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The Midwest |
Break All the Way Down
by Roxane Gay
The mother of my boyfriend's youngest child called in the middle of the night. He was asleep, the heat from his body wrapping around us. I stared at the dark shadows of the ceiling fan lazily spinning above us. He sleeps soundly despite many reasons he should not.
"I'm at the front door," she said. Her voice was tight and thin.
I tried to shake my boyfriend awake but he merely shifted, stretching his leg across my side of the bed. He snored lightly. I sighed.
The mother of my boyfriend's youngest child, Anna Lisa, handed me her daughter, still in her carrier, as well as a large duffel bag. She nodded toward the bag. "The baby's things." I looked at the baby, neither cute nor ugly, a blob of indeterminate features. We stood quietly, listened to moths and other insects flying into the bright, buzzing lamp covering us in its light. My shoulders ached. The air was damp and heavy. Anna Lisa is beautiful but she looked tired. She wore a loose pair of sweat pants with fading block letters down the left leg. Her t-shirt was stained. Her breasts were swollen. I could see that. Her hair hung limply in her face. She smelled ripe. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. I don't know that we looked different.
I invited her in, offered to give her a bath. I wanted to help her undress, pulling her shirt over her head. I wanted to run a bath of hot water, to wash her body and scrub her back and her thighs, the still loose skin of her stomach, to wash her clean.
"I cannot take care of my child anymore."
I looked at the baby again. The baby stared back, yawned, and blinked tiredly. "You want to leave your baby with him?"
Anna Lisa shook her head. "I'm leaving my baby with you."
My husband hates my new boyfriend. I do too. He is the kind of person everyone hates. My husband is the man I love. He likes his eggs scrambled soft with freshly ground pepper, sea salt. I woke up early every morning to make him breakfast, enjoyed the rhythm of it, enjoyed feeling useful in that way. My husband calls me daily, says, "Why are you punishing yourself?" He says, "Come home."
My boyfriend isn't really my boyfriend; he and I aren't quite living together. We came to a silent agreement where more often than not, I am around. My things are still at my house—four bedrooms, three baths—with my husband. I visit my things, my husband, often. I run my fingers over the modern statue near the front entrance, the dimple in my husband's chin, the thick, ropy muscles of his shoulders, the mahogany mantle over the fireplace. I belong with these things, they are mine, so I do not stay long.
A mosquito bit my cheek and I winced. I pressed my hand to my stomach, ignored the thin roll of scar, how it pulsed against my palm. The baby whimpered so I set the duffel bag just inside the foyer and picked her up out of her carrier, held her against my shoulder. She smelled sweet and powdery and settled as I patted her back, soft, steady. I said there, there baby love. Anna Lisa covered my hand with hers as I comforted her child. Anna Lisa's hand was sweaty.
She did not look at the baby as she walked away.
I sat with the baby in the living room, setting her on a clean blanket. When I tired of watching her, I stretched out, resting my hand on her stomach. I fell asleep with the baby staring at me, her eyes wide open.
In the morning, my boyfriend kicked my foot with his heavy work boot. "What the fuck is this?"
I sat up quickly, holding a finger to my lips. I stood and pulled him into the bedroom. "Anna Lisa brought the baby last night. She can't take care of her anymore."
My boyfriend shook his head and reached for his phone, quickly dialing his ex. "This is bullshit," he muttered. When Anna Lisa didn't answer, he threw his phone against the wall. "What the hell am I supposed to do with a baby?"
"Keep it alive."
He shook his head and brushed past me. "I have to go to work. You deal with this."
I have read many baby books. After my boyfriend left, I filled the kitchen sink with warm water and soap and washed the baby, gave her a fresh diaper and chose the cutest outfit. I prepared a bottle and fed the baby and she fell back asleep. I did a quick inventory—a stack of neatly folded onesies, seven outfits, a stuffed animal, three bottles and a Ziploc bag filled with nipples, two cans of formula, a half-filled package of baby wipes, six diapers, and a notebook filled with detailed instructions about the baby's personality, likes and dislikes, daily schedule, what the baby's different sounds mean, the kind of accounting made possible only by the reach of a mother's love. We needed to go shopping but first I needed to share this development with my husband. Once or twice a week, he works from home. I found him in his office bare-chested, wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants. He smiled when he saw me and I wanted to crawl inside him.
When he noticed me carrying a baby, he stood, frowning. "Why are you holding a baby?"
"A woman gave it to me."
My husband peered into the carrier. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
A lot of people decided I went crazy after the accident. They kept waiting for me to strip naked in a shopping mall or eat a cat or something. When I took up with an asshole, they breathed a sigh of relief. "Your situation is still fixable," my mother said when I was still taking her calls.
I am not crazy.
My husband, Ben, crouched down and tapped the baby on her nose. She smiled and he did it again. He looked up. "You didn't, like, steal this baby, did you?"
I shook my head. "It's his baby. His ex dropped her off last night. She said she was leaving the baby for me."
Ben sat, and pulled the baby out of her carrier. He started clapping her hands together and singing a silly song. I felt the scar across my stomach stretch tightly. I ran to the bathroom and reached the toilet just in time, heaving until my back ached.
Ben appeared in the doorway. "Are you okay?"
I stared at my breakfast, floating calmly on the surface of the toilet water.
That night when my boyfriend came home from work, he was drunk. I heard him at the door trying to make sense of how his key fit into the lock and what he was supposed to do next. I didn't try to help. The baby was already asleep in a small basket I bought for her at a baby store for people with too much money and no sense. The saleslady who knew me from a different time, looked down at the baby and said, "He's gotten so big," because all babies look the same and all women with babies look the same. I bit through my tongue and nodded.
I sat on the couch with the baby in her basket and we watched a reality show, one about famous people pretending to suffer from fake addictions.
My boyfriend finally made his way into the apartment. "Woman, where are you? Goddamnit," he said when he realized I was not alone. "That kid is still here?"
He pulled me up from the couch and dragged me into the bedroom. I relaxed, made myself into meat for him. He threw me onto the bed and started unbuckling his belt. "Why are you always so damn quiet? It creeps me out."
I said nothing. He did not need my voice. He crawled onto the bed, spreading my legs, pulling my jeans down. He lay on top of me, his body so heavy I sank deeply into the mattress. He pressed his boozy lips against my neck, squeezing my breasts between his fingers, reshaping them. It hurt. I groaned. "Say something," he said. I closed my eyes and hoped the baby couldn't hear her father. He slapped me and my eyes watered; the bones in my forehead felt like they would splinter. I turned my head slightly, offering him my face.
"Seriously, say something or I will lose it."
I opened my eyes. "Don't wake the baby. She had a long day."
He clasped my throat and squeezed harder and harder, leaving his mark. I held his gaze. I waited for him to punish me and when he did, it was perfect relief.
My husband called the next day. "If you felt like coming by with that baby, I wouldn't mind."
I looked for a long-sleeved shirt with a high neck but couldn't find one so I covered myself with a hooded jacket and too much makeup. I talked to the baby in the rearview mirror as we drove. Ben was waiting on the front porch and he came out to the car when we pulled up, carefully removed the baby from her car seat, opened my door for me. "Just like old times," he said, softly.
I gritted my teeth as I sat on the couch, one of the first nice things we ever bought.
Ben put the baby in the playpen that has been empty in the corner of our den for months. She began playing with the toys—plastic things that made noise. He sat next to me, pulled the hood of my jacket down. He slammed his fist into the coffee table. One of the books slid onto the floor. "I'm going to kill him."
I leaned into his shoulder, the warmth of it, and then I lay my head in his lap. "I'm really tired."
He pushed out a heavy burst of air, rubbed my arm softly. "You can rest here," he said, and so I did and he watched over me.
A few days later, the baby had a fever. She cried and cried, her face red with tiny, heated rage. I stripped her down to her diaper and stood with her near the open freezer while the air conditioner covered us in frigid air. She wouldn't stop crying. She missed her mother, I decided. My boyfriend came out of the bedroom, his boxers hanging off his narrow hips at an awkward angle. I held the baby closer, whispering sweetly.
He reached into the refrigerator for a beer and nodded toward us as he removed the cap. "What's wrong with her?"
"She has a fever."
He took a long swig of beer, wiped his lips. "Does she need a doctor or something?"
"I don't know yet." I began bouncing around as the baby calmed a bit. "We'll have to wait and see."
My boyfriend hopped onto the counter and sat, swinging his legs. "How do you know so much about babies?"
I rubbed the baby's back slowly. "We don't ask each other those kinds of questions."
He spit into the sink and took another sip of beer. "Suit yourself." When he grew bored, he wandered back to the bedroom. The baby stopped crying, her body trembling every few minutes as she hiccupped. I sat with her on the balcony because it was cool outside and the air was clean. I called Anna Lisa.
She answered after seven rings. "Is everything okay?"
I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "I thought you might want to know how the baby is doing."
She was silent for a moment, coughed. "Yeah, that'd be good."
The baby held on to my t-shirt, her tiny fingers curling around the cotton. I told her mother about the fever and how Ben and I played with her and took a long walk. I told Anna Lisa how the baby enjoyed bathing in the kitchen sink. I told her about the new outfits.
"Does she miss me?"
"Why the hell are you with him?"
"I'll call you next week."
I hung up and stared into the night sky, dark and heavy and still.
The baby was still fussy in the morning, wouldn't rest easy in my arms, sweaty and squirming. She barely slept. I barely slept. My boyfriend got mad because she kept making this sound, a high-pitched whimpering, and she wouldn't stop and it got on his nerves. I lay next to him, waiting for him to explode. He would. He did. I went slack and hoped he would beat me until my bones finally softened.
When he was done, he said, "There's something wrong with you."
Later, Ben called as the baby wailed lustily like an old sorrowful woman. I admired her for it. "I want to see your face," he said.
I smiled. "I want to see your face, too."
"That kid has one hell of a mouth on her."
I bounced the baby on my hip. "That she does."
In the bedroom, my boyfriend sprawled across the bed on his stomach wearing only a pair of jeans. I asked if he planned on going to work and he grunted something unintelligible. Ben was once again waiting in the driveway for us. He took the baby and jogged slowly toward the house. I leaned back as I watched him. He paused on the porch, waved. I nodded and closed my eyes.
Seven months ago, we were in a parking lot at a grocery store, the kind where everything is organic and artisanal and overpriced. For the first time in our marriage, we could afford to shop wherever we wanted. We bought lots of olives in those days because there was an olive bar at the fancy grocery store. The absurdity was irresistible. We made a lot of tapenades. We were adults. We had a boy, who shared his father's name. He was fourteen months old, still getting used to how his legs moved him, his chubby thighs rolling around each other with each awkward step. He always held his hands in front of him when he walked. We called him BZ or Baby Zombie and sometimes, a lot of the time, we gelled his hair so it stood on end. We took a hundred thousand pictures, the excesses of parents of only children, capturing how he curled his fingers when he neared us and how his nose wrinkled just before he laughed and his eyelashes, they were so long, you could see each one like some perfect extension of his beauty. Our parents thought the zombie nickname was crude. It was funny.
Ben and I were flirting as we put the groceries in the trunk. There was a bottle of wine, some organic merlot such and such and a promise of what we were going to do after we drank that wine. I said we didn't need to wait and he said something about blindfolding the baby for the drive home and we laughed and leaned into each other over the cart to kiss, wet tongue sloppy. Ben Jr. started smacking the handle of the grocery cart, shouting da da da da da. He wanted out so I lifted him, enjoying the weight of his body against the curves between my thumbs and forefingers. I kissed both of his cheeks and his forehead and his father rubbed the baby's back as I set our boy on the ground. I pulled his hand to my jeans and told him to hold on to me or he'd have to stay in the cart. He nodded and grinned, his dimples deep and winking as he hugged my leg. I looked at that boy and the man who helped me make him as we stood in the center of a perfect life. The heat of that joy could have burned us all.
A young guy walking some shitty little dog passed by. Ben Jr. loved dogs, called them doshi. We have no idea where that came from but it was his word so it became our word. Doshi doshi doshi. He shouted, "Doshi," and let go of me and when he let go, when I no longer felt that tug, I was so cold and hollow. There was nothing holding me to the ground. Ben Jr. started running and both Ben and I leapt after him but those tiny, chubby legs of his, when they wanted to, they moved real fast and we were still happy so it was hard to make sense of the urgency. Our son chased the doshi, his arms in front of him like he intended to make that dog undead. An eighty-four year old woman, Helen McGuigan, came barreling through the parking lot. She couldn't see my little boy over the hood of her 1974 Grand Prix, a real tank of a car. Ben and I screamed. Ben Jr. stopped and turned to look at us, was so startled by the pitch of our voices, he cried. The last thing my child did was cry because he was scared. He held his arms higher, the way he does, the way he did, when he wanted to be held. The curves between my thumbs and forefingers throbbed violently. When the car ran him over, I did not look away. I saw what happened to my boy's body. I saw everything, all of him, everywhere.
I don't allow myself to be around dogs anymore. I could kill them all, every last one of those dirty animals with their wagging tails and long hanging tongues. I cannot stand the stink of them.
Ben and I did not go to the funeral. After the viewing, after seeing the impossible size of that coffin, we had nothing left. Our families could not understand. During the funeral we sat on the floor of Ben's nursery, waiting for him to come home. We are still sitting there.
Ben called my name. He stood on the porch, handsome, his hair wild and curly, the baby strapped to his chest. I swallowed hard as I got out of the car. In the corner of the yard, I saw a red plastic bat. Acid burned my throat and before I could stop myself, I puked over the hedges lining the house. We used to trim them together. We'd wake up on Saturday mornings and say, "We are doing yard work today." We'd giggle because our fathers do yard work, raking their yards in sandals and knee high socks. Ben rushed to me and rubbed my back. He said soft soothing things. He led me into the house and gave me water. I drank but my lips remained parched.
As I leaned over the kitchen sink, my shirt rode up. My head was splitting so I forgot to pull it down.
My husband rolled my shirt up further, hissing. My heart sank. I had no energy for pretending he couldn't see what was there. "What the fuck is this? Seriously, babe, what the fuck is this?" He pulled my shirt up around my shoulders and slowly turned me around. I couldn't look him in the eye. He traced an angry, spreading bruise along my ribcage, dark purple, almost black around the edges. I winced. "That's it," Ben said. "That really is it, Natasha." He unstrapped the baby from his chest and handed her to me. "Stay here."
"Don't," I said, grabbing his arm.
He shook his head and ran out of the house. He kicked the car door before he opened it, kept kicking the door until it caved. I've never seen him so angry. He pointed at me. "Don't you dare leave."
I watched as he sped away. I took the baby into our bedroom and lay on my side, holding the baby to my chest, inhaling her warm, milky breath. She finally stopped fussing and we fell asleep. When I woke up, Ben was sitting in the reading chair near the foot of the bed. I sat slowly and pulled my knees to my chest. There was a bruise on his chin and his knuckles were red raw like meat.
"Enough," he said. "You've broken yourself enough. You're coming home."
I pressed my forehead against my knees. My chest was empty. It was nice for someone to tell me what to do. Ben stood and took the baby, still asleep. He disappeared with her and was alone when he returned. He set a baby monitor on the end table and crawled into the bed next to me. It is hard to breathe in a house with no air but I tried. I stretched myself against him and when he started to undress me I let him. My desire for him was unabated. My tongue could not forget the taste of his skin, his mouth. Pale evening light filled the room, enough light for us to see each other plainly. He kissed the bruises along my collarbone, around my navel, the dark spreads of purple on my upper arms, my thighs, in the small of my back. It had been a long time since a man touched me gently—such luxury. I had almost forgotten. Ben held my face in his hands as he kissed me, and then, I fell into his tongue in my mouth, his mouth on my breasts, his fingers between my thighs. He filled me in a way that let me know he was taking me back. I opened myself to let him. I kissed his red raw meat knuckles and his chin and wrapped my arms around him. I said, "Hold me to the ground."
It was late, crying from another room. I lay on my back, Ben's body half covering mine as he slept. I covered my chest with my hand, rubbed softly like that might move my heart back to its proper place. Still there was crying from another room. I tried to remember when I was. My mouth was dry and sorrow, my lips still parched, my eyes dry. Everything was dry. I ran my fingers through Ben's hair. The crying grew louder so I kissed my husband's head and slipped out of bed, tried to remember the geography of the room I had not slept in for months. My breasts ached uncomfortably, engorged with the milk of sweetly spoiled fruit. Ben's shirt lay on the floor and I pulled it on then held my hand to the wall as I walked to the nursery. When I turned on the light, the baby rolled over and blinked. The room still smelled like my son. He was there even though he was not there. I could feel him in my fingers. I picked the baby up and cradled her along the length of my arm, the weight of her nearly tearing my heart out of me. We went outside for fresh air, sat on the patio Ben and I built ourselves, all brick, more yard work. I called Anna Lisa. She answered again after seven rings.
"I am leaving him," I said. "You should know that."
"I left my baby with you."
"You can't be serious. I can't be trusted with a child. This isn't legal."
"I know what happened to your son, saw on the news." Anna Lisa said. "It was not your fault."
"This is not the answer to whatever you or I have going on."
"I don't know anyone else who can help me."
"We can't stay it here. We are leaving."
"Don't tell me where you're going," Anna Lisa said. She hung up.
The baby shifted in my arms. I traced her little lips with my finger. "What am I going to do with you?" I asked. She cooed and grabbed my finger, wouldn't let go, so we sat like that for a long time, her grip growing tighter and tighter. I thought she might break me too. Damp circles spread across Ben's shirt. No matter what I did, my milk refused to dry. My body needed something to feed. When I went inside, Ben was holding his phone and car keys. His hair stood on end. He looked so young, like when we first met. We were freshmen in college and he chased me across a quad because he liked the pink streak in my hair. He said he always knew he would love a woman with a three-syllable name. I wasn't sure which Ben I was looking at and then he came to me and pressed his nose in my hair and told me I smelled like the night air.
"I thought you left."
"I thought you said I couldn't."
His face stretched into what has become his smile.
"We can't live in this house."
Ben nodded.
"We can't live in this city, nowhere near."
"I know."
I looked down at the baby. "She's coming with us. For now. Until her mom can take her. The baby won't fix what's wrong. I'm not crazy the way everyone thinks. I know who this baby is and who she isn't."
"You can say his name." Ben's eyes met mine. Our son had his eyes. There was a time when I wondered if I could stand to look at my husband for the rest of my life. "Say his name," Ben said.
I held my hands open and shook my head.
When Ben Jr. was born, we had been married for seven years. We are both only children. We were still young but our parents had resigned themselves to not having grandchildren and then this bright beautiful boy found his way to all of us. After the accident, I called my mother to tell her what happened. I told her while sitting on the front porch because I couldn't be in the house where there was no air. Ben sat next to me. We held the phone between our cheeks. My mother moaned when I explained to her that my son was a bloody stretch on the hot pavement of a parking lot, that he was driven out of his shoes, that he was lying somewhere, alone and cold.
I tried to stay in the morgue with Ben Jr. the day he died but it was against regulations. A stranger with cold hands kept saying, we're so sorry but you have to leave. Eventually, two police officers escorted us to the parking lot. I made a wild, messy scene. I'm proud of that. One of the officers said, "We don't want to have to take you into custody," and I shouted, "Are you fucking kidding me?" People walking in and out of the police station stared, pointed, shook their heads. The officer grabbed my elbow, pulled me close enough I could smell coffee on his breath. He leaned closer, said, "I've got four of my own but you have to leave," and again, I shouted, "Are you fucking kidding me?" My throat was raw. All of me was raw. I didn't give a damn. I would not leave my child alone. Finally, Ben snapped out of his trance and dragged me away. I fought him hard. When he finally got me in the car, he stood by my door. He pointed and said, "Stay, baby," then ran around to his side of the car. Sweat trickled down his face and neck. There were damp arcs of sweat around my neck and below my armpits. We were rotten, filthy with grief. He turned and looked at me. "You're stronger than I thought." I pressed my hand against the car window as we pulled away. I said, "You have no idea." Later, we drove back to the station, parked a few blocks away, and sat silently near the morgue window in the back until Ben Jr.'s body could be released to us in the morning.
Instead of saying something kind, instead of saying nothing when I told my mother my son was dead, she said, "How could you let this happen?" I started shaking and yelling at her but I made no sense, all yerga ghala fraty ghuja, crazy rage words. Ben took the phone. He said, "How dare you?" We stayed in the garage that night and the next night and the next night. The refrigerator where we store deer meat and High Life hummed loudly. We'd listen to it all night, pretending we were asleep, pretending sleep was possible. It was hot in there, smelled like motor oil and dirt and grass clippings. Ben kept his arms wrapped around me, never let me go.
We moved to a tent in the backyard until the neighbors complained. We cooked canned food on a small camp stove and drank wine and smoked, while we sat in lawn chairs until we were too tired to stay awake. Ben would say, "Talk to me," and I'd try but nothing would come out but dry air. I took a leave of absence from work but Ben kept going to the office, said he needed one thing to make sense. While he was gone, I sat in the parking lot of the fancy grocery store where we bought eight different kinds of olives. Sometimes an employee recognized me and brought me coffee, said, we are so sorry. I heard that phrase so often it started to sound like one word, wearesosorry wesorry sosorry sosorry sosorry.
I lost all the baby weight that lingered and more. Ben grew angry when I said I couldn't eat, said I had no right to ruin myself. One evening, he made my favorite pasta. When I refused to eat, he straddled me as I sat, and force-fed me. I couldn't keep the food down. Ben got so angry he threw the beautiful clay bowl holding his beautiful pasta on the kitchen floor. He made a terrible mess. His hands clenched into tight fists and I wanted to feel his knuckles against the bone of my jaw. I threw myself into him. I said, "Hit me," but he wouldn't. I hit him and hit him and he didn't stop me. I said, "Hit me or I'm leaving." He refused so I left. I slept in my car near the railroad tracks where we used to take Ben Jr. when he couldn't sleep. My husband found me and told me to come home. I didn't go home.
I found a man who would hit me at a bar. It wasn't hard. I could smell the anger on him by looking at him. I was drinking Maker's, wearing nothing much, all bare tits and leg. He sat next to me and ordered me a drink even though I wasn't halfway through the one I had. He tapped my rings and said, "Where's your husband?" I slammed back what was left of my drink and the one he bought me. "Don't worry about it," I said. He talked and we drank for hours and when he said, "Let's go out back," I let him pull me along. The man pushed me against the wall and covered my mouth with his like he was trying to eat my face. He came up for air, said, "How do you like it, baby?" I grabbed him by his belt. He tried to kiss me again and I turned away. I said, "I want you to hurt me," so he did, over and over and over again. I stopped sleeping at home. Every time that man sank his fists into my body, I could breathe a little. I used one hurt to cover another. I became a fiercely tender bruise as he broke down my skin and muscle and bone and blood until I felt nothing but the way he used my body for a few perfect moments every day, moments I'd worry between my fingers until they were well worn away.
Ben grabbed me by my shoulders and shook me. "Say his name."
"Harder," I said.
The baby giggled. She grabbed his shirt and mine, like she was trying to pull us into each other. Ben stilled and looked down at the baby. He let go of me.
I clasped the back of his neck and stood on the tips of my toes. I closed my eyes and saw each letter, the shape of our child's name. I tried to lose myself in my bruising. I put the baby in the playpen and walked to the nursery. Ben followed on my heels. I stood next to the crib, gripping the railing. Our child's favorite teddy bear was still propped up in one corner. The sleeve of a small t-shirt peeked out from beneath the pillow. And then I couldn't stand anymore. I fell to my knees, gasping.
"Hit me," I said. I begged. I grabbed his hand and curled his fingers into a fist and held his fist to my breastbone. I said, "Please, if you love me, hit me." My voice was so ugly and hungered. If Ben would break the broken places in me a little more, if he would break whatever was left of me beneath my skin, I could finally break all the way down.
Ben knelt beside me, uncurling his fingers. "I do love you." He wrapped his arms around me as I reached for air. He was so gentle, so terrible.
"My God, please do it, Ben. Please." A ringing in my ears made it hard to concentrate on anything but the bitter ache in my chest.
He pulled his arm back and I watched his fingers tighten back into a fist and I cried out but then he relaxed. "No," he said. "I will not."
I held on to that crib, shaking it, slamming it into the wall until the bolts loosened, until the crib that held our child broke all the way down too. The B-E-N hanging on the wall above the crib fell to the floor. My arms grew tired and I let go of the broken railing in my hands. Sweat pooled in the small of my back. I thought about shoving everything in that room into my mouth, thought if I tried hard enough, I could make room. Ben leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the ground.
"I miss him as much as I love you. I love you as much as I miss him," I said. I collapsed against him and somehow, we fell asleep like that, breaking against each other.
The next morning, we took everything from the nursery and put it in the backyard on our brick patio with the uneven edges. We burned all of it until it was nothing. The neighbors stared from behind parted curtains. They weren't going to be our neighbors for much longer. I raised my middle finger high in the air. We stood and watched everything melt into a black, hardened mass—toys and sheets and t-shirts and very small shoes and pacifiers, all of it. When the fire finally died, our skin was coated with a thin layer of soot. The air reeked of the scorched memory of things that should not be burned. The baby slept and slept and slept.
We stumbled inside and I tore at Ben's clothes, kissing him hard with the bone of my face, the whites of my teeth, wanting to feel something different even as my body ached sharply, everywhere. Ben folded me over the dining room table, his hand pressed against the back of my head as he entered me. He breathed hotly onto my neck. What we did, the way we sounded, was untamed.
After, I said, "Please get me away from here," and Ben said, "Say our child's name." I held his face and wiped away some of the soot beneath his eyes with my thumbs.
In a few weeks, we would hand the keys to our house to a realtor who would eventually sell the house and wire the money to a bank account. We would tell Anna Lisa she would always know where we are. She would tell us she would not follow. We would pack what we needed in our car. We would put the baby in the backseat, listening to her babble happily. We would look back at that girl child, her features growing more and more determined with each passing day, and say this is crazy, this is wrong, this is right, this is wrong. We would drive north and west and north and west until we reached an ocean and rocky shores and green everywhere and a big, big sky to hold the baby up to while she laughed.
Before that, though, I kissed Ben, softer, softer. His curls spilled through my fingers. We tasted like the whitest heat of a fire closest to the ground where most things burn. I said Ben Jr.'s name into his mouth, memorized the charred taste of it.


text: The only reason I'm selling this is I want to move up to a 50 cal version which is around 350.00. I love the whole muzzleloading thing and it really is fun to shoot. I will also include around 40 or 50 balls, patches, and patch grease(I use pre lubed patches). 175 takes it all! Pistol is made by Ultra Hi.

subset: commoncrawl


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Christmas Reading
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KC 610 Sports Radio (twitter) (via MLBTR):
Royals trade AAA Omaha OF Buck Coats to the White Sox for cash considerations.
Last year (Age 28) @ AAA: .302/.360/.416/.776 with 47 BB / 64 K in 527 PAs. .338 wOBA. .337 BABIP.
UPDATE: Merkin (WhiteSox.com beat writer) says Coats will play for Birmingham.


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Three weeks into the New Year, Taylor Swift 's album Red and the Zac Brown Band single "Goodbye in Her Eyes" maintain their grips on the top of the Billboard charts. Red has been there for 12 weeks, "Goodbye" for three.
While there's little new to report — just one album and two songs — there is some action within the Top 5 songs cluster.
Gary Allan 's "Every Storm (Runs Out of Rain)" has jumped from No. 6 to No. 3, Jason Aldean 's "The Only Way I Know" (with Luke Bryan and Eric Church ) from No. 7 to No. 4 and Brad Paisley 's "Southern Comfort Zone" from No. 8 to No. 5.
Randy Houser 's "How Country Feels" had edged up from No. 3 to No. 2.
The lone new album is the soundtrack Justified: Music From the Original Television Series, bowing at No. 49.
Six CDs return to action: George Strait 's Here for a Good Time (No. 65), Hank Williams Jr. 's Old School New Rules (No. 66), the multi-artist anthology Mud Digger: Volume 3 (No. 69), Aaron Watson's Real Good Time (No. 71), Country: Waylon Jennings (No. 73) and Turnpike Troubadours ' Goodbye Normal Street (No. 74).
The first-time songs on the country airplay rankings are Swift's "All Too Well" (No. 58) and Charlie Worsham 's "Could It Be" (No. 60).
Albums No. 2 through No. 5 are Florida Georgia Line 's Here's to the Good Times, Bryan's Tailgates & Tanlines, Nashville: The Music of Nashville: Season 1: Volume 1 and Little Big Town 's Tornado, in that order.
Well, we can always hope for more excitement next week. Can't we?


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Outrageous, but not typical
- In response to: Bureaucrat's pay rekindles pension debate
The Retired Public Employees Association of California, which represents state, local and contract agencies, and school classified employees covered by CalPERS, realizes the need for all of us to come together to find a solid solution to the budget issues facing our state.
In a recent article, the U-T identified a compensation and pension package of more than $413,000 for one person in Northern California and pointed the finger for the state's budget problems at all public employees. As public retirees trying to live on modest incomes that are anything but lavish, we agree that this is an outrageous number and find it unacceptable.
Only two percent of CalPERS retirees receive pensions of more than $100,000. Seventy-four percent of CalPERS retirees receive less than $36,000 per year. The average monthly retirement allowance for all CalPERS retirees is $2,000, and many receive much less. Many public retirees do not receive Social Security benefits because their public employers do not participate in the program. Most public employee retirees do not receive employer-paid health care, and many do not receive Medicare benefits.
A majority of retirees under CalPERS paid a percentage of their pay, matched by their employers, into the system and calculated retirement carefully based upon their base salaries and years of service, expecting to receive this deferred income when they retired. The money received from this deferred income goes back into our communities and state in the form of taxes and the purchase of homes, automobiles, and other commodities.
Public employees are not the cause of the problems in California or in the U.S. itself. Wall Street and poor planning on the part of our legislators and some cities has caused the majority of this problem. We are as concerned as everyone else about the state of our economy and doing our part to help.
Mary Helvie, Assistant Area Director
RPEA, Area VIII
Chula Vista
Anti-government bias
- In response to: County pay drubs households
I will sleep so much better tonight knowing that, on average, county administrators up and down our fair state are getting just over three times the median income of our citizens. Frankly, it is an incredible bargain that dedicated public servants administer complex systems, with large groups of employees, to maintain roads, public safety, health care, water and sewage treatment, and so many other basic services, for such small compensation.
However, judging from the general tenor of the article on the Notebook page of Sunday's U-T (purported to be from "the U-T San Diego reporting staff," as opposed to the editorial staff) author Lee Ann O'Neal, would not want that to be the "take away" message.
With a bold print byline header of "Watchdog," we are immediately on notice that something alarming is about to be revealed. After one opening strictly factual sentence, Ms O'Neal uses the term "disparity" (defined as a "great difference") twice in a two sentence paragraph, instead of a more neutral reporting term like "ratio," to describe pay comparisons. In the seven bulleted paragraphs that complete the article she "cherry picks" higher than average, and increasingly larger pay differentials, all the way up to the Los Angeles County CEO at "7.3 times the median household income." Using statistical sleight of hand in her cherry picked examples, she abandons the "state's median household income" as a comparison, thus making county CEO pay appear to have even higher differentials.
Just seven inches of so called "reporting" column space reveals the all-too-typical U-T anti-government bias. Editorial bias, subtle and not so subtle, pops up in supposedly innocuous news reporting far too often. Please spare us the disingenuous "Watchdog" reports.
Most of the top 500 companies in the U.S. pay their CEOs over 200 times what their average workers make (true disparity). Knowing the pay differential between U-T owner Doug Manchester, and the average U-T employee would be interesting. Or, an honest report of oil company executive pay and how it tracks with refinery maintenance down time, and refinery "accidents" that spike gas prices (never again to return to previous low prices).
I won't be holding my breath for reports in the UT of true "disparity" in private sector compensation, or reports of good things government provides. Instead, I'll be canceling my subscription, as I should have before now.
Charles Abel
La Mesa


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For Immediate Release
firstname.lastname@example.com or call (202) 234 3440
Fr. Roy Bourgeois and SOA Watch Field Organizer Nico Udu-gama Arrested Following Protest at the U.S.-Mexico Border
WASHINGTON - On Sunday, February 19, activists from School of the Americas Watch, Project Puente and other organizations around the border region held a vigil to call attention to the role of the US government in the militarization of Mexico and the failed War on Drugs. The vigil took place on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border at the Sunland Park-Anapra Fence. Father Roy Bourgeois and Nico Udu-gama joined the vigil on both sides of the border, and were arrested by the U.S. Border Patrol following the vigil when they left the vigil site.
Father Roy Bourgeois and Nico Udu-gama were charged with crossing the border through an unapproved entry point and were taken to the Santa Teresa Border Patrol Station in New Mexico. After several hours in custody and background checks, the Border Patrol decided to dismiss the charges and to release Father Roy and Nico in the afternoon.
The protest was the culmination of a week-long delegation of 10 people, headed by SOA Watch founder Fr. Roy Bourgeois, from across the United States, which has met with people on both sides of the border in El Paso and Ciudad Juarez.
Over 60,000 people have been killed in the violence in Mexico since President Felipe Calderon deployed some 50,000 troops and federal police five years ago to confront the drug cartels. Much of this militarization has been bankrolled by the US government's Merida Initiative, which has poured over $1.5 billion into this "war on drugs," especially in the form of US military equipment and training. The result of this militarization has failed to curtail the flow of drug, but has caused the loss of thousands of innocent Mexican lives. The death toll in Ciudad Juarez alone is nearing 10,000.
Perpetrators of the violence on both sides of this declared "war" have strong links to the US School of the Americas/WHINSEC, a U.S. taxpayer-funded military training school for Latin American soldiers, located at Fort Benning, Georgia. Ciudad Juarez Police Chief, Julian Leyzaola Perez, a graduate of the SOA, has been accused by human rights groups of participating "directly in the torture of individuals who were arbitrarily detained, transported to military bases, and subjected to beatings, electric shocks, death threats, and asphyxiation to obtain false confessions" (UNHCR report). On the side of the drug cartels, a third of the original members of the drug cartel known as the "Zetas" are deserted members of the Mexican military who have graduated from the SOA/WHINSEC (read article here).
SOA graduates across Latin America have been implicated in serious human rights abuses, from torture, disappearance, drug trafficking and murder. In 2009, SOA graduates overthrew the government in Honduras, while in Colombia, 10,000 troops have been trained to fight the "War on Drugs". In October 2011, Time Magazine published the article "Is It Time to Shutter the Americas' 'Coup Academy'?"
This past week, people in Mexico convened for a National Forum Against Militarization in Mexico. SOA Watch stands in solidarity with them and draws inspiration from citizens of Mexico who have been rising up to resist this militarization.
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SOA Watch is an independent organization that seeks to close the US Army School of the Americas, under whatever name it is called, through vigils and fasts, demonstrations and nonviolent protest, as well as media and legislative work.


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The Aenuk Chronicles:
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- Magician's Touch
The Aenuk Chronicles:
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Stuff and things.
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Hi all,
I am trying to build an event with multiple choices requiring one response from the participant. The multiple choice comes in 6 boxes (A, B, C, D, E, F) that can be clicked on the screen. Is there anyway to record both the right and wrong answers? So far I manage to have correct and error recorded on the response txt file but the identity of the wrong answers have to be derived from the click coordinates. Is there a better way for doing this?


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Update: v2Now, the pack is full vector. Layers and groups have also been re-organised. Five color variations are included for the first concept and three for the second one. The file is easier to edit and modify. I have added a few more effects. The look is pretty much the same. If you have purchased the file, please re-download the files.
This is a pack of Sleek Web Boxes, very neat and stylish. Use them in your projects, on a web site or any other purpose and get impressed. The boxes have been designed to work against any sort of background. Very easy to edit and modify. Full Vector, Very organised layers.
Photoshop® CS3 is recommended although you can free to use CS, CS2 and CS4 also.
Feedback and rating is apprecaited.
Font Info
Myriad Pro, available with PhotoShop by default
Arial, system font available on all platforms


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Home .:. Catalog .:. Motocross and ATV Pants .:. Ladies Pants
click image to enlarge
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© 2020 MX Outfit. All rights reserved.
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Chatsworth, CA 91311


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Hi Everyone!
I came across the following wonderful piece of information in the December 2011 copy of the Newsletter of the Chicago Genealogical Society.
To all Illinois veterans please be aware the Office of the Illinois Secretary of State has established an Illinois Veterans' History Project. Living Illinois veterans as well as deceased Illinois veterans can be honored and their military service history can become a permanent history within the Illinois Secretary of State Office.
Genealogy researchers can honor deceased ancestors who had military service and lived in Illinois. This is a very nice feature, tribute and honor we can bestow on our deceased veteran ancestors. The following quote was obtained from the Illinois Secretary of State website for this project:
Illinois Secretary of State Jesse White initiated the Illinois Veterans' History Project to create a permanent record of the names and stories of Illinois war veterans and civilians who served our state and country during war, so that their contributions will not be forgotten.
To participate in the Illinois Veterans' History Project, Veterans or their family members can complete the Illinois Patriots Information Form and also share their remembrances on the back or on a separate sheet of paper. Those who participate will receive an Official Certificate of Appreciation for their participation in this project. The Illinois Patriots Information Form is also available at Driver Services facilites statewide.
The Illinois State Archives, a division of the Secretary of State's office, will collect the information and place it in a permanent repository. White's initiative follows a law passed by the federal government authorizing the Library of Congress to collect and preserve the histories of American veterans and civilians who served in wars from World War I to the present.
If you would like to participate in the National Veterans' History Project through the Library of Congress, please visit their website at www.loc.gov/vets/.
You can access the main database website from the Illinois Secretary of State Office at:
Illinois Veterans' History Project Data Base
What a great way to preserve the military history of living Illinois veterans as well as to honor and preserve the military history of deceased Illinois veterans. All it takes is a small amount of time to fill out the questionnaire especially if your research has already uncovered the military information of that Illinois veteran. All questionnaire material is available directly from the above links.
You can see samples of filled-out and returned material at the Illinois Digital Archives at:
Illinois Digital Archives/Illinois Veterans' History Project
Take a look at the material and consider honoring a living Illinois veteran as well as a deceased Illinois veteran.
Tony Kierna
Genealogy Coordinator
Schaumburg Township District Library


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"Part of what I do is being resourceful," says Bill Honigman, M.D. That's an understatement.
Dr. Bill, as he is known by patients, colleagues and the single-payer advocacy community, is an emergency room (ER) doctor in Anaheim, California. He's a co-coordinator of the "Healthcare as a Human Right" Issue Organizing Team of Progressive Democrats of America, a member of probably every California single-payer health care organization, a mentor to young members of CaHPSA (California Health Professional Student Alliance), a relentless political activist (in general, but always for universal health care), and a husband and father.
Dr. Bill sat down with me in the Oak Tree Inn in Monrovia, California, before joining the Drive for Universal Healthcare (DUH, which is the organization that I founded and direct) at the Arcadia Unitarian Universalist church's screening of The Healthcare Movie and moderating the panel discussion afterwards. He graciously accompanied the tour through La Jolla, Costa Mesa, Irvine, Claremont, Arcadia and Los Angeles.
PEP in the ER
PEP (post-exposure prophylaxis) was the first topic of the day.
As an ER doctor, Dr. Bill noted that most of the people he has encountered seeking PEP are likely to be hospital personnel who had an accidental exposure and outside populations like EMTs, police and other first responders -- all of whom have been trained in the use of PEP and know they have 72 hours after the exposure to start the meds. And, of course, there are the people with random exposures, either sexual or non-sexual, who seek PEP from the ER.
"You have to be prepared to deal with that and all of its implications. In my practice environment, I have access to infectious disease specialists at all hours," he says of the resources available to him. "I see almost no [HIV patients] without calling them -- it's about the advisement of whether or not a patient wants to be on post-exposure drugs or not and what their level of risk with the exposure is. When the potential consequences are a life-long struggle, people tend to opt for it, whether their exposure was trivial or not."
In addition to PEP cases, Dr. Bill has also seen other kinds of emergencies related to HIV. "In terms of HIV treatment in general, the kind of emergencies I see are when people fall through the cracks, whatever the reason -- I have to have awareness of what resources are available for them."
In addition to financial barriers to care and treatment, people may end up in the ER because they'd never been tested and don't know they have HIV until they get sick. IV drug users and undocumented residents may put off seeing a doctor for fear of arrest or deportation. Fear, ignorance and stigma are also common obstacles that lead to ER visits.
Dr. Bill is not the only physician who has stories to tell of patients showing up with AIDS, the advanced stage of HIV infection, simply because they had no access to the health care that would have prevented their HIV from developing into AIDS. Though patient and provider advocacy have resulted in HIV-positive people having programs and assistance that those with other diseases don't have, the current climate in Washington, D.C., and some states threatens to erode health care access -- leaving people living with HIV, along with others, without the care and treatment they need.
Dr. Bill says this relates to the political activism he does.
"I want to be sure those anti-HIV drugs are available to people and affordable and that not only resonates in the universal health care movement, but also in terms of things like the Trans-Pacific Partnership -- if we have to go back to not having good generics available because the drug companies have managed to get their patents back, that would be a disaster, not only for HIV, but for malaria and TB [tuberculosis] and other things that are treated around the world."
Choosing the ER
Never without his sense of humor, Dr. Bill jokes that he chose emergency medicine because he "wanted to know just enough to be dangerous." Contrary to that assessment, though, it seems that ER doctors must have a wider knowledge base than a specialist simply because they have to be able to handle a variety of situations or at least know with whom to consult.
"Ah, yes," he laughed, "the illusion of competency." He then admitted that emergency medicine requires a wide range of knowledge, put to use in an environment of incredible stress.
"It's not the life and death stuff that everyone thinks of -- the trauma you see on TV -- but the fact that a screaming child with an earache in the middle of the night is stressful, for the parent, the child, everyone. I often say pain is contagious and our job is to find a way to ameliorate that pain."
Dr. Bill's not an adrenaline junkie, either, as some ER docs are. "No, in fact, the more heightened anxiety and panic around a case, the less I enjoy it. I guess there are people out there who do, but to me, it wears on me even more. I like to have time to sit down and talk to people! No practice environment is perfect, though, and when there is a more serious situation, you kind of switch on your more directed approach to problem-solving."
The nature of ER medicine has changed greatly in the 30 years he's been practicing. "I blame Reagan and Bush, both Bushes," he asserts, explaining that policies set in place under their administrations run counter to what he learned early on about ER management.
Originally, the conventional wisdom was that the best policy was to staff the ER for the "peak volume," making sure that there would be enough medical providers to handle any emergency.
"What you find now is that they're not staffing for peaks, they're not even staffing for averages. They're staffing for 'troughs' [the lowest volume] so that if anyone's sitting around doing nothing, they get rid of them," he says. "So what happens if you're only staffed for a minimum volume night and you have a busy, or hugely busy, night? You don't have the staff for it. So these long waits that are common in emergency rooms are largely due to these 'business decisions' that have just made it horrible."
He says the worst aspect of the problem is when he and his colleagues are rushing around, worried that they won't have enough time to get all the information they need.
"[We're] just trying not to kill anybody or make a mistake -- give somebody the wrong meds or IVs or, worse yet, miss a diagnosis altogether because we were just too busy to recognize something, a clue or a key or a sign of some kind. It's a real problem in today's American health care system -- it's uniquely American and it's uniquely awful."
Health Care and HIV
"The struggle for recognition of HIV as a treatable illness and as a public health scourge is really an excellent example of how communities need to rally to certain challenges and also to recognize that we're all members of the community," he explained, when asked how the HIV community is and could be affected by the health care system.
"We know in the health care movement that we can do things as a community that we can't do by ourselves. Thanks to the activism of folks in the HIV treatment community coming together and overcoming biases -- an amazing transition of consciousness, I think -- that happened and it highlights how important it is that we have universal health care. And that means all the people get all the care they need, whether that means HIV treatment or open-heart surgery or liver transplants or whatever it means."
Today, many say that apathy and cynicism have infected the silent majority. Dr. Bill even maintains that it's become stigmatizing to be involved in politics. And people living with HIV know stigma. They know how it limits and defeats and harms. But they also know the empowerment that comes from confronting and overcoming it, and perhaps now is the time to see that stigma, unlike health care, is already universal -- it can limit, defeat and harm anyone, so uniting with others who live with chronic disease strengthens everyone.
Dr. Bill finds hope in younger people. "They care about each other more," he said. "They're going to do better ... with health care, with climate change, with human rights, everything."
We can only hope. But one thing is certain. For as long as he is able, Dr. Bill Honigman will be resourceful, involved and outspoken.
Sue Saltmarsh has worked in the HIV/AIDS field for over 20 years, the first 10 as an herbalist and energy therapist at Project Vida, the last six as a writer and copy editor for Positively Aware magazine. She is now a freelance writer and editor and is also able to devote more time to her passion as founder and director of the Drive for Universal Healthcare (DUH).


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A friend's mother used to have one of those tacky plates expressing homilies hanging up on her kitchen wall. Hers read, "Lord, if you can't make me thin, please make all my friends fat." There's a sort of religious fanatic's wish fulfilling fantasy expressed in that message, namely: "I don't want to be happy, but others to be more miserable." Only, it doesn't quite get the desire for power correct; more accurately, it should've read, "make my friends fatter than me." Peter Parker would've hardly captured the dork imagination had he only been given the strength of his high school arch-nemesis, Flash Thompson. No, he needed to become vastly superior. A thought experiment regarding this fantasized superiority complex comes by way of Fernando Meirelles' film adaptation of Nobel-laureate Jose Saramago's novel, Ensaio sobre a Cegueira (An Essay On Blindness). I haven't read the book (too busy with comics), but it sounds pretty close to the film's.
The story takes place in the not-too-distant future in an unnamed city where an epidemic of "white blindness" breaks out. The afflicted characters describe the blindness as swimming through milk, and the grey shapes fading into a white fog digitally created for the camera eye reinforce this description. A more allegorically rich name for the film might've been The Ganzfeld ("whole field"), since the affliction bears a close resemblance to the old gestalt effect of creating a sort of snowblindness with a homogeneous distribution of light across the retina. The ganzfeld parallels the redistribution of power relations among the blind and the seeing within the story. As it were, "seeing the light" no longer has any beneficial effects for the sighted (just as belief in a god has no real moral benefits for the religious, if the millennia-old Christian support for torture is any indication).Continue Reading
City Of God
Carrying the torch for Brazilian cinema and then running ten miles with it, lugging it into the new century, Fernando Meirelles and Katia Lund's epic masterpiece, City Of God, still stands as one of the best films of the 21st century so far. Picking up the torch from Hector Babenco's 1981 film, Pixote, another film about children in Brazil's crime-ridden ghettos, City Of God deserves ranking with the best of epic crime cinema. A shallow, but apt comparison may be a kiddie Godfellas with the razzmatazz style of Boogie Nights.
Based on a novel by Paulo Lins, spanning from the '60s through the early '80s, City Of God tells the story of the drug wars in the urban sprawl around Rio de Janeiro. Apparently based on the real life story of a Brazilian photographer named Wilson Rodriguez - here renamed Rocket (and acted well by Alexandre Rodrigues) - the story moves back and forth in time as we follow Rocket and the different young people he gets involved with over the years. Growing up in a more rural slum, Rocket's brother Goose and his little crime posse get involved with a botched motel robbery that turns into a murder massacre when an 11-year old psycho named Li'l Dice gets his hand on a gun. Trying to escape with his girlfriend, Goose's partner Shaggy is killed by the "shoot first" cops, while Goose is killed by Li'l Dice.Continue Reading


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Mark Teixeira will to be out at least until early May with a strained right wrist tendon, the latest major injury setback for the New York Yankees.
New York general manager Brian Cashman gave the news Wednesday after the Yankees' were beat 8-2 by the Dominican Republic World Baseball Classic team on Wednesday.
"It's a tough loss," Cashman said.
Teixeira was hurt swinging a bat Tuesday in an indoor cage during pregame warmups with the U.S. WBC team. Initially, Teixeira was expected to be out eight to 10 days, but he was examined by Yankees doctors in New York on Wednesday and a prognosis of eight to 10 weeks was given.
Cashman, who broke his leg and dislocated his ankle in a skydiving accident Monday, says Teixeira will rest for four weeks before beginning rehabilitation. Teixeira will remain in New York, and not rejoin the team in Florida, to start his recovery program.
Cashman does not seem inclined to move Kevin Youkilis from third to first. Youkilis was signed in December to fill in for third baseman Alex Rodriguez, who will be out until at least the All-Star break after left hip surgery in January.
"Third base is very difficult," Cashman said. "First is always easier to fill than third."
Internal options at first include Dan Johnson. Cashman ruled out having designated hitter Travis Hafner playing in the field.
"We've got three or more weeks to go with what we have here, as well as evaluating what's elsewhere," Cashman said. "So, we'll just wait and see."
Cashman noted that this is normally not the time of year that big trades are made.
It's the second major injury for the Yankees during spring training this year. Outfielder Curtis Granderson broke his right forearm when he was hit by a pitch Feb. 24. He will also be sidelined until early May.
"People get hurt ... get hurt on our team, people get hurt on other teams," Yankees captain Derek Jeter said. "The good teams find ways to get it done, and that's what you're going to have to do."
Jeter is making progress toward playing in his first game since offseason ankle surgery. Although he has not run the bases full speed yet, Jeter went through an intensive defensive session Wednesday.
"I'm getting close," Jeter said. "I'm headed in the right direction. My ankle feels good. I'll be in there as soon as I can play. Whenever I'm able to do it, I'll do it."
Jeter expects to be ready for the regular-season opener April 1 against Boston.
"I'm not worried about Derek Jeter at all," Cashman said. "He'll be ready when it counts. He's the least of our concerns."
Granderson has been cleared to increase his workouts and is set to start riding a stationary bike. Granderson said the team medical staff was happy with follow-up X-rays taken on Tuesday.
Right-hander Phil Hughes made 25 throws at both 60 and 90 feet during his third level ground throwing session after being sidelined two weeks by an upper back bulging disk. He is scheduled to make 10 pitches in his first mound session Saturday, and have a 25-pitch bullpen outing Sunday or Monday.
Hughes' status for opening day remains undetermined.
Reliever David Robertson, scratched from his outing Tuesday night due to an achy shoulder, will not make a two-day road trip Thursday and Friday. Left-hander Boone Logan, slowed by a tender elbow, expects to pay catch Thursday and throw off a mound this weekend.
CC Sabathia, the expected opening-day starter, and closer Mariano Rivera, have both been taking part in simulated games.
Sabathia, who had offseason left elbow bone spur surgery, is scheduled for another sim game Sunday. Rivera, coming back from knee surgery, could pitch in his first game Saturday.
Cashman said Rivera has returned home for a personal matter, and will rejoin the team Saturday.


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US doctor with Ebola to be treated in Ga.
He's being flown to Atlanta's Emory University Hospital, one of the four hospitals in the country for testing and treating people infected with dangerous, infectious germs
By Mike Stobbe
The Associated Press
NEW YORK — An American doctor infected with the Ebola virus is the first being flown to the U.S. for treatment and expected to arrive Saturday in Atlanta, a missionary group said.
Two seriously ill American aid workers will be treated at Atlanta's Emory University Hospital. Samaritan's Purse missionary group spokesman Todd Shearer tells The Associated Press that a plane carrying Dr. Kent Brantly has left West Africa. Brantly works for the group that is paying for the trip.
The private jet outfitted with a special, portable tent designed for transporting patients with highly infectious diseases was due to arrive at Dobbins Air Force Base in Marietta, Georgia, just outside Atlanta.
From there, the doctor will be whisked into one of the most sophisticated hospital isolation units in the country at the hospital about 15 miles away. The second patient will follow a few days later, the hospital has said.
Outside Emory, a gaggle of about 20 members of the media had gathered to chronicle the arrival. There was no noticeable police presence and all roads were open. It will be the first time anyone infected with the disease is brought into the country. U.S. officials are confident the patients can be treated without putting the public in any danger.
The specialized unit at Emory University Hospital was opened a dozen years ago to care for federal health workers exposed to some of the world's most dangerous germs. Health experts say a specialized isolation unit, though, is not needed for treating an Ebola patient. The virus does not spread through the air, so standard, rigorous infection control measures should work at any hospital.
Now it's being pressed into service for the two seriously ill Americans who worked at a hospital in Liberia, one of the three West Africa countries hit by the largest Ebola outbreak in history.
The Emory hospital unit is located just down a hill from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. It is one of about four such units around the country for testing and treating people infected with dangerous, infectious germs.
The unit has its own laboratory equipment so samples don't have to be sent to the main hospital lab. Located on the ground floor, it's carefully separated from other patient areas, said Dr. Eileen Farnon, a Temple University doctor who formerly worked at the CDC and led teams investigating past Ebola outbreaks in Africa.
The two Americans — Brantly and Nancy Writebol — worked for U.S. aid groups Samaritan's Purse and SIM at a Liberian hospital that treated Ebola patients. Late last week, the North Carolina-based Samaritan's Purse said Brantly, 33, had been diagnosed with Ebola. Then, Writebol's infection was disclosed.
The government is working to ensure that any Ebola-related evacuations "are carried out safely, thereby protecting the patient and the American public," State Department spokeswoman Marie Harf said in a statement released Friday.
Ebola is considered one of the world's deadliest diseases. The current outbreak in Liberia, Guinea and Sierra Leone has sickened more than 1,300 people and killed more than 700 this year.
The virus is spread through direct contact with blood, urine, saliva and other bodily fluids from an infected person. It is not spread through the air so it is not as infectious as a germ like the flu.
The Americans will travel on a Gulfstream jet fitted with a collapsible, clear tent built to transfer CDC employees exposed to contagious diseases. The CDC said the private jet can only accommodate one patient at a time.
An Emory emergency medical team in Liberia has evaluated the two aid workers, and deemed both stable enough for the trip to Atlanta, said Emory's Dr. Bruce Ribner.
"If there's any modern therapy that can be done," such as better monitoring of fluids, electrolytes and vital signs, workers will be able to do it better in this safe environment, said Dr. Philip Brachman, an Emory University public health specialist who for many years headed the CDC's disease detectives program.
"That's all we can do for such a patient. We can make them feel comfortable" and let the body try to beat back the virus, he said.
There's no specific treatment for Ebola so doctors try to ease the symptoms, which include fever, headache, vomiting and diarrhea. Some cases suffer severe bleeding.
Emory's Ribner, one of the doctors who will be seeing the Ebola patients, stressed that safety precautions will be taken by staff.
"I have no concerns about even my personal health or the health of the other health care workers who will be working in that area," Ribner said.


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ਪੰਜਾਬ ਰਿਮੋਟ ਸੈਂਸਿੰਗ ਸੈਂਟਰ
Punjab Remote Sensing Centre
(A Government of Punjab Enterprise)
'Established in 1987'
Shri. Viswajeet Khanna IAS. Addl. Chief Secretary (Development), Government of Punjab. He takes over the present office on 16th October, 2017. Shri Khanna born on 2nd June, 1961, holds a Masters degree in English, Master of Business Administration (MBA), and Graduated in English from University of Delhi. He also holds Bachelor of Law. Mr. Khanna is a holder of a Private Pilots License (P.P.L). He entered in Indian Administrative Service (IAS) in 1987. Prior to entering to Government he also served in private sector for four years. He was qualified All India Examination for probationary officer of SBI and worked couple of years in banks. He holds several posts in Government of Punjab. Some of important positions include Deputy Commissioner Patiala, Labor commissioner and Director of Factories, MD Punjab Warehousing Corporation, Punjab State Industrial Development, Registrar cooperative Societies, Principal Secretary Civil Aviation, Science & Technology, Environment and Non Conventional Sources of energy, Principal Secretary of Dy. Chief Minister, Financial commissioner Cooperatives, Forest & wildlife and Housing & Urban Development and several other departments over the span of 30 years.
He likes playing Golf, Cricket, squash and Badminton besides other interest in reading, music, movies and painting. Mr. Khanna was part of Indian Delegation of ICA General Assembly, Columbia and World Bank at Washington DC in 2005, and ICA Asia Pacific General Assembly & Asia Pacific Cooperative Forum, Hanoi, Vietnam in 2008. He was Organizing Secretary of Punjab State Rural Games conducted in 1999 in Ludhiana on the pattern of National Games and also National Games held in Punjab in 2001. He has credit of conceiving and implementation of a unique and socially relevant health insurance and women empowerment programmes in cooperative department entitled as Sanjivini and Bhai Ghaniya Sehat Seva covering over seven lac beneficiaries. Also key instrumental in Mai Bhago Istri Shakti Scheme to empower Women through economic upliftment. As a Secretary, Civil Aviation he was responsible for the Mohali International Airport project the first JV of its kind between AAI and state Government. This was successfully commissioned by Hon'ble Prime Minister of India on 11 September, 2015. He had facilitated the setting up of a Greenfield International Airport and Aerotropolis at Ludhiana. He has done commendable job in Housing sector by conceiving an affordable housing policy for the working middle class.
In long span of three decades of career as a civil servant, he has handled a variety of challenging assignments in Government and handled the issues of management, administrative reforms and program implementations with a citizen centric orientation. Currently he is heading Agriculture department of Government of Punjab and associated organizations in various capacities, including the Chairman of Punjab Remote Sensing Centre (PRSC), Ludhiana.
Sh. Viswajeet khanna, IAS - Chairman
Additional Chief Secretary, Dev.
to Govt. of Punjab
Copyright @
2020. All rights reserved with Punjab Remote Sensing Centre.


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Debra Bruno
Debra Bruno is a Washington, D.C.-based journalist. She blogs at www.notbyoccident.blogspot.com.
BEIJING — Just a few years ago, the streets of Beijing were clogged with so many bicycles that riders sailing through an intersection looked like a school of fish moving through the water.
Today the cars have taken over. In fact, Beijing more and more is just another traffic-clogged city with Chinese characteristics. Its bike lanes are rapidly filling with parked cars, auto rickshaws spewing exhaust, and strolling pedestrians.
To many Chinese, bikes are now for losers. The iconic Beijing bicycle is a sorry one-gear affair with a metal basket on the front which breaks so regularly that every street corner seems to have a makeshift fix-it stand.
"There is a quote: 'I would rather cry in a BMW than smile on a bike,'" says Jinhua Zhao, an urban planning professor at the University of British Columbia who's conducting a study of cycling in Beijing. He's found that bicycle use in Beijing has dropped from about 60 percent in 1986 to 17 percent in 2010. At the same time, car use has grown 15 percent a year for the last ten years.
The loss of a bike culture is a shame, says Shannon Bufton, the Australian-born founder of an NGO called Smarter Than Car. "It's like Venice and gondolas. They go together, Beijing and the bike," he says.
Bufton's solution? Transform the bicycle into a luxury item, like the Chanel bag, the Gucci shoes, and the Maserati car. That way, the Chinese would want to own and ride them to show they've reached the middle class.
Bufton notes that when he first started Smarter Than Car in 2010, "I gave a lot of lectures about sustainable cities and about how positive the bike was for society," he says. "And the Chinese people said to me, 'Well, yeah, we know that, but we just started getting interested in the car. We want to drive cars."
Before the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, government officials made 50,000 rental bikes available at kiosks around the city, in part to cut down on car traffic. That effort fizzled, although government curbs on the numbers of cars driving into the city – even today, most drivers are blocked from driving into Beijing one day a week – seems to have cut down somewhat on the total cars on the road.
Smarter Than Car organized its first Beijing Bike Week in March, setting up a post in a luxury shopping mall surrounded by Ferrari, Aston Martin, and Maserati car dealers. The group showed movies about biking, ran a bike polo match, and organized a kind of scavenger hunt on bikes called an alleycat race.
Bufton is even set to open a kind of café for cyclists, which he hopes will help foster a hip bike culture in the city.
There is one demographic in Beijing that Bufton doesn't have to work as hard to convince. More foreign residents, tired of the difficulty of finding a cab, fighting the crowds on the subway and buses, or figuring out how to pass the test for a Chinese driver's license, are turning to bicycles. Expats, it turns out, love to wax rhapsodic about the romance of biking in Beijing. Peter Foster, a former Beijing correspondent for England's Daily Telegraph, described in a 2009 article what he loved about riding a bike in Beijing:
You find a democratic mix in the cycle lane: the old guy puffing on his fag, barely turning the cranks; the expat-woman in a linen suit gliding serenely into Guo Mao (World Trade Centre); the tricycle affair loaded with tat for sale; the hung-over student with a mate on the back taking on the red lights.
Today Foster is based in Washington, D.C. The rapidly growing cycling culture there, he says by email, is still a far cry from Beijing, which he still misses.
"Not the pollution, or wearing a mask most days, but some of the local colour, the old guys with their birdcages dangling from the handlebars, the street vendors, the old couples where one pedals their three wheelers while the other, too lame with age, sits in the back," he writes. "By comparison D.C. is all clean and beautiful, but the view in front is also kind of sterile after Beijing - everyone is wearing helmets and swathed in flourescent yellow jackets."
Photo credit: TonyV3112/Shutterstock.com
Two new studies have revived the long-running debate over how police respond to white criminal suspects versus African Americans.
A new report fleshes out the controversial demand to cut police department budgets and reallocate those funds into healthcare, housing, jobs, and schools. Will that make communities of color safer?
Even before coronavirus, many workers hated the open-plan office. Now that shared work spaces are a public health risk, employers are rethinking office design.
Despite new research on police brutality, we still have no idea whether violence toward African Americans is fueled by racial prejudice. That has consequences.
Stressful commutes, unexpected routines, and emergent wildlife appear in your homemade maps of life during the coronavirus pandemic.


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Can you pay zakat before its due date? Assume it is due in July , and you decide to give it in April or portions of it in may.
Thank you...
Praise be to Allaah.
Yes, it is permissible to pay zakaat before its due date, because the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) accepted two years' zakaat in advance from al-'Abbaas ibn 'Abd al-Muttalib. But we should remember here that the annual payment of zakaat is worked out according to the Hijri (Islamic) calendar, and not the Gregorian (western) calendar – the difference between them is well known.
Source: Sheikh Muhammed Salih Al-Munajjid


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Popular music is one of the most influential forces of the last century. It has the power to entertain, but also to educate. And with women being a growing force in the industry, it was only a matter of time before lesbian and bisexual women would make themselves known in the very straight, very male-driven music business. With this list of the 50 most important queer women in music, we highlight those females who have proven to be influential, not only to their own specific gay and female communities, but to the world at large, through their being successful musicians and open about their sexuality.
While there are several others who could be considered for the list, we weighed them on a scale of accomplishment (awards, chart positions), perceived influence (specific genres, areas of the world they come from and directly speak to) and how their sexuality has fit into their career (age/point in time in which they divulged their sexuality, speaking out for LGBT equality, working with other queer artists).
By honoring these women, we hope to remember the ones that have paved ways, made definitive statements and maintained celebrated musical careers that make us happy, make us want to sing, make us think, make us want to do something. It's the music we live to, and it's made all the more important to us because it's from women who have something to say for us, and they set it to beautiful music.
50 Chely Wright
At the beginning of her career in 1995, Chely was named Top New Female Vocalist by the Academy of Country Music. Since then, she's had 15 singles on the country music charts, including the hits "Shut Up and Drive" and "Single White Female." When she came out this year, she became the first country star to publicly announce she was a lesbian after already having had success in the genre as a perceived straight woman. Her new single, "Broken," came in at number one on the Country Music Indie Charts. Throughout her career, she's won several awards from the Country Weekly Awards, Country Music Television and the International Bluegrass Music Association.
The singer from Austin, Texas was a member of several band, most notably Two Nice Girls, a quintet that scored a hit with "I Spent My Last $10 (on Birth Control and Beer)." In 1991, the band won a GLAAD Award for being an openly gay group. After they broke up, Gretchen continued as a solo artist, recording several albums and was inducted into the Austin Chronicle's Music Hall of Fame in 2001.
48 Skin
The bisexual frontwoman of English band Skunk Anansie was part of the Britpop movement in the 1990s. In 2004, the band was named one of the most successful UK chart acts between 1952 and 2003 by the Guinness Book of British Hit Singles & Albums. Their five albums, including some on Virgin and Epic Records, have peaked on the Billboard Hot 100 and have been international hits.
47 Judy Dlugacz
Before she moved on to Olivia Cruises, Judy helped found Olivia Records, the first ever womyn's music record label that released music from Cris Williamson, Meg Christian, Teresa Trull and Linda Tillery. Judy put on concerts and musical events for women around the United States, and put out 40 records by female artists, several of them identifying as lesbians.
The out jazz/blues vocalist has released 10 albums throughout her career, and she has been highly regarded as one of the best vocalists on the contemporary jazz circuit. In 2007, her label released The Premonition Years: 1994-2002, a box set of Barber's originals, covers and pop music tracks.
45 Donna Dresch
As the founder of Team Dresch, Donna is also a pioneer of queercore, the art and social movement that evolved from punk music. The band released two albums on Kill Rock Stars and one on her own label, Chainsaw Records, which released albums from pivotal riot grrl and queer bands including Heavens to Betsy, The Need, Sleater-Kinney and Tracy and the Plastics. The label still functions today.


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Offended by Harris column
This is the first time in my 60 years on this earth, that I have ever written a letter to an editor. I was tremendously offended by Jim Harris's article about the closing and consolidations of many parishes in the Philadelphia Archdiocese.
He is certainly entitled to his opinion, but he presents his feelings in a tremendously bigoted and offensive way. I am surprised that a paper which preaches openness and tolerance would ever permit this to be printed. Sadly, anti-Catholic remarks have been tolerated in the media for years, and this is just another example.
The Catholic Church, for all of its imperfections, is second to none in the work that it has done for the poor around the world. I think the Local and Jim Harris owe area Catholics an apology.
Tim Dwyer
Chestnut Hill
* Jim Harris responds: As a lifelong, practicing Roman Catholic I did not mean to offend any of my fellow practitioners, but I have a right to express my feelings. I tried do do it in a way that some (obviously not all) would find humorous. One of the many virtues of Christianity (of late) is the fact that they do tolerate dissension, debate and criticism. To anyone I have caused pain, I apologize.
Thanks volunteers for fundraiser
The Friends of J.S. Jenks would like to thank all of the volunteers and supporters who made our June 1 "Oh, the Places We'll Go" Fundraiser a success. Please see our ad in this week's Chestnut Hill Local for a complete list of the many businesses and organizations that contributed goods and services to the event; as well as a list of our many volunteers and supporters who helped us establish our organization and make the event happen.
We would like to especially thank our host, the Church of St. Martin in-the-Fields. Due to everyone's support, we have raised an additional $9,000 towards our fundraising goals.
The funds we raise will be put towards supporting arts, music and enrichment programming at the school in the next academic year. Our support is more crucial than ever as J.S. Jenks, like all district of Philadelphia schools, is threated with across the board cuts of 25 percent, affecting basic services such as school counselors, secretaries and noon-time aides, not to mention fundamental programs like instrumental music instruction.
At this critical time, support for J.S. Jenks can come in many forms – from advocacy at the city and state level for adequate funding, to support through volunteering, monetary donations or partnerships. Businesses can also help Jenks through the Educational Improvement Tax Credit (EITC) program. Mt. Airy USA, in partnership with East and West Mt. Airy Neighbors, has been approved to raise EITC funds to support innovative educational programs at six local schools: A.B. Day, Emlen, Henry, Houston, Lingelbach, and now J.S. Jenks!
Please visit our website (friendsofjsjenks.org) for information on how you can get involved and show your support for your community school. Remember, we all have a stake in the future of our neighborhood, and we all benefit by making sure that quality public education options are available in this community.
Haviva Goldman, President,
Friends of J.S. Jenks
Tony Sorrentino, Vice President
Renee Warnick, Treasurer
Help needed
This year's Pastorius Park concert series is fast approaching, and our first concert is this Wednesday, June 19. We are still looking for volunteers to help at the concerts. If you'd like to play your part in making our 65th season a success please email me at pastoriusparkconcerts@gmail.
You can also sign up directly at our invitation page on VolunteerSpot: http://vols.pt/n2HL5Y. Volunteer tasks include setting up tents, chair rental, selling concessions, collecting donations, clearing away at the end of the evening meeting new people and having fun. You can help with some, or all of this. On concert night, volunteers start to arrive in the park at 5:30 p.m. and we usually finish approximately 30 minutes after the performance ends.
If you'd like to get more involved in your community and help at the Pastorius Concert Series, this is your chance!
We look forward to hearing from you and seeing you in the park!
Julie Byrne
Pastorius Park Concert Series
Keep library open
On Monday, June 10, I attended a meeting at Lovett Library, the purpose of which was to get community input for a renovation of the facility.
The program started with a presentation by an architect of libraries in Singapore, Australia and Belgium. These were large and elaborate modern structures. What bearing they have on a renovation of our neighborhood facility was mystifying.
The audience was then asked to tell the architect what we would like to see improved in our library. People spoke of colored walls, comfortable seating, more outlets for computers, the need for a printer, a private area to use a cell phone, etc.
Assuming money is forthcoming for a Lovett upgrade, what difference does it make if the library is not open weekends?
Last year there were at least two meetings concerning an upgrade to the green area adjacent to the library. Landscape architects were told to allow their imaginations to run free. And they did. Suggestions were: a stage for public presentations, an orchard, food kiosk, benches, tables, Adirondack chairs, a play area for young children. Fortunately, none of the lavish neighborhood enhancements found funding.
In my 45 years of visiting Lovett, the only enhancement that I can recall was the placement of an outlet on the patio to stream water into the air. Can you imagine passing this stream on your path to the front entrance? Needless to say, this aquatic fantasy was short-lived.
The only thing Lovett Library needs is to be open seven days. This will give employment to people and allow working parents an opportunity to introduce their kids to the library. Money is tight. There are amenities the library can use, but what good is an upgrade behind locked doors?
Maggie Wollman
Mt. Airy
U.S. created by 'ragtag ruffians'
Years ago, when Americans, asked for their independence, King George laughed and said "never!" Then he called them a "ragtag band of ruffians." Well, that ragtag band of ruffians fought and died to gain their independence.
They created a new nation, a nation, under that flag of red, white and blue that stands for freedom for all its people. People just like me and you. Freedom to choose our own faith, to speak out without fear, to live where we want, to work where we want, and the opportunity to be the best we can be (regardless of who we are or what we are).
I know we're not perfect. We have our problems, but what really makes me mad are those who find fault with everything we do. Well, if we're as bad as they say, how come there are people from all over the world wanting to start a new life here each and every day?
Ever since King George said, "never," countless thousands have died to keep that flag of red, white and blue flying. As long as we keep the strength, commitment and courage of that rag tag band of ruffians, it'll always represent freedom for all our country's people. People just like me and you.
Tom Woodruff


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DurkHaarsma necesitaba un nuevo diseño de logotipo y lanzó un concurso de diseño en 99designs.
Un ganador ha sido elegido entre 55 diseños de 21 diseñadores freelance.
Spill International
Geomares Publishing is an international publishing house with market leading business-to-business publications in the fields of geomatics, hydrography, oceanography, spill prevention and response and water management. Geomares publishes magazines in print as well as websites.
With the website spill-international.com we are targeting the international community of professionals working with authorities, ngo's, oil companies and oil spill clean up companies who need to be informed on new techniques to prevent and respond to oil spill (and spills with possible other chemicals), professionals with a heart for the environment and a technical attitude.
The logo we are looking for needs to have a business-to-business look and feel, it could carry the name Spill International together with the design symbolising green environments (sea but also land) threathened by spills. It needs to be easy recognisable, strong and smooth, easy to print and carry something that says; okay, I know what this about. It will need to possible to print the colour logo in b/w as well without loosing strength. Primarily it will be used on the web, we will put in print every now and then as well. Don't come up with the inevitable oil drop, be creative, we don't like shades to much. It should be somewhat square or round, so it will still stay strong also in Twitter or a LinkedIn group account. The colours of the logo are basic colours for the website.
Descubre cómo funciona un concurso de diseño u obtén más información sobre nuestros servicios de diseño de logo.


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Copyright 1997-2012. All rights reserved. The content (including but not limited to text, photo, multimedia information, etc) published in this site belongs to China International Fair for Investment & Trade (CIFIT). Without written authorization from CIFIT, such content shall not be republished or used in any form.
Note: Browsers with 1024*768 or higher resolution are suggested for this site.


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antboy had een nieuw gecodeerde website ontwerp nodig en lanceerde daarom een wedstrijd op 99designs.
Een winnaar werd gekozen uit2 ontwerpen ingezonden door2 freelance designers.
Feel needs to be modern professional design web 2.0ish look - site needs have more of an arty portal / newsy feel to it rather than just a list of links - so the links forums and articles (maybe including an image from the article) and classifieds feeds need to be well integrated and NOT sprawled down the page like your standard blog - logo has already been designed
the url http://www.photographysites.com
Desired Style:
modern professional design web 2.0ish - arty portal / newsy feel - see brief for detailed description
Accepted File Formats:
see the brief
Photographysites.com is a very busy photography portal / forums site which i intend to extend into new areas
I am adding a CMS system and classifieds teasers for which will appear on the front page
Manin Concept - so i am looking for a new design which will accommodate the current information top sites by categories and forum posts in addition to articles (there will be more detailed site reviews and probably other articles) and classified recent listings and links to various categories.
Site listings - i am open to the idea of not showing lists of sites on the front page maybe some type of graphic or a smaller list of sites + a graphic - surprise me
Feel needs to be modern professional design web 2.0ish look - site needs have more of an arty portal / newsy feel to it rather than just a list of links - so the links forums and articles (maybe including an image from the article) and classifieds feeds need to be well integrated and NOT sprawled down the page like your standard blog - i like the way many of the templatemonster designs make good use of space - check them out for what i mean - but i don't want it to be tooo heavy on the big chunky graphics - i want to ensure the site is fast loading - its a busy site
it will use the new logo i have had designed see here http://www.photographysites.com/newlogo - the colors for this can be adapted so don't be constrained by the colors in the sample - i prefer the version with the tag line
it needs to be designed in a way to accommodate ads - such as skyscraper large banner or square in the key areas - eg above the fold and on the left hand side - maybe some other areas - also places for smaller banners to link partners and other advertisers - i don't want the front page overloaded with ads - please use your discretion and make sure ads places are clearly labelled in the design
it must also have a menu system across the top so i can link to my other sites (eg blog - photo gallery - free web Host) or oher areas on the site (forums - classified - Site Reviews)
general design to be adapted to secondary page - with appropriate ad areas, menus and integration with forums, classifieds and articles.
Other Points to Consider
No flash - its too slow for many users
bear in mind that i will need to use a header and footer for skinning the classified / forums / articles
you need to design and provide html for the front page and secondary page so it can be adapted to our template system.
graphics need to be supplied in vector format capable of being imported as vector into Xara Xtreme Pro (ai - works fine) - this is in addition to gifs or whatever needed for the standard html page
good luck
i reserve the right not to appoint a winner if no satisfactory design is found - though this has never been my experience for past contests i have run here and i want this done relatively quickly