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Thursday, October 6, 2011
NESp (Portable Nintendo) 10th Anniversary Video
Posted by Unknown at 10/06/2011 04:04:00 PM
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Tighe Lory comments on things that interest, inspire, anger, and enrage him. Subjects covered include The Transformers, Grave Digger, Japan, Anime, Fansubs, Politics, Ideas, Food, Etc.
Copyright 2012 Tighe Lory


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Ticket Price £0.35
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|Top Speed104 mph
|Displacement749 cc
|Weight229 kg
|Power61 bhp
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|Torque65 Nm
|Cash Alternative£6,000
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subset: commoncrawl


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The #204x50 damper is designed for use in SBF engines using 50oz. externally balanced crankshaft. The damper utilizes the stock late model 4 bolt pulley pattern and the spacing matches the 86-93 Mustang accessory system. This damper is best matched for stock or modified engines producing up to approximately 1000 hp Naturally Aspirated (up to 1500 hp with power adder).
Example Crank Trigger Kit Photo


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The Midwest |
by Mike Broida
Just four weeks after moving home as a freshly minted graduate, the small amount of money that Marcy had saved was gone, and she was broke again. So, when her father told her that her uncle might have a job for her, it felt like divine providence, striking her there on the couch, as Marcy stared up at the creaky ceiling fan.
"Like a paying job?" she asked. She couldn't help making a mental note of when the interest payments on her loans would start kicking in.
Her father shrugged. He had just come in from a call and was still in his junky work clothes and ancient steel-toed boots.
"I didn't ask," he said. It was late, the evening turning dense and muggy and buzzing with the eternal burr of street traffic and stray bottle rockets, even though the Fourth of July wasn't for another month. Marcy hadn't bothered to turn on the light, and her father stood there, dark and grim looking, backlit by the neon glow coming from the kitchen. "He didn't say, either. It's a family job, I gather."
Marcy never understood why her uncle didn't just hire somebody, like really hire somebody. He was loaded, after all, and his was a pile of money that seemed to hang about like peanut butter on a mouse trap in a way that made Marcy's nose wrinkle at such a "family job" coming her way.
"He said you should call tomorrow," her father said, before wandering out through the kitchen and flicking off the light. "Unless you have something else going on."
"It would be a godsend," her uncle said when Marcy called that next morning. "We only found out yesterday that our regular nanny won't be able to make the trip and—well—we could rent a car once we get there but the kids are just so used to the Purple Thunder."
"Purple Thunder" was what her uncle called his near-freighter of a car, a grapeish colossus of an SUV that barely squeezed into their driveway whenever her uncle's clan used to warily venture into Marcy's neighborhood for a hasty Sunday dinner. If she had ever known—if her father had ever told her—what had driven their brotherhood to such strained and strange encounters, it seemed little more than some pointless, sidewinding explanation now.
"We could just hire a driver for the car and get the kids on our flight, but Jeanie thinks that a summer road trip is one of those experiences that every kid needs to have growing up, you know?"
Marcy had no idea—the farthest she had traveled in a car was a four-hour round-trip trek to the state fair. Her only time in a plane was a long begged-for five-day vacation to Disney World, when she had to cash in both her birthday and Christmas presents.
"Wouldn't you want to drive them?" Marcy asked.
"Geez, wouldn't we," her uncle said, "but I'm already pretty booked up on meetings—a real 'working vacation'—and, well, Jeanie can't drive much more than an hour in the car without getting sick. It's all the fumes."
"Of course," Marcy said. "Can't have that."
"Besides," her uncle went on. "The kids are pretty set on it and would be heartbroken if they couldn't have their little adventure."
"Right," Marcy said, even though she wasn't sure that she still knew what he was talking about.
"So—think you can steer the ship? Step behind the wheel?"
"Um, where are you guys headed again?" she asked.
Her uncle laughed.
"Oh boy—can't believe I didn't mention it right away! We're all off to a little getaway to Provincetown for a few weeks. Jeanie was tired of renting so we finally took the plunge and closed on a place. You can imagine how excited Blaine and Eileen are about it—so, whatcha say?"
Provincetown. Marcy had to look it up on the map—she told her uncle she'd have to see about moving a couple things around and get back to him. She thought he had meant a trip down the lake to Put-in-Bay or the amusement park in Sandusky or, at most, a drive up to Traverse City. Provincetown was nearly twelve hours by car and, by the looks of it, at the far ends of the earth—the very tip of Cape Cod—any further and they'd have to drive into the ocean.
She spent the next day, instead of "moving things around" or filling out her endless stream of job applications, looking up pictures of Provincetown: the broad, creamy beaches, the frigid slate of rolling, white-capped waves, the little main street ringed by cutesy, shingled houses and storefronts—she'd probably have to sell a kidney just to buy a coke and a ham sandwich out that way. She'd been to the beach before, of course—quite a lot, actually, just not the ocean. When she had been a girl, and her father had still worked for the mill, they used to rent a cabin for a week on the lake, out near Put-in-Bay. The beach there was always a thin strip along the lakefront—the sand had been carted in to make the closest approximation of a "real" beach, but that didn't change the constant smell of mild rot, the swampy stink of vegetation and dead fish, or the muddy bottom that sucked her feet into the muck. Marcy had never seen the ocean. She wondered what it would be like to smell salt in the air.
She called her uncle back and told him she would do it. They would leave in just over a week's time.
After graduation, all of Marcy's friends scattered to the coasts, as if they had had springs winding tightly inside themselves for four years that launched them high over the corn fields and the auto plants and the lake, nestling them instead into shabby, fifth-floor walk ups in once-precarious parts of cities that Marcy had only seen in the opening shots of television shows. She had, instead, driven the forty-five minutes across town, back to her father's house. Seeing photos of all her friends in front of their new, lovely skylines on her newsfeeds, she felt as if her spring had malfunctioned on the launch pad. She had not posted any updates or pictures of herself in front of the mill or from the pier downtown that overlooked the lake. She did not want to even post them ironically.
Back home, Marcy had forgotten about the orange sodium glow of the streetlights, the musty smell of her father's house. She had forgotten about the empty lots and about all the abandoned houses stripped of their aluminum siding by scavengers, their insulation dancing naked in the wind. She forgot about the indelible, dark smudge of the mill on the horizon. She forgot how the raccoons knocked the trash over in the night, the ones that nested under their porch, their eyes shining in the dark. The people from the city wouldn't come and clear them out unless they were dead and starting to smell. Over those next few days, Marcy found herself spending more time reading travel articles about Cape Cod and Provincetown, its horrifying yet strangely alluring legacy of whale hunting, its history and founding by the Pilgrims. The drive had become fixed in her mind. The plan was to leave in the early hours of the morning, to make the whole thing in one long go. The night before, her father drove her out to her uncle and aunt's house, way out in the spooky, dead-end streets of the suburbs.
"Have you ever been out that way?" Marcy asked. "To Cape Cod?"
"No," he said.
"Have you ever wanted to?"
Her father shrugged.
"Been to the beach plenty of times," he said.
Marcy knew he was talking about the lake, their rosy weeks at the cabin, though Marcy wasn't particularly spoiling for a fight about one's definition of a beach.
"I can send you a postcard if you'd like," she said.
Her father didn't say anything, or maybe gave a nearly inaudible grunt—Marcy wasn't sure.
Success had become an impermeable barrier between their two families, all their words lost in a wash of goodish intentions. Marcy had the chance to change all that. As part of her father's severance from the mill, the company had agreed to award a modest scholarship fund, its mere existence the only thing that had made her college applications feel even remotely possible to her. As a "daughter of a mill worker," a sort-of-nearby college had loved her spunky disposition and all that, and she had graduated, too, with perfectly manageable amounts of debt. It all had felt like one giant leap forward, arms wide open, to deliverance, providence, or whatever.
After his layoff, a family job had come his way, too, or that's what her father had called it then—something much better than working for some sterile megacorporation based in Berlin. Still, it didn't change what had been offered and what had been accepted. Her father was now her uncle's super. Her father said he liked it, said he got to work with his hands.
Her aunt answered the door, circling Marcy in a weak-hearted hug—the sort where she only used her shoulders, bending in at the hips to keep the rest of her body safely unengaged.
"Marcy, darling, we cannot thank you enough for jumping in!" she said. "I cannot tell you how excited Blaine and Eileen are for your little adventure."
"Of course," Marcy said. There was something Marcy had always found vaguely creepy about her aunt: the way she had stayed reed thin though everyone else Marcy knew of that age had plumped and softened, the way she always looked ready to hop into a photo-shoot for a fall catalog of women's running apparel, or the way she made Marcy feel less like family and more like she might, at any moment, chase her and her father out with a broom, like they were a pair of vermin.
Marcy had seen the old pictures, the photo albums in mildewed boxes in her father's attic: her aunt and uncle in nervous prom get ups on the old front porch. It made Marcy wonder how, if she ever had a few dollars, would she transmute, too, werewolf-style, into the sort of person who bought passion fruit and vegan cookies at the grocery store?
Her aunt led the way—under the dangling chandelier in the foyer, through the sparkling living room, past the wet bar, the full dining room, just past the den and back into the kitchen. Marcy could hear the punctuated roar of the TV in the next room and the ecstatic shrieks of her cousins. Marcy knew they had a lot of "help," as her aunt put it—beyond the nanny, there were the cleaners, the landscapers, and the "handyman" who came by to screw in loose light bulbs, but Marcy still found it strange how the kitchen nearly glowed in its cleanliness, as if no one ever managed to splash tomato sauce on the marble countertops.
Her uncle sauntered in from the den—he and her father were undeniably siblings—there was something in the nose, maybe the crease of their cheeks, though her uncle was shorter and had more hair.
"Well, look who's here," he said, giving both Marcy and her father big, bearish hugs.
"I was just telling Marcy how much of a help she's being," her aunt said.
"She speaks the truth," her uncle said.
"No problem," Marcy said. "Happy to lend a hand."
"Say, Jim, since I've got you here, I wanted to ask you about that payment structure we were talking about," her uncle said.
Marcy's mother had left when Marcy was quite young—only six or seven—to live in Phoenix with a systems administrator named Tony, sending Marcy an array of greeting cards with twenty dollars in them. After her mother left, the Sunday dinners had started, a fixture for them all, at least for a few years. Still, family dinner had never sat well with Marcy's aunt and uncle, their eyes constantly flashing to the living room window to make sure the Purple Thunder hadn't been stolen in the last thirty seconds. Perhaps it was the blocks pockmarked with abandoned houses, the sooty-feeling cloud that hung in the air, the nighttime streets creeping with the occasional scavenging animal or person. Had such a remark been what had sunk their strained ritual? After all, even if these things were true, it was still her home. She still lived there. Her uncle had, too, at least once. "Ambition" had been what had divided them, this hazy and unfair word that Marcy could never get a handle on: it was this "ambition" that had motivated her uncle, as a novice contractor, to start flipping houses, while her own father had joined the mill's apprentice program. It was this "ambition," this egregious manifestation of dumb, two-bit luck that had slowly grown her uncle's meager hammer-swinging skills into a minor renovation and real estate empire, the American Dream replete with its very own water feature. Yet Marcy knew there was no one that worked harder than her father—was it this absent "ambition" that held him back, too? This magic gatekeeper? Was it some curse that was in her blood? The daughter of a washed-up mill worker?
Her father nodded and followed her uncle into the hall. There was a certain clockwork about it all that Marcy had come to recognize: her father and uncle talking business, she and her aunt stranded with mindless chatter, until her little cousins eventually stormed in like the cavalry. When her father would be invited to stay for dinner, he usually had an excuse ready for why he had to be heading back home.
"The kids wanted to get pizza delivered—you know, must have seen it on the TV or something," her aunt said. "But the only place around here that actually serves quality, organic pizza—you know, without all that gluten and lactose—is all the way out in the heights and doesn't even deliver."
"Bummer," Marcy said.
"I know," her aunt said, "but Blaine—you know how good he is with computers—he said there was this new service where someone will actually order it at the restaurant and bring it to you anyway, and what price can you really put on convenience?"
"None, I guess," said Marcy, though she secretly wondered if this mystery company might be hiring.
"Well," her aunt said. "That is what we always say."
After Marcy hugged her father goodbye, she lugged her bags up to the guest suite, more-or-less a full apartment unit in the house with a kitchenette and sitting room and a dart board that seemed perpetually unused, a little bedroom with sliding doors to a tiny balcony that looked out onto the oblong pool and the always freakishly manicured yard. The bed was piled with so many pillows that she could hardly sit on it, and as she took them off, Marcy wasn't sure what to do with them—eventually stacking them neatly on the sideboard, around the vase of plastic flowers. Lying awake, neatly bound beneath the covers, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was some mouse who had lingered too long on its glue pad, now stuck and peering out in the dark.
Her alarm went off while the inky darkness was still draining from the morning sky. The night before, they had loaded the luggage into the front foyer (well, mostly Marcy had, under her aunt and uncle's direction) and, in the misty first light, she heaved the family's bags into the Purple Thunder. When Marcy was about halfway done, her aunt wandered down to observe her progress, a cup of coffee in her palms, a travel mug on the side table for Marcy as a tantalizing reward. Her uncle wrestled down Blaine and Eileen, sleepy-eyed and grouchy, toting their plasticky book bags covered in princesses and monster trucks, respectively, and filled to the brim with distractions for their twelve-hour journey. The sun had just started to peek over the tree line.
When she got behind the wheel of the Purple Thunder, fully loaded, her cousins strapped into the bucket seats and already falling back asleep, Marcy finally realized how massive the car really was: she could barely see anything over the hood, and the thing was so wide and tall, with the wheel in her hand she felt like she actually was steering a massive iron ore freighter down one of the channels of the river and to the mill. As she gingerly pulled away, her aunt and uncle waved from the front porch, and, as they rounded the fountain and edged down the steep drive, Marcy finally started to realize how far she had to go.
She didn't dare play the radio, hoping to milk as much quiet time from her sleeping cousins as possible—in the rearview mirror they looked ominous and zombie-like, mouths agape and heads gently lolling with the motion of the car. Eileen was older, twelve, still taller than her brother and bony, on the verge of puberty but possessing a child-like angularity, all elbows and knees, her hair a wild tangle about her narrow face. Blaine was a few years younger, softer and rounder about the middle—Marcy'd made the mistake of calling it baby fat once, to his dreadful ire, his round face immediately collapsing into a butterball of insufferable tears. She used to believe that they would find her to be the cool, older cousin, but she had realized, in the last year or so, that she was much more likely to be a peculiarity, more zoological than familial.
Amid the dull hum of the road, the interstate curving out of the city and running right up against the dark roll of the lake, the wrinkling surface of the water made Marcy think of the ocean, all those pictures she'd seen of the curling, foamy waves, the little, weathered, shingled houses, and all she had read of the sharp, salty smell of the sea—something she couldn't even imagine. Her aunt, as Marcy had grabbed the last bag, had pushed a thin sliver of cash into her palm: five crisp one hundred dollar bills for "anything that might happen." Was it her pay? Could she keep the balance? They had already given Marcy a gas card—what else could cost nearly that much? She imagined finding a job out there, in Provincetown. She did have experience, after all, scooping cones and making floats at a stand on the lake; she might even love coastal life so much that she would call her father and tell him how hard it a choice it had been, but that she was going to be staying.
She had studied sociology, though not for any particular reason, and when people—even her father—asked what she was going to be doing with her life, her passable answer was that she wasn't sure, not really. She spent her summers working the ice cream stand by the lake while her friends accrued their coastal internships. She had no connections, no hobbies, and why delude herself with such things, really, when she would end up moving back home, anyway? Even if she found a job, any job, it would take months before she had a small stash of money saved to facilitate a move. And yet, the providence of Provincetown had called for her, and now she was answering.
In college, she had considered herself fiscally responsible with a certain pride, even as she watched her friends burn through money on drinks and three course meals at the campus's one fancy restaurant. Her moderation and ascetic lifestyle made her a grand old stick in the mud, but restraint was its own reward, wasn't it? Right before graduation, they had all gone to buy dresses for the ceremony, but Marcy had wussed out at the last moment
"It's too expensive," she had explained.
"Can't you just ask your parents or something?" one girl asked—someone who had lived on Marcy's first-year floor but who Marcy still didn't know well. "It's not like it matters."
She had known it then, that all her responsibility, her friends' lavish flashing of plastic cards—it was just a game in the end, and she had been the loser. But that was the old Marcy: she would be in Provincetown soon. She had seen the pictures, a place without mills or fathers or family jobs.
Blaine was the first to wake up, just an hour into the drive.
"Are we there yet?" he asked.
He yawned and squirmed around in his seat, straining his little, nine-year-old body against the seatbelt.
"Nope—we haven't left the state yet so there's still a ways to go."
Blaine didn't say anything, as if he didn't hear her at all, staring blankly out the window, perhaps getting his bearings.
"Why didn't Uncle Jim-Jim come too?" Blaine asked.
"Oh, well, he has to work at his job. Besides, I'm not sure my dad likes to go on vacations, anyhow."
That same dull looked glazed across his face for a moment.
"Do you guys live in the ghetto?" Blaine asked.
"What?" Marcy said. She wasn't sure how to react—most of her time spent with Blaine before this had been pretending to shoot space aliens with him in the backyard. "What makes you say that?"
Blaine shrugged.
"My mom said so," Blaine said, as if he had presented an open and shut case.
"Well, maybe that's just one person's opinion," Marcy said, though she wasn't even sure what she was trying to say.
"She says that's why dad helps you and Uncle Jim-Jim," Blaine said.
"Blaine, Uncle Jim-Jim—my dad—he has a job, OK? There's a difference, alright? Working is different. You earn money from a job. It's not the same as helping."
Through the rearview mirror, Blaine looked mildly stupefied, mouth slightly ajar, as if Marcy had accidentally fried his cerebellum.
Sure, her father had never taken her to lunch at the Ritz, they had their tough times—hadn't everyone?—but Marcy had done everything right, worked hard, was even leaving home to make her own name. It was different.
"Well," Marcy said. "Don't you want to play a game or watch a movie or something?"
He sat there, unmoved for a moment, before wiggling again in his seat and digging into his bag, pulling out a tangle of cables and the glossy rectangle of a tablet. The screen came aglow as Blaine plugged in his headphones and plunged into distraction.
Eileen woke up a little while later. Marcy's other cousin was noticeably silent but strangely conniving at the same time, and Marcy always felt like Eileen was trying to get something out of her. Eileen stretched her bony arms, taking in the scene, before absently kicking her brother's shoes and giving him the stare down.
"What, Elle?" Blaine said, eventually. "Cut it out."
"Hey, Blah-Blah," she said, still kicking his shoes.
"You're a booger. I think your name should be Booger," Eileen said.
"My name's not Booger," Blaine said. "That's gross."
"Eileen—" Marcy said, "why don't you start up an episode of Lakeshore High and let me know how it is?"
Eileen, as uncommitted as ever, shrugged and pulled out her own tablet, plugging into the melodramatic high school-based series that she had become completely obsessed with, often keeping Marcy up to date on her excruciatingly detailed running summary and commentary on the show. Sitting there, Marcy still noticed how Eileen swung her legs, every so often giving Blaine a good whack on the heel, which he seemed to mostly tolerate. Ten hours left to go.
They pulled into a rest stop for breakfast and the kids begged to order from McDonalds.
"Mom and Dad always let us eat here when we drive really far," Blaine said.
They waited in line, but when they arrived at the front, Blaine and Eileen both panicked.
"What kind of food is it?" Blaine asked.
"What do you mean?" Marcy said. "It's McDonalds."
This did not seem to clear things up for him.
"I don't want a hamburger for breakfast," Eileen said.
"You don't have to—look, see? There's the whole breakfast menu," Marcy said.
Eileen looked unconvinced.
Marcy ended up ordering three stacks of pancakes and sausage patties and orange juices, breaking one of her sparkling hundreds for a handful of greasy bills. It only then occurred to her, once they sat down with their trays, that she'd been had—her aunt had wedged a cooler of organic, toxin-free snacks in the back of the Purple Thunder. Marcy had forgotten all about it, and she figured her aunt would have rather they all crawl through a desert before eat at the Golden Arches. Still, this was their first road trip, wasn't it?
"I said I didn't want a hamburger for breakfast," Eileen said.
"Eileen, honey, it's not a hamburger, it's a sausage patty," Marcy said, though she wasn't sure she could explain the difference. "Just try it, OK?"
Both of her cousins dissected their food as if it were forest toadstools.
"What's your favorite thing from McDonalds?" Marcy asked.
"Milkshakes," Eileen said.
"Um, a double burger," Blaine said, mashing his pancakes with his fork.
"Yeah?" Marcy said, trying to temper her voice. "What about your parents?"
"Dad likes steak," Blaine said.
"And Mom eats lots of quinoa," Eileen said.
"I bet," Marcy said.
Maybe she was just their draft horse, Marcy thought, and they were gleefully cracking the whip.
"Marcy, Dad lets us get a candy bar when we stop for—um, for being good," Eileen said.
"Yeah," Blaine said.
"Time to hit the road," Marcy said. Perhaps they'd forget to tell their mother about this small, fast food tangle, or maybe Marcy would have her hypothetical pay docked instead. "Go to the bathroom before we leave, OK?"
They both stood there, antsy.
"What?" Marcy said. "What is it?"
"I don't have to go," Eileen said.
"Me either," Blaine said.
"Are you sure?"
They both nodded, and she wondered if they had ever used a public bathroom before, either. She had a message from her aunt—just to check in, and Marcy sent a text back that they'd just had their first bathroom break.
The day was warm and clear, the heat radiating up off the asphalt as a pleasant garland for the infinite-seeming stretch of summertime. Once in the car, the drive came easily to Marcy, the roads mostly empty and humming along. Her cousins sat absorbed in their screens. Marcy made a game of hunting on the radio for the current, dominant, and addictively terrible pop song of the summer. It felt providential, this beat with its overproduced starlet around Marcy's age belting out about the most wondrous thing—a trip to the beach.
"What do you guys like to do with your parents at the beach?" Marcy asked.
Blaine and Eileen were quiet for a moment.
"We only go to the beach with Gloria," Eileen said, referring to their nanny.
"Dad has lots of golf meetings," Blaine said.
"What about your Mom?" Marcy asked.
"She plays tennis," Eileen said. "But Blaine and I play crock-ett."
"What's 'crock-ett'?" Marcy asked.
"But Dad said I could start golf this year and start golfing with him," Blaine said.
"That's boring," Eileen said.
"But when do you see your Mom and Dad?" Marcy asked. It was only just starting to dawn on Marcy what the true length and extent of their road trip was going to be. Her whole two weeks in Provincetown might be absorbed this way, a sucking wind that she would not be able to escape at all.
"Marcy," Eileen asked, "where's the charger bag?"
"What's that?" Marcy asked. "Don't you have those in your backpacks?"
"Mom keeps them all together in one place so we don't lose them," Blaine said.
"What's the bag look like?" Marcy asked.
"It's big and red and looks like Mommy's purse," Eileen said.
The dread set in that the bag was still tucked neatly in the foyer somewhere, nearly six hours behind them now.
"Well, we can buy a couple new ones at the next rest stop," Marcy said.
The next rest stop was more of a picnic area with a bathroom and a bank of vending machines and another McDonalds of which Blaine and Eileen now seemed especially dubious. Marcy tore the car apart looking for the bag of chargers, but, coming up empty, they settled for foraging through Aunt Jeanie's cooler of certifiably toxin-free snacks at one of the picnic tables. Afterwards, she forced them both to go to the bathroom.
"Or at least just stand in there if you don't have to go," Marcy said. Dutifully, they ran off to the appropriate side of the little pavilion.
She tried to check her phone and got zilch—reception out here was terrible. Marcy took no weird pleasure in this "learning on the job" part of the ordeal. They were somewhere in New York, and, for a moment, she forgot why she was doing this. Somehow, being buried on the interstate had made the rippling, vanilla dunes of Provincetown feel even more distant, as if like they might be a ruse, that they didn't exist at all, as if she had been lied to.
Without their chargers, the tablets and music devices began to power down only a few miles after the picnic—and soon the pronouncements began.
"Marcy, I'm bored."
"Marcy, are we almost there yet?"
"Marcy, why is my brother such a booger?"
Marcy tried to get them into the games she used to play: I spy, the license plate game, the alphabet game, the way her father had always kept her occupied on long car rides, but each one crashed and burned after a few minutes.
"Marcy, are there sharks at the beach?"
"Marcy, what is high school like?"
"Marcy, what do animals do at night?"
"Marcy, how do really tall buildings get built?"
If her cousins' questions started as genuine, they slowly lost their grip on reality, even as Marcy did her best to answer them seriously. Even so, Blaine and Eileen quickly became consumed by the giggles, stretching her name into two, wobbling syllables:
"Marrrr-ccccy," Blaine wailed. "What's on the other side of those trees?"
"Er, I dunno, Blaine," Marcy said.
"She just doesn't want to tell you because you'll be a baby about it," Eileen said.
"Nuh-huh," Blaine said. "No I won't."
"You sure, Booger?"
"Yeah. I'm not a baby."
"OK," Eileen said. "I warned you. That's where they put all the dead animals."
"You're lying," Blaine said.
"Where else do you think they go? They scrape them up off the road and throw them in a big pile. Then, the other animals know that's where they should go when they're ready to die. A big, smelly pile of dead animals."
"That's not true," Blaine yelled. "You're lying."
Eileen was kicking his feet again, and Blaine finally started kicking her back.
"If the wind blows the right way you can smell it," Eileen said.
"You're gross," Blaine said. "Marcy—make her stop!"
"Both of you, cut it out," Marcy said. "Or I'll pull the car over."
Marcy wasn't sure if either of them knew what that meant, but it seemed to do the trick, the only sound being the dull beat of the radio and the hum of the road and the soft knocking of Eileen kicking her brother's foot.
"Hey, Marcy," Eileen asked after a time.
"What's up, Elle?"
"Does Daddy still give you an allowance?" Eileen said. "Is that why you're driving us?"
"Well, your parents gave me some money to help pay for the trip, but that's not an allowance, Elle, right?"
"But Daddy said he was helping you and Uncle Jim-Jim," Eileen said.
"Honey, that's work, I was telling Blaine—it's different—"
"But Daddy said it was to help pay for school, like an allowance, because you and Uncle Jim-Jim don't have a lot of money."
"Eileen, I'm sure you just didn't understand what he said—I had to take out loans and be responsible. I earned a scholarship to pay for it." But as she said this, Marcy felt a gross sickness in her belly. She had trusted her father's assertion so fully. Of course there had been that magical pile of money from the mill. She had earned it: good things happened to hard workers like her. Maybe her father had never told her the truth of where the lion's share of her college tuition had truly come from.
Marcy wondered if there had been pity in his voice when her uncle said it—Uncle Jim-Jim and Marcy need our help. They live in the ghetto.
Eileen didn't have a response, at least not right away, as if her prepubescent brain was trying to grasp the strange territory they had all wandered into.
"Daddy says Uncle Jim-Jim unclogs toilets," Blaine said.
"Ugh," Eileen said. "You would like toilets. That's all you ever think about."
"That's not what I said," Blaine said.
"Booger-wooger is a smilly-smelly toilet breath," Eileen said, though all the weird joy from before had melted out of her voice. She started kicking Blaine's feet harder.
"Stop it," Blaine said. "I do not have toilet breath."
Blaine was kicking her back, but Eileen was on a tear now—nothing could stop her.
"Toilet breath, toilet breath, toilet breath," she howled.
"I—am—not—a—toilet—breath," Blaine yelled in big huffs. He flailed his little arms at her, but either the coordination or distance was too much for him.
Eileen let out a terrible laugh.
"Enough!" Marcy said. "Both of you. Cut it out."
If they heard her, it seemed to make no difference. What to do? Pull over? Spank her cousins? They had lost so much time as it was. She reached an arm back to try and grab a swinging leg or to erect some meager barrier, but during one of her glances into the back of the car, she saw something flash out in front of her on the road. Marcy tried to swerve, her cousins now screaming jointly. Whatever it was, she felt it thud along the right side of the bumper and thump under the wheels. By instinct, she slammed on the brake, and the smell of asphalt and hot rubber filled the car as they jolted to a halt in the breakdown lane. The other cars around her laid heavy on their horns. Blaine and Eileen kept screaming, whether out of fear or sheer delight, Marcy was unsure.
Once Marcy had her own breathing under control, she checked on her cousins.
"We had an accident," Blaine said.
"Did we hit somebody?" Eileen asked.
"No—I mean, I don't think so," Marcy said. "Are you OK?"
They both nodded, if a little woozily.
Marcy took a deep breath—this wasn't one to get past her aunt and uncle. How would they ever make it to Provincetown now?
"Stay here," she said. Marcy got out of the car, nearly leaping from the high perch of the driver's seat. The early evening had turned terribly hot, suffocating as the waves radiated up off the asphalt. She felt nauseated from the hard shake of the few cars rocketing past her. Behind the Purple Thunder was the long, snaking trail of black tire tread smeared along the road, a small lump of some poor, newly deceased creature in the middle distance. Marcy came around the front of the car and, along the bumper was a hideous, bloody splatter and notable dent. It didn't help her queasiness.
A car door cracked open. Blaine and Eileen had put up with as much as they could from inside the Purple Thunder. Both of them stumbled out.
"Did Marcy kill somebody?" Blaine yelled.
"Is Marcy gonna have to go to jail?" Eileen asked.
"Look, will you guys get back in the car?" Marcy asked.
Eileen came over to assess the damage.
"Marrrrr-cy," she whined, "that's so gross."
Blaine had wandered off. She didn't see him in the car or even about the sides. Marcy made her way around to the trunk, and then saw Blaine walking back towards them along the tire tracks. He held something by the tail—a raccoon, Marcy realized—or what was left of one after the Purple Thunder was done with it. What had the creature been doing out here, in the middle of the day? Why had it wandered out into the road? She thought of the raccoons back home, those codependent scavengers, their desperate, shining eyes in the darkness. In truth, she admired their ravenous hunger for survival, their penchant for almost always looking out for themselves, present circumstances excluded. She thought of her father, how he never really minded their trashcan gleanings or the empty barrels rolling in the driveway come morning.
"Blaine," she yelled. "What are you doing? Put that down. Right now."
Blaine held on tight, confused. Marcy had never seen a raccoon so close—such grey and dour creatures, this one especially. The car had caved in part of its skull. The force of the blow had split open its belly, a bulge of viscera poking out from its side, a trickling of blood forming to droplets on its nose and staining the pavement.
"Blaine," Marcy said again.
He held the creature aloft for his sister.
"Here," he said to Eileen.
"Gross," she said. "Booger, I don't want that. That's gross."
"But we have to put it with the others," Blaine said.
"What are you—" Marcy started, but Eileen began to laugh, a high cackle, and raced around to the other end of the car as Marcy realized what he meant.
"The dead animals—we gotta pile it up with the rest," he said.
Marcy felt a terrible fire start to burn in her, an anxious anger, her hands white-knuckling into fists.
She snatched the dangling creature from Blaine's doughy little palm and, with one, broad, swing of her arm, launched it over the guardrail and into the tree line. The raccoon thudded against a trunk, tumbling into the grass, the lump of its back still visible from the road.
Blaine started crying, and Marcy looked down to see her own shirt and pants dotted with a constellation of red.
"Marcy," Eileen said in a small voice.
There was no time, no time for any of this—they were supposed to be in Provincetown, her nose filled with the spray of salt and water, the air crowded with the cries of sea birds, her eyes taking in the glassy roll of the waves along the sand.
Marcy grabbed Blaine about the waist, hauling him up like some sort of oblong piece of lumber, carting him back towards the car. Her cousin was so surprised that he stopped crying and Eileen, fearing this new wrath, scrambled to open the door and buckle herself in. Marcy heaved Blaine into his seat, strapping him in before going to slam the door shut. She went around to the front and climbed back in to the driver's seat.
"Marcy—it's too tight. I can't breathe," Blaine said, tugging at his seatbelt. Eileen had pulled out the bottle of hand sanitizer and was squirting it on any part of Blaine she could get.
"Gotta get rid of the cooties, Booger."
They were OK, Marcy assured herself. They could still make it. She felt like a horror show, sweating and mouth breathing and splattered with creature blood. They could still make it, couldn't they? She pulled them out onto the road, the Purple Thunder maybe rattling just the slightest as they picked up more and more speed, as her cousins still hollered in the back, as her phone began to ring—her aunt's number on the screen.
It was already getting late: the sun was falling to the earth, the sky suddenly red and luminous and alive. The tree line turned jagged and dark before her, the road rolling out ahead like a rough, languorous tongue, burnt an awful black. Between the narrow pins of their lights, the high hills pulled in about them, a greedy mouth ready to swallow.


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Financial Modeling Tutorials
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Excel Modeling is a spreadsheet analysis that allows you to do analysis and projections using various inputs and assumption. Here we use excel modeling to find a solution to real-life problems of Corporate Finance.
In Excel Modeling, we cover the following -
Here is the list of Top 15 financial functions in excel that are most frequently used in practical situations
Explore this Resource
Sensitivity analysis in excel modeling helps us study the uncertainty in the output of the model with the changes in the input variables.
Time Value of Money is due to the potential earning capacity of the given amount of money.
FV Formula is a financial terminology is used to find out the value of cash flow at a futuristic date as compared to original receipt.
PV factor deals with the idea of time value for money by trying to estimate the current value per dollar to be received at a future date.
Perpetuity means the business or the individual would receive a constant flow of equal amount of cash with no end.
Annuity vs Perpetuity are very significant parts of Time Value of Money calculation.
IRR is a metric employed in capital budgeting which is used to measure the extent of profitability of potential investments.
NPV is defined as the difference between the existing value of net cash arrivals and the existing value of total cash expenditures, whereas XNPV is primarily determines the NPV for a range of cash payments which are not essentially periodic.
NPV is calculated as PV of cash inflow less PV of cash outflow, Whereas IRR is Known as discount rate that make NPV of all cash inflows of a project equal to zero.
NPV formula is used mainly for making investment decisions.
IRR is used to calculate the rate of return on an investment especially for the shorter duration of time, whereas ROI is used to calculate the performance of the investment over a certain period of time.
Break Even Point is analysis to reduce the complexities and to understand the profit making point of your product or job through these simple methods.
Payback period of an investment is the length of the time period required for cumulative total net cash flows to total initial cash outlays.
Payback period formula is used by the investors, generally how long it would take to recoup their initial investments.
Discounted payback period Formula is used to calculate how much time a project would get back its initial investment.
Profitability Index is the ratio of the present value of future cash flows of the project to the initial investments in the project.
The rate at which the cash is being burnt by a company is called the cash burn rate.
Simple interest is the interest amount computed as a fixed percentage of the Principal amount.
Effective interest rate is a true rate of interest earned. It is also called as market interest rate.
Loan amortization schedule is referred to the paying back off a loan or debt amount in terms of installments spread over a particular period of time.
Rule of 72 is a formula that helps us to understand when we can double our investment.
Geometric mean return formula is used for computation of Average rate per period on an investment compounded over multiple time periods.
Real rate of return formula helps an investor is to find out what actually he gets in return for investing a specific sum of money in an investment.
The continuous compounding formula is to determine the interest earned which is repeatedly compounded for an infinite time period.
In the weighted average formula, the value is being multiplied by the right amount of weight and that is the beauty of wt average.
Holding period return is widely used for comparing returns from various investments held for different periods of time.
Cost-Benefit analysis models are to ascertain the accuracy of any investment decision and provide a foundation for comparing it with similar proposals.
Mortgage APR is the overall cost of the loan. whereas it is the applied interest rate on the loan.
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Mystery Science Theater 3000 (1988–1999)
Episode List
Season 11
11 Apr. 1999Soultaker
Why is the Satellite of Love malfunctioning? Who is the hooded figure that wants Bobo's soul? What is the purpose of the mystery ship following the SOL? Find out in MST3K's eleventh season opener, featuring the Joe Estevez epic "Soultaker".
18 Apr. 1999Girl in Gold Boots
In order to impress the Bureau of Mad Scientists Pearl unleashes the mephitic "Girl in Gold Boots" a Poorly acted, and even worse edited tale of a girl who attempts to make it big in LA as a dancer with the help of a petty thug. The dancers dress in oven bags, and bad guys are especially greasy and in the end it's got Mike and the bots dressing like mobsters and brain guy starts go go dancing!
12 Sep. 1999Merlin's Shop of Mystical Wonders
A grandfather tells his grandson several horrifying stories involving the wizard Merlin and a stolen monkey doll in Merlin's Shop of Mystical Wonders (1996). Crow and Tom review each other, Servo accidentally turns Mike into an infant with magic, and the crew shows off a collection of Ernest Borgnine children's books.
25 Apr. 1999Future War
The guys take a crack at Future War (1997) in which a man formerly enslaved by aliens escapes to modern-day Los Angeles but is being tracked by cyborgs and their trained dinosaurs. Mike and the Bots thank Pearl for not killing them which derails her plans. Tom makes himself a pair of legs so he can kick-box.
2 May 1999Blood Waters of Dr. Z
The SOL crew take up fishing and debate whether films would be better if the actors/actresses were all nude.
9 May 1999Boggy Creek II: And the Legend Continues
A smarmy professor and his dimwitted students camp out in an Arkansas swamp to search for Bigfoot in Boggy Creek II: And the Legend Continues (1984). Pearl makes up her own urban legend, Tom takes up whittling, and Crow tends to his fires.
13 Jun. 1999Track of the Moon Beast
In Track of the Moon Beast (1976), a mineralogist is hit by a meteor which causes him to transform into a lizard-monster. The Bots rush the Halloween season on the SOL and devote an episode of Legends of Rock to "The Band That Played California Lady".
20 Jun. 1999Final Justice
Joe Don Baker tracks down an Italian mobster in Malta while Pearl tries to promote a looser humorous atmosphere in Castle Forrester.
27 Jun. 1999Hamlet
A dark and dreary German production of one of Shakespeare's greatest plays fills the SOL while Pearl concocts a deadly new virus.
18 Jul. 1999It Lives by Night
A not-so bat man terrorizes people while Mike tries to grow a mustache again.
25 Jul. 1999Horrors of Spider Island
A spider terrorizes stranded bikini clad dancers while Pearl decides to move the castle.
1 Aug. 1999Squirm
Angry worms munch on a town and a doughy guy learns the value of springs by a demonic little sprite.
« Season 10 | Season 11


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The Art Auction was an initiative to help us finance a Couple Enrichment Retreat. It had samples of my art work, and happened in November 2015. In December we delivered the goods to the happy owners.
Thanks to the support of 7 bidders, in January 2016 we will to go to San Jose, CA for a weekend retreat. We will meet with some of the couples that trained with us last summer during the Friends General Conference in North Carolina and we will see our wonderful mentors Merry Stanford and Peter Wood.
We are grateful for your support!


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Fleming Rutledge is a preacher and teacher known throughout the US, Canada, and parts of the UK. She is the author of eight books, all from Eerdmans Publishing. Her most recent book, The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ, is the product of the work of a lifetime and is being described as a new classic on the subject.
One of the first women to be ordained to the priesthood of the Episcopal Church, she served for fourteen years on the clergy staff at Grace Church on Lower Broadway at Tenth Street, New York City.
Fleming and her husband celebrated their 50th anniversary in 2009 and have two daughters and two grandchildren. She is a native of Franklin, Virginia.
Ruminations: December 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Christmas Eve footnoteApropos of Advent and Christmas, I received an email from the curate at our church, Dane Boston, today:
Christmas becomes such a soggy, saccharine, sentimental mess if it is not accompanied with a serious, sober look at ourselves and our world.
I've been thinking lately about the first line of Dickens's A Christmas Carol, of all things: "Marley was dead: to begin with...This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate." Gently tweaked, I think that's the preface to the Christmas Gospel: "We were dead: to begin with." Only when we've got that down does the wonderful story of Life incarnate coming to our world of death have any real meaning.
Isn't that wonderful? (See Ephesians 2:4-5).
Dane has written about Advent and Christmas splendidly in this blog post:
Permanent Link for this Post: http://ruminations.generousorthodoxy.org/2013/12/christmas-eve-footnote.html
Christmas Eve 2013A dear friend just returned from a five-day retreat at the Society of St. John the Evangelist in Cambridge (Mass.) and she brought me a copy of the brothers' Christmas CD. It's called "In Quiet Silence," which at first I thought was a redundancy but then remembered the source, the beautiful, poetic antiphon for the First Sunday after Christmas (the Sunday on which the Prologue from St John is always read):
While all things were in quiet silence, and the night was in the midst of its swift course, your almighty Word, O Lord, leapt down from your royal throne, Alleluia.
The program notes describe the monks' observances of Advent and Christmas:
Christmas at a monastery is strikingly different from the surrounding cultural and commercial norms, in which the "Christmas season" begins sometime near the end of October. In a monastery, no carol is heard and not a sprig of holly or a bough of pine is to be found before the evening of December 24. And then the caroling continues as the greens stay hanging for twelve full days of feasting, long after the secular world has moved on to its next commercial venture.
This is the way I grew up observing Advent and celebrating Christmas. Advent was serious. It was (and still is) quite possible to do all the Christmas-rush preparations at home, at work, and in the stores, while at the same time observing a true Advent in the church--if, that is, your church does it right (it's getting harder and harder, but some still do). That's the way it was in my family. My sister and I both have fond remembrances of Christmas Eve: our father putting up the tree, bringing in pine boughs to deck the halls, and getting out the Christmas lights from their boxes. Looking back, I realize that our decorations were very simple--although our mother made exquisite arrangements of magnolia, holly, and nandina berries--but it all seemed like the most exciting thing in the world. Our mother said, "Christmas should come in a burst." The preacher this morning at Christ Church Greenwich, Dane Boston, preaching on the angel's startling word to Joseph in Matthew's narrative (1:20), said that "Christmas is the Great Interruption." What a marvelous coinage! The incarnate Word, according to the lovely carol "See Amid the Winter's Snow," comes into such a world as this. That simple phrase, "such a world as this," speaks volumes about our condition. It is hard for me to imagine how anyone can think this world is not in need of being saved from violence, degradation, and oppression.
I don't bother to read Bishop Spong's never-ending, self-congratulatory utterances, but some excerpts from his latest were thrust upon me. In his new book about the Gospel of John, he declares that the milieu of the Gospel is not Hellenistic, but Jewish--as if he had personally discovered what has been common knowledge in biblical scholarship for at least sixty years. What struck me especially, though, was his repetition of the same ideas that he has been pushing for decades (with some degree of success, much to the annoyance of those of us who wish we had his genius for marketing). He is out to exterminate "salvation theology" and "atonement theology." He does not believe the human race and the creation need to be saved from anything. I am only slightly exaggerating in saying that he thinks the traditional apostolic faith is dangerous for our self-esteem. No one ever sought esteem more ravenously than Bishop Spong; he is famous for it. One wag said that his career did not belong to the history of theological inquiry; it belonged, like the career of the Sitwells, to the "history of publicity." In that regard, Spong has done a very effective job. My friend reported that during her retreat at the SSJE, one of the visiting participants burst out with a diatribe against "atonement theology."
Can it be that anyone could think this world is not in need of saving? Last week I saw a photo of a Syrian man holding the body of his little son, killed in a bomb blast. The father was howling. Howling. Yesterday the New York Times published a very impressive piece of investigative journalism about the abysmal and inhumane conditions in the garment factories of Bangladesh where--get this--the US government pays megamillions (billions probably) to have clothes made for the Park Service, the Marine Corps, the Capitol security guards....all this evil done in our name and for our benefit, on the backs of poor, voiceless people in a distant country about which we know and care little.
A friend who writes pretty good poetry sent me a poem yesterday. I can't find it right now in the flurry of boxes, cards, decorations, etc. but it was something like this: "Lord, I don't feel like a great sinner, a little person with my little doings...." I think a lot of people feel that way, and it prevents us from understanding the seriousness of the larger human predicament. "Into such a world as this" the Son of God became incarnate.
Isaiah writes, "We have been in our sins a long time; and shall we be saved?" (64:5) The message of Christmas is that, in the words of aged Simeon, "mine eyes have seen thy salvation" (Luke 2:30). If that be "salvation history," make the most of it.
And by the way, the painting of the song of Simeon by Rembrandt is at the Frick Gallery right now with the Girl With the Pearl Earring. For me, it is the Rembrandt that meant the most.
Permanent Link for this Post: http://ruminations.generousorthodoxy.org/2013/12/christmas-eve-2013.html


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United States District Court, D. South Dakota, Western Division
March 27, 2017
LOREN G. JORGENSON, Plaintiff,v.NANCY A. BERRYHILL, Acting Commissioner, Social Security Administration, Defendant.
Loren Jorgenson filed a complaint appealing the final
decision of Nancy A. Berryhill, [1] the Acting Commissioner of
the Social Security Administration, finding him not disabled.
(Docket 1). Defendant denies plaintiff is entitled to
benefits. (Docket 9). The court issued a briefing schedule
requiring the parties to file a joint statement of material
facts ("JSMF"). (Docket 11). The parties filed
their JSMF. (Docket 12). The parties also filed a joint
statement of disputed facts
("JSDF").[2] (Docket 12-1). For the reasons stated
below, plaintiff's motion to reverse the decision of the
Commissioner (Docket 15) is denied.
parties' JSMF (Docket 12) and JSDF (Docket 12-1) are
incorporated by reference. Further recitation of salient
facts is incorporated in the discussion section of this
On May
20, 2013, Mr. Jorgenson filed an application for disability
insurance ("DI") benefits under Title II and
supplemental social security income ("SSI")
benefits under Title XVI, alleging an onset of disability
date of December 25, 2008.[3] (Docket 12 ¶ 1). On October 8,
2014, the ALJ issued a decision finding Mr. Jorgenson was not
disabled. Id. ¶ 6; see also
Administrative Record at pp. 17-27 (hereinafter "AR at
p. __"). The Appeals Council denied Mr. Jorgenson's
request for review and affirmed the ALJ's decision.
(Docket 12 ¶ 9). The ALJ's decision constitutes the
final decision of the Commissioner of the Social Security
Administration. It is from this decision which Mr. Jorgenson
timely appeals.
issue before the court is whether the ALJ's decision of
October 8, 2014, that Mr. Jorgenson was not "under a
disability, as defined in the Social Security Act, from
December 25, 2008, [through October 8, 2014]" is
supported by substantial evidence in the record as a whole.
(AR at p. 27) (bold omitted); see also Howard v.
Massanari, 255 F.3d 577, 580 (8th Cir. 2001) ("By
statute, the findings of the Commissioner of Social Security
as to any fact, if supported by substantial evidence, shall
be conclusive.") (internal quotation marks and brackets
omitted) (citing 42 U.S.C. § 405(g)).
Commissioner's findings must be upheld if they are
supported by substantial evidence in the record as a whole.
42 U.S.C. § 405(g); Choate v. Barnhart, 457
F.3d 865, 869 (8th Cir. 2006); Howard, 255 F.3d at
580. The court reviews the Commissioner's decision to
determine if an error of law was committed. Smith v.
Sullivan, 982 F.2d 308, 311 (8th Cir. 1992).
"Substantial evidence is less than a preponderance, but
is enough that a reasonable mind would find it adequate to
support the Commissioner's conclusion." Cox v.
Barnhart, 471 F.3d 902, 906 (8th Cir. 2006) (internal
citation and quotation marks omitted).
review of a decision to deny benefits is "more than an
examination of the record for the existence of substantial
evidence in support of the Commissioner's decision . . .
[the court must also] take into account whatever in the
record fairly detracts from that decision." Reed v.
Barnhart, 399 F.3d 917, 920 (8th Cir. 2005) (quoting
Haley v. Massanari, 258 F.3d 742, 747 (8th Cir.
It is
not the role of the court to re-weigh the evidence and, even
if this court would decide the case differently, it cannot
reverse the Commissioner's decision if that decision is
supported by good reason and is based on substantial
evidence. Guilliams v. Barnhart, 393 F.3d 798, 801
(8th Cir. 2005). A reviewing court may not reverse the
Commissioner's decision " 'merely because
substantial evidence would have supported an opposite
decision.' " Reed, 399 F.3d at 920
(quoting Shannon v. Chater, 54 F.3d 484, 486 (8th
Cir. 1995)).
of law are reviewed de novo with deference given to
the Commissioner's construction of the Social Security
Act. See Smith, 982 F.2d at 311.
Social Security Administration established a five-step
sequential evaluation process for determining whether an
individual is disabled and entitled to DI benefits under
Title II or SSI benefits under Title XVI. 20 CFR §§
404.1520(a) and 416.920(a).[4] If the ALJ determines a claimant
is not disabled at any step of the process, the evaluation
does not proceed to the next step as the claimant is not
disabled. Id. The five-step sequential evaluation
process is:
(1) whether the claimant is presently engaged in a
"substantial gainful activity"; (2) whether the
claimant has a severe impairment-one that significantly
limits the claimant's physical or mental ability to
perform basic work activities; (3) whether the claimant has
an impairment that meets or equals a presumptively disabling
impairment listed in the regulations (if so, the claimant is
disabled without regard to age, education, and work
experience); (4) whether the claimant has the residual
functional capacity to perform . . . past relevant work; and
(5) if the claimant cannot perform the past work, the burden
shifts to the Commissioner to prove there are other jobs in
the national economy the claimant can perform.
Baker v. Apfel, 159 F.3d 1140, 1143-44 (8th Cir.
The ALJ
applied the five-step sequential evaluation required by the
Social Security Administration regulations. (AR at pp.
At step
one, the ALJ determined Mr. Jorgenson had "not [been]
engaged in substantial gainful activity since December 25,
2008, the alleged onset date." Id. at p. 19
(bold omitted).
At step
two, the ALJ must decide whether the claimant has a medically
determinable impairment that is severe or a combination of
impairments that are severe. 20 CFR § 404.1520(c). A
medically determinable impairment can only be established by
an acceptable medical source. 20 CFR § 404.1513(a).
Accepted medical sources include, among others, licensed
physicians. Id. "It is the claimant's
burden to establish that his impairment or combination of
impairments are severe." Kirby v. Astrue, 500
F.3d 705, 707 (8th Cir. 2007).
regulations describe "severe impairment" in the
negative. "An impairment or combination of impairments
is not severe if it does not significantly limit your
physical or mental ability to do basic work
activities." 20 CFR § 404.1521(a). An impairment
is not severe, however, if it "amounts to only a slight
abnormality that would not significantly limit the
claimant's physical or mental ability to do basic work
activities." Kirby, 500 F.3d at 707. Thus, a
severe impairment is one which significantly limits a
claimant's physical or mental ability to do basic work
The ALJ
identified Mr. Jorgenson suffered from the following severe
impairment: "right lower extremity chronic pain
syndrome." (AR at p. 19) (bold omitted). Mr. Jorgenson
challenges this finding. (Docket 16 at pp. 22-26). He asserts
the ALJ erred by not finding his "combined mental
disorders . . . severe." Id. at p. 26.
basis for plaintiff's challenge is two-fold. First, Dr.
Donald Burnap diagnosed a "personality disorder, PTSD
[post-traumatic stress disorder], and chronic pain
syndrome." Id. at p. 23 (referencing Docket
12-1 ¶ 67). Second, Dr. Brett Valette diagnosed a
"nonspecific personality disorder with schizoid
features, somatization disorder, and dysthymia."
Id. (referencing Docket 12-1 ¶ 69). Mr.
Jorgenson claims his combined mental disorders are severe.
[The] combined mental disorders clearly had more than minimal
impact on work-related functioning, evident in his history of
walking away from jobs, interspersed with incarcerations;
life-long problem of not fitting in and not being able to put
up with people; odd and unhygienic appearance and dress;
reclusiveness; his very restricted activities of daily
living; and his experience of severe pain in multiple joints
and in all fibromyalgia trigger points.
Id. at p. 25. Mr. Jorgenson claims "the
ALJ's rejection of Jorgenson's mental disorders as a
'severe' impairment negatively influenced
assessments of credibility and residual functional capacity,
resulting in an unsupported step five determination."
Commissioner argues the ALJ's decision is supported by
the substantial weight of the evidence. (Docket 17 at pp.
3-6). The Commissioner contends Mr. Jorgenson "does not
even attempt to reconcile his reliance on the opinion from
[Dr.] Burnap . . . which was issued in 2004, with the
undisputed fact that [Mr. Jorgenson] was denied disability in
prior applications that were filed subsequent to the opinion
. . . . More important is his failure to reconcile Dr.
Burnap's opinion with [claimant's] performance of
work years after Dr. Burnap's opinion . . . ."
Id. at p. 6.
rebuttal, Mr. Jorgenson argues the "Commissioner
overlooks that Dr. Burnap, describing the effects of
Jorgenson's psychiatric disorders, stated that he clearly
had marked difficulty interacting with people under any
circumstances." (Docket 18 at p. 2). He claims
"Dr. Burnap's opinion was the first medical
evidence . . . [in] the record ..... No adjudicator stated a
reason to ignore Dr. Burnap's opinion that included
longstanding posttraumatic stress disorder and personality
disorder. The ALJ stated no reason to reject it, and there is
no rationale to review." Id. at p. 3.
decision at step-two has an impact on the ALJ's
credibility analysis and the remaining steps of the
evaluation process. Pratt v. Sullivan, 956 F.2d 830,
836 (8th Cir. 1992). For that reason, the court will provide
a detailed summary of the medical evidence surrounding the
step-two determination.
2004, Psychiatrist Donald Burnap conducted a consultative
evaluation of Mr. Jorgenson. (Docket 12-1 ¶ 6). During
the examination, Dr. Burnap learned Mr. Jorgenson witnessed
his girlfriend's violent death in 1997. Id.
¶ 9. Following that traumatic event, Mr. Jorgenson
reported experiencing nightmares and daytime flashbacks of
the event. Id. ¶ 10. Approximately four years
later Mr. Jorgenson was involved in a truck accident in which
his semi-tractor and trailer went off the road and he
suffered upper-body injuries.[5] Id. ¶ 11. As a
result of the crash, Mr. Jorgenson told Dr. Burnap that he
still had "ongoing pain, mainly in the upper
extremities" and that he was "fearful of getting
back into a truck driving situation." Id. Mr.
Jorgenson stated that if he was able drive without
"severe pain[, ] he would resume driving a truck
regardless of his fears." Id. As of the date
of Dr. Burnap's examination Mr. Jorgensen had not worked
for two years. Id. ¶ 13.
the mental status examination, Dr. Burnap found Mr. Jorgenson
alert and cooperative and his behavior appropriate for the
setting. Id. ¶ 14. Physically, Mr. Jorgenson
was "tall and very thin, " with
"poor" grooming and dress and a "relatively
strong body odor." Id. Dr. Burnap found Mr.
Jorgenson "moderately depressed and his affect is
moderately flattened consistent with his depression."
Id. Dr. Burnap diagnosed Mr. Jorgenson as suffering
with "post-traumatic stress disorder; major depressive
disorder; personality disorder, not otherwise specified,
mainly cluster B; and chronic pain syndrome secondary to some
organic cause." Id. ¶ 67. Dr. Burnap
described Mr. Jorgenson's limitations in the following
This man has clearly had a relatively longstanding
personality disorder. His lifestyle has been distinctly
different from the typical standards of society. He has been
in trouble with law numerous times. However, all along he has
managed to maintain gainful employment. His longest vocation
has been as a long haul truck driver. His lack of ongoing
relationships is consistent with a cluster B type of
personality disorder. Also, notably he has not been able to
maintain a residence of his own and throughout practically
all of his life has lived with his parents. The exceptions
are times spent in jail.
Id. On August 2, 2004, Dr. Burnap assigned him a
global assessment of function ("GAF") score of
"50."[6] Id. Dr. Burnap concluded Mr.
Jorgenson "appears to have a chronic pain disorder and
. . . based on the pattern of his emotional experience during
this time and observed behavior on mental status, he does
indeed have bona fide pain, which is limiting
function." Id. ¶ 68.
Jorgenson's argument the ALJ erred by not adopting Dr.
Burnap's 2004 opinions is misplaced. Mr. Jorgenson had an
extensive personal and work history in the years after 2004.
In 2005, Mr. Jorgenson was convicted of driving while under
the influence of alcohol and spent a year in a county jail.
Id. ¶ 62. When released from jail, he ran a
bobcat at the Black Hills Nursery, which ended
"unsuccessfully" without explanation.
2006, Mr. Jorgenson worked for a Canadian trucking company.
Id. ¶ 63; see also AR at p. 283. He
described this as the "best job I ever had in my
life." They "treat[ed] their drivers right . . .
. They told me I would not touch freight, all I had to do was
drive . . . . I drove all over the place, even Canada."
(Docket 12-1 ¶ 63). He reported the company was sold to
a group in Montana who wanted him to work for them because of
his "safety record, no violations." (AR at p.
283). Mr. Jorgenson stated he was not able to continue
working for the new company because he "couldn't
leave the state of South Dakota because [he] owed child
support." (Docket 12-1 ¶ 63; AR at p. 283).
2007, Mr. Jorgenson returned to work at the Black Hills
Nursery. (Docket 12-1 ¶ 64; AR at p. 284). In this job,
he "drove a bobcat and unloaded trucks. . . . [He] was
always doing anything [he] could." (AR at p. 284). Mr.
Jorgenson left this job "to work for Fresh Start
Convenience Store, driving again." Id. In
2007-2008, Mr. Jorgenson worked for Fresh Start Convenience
Stores driving a truck in "4 or 5
states."[7 ...
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Austin, Texas, Braces for al-Qaeda Terrorist Attack
Feds issue emergency alert ordering law enforcement to prepare for attack
Kurt Nimmo
August 9, 2013
Click on image to read PDF.
Law enforcement agencies in Texas have received a special threat advisory based on information provided by the Department of Homeland Security indicating Austin, Texas, has been singled out for a terrorist attack on Friday, August 9. Pasadena, California, is also mentioned in the advisory.
The document was Read more…
Fighter jet hoovers above Austin neighborhood
Austin, TX- At 5:46 pm Central Time on Sept 11, 2011, I received a phone call from a very reliable source that a stealth fighter jet was moving very slowly facing southeast above the Montopolis neighborhood in Austin, TX. It was described as being unusually low to the ground around -no higher than 5 to 6 stories up. The color was all black as it hardly made any sound. The exact location of the sighting was at 1111 Montopolis Drive Austin, TX 78741 near the Dolores Catholic Church. My source Read more…
Austin-area wildfire burns a record 476 homes in Texas
By Karen Brooks
AUSTIN, Texas (Reuters) – A massive wildfire east of the Texas state capital of Austin has destroyed 476 homes since Sunday and is still burning out of control, state officials said on Monday.
"I'm still seeing no containment," said April Saginor, public information officer for the Texas Forest Service, who confirmed that the Bastrop County Complex Fire has scorched more than 25,000 acres and burned 476 residences so far.
"That's a record in Texas for a single fire," she said of the homes destroyed.
The Bastrop fire is one of more than sixty fires which have kindled across Texas since Sunday afternoon, fueled by the gusty winds generated as Tropical Storm Lee pushed by Read more…
Texas: From droughts to extreme heat to blazing fires
Winds fuel flare-ups in Palo Pinto County, across state
Strong north winds fueled wildfire flare-ups around Possum Kingdom Lake on Sunday and firefighters managed to contain most of them, but the rest of Texas wasn't as lucky as thousands of acres and hundreds of homes burned in another day of the worst wildfire season in the state's history.
A wildfire estimated to be 16 miles long near the Austin suburb of Bastrop charred about 14,000 acres Sunday, destroying or damaging an estimated 300 homes.
"It's catastrophic," Mark Stanford, fire chief of the Texas Forest Service, said Sunday. "It's a major natural disaster."
More than 40 new wildfires were reported to the Texas Forest Service on Sunday as strong winds, low humidity and very dry vegetation left firefighters scrambling to extinguish blazes throughout the state.
"We're very stretched right now," Tom Berglund of the Texas Forest Service said Sunday.
As of Sunday afternoon, firefighters Read more…
Peaceful Activist Is Banned By Austin Mayor For Stating His Name "Ronnie (TOKE) Reeferseed"
Recently Austin Texas Mayor Lee Leffingwell installed new rules for citizen communication that says a person can't speak on more that three agenda items per session. Many Austin activists are outraged by this dictatorial new violation of the citizens right to participate in local government. Apparently Mr. Ronnie Reeferseed was outspoken on this issue and was warned not to complain again.
State electric grid strains amid record heat; Austin breaks 86-year-old record
It was so hot Wednesday that power plants across the state stuttered amid high demand, prompting the manager of the electric grid for much of the state to order about 100 large industrial customers to shut down for more than two hours as electricity reserves dipped dangerously low.
In Austin, temperatures Wednesday reached 106 at Camp Mabry — the 70th day of triple-digit heat, breaking an 86-year-old record.
The Electric Reliability Council of Texas declared a Level Read more…
Yellowstone supervolcano, new Ice Age could topple US government
As evidence mounts that the world may fast be slipping into the next Ice Age, Washington insiders are hurrying to solidify a new power base for centralized government operations.
Fears that the US capital might be struck by another more deadly terrorist attack—or other disasters—prompted agencies a decade ago to hurriedly establish back-up operations in case catastrophe struck.
Despite the fact that many conspiracy theories are weaved around the subjects that follow—including some fairly wild-eyed, tin foil hat scenarios—most conspiracy theories have a basis in fact, although the facts are distorted or wildly exaggerated.
The actual story of the Denver airport, the nation's "second capital," the impending Ice Age possibility, and the threat the Yellowstone supervolcano presents to the people of the United States of America and their government follows: Read more…


text:
The Tet (Lunar New Year) holiday is traditionally a time of reunion for the Vietnamese. For the last eight years, thousands of local and foreign students from HCM City's universities have taken part in an annual campaign that helps those in need during the festive season. Van Dat joins them for a day.
Though it was nearly 11pm, Nguyen The Hai, a third-year student at the HCM City University of Architecture, was eagerly giving instructions to a group of 24 students about to depart on their motorbikes to different parts of the city.
Dividing into groups of two, they headed out to streets where homeless people can often be seen.
Hai had told his group to park their motorbikes away from the people sleeping on the streets, so they would not interrupt their sleep. He asked that they first slowly approach the homeless men and women and then offer them parcels of gifts and rice gruel.
It was the second year that Hai had taken part in the Xuan Tinh Nguyen holiday campaign for the needy. The gifts had been bought with money that students raised at their universities.
"Tet (Lunar New Year festival) is the time for us to express love and share with those who are more disadvantaged than us. During this time, everyone is together with their family at home, but the homeless cannot share this warmth. I feel that I'm much luckier than they are," he said.
Hai said he had decided to join the annual campaign to "bring happiness to people who are often short of everything".
Nguyen Ho Minh Quang, a third-year student at the university, who was part of Hai's group, said he was moved by the gratitude shown by the homeless.
Quang said he regularly passed by homeless people on the way home every day.
"My parents were really happy when they found out I was taking part in this activity, as well as other voluntary tasks like painting houses for the poor and making banh tet (round glutinous rice cake)," he said.
On the same day that Hai and his group distributed gifts, about 100 students at the HCM City's University of Medicine gathered in the morning on campus to make 200 cakes.
The students' plan was to make 2,000 cakes to present to needy families and shelters in District 5, and to the disadvantaged living in the city's outlying districts and the provinces of An Giang and Tâay Ninh.
Some of the cakes were a bit too small or misshapen, as some students said they had never made them before. But they were made with enthusiasm and heart.
Nguyen Yen Nhi, a fifth-year student at the university, and deputy leader of the university's Xuan Tinh Nguyen campaign, ensured that students make only one to two cakes so that every volunteer could have a chance to demonstrate their skill.
Eighteen-year-old Nguyen Phan Hoang Phuc, a freshman at the university, said:
"I'm sure the cake is delicious. It comes from our heart. I hope that Lunar New Year will be special, happy and warm for some people who don't have banh tet during Tet. Even one cake can be meaningful."
A fourth-year student at the university, Nguyen Viet Tuùng, said he was also eager to do something helpful for disadvantaged children.
Besides making banh tet, university students are offering other services this year.
Tuùng said he and more than 500 students at the University of Medicine gave free check-ups to needy people in outlying districts and neighbouring provinces.
"Using the knowledge we've learned at school made me feel happy. When we arrived, people appeared doubtful, but later they were excited after receiving our support," he said.
The students said they were also planning to donate gifts to patients at the Tumour Hospital and the Pediatrics Hospital.
At the University of Social Sciences and Humanities, students were also making banh tet as part of the annual charity campaign.
Third-year student Tran Mai Lan helped Gahyun Lee, a Korean exchange student at the university, make the traditional cakes.
Truong Van An, a student at the university, was also making banh tet. He said he loved working with others to help bring a warm new year to the disadvantaged.
"Though this is my third time, my eagerness and emotion remain the same," An said.
An recalled bringing gifts to the homeless one evening duing the final days of the new year. He said he felt happy after talking with them, seeing their smiles, as they sat outside in the chilly weather.
More than 700 students at the university have also planned to donate gifts to people in other areas including outlying Can Gio and Cu Chi districts as well as islands and border areas in 10 provinces of Ben Tre, Tra Vinh, Dong Thap, Dong Nai, Ba Ria - Vung Tau, Ca Mau, Tien Giang, An Giang and Long An.
So far, the students have made 1,000 square glutinous rice cakes for the needy.
Foreign students
The participation of foreign students in the campaign has helped enrich the charity experience for both local and visiting students.
Cambodian You Bunngov, 26, a student at Pham Ngoc Thach Medical University, said he was donating gifts to children at the Tumour Hospital.
"I remember the first time I took part in charity activities in Viet Nam. I followed a Vietnamese friend to a rural area to donate gifts, but I didn't know where it was. The activity helped me learn more about the culture and people of the country," he said.
Bunngov, who speaks Vietnamese, said the experience of meeting local people had motivated him to participate in the campaign each year and continue to do charity work when he returns to Cambodia.
This year, he encouraged his friends to learn more about Vietnamese culture by taking part in the programme.
Pham Van Linh, deputy chairman of Viet Nam Student Association in HCM City, who leads the campaign, said this year, besides getting high school students to be involved, foreign students were also encouraged to take part so they could learn more about Vietnamese culture.
"The students are really happy that the cakes made by their own hands are given to disadvantaged people in shelters," Linh said, adding that foreigners from six countries had participated in the campaign, with most of them from Laos, Cambodia, Myanmar and South Korea.
This campaign, which is in its eighth year, has attracted more than 31,000 local and foreign students this year.
During the campaign's recent launch ceremony, Tran Kim Yen, head of the Commission for Mass Mobilisation of the city's Party Committee, said the younger generations in Viet Nam had always been known "for their contributions to making the city more beautiful in spirit". — VNS


text:
Since I got back a couple of weeks ago, time has flown by at the craziest speed. I feel like I'm trying to compile a friday favorites list every other day!
I do hope you guys have had a marvelous week. Mine has been pretty great! I've been able to work a little, blog a little, and cook a little. The Giants won last night and are headed to the World Series. The 7-day countdown to me going home again began two days ago… lots of great stuff, if you ask me! What has your week held?
< < < < < > > > > >
The perfectly imperfect hostess. I love this so much.
I read this article and decided I'd like to work at Clif Bar. And then I went to Target and restocked on my favorite. P.S. I once emailed them and told them how much I loved them and they sent me three stickers in the mail.
Good tips for food photography!
This always makes me laugh, and I rediscovered it this week… sorry if it's been shared here before!
If you've ever wanted to learn how to write code, this site might help you, and its free! I'm 25 exercises in, and so far it's been really graspable (< that's an actual word! I was totally prepared to make it up!).
The "refurbished firehouse" from Princess Diaries is for sale. Not that anyone reading this can afford it or anything, but it's still kind of fun to know.
I guess it doesn't matter to them that they've know each other since they were like 8 years old, they've won a million championships together, and probably the whole world wishes they were engaged to each other. Whatever. They're still amazing.
P.S. Stay tuned for an easy DIY coming soon!!


text:
Today's busy lifestyle demands quick and easy meal solution. But you shouldn't sacrifice great taste and nutrition for convenience. Here's a breakfast recipe that taste good and is good for you too. You can prepare the granola ahead of time and then simply add the yogurt and fresh fruit when you're ready to eat.
1 1/2 cups old fashioned rolled Oats 1/2 cup California Walnuts, coarsely chopped 1/3 cup pure Maple Syrup, divided 2 teaspoons Butter 2 cups sliced hulled Strawberries 2 cups thinly sliced, peeled Peaches (about 4 medium peaches) 1 cup Blueberries 1 cup cubed peeled Kiwi fruit (about 3) 2 cups fat-free plain Yogurt
Mix oats and walnuts in 13 x 9 inch baking pan. Combine 1/4 cup of the maple syrup and butter in small heavy saucepan. Bring to boil. Pour maple syrup mixture over oat mixture; stir to blend well. Bake 10 minutes at 375 F, stirring occasionally. Continue to bake until mixture is golden and crisp, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes longer. Cool granola completely in pan. (Can be prepared 1 week ahead. Store in airtight container at room temperature). Gently toss strawberries, kiwifruit and remaining 3 tablespoons maple syrup in large bowl to blend. Divide half of the fruit mixture among 6 parfait or wine glasses. Sprinkle each parfait with half the granola mixture, dividing equally. Top each with half the yogurt. Repeat layers. Serve immediately. Makes 6 servings.
Use unsalted butter for an even lower-sodium breakfast, snack or dessert.
HealthyEating.org, brought to you by Dairy Council of California, is committed to elevating the health of children and families through the pursuit of lifelong healthy eating habits.
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Ajmal Masroor
Ajmal Masroor describes himself as an Imam, broadcaster and politician. Although Masroor advertises himself as a moderate voice, he propagates some of the usual conspiracy theories peddled by extreme Islamist groups.
Masroor resigned as a parliamentary candidate in 2005 when it was discovered that he had been posting on the forum of the anti-Semitic Muslim Public Affairs Committee UK. He is a presenter on the Islam Channel, a television station that has been censured by Ofcom for advocating marital rape and whose CEO is a convicted terrorist. Masroor is also a spokesman for the Harrow Central Mosque, whose website promotes a plethora of Jamaat-e-Islami and Muslim Brotherhood groups.
Support for the Palestinian terror group Hamas
"I discovered that the Prime Minister of Gaza lives in one of these refugee camps. He and his family have lived with the refugees here in Gaza for a long time. While his counterpart in West Bank lives in luxury and palatial home. The difference between true and honest leader and crook and criminal one is that one is loved by his people naturally and the other insists on being loved. One lives with his or her people while the other lives in fortresses surrounded by security personnel."
CIA responsible for Mumbai attacks
"Do you remember the Mumbai terror attack? In November 2008 a group of terrorists rampaged through the streets and hotels of the financial capitol of India Mumbai, shooting at people, killing and wounding more than 300 innocent men and women. The mastermind behind that attack was David Headley, a US citizen, double agent and convicted drugs dealer, who was planted as the agent provocateur to encourage even more violence and terror in Pakistan thus justify American rotten foreign policies for the region. American intelligence services knew about the imminent attack and did nothing to stop it…"
Islamists framed for Westgate shopping mall massacre
"…The truth of who is pulling the strings and who are the real masterminds behind these attacks needs to be uncovered. Who are the paymasters of these bloodthirsty monsters need to be unveiled? Who are the real terrorists?"
Support for Jamaat leaders on trial in Bangladesh
Support for Muslim Brotherhood
"Morsi was not prepared to prostitute himself or sell Egypt to the vultures and the thugs from Mubarak era. This was Morsi's primary crime!
"What followed was a systematic vilification of an elected President by the media, which is owned by a handful of people, 95% of them belong to the Mubarak's close circle of friends. Any opposition media has been taken off air and even Al-Jazeera has been given its marching orders. The secularist media has hyped up the smallest problem and created hysteria amongst the Egyptian masses. It constantly attacked Islam, the Muslim brotherhood and the President."


text:
Jack Knox: Ferry cuts draining life out of Saturna
Dec 05 2012
Afew years ago, Saturna Island's summer season lasted from Victoria Day to Labour Day, city dwellers flocking over on the ferries.
Today, it's June and July at best, not enough to carry local businesses through the lean winter months. So the pub only opens Thursday through Sunday right now. Can't buy gas Monday through Wednesday. One of the two general stores pretty much shuts down over the winter, and the café closes early.
The $64,000 question - actually, the $26-million question - is whether soaring ferry fares crippled the economy or whether Sat-urna was just another casualty of the global meltdown.
That question echoes again and again as B.C. Ferries and Transportation Ministry staff travel the coast seeking the public's advice on how to cut $26-million worth of ferry service over the next four years. Close to 80 of the island's 350 Gore-Texed and gumbooted residents packed the Saturna hall Tuesday, the latest stop on a 40-meeting, 30-community tour whose pace would stagger even Mick Jagger.
The road show, which began in Haida Gwaii on Nov. 6 and concludes on Denman and Hornby islands Saturday, continues with an open house at Victoria's Hotel Grand Pacific from 6 to 9 p.m. today.
The B.C. government says there's no choice but to cut ferry service. Most coastal routes are running at under 50 per cent capacity. (Indeed, there were just 15 vehicles aboard the 70-car Mayne Queen as it sailed from Swartz Bay to Saturna on Tuesday afternoon, a spectacular double rainbow arching from Pender to Saltspring.)
Even with fare increases of about four per cent for each of the next four years, the corporation is bleeding red - a $16-million shortfall this year. B.C. Ferries labour costs jumped 24 per cent between 2004 and 2012, largely because of staffing levels mandated by federal safety rules.
Fuel costs jumped 140 per cent in the same period, even though consumption dropped. Aging vessels need replacing.
But Saturna has a different view. If ridership is down, it's because fares, up 87 per cent on their route since the provincial government pushed B.C. Ferries toward a user-pay model in 2003, have passed the tipping point - a phrase speakers used again and again. They say the drop in ridership predated the global meltdown, that their own economic downturn was caused by the Liberals, not Lehmann Brothers.
"If you believe that the high fares have been the major reason for traffic decline, put up your hands," local ferry advisory committee rep Brian Hollingshead told the crowd. Eighty arms shot in the air. "The only thing that will bring traffic back is a significant fare rollback."
But the Transportation Ministry didn't set up this meeting to talk about lowering fares. It called it to talk about cutting $26-million worth of service, mostly from the minor and northern routes.
This is vital stuff in coastal communities like Saturna, where almost one-quarter of the entire population turned out Tuesday.
(Contrast that with the open house in Vancouver, attended by roughly a dozen people.) Speakers were decidedly civil (at the end of the meeting, everyone stacked the chairs, unbidden) but passionate.
Cutting service has consequences. Saturna's Athena George used to go to yoga teacher-training in Victoria on Saturdays.
When B.C. Ferries cancelled the early ferry, it became an overnight trip, so she quit going. Parents who used to take their kids to Saanich Commonwealth Place say the same thing.
(Traditionally, Saturna's economy has been based on sucking money out of Vancouver and spending it in Sidney.) A common theme during the coastal road-show: grandparents worried about being cut off from their grandchildren.
Awkward scheduling limits life. Make it awkward enough, life will disappear, up and down the coast.
"You kill these communities, you kill your revenue," one speaker told the visitors. "We are your goose. Please don't strangle us."
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Down the Hill We Go
Anniversary Dates
When it comes to going out with the person you love on an anniversary, people always think that romance, flowers, and even doves should be involved in the day in order to guarantee that it would be romantic and fun. Have you ever thought about going on an amazingly fun date on your anniversary and you two, just by being together and spending the whole day having fun, would simply make the day worthwhile and romantic in your own special form!
Katy Perry and boyfriend Russell Brand had the time of their lives sledding in the London snow, and it is very obvious in the pictures above. You and your loved one should also have the chance to do something like this on your anniversary; so make plans to head out in the morning to a place where you can be able to sled and have fun with the spirit of love in the air.
Spend the day climbing up the mountain and sledding down the hill with the person you love, the time would fly by so fast that you would not even believe it. The amount of fun you two would have is indescribable! Take turns sitting in the front of the sled, the most fun part about it, and the most romantic is when you tumble down at the end and fall on each other; this would give you two the vibe of love!
When you find yourselves out of breath and need a break, head to the nearest lodging place, sit by the chimney with some hot coco or tea and simply cuddle with each other while talking about how much fun the day was.


text:
When you are in a beautiful, loving relationship, it's very easy to lose yourself in it. It's very easy to become dependent on your partner for happiness and support. Sometimes, we also forget how to take care of ourselves, because we become accustomed to having them around and letting them care for us. Soon enough, we start losing our individuality and become an inseparable unit that cannot do anything without each other. But that's not the point of a relationship, is it? What about your own life, your personal space, yourself? What about your partner's?
A happy relationship is defined by how intimate you can be despite living your individual lives. The kind of relationship that lets you grow independently is the kind you should aim at having. And if you have that kind of a relationship already, you know you've got a good thing going.
Independence in a relationship is important because that is what will allow you to breathe free. If you smother your partner with love and affection, it loses its charm and can hurt your bond. Let each other breathe and allow each other the space to do what you want to do. At the end of the day, you're both going to come back home to each other. If your partner loves dancing but you don't, let him take dancing lessons without you. Don't keep him from making the most of his passion. Likewise, if you like going on adventures but he doesn't, don't let his dislike for it stop you from enjoying your passion.
Take pride and revel in each other's differences; I guarantee that you'll learn so much more about each other from them than you will from your similarities. It's a whole other kind of happiness to be together, thick as thieves, yet be apart enough to live your own, independent lives.