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Open discussions related to the topics of selected movie and documentary projections were introduced last year in the ninth edition of the Festival of Tolerance – JFF Zagreb, as an answer to the needs and suggestions of our faithful audiences.
The idea was to create a public platform for an exchange of opinions, questions and answers, agreements and disagreements. Besides experts in the relevant social fields, these discussions are also open to the audience, as an important factor in co-creating public opinion, stimulating of cultural communication with an aim of building a more open and tolerant society.
Every year we strive to offer our audiences a richer programme with better quality. Apart from discussions as a novelty, for the needs of the Festival in Ljubljana, we have introduced an additional discussion in the form of video conference, which was held on February 26, live streaming from Zagreb and Ljubljana. The topic of "absence of place for marking the Holocaust in Croatia and Slovenia", eminent speakers, experts from social, cultural and political life, as well as senior officials, discussed the current situation in both countries, about the relationship towards the Holocaust and facing the past in general, as well as (not) accepting our common past.
Through questions and answers, participant expertise, experience and perception of the audience and reasoning, together we will nurture the culture of tolerant and polite communication, create a culture of dialogue and help to express public opinion in the time to which we belong.
The project is co-financed from the Europe for citizens fund - EACEA European Remembrance.
The second Tolerance Talk will focus on new ideas and manifestations of fascism and racism in Croatia, Europe and the rest of the world. The Tolerance Talk panellists will discuss the two films from this year's Festival.
The first Tolerance Talk Darkness behind Closed Doors will focus on the rights of women victims of different forms of violence, including rape, i.e. the rights of women exposed to different forms of secondary victimisation.
TOPIC: Clerical sexual abuse
TOPIC: female pleasure and the disciplining of the female body
TOPIC: fascism
TOPIC: Facing Trauma
TOPIC: The Crisis of Journalism
12. Festival of Tolerance brings discussion on topics of women abuse, LGBT rights, third age and ecology. Find out all the details in the article.
Zagreb, I love you so much | 11. 4. 2018. | 18:30 | kino Tuškanac
Future of Europe – The Europe we desire | 10. 4. 2018. | 20:00 | cinema Europa
After the film Sacred. Guest of discussion: Thomas Lennon
Discussion is cancelled.
After the film The Destruction of Memory follows the discussion "Cultural heritage as a nation's identity". Guests of the panel are Prof. Dr. Tvrtko Jakovina, teaches World history of the 20th century at Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences in Zagreb; Lana Lovrenčić...
After the film Holding the Man, an expert for love, Bruno Šimleša, writer Barbara Matejčić and activist Romana Taylor will discuss differences among us, individuals that suffer because of that and how we can be a bigger support to each other in life and love.
A discussion named "Ecology/Migration/Chaos and Conflict" follows after the film The Age of Consequences. Panelists for the discussion are Prof. Dr. Mirko Bilandžić, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences in Zagreb (Department of Sociology, courses: Terrorism and Society...
The movie 'After Spring' brings the story about the Syrian refugee crisis and is followed up with a discussion on the topic of starting a new life and the battle with a new future on an unknown territory, in a new country and in a new community.
The topic of this roundtable is to discuss the spread of discrimination and discrimination motivated bullying among the youth and how the issue is approached in Croatia, as well as how society deals with discrimination.
Introducing special lectures by top experts and presenting European cinematography at last year's Festival through the presentation of Svetlana Agrest, Zagreb audience had an opportunity to learn about the 'New wave' of the Ukranian cinematography.
Is there truth without a photograph? How much would we know about World War 2 if there were no images? Discussing the importance of documentaries and photography, their role in the court of public opinion and who are the people who risk their lives to give us the truth that is so easy to manipulate.
After the documentary Shadow world we will have a discussion on the subject of Millitary industry. Discussion guests: Igor Tabak – obris.org analyst Dubravko Gvozdanović – court expert in ballistics, firearms and cold weapons Ratko Martinović - blogger of...
The roundtable entitled 'Editorial boards under fire' will address the exposure of journalists to pressures, threats, violence and incitement aimed at the media and journalists in the public sector and other media.
The project is co-financed from the Europe for citizens fund - EACEA European Remembrance.
Discussion was held on Friday at 10 pm at the Tuškanac cinema after the movie "Natural Disorder". Movies lead character has physical limitations, but mentally he is the same as his colleagues. At the discussion we will debate what "normal" really is..
Round table called "The young - our strength, how the young develop intercultural dialogue" was held on Friday 15.04.2016. at Tuškanac cinema at 2 pm. The moderator of the round table is Mr. Zoran Pribičević and the participants are professors Romina Makoret, Linda Šimunović Nakić...
Svetlana Agrest- Korotkova 15.04.2016. Cinema Tuškanac – 12 h The Ukrainian cinematography has long been part and parcel of the cinematic world, contributing to its development with highly creative personalities such as Aleksander Dovzhenko and Mikhail Kaufman...
Discussion will take place at cinema Tuškanac on Thursday at 10:15 pm after the movie "Correction Class". At the discussion we will debate the questions which the movies plot revolves around such as; are children cruel, are they exposed to cruelty at school and in their own homes just...
Discussion will be held on Thursday at 6 pm at Europa cinema after the documentary "Racing Extinction". Scientists predict that in 100 years time there will be only 50 percent of animal species left on Earth.
Discussion was held on Wednesday, at 9:30 PM at cinema Tuškanac after the documentary "The long way home". The film deals with adoptees that are trying to find their biological parents and starts many questions about adoption.
LUIGI DEI Rector of University of Florence LECTURE / PRIMO LEVI: CHEMISTRY, LITERATURE AND MEMORY 13.04.2016. Cinema Tuškanac – 10 h Video of the lecture: Luigi Dei, PhD, a professor of physical chemistry and rector at the University of Florence...
Discussion after the movie Through my lens. The guests discussed whether we have become immune to the pictures of horror, which are so common today unlike in the past. Discussion guests: Borna Sor Silvestar Kolbas Damir Očko
The discussion after the movie Chuck Norris vs. communism sparked many questions about censorship and how it influenced the films from the 80s. The guest debated if schools should have a pop culture class and that the film gives hope, that there is subtlety and beauty in these times of extreme...
At the discussion held after the film Watching the moon at night we talked about the history of terrorism and its background, or who is behind it and what is the future of the world. The guests concluded that we shouldn't fear terrorism, but continue to live a normal life. Discussion guests: dr.
The first discussion of the 10th Festival of Tolerance ties in to the film We are young. We are strong, from the director Burhan Qurbani, set of a spirited debate about xenophobia, race, civic upbringing, historic legacy and future of Europe. Discussion guests: prof. dr. Tomislav Sunić dr.
Round table: "Challenges of Europe" In order to encourage the general public to think about the current biggest challenge of Europe, we are organising a round table entitled "Challenges of Europe", which will be held on April 7th at 17h, in cooperation with our partners...
Sorry, at the moment this entry is only available in Croatian. The project is co-financed from the Europe for citizens fund - EACEA European Remembrance.


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Hydatid Of Morgagni
What is Hydatid of Morgagni?
The Hydatid of Morgagni is a small, unnecessary tissue sac that hangs loosely from the top of the testis in the male. It is also known as a appendix testicle.
Treatment of Hydatid of Morgagni:
In men, it is possible for the sac to become twisted, gangrenous and painful. Sudden onset of severe testicular pain and tenderness occurs. Torsion of the testis is a surgical emergency that requires treatment within a few hours and also has the same symptoms. The diagnosis is only made during surgery, after ensuring that the testis itself has not become twisted and gangrenous. During the operation the offending piece of tissue is removed, with no subsequent adverse effects upon the potency or masculinity of the patient. Recovery is usually complete within three or four days.

subset: commoncrawl


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Higher education week on our blog continues as Ivy Tech President Tom Snyder answers the following question:
- What is the No. 1 change you would like to see in Indiana's higher education system that would help serve students better?
I do not believe it would be accurate to say that I would want to see something change in Indiana's higher education. Instead I would like to use the word "continue." I hope to continue to see all stakeholders stay dedicated to the development of a statewide community college.
This includes continued funding of Ivy Tech to assist us in handling the tremendous growth we have experienced. We are dedicated to ensuring the success of our students as is evidenced by our Accelerating Greatness strategic plan. We must continue to allocate resources toward our efforts in remediation and retention to get the over 150,000 students we serve a year to achieve their educational goals.
We must continue to develop a seamless higher education system that makes the transfer of credits from Ivy Tech to our four-year partners easily understandable for our students. Our four-year partners have been just that, true partners in this endeavor and we look forward to continuing to work with colleges and universities around the state.
Finally as we look at our students and how we define success we need to consider other measures than just the IPEDS three-year cohort which looks at first-time, full-time students which is a small percentage of our student body. This is just one measure and ignores the fact that, in this group, more of our students transfer than stay to graduate. We are developing more comprehensive measures that Indiana citizens can use to assess student success.


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Summary: This document provides a strategy from EPA around the vision: "Living Better, Using Less". Incorporating Ireland's National Waste Prevention Programme, it sets out priorities for preventing wastage and unnecessary consumption of materials, energy & water.
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How to Change the Default Browser of an Android Tablet
Changing Default Browser One of the major advantages of using an Android tablet is that it offers a world of excellent applications to us. These apps allow us to make the most of our devices and to carry out many tasks with ease. Studies conducted by experts revealed that people prefer to use a tablet to browse the web instead of using a computer. You can find plenty of browsers for your Android tablet on the Google Play Store. In addition to that, there will also be a preinstalled internet browser on the tablet. However, several Android tablet users often [Read More]


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RAPID CITY, SD -U-S District Judge Jeffrey Viken sentenced Darryl Graham to five years in federal prison today. As part of a plea agreement Graham earlier pleaded guilty to distributing methamphetamine and transporting a victim to engage in prostitution in August of 2015 at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally and October 2016.
Graham was originally charged with commercial sex trafficking of children by means of force, distribution of a controlled substance to a minor and transportation for illegal sexual activity.
The 49-year old faced maximum sentence of 10 years of imprisonment on the sex charge and 40 years on the drug charge.


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Frank Gaffney and his friends can relax: Sneaky Muslims aren't going to impose Sharia Law on the US and take away their bacon cheeseburgers. It's impossible.
But you'd never know that from what's pouring out of outfits like Gaffney's Center for Security Policy, from Fox News or from right-wing bloggers across the land, all of whom say the threat is real -- real enough to spawn 15 proposed state and federal laws against it.
Here's how Gaffney described what he calls the threat to the New York Senate's Homeland Security and Military Affairs Committee on April 8th: ."The threat...is best described, I believe, as a politico-legal-military threat whose express purpose is to have it imposed world-wide, subject to a theocratic ruler called a Caliph. That is of course a program that is completely at odds with our Constitution, our form of government, our way of life, our freedoms."
I'll admit that sounds pretty grim. Even if it does seem a lot like the threat of Global Communism I used to hear about as a kid.
The truth? Sharia is religious law, and no religious law can be imposed on the US without amending the Constitution -- twice -- to repeal both the opening clause of the First Amendment, and the Supremacy Clause in Article 6.
So how can Sharia Law be imposed on the US? No one seems to know. Or at least, nobody who's pushing the claim would talk to me about it, though they seemed eager to tell me how bad it would be.
These non-talkers included Gaffney's COO, Christina Brim, who even came to the phone to tell me she wouldn't talk to me; Rex Duncan, who sponsored an Oklahoma law last year forbidding Sharia Law from being used in the state; Newt Gingrich (famously afraid of "Islamic atheists"); the Thomas More Center; and NewsMax, Town Hall, and The National Review magazines, all of which have been vocal about the so-called danger but wouldn't explain why there's anything to it..
Meanwhile, the so-called examples of how Sharia Law is already being used in American courts are frauds. Take a look at them and you find out what they're talking about are arbitrations -- not trials under civil or criminal law. And two parties in an arbitration can agree to be bound by Star Fleet regulations without crossing the Constitution.
This includes the most recent so-called example of Sharia law being imposed on America, in Tampa, where in late March a judge ruled that Sharia could be applied in an arbitration over money between two parties--from the same mosque--only to be overruled the next day by a higher court. That event triggered a frenzy in the right wing blogosphere -- all, oddly, written almost exactly the same way.
The same goes for the so-called 85 Sharia Courts in England that are often raised as an example of how bad things already are: These are arbitration panels, conducted under the authority of the British courts -- not Sharia law courts.
And in fact, similar arrangements are a long-standing commonplace in America jurisprudence -- all of them operating under the authority of state and federal laws.
Until the 1920s, for instance, the legal system of the entire state of Utah was largely conducted in Bishop's Courts, operating under the authority of the Church of Latter Day Saints -- courts that are still in use in more limited ways. Native American reservations -- actually, sovereign nations -- govern themselves. So do religious communities like Kiryas Joel in Orange County, N.Y., a home to the Satmar sect of Hasidic Jews.
So what are Gaffney and friends talking about? No one knows, really. But that hasn't stopped 15 laws forbidding international laws, including Sharia Law, from being put before state legislatures and the US House of Representatives.
That count includes Duncan's Oklahoma law, which he called "...a first strike" to prevent something he admitted had never happened. That law was approved by 72 percent of Oklahoma voters in a referendum last November, but was then ruled unconstitutional under the First Amendment. It's now on appeal.
In response to that objection the anti-Sharia folks merely edited their language to forbid international law from being considered in US courts and dropping the Sharia reference. This includes one before the US House of Representatives, H.R. 973, proposed by Florida's Sandy Adams, whose office didn't return calls requesting comment.
There's only one problem here: Modern business is international, the parties to a contract can choose which laws govern their contract, and typically in any international deal, the laws that govern a contract include foreign laws.
So if, say, an Oklahoma company wanted to sell something to a company in Kuwait, Kuwati law could apply--and be honored in American courts, All these laws would do, says Avery Katz, who teaches contract law at Columbia Law School, is force the parties to conduct their business elsewhere--probably London, where the problem wouldn't exist. But, he adds, this could add extra costs to the deal, which could kill it altogether.
So, what's up here? You have to assume these lawmakers are smart guys. Certainly, Frank Gaffney and his ilk are smart guys. They have to know that as far as this issue goes, there's no there there. So why are they bothering?
Well, ginning up an empty issue like this does several things for them.
One is the reality of the news business. Even in the 24-hour news cycle, there's only 24 hours in a day, and every minute or column inch spent covering this is a minute or column inch not spent covering, say, how lobbyists are gutting the Dodds-Frank Bill and leaving the American financial system vulnerable to another disaster like 2007-2008.
Then there's the politics. "It's clearly an effort to stir the pot and keep the noise level up," says Matt Duss, a policy analyst with the Center for American Progress. "They just have to keep people freaked out about this even though they know it can never happen, and the Democrats have to respond."
And then, there's the money. Right wing politics is a business with a simple business plan: Sell people the idea they're under imminent threat, tell them you're fighting to stop it, and ask them for money. It's worked like a charm for the National Rifle Association.
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Volume I, Issue I
The FSView & Florida Flambeau's literary magazine
Table of Contents 5 6 7 12 14 18 19 21 23 24 26 27 28 29 31 32
An Ode to my Ink | Victoria Drexel El Rio Almendares | Walter Aguilara Tarot Cards and a Twenty-Something | Francis Amiama Samsonite | Francis Amiama Food Map | Lindsay Miller The Hunt | Victoria Drexel On Outgrowing Pepper Trees | Francis Amiama Puppy Dog Tales | J.N. Bordonaba Deeper than Desire | Walter Aguilara On the Shirt Found at the 116th-Street Station | Francis Amiama Dream From the Heart | Alexander Anthony Crows and God | Jonathon Duckworth Tutu Pac | Jonathon Agnelli Flushed | Ryan Pfeffer There Are No Trees on the Tundra | Victoria Drexel Time Flows to the Source | Jonathon Duckworth
Letter From the Editors: Here at the FSView & Florida Flambeau, we seek to inform and provide agency to the students in our community. We pride ourselves on objective and informative coverage of issues and events that impact our readership. This year, we decided to encourage the literary voice of the student community in Tallahassee, which resulted in the FSreview, the FSView & Florida Flambeau's first-ever literary magazine. Literary magazines have been a long-standing tradition in collegiate communities. They provide an opportunity to showcase a community's talent and facilitate artistic appreciation. C.S. Lewis once said, "We read to know we are not alone." Literature is the reflection of humanity, the means for processing our common experiences. Through it, we connect in our shared fears, dreams, and aspirations. As you read some of the talented voices of Tallahasse's literary community within these pages, we hope you enjoy listening to the stories they tell. You may even find a bit of yourself in them.
Editors of the FSreview, Emily Ostermeyer Ondrej Pazdirek Eric Todoroff
An Ode to my Ink By Victoria Drexel Under the gun at seventeen I remembered my mother's warning: "You're too young to understand forever." My Ink, there are days when we struggle to find symbiosis as the neckline of my favorite dress cuts your gypsy's profile, or your Florida Orange Blossoms sneak out from under my collared shirt, that I think she may have been right. How can I know if these days will become our norm? If John Donne always speak to me like he did when I was eighteen if I have to stretch shriveled, age spotted skin to answer for whom does the bell toll? If a treble clef above weak ankles will only drive me mad when my ears can no longer hear? What I do know is that stabbed somewhere between the third and fourth layers of my skin you mark me with the most thoughtful of scars so that I can never forget the miles I walked with bruised and bloody feet on the Camino de Santiago, or the stick figure turtles my grandfather drew on his last prayer flag, or even just who I was, when.
El Rio Almendares By Walter Aguilara Conflated with your bare Hips Arbiter of whims: The scar in your thigh Supple Like mangoes in June Running womb-bound, as Crooked river Almendares: from Mountain to City to Ocean, broken and Buried Within matchstick fingers Teasing the thought of you, Into the root of my chest.
Tarot Cards and a TwentySomething By Frances Amiama A woman on the train told me a community college just outside of Boston offers a seminar on how not to be alone. It runs through the winter, when the cold creeps up on single people and convinces them they are missing half of their entire being. When the cold tells them they are not warm enough under the flowered comforter they have had since fourteen; why they are craving duplicate arms and legs to wrap around them. "Feeling this badly is natural," the cold says. "You are missing so much." The cold just outside of Boston is always trying to destroy you. The professors hang up posters and try to draw in prospective visitors with the promise of free snacks. Free snacks will always get you. You can shove them in your purse and take them back home with you or eat them while sitting on the roof of an airport parking garage even though you've never flown. My mother asked me once what I wanted to do when I got older; I told her I wanted to be a building. I wanted to get taller and tower over downtown and watch other people go on with their lives. Now I'm older and I still want to be the brick building that lies just outside of campus; the one with roof access for late night lovers pretending to care about stars. They do not care about stars. They care about the placement of each other's hands. They care only about what is moving right then below those stars, like nervous palms and heavy limbs. They let the cold get to them. I have been through twenty-two winters. I remember maybe half of that amount. I hate winter, but I still believe what the cold tells me. So I peel myself away from my queen sized bed and decide to take the woman on the train's advice. It costs seven dollars to take the express into Lowell. I have an hour to roam around the station until my train leaves. I bump into an old man wearing a rain coat and in between mumbled apologies remember I have forgotten to brush my teeth. I can see him taking note of how badly put together I seem. He smiles. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart." He is thanking God for his normal grandchildren.
I bury my train ticket in between the six layers of clothing I put on last night and wonder if the other people in this station can tell I never changed, if they can all sense how lazy I am. I am just trying to figure out how to be a person amongst other people. *** The classroom seemed disheveled, all the tables were pushed to the farthest wall and the chairs circled up. I found out the seminar was an exercise in Social Psychology, they posted three different ads for the same one: how not to be alone, how to stop smoking, and how to read Tarot cards. "Is this a joke? How can you possibly try to teach all of those things? They don't even have anything to do with each other." A fidgety tall boy locked his arms across his chest as he protested. We made eye contact on his second sigh and he gestured towards me. "This is just a waste of everyone's time, right?" "Umm, yeah, I guess, I don't know." "What?" "Yeah, yeah this is weird." I say, raising my voice slightly as the sentence progresses. I am actually concerned about whether or not I am melting into this plastic chair. The man leading the study reminds me of the old man I met in the train station, but not every man with grey hair and oxfords thinks poorly of me, I hope. He is matching people up, giving us groups, there are no free snacks as promised and I am panicking. My hands slide under the seat and grasp the bolts on the underside of each bar; I will unscrew them, distract everyone with the strange breaking chair, and run out of this room. I will take the train back to my one bedroom apartment and make red velvet cupcakes at two o'clock in the morning because I need for my oven to warm all of the places the heater is too nervous to reach. Like the crawl space where he left his father's books before I donated them and the hard wood panels of the third step where I slept the night he left. I am okay being this way. "Oh wow I love your necklace, is that amber?" A small girl shrouded in intensely colored fabric has made her way over to me. When she motions to my chest, I hear her arm move before I see it, the sound of metal bangles falling over one another. I assume she is one of the tarot students. We'll call her K. "Yeah, thank you. It most certainly is." I turn up the corners of my mouth and nod my head a bit. People tend to respond to that. The older woman sitting beside me gets up and moves to the other side of the room to mingle with her group. K replaces her and turns her knees so that they face me. Now that she is beside me, I see the three other people closely surrounding us and realize this is my group. The tall lanky boy from earlier is there, along with a sweater wearing one, while the third is a red haired girl with light eyes. Her body is turned towards the tall one and she is laughing loudly about a story he hasn't finished telling her. She pulls on her scarf as she laughs; the floral pattern tangling with her hair like overgrown weeds behind a Sunday school. She was the girl that went to church for the boys, who thanked God for the soft carpet in the choir room that saved her knees from the rug burn. 8
They introduce themselves, the tall one as M, the other as S, and the girl as L. We all have to fill out surveys, declaring which seminar we came for, our reactions to certain hypothetical situations, and share our responses with our group. Once we are finished, we will receive twenty dollars for our time and a lollipop. I think they are setting me up to hate psychology and those who study it for the rest of my life. As we go around, the other members of my group shrug off the questions and joke about the dramatic family members in the intervention question. I smile and wait for my turn. K is the only one that came for the tarot reading, while the rest are smokers trying to quit. Except for L. She explains how her mother talked her into coming and that she has no intention of quitting until she is at least twenty six. "That's when I'll get married. That's when I'll have to consult another person about what I breathe in, you know?" she tells us. When they get to me, I lie about my reason for being there and claim to be a social smoker. How am I supposed to openly admit I actually paid attention to a flyer asking for lonely people? They all believe me and we stack our surveys neatly on the table closest to us. I feel just as badly as before except now I am clutching a strawberry lollipop on the walk back to the train station. "Hey, wait up! Where are you going?" M and K are skip running towards me. I see the rest of the group lagging behind, the tobacco cloud they carry with them reaches me first and I breathe it in like I am used to it. In between panting, K manages to speak, "we're all going to head over to a party on Third Street. You should come along!" She smiles at me breathlessly and I look down at my hands. "I don't know. It's getting late and I have to take the train back in to the city." "No no no. You will come to the party with us and we'll all get a cab. L and I live off Waverly." M says. "I mean, I don't know, I have a paper, and I have to feed my cat." "Come on, it'll be fun. If it's not, we'll call an asteroid to Earth via Twitter." It is the first time S has spoken directly to me and his face stays stuck in a smirk. Boys that smirk are the most dangerous, but I am sold on both ideas. *** I am lying in a stranger's driveway. I have lost my jacket somewhere inside of this house and I need something to fend off the cold. The wine obviously didn't. Or the mixed drinks. Or the liquor I found under the kitchen sink. I haven't seen the kids from the seminar in what feels like two hours. In actuality, it has been more like fifteen minutes but time is moving very strangely at this point. "Jesus turned water into wine, and I turned wine into more time to be lost in someone's house. I am practically the less accomplished sister of Jesus." I roll over onto my side and yell it at no one in particular. The neighbor's dog looks at me from behind his picket fence and paces. At least someone is concerned. I apologize out loud to my very Catholic mother who is twelve hundred miles 9
away because what's distance to a drunken person? Just time and that I have an abundance of. I stay there for a bit and scrape my palms with the twigs littering the driveway. I arrange them into patterns, then break them, then push them into straight lines. I just want to make something pretty and ruin it. I wait for the ground to stop moving so quickly and place my palms on the concrete while I straighten my bent knees. I have never been more aware of the Earth's rotation than I am right now. I take big steps on the upwards slope of the driveway and stumble towards the front door. M and L are leaning against the side of the house, pushing their faces towards each other. Seeing them makes me wonder whether we've really discovered the correct type of gravity; the way L's mouth is falling into M's neck, it has to be planetary interference. Humans can't fall into each other this way by themselves. I lower myself down to all fours and crawl up the three brick steps. When I get to the double doors, I revert back to sitting and lean my back up against the dimly lit wall of the front porch. "Hey, I've been looking for you everywhere. Is it time to call the aliens?" S makes his way towards me from the front yard. I can only see the outline of his body, but his voice crawls into the hollows of my ears. He drops his pack of Blacks by my leg and sits down next to me. I don't want anything to do with this boy after tonight. He is just so warm. I shift my body to face him and put his cigarettes on the window ledge above me. They keep sliding off and falling back in between us. "The other type of gravity messes up everything." I tell him, as I slide the pack away from us. He is staring at me intently, with bad intentions I know, but I am too. We are both equally invested in how attracted and unfamiliar we are to one another. He turns his body the same way, like we are children, playing cards on our front porch. Wrapping my legs around his, I try to coexist with both forms of gravity. He moves his hand slowly over the small of my back while I write words on his chest. I put my arms under his shoulders and grab the collar of his sweater and pull. Not hard enough to hurt him, just hard enough for him to remember that I am there. "You are so warm." I keep telling him, over and over again while he laughs about the strange things I am saying. We are so close now, I can't even distinguish our respective sides, halves, and I don't think he can hear the cold like I can. If he could, he would know I only needed him for his warmth and not his conversation. He grabs my outer thighs with his hands and presses his palms into my skin, I will bruise there, I bruise much too easily. He picks at the rips in my tights and asks if they came that way. "No, boys like you break them" "Why don't you get new ones?" "How else will I remember their names?" I guide his hands to each one and mouth the name of each boy as he feels them. He pushes my face into his and I laugh with how close I am to a stranger.
When we are done, I motion to his cigarettes, "we can share, I only have one." he says. I watch him pull it from the pack and see all of the empty space that surrounds it. I cry at the sight of a lonely cigarette. When he realizes, he pulls me in closer and apologizes. "I'm sorry; I thought you were okay with this." "Why carry an entire pack around for just one? Why not just slide it behind your ear? Let it mingle with your skin." My face is streaked with wet eyeliner, like war paint. I am half crying half laughing at how weird this must be for him. So I smile and tell him "I am allergic to honest intentions. I am allergic to boys that stay." We stay there on the porch; I stand in the winter of his cigarette smoke and thank God for the cold. I call for a cab and he offers to pay, I let him and shake his hand as I slide onto the nineties leather of the backseat. As he tries to calculate the fee with the driver, I glance over towards the house and see K twirling around the living room of the house, barely missing the Christmas tree and the beers of onlookers. S reaches into the car and hands me my phone. "Let me know that you got home okay, alright?" he says. I nod and nudge the seat of the driver with my knee. I have been wearing the same clothes for almost two days now. I still haven't found my jacket and it is probably lost forever. We need to stop associating being alone with our proximity to others. I need to stop associating not being alone with my proximity to others.
Samsonite By Frances Amiama
My mother left full suitcases in the hallways of our home. The tallest, dark green, felt like a twenty something soldier waiting outside of my bedroom, for me to get older or for the war to be over. I left him blankets some nights, hand sewn and so worn, like the felt on the bottom of abandoned chess pieces. My mother would grab for that suitcase like a runaway swing. Leave the hangers she would tell me. Her Hispaniola hips swinging along with my bag, scraping the sides of that hallway— the walls so much warmer now, with the heat they dug out of their stomachs, pulled through their throats, and shaped into Spanish swearing and praying and left over Catholic school shaming. I still cry at the sight of rosaries. When we sold the house in old Harlem, the new owners ran their hands along the indents they found outside of every bedroom door. They tore up the floors while they still loved each other, put up wallpaper and had children, locked their luggage sets in closets to mingle with my parents' dust.
Food Map By Lindsay Miller Mile 37: Hardee's made from Scratch Biscuits Freshly baked daily. Made from ScratchTM buttermilk biscuit. "Welcome to Hardee's. May I take your order?" Cold air blows in over Grandma's cracked window. "Yes. I'll have a coffee and what kinda biscuits d'ya'll have?" I look through my own window, stifling a yawn from my 5:00 A.M. awakening. It is comforting to know that the sun also rises as I watch the golden pink streaks color the bottom rim of sky. They slowly simmer, traveling upward through the clouds like the brewing steam of a witch's cauldron. "Sausage, egg, bacon…" The speaker box rattles on, naming the various delicacies of breakfast sandwich. "Just give me two plain biscuits. You want anything?" I shake my head from side to side, because I can still taste the gravelly cereal I ate earlier. "All right." Grandma turns the steering wheel, pulling around to the pick-up window as she trades a few dollar bills for warm coffee and biscuits. "Hold on a minute. I've got some change." Opening the console between our seats, Grandma retrieves her royal blue coin purse. After sifting through the silver and gold coins, she takes out just enough to pay the exact amount of the bill. "Have a nice day," the drive-thru attendant smiles. Grandma rolls her window up, pulling into a parking spot. "That coffee sure is mighty hot." Reaching into the back seat, she grabs one of the miniature Dasani bottles from the cooler. "Anytime your coffee's too hot, just pour some water in it." I nod as if I am heeding Grandma's advice, even though I don't drink coffee. Grandma follows her own advice, using an infinitesimally small red straw to stir the mild mixture of fire and ice into a room temperature liquid. "And that'll fix it." Grandma places the lid back on the coffee cup, as we finally pull onto the main road again. "Are you all right?" Grandma wonders, denoting my subtle silence. "Just get me to Waxhaw," I exhale, already worrying that it will take longer than originally planned to reach my Aunt and Uncle's North Carolina home. She chuckles; I am delighted to hear that even her laughter sounds Southern. Her giggling continues as she replies, "We'll be there before you know it." The funny thing is, we're still in Florida. Mile 189: Monster Java Energy Drink WARNING Consume Responsibly: Limit 3 cans per day. Not recommended for children, 14
pregnant women or people sensitive to caffeine. "I need to get me one of them," Grandma opens the door to the beverage cooler, reaching in to grab two Mean Bean Energy Drinks. I step off to the side, feeling a sudden chill creep up my spine once I pass by the last of the refrigerated beverages. I walk past an aisle of Chocolate Moon Pies and Snickers bars, feeling anything but hungry as I head for the door. The sun is reaching for the center of the sky now, which is light years ahead of the distant shadow cast over the "Welcome to Georgia" sign we saw a few hours ago. Climbing into the car, I begin to realize that our expected 2:30 P.M. arrival might take a little longer than that. Despite our 6 A.M. departure, Grandma has taken to driving 15 MPH below the speed limit. Now I'm a firm believer in arriving alive, but when the maximum speed limit is 70 MPH, I'm not driving 55 MPH. However, Grandma will travel no other way and the method is proving problematic! In fact, a platinum blonde nearly rammed us into next week with her red Corvette about fifty miles back. "I don't know why they make these things with all the coffee at the bottom." I turn to the side, watching Grandma shake one of the Java drinks in her right hand and steer with the left. "Grandma, I don't think you're supposed to –" "There we go!" She sets the can down on her knee, now that she has finished shaking it like a Polaroid picture. The light turns red as we roll to a stop. Before I can do anything to stop her, Grandma pops the top, pushing the aluminum tab downward. My mouth opens wide as the mocha-mixed concoction shoots to the ceiling like a geyser blew off. Grandma sits in pure shock, while I search for napkins to dry her off. The steering wheel is glazed over with coffee foam and the ceiling is damp with dark liquid. The remnants begin to settle down just as the light turns green. "Well, at least that went well," I let out a crooked smile as our laughter carries us to the next intersection. Grandma turns right, taking us down a deserted two-lane road. "Well wait a minute now. This don't look right." I unfold the map in my lap, tracing an unpolished fingernail across the great state of Georgia. "I think you were supposed to go straight back there," I chime in. "No, I was supposed to turn left." Grandma pulls into a vacant lot, turning the car around as we head back the way we came. Before we can get lost any further, Grandma turns left, pulling into the gas station we passed at the last intersection. Inside, there are a plethora of maps to guide our way and I am thoroughly relieved. Grandma grabs one from the stand by the door and goes to the front counter to pay for it. Meanwhile, I head to the back in search of the ladies' room. Grandma is waiting for me by the front door when I am done, so I pick up the pace, hurrying to the car in an attempt to make better timing. With a new map in my lap, I search for our current route of travel. "Charleston?" I sigh, puzzled. "What's wrong?" Grandma cranks the car, looking over her shoulder as she backs out of the 15
parking spot. "This is a map of South Carolina," I dully state. "Oh…" Back inside the store, I quickly rush to the maps, grabbing the first Georgia pamphlet I can find. Grandma walks to the front counter, where an overly unenthusiastic lady waits. "Excuse me. I was just in here and I grabbed the wrong map. You see, I need to get one for Georgia, but I accidentally grabbed the one for –" The cashier interrupts Grandma with the slight of her hand before she can continue. "Just switch 'em." "Oh, okay, so I can just –" "Yep!" Her bottom lip pops the final /p/ with an especially careless air. I shrug my shoulders, following Grandma as she puts the old map back. We get back in the car, as I focus to find our destination on the new map. "We're supposed to go straight, not to the left," I realize, relieved as we make it through another intersection. Grandma grabs another Monster energy drink – her last one to be exact – and thankfully refrains from shaking it up this time. When curiosity gets the better of me, I look at the empty can, reading the information on the back label. In big, bold letters I see the following: DO NOT SHAKE BEFORE OPENING. Mile 383: Zaxby's Kickin' Chicken Sandwich Meal Includes: Chicken Fingerz, Ranch and Tongue TORCH Sauce on Texas Toast, served with Crinkle Fries and a 22 oz. beverage "I'm dreamin' of a White Christmas," Grandma sings along with the Elvis Presley CD I brought with me. The case sits on the dashboard, allowing the street lights to illuminate the recently cracked exterior. It's only October, but our day of accidents could use some holiday cheer. Grandma pulls into the Zaxby's parking lot as I clap my hands together. We rush inside, avoiding the brisk chill of air. I tilt my head back and search the menu, ordering the first thing I see. "And for you ma'am?" The brown-eyed-boy asks. Grandma has a finger to her chin, tilting her glasses upward as her blue eyes search through all the options. "Now, your Kickin' Chicken Sandwich. That comes with sauce?" "Yes'm." "Yeah, I don't want that." Grandma presses a hand over her blond bangs. "I don't want the sauce. I want the Kickin' Chicken Sandwich without the sauce. I want no sauce. No sauce on the Kickin' Chicken Sandwich." What Grandma is trying to politely tell this young fellow is that if there is a button that says No Sauce for the Kickin' Chicken Sandwich, he better hit it! "Yes ma'am. I got that. No sauce. Will that be for here or to go?" 16
I step up to the register, "It's to go." "Well wait a minute now," Grandma pipes up. "Do you have onion rings?" "Yes ma'am." "Okay." Grandma has her hand to her neck, still deep in thought as she continues to study the menu above. "I want an order of onion rings. You know, they don't give you as many onion rings as they do for an order of fries. You maybe only get about half, but it's worth it!" "Yes ma'am," the boy laughs, as we exchange an awkward glance. I search for a rock to crawl under, but since there isn't one in sight, I settle for a chair instead. "And what is that?" Grandma's face leans forward as she squints her eyes. "Fried mushrooms? Mmm… that sounds good. I'll have an order of them and some fried pickles too. I didn't know ya'll had fried pickles now!" Grandma looks over her shoulder at me with a Southern smile, reminiscent of Paula Deen. Mile 475: Welch's 100% Grape Juice Made with Welch's Own North American Concord Grapes, No Sugar Added + 2 Servings of Fruit! The full moon shines through my window as I try to keep from yawning so much. We have been in the car for nearly thirteen hours and my patience is beginning to grow thin. The sudden thirst in my throat compels me to reach in the back for a bottle of anything from the cooler. I get a bottle of apple juice and rifle to the bottom to grab the grape juice Grandma is asking for. "Let me tell you what now. This stuff is good for you, honey. It's got that resveratrol in it. It'll stain your clothes, but it's good for your heart." I laugh, knowing that no one else in the family could have survived the trip but me. When we finally reach the town of Waxhaw, North Carolina, I am surprised by the quaint little village. Everything is quietly peaceful, and for the first time I understand why my aunt moved up here. Once we pull into the driveway and step into her house, I am overcome with a sense of calm, accomplishment even. The new little baby is kicking in her crib by the monstrous fireplace. I slowly walk over to her, realizing that my newest cousin is in the middle of an irregular sleeping pattern. Kneeling down beside her, I watch as Grandma enters the room, greeting the family as I just have. She sets the grape juice bottle on the table beside the crib, waking the baby up in the process. As soon as she sees her grandmother's blue eyes, the newborn girl moves her hands to the ceiling. "I didn't think ya'll were ever gonna get here," my aunt laughs, giving me a hug. "Do you want anything? Are you hungry?" "No," I shake my head from side to side, turning my gaze back to her daughter. "She's beautiful." When the house is quiet, in the dead of night, I visit my little cousin, telling her about grape juice and chicken and biscuits. Her eyelids flutter back and forth while I whisper ever so quietly. Still, I am convinced that she will remember every word I say. 17
The Hunt By Victoria Drexel An Arctic wind swims through cotton grass like an umiak moving down river, stirring soggy tundra tea leaves below, leaving the lethargic smell of labrador in the air as we trudge through boggy paths not shown on maps. Falling paces behind, I know that here I am the protected, and that about me my teacher is wary, but the shots from his gun aren't as loud as I expected and fresh death isn't as scary as I imagined. The hook of his sharpened uloo opens the lean bodies with the rip of a new zipper. Fingers folded at middle knuckles, I take my silent queue and plunge a paw shaped fist between skin and muscle. The midnight sun circles in the blue sky and here two dead caribou lie.
On Outgrowing Peppertrees By Frances Amiama I When you walk into the field just behind your house with the neighbor's children, keep quiet. Walk slowly. Find the burnt out body of a car and mourn for its side view mirrors, found whole by the older boys and their wooden baseball bats. Avert your eyes, avoid staring at the plastic bag in the passenger seat, breaking down around the naked bodies of sad eyed women, a twelve month subscription to Playboy, this is where you will come to keep your ghosts. II They will implement new policies to try to teach you that distance traveled on school buses will build up your bones, like milk in plastic cartons. So when you walk up to the Puerto-Rican boy who backhanded a girl you sat behind every day for a year. You will hit him
his skin accept yours like it was waiting for this. You will hit him because he is your size and has restless hands like your father. III In your cluttered kitchen, you will wait for spices to settle into meat, you will hold knives between faintly nicotine stained fingers. You will take comfort in knowing that you rent a house smaller than its backyard. When you wander out the back door and stumble into the small cave of pines, you do not let these trees poke your sides like before, but watch as they entangle themselves on the dark inked patterns of your arms.
without hurting your small tendons. You will hit him and feel
Puppy Dog Tales By J.N. Bordonaba In Spain, there's the story of the scorned woman. "The scorched wife," my mother said as she casually spun the tale at the sewing machine. I listened to her around the tinny theme of the Mexican variety show she was watching and the grating of the machine. The scorned woman sought revenge from her cheating husband by hitting him where it would hurt the most. She'd find him at his mistress' home, at his job on the docks, at the cafe where he ate lunch every day, and she'd call his name, confess her love, profess her anger- anything to bring his attention to her oil-soaked clothing before she set herself alight. "I think the idea was that she'd burn herself into his memory," my mother chuckled. I was reminded of the tale as I watched a documentary on witches being burned at the stake, and how being burned alive is the one experience more painful to endure than childbirth. It's incredible, the things they'll show on TV at three in the morning. I was alone in the living room. Vita was asleep in her crib upstairs. The dog lay sprawled on the floor. Nels wasn't home. At midnight, I'd declared that if he wasn't home by three, I'd be angry. At one, I opened the liquor cabinet. At two, I fished out the pack of cigarettes I kept stashed in the basement. Now it was three, and Nels wasn't home. Where he was, I couldn't be sure. He could be with a girl in Jamaica. Getting drunk and into fights in Flushing. At a crackhouse in Bayside. If he'd gone to Brooklyn, as I suspected he had, he'd undoubtedly be doing it all. I remember the last time we went to Brooklyn. I was pregnant, and the smell of the ocean and hotdogs and the swarms of people on the boardwalk at Coney Island made me sick and vomit on the beach. I was feeling sick now; could feel the anger bubbling in my stomach. The burn of the smoke in my throat as I dragged on the cigarette met up with the burn rising up my ribs. It was a shame to let the smoke seep out of my nostrils every few seconds. This needed to be bottled. But since it couldn't, I'd have to make do. I walked over to the parlor. I remember my delight when I discovered I'd be living in a house big enough to have a "parlor". Nels' parents had gladly given us the deed when they discovered that he had finally found a woman crazy enough to marry him. On our honeymoon, I moved from a
compact apartment in the projects to a sprawling house, with a parlor and a backyard and a treehouse, and the only price I'd have to pay was a lifetime with Nels. At the time, it seemed like a fair trade. The parlor was in Nels' room. Inside it were all of his knick knacks and unfinished projects. His drum set sat in the corner, his guitars next to that, his incredible and dated vinyl collection, his record player. His sports memorabilia sat in another corner, and my eyes skimmed over the box of trophies and the assortment of medals before I found the framed team portraits. There was Nels, front and center in all of them, an Adonis of hopes and dreams. In the center of the room lay Nels' latest project- a crib for Vita. She already had a crib, an expensive crib, yet Nels was adamant on building one of his own. He came home one day with planks of rotting wood and started hammering away. "What, you're a carpenter now, Nelson?" I asked, yelling over Vita's cries in my arms. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?" He avoided looking at me, instead keeping on with the aimless hammering and sawing before he finally answered, "I'm making a crib. I'm making a new crib for my Vita." The smoke finally sifted through my nostrils as I walked through the parlor. Each drag was longer than the last, and I let the smoke billow from my lips and onto Nels' belongings. A huff on the record player. A puff on the trophies. It was nearly four in the morning and Nels wasn't home. Ashes littered the carpet. My anger was visceral now. I wanted Nels to smell it. In the basement lay all of the memorabilia of Nels' childhood. In the bowels of the basement lay old toys belonging to Nels and his brothers, boxes of moldy clothes. The Christmas decorations were in there somewhere, as well as a canister of gasoline. Little green army men littered the floor of the parlor. I'd brought up a box and began going through it, keeping the toys I thought Vita would like and flinging the others on the floor. Action figures and boxing gloves would be alright for my Vita, but I'd buy her new ones. Most of the toys in the box were worn and battered. Boys could be so aggressive and uncaring. Some of the gas splashed onto my robe. I splashed a bit on everything, but poured most of it onto the crib. I imagined it would burn the easiest. I flung the empty canister at the knight in another neglected corner. It was a suit of armor that Nels had gotten God knows where. He'd come home one day not long after the wedding with a beautiful smile on his face and eyes unnaturally at ease. "Come help me bring this in, baby," he told me. His hands were bloody from the rust and sharp edges. I closed my eyes to the smell of gasoline burning. There wasn't a crackling of woods burning as much as there was an explosion, a loud whoosh as the parlor became a fancy furnace. It was five in the morning. I was alone in the living room. Vita was asleep in her crib upstairs. The dog lay sprawled on the floor. Nels wasn't home.
Deeper than Desire By Walter Aguilera Your lips were meant to be red.
dusk dripping onto bare stone
eyes cold with combustion of want - of need
breathing your flesh through teeth of nostrils
addicted? addicted. Wholly Holy Hypothalamus
Your lips were meant to be red.
entirely pineal
the scent of red permeates and inundates drunk-with melted-you
Your lips
- like when I joyfully painted (with the phlegm smeared napkin) my face, desiring affection, welcoming illness to receive mother's touch; fuzzy like ember to frostbite but not you brighter than The Luminary Clock and even further away
were meant to be red. 23
On the Shirt Found at the 116th Street Station By Frances Amiama A man threw himself to the ankles of a downtown A-train today, with his wife three blocks away in their rent-controlled apartment. They have lived there for twelve years. That train— its walls another woman, a second skin to hold him while he drank his coffee the entire forty blocks to the office. Somewhere there is a train touching rails and black tie fibers over and over again.
Dream from the Heart By Alexander Anthony Earth, and water, and falling leaves, surround the well-kept wooden eaves, of a cabin hidden in wooded vale, where Summer dawns cool and snow falls pale. River runs shallow, with waters fast, over rock, through fields, past sunlight cast, by setting sun, which daily dips, beyond distant, shadowed, mountain tips. The star-filled sky, at night, does shine, above the branches of towering pine, which sway, and dance, and nightly bend, in the chilly breeze of the Northern wind. Within the cabin, a hearth of stone, who river's touch once had known, now gathered high, about a small pyre, of moss and sticks, the evening's fire. Before the flames, a couch there stands, on it, a couple, holding hands. Outside the valley, the world still turns, but within these walls, the fire burns. The flames envelope, the flames define, both falling leaf and creeping vine. The flowing river and stoic earth, all summed up in that chimneyed hearth. The wooded vale, a private retreat, wrapped up so snugly, all nice and neat, not yet a place, but a state of mind, a dream from my heart, one day to find.
Crows and God By Jonathan Duckworth A crow lands on my porch, looks at me, and tilts its head. I could feed it orange slices or corn, but it will be lucky if I throw coffee grounds. I lean on the porch railing and stare up at patches of gray sky poking through gaps in black magnolia leaves, and ask whoever's listening: are you getting older too?
Tutu Pac By Victoria Drexel The shots don't pop, One. Two. They're more like a thud, like a fist hitting a punching bag. I quickly stand but wet bogs of melting permafrost cling to my already soaked sneakers as I struggle to keep up with Levi, bouncing from tussock to tussock. Instead of gracefully gliding across the tundra as my native friend does, I take one step forward and fall face first into the cold black water. Spitting out bits of lichen, I pick myself back up and take the useless sneakers off. The cold water numbs my feet red but at least I can find some traction. I carry the shoes in either hand and begin a slow, careful march. By the time I catch up both caribou are dead and Levi's cutting the bull open. "Cut from ass to neck." He tells my grimaced face. The ripping skin sounds like a new zipper. He moves to the female, unzips her and then silently motions to me with his oversized knife. "What?" I ask a little afraid that I may become more than a spectator. "You know how to skin it?" In my whole middleclass, suburban life I've passed all the markers I was expected to pass to become what other middleclass suburbanites call a "normal young adult." I played little league soccer, I was in the Christmas pageant, I broke an arm, I learned to ride a bike, learned to drive a car, kissed a boy, crashed a car, missed a plane, been heartbroken, been drunk, moved away from home, but I've never been asked "know how to skin it?" "No." I finally answer, still stupidly holding the wet sneakers. Levi holds up his free hand and folds his thumb and fingers in at the middle knuckles. "Like a bear paw." He says, typically native in his sparing use of words. He reaches into the flank of the bull, separating skin from muscle with his paw shaped hand and pulling it free with the other, knife dramatically held between his teeth. "Got it?" He asks, taking the knife from his mouth. He asks like it's so simple, like my entire life experience hasn't taught me to be revolted by the idea of ripping an animal apart. I can feel him watching me. "Gotta get it back to the truck before it gets stink." He warns. I realize that my moral dilemma is Levi's family's quickly rotting dinner and I force myself to set aside my cul-de-sac fears. Dropping the sneakers, I take a step closer, feeling the spongy ground with my bare feet through the stinging cold. I grab a chunk of furry skin from the stomach and make a bear paw with my hand. Plunging my paw shaped hand under the skin of the caribou I feel its warmth crawl up my arm to my elbow. Fur flies in the air, dancing in the wind around me as I flip the body over and begin to skin the other side. 28
Flushed By Ryan Pfeffer
It's sometime in the morning when I hear a key go in a lock. I haven't seen anyone for a long time. A week ago some older ladies came in the room to clean, but they didn't stay long. I hear the door open, and I can make out three voices. "Alright, this isn't so bad," a woman says. "I think we will have enough room for all your clothes." A couple minutes later a boy pops his head in my door and looks around. He's young, with long dark hair that falls down his forehead and stops just above his eyes. I think his name is Brian. That's the name I keep hearing the woman say. There's an older man in the room too, but he doesn't say much. Only, "Yup," every few minutes. The woman asks Brian how it looks in there, and he says, "It's good." That makes me happy. After a while Brian says goodbye to the man and woman. The woman is crying a lot, and I can't understand her. The man still doesn't say much. That day three more came. All boys. A tall skinny one named Matt; he lives with Brian. A short quiet one who wears glasses and never said his name. And a very fat one named David. David was sweating a lot when I saw him. I'm not looking forward to David. They weren't as happy with me as Brian was. David said I sucked. That night Brian came in and laid down a mat in front of me. It looked like a big blue rectangle and had two white stripes that cut through the center. I like it. Nothing really happened for a while. Matt gets up very early and is always saying he hates his "eighty yams." I don't know what those are, or why he has so many, but Matt really doesn't like them. I still don't know the name of glasses, and David is with me a lot. David is really dirty. I wish I saw less of David. Brian comes in every day at the same time. He brushes his teeth while he's in the shower. I think that's really smart. More people should do that. I wish David would shower more. One night I hear a lot of people in Brian's room. I think there are four guys, and I can't tell how many girls. Their voices all sound the same. David comes in to my room four times and presses his ear against the door. He finally goes in Brian's room, and everyone gets quiet. Five minutes later he leaves. They get louder and louder until there is a knock on the door. Then everyone whispers. "Hide it under the bed. Get in there," I hear Brian say. 29
The door opens and a girl hurries in. She kneels down next to me. Her skirt is very short. I hear Brian open the door and he talks with someone about noise, and too many people for five minutes, then the door closes. Brian comes into my room and takes the girl's hand as he leads her out. I can see her underwear. Later that night they come back, Brian and purple underwear. Not long after they come in, purple underwear swings my door open and hugs me. Brian is right behind her. He holds her hair and rubs her back. I don't know how I feel about this girl, but she's better than David. I hope she takes David's place. I see a lot of her over the next few months. Her and Brian talk and she comes into my room sometimes. She hasn't hugged me since though, which is good, because I think Brian likes her, and I don't want to make Brian mad. Glasses hugged me, but it wasn't late at night like purple underwear, it was early in the morning. I think he had something called the flu. I still don't know his name. Matt and Brian have become friends. They laugh a lot, and talk about David. They don't like David. They say he steals their Easy Mac, and uses all the toilet paper. He does. Soon everyone starts throwing all their stuff into big bags, and I know what comes next. I've seen it happen over and over again. Matt takes his shampoo and toothbrush, and David forgets to takes his lotion. He has a big bottle, bigger than I've ever seen. Glasses leaves first. Then Matt says goodbye to Brian. No one says goodbye to David. The woman and the man who were with Brian the first day are back. I recognize their voices. The woman sounds really happy; the man still doesn't say much. "Go check one last time to make sure you didn't forget anything," the woman says. My door opens and Brian comes in. I see the man and the woman for the first time. Purple underwear is standing next to them; she looks sad. Brian looks around my room, checking behind the shower curtain and in the cabinet. As he leaves he turns around and looks down at me. Purple underwear walks up to him. "Ready?" She says. "Remember the first night we met?" Brian says as he points to me. "Shut up." Purple underwear hits him and walks away. Brian smiles as he looks at me, and then closes the door. I'll miss Brian. I liked Brian.
There Are No Trees on the Tundra By Victoria Drexel
The kids are bear-protection enough. Their squeals would scare away a kaaktuq mother. I'm more scared of the bear spray bouncing against my hip, like loaded napalm, on this windy day. At least the stinging wind is keeping the hungry mosquitoes away, though it blows the rotting smell of dead ugrik from the beach, like a cloud of wet, oily leather. The kids don't even notice. The girls wade through boggy permafrost in battered hand-me-down rubber boots, grabbing blueberries with each reach of their delicate brown hands. The unripe cranberries, too red to resist but still to bitter to eat, tempt them, hidden under soggy lichen. They hoard the last warty, golden ukpiks of the summer in the pockets of their dirty pink sweaters. The boys hop from tussock to tussock as gracefully as migrating tutupac, on stepping stones as reliable as a field of marshmallows. I watch as they play cops and robbers with pieces of driftwood they've hauled up from the shore, because they know there's no trees on the tundra. 31
Time Flows to the Source By Jonathan Duckworth Once upon a time, you will have dreamed of losing your left shoe to a river's hunger; watching it plunge into that torrent deeper than the stagnant pond in which you will on day drown. The shoe returns if you wait for the moon faces to inhale their glow, and one after another quench their fires in the silver runoff of all mornings that were, and all the dawns that will ever be.
J.N. Bordonaba is a senior at FSU focusing on communications as well as editing, writing, and media. She spends much of her time at FSU's radio station V89 where she DJs as well as acts as assignments editor. When she's not studying or at the radio station, she's normally chasing her dog, writing short stories or watching as many films as she can to beef up her movie buff brain.
Walter Aguilera Valdes is a rapidly deteriorating bag of meat and bones with somewhat of an expertise on bodily functions like breathing, blinking and sneezing. Quite the standard according to his frankly biased opinion, but in reality he is an orthodox paradox, stuck between worlds of identities, cultures and ideals. Unfortunately, he still thinks about consciousness and what it means to be the human animal.
Frances Amiama is a sophomore creative writing major at Florida State University. She is originally from Tampa, Fla., but enjoys the trees in Tallahassee far more. Her work has also appeared in The Kudzu Review.
Ryan Pfeffer is a 22-year-old senior attending Florida State University, and majoring in editing, writing, and media. As an artist, Ryan struggles daily with eternal questions like love, death, existence and what to have for lunch. If you make eye contact with Ryan Pfeffer, he is 90 percent sure that you are internally mocking his haircut.
Jonathan Louis Duckworth is a 21-year-old creative writing student who lives in Northwest Florida. He enjoys wandering the remnant wildernesses of his home state in search of the next great image, drawing maps of fictional places, and listening to international folk music. He has been writing fiction since early elementary, but only began writing poetry in the summer of 2012. His short story Writ in Sand won the 2012 Fall Kudzu Review fiction contest, and is due to be published in the Review's spring print issue. He is working on a magical realist novel formed from linked stories bridged by poems, and is also currently applying for graduate school to further his studies of narrative craft. His greatest influences are Gabriel Garcia-Marquez, James A. Wright and Jean Toomer. 33
Victoria M. Drexel is a creative writing senior at FSU who aspires to be a travel writer. She has explored Europe, the Continental U.S., and northwest Alaska and is constantly looking for new adventures.
Alexander Z. Anthony is a sophomore at the Florida State University double majoring in creative writing and media /communication studies. He is a fan of Victorian and pastoral poetry and enjoys historical fiction. And boneless buffalo wings
Lindsay Miller was born and raised in Tallahassee, Fla. and graduated valedictorian at North Florida Christian High School in 2010. She is currently a junior, creative writing major at FSU. She aspires to become a published novelist and singer-songwriter upon graduation in the Spring of 2014.
MANDEM is the art-name for Maize Arendsee. Maize is a multifocal scholar and artist; she graduated with a master's degree from the FSU Program in Interdisciplnary Humanities (with a focus on critical theory and gender studies) before transitioning to the MFA studio art program. Fittingly, much of her work deals with transmutation and evolution, with a special interest in the metamorphic moments of life where everything changes, and the stories of multivalent, multi-textured, variegated things. As a self-taught artist, MANDEM achieved an extensive art publication and exhibit list; she now looks forward to expanding her artistic repertoire and exploring new media and methods available in the highly multimedia environment of FSU's art department. Visit MANDEM online at MythpunkArt.com.
The FSView & Florida Flambeau undergraduate literary magazine
Published on Oct 8, 2013
The FSView & Florida Flambeau undergraduate literary magazine


text: Laura Anderson Shaw A New Dough Rising: Artisan Breads At The Freight House Farmers Market By Laura Anderson Shaw • Sep 16, 2016 Lacy Scarmana / WVIK You can do most of your grocery shopping at the Freight House Farmers Market in Davenport. That's what Carrie Hillman noticed nearly a decade ago when she was deciding what to sell at the market. Hillman, whose professional background is in the food industry, started selling artisan breads and now her Lavish Lily Artisan Products booth is a weekly destination for many customers. Listen Listening... / 4:00 River Bend Wildland Trust Preserves The QC's Natural Lands By Laura Anderson Shaw • Aug 5, 2016 Lacy Scarmana Eric Anderson is the River Bend Wildland Trust's first executive Director, and he has his sights set on the future of the organization. Listen Listening... / 4:01 Outdoor Adventure Blogger Inspires Others To Get Outside By Laura Anderson Shaw • Jul 22, 2016 Wade Ellett was tired of the 9-5 lifestyle of going to work, making dinner, watching Netflix and going to bed. So he made a change. Ellett now writes the blog Intrepid Daily, where he documents his outdoor adventures and encourages others to get outside. Listen Listening... / 4:00 Business Is Buzzing For Harry Bee's Honey By Laura Anderson Shaw • Jun 24, 2016 WVIK Staff Harry Cleaveland was stung by the beekeeping bug five years ago, and now has hives all over the greater Quad Cities area. He sells his honey, Harry Bee's Honey, at the Freighthouse Farmers Market in Davenport on Saturdays. 'Farm To School' Teaches Students To Plant, Harvest, Cook By Laura Anderson Shaw • Apr 29, 2016 Gary Krambeck / Radish Magazine Listen Listening... / 4:00 Amy Wine oversees the Farm to School Program at McKinley Elementary in Davenport. McKinley's 350 K-5 students work in the garden to plant and harvest vegetables that are included in a school meal — also prepared by students. Football Player Turned Glass Blower By Laura Anderson Shaw • Apr 1, 2016 Radish Magazine / Submitted Radish on the Radio catches up with Joel Ryser, founder of Hot Glass, a nonprofit that teaches glass blowing to at-risk youth. Listen Listening... / 4:00 It's a Living Breathing Esty Shop By Laura Anderson Shaw • Feb 5, 2016 Listen Listening... / 4:00 Laura Anderson Shaw profiles Mary Talbert of Crafted QC Building a Barn in Bettendorf By Laura Anderson Shaw • Jan 16, 2016 Radish on the Radio visits with Bettendorf artists Karen and Ken Brinson. Growing Gilbert's Grapes By Laura Anderson Shaw • Oct 23, 2015 Listen Listening... / 4:00 Laura Anderson Shaw talks about Gilbert's Grapes


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Photos from Honduras
13 Apr , 2012
13 Apr , 2012
13 Apr , 2012
So this week we are helping to build homes in what will eventually be a 31 house development in Barrio El Rosario outside Santa Rosa de Copan, Honduras. To lower the cost in order to serve poorer families, the Habitat affiliate has decided to build the homes from adobe bricks rather than cinderblocks. We have been helping to make bricks, including harvesting pine straw (an ingredient in the adobe) from a nearby pine forest, and a few of our team have helped to lay some bricks on the first of the homes.
If you placed a high monetary value on time, adobe would not be your choice. It is extremely labor intensive, but when you have an abundance of labor and indigenous material, it makes sense.
Habitat Wake along with the other Habitat affiliates in the Triangle, helped Habitat Honduras purchase this site and make it possible for families that do not own land to have a decent place to live. I am proud to be a part of our build team this week and to be presented with a lesson that, unlike in our culture, time is not always money.
13 Apr , 2012
Today's blogger is Pam Forsythe from Habitat Wake's Development Department and our team leader for this trip to serve in Honduras.
After a rainy day yesterday, today was delightfully sunny – albeit a bit hot while working! I spent the morning making adobe bricks with Jose and was proud that by noon I had made twelve and just about kept up with Jose! While making bricks, Jose and I shared English and Spanish words and phrases; we brushed up on the days of the week and shared details about our lives and families. Jose has a wife and two children and has two jobs: making adobe bricks by day and serving as a policeman by night.
After lunch I started back to the worksite when Elin pulled out a deck of cards to share with the neighborhood children. Would they even know what these were? Junior, Jonathan, Darwin, and Duncan(?) knew exactly what they were and immediately started a game in a circle on the ground. They invited Kevin and me to join them. It took us a while to figure out the rules to "Triente Uno", similar to "21". After about 20 minutes we were experts and had a blast. It was difficult to keep up but was good practice for counting and adding in Spanish. Playing cards with these boys made my day!
12 Apr , 2012
Today's blogger is Judy Szustakowski, a long-time Habitat Wake volunteer house leader. This is her first build with Habitat outside the U.S.
Lessons learned today: (1) Be on time for the morning meeting; (2) Don't work with a bunch of wimps; (3) Making bricks is hard work.
A knock on my door at 7:00 am startled me, even though I was already awake and reading. Little did I know that we were meeting each morning at 7:00. Without my computer and calendar, I never know where I am supposed to be. Isn't that sad?
My co-volunteers in Honduras are a bunch of wimps. Yes, it rained. I welcomed the rain and the cooler temperatures it brought. But, all of my wimpy co-workers chose to spend the time beneath the canopy, safe and dry, while I continued the laborious efforts of mixing mud and pine needles for future adobe brick making.
After the rain subsided, I was trained in the fine art of adobe brick making. The work is simple, yet hard on your back as the work is done on the ground: washing the wooden form, laying a straw foundation, filling the form with mud, and removing the form, hopefully leaving the brick in a solid square that will dry evenly and be useable for a home. After enough of this, I once again realized why I chose to get a college education and a desk job.
10 Apr , 2012
Our blogger today is Norma Jones, Habitat Wake homeowner in Cary and participant in Habitat Wake's Global Village trip to Santa Rosa de Copan, Honduras.
Hola Everyone,
I am Norma, proud habitat homeowner from Cary. I worked on my home as well as several others in the past but Lord knows now I know what real work is. Brick making is no joke it will and has put a new appreciation in my eyes for mass producing materials. I was thinking thank God I didn't have to do this kind o f work on my home or maybe I would not have been able to build it.
I did meet and enjoyed spending time with the neighbor children that came by our work site. They helped me learn much more Spanish and I enjoyed helping them with English. This was the best kind of work.
I had forgotten what hard work it is building a home . But I did meet David (aka Dady). It was love at first sight, he smiled at me and that is all it took to melt my heart. David is 3 years old his father is one of the brick makers and he is so cute and sweet. So I will be going back tomorrow to grow in my relationship with David and continue making some adobe bricks.
9 Apr , 2012
At 4 a.m., the sound of firecrackers broke the silence of the city. By 5:30, our group had assembled several blocks from the main city square and could see the approaching parade and hear the music. This celebration, called Carrerita de San Juan, is the traditional Easter morning celebration in Santa Rosa de Copan, Honduras.
The parade continued toward the cathedral. There were figures of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Saints Peter and John held high on platforms by the marchers moving the figtures to the music. Right at 6 a.m., the figures danced into the church for the beginning of Easter Sunday Mass.
As it should be, the resurrection of Jesus, was a true celebration in Santa Rosa. You could feel the sense of victory in the celebration. I pray that our work this week in Honduras can be a small part of a life-changing event for a family and a victory over the extreme poverty that so many face here.
On Monday, we are off to start making adobe bricks. 2,500 bricks are needed per house and our Honduran team leader told us today that he thought we could make 1,500 bricks this week. Let's see how we do….
9 Apr , 2012
On Saturday, nine Wake Countians will be traveling to Santa Rosa de Copan, Honduras as part of Habitat Wake's first ever Global Village trip to Honduras. I'm excited to be one of the nine and traveling back to the area I visited and served in last year.
Four Habitat Wake staff members will be on the team. Pam Forsythe from our development department is leading the team and will be making her third trip to Honduras. Syretta Hill, our community development manager who is so instrumental in our neighborhood revitalization work in Long Acres will be making her first trip and newly hired Director of Faith & Neighborhood Relations, Rick Beech, will be joining us. Rick has traveled to Central America extensively through his work with Habitat International and with various churches over the years.
We'll also have a Habitat homeowner with us on the team. Norma Jones is the owner of a Habitat home in Cary and I'm super-excited to have her as part of the team. Expect to hear from Norma on this blog during our time in Honduras.
Rounding out the team is Rev. Gloria Johnson, long-time partner of ours from White Memorial Presbyterian Church, Elin Zaccaro, Women Build volunteer, Judy Szustakowski, volunteer house leader, and Robert Glickman, a new volunteer to Habitat Wake.
We will be helping to start the construction of homes in the village of El Rosario on land that funds from Habitat Wake, Durham, Orange, and Chatham have helped to purchase. This land will eventually be home to 31 families upon completion. I am so pleased that Habitat Wake will be able to fund the construction of 25 homes in Honduras this year.
Please pray for our safe travel and that the relationships built in Honduras be God-directed and fruitful as we move forward with our partnership with Habitat Honduras. I am excited that we'll have a visit next Friday with Alberto Benitez, a friend of mine and national director of Habitat Honduras.
2 Apr , 2012
Heather and her family moved into a Habitat house in Wake County 16 years ago. Heather was 10 then. Today, Heather serves on staff at Durham Habitat as their volunteer services manager, coordinating the thousands of volunteers for their program.
Last month, Heather spoke to nearly 400 attendees at our annual Blueprint Breakfast event at the North Raleigh Hilton and proudly proclaimed, "I AM HABITAT!" Heather spoke of how cramped her family was in their apartment and how hard her parents worked to provide for her and her siblings. She talked of how embarrassing it was to a youngster to not have a decent place to live and of how she never had sleep-overs (very important to a 10 year old!) because there wasn't enough room.
Habitat changed all of that for Heather and now she is returning the favor in her very enthusiastic and articulate way in her position at Durham Habitat. It makes me proud that our organization could partner with Heather's family in 1996 and change the trajectory of Heather's life and that of her siblings—either all finished with college or well on their way. Make a gift now, financial and/or volunteer, and change a kid's life forever!
Copyright © 2010 Habitat for Humanity of Wake County. All Rights Reserved.


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Equipment Demo At Your Facility!
We offer FREE in-plant performance demonstrations of our equipment. (Available in the United States only)
For more information please fill out the form below. We recommend that you upload a photo of the product(s) you want to band. You can also send your product(s) and we will band samples for you. This is a great way to see how your product(s) will look banded.
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As fireworks season approaches, the Kloof and Highway SPCA appeal to the community to prepare and to take steps to protect your pets.
Diwali is the Festival of Light and its beauty is inherent and loud bangs should form no part of it.
Guy Fawkes has no relevance to South Africa and it is questioned why it is "celebrated" at all.
The loud bangs which very often accompany fireworks cause animals great distress fear and suffering as their hearing is far more acute than ours. S...ome animals cause injury to themselves by jumping through glass windows, over spiked fences or by running into traffic as examples.
We would like to offer some advice which will help reduce the amount of stress your pets experiences over this period.
1. Please ensure that your animals have some form of identity for example a collar and tag and/or microchip. Microchipping can be done by your local vet or contact us on 031 764 1212/3 to get your animal microchipped.
2. If your pets are particularly frightened of fireworks, staying at home with your pets would be first prize, alternatively to ensure someone is able to watch them for you or keep your pets inside and draw the curtains and play calming music.
3. Entertain your pets by giving them something to chew on or play with, catnip is a great idea for cats.
4. Consult your vet or local SPCA for calming medication. Do not give medication intended for humans to animals.
The SPCA does not enforce the Laws relating to the use of fireworks. The Explosives Act is enforced by the SAPS to whom matters of concern need to be reported. This Act covers sale of fireworks as well as issues relating to the discharge of fireworks in public places. Local by-laws regulate the discharge of fireworks on private property. In some Municipalities, permits are required, in other areas there is dispensation for Diwali between specified times.
We especially appeal to everyone celebrating Diwali to use those fireworks without the loud bags, to be considerate of animals, their neighbours and community members who may also suffer and to abide by the laws and regulations pertaining to the use of fireworks.
Stray and lost animals can be brought through to the Kloof and Highway SPCA Standby kennels 24 hours a day.
For injured animals or emergencies please call 031-7641212/3 office hours or 073 335 9322 after hours.


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I love sewing, especially things that I have to figure out my own method for. The crayon rolls were a satisfying project but my favourite sewing is the kind that is done in a day, or better yet, done in a few hours.
With my new camera I want to be sure that I can take it on any and every trip so that it gets used. That means it needs a place on my pack where I can reach it, and a way to protect it from the rain when we're on hikes. I am determined to make sure this camera stays out of both the lid of my pack and Kevin's pocket. And it won't be staying at home either!
When we picked up my camera we found a small, lightweight neoprene case that was just the right size. If not for the zipper it would probably be fairly water resistant. Today I followed through on my plan to add straps so it snuggly fits on the waist belt of my pack and then came the fun part – a lightweight pack cover out of sil-nylon. Sil-nylon is a royal pain to work with but it's hard to beat for raincovers, tarp tents and stuff sacks when you're a gram weenie.
The form of my two projects aren't my best but they are definitely going to rock in their function! And it didn't take me months to strike this project off my list. Hiking season is still quite a few months away for us but I'm ready!


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- Store
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- Feather "Professional" Razor Blades - 20 Pack
Feather "Professional" Razor Blades - 20 Pack
per item
The Feather "Professional" Blades are designed for an average beard. Blade performance is equal to that of a 4/8" or 5/8" traditional straight razor. The thinner blade allows greater edge flexibility to better conform to facial contours.
If you have an average beard and want the closeness of a barbershop straight razor shave the Feather "Professional" blade is for you.
- Blade Thickness: 0.254mm
- Blade Exposure: 1.2mm
Blades are packed in their own injector-style dispenser for fast, easy, and safe blade installation and convenient storage. Feather "Professional" blades will fit any of the "Artist Club" series razors.


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UAE Space Agency signs MoU with Luxembourg
The UAE Space Agency has signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) with the Government of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, defining a framework for collaboration and the exchange of information and expertise in the fields of space science, research, and technology.
The MoU was signed at by H.E. Dr. Ahmad Belhoul Al Falasi, Minister of State for Higher Education and Chairman of the UAE Space Agency, and H.E. Etienne Schneider, Deputy Prime Minister, Minister of the Economy, Internal Security and Defence of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg.
The MoU was part of an official visit to Abu Dhabi by a high-level delegation from Luxembourg, headed by HRH Prince Guillaume, Crown Prince of Luxembourg, and including HRH Princes Stephanie, Crown Princess of Luxembourg, H.E. Elisabeth Cardoso, Ambassador of Luxembourg to the United Arab Emirates. The delegation met with distinguished UAE Space Agency officials including H.E. Dr. Ahmad Belhoul Al Falasi and H.E. Dr. Eng. Mohammed Nasser Al Ahbabi, Director-General of the UAE Space Agency.
The MoU promotes cooperation in various aspects of space exploration, including space science, research, technology, remote sensing, and navigation. In addition to this, the MoU encourages collaboration on space policy, law, regulation, and personnel training for space activities.
Dr. Ahmad bin Abdulla Humaid Belhoul Al Falasi, Minister of State for Higher Education and Chairman of the Board of Directors of the UAE Space Agency said: "Our agreement with the Government of the Grand Duchy Luxembourg falls within the strategic visions of both the Space Agency and the UAE. This includes working towards closer international cooperation, establishing mutually beneficial international partnerships and exchanging scientific knowledge with the rest of the world."
"The UAE Space Agency recognises the importance of international collaboration in the field of peaceful exploitation of outer space, as this field is considered part of humankind's common heritage. It is extremely important in our view for all competent entities in this field to work together towards the common goal of enhancing the welfare of humanity," added H.E. Al Falasi.
Luxembourg's Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of the Economy Etienne Schneider declared: "Luxembourg is promoting actively the peaceful exploration and the sustainable utilization of space resources for the benefit of humankind. In line with those goals, the Grand-Duchy encourages discussions on space resources exploration and utilization in all relevant international fora. By signing this MoU with the UAE Space Agency, we continue to endorse cooperation at bilateral and multilateral levels in order to progress together with other nations on a future governance scheme and a global regulatory framework for space resources utilization."
Mohammed Nasser Al Ahbabi, Director-General of the UAE Space Agency said: "The United Arab Emirates and the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg enjoy great partnerships across many areas including the exploration of space, and we are certain that the signing of this MoU will strengthen cooperation in space sciences, research, technology and services, as well as the existing strong relations between the two countries."


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AUSTIN — Gov. Greg Abbott on Dec. 3 proclaimed Dec. 5 as an official day of mourning across the Lone Star State in honor of former President George H.W. Bush, the 41st president of the United States, who died in Houston on Nov. 30.
In the proclamation, Abbott encouraged Texans to "gather, assemble and pay their respects to the memory of George Herbert Walker Bush through ceremonies in homes, businesses, public buildings, schools, places of worship or other appropriate places for public expression of grief and remembrance."
The proclamation also allowed state employees to attend such observances. State agencies, offices and departments were closed on that day, with general government operations and services maintained by reduced-size work crews.
The former president's body lay in state in the U.S. Capitol rotunda. Crowds viewed the casket and a 21-gun salute was performed. Official funeral services were conducted at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., and the body was transported to Bush's longtime home church, St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Houston, for funeral services. Crowds lined the railroad tracks as a funeral train carried the former president's body to College Station and its final resting place at the George H.W. Bush Presidential Library on the Texas A&M University campus.
Pablos resigns from post
Secretary of State Rolando Pablos, Texas' chief elections officer, has resigned from office, effective Dec. 15.
In his Dec. 6 letter of resignation, Pablos wrote to Gov. Abbott: "With the midterm elections successfully behind us and the 86th legislative session around the corner, I believe this would be a good time to begin the process of transitioning out of my position and passing the baton to the next secretary of state. Serving Texans as secretary of state has been the opportunity of a lifetime, but I feel the need at this time to turn my attention to my private practice."
Abbott said Pablos "has been a dedicated public servant who has done an exceptional job upholding the integrity of our election system. He has strengthened Texas' standing on the international stage by fostering our cultural and economic ties with countries around the world. The State of Texas is better for his service. I thank Rolando for his commitment to our great state and wish him and his family all the best."
Before serving as secretary of state, Pablos served as chair of the Texas Racing Commission, as a member of the Public Utility Commission and as honorary consul to Spain. He also was founding chief executive officer of El Paso-based Borderplex Alliance and Uriel Americas, a renewable energy company.
AG joins anti-robocall group
Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton on Dec. 6 announced he had joined 40 state attorneys general in an effort to stop or reduce "irritating and potentially harmful robocalls" that telemarketers and political campaigns may use to autodial the telephone numbers of private citizens and deliver recorded messages.
"Unwanted phone calls are both a nuisance and an invasion of privacy, and growing robocall scams could cost Texans anywhere from a few dollars to their life savings. This coalition is dedicated to protecting citizens from these risks and engaging telecom companies in a nationwide effort to put an end to these intrusive calls," Paxton said.
Revenue total increases
Texas Comptroller Glenn Hegar on Dec. 4 said state sales tax revenue totaled $2.998 billion in November, 7.7 percent more than the amount reported for November 2017.
"While slower than the double-digit pace of recent months, state sales tax revenue growth in November was strong," Hegar said. "Increased tax collections continue to be led by remittances from oil- and gas-related sectors, but at a slower pace than in recent months. Growth from retail trade and restaurants, the sectors most dependent on consumer spending, was positive, but comparatively modest."
The sales tax is the largest source of state funding for the state budget, accounting for 57 percent of all tax collections.
DSHS promotes flu shots
The Texas Department of State Health Services, in conjunction with National Influenza Vaccination Week, reminded Texans on Dec. 4 to protect themselves and loved ones by getting immunized.
"Last flu season was severe, and the U.S. saw a record number of flu-related hospitalizations and pediatric deaths," said Dr. Jennifer Shuford, DSHS infectious disease medical officer. "We have no way of knowing if this flu season will be milder or just as severe as last season. We are recommending all Texans six months of age and older get their flu vaccine as soon as possible."
Texans may visit texasflu.org or contact a health care provider for more information.


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Print Profile
Jonathan Adams
Lower House Farm
Tenbury Wells, Worcester
Progress, Goldings
Growers Profile
The Adam's family farm has been growing hops since 1922. Originally, Thomas Adams (my Grandad) was the first in the family to begin producing hops; he did so at the Church House Farm in Rochford. In 1926, he moved to Lower House Farm Rochford, where the growth of hops had already begun. My Dad then continued the farming that my Grandad had created and expanded the farm so that growth had tripled. After Dad, my Brother Phillip continued farming at just 20 years old. Sadly, he passed away and so I took over in 2001. Presently, we are growing Progress and Golding hops.


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Specification and verification of GPGPU programs
University of Twente, Enschede, The Netherlands
Technical Report TR-CTIT-13-21, Centre for Telematics and Information Technology, University of Twente, Enschede, 2013
title={Specification and verification of GPGPU programs},
author={Blom, SCC and Huisman, Marieke and Mihelcic, Matej},
publisher={Centre for Telematics and Information Technology, University of Twente}
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Graphics Processing Units (GPUs) are increasingly used for general-purpose applications because of their low price, energy efficiency and enormous computing power. Considering the importance of GPU applications, it is vital that the behaviour of GPU programs can be specified and proven correct formally. This paper presents a logic to verify GPU kernels written in OpenCL, a platform-independent low-level programming language. The logic can be used to prove both data-race-freedom and functional correctness of kernels. The verification is modular, based on ideas from permission-based separation logic. We present the logic and its soundness proof, and then discuss tool support and illustrate its use on a complex example kernel.
November 18, 2013 by hgpu