bicycle that she'd found leaned up against the petrol pump. The woman's grandson must have ridden here, with the petrol can, from some place not too far down the road. It was an old postman's bike, heavy but hardy, and she felt sure that if he had cycled the distance, so could she. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after. And when this was all over, she was definitely going to go on a proper detox. Give up all junk food, alcohol. Some time soon.
Lynn snapped open a packet of salt-'n'-vinegar chips. Behind her, the last of the sunset lingered, poison violet and puce, but she didn't turn to look. She wanted to face clear skies, sweet-smelling veld. If she closed her eyes, she might hear a frog, just one, starting its evening song beyond the fence.
Monday Original Content: SF in South Africa, by Nick Wood
SF in SA 10 (December 2009)
With acknowledgement to prior publication in Locus Magazine, November 2009.
South African speculative fiction over the ages
In this overview of South African written science or speculative fiction (SF), I aim to give a socio-historical account of the progress of the genre, as the fiction produced over the decades cannot be fully understood without appreciating the context in which it emerges.
Fully two years before the first appearance of Amazing Stories and Hugo Gernsback's notion of 'scientifiction,' a South African writer called Ferdinand Berthoud appeared in 'Weird Tales v.3(1)' (January 1924), with a story called 'The Man who Banished Himself'. Berthoud was to have a number of stories in the pulps over the years, including a story perhaps more provocatively entitled – from a contemporary perspective – 'A white man never steals: A novelette of the South African veldt.' This is a fascinating if slightly disturbing read: the story's plot and characters, both black and white, twist and turn, in order to keep the veracity of the title intact – perhaps with some underlying authorial irony, perhaps not. 'Webbed Hands', which appeared as a cover story in 'Strange Tales' issue of December 1931 is more firmly within the speculative fiction genre. This is part horror-story, but with an underlying pseudo-scientific premise that the 'brown savage' monster at the heart of the story who is committing murders in locations throughout Cape Town is the product of a 'renegade English promoter' and an unknown – perhaps 'unnatural' – mother from 'the center of Africa' (p.171). The central potential theme for this (white) South African speculative fiction appears to be a fear of both 'racial miscegenation' and possibly what lurks within 'central Africa' too. (To be fair to subtleties within Berthoud's story, as well as the socio-historical context of his writing, perhaps the 'real' monster is the white manipulator who gets his 'just desserts' in the end.)
A year after the publication of 'Webbed Hands' (1932), the psychologist R.W. Wilcocks, investigating the 'poor white problem' in South Africa under the Carnegie Commission, called for 'legislation which inflicts severe penalties on sexual intercourse between races.' One of Wilcocks' psychologist protégés, H.F. Verwoerd, obliged by becoming an architect in the National Party's introduction of apartheid in 1948, thus introducing a raft of racist legislation, including the aptly named 'Immorality Act', which was aimed at ensuring 'white racial purity' (and dominance).
Science fiction in South Africa during the apartheid years was a relatively subdued arena, given the socio-political exigencies of the time. 'Black' writing was discouraged as a potential outlet for grievances and political action, with apartheid policies dividing educational resources to try and maintain a large skill divide between a deliberately less literate black 'underclass' and a more skilled white hegemony. Realist fiction was thus seen as more 'relevant' to exploring the issues of living in South Africa, with many (black) writers challenging the status quo having their works banned or censored, such as Can Themba and Lewis Nkosi – see Peter McDonald's (2009) 'The Literature Police' for more details.
An English South African writer who published internationally during the sixties and seventies was Claude Nunes, who wrote 'Inherit the Earth' (1966); Recoil (1971) with his wife Rhoda and 'The Sky Trapeze' (1980), with thematic foci covering concerns such as telepathic androids, aliens and 'how to live in peace' (Clute & Nicholls, 1993, The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction). One (Afrikaans) writer also bucking the trend was Jan Rabie, who wrote a number of overtly science-fiction books, such as 'Swart ster oor die Karoo' (Black star over the Karoo, 1957), 'Die groen planeet' (The green planet, 1961) and 'Die hemelblom' (The Heaven Flower, 1971). These also tended to mirror dominant Euro-American SF themes however, such as space-travel and alien plants. (Rabie, however, was also part of a movement of Afrikaner writers beginning to challenge the dominant discourse of apartheid, known as 'Die Sestigers' (The Sixty-ers), which included Andre Brink and Breyten Breytenbach.)
As the political 'heat' within the country rose after the Soweto uprising and the death in detention of Steve Biko in the mid to later seventies, several books emerged of perhaps a more surreal/fantastic bent. Nobel Laureate John M. Coetzee's (1980) 'Waiting for the Barbarians' is one such book, with a magistrate caught between the brutal forces of Empire and the 'barbarians' supposedly waiting to invade. The censors suspected the book of being a thinly veiled allegorical allusion to both the apartheid state (as 'Empire') and the gathering forces of revolution or 'swart gevaar' (black danger), as the 'barbarians'. Coetzee's book, unlike Andre Brink's earlier (1973) 'Kennis van die Aand' (Looking on Darkness), escaped a banning order. Coetzee followed this up with a near-futuristic dystopia called 'The Life and Times of Michael K' (1983), whereby a 'simple' hare-lipped gardener journeys to his mother's rural birth-place through civil-war torn South Africa.
Michael Cope's (1987) book 'Spiral of Fire' is set during The State of Emergency in South Africa and uses a meta-fictional science fiction plot in order to juxtapose exploration of a First Contact peaceful 'alien culture', with the reality of military devastation unleashed upon burning black townships.
Following the demise of apartheid in the nineties, there was a freeing up of literary constraints, although always operating within the parameters of publishing and marketing decisions. 'Science fiction' has tended to be low in the priorities of local publishing houses and I have heard an editor state it does not have a significant black readership. This may to some extent be true – the legacy of apartheid means that education and even just generic reading and writing has had a huge equality backlog to catch up on, between the 'white' and 'black' populations. Furthermore, it operates within a Western scientific discourse with tainted colonial associations and may perhaps be questioned both with regards to its relevance and its assumptions as to what is 'real' or central to lived experience in Africa. (Various religious and traditional/super-natural/alternative epistemological beliefs are still dominant across the world as well as Africa. For an excellent discussion on relevance, see Nnedi Okorafor's online post – 'Is Africa ready for science fiction?')
Notwithstanding this, I think there are very promising swells in a growing South African wave of science – or perhaps speculative – fiction in its broadest sense. For Young Adult readers for example, there have been 'South African flavoured' SF books such as: Peter Wilhelm's (1984) Summer's End; Elana Bregin's (1995) The Slayer of Shadows; Peter Slingsby's (1996) The Joining; Robin Saunders' (1998) Sons of Anubis; Jenny Robson's (2004) Savannah 2216 AD; my own (2004) The Stone Chameleon and Lesley Beake's (2009) Remembering Green amongst others. On the other side of the Limpopo River, although she is now US resident, there is Nancy Farmer's (1995) Zimbabwean based The Ear, The Eye and The Arm.
With regards to adult writing, there has been a South African 'science fiction and horror' magazine called Something Wicked, which has published short fiction by writers such as Sarah Lotz, Dave de Beer and Richard Kunzmann in its initial ten issues, with a plan to perhaps go online/digital. (Richard Kunzmann, although he is Namibian born, has also written a trilogy of excellent South African crime thrillers with speculative-fiction elements, starting with Bloody Harvests.)
Operating for a mammoth 141 issues however, is the Science Fiction Club of South Africa's (SFSA) magazine Probe, which has been in existence since 1969. Probe publishes both winners and runners up from its annual science fiction short story competition called the 'Novas' and has published stories by writers such as W.G. Lipsett; Gerhard Hope, Arthur Goldstuck, Liz Simmons and Yvonne Walus, as well as three collections of short stories from Probe entitled The Best of South African Science Fiction.
A worthy collection of perhaps more specifically broader African speculative/science fiction was published within Chimurenga magazine's double issue (12&13) Doctor Satan's Echo Chamber. Further, with regards to African writing, a South African short story that won the 2008 Caine Prize for best African writing in English was called 'Poison', written by Henrietta Rose-Innes; a story which was set just outside a post-apocalyptic Cape Town. Henrietta's novels 'Shark's Egg' and 'The Rock Alphabet' as well as perhaps Tom Eaton's 'The Wading' are beautifully written fictions possibly akin to a South African version of 'slipstream'.
There have been other science fiction stories published internationally by South African sf writers: Lavie Tidhar for instance spent a considerable period of time in South Africa and his 'Bophuthatswana' appearing in Farah Mendlesohn's (2006) Glorifying Terrorism has clear South African concerns, delivered in localised language.
One South African writer who has been productive for a full decade with both books and short fiction is Dave Freer, who has written solo – his first book The Forlorn was published in 1999 – as well as teaming up at various points with Eric Flint and Mercedes Lackey. Dave has also written a solid batch of novellas and short stories, some peculiarly and specifically South African; such as Candyblossom, in The Best of Jim Baen's Universe (2006). A South African based writer of Scottish origin, Paul Crilley, also publishes internationally and has a forthcoming YA novel due out in the USA in 2010, named the 'Rise of the Darklings.'
Two recent books that explore the South African landscape as bifurcated by the urban-rural divide are Jane Rosenthal's (2004) Souvenir and Lauren Beukes (2008) Moxyland. The hip multi-media style of Moxyland includes an accompanying urban soundtrack – the book itself is written in a fast paced style, steeped in South African language and within a near-future dystopian Cape Town separated by corporate rather than racist apartheid. The term 'apartheid' itself is not used within the novel as far as I am aware, which carries its history lightly but cleverly as it moves rapidly between shifting perspectives and ways of communicating towards its moving climax. Lauren is busy completing her second book 'Zoo City' and is a writer to watch – for both now and the future!
Likewise there is much to recommend Jane Rosenthal's 'Souvenir' – a meditation on the diverse South African landscape and the mirrored shaping impact on relationships of the future. The narrative follows the work of a 'barbiclone' in the latter half of the twenty-first century as she balloons above the desert-like hinterland of the Karoo, down to the coast where a giant tsunami awaits, driven by collapsing ice-shelves from Antarctica. Although significantly slower than 'Moxyland', the pace is sufficient for the story. (It's also good to see a major character of Nigerian heritage and who is a sympathetically drawn character in a South African product!)
In Afrikaans, Eben Venter has written 'Horrelpoot' (2006), now in translation as 'Trencherman', confronting a dystopian South African future. Finally, and not least of all – although it's not strictly science fiction – South African 'magical realism' certainly fits under the speculative fiction umbrella. For me, the pre-eminent South African writer here is Zakes Mda, who has written a spate of works, of which his The Heart of Redness and The Whale Caller are particularly inspiring. As Gerald Gaylard (2005) argues in 'After Colonialism: African Postmodernism and Magical Realism', the 'liberated imagination' in these stories may also provide the basis for resolving many complex issues within postcolonial Africa.
There is thus a huge variety of South African speculative fiction potentially brewing for the future, as befits a 'Rainbow Nation'. It will be interesting to see, as science takes a more secure educative role across the country, how this may impact on the development of the local version of the genre – particularly as more 'black' writing emerges, as well as writings in the other ten official languages and more. It is likely, given the recency of South Africa's post-colonial experience, to be a burgeoning genre of both subversion and multiplicity, with much to recommend reading it!
Although this is not a comprehensive South(ern) African account, brief mention should be made at least of emerging literature in neighbouring countries, such as Zimbabwe – e.g. broadly speculative-fiction writers Dambudzo Marechera (d.35 years of age), Yvonne Vera, Ivor Hartmann and George Makana Clark. On the Indian Ocean coast side of Zimbabwe, the magical realist writings of Mia Couto illuminate the experiences of both human and animals within Mozambique. And so it goes on, stories from Africa, finally embracing Africa…
Nick Wood © 2009
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|Half Baths
|3,000 sq. ft.
|Property type
|Minimum Stay
|3 - 7 nights
Address: 12837 Townsend Rd OC MD
Beach Haven—Premier Vacation Property. Responsible Seniors Welcome.
Welcome to a beach vacation at its finest. We offer an experience that is unique to a traditional beach vacation! Beach Haven is close enough to Ocean City to enjoy people watching, biking on the boardwalk, riding the carnival rides, and swimming in the ocean but far enough away to feel the privacy and serenity of an ideal vacation. West Ocean City is the newest vacation 'HOTSPOT.' Staying in West Ocean City allows you to avoid the crowds of Ocean City while maintaining the close proximity to many attractions. For you boat lovers, Sunset Marina, located off South Golf Course Road is Ocean City's newest state of the art marina complex offering transient as well as seasonal docking. The public boat ramp is located here for easy access into the Harbor, Bay and Ocean. West Ocean City offers some of the finest seafood restaurants and taverns without having to fight the traffic of Ocean City. The new multi-million dollar Park & Ride near the Route 50 bridge gives you the freedom to park your vehicle and enjoy all that Ocean City has to offer without the hassle of limited parking and heavy traffic. In many cases the lodging available in West Ocean City is within walking distance of the Park & Ride. A short drive will take you to the beach & boardwalk, the White Marlin Mall and outlet shops, grocery stores, movies, golf, Frontier Town, and more. Enjoy a short drive to the Assateague National Seashore where you can enjoy the day on the uncrowded beach, walking the many nature trails, or just watching the wild island horses all without crossing the Route 50 bridge.
This non-smoking, three level, single family home features 4 bedrooms, 3.5 baths, full kitchen, gas fireplace, free high speed wireless internet and more.
On the first floor of Beach Haven, you will enjoy the game room equipped with a ping pong and foos ball table. Kids and adults alike will enjoy the large back yard.
On the second floor, one will relax on the large deck and enclosed patio that accents the family room (one queen pull out sofa) and kitchen. These rooms are detailed with beautiful hardwood floors, a large screen T.V and a fireplace. The kitchen on this level features granite counters, a Guy Harvey backsplash, warming lights, warming drawers and stainless steal appliances. A luxurious bedroom suite with one king size bed and one twin over twin bunk bed set with twin trundle are found within. An elegant master bath and half bath is located on this floor too.
The top floor is set up with a second master suite (with king bed) and bath as well as two additional bedrooms adorned with nautical decor (one room has 2 twin beds and the other has a queen bed) These two rooms share a bright and airy, full bathroom.
3 Televisions
Book your vacation soon. This home is a rare find and won't last long.
House Rental Amenities
The trip to downtown Ocean City and the beach is very easy. Beach Haven is located just around the corner from the park and ride station; the fare is $3.00 and buses run regularly. Guest can walk to the park and ride with their beach bags and chairs and easily take the less than 5 minute commute. Driving your own car is easy too. The beach is just over the route 50 bridge which again is less then 2 miles way.
Activities and Attractions in Ocean City Maryland
Conveniently located in West Ocean City, you will be adjacent to the bridge that enters downtown Ocean City. You will be minutes away from the beach, the boardwalk, the outlet stores, and the local golf courses. There is a Private Beach at the end of Old Bridge Road (only a .25 mile walk that allows dogs - no passes necessary)
Things to do!
Go to the beach- bike ride-walk-drive-bus
Fish- Inshore bay fishing or offshore sport fishing
Crabbing at the local piers or Assateague Island
Walk the streets of Historic Berlin MD and visit the many shops (10 min drive)
Shop at the Tanger Outlets(1 mile)
Walk to boardwalk or bike it in the a.m
Have dinner on the Harbor at one of 5 locally owned restaurants
Paintball (1 mile)
Put put golf (lots of locations)
go carts (1 mile)
Rent jetskis
Laser tag
Sail/Kite board
Additional information about rental rates
Weekly rentals are from
Saturday 4 p.m. check-in. to
Saturday 10 a.m. check out.
Please add 10.5% Ocean City Sales tax to the posted rate as well as refundable security deposit and Cleaning fee
Tax Rate: 10.5%
Cleaning Fee $250.00
Rates for Summer 2017: Saturday to Saturday
*March - May 20… $2,500 weekly
*May 20- May 27...$4,100
May 27 - June 3…$ 4,100
*June 3-10…$4,100
*June 10-17… $4,100
*June 17-24… $4,100
Attention graduating seniors - We are only looking for responsible and respectful students since this is a safe semi-private family oriented community. We are in walking distance from the bus depot that will take you into Ocean City.
*June 24-July 1…$4,100
*July 1- 8… $4,100 (Fourth of July Week)
*July 8- 15… $4,100
*July 15-22… $3,500
*July 22-July 29… $3,500
*July 29- August 5... $3,500
*August 5-12…$ 4,100 (White Marlin Open)
*August 12-19… $3,400
*August 19-26… $3,400
*August 26- September 29… $2,500
(Mini Wks Available)
*October 1- October 30... $2,500 a week
(Mini Wks Available)
*Nov 1 - March...2,400 a week
(Mini Wks Available)
Security deposit = $500.00 Adult Group
Security deposit= $1,000 Student Groups
I'm a real estate agent in Ocean City, MD that enjoys running, going to the beach and traveling. I look forward to assisting you with your vacation plans at the beach:)
Barbara Busch purchased this house in 2012
Our family of 11 enjoyed our stay at Beach Haven. The house was so clean with a fantastic kitchen. We felt at home the minute we walked in. The location was great for getting to the boardwalk and day trips to Assateague Island. We also loved that we could walk to the marina restaurants. We will be back!
House was perfect size for our group of 9. Was a last minute rental and it couldn't have gone any smoother. Good location, a few really nice courses close by with the outlets a couple of blocks away. Over all we were very happy with our stay.
We had a fantastic time with old college friends! The home was well furnished with the basic necessities, quite spacious and very clean. Heading to the main strip was only a short drive away. It was ideal spot to spend the weekend. From the first initial inquiry to the time of arrival, Barbara was always quick to respond and helpful with our questions. Excellent property and would happily recommend to those considering!
Great weekend for four adult couples. The house was clean, convenient, and perfect place to relax and socialize for a weekend away! This was the second year we stayed here and look forward to next year! Barbara was outstanding to work with for all of our needs!
Barbara was super accommodating! Everything was super clean and new, and the 13 of us were able to spread out nicely. It would be nicer if the beach was closer but for how nice the house is and the good pricing you can't beat it. There is a shuttle a short walk away that will drop you off at the boardwalk.
As a parent looking for a nice, safe place for my 18 year old son and his group of friends to hold their Senior Week trip, I could not be more pleased that I found Barbara. The other parents completely agree. She could not have been more accommodating, reassuring and sensitive to our concerns that the boys have a fun, cost-effective but safe trip. She gave parents and boys plenty of instuctions before they arrived and she met them at the house, gave them a tour of the beautiful house, directions to attractions, discount coupons and her number if they needed anything. The boys were overwelmed by how beautiful and spacious the house was! They felt like kings! It was wonderful that the 7 boys had so much room so they could relax in different areas of the house during down times and each had their own areas to sleep and keep their clothes. But they said they spent a lot of the time in the large common areas, which is exactly why they went on the trip - to hang out together before heading off to college. They enjoyed playing games in the yard, the decks and grilling. Barbara provided them with vendor discounts they used to rent mopeds and go parasailing. The beach was a short bus ride away but they walked or drove and enjoyed the beach daily. What a great experience for the boys and for the parents to know they were in a great house and location. I can speak for all of the boys and parents that we would strongly reccommend to anyone!
|Rate Period
|Weekend Night
Mid July - August 5
Jul 17 2017 - Aug 5 2017
7 night minimum stay
White Marlin Tournament
Aug 6 2017 - Aug 12 2017
7 night minimum stay
The Rest of August
Aug 14 2017 - Sep 2 2017
7 night minimum stay
Sept - May 18
Sep 3 2017 - May 18 2018
3 night minimum stay
May 19- Mid July
May 19 2018 - Jul 13 2018
7 night minimum stay
Mid July - Aug 4
Jul 14 2018 - Aug 4 2018
7 night minimum stay
Aug 5 2018 - Aug 11 2018
7 night minimum stay
Mid August - End of August
Aug 12 2018 - Aug 25 2018
7 night minimum stay
My Standard Rate
3 night minimum stay
|Cleaning Fee
|Refundable Sec. Deposit
|Tax Rate

subset: commoncrawl


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In celebration of our sponsorship collaboration with the Green Mountain Championship at the Smuggs Resort in Vermont, USA, we have created a limited edition GMC Bundle Pack. Only 250 available. This pack features a limited edition green/lime v4 Shift, and a limited edition stamp run of the classic Discraft Z-Line Buzzz.
Limited Edition Shift v4 ($140 value):
- Limited Edition Agave Green / Lime Punch colors
- 16-18 disc capacity
- Vertical disc storage
- Four external stretch-fit pockets
- Quick-draw mini pocket
- Custom wide flap-access rainfly
- Deep channel - ventilated back panel
- 40oz insulated water bottle pocket
- Soft protective pocket
- Abrasion resistant - waterproof base
- 3 wear resistant feet
- Durable, fitted shoulder straps
- External bungee for cargo
- D-Ring for tags or towel
- Waist stash pockets
- Removable sternum and waist straps
- 10 year warranty on manufacturing defects
The Discraft Z-Line Buzzz ($16 value)
Limited Edition designed stamp featuring Discraft and Upper Park Designs.
Blue Z-Line Buzzz - 177g+
Red Z-Line Buzzz - 170-175g
Green Z-Line Buzzz - 165 - 169g
The Z-Line Buzzz is one of the most popular midrange discs in the world. This consistent, reliable, and stable disc will perform exactly how you want it to. With powerful throws the Buzzz will hold any line you put on it. With light, level throws it will fade slightly.


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A new Google Chrome add-on blocks photos of babies, replacing them with jokes or political posts or photos of cats.Unbaby.me is like… well, it's like "Virtual Contraception." According to MSN's Tech and Gadgets blog, GeekTown, the add-on will replace baby photos on Facebook, the world's most popular social network, with pictures of cats and whatever else it thinks is "awesome stuff."My son is of an age when many of his friends are settling down, marrying and starting a family. Still a b … [Read more...]
Facebook's Newest Content Blocker Replaces Baby Photos With…. CATS?
September 2, 2012 by Leave a Comment


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Weekly net post: Was Sampras-Agassi tension a bad thing?
By Joe Fleming, USA TODAY
Was Friday night's charity event at the Indian Wells Tennis Garden truly a PR nightmare for Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi— perhaps Agassi more than Sampras — as many in the blogosphere and ESPN's SportsCenter seem to think? There were certainly laughs, some fireworks and some definite tension.
In the women's event, Martina Navratilova and Justine Henin, who lost her second-round match earlier in the day, defeated Steffi Graf and Lindsay Davenport 8-6. In the men's match, Roger Federer and Sampras defeated Rafael Nadal and a chatty Agassi 8-6.
Leighton Ginn, the tennis writer for The Desert Sun, described the fireworks this way:
BNP PARIBAS OPEN: Murray rolls, Federer tested
ATP TOUR: Men's rankings
WTA TOUR: Women's rankings
Agassi was playfully talking trash throughout the night, so Sampras took his shot midway through the match when he imitated Agassi's his bow-legged walk. Agassi returned the favor by pulling out his empty pockets, a reference to an assertion in his book Open that Sampras once tipped a valet $1.
Sampras responded, "Andre, you got personal."
Agassi replied, "No, no. Everyone knows already."
On Sampras' serve, which was to be to Nadal on the ad court, he unleashed a serve way over Agassi's head.
On the changeover, Tennis Channel commentator Justin Gimbelstob talked to both.
Agassi, for the most part, didn't seem to take offense.
At the end of the match, Agassi went to Sampras and hugged him.
"It got tense with Andre, but I want to say I love you. I have no animosity toward you," Sampras said in the post-match interview.
"Both players have a tremendous amount of pride, but I think all the kidding around was good-natured. It wasn't serious," said BNP Paribas Open owner Larry Ellison.
On the women's side, Navratilova was the talker.
"I heard CBS was in negotiations for a Martina and Andre sitcom," Ellison joked.
To judge for the incident for yourself, here's a video.
Neither player spoke in a post-match news conference, so their true feelings can only be guessed at.
Federer was clearly uncomfortable while it was going on.
"This rivalry is intense, man," Federer said during a pause in the middle of the awkward moment. "I mean, Rafa, start. Do something."
The fracas, meanwhile, sailed right over Nadal's head.
"During the match, no, because I didn't understand," Nadal said later when asked about the incident.
The rivalry between Sampras and Agassi was great for the game when they were playing. Agassi has been a great ambassador for tennis — his revelations of drug use during his career notwithstanding — and a major philanthropist. Sampras has always been a class act.
It would be nice if they could get past this, but a little publicity for tennis in the middle of March Madness can't be a bad thing.
Nadal certainly was able to look past the incident.
"In my opinion, we did important thing," Nadal said, "and we hope … I hope everybody helps Haiti, because we don't have to forget they still need help and help all the time."
On this night, anyway, maybe all's well that end's well?
And at the end, Ellison presented the Red Cross $1 million for the Haiti earthquake relief efforts.
•Fernando Gonzalez also is doing his part to help earthquake victims, but he's doing his work in his native Chile. The Feb. 27 earthquake killed about 500 people and reduced some cities outside Santiago to rubble. On March 22 in Key Biscayne, Fla., Gonzalez will hold a silent auction, featuring items from top players, at a party hosted by SOBeFit magazine. SOBeFit will also host a private party, where only 10 tickets will be available for $1,000 apiece. Donations can be made online at www.hogardecristo.cl.
Nadal returns
Rafael Nadal is back on the ATP Tour after a month and a half in recovery for another knee injury.
He won his first match easily Saturday, topping Rainer Schuettler of Germany 6-4, 6-4, advancing to the third round of the BNP Paribas Open in Indian Wells, Calif. On Sunday, Nadal and partner Marc Lopez teamed up to beat Lukas Dlouhy and Leander Paes, a pretty good doubles team.
A good start, but not enough to know how Nadal will respond in his comeback from another knee injury.
A year ago Nadal was on a roll, coming off a victory in the Australian Open and taking the title in Indian Wells for the second time.
When he arrived in Indian Wells last week, Nadal said he felt fine.
"I'm feeling OK. I practice hard in Majorca," he said, "and I did here, too, the last three, four days. I think I am ready."
But he also spoke a bit tentatively about the struggles with injuries: "When you come back you are always a little bit scared.
"You have to be a little bit more passionate, and you have to be with calm with these problems … you can't do (anything) with this when you have unlucky with injuries. Just play your best, play positive all the time, and wait for the better moment. … Tennis is a rhythm game. To play really well, you have to play 100%, and it is important play few months in a row, no, without problem. That's what I need now, I think."
Next up for Nadal on Monday is another player in a comeback, Mario Ancic of Croatia, who missed most of last year after being diagnosed with mononucleosis that had first been diagnosed as a bad flu in 2008.
Despite the injuries, Nadal has no plans to limit his customary schedule. He said he will play clay-court tournaments in Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Rome and Madrid to prepare for the French Open.
Other items of note from Indian Wells:
•Justine Henin lost a second-round match last week to Gisela Dulko of Argentina, the first time in her comeback she hasn't reached a final (she lost to Kim Clijsters in Brisbane and to Serena Williams in the Australian Open). "It was a tough day today," said Henin, who will be somewhere between No. 30 and 35 when she returns to the rankings March 22. "I was never into a good rhythm and never really found my way to win. Even in the second set it was better, but still a lot of ups and downs."
•Maria Sharapova, who won a title in Memphis last month, still appears to be struggling in her return from shoulder surgery at the end of 2008. She fell Sunday to Zheng Jie of China in three sets, losing the final four games after getting treatment on her right elbow while leading, 3-2, and preparing to serve in the third set. Sharapova, who said she had trouble extending the elbow, had 14 double faults and lost serve seven times.
•Nikolay Davydenko of Russia withdrew after tests revealed he had a fracture in his left wrist. He is expected to be sidelined for at least four weeks.
•Young Americans Sloane Stephens and Ryan Harrison each logged first-round wins at Indian Wells. Harrison became the first 17-year-old to win a match in the men's draw at Indian Wells since Rafael Nadal in 2004 when he defeated countryman Taylor Dent on Thursday. He lost to Ivan Ljubicic in the second round. Stephens, who will turn 17 on March 20, played her first WTA Tour-level match, and won, beating No. 67 Lucie Hradecka of the Czech Republic 7-6 (7-5), 7-6 (9-7). In the second round she put up a fight against defending champion Vera Zvonareva, falling 6-4, 7-5. "She's very young, but she's got the game, definitely," Zvonareva said. "She's definitely a tough one, and I think if she keeps working hard she's got a great future ahead of her." … Meanwhile, Melanie Oudin's run of success ended with a first-round loss.
•Ana Ivanovic— who is working with Steffi Graf's former coach Heinz Gunthardt — is still searching for the form that took her to No. 1. She still has some work to do. Ivanovic who reached the final in Indian Wells the last two years (winning the title in 2008), lost 6-2, 6-4 to Anastasija Sevastova on Saturdaay, which will drop her out of the top 50, according to Sony Ericsson WTA Tour officials. Prior to the match, Ivanovic thought things were going well. "You know in New York I played really well," Ivanovic said about an exhibition in New York two weeks ago. "So I was very excited about that, but he had said as well it's not going to happen overnight."
•Jill Craybas' third-round loss left no American women in the draw. Of course, Venus and Serena Williams skipped the event, as they have done since an incident in 2001 when Venus defaulted to Serena in the semifinals and the sisters said the negative crowd reaction that followed was racially tinged. They will have to perform "in-market" promotional activities for the missed event, which is a mandatory tournament on the WTA Tour. That obligation, which can be fulfilled within a 125-mile radius, can be met during the tournament or on one of three specified dates in the 51 weeks following the event. Otherwise, they face fines as well as a two-tournament ban.
Tennis shorts
•Former Wimbledon champion Goran Ivanisevic has agreed to work with his countryman, world No. 9 Marin Cilic, but he won't replace Cilic's main coach, American Bob Brett. "It is a great honor to work with Goran," Cilic, 21, told news media in Croatia recently. Ivanisevic was in Zabreb in February when Cilic captured his second title of the season. "It was a great week," Cilic said after the tournament. "Ivanisevic has given me some good advice, and I hope to continue working with him in the future." The next event the two will team will be in a couple of weeks in Key Biscayne. Too bad it wasn't this week in Indian Wells, and not only because Cilic became the first big casualty on the men's side, losing Saturday 7-6 (7-1), 6-0 to Guillermo Garcia-Lopez of Spain. Remember when a much younger Ivanisevic famously insulted Indian Wells after an early round loss in 1992? Ivanisevic had this to say about the host community: "You see two young people," Ivanisevic said. "Everybody else is 100 years old … 150. Every time I think somebody is going to die." The Coachella Valley, always a winter haven for retirees, is much younger these days.
•World TeamTennis again this year expects to serve up some interesting matchups. WTT last week announced its schedule, and one of the intriguing characters in Billie Jean King's summer team event will be former No. 1 and five-time Grand Slam champ Martina Hingis. Among the matchups of No. 1s, current and former, Hingis (New York Buzz) will face both Serena and Venus Williams (Washington Kastles) and Kim Clijsters (New York Sportimes). Hingis is playing WTT for the first time since 2006, and she'll play a full season (July 5-25). Other marquee players include: Andy Roddick (Philadelphia Freedoms), John McEnroe (New York Sportimes), Lindsay Davenport (St. Louis Aces), Anna Kournikova (St. Louis Aces), Maria Sharapova (Newport Beach Breakers) and James Blake (Boston Lobsters).
•The USTA announced last week that the men's and women's championships for the inaugural U.S. Open National Playoffs — where one man and one woman will earn a spot into the U.S. Open qualifying field — will be held July 22-25 at the Atlanta Athletic Club (for men) and July 29-31 at the Taube Family Tennis Stadium at Stanford University (for women). The events will be held during pro tour events: The ATP Tour's Atlanta Tennis Championships and the WTA Tour's Bank of the West Classic. Both events are part of this summer's US Open Series. The U.S. Open National Playoffs begins with 16 men's and women's sectional qualifying tournaments held throughout the country from April through June. The men's and women's champions from each of the sectional qualifying tournaments advance to the U.S. Open National Playoffs. Entry information and a schedule of US Open National Playoffs Sectional Qualifying Tournaments are available online at www.usopen.org. online registration for 12 of the 16 men's and women's sectional qualifying tournaments are currently open.
USA TODAY's look at the world of tennis appears weekly. Contributing: The Associated Press; ATP World Tour; Sony Ericsson WTA Tour
Guidelines: You share in the USA TODAY community, so please keep your comments smart and civil. Don't attack other readers personally, and keep your language decent. Use the "Report Abuse" button to make a difference. Read more.


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Home: Our Expertise › Restoring Land › Land Assessment › Risk Assessments
Risk Assessments
It's about providing an answer, not just identifying the problem
Detailed site investigation identifies the problem of contaminated land, but risk assessment provides the key to the answers.
Contaminated land with the potential to affect human health or our environment poses a problem for stakeholders. By assessing the possibilities and consequences of the effect of contaminated sites, we provide stakeholders with the ability to make informed business decisions.
Put simply, we model the likelihood of pollutant migration, consider nearby receptors, the possibility of a scenario occurring, and the potential effects these scenarios could have on our ecosystems and on human health.
Our approach is to collect robust and representative data, apply qualitative and quantitative assessment tools, and build cost effective strategies to mitigate risks posed by contaminated soils and groundwater. Running qualitative and quantitative assessment methods in parallel allows us to build a detailed picture of the ecological and health risks.
It's a holistic science
We do not have separate specialists undertaking data collection, and interpretation and assessment. Our professionals see a site through from inception to completion to allow a greater understanding of the situation at the site, its impact on the environment and affect on our clients. We consider that assessing and mitigating environmental risk is a holistic science.
Our culture is one of closure and, for sites where remediation is required, we have our own in-house contracting teams, who can advise us at every stage of the risk assessment process.
We are passionate about solving problems. Our global team works with the best available models around the world and are at the forefront of developing leading edge technologies for the characterisation of environmental systems and potential risk scenarios.
> Use our directory to find what you're looking for
Evaluating Land Banks
Quantifying environmental liabilities is a critical part of assessing the value contained in land banks and portfolios at a time when divestment is important.
Supplier to oil & gas sector
WSP is an officially registered supplier to the oil and gas sector via FPAL – First Point Assessment Ltd.


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Warm Bodies is one of the best zombie movies I've seen. It's a clever, funny love story. Zombie (Nicholas Hoult) meets girl (Teresa Palmer) and, instead of eating her, he decides to protect her, communicate with grunts and woo her with his vinyl music collection. The zombie she names R really is from the wrong side of the tracks. Most of the world's population has succumbed to a virus that has turned them into the flesh-eating undead. The remaining humans live in a walled-off zone, ready to blast the head off any zombie they encounter. The budding relationship is even more difficult because her father (John Malkovich) is the leader of the resistance.
And with the backlash against the coal seam gas mining process known as fracking, Promised Land is a topical film. Matt Damon and Frances McDormand play sales partners assigned to sign landowners to mining contracts near a country town. However, before they can win over the locals, facts surface about the environmental effects of fracking. The film is in limited release, playing in Sydney at Paddington's Chauvel Cinema.
Twitter: @DanielFallon1


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The following is a screenshot of the iPass opening page you will see when you choose the iPass link on the Fowler School website. It points out where to register for an iParent account (see the arrow below):
Follow the Registration instructions and your request will be sent for processing by the Fowler Main Office. You should receive an approval email within a day or so.


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Yes ... this sign hangs at my front door ...
Most of you know its truth ...
{wicked grin}
I have always been a kid at heart …
I have always gone for the humor in most all situations …
I strive to find reasons to laugh ... and
I truly believe in the good of all things and people.
I am aware there are a lot of people who view Halloween as a
representation of evilness, things that are ugly, and not of this world.
representation of evilness, things that are ugly, and not of this world.
I tend to put a different spin on this view …
thus my joy in being Wicked Wendy
thus my joy in being Wicked Wendy
As a child growing up, I remember Halloween being about dressing up,
parties at school, and getting candy ....
lots and lots of sweet treats!
parties at school, and getting candy ....
lots and lots of sweet treats!
… the true gift of seeing things through a child's eyes.
Yes, looking back now, I can see there were bad things mixed in …
but I was fortunate, those bad things often never touched me,
whether in actual deed or by choice of memory.
Therein lies the reason for my joy in the Wicked Hop …
What fun it is to put a bit of magic back into a darkly-tinted season and share a bit of wicked joy by being able to help show the creativity that exists among us!
I give my sincere thanks to Madame Samm for her continued ingenuity in keeping us involved and active with these glorious hops! She keeps me on my toes!
I also give my sincere thanks to each of you who participate in these hops, whether by sharing your creativity, or sharing your kindness through comments … you all are the reason I so enjoy these hops!!
Without further ado I share with you the Wicked deeds I created for this Wicked Hop and I hope you enjoy them and find a reason to smile for a while …
Would you believe way back in April, 2013,
when Riley Blake announced the release of the line Too Cute To Spook ...
I instantly knew I wanted
to use it for wicked Halloween creations ...
|Sandy Gervais' pattern "All Smiles"..
Riley Blakes' Too Cute To Spook Fabric
|Using this All Smiles pattern by Sandy Gervais,
I framed all the adorable little Spooks in each flying goose ...
they are just Too Cute!
|Close up of quilting and Too Cute to Spook creatures...
I also did the free motion quilting on my small machine ...
and took the opportunity to ad-lib some fun words into the stitching ...
you may note the "Wicked" I stitched in above ....
|When I saw this table runner ... I just knew it had to be made for
a special person who happens to love Birds .... in particular
crows .... what's up with that???
What better time to create this menacing creature of wings
than for the Wicked hop??
|Disa Designs Pattern ,,, Four and Twenty Blackbirds
from her marvelous book More of my Runners
Oh my ... could that be Ghastlie fabric on the back???
{cackle, cackle}
Here's a close up of the Wicked Birds ...
I like the Wicked looking trees in the border, myself
|And ... lastly I share with you an item
I designed for our first Wicked Hop,
for which I recreated for this hop,
again using Riley Blake's Too Cute to Spook fabric.
|I did say I liked the material ... didn't I ????
|"Why Knot? ... A Door Stop"
Pattern by Wendy of Why Knot Kwilt
|Fabric is also Riley Blake's
Too Cute to Spook
And if I have all my spooks in a row by time of publishing this post ...
The pattern for this door stop should be available
to all of you who so desire it on Craftsy here ...
I thank you again for visiting with me today ...
and encourage you to go check out what our other Wicked creatures ....
um, I mean creators .... have to share with you today!!
Thursday, October 31st
DreamWeaver's Quilts
My Quilt Infatuation
Just Keep Swimming
Quilts From My Crayon Box
Daisy and Jack
Thimblemouse & Spouse
Tomorrow's Treasures Today
Why-Knot-Kwilt -- You Are Here!!!!
Just Let Me Quilt
Sew We Quilt
DreamWeaver's Quilts
My Quilt Infatuation
Just Keep Swimming
Quilts From My Crayon Box
Daisy and Jack
Thimblemouse & Spouse
Tomorrow's Treasures Today
Why-Knot-Kwilt -- You Are Here!!!!
Just Let Me Quilt
Sew We Quilt
Wicked Wishes ~


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text:
mel by krzysztof20dWatch
©2009-2017 krzysztof20d
ołówki(pencils)2b,8b, jasna(white)pastel, paper fabriano
Very good work!
Excellent! I love the tone and the atmosphere in your work. The true likeness is beyond belief and attention to detail is incredible. I need to try this technique one day.
fantastic ! so real !
How many hours did this take?
Twoje prace są niesamowite...
Czuć w nich takie ŻYCIE. One po prostu wychodzą z kartek!
Może nie należę do znawców tematu ale osobiście uważam że zasługują na specjalne uznanie
Czuć w nich takie ŻYCIE. One po prostu wychodzą z kartek!
Może nie należę do znawców tematu ale osobiście uważam że zasługują na specjalne uznanie
ahh remember when people were worried that Mel would struggle to portray a Scotsman in Braveheart, and look at him now.... an alcoholic Racist ha ha ha
wow almost real
Great job!So real!
Great work !
My favorite actor other than Pacino.
Excellent!!!You're very talented!!!
Max Rockatansky
you captured his essence,
the entire portrait look so real
the entire portrait look so real
I'm speechless... This is just too amazing! I really envy you and your talent! Keep it up!
daaamn, you can't be human ..you draw soooo excellent...it's too perfect...I can't describe that...you're amazing ...
Myślałam, że Mel nie może wyglądać już lepiej. Boskie!
You draw with such an ability that it completely makes me feel dull. Haha.
You are brilliant.
You are brilliant.
truly awesome!
Stunning...amazing quality.
Saved as a fave. Awesome work
wow, you always done a good works.
really excellent work, you've caught that mischievous look perfectly
You have caught that gleem in his eyes so well!!! terrific drawing!!!
Beautiful and amazing, great detail !!
Great drawing, so realistic !
wonderful art. Favorited.
Your works are amazing!
Wow this is really good!
wow,it`s perfect!
Great work. You are very talented
Looks just like him ^.^
Beatifull, congratulations
how many time took this one?
i love mel! He is so cute how you draw him, the eyes, its soooo real! Very good!
your work is definitely awe insipiring...
your work is definitely awe insipiring...
Heya goodlookin'. Whatcha got cookin'? Hope you've got somethin' cookin' up with meeeee.
very impressive
I like this actor and you did a beautiful job!
Wow, the likeness is astounding! Great job!
wow this is brilliant!
Ug, I hate that guy! But you did a great job. He looks almost...nice.
Awesome rendering! Love Mel
yes, nice face request nice work. can you make travolta?


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Viva VIA - Starbucks Redefines Instant Coffee
We all know instant coffee sucks, which is why Starbucks refers to its' new line of VIA coffee powder as "Ready Brew". Whatever you call it, both the extra bold Italian Roast (which I sampled in the store), and the mellower-but-still-potent Colombian (prepared at home) turned out to be startlingly Starbucksy in taste. Each packet gets mixed with 8-ounces of hot water and voilá: a rich, strong cup of coffee. Works just as well with cold water for a quick ice coffee. It's $2.95 for a 3-pack, $9.95 for a 12-pack. Might not want to substitute this for your daily joe, but think of all the times you want a cup of good coffee and can't get to one. VIA will come in very handy on those occasions.
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Vodafone says the HTC Magic will be out in April. The operator managed to snare an exclusive on the touch-screen, QWERTY-less follow-up to last year's first-Android-phone-ever, the T-Mobile G1.
Here are the specs as we know them so far - 3.2-megapixel camera, 3.2-inch QVGA touch-screen and impressive internet specs to the tune of HSDPA, trackball and navigation pad for extra-smooth web browsing, and support for POP3 and IMAP3 mail. And it marks the second phone to run on Android, the open-source mobile operating system from Google that's been the subject of oh so much hype despite having been on a total of one handset.
It is a sweet little OS though - check out our video demo to get a taste.


text:
This item from Carolyn's Timeless Treasures is now in the Shop Backroom.
More from Carolyn's Timeless Treasures
1936 "Precious Pet Recipes for 2 or 4 or 6"
This 6 1/4 x 8 1/4 inch paper covered booklet has a copyright date of 1936 by the Pet Milk Co. The book has been well used with a few spots on some of the interior pages, but there are no notations. The cover is intact but there is spine, edge and corner wear and chipping from use. There are 33 pages of recipes for breakfast, lunch and dinner and even bridge luncheons. Some of the recipes include Pineapple-Prune Whip, Holiday Candy, Chicken Fricassee, Glorified Hamburgers, Eggs in Noodle Nests, Pet Sauerkraut, Hot Ham and Noodle Sandwiches, and many more. The interior recipes are embellished with black and white photos.
If you were the pending buyer of this item, go to My Account to view, track and check payment for this item.
Carolyn's Timeless Treasures
Carolyn Martin
Florissant, MO
Eclectic, Unique and Whimsical Antique and Collectible Items for the discerning collector.
Proudly selling exclusively on Ruby Lane for 14 years.


text:
Board of Education members hold elected, non-paying positions and therefore do not retain physical offices at the District Office. Members can be reached via their email address below or by fax, mail, or during monthly board meetings.
At the Annual Re-Organization meeting on January 3, 2017 the Board elected:
Robert Strobel, President
Lisa Woodring, Vice-President
Fax: Board Office located at 10 South Four Bridges Road, Chester NJ 07930
(908) 879-8861
Mail: Address letters to: West Morris Regional High School District, Board of Education
10 South Four Bridges Road, Chester NJ 07930. Unsigned letters without a return address will not be forwarded.
Board Meetings: Each BOE regular meeting has two opportunities for public comment. The Board will not address personnel issues in public.
Student Representatives
Central High School: Christian Trimarchi
Mendham High School: Mohsin Sharif


text:
Horse Veterinary
Horse Veterinary Questions? Ask an Equine Vet.
HI, I'm Dr Steve. What is he doing that makes you believe he has a cold?
I am ok with giving injections. I am a Registered Nurse. Will I need a prescription, are you able to give those out in this manner? Would an ABX pill also work?